The Silent Treason Beneath My Hudson Valley Estate and the Lost Child
I needed a clean, swift cut.
If the blade dragged, it might snag the adjacent red wire.
“Adrian, don’t,” Caleb whispered.
“There is a secondary trigger.”
“I know about the secondary trigger, Caleb,” I said.
“You helped them install it, but you forgot who designed the junction box.”
I looked at the receiver in the second man’s hand.
The blue light was connected to a local radio frequency.
It was designed to override the manual timer if they needed to detonate it early.
“Marcus is already in the eastern tunnel,” I said, bluffing to gain a second.
“He has the jammer.”
The mercenary with the receiver glanced toward the dark corridor behind him.
That split second of distraction was all I needed.
I put my thumb against the back of the knife blade.
I pushed down with all my strength.
The blue wire severed with a sharp snap.
A spark leapt from the cut copper, stinging my index finger.
The red numbers on the timer instantly froze.
*01:12.*
The hum of the battery died.
The cellar fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.