Time

Timing was critical. The minute we had been called upon, we were prepared and ready to go. Dressed totally in black, my partner and I were the main people in this operation. In terms of experience, we had the most; in terms of knowledge, we knew the most. So it was only logical that when information arrived that the bomb was found in the State Bank, we were called upon to deactivate it.

Unfortunately, from the description we received, the bomb seemed to be very different from the usual. It was box-like, not small, and attached to the ground. Some white fumes were seen coming from it. My guess -- concerntrated sulphuric acid and potassium metal.

Loading our equipment into the van, I fumbled with the mobile phone that was given to us. We set off. On the way, more information came in. It was at the basement of the building, just beside the elevator.

"This is going to be fun," commented my partner with a laugh. "If it blows up, hundreds of people will be killed. It'sd be more amazing than the Bali blast, with this at the centre of town." My partner, in order to hide his nervousness, becomes sarcastic in the face of danger. Not that he was timid, of course, but adrenaline does strange things to him.

Noticing my response, or rather the lack of it, he went down to business, packing and checking all the required equipment as the van sped past all the crowded areas of the city and to our destination.

Running out of the van and into the building, I was relieved to see that it had been totally evacuated. Taking the stairs, my partner and I reached the bomb, only to see that the digital timer was ticking away.

There was a minute left.

I paused, staring at the box.

"What are you waiting for?" my partner shouted anxiously.

"I have seen this somewhere before, and no one has ever detonated it. Luckily, the last time it was off in some deserted place. It is very potent." Opening up the left side of the box, I could the see classic features of a time bomb -- the three coloured wires. One was to activate the bomb, the other for the timer, and the last one to the battery that the timer was running on to set off the bomb.

"Thirty-five seconds left," reported my partner in an unnaturally monotone voice. Fumbling clumsily with the wires, I still could not figue out which was the wire to cut. My partner bent down, also struggling to figure out how the wires were related to one another. A solitary bead of sweat found its way down my temple.

"Twenty seconds," he said, his voice now slightly tensed. There was twenty seconds left. My brain screamed for me to work faster. Faster! The cutter was already out. It was just a matter of cutting the right one. But which was the right one? I doubt the terrorists would have stuck to the colour codes but what if they did? I tried to take a closer look at it.

'Ten seconds," he said, his voice trembling with fear. We still could not decide which wire to cut. Hands trembling, I held the cutter to one of the wires and then at the other, and then another.

"Five seconds! Bloody hell cut one! Any one!"

I chose red.

And the thing blew up in my face.