The nine-volt battery sparked against Mac’s greasy thumb.
“Hold that wire steady, Lin Mei,” Mac grunted, crouching in the spray. “One loose strand and this whole rig misfires.”
Lin Mei knelt beside him on the slimy granite ledge. Her knees were soaked through her wool trousers, but her fingers didn’t tremble as she held the copper leads against the terminal clips.
“Lead wire resistance is point-four ohms,” Lin Mei reported, her voice steady despite the howling gale outside the iron doors. “Voltage drop across fifteen feet of marine wire is negligible. If the igniter bridge-wire holds, the incendiary compound will hit ignition threshold in point-two seconds.”
“I don’t need point-two seconds,” Mac said, his breath pluming in the freezing draft. “I just need it to melt three tons of pirate iron.”
High above their heads, the ceiling of the slipway cavern groaned under the weight of the sanatorium foundations. Freezing drops of condensation fell like lead shot, splashing against the aluminum casings of the three thermite cylinders nested inside the rusted chain-hawse.
Behind them, the dark tunnel leading back to the refinery echoed with the muffled, rhythmic thumps of Julian’s delaying action.
CLACK-HISSSS.
