Page 20 of Silk and Steel

“Oh. When I saw the 911–”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not feeling depressed or like I’m going to hurt myself. In fact, I’m trying hard not to get hurt. I think I have a bomb on my hands.”

“Well, that’s dumb. Why would you go and do that?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s joking. Axel has a penchant for gallows humor, but only at the worst possible times.

“You know me, I’m no brain trust. Want to know what I’m dealing with here?”

“Yeah, might as well. I assume there’s no countdown clock?”

I snort. “Have you ever actually seen one of those in the field, Axel?”

“Hell no. What are the dimensions?”

“A box, about twenty-four inches long and eighteen wide.”

“Is it a deep box?” he asks.

“No, it’s kind of shallow.”

“Sounds like a garment box, Cole.”

I sigh. “Possibly, but it’s wrapped. I can’t tell what’s inside.”

“Then you need to get the paper off, while disturbing the package as little as possible. Do you have your kit with you?”

“Of course not.”

“But I’ll bet you have your trusty knife.”

“True.”

My hand reaches down to the knife at my belt. I flick the switchblade out and carefully cut the thin wrapping paper.

“Okay, it’s open at both ends.”

“Try to slide the paper off, and again, don’t move the package more than you have to.”

Sweat beads on my brow as I remove the paper, sliding the box free. It’s not heavy, whatever it is. So, not a nail bomb, but it could be plastic explosives.

“It looks like a plain ass box inside,” I report.

“You need to get inside the box itself,” Axel says. “Otherwise we won’t know what you’re dealing with.”

The knife slices through, layer by layer. I peel back the corrugated brown paper until only one thin membrane remains.

“Okay, down to the last bit…” I say.

“Stay frosty, Cole. This is the worst of it.”

“Right.”

This is it, the most dangerous part. If I pierce this final layer, I could set off what’s inside. But likewise, it may not be safe to just leave it, either.

Something flashes in my peripheral vision. I glance up and see the last thing I want to see.

Emory, standing in the doorframe while I’ve got a possible bomb in my hands.

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