Bomb Squad
I had less than an hour, and I was still in the city. That wouldn’t do. I looked right, at the cut open seat beside me, and wondered once more just how I got into this position.
I’d started out, ten years ago, a city cop on the beat in San Diego. The city was generally peaceful, the weather good, and it was nice to work outdoors in the open air and sunshine. I’d done that for several years, about four or five, and then I’d moved to the bomb squad as it made an extra ten grand a year. Hazard money, I realised now, but back in those days, I’d never have imagined the situations it would lead me into.
We’d been called out on this particular day, by a couple of the boys from my old precinct, they’d apprehended a most wanted terrorist, sadly the last thing he managed to do before he was in custody was to push a rather non-standard looking button on the dash of his car, one of the latest model ford pickups. He’d already been shot, wounded to disable him, so that he couldn’t escape, but there was something eerie about the way this guy had smiled while he pushed the button that made the guys think to call in me and my squad to check the car over.
Lucky they had. It took my team all of five minutes to check the car, trace the wires, and then cut the leather from the passenger seat. You guessed it, a fully armed, ticking bomb. That wasn’t the worst of it though, there was no way we could remove the bomb to detonate it safely, these guys had been smart. The entire seat had been built around the bomb, and they’d used the metal runners at the base as an electrical contact. Remove the seat, it goes off. Remove the bomb from the seat, it goes off. There wasn’t even any wires, the metal used to give the seat shape had been used instead, so there was no way of defusing it.
Judging from the volume of the chemical chambers, it was going to be a massive blast, enough to take out a good few buildings on a city block. Far too large to allow it to detonate in San Diego city limits. There was nothing for it but to drive the car out into the desert, and let the bomb detonate naturally.
As head of the team sent to check out the car, it was my call. That meant the dubious honour of driving the car out to the desert would be mine, and mine alone. I couldn’t order any of my men into that position, but nor could I let that explosion happen inside the city.
I set off pretty quick, but the timer had only had an hour on it, and it had taken precious time to get my team there and find the bomb. I had about forty minutes left, and it was the busiest time of day, traffic was heavy and the interstate jammed. I cursed the truck, I was used to flicking on the sirens and having the road open up before me, this was not going to be fun.
Finally, a gap in the fast lane. I squeezed the truck up, and wondered some more about whether I’d get through this day with my life.
At least the traffic was starting to move now, gradually the spaces in front began to widen, and the highway built up some speed. This was more like it, doing seventy miles an hour, I’d get to the desert and have a good few minutes to run before the explosion. Only twenty minutes though. Not much.
So I’m in the outside lane, about seventy, as I say, when in front of me a Lexus pulls out to overtake, doing spot on the limit, fifty-five. The car on his right is doing close to the limit, and its taking a long time. I beep, flash my headlights at him, but he doesn’t speed up any, in fact he flips me the bird, and even slows down slightly. That made me pissed, if you know what I mean. I’m sat next to how much high explosive, and this is the shit I have to deal with.
Well, without sirens, I’d just have to encourage him a different way. I still had my service revolver in my holster, and I’d practised religiously on the police shooting ranges ever since I became a cop. You never knew when you might need that gun, and you’d damn well better be able to use it.
I took careful aim, and missed. An inch too far wide, or too high of the mark. I took aim again. Its not an easy thing to drive a car and shoot a gun accurately out of the window, but somehow my second shot was right on target. The drivers side wing mirror on the Lexus exploded as my bullet hit it, and almost instantly the Lexus slammed on the brakes. That hadnt been my intention, I wanted to scare him into speeding up, or at the very least getting out of my way. It was all I could do to keep from going into the back of him. Sixteen minutes left, and I’m stock still again. Not good.
The driver of the lexus got out, and he was holding a gun of his own.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at” he shouted, as he approached the car. I took a deep breath, and stepped out myself. The guy took a double take as he saw my uniform, full kevlar body armour, shoulder holster, and the words “BOMB SQUAD” in large white capitals across my chest.
He was quick to recover though, and quickly threw his own gun through an open window of his car, and onto a seat. Good choice I thought.
“I hope you realise you’re still in the shit, officer” he spoke, gesturing at his damaged wing mirror.
I didn’t have time for this prick. I grabbed his arm, twisted, and slammed his head hard against my windshield. “See that passenger seat?” I asked him. “That’s more explosive than I’ve ever seen in one place before, and I’ve been doing this job five years. Its all going to explode, in about ten minutes, and if we’re still here, theres not going to be any of your precious Lexus, let alone you, so I’d be a little more careful about what you say and do. Now shift that fucking car, as I’ve not got the time, and I do have more important things to do.”
My strongarm tactic did the trick. I let go of his arm, and he ran back to his car, suddenly very pale. Wheels smoking, the Lexus took off. Clearly he wanted to put some space between himself and my car, and he’d forgotten all about his damned mirror.
At last, moving again, I glance at the timer. Six minutes. That should be just enough time. I hit my off ramp with about two minutes left, it led onto a desert road that led to a small town, perfect. As soon as I could, I turned the Ford off the road and onto the sand. At this point, I was only too glad that the car was a new Ford pickup, as it coped with the sand fairly well as a surface. As I crested the first dune, I leapt from the drivers door, and not a moment too soon, as before I finished rolling, I could feel the tremendous heat from the blast washing over me.
After that, I don’t remember too much, I remember trying to radio for help, but I was a long way from San Diego, out of range, and there was no response.
I woke up here, in the hospital. I’m told that everyone in the nearby town heard the explosion, and saw the smoke plume. I was found by the local sherrif, who contacted the SDPD to let them know where I was, and to find out what had happened. They in turn arranged for me to be transferred to this hospital, to get treatment for my injuries and shock. I’d been all over the news that night, a State hero, commended for bravery, and given time off at full pay to recover, even given the key to the city. That was nice to hear as I lay in my hospital bed.
A much bigger shock was lying in wait a few days ahead though, when I returned to work. A certain lexus driver had seen me on TV, and made a formal complaint about the damage I’d done to his car. Some people just have no appreciation for the job we do, I mean, whats a couple of grands damage to his car, compared to a couple of buildings coming down in a city centre? What a fucker.
