“Because?”

She spat the pen lid out of her mouth behind her. “There is pressure switch. Again, I do not know what it does, but I would prefer it not activated.” She retrieved a slim knife-blade and slipped it inside the cover where she’d made her mark, using only her fingertips and the smallest of movements. When she was happy with the blade’s position, she used electrical tape to hold it in place. “Is okay. Lift cover off.”

It was easier said than done. Petrovitch finally caught its sides with his fingernails and lifted it gently out of the way.

And now that he could see inside, he sucked in air through his teeth. “Chyort.”

There was a foam square, out of which was cut a smaller rectangle. A mobile phone nestled deep within, and a braided pair of red and yellow wires curled along its side before diving back underneath. All around it were packed stiff plastic wrappers containing blocks of what looked like window putty.

About half of the blocks had a thin silver tube pressed through a slit in the plastic and buried almost up to the wires that snaked off them.

“As you say,” said Valentina. “Is bad.”

“I can record this, and we can get out of here if you want.”

“The phone will have been tested. We must retrieve it to see by who.” She brushed a stray hair back behind her ear.

“If you think you can do that, then great.” Petrovitch beckoned Iguro closer. “Take a look. No nuclear material at all. Just a shitload of high explosive, designed to incinerate the evidence and whoever happened to be standing around it at the time.”

“This is good news.” Iguro craned his neck to see, and Petrovitch helped him up into the van proper. Once he was satisfied, he turned to go: “No atomic bomb is good news. I must tell Miss Sonja at once.”

Petrovitch reached into his waistband and pulled out his gun. He pointed it at Iguro’s head. He was close enough that the barrel pressed into his temple. “Sit down over there and shut up. She already knows because I told her, and until I find out what the huy is going on, you’re not going anywhere.”

Iguro took the hint and crawled into the furthest recesses of the van, where he sat and muttered.

Valentina turned her attention to the small hole in the side of the bomb where the electrical cable had been wrenched out. She put her eye to the hole and was still for a while. “Hmm. Not connected to anything. Dummy.”

She straightened up and tutted, staring into the heart of the bomb. “I would like to disconnect batteries first, then phone. But batteries are underneath.”

“If I was going to make this, I’d want easy access to everything before final assembly. Maybe the whole thing just pulls out as one unit.” He gave Iguro one last baleful glare and reholstered his gun.

“There is tamper switch on cover. Another underneath would be undetectable.” Valentina demonstrated with her hands.

“It’s your call,” said Petrovitch. His mouth was dry, in contrast to his palms, which were soft with sweat.

In answer, she scraped around in her tool box and found a pair of surgical scissors. She started to snip away at the foam surround, always taking care she wasn’t cutting a wire. A pile of gray foam trimmings piled up beside her, and inside the bomb, the shape of things became clearer.

Under the phone was a thin piece of plywood with four small rectangular batteries tied to it, and a small square of circuit board. Tiny electronic components were soldered to it. Valentina moved aside, and Petrovitch squatted down.

“Okay. The batteries supply thirty-six volts to the detonators. That black square’s going to be a logic gate, which will act as a switch. When the phone rings, you get a voltage on that red wire—that should set the bomb off. But,” he said, and traced the wires back to the switch on the cover, “only if this wire is live. Which it still is, because we’ve taped this into the on position. See that little button battery there? It’s telling the chip that the cover’s still in place.”

“Is not tamper switch. Is fail-safe.” Valentina snorted in disgust. “Schoolgirl error.”

“Meh. No harm done. It just means that the people who set the bomb didn’t want to blow themselves up by accident.”

She handed him a tiny pair of wire cutters.

“Oh.” He flexed his fingers and lowered his hand slowly into the recess. He knew he was right. The circuit was simple and effective—just the sort he would have used if he’d been into bombmaking. He could have knocked one up just the same given half an hour, just using bits and pieces lying around his makeshift lab.

“You are hesitating.”

“Yeah. Give me a moment. This is still a big deal.”

“You were ready to defuse it when you thought it was nuclear.”

“Stopping fission is easy, if you don’t mind the cloud of uranium particles drifting in the breeze. A couple of house bricks thrown in the middle of a gun-style device would work.” Petrovitch pulled his hand out and wiped it against his trousers. He adjusted his grip on the cutters and went in for a second time.

“Cut the wires,” she said after a few moments more.

“Yobany stos. I’m doing it, all right?” He steeled himself and placed the red wire from the phone between the sharp jaws. “See you in Hell.”

He closed his fist. The wire snicked. They were both still there, with Iguro crouched behind them.

Valentina wrapped the loose ends of the wire in strips of insulating tape, and waited for him to cut the second wire. It was easier than the first, but only slightly.

“I’d be happier when those batteries are out of the loop.”

“Then do it. Is fine.”

He checked the polarity on the batteries one last time, and snipped through the wires, red first, then black. Valentina made them safe with more tape, and Petrovitch sat back.

“Couldn’t do that for a living.” He let out the breath he’d been holding in, and Valentina presumed to ruffle his hair.

“We have defused bomb. We have lots of plastic explosive and detonators. And,” she said, lifting the phone clear and tugging out the remaining wire, “we have this.”

“Yeah. We do. We have a slight problem to go with it, though.” He took the phone from her and scanned the call history. “It’s going to take a little longer to restore the network and everything that depends on it, than it did to take it down.”

“Explain.”

“There’s this kid—an American—called himself Anarchy. Wrote a virus that I may have helped him with now and again without him knowing it was me. He set it loose on some government computers, whose servers promptly crashed and burned. Every time they rebooted, the Anarchy virus popped up and trashed them again: they’re still mopping up the last of it now. Of course, what no one seems to have realized is that you can modify it to leave it dormant on a system. While it’s not undetectable, it’s pretty stealthy: you have to know what you’re looking for.”

“You have broken the internets. Is that what you are saying?”

“Pretty much.” Petrovitch shrugged. “I was in a hurry, so I cashed in all my chips at once. If I had my rat, I could get an uplink to the nearest satellite. As it is, what with the state of emergency, all the people who could at least attempt to fix things are stuck at home.”

“And we are stuck out here.” She retrieved the board with the batteries and slid it behind her. “We cannot call our friends, our enemies, or the wider world. We can tell no one that there is no bomb or present them our evidence. We cannot find out who made this bomb or why.”

“So we’re on our own. That shouldn’t stop us, should it?”

“It might, this time.” She started to pull the detonators out, one by one, and pile the explosives up like a wall.

Petrovitch moved to the back of the van and sat there, legs dangling. He patted the space next to him. “Iguro, come and join me.”

In the distance, he could see the knot of Oshicora guards and the two slight figures of Tabletop and Lucy. He waved the all-clear.