“Yes.”
“And you know you’re going to lose, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She gently stroked his cheek as her eyes flayed him. “Don’t piss me off today.”
Customers came and went throughout the televised rugby match. It was late in the first half when several soldiers stood and walked out for their duty shift. With mild, good-natured oaths to James and Leeanne, they left.
James couldn’t resist the temptation. “Oh, come on. Don’t leave mad. It’s only a game.”
Brian was just as unimpressed. The Canadians were beating the Welsh and weren’t letting up the pressure. It was shaping up to be a monumental victory for the Canadians. James, his family, and the corpses of his ancestors had been threatened with deportation, beheading, and excommunication if the score didn’t change significantly.
Not long into the fourth quarter, there was a stoppage in play. Brian drained his glass and looked across the table. “When do you leave for home, boyo?”
“Tomorrow morning. We should be in Victoria by midnight.”
Brian nodded and returned his attention to the television.
“Honey,” Leeanne said quietly, “when did the gentleman sitting over there leave?”
“Why?” James looked down and saw a bag under the table. “Probably someone’s groceries. Hey, Welsh boy,” James said to Brian, “you’re closer, see what’s in the bag. The way you guys are playing, the only thing you’ll miss is another Canadian touchdown.”
Brian opened his mouth, but stopped before any words came out. Finally, he simply said, “It’s called a ‘try.’”
He looked over and saw the bag under the small table. His instincts, honed to a fine point from years of living in Great Britain and working in Northern Ireland, shot to full alert.
He walked over to the table, and without touching the bag, he peered over the top and froze. Nobody had noticed the bag before. Now it was all anyone could see.
“Bloody hell.” He could feel the tension in the room rise dramatically. “All right then,” he said loudly, and eased back. “Everyone out!” People moved for the exits without question. Brian watched the red numbers tick closer to zero.
“What can I do?” Leeanne asked. Her fear was plain, but her voice was steady.
“Get the hell out of here, and let the brigadier know what’s happening.” She looked at James. He smiled and gave her hand a quick squeeze. She nodded and ran out.
Brian’s calmness was contagious, and James stayed close as they moved forward, one hand always on Brian’s back. “Okay then. We have just over five minutes before this thing goes off. Any suggestions?”
James eyed the bag. “Sure. Let’s let the experts deal with this thing.”
“That’s what I was thinking, boyo, but the experts are in Sennybridge.”
“Let me guess. It’s more than five minutes away.”
Brian dropped to one knee and looked in the bag. “Mercury leveling switch, four wires, two blocks of plastique.”
“And a partridge in a pear tree.”
“Semtex, I would guess,” he said, referring to the common European high explosive. “Cut the red wire leading from the timer to the primer, and the circuit is broken.”
“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” James asked incredulously.
Brian shrugged. “There’s just one small problem.”
“Oh, shit!”
“There’s no red wire. All four are black.”
“You know, if this thing goes off,” James said, “it could really ruin what was turning out to be a great day.” James moved closer. “Can you do it?”
Brian was silent. “Just under four minutes left. Go behind the bar and get me a pair of cutters from the toolbox.” His eyes never moved away from the bomb, studying the device as he waited. Although James was back in under a minute, Brian’s insides tightened with each tick of the clock.
Brian took the pliers, slowly opening and closing his hand around the green handles. He traced all four wires; the only thing separating the two men from certain death was his memory and training. His lips moved as he talked himself through each step. The clock continued its merciless slide toward zero.
2:34. “Any sign of a booby trap?” James asked as the television continued to show the match.
“This bloody thing has already trapped two boobs.” Brian shook his head. “No. It looks straightforward.” He rolled his shoulders and sighed.
1:59. “You’re not paid to be stupid on this side of the pond. You better leave.”
“No chance. Would you like to do this yourself or is there enough time for me to get a refresher on demolitions? It’s been a while since I played with things that go bang in the night.”
Brian had been resting on his left knee for almost four minutes and his foot began to tingle. He wiped the sweat from his brow and gingerly switched knees.
1:22. “Here we go. If I say move, you better not be in my way or I’ll bloody well run you down.” Brian flexed his hand one more time and reached into the bag.
His sleeve brushed against the handle and his face turned bone white. He rubbed the sweat off his hand.
A shadow rushed by the curtained window and the door swung open. “What are you men doing in here?” a police constable barked from the front door.
Brian flinched.
“Get out of here. This thing’s ready to go.” The constable, remembering discretion truly was the better part of valor, left without another word.
0:47. Brian edged the pliers past the first wire and found the one that he wanted. He slowly squeezed the handles together, just enough pressure on the wire to hold it steady. Finally, his hand jerked shut.
“MOVE!” James was running before Brian finished yelling. The force of the blast lifted them off their feet and propelled them over the hood of the police car parked outside the door.
They landed heavily and rolled across the road. A shower of glass, wood, and thatched roof rained down on them, and smoke and flames billowed out of the Camden Arms.
Snow was falling and had covered the neighborhood with a new sheet of white. Brian, the first of the two to move, simply groaned. The cold of the snow-covered road worked through his sweater and helped bring him back to his senses.
James slowly rolled onto his back, wincing from multiple cuts, and looked at the sky. “Gee, Brian. That was fun. Can we do it again?” James’s mind worked through its inventory of appendages and internal organs, and concluded everything was still attached. Sounds from the growing crowd filtered through their ringing ears.
Leeanne was the first to reach them and dropped to her knees. “Oh, God. James. James, are you all right?”
He rolled his head back and forth and opened his eyes. A crowd started to gather. “You have got to be tired of seeing me like this.” Leeanne sighed and helped him into a sitting position against the car. “How’s Brian?” he asked as he flexed his arm and held his side.
“I’m fine,” he said, as two soldiers helped him up.
“No problem, he says. Cut this wire, he says. What the hell happened?”
Brian shrugged. “There seems to have been a booby trap. If you’re not hurt too badly, then quit your bellyaching.”
James stared.