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bottom. It was held in place by eight screws around the edge. Four screws in the center of the bottom apparently held the bomb in place.
    “I’ll get ’em Jim,” said Officer Sales, pulling a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and revealing a screwdriver blade. He started to remove a screw on the edge.
    “Just get the ones in the center, Tom. That’ll release the bomb, and we can toss this cart.”
    “Right.”
    When the last screw was removed, they heard the cylinder drop inside the cart onto the side lying on the ground. They each grabbed one of the wheels and, with all their might, lifted the bottom of the cart off the ground. The bomb rolled out the top and onto the grass.
    “Ah, just as I thought!” exclaimed Kennedy. On the bottom of the cylinder was a rectangular panel, held in place by a screw at each corner. “I knew Ali Baba was lying. It didn’t make sense to me that there was no access panel to the bomb. How would they have armed it and set the timer? And what would they have done if they couldn’t get it here in time? They couldn’t afford to have this valuable asset detonate out in rural Virginia somewhere.”
    “Good thinking, Sergeant.”
    “Get started on those screws. Let’s have this thing opened up and ready to go when the bomb squad gets here.”
    “Uh, Sergeant? I don’t know anything about explosive ordnance disposal. Shouldn’t we wait for the bomb-squad guys?”
    “Ordinarily, yes. But we’ve got less than ten minutes until the heart of Washington DC is nothing but a memory. By the time the bomb squad gets here, there might be only a couple of minutes left. I don’t want them to have to screw around with getting the access plate off.”
    “Yes, Sergeant.”
    12:25
    After what seemed like an eternity, Kennedy noticed a large black van in the distance careening across the grassy mall toward the officers. The back end slipped from side to side as the driver fought to keep control as he accelerated on the soft grass. “The bomb squad, finally . I guess that’s one way to get around the traffic. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us if this thing really is what Ali Baba says it is.”
    12:26
    A minute later, the van skidded to a stop a few yards away, and two highly armored men jumped out and made their way to the bomb. They both wore helmets and facemasks similar to a welder’s mask. They each carried a box about the size of a carry-on suitcase with straps slung over their shoulders like mail pouches. Extending from the boxes, several flexible steel cables held different kinds of sensors, some shaped like microphones and some like long, narrow probes. Sergeant Kennedy deduced these were not ordinary bomb-squad members—these guys must be from the infamous “anti-nuke” squad, and they carried highly sophisticated radiation-monitoring equipment.
    They walked around the bomb taking independent readings. They compared their readings and reported them over the radio to headquarters. A flurry of radio chatter erupted, with a dozen or more rapidly fired suggestions coming in from experts at headquarters. The bomb-squad leader grew more agitated and impatient as he repeatedly answered, “I know that…we checked that…of course we measured that…yes, that reading is accurate…yes, we independently verified it according to the established procedure.” Finally, the two stood face-to-face, removed their helmets and facemasks, and dropped their gear to the ground.
    12:27
    “What is it?” Sergeant Kennedy asked.
    “It’s a nuke,” said the bomb-squad leader. “No doubt about it. The readings are all consistent with weapons-grade plutonium—a lot of it. Twenty kilotons might be an understatement. And there are only three minutes left.”
    The leader began peering through the access opening into the bomb casing. He spoke again to the experts over the radio. “It’s a Soviet design,” he said, “but it’s been modified. There are wires, multicolored, running everywhere