"Saadi?"

He heard his brother's voice over the phone. He put the phone on speaker.

"Yes, Abdul?"

"I knew I would have to drag you with me to meet Allah, but meet him you will, little brother."

"Abdul Khalid," the male agent said, "your plot failed. Give it up."

"Is that you, Agent Beckeman? When will you learn? We will never give up. And the plot has not failed. It has just begun."

Abdul had planned for just such a possibility, that his little brother might wimp out at the moment of truth. Abdul pulled out his other cell phone and dialed a number.

The lights on the box lit up.

"Aw, shit," Beckeman said.

The countdown had begun. Ten minutes.

"Abdul," the Arab yelled into the phone, "did you activate it remotely?"

"Yes, brother."

"Stop it! I will die!"

"I will see you in heaven, little brother."

"Can we cut the wires?"

"If you cut the wires, it will detonate immediately. I set it for ten minutes so I can finish my work here. I won, Beckeman. You lost."

Beckeman thought for a moment, then muted the cell phone and spoke into his radio: "Cut the feed to all exterior cameras." He then yelled down to a local cop, "Where's the nearest deep lake? With a bridge?"

"Mountain Creek Lake."

"How far?"

"A few miles."

"We've got a bomb in the back of this truck. Clear a path to the lake and get me there in nine minutes. I need a driver."

The Arab pushed himself up. "I will drive."

"Why?"

"To stop this madness."

Abdul's laptop went blank. He tried to access the other exterior cameras, but could not. The FBI had blinded him. Nice try, but it would not alter destiny.

"What are you going to do?" Cat asked Beckeman.

"We're going to drive the bomb into the lake."

"But ... you'll die."

"I took an oath, Pea. So did you." He turned to the Arab. "Where's Abdul?"

"In the booth. In the big screen. He has a Plan B."

"What is it?"

"Sarin."

Beckeman turned back to her. "Pea, evacuate the stadium."

"A hundred thousand people? There's not enough time."

"Then kill Abdul before he releases the sarin."

Beckeman tossed the cell phone to her. She unmuted it.

"You still there, Abdul?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming."

"I'm waiting, Catalina."

She disconnected Abdul, jumped down, and ran into the stadium.

Beckeman swung the door shut.

"Drive."

The Arab backed the truck away from the wrecked cars then followed a police escort out of the stadium parking lot. Eight minutes until detonation.

Cat ran back through the stadium to the control booth.

"Scott, get the girls out of the stadium. Fast."

"Why? Is there another bomb in the stadium?"

"No." She lowered her voice. "Abdul's got sarin in the stadium."

Scott went to his daughters. He kissed them both. Louis and Carlos stood close.

"Boo, climb onto Carlos's back."

She did.

"Pajamae, on Louis's back."

She climbed on, but said, "Judge Fenney?"

"Yes, honey."

She pointed at a monitor.

"That's Abdul."

On the monitor was a man with bleached blond hair and dark skin.

"Louis, Carlos, get them out of the stadium."

"And then what?" Louis said.

"Run."

"Guess we're starring in Thelma and Louise," Beckeman said to the Arab.

"Who are Thelma and Louise?"

"Just drive. Faster."

They followed the police cars south on Highway 360. The speedometer hit ninety. Five minutes till detonation.

Cat and Scott ran to the stairs that led down to the field. The players had left the field. It was halftime at the Super Bowl. Workers were prepping the field for the big halftime show. Beyonce was scheduled to appear.

"Lower the elevator!" Cat yelled into her radio.

"Abdul's mine," Scott said.

Abdul sat in the video booth above them. On his monitor, he saw the FBI agent named Catalina standing below waiting for the elevator to descend. The judge stood next to her. Why was he there? But it was of no concern. They were coming to him. He had to hurry; he had to get the halftime show started.

They exited the highway and turned east on Pioneer Parkway. Cop cars had blocked off all traffic. The road was theirs. Three minutes until detonation.

"Faster!"

Cat and Scott got into the elevator. It was a construction type elevator, more like a big basket than an office elevator. A security guard jumped aboard and took them up.

Beckeman could see the lake just ahead. The police escort peeled off and stopped. They drove onto a low bridge over the lake. It was a two-lane bridge with concrete abutments lining both sides. It was not the Golden Gate Bridge or Lake Michigan; but it would do. On the other side of the lake, police cars with lights flashing had stopped oncoming traffic. The bridge was empty. Two minutes until detonation.

"Drive to the middle then veer off the bridge," Beckeman said.

He had fought for freedom his entire adult life. He had always thought he would give his life for his country, but all soldiers say that. He knew now that he meant it. Some things are worth dying for. Like America. He braced himself- -but the Arab braked the truck to a stop.

"What the hell are you doing?" Beckeman said.

One minute.

The Arab turned to him and said, "Get out."

"No. I have to make sure this truck goes into that lake."

"I did this. Now I will stop this. Get out."

Forty-five seconds until detonation. Beckeman opened the door and jumped to the ground. The Arab shifted the truck into gear and hit the accelerator hard.

Saadi Khalid got the truck going as fast as he could. When the detonator showed fifteen seconds until detonation, he veered and plowed through the abutment. The truck flew off the bridge; he felt as if he were suspended in time for a brief moment. He wished he were.

"Forgive me, father."

Beckeman watched the truck disappear into the water. Then the bridge shook beneath him, and he heard a muffled explosion. The middle of the bridge buckled and fell into the lake just as the big black cab blew out of the lake, hung in midair a moment, then fell back into the lake and disappeared.

Abdul put a DVD into the player. The fans expected Beyonce. They would get death.