The following day Hamish was driven by Jasmine to a large storage facility outside Palo Alto, where a double garage had been rented. She opened the door with a remote control, drove inside, switched off the engine, and closed the door. The only objects in the garage were a large steel locker, a ratty-looking, chest-style freezer, and a folding table.
A young man awaited them. He had set three small suitcases on the table. “Good day,” he said. No introductions were made.
“Let’s see what you have for me,” Hamish said.
The young man opened the three cases and exposed their contents. “I have followed the plans given me,” he said. “What we have is simple, really: the necessary wiring, a space to contain a cube of plastic explosive, six inches on a side-about a kilo-and a kitchen timer, which can only be started or stopped with a key.”
“Show me,” Hamish said.
The young man took three identical objects from his pocket: each was a T-shaped piece of stainless steel with a hexagonal tip. He inserted one of them into a device and turned it to the right. The kitchen timer came on, set to thirty minutes, and began counting down. “At zero, the blasting cap will fire and set off the plastique.” He turned the key back to vertical, then to the left. “If you turn it to the left, the cap will fire instantly.”
“And the option requested?” Hamish asked.
The young man put a fingernail under a small flap and raised it, exposing a row of four tiny switches. “As you see, all the dip switches are in the up position.” He flipped the left-hand switch down. “That’s all you do, and the two firing positions-timer and instant-are reversed.” He flipped the switch up again.
“And how will the plastique be connected?”
“In this space here,” he said, unlatching a larger flap and lowering it. He took out a short length of wire dangling into the space. “You simply plug this into the blasting cap, then push the cap into the plastique, and you’re good to go.”
“Excellent,” Hamish said. “I prefer things simple. Jasmine, pay the gentleman.” He turned and walked toward the car.
Jasmine opened her purse, took out a small pistol with a silencer, and shot the young man in the head. He collapsed into a heap, and she shot him in the head once more. “Give me a hand,” she said.
The two of them dragged the limp corpse to one side of the garage where the beat-up freezer chest hummed. She opened it, and they lifted the body into the chest, then closed and padlocked it.
Hamish closed the three small cases and put them into a steel locker next to the freezer, along with the keys.
“When you arrive at Santa Monica airport tomorrow,” Jasmine said, “the explosive packs will be waiting for you.” She locked the cabinet and handed Hamish the key.
“No, you keep it,” he said. “I’ll want you to pick up the three cases and the keys tomorrow and deliver them to the Cessna Caravan at the airport. I will be transporting my luggage.”
They got back into the car, and she drove him to the flat.
Everything go okay?” Mo asked as they came in.
“Perfectly,” Hamish said. “Jasmine performed brilliantly.”