CHAPTER 38
Immari Jakarta Headquarters
Jakarta, Indonesia
Cole lay face-down on his stomach, waiting. He had been waiting for almost an hour as the bomb tech fiddled with his vest. He fought not to squirm, not to lose control of his bladder, not to scream. One thought ran threw his head, over-and-over: I’ll never see my family again. He should have never taken the job, regardless of the money. They had saved almost enough — $150,000 of the $250,000 they needed to open a Jiffy Lube. With his money from two straight deployments with the Marines, they would have been fine. But he wanted to have “a little extra” saved — just in case business was light those first few years. The Immari recruiter had said, “You’re mostly there for show, to make our clients feel safe. As you requested, we’ll assign you to a low-security region, definitely not the Middle East, or even South America. Europe requires seniority. Southeast Asia has been very quiet. You’ll love the weather in Jakarta.” Now some other Immari Suit would be knocking on his wife’s door. “Ma’am, your husband was killed in an unfortunate Cadbury Cream Egg incident. Our deepest condolences. What? Oh, no ma’am, this never happens. Here are his cream egg remains.” Cole let out a harsh, almost irrational laugh. He was losing it.
“Hang in there, Cole. We’re almost in,” the bomb tech said from behind a thick curved blast shield. The man wore a bulky helmet and peered through a glass strip at the top of the blast shield. His arms jutted out through two silver accordion-type metal arm sheaths that looked like the arms from the robot on the 60’s TV show Lost in Space.
The tech carefully cut the straps on Cole’s back vest. He lifted the vest slightly and bent closer to the glass slit in the blast shield for a better look.
Sweat drops popped up across Cole’s already soaked face.
“It’s not booby trapped.” Inch-by-inch, the tech peeled the vest back. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Cole almost jumped when he heard the man throw the vest the rest of the way over. Was there a timer? A backup? He felt the man’s hands work quickly at his spine. Then he felt the gloved hands go limp. He heard the screeching of metal on metal as the tech forcefully slid the blast shield out of the way. He worked with his bare hands now.
Cole felt the man lift the bomb off his spine.
“You can get up now, Cole.”
Cole turned, holding his breath.
The man looked at him with contempt. “Here’s your bomb, Cole. Be careful now, you could be allergic to polyester.” He handed Cole a rolled up T-Shirt.
Cole couldn’t believe it. He was embarrassed, but mostly, he was relieved.
Cole unrolled the t-shirt. It read, in big black magic marker letters: “BOOM!” Below it, in smaller print: “Sorry…”