A bead of sweat rolled down his back. Christmas music played in the background despite the heat in the office. Eight floors high, and it was as hot as California's Sultan Sea on a spring day.

Noise battered his ears. His job was difficult enough without orders and misguided shouts coming through his ear COM. Know It All on the other end knew nothing. That's what happened when the Washington D.C. Police Department hired consultants to be Incident Commander. He had a lot of respect for the police force and the rest of the law enforcement agencies, but if personnel weren't stretched so tightly during the holidays, there wouldn't be non-professionals in such an important role. The Incident Commander had to be capable of managing a crisis, or at the very least a person who knew enough to let him do his job. Navy EOD was here, asked to participate in these emergencies, because they were known for being effective.

Did he mention yet another spoofy rendition of Jingle Bells blaring over the central office speakers? If he were a different kind of person, he just might be tempted to slip out the back after disabling the bomb.

But this was his job, what he did and who he was. He was an EOD Specialist. Performing Explosive Ordnance Disposal for the Navy, saving the public and his men from harm, was his sole reason for existing.

A plethora of someone else's family references were in this office. A tree. Candy canes. Presents. Cards. Pictures. But for him, there was no family, no gifts, and no holiday remembrances past his teenage years. When his parents had passed away, he'd traded one foster home after another until he enlisted in the Navy.

Pushing away the excess thoughts, muscles tensed as Captain Devin Walds reached out a hand and grasped the green wire. But, boy, looking at this bomb, he had to admit the holidays did encourage folks to do bizarre things. This was the strangest bomb he'd ever seen. Now, focused completely on his task, he noticed, although the wires were placed very precisely, there were all these unusual knots and kinks.

"You're about to cut the wrong wire!” The voice he wished he could block screeched over the COM. “It's the blue wire! Listen to me, Captain Walds. Don't block me out!"

"Shut up! Let him do his job!” In the background the new CO tried to silence the Incident Commander-IC. “It's an IED-Improvised Explosive Device. Get it-it's improvised. There's no manual. Walds is our best."

The IC had already caused four traffic pile-ups and an electrical cut on three buildings two blocks over. More serious casualties, because of the man's incompetence to lead the situation appropriately, were only a matter of time.

Hand steady, Devin brought the knife up and in one swipe severed the green wire.

The clock sped, counting down.

Screams issued over the COM. “He did it wrong! Walds screwed up!” The IC's panicked voice barked commands with a high-pitched yell. “Evacuate! It's going to blow! Go! Go! Go!"

Deliberately, Devin pushed aside several wires until he found a small black one. Calm pervaded. This was what he was looking for. The cutoff.

The clock ran down the minutes. Seconds remained.

The knife sliced the wire and the clock froze. Three seconds blinked at him from the digital display.

This was what he did. Defuse and disable bombs. Welcome to Navy EOD.

He relaxed. Leaning back, he settled himself in the pale butterscotch leather ergonomic chair. This one had to have cost hundreds of dollars, definitely top of the line.

Rubbing his eyes, he stretched. Luxuriating in the fact that all his body parts were still attached, he waited for command center to realize there hadn't been an enormous BOOM!

Oddly enough, chaos still ensued. Captured loudly on his COM, it was a contrast to the calm atmosphere in the office. Another Christmas carol keyed up over the office speaker. “Hark, the Herald Angel's Sing."

What was with Command Central? It was unheard of for an IC to create such a dangerous situation with so much melodrama.

He clicked the mic twice. “This is Santa One, all clear."

Looking at the bomb, he thought, Fate's a fickle creature, but skill is skill.

Devin wondered if the new CO was shaking his head and trying to calm the IC. It had been a riot listening to him explain to the heads of the Intelligence Community departments the reason why they weren't using robots right now. These latest techno toys had been encountering interference, and no one had been able to determine from what. On the last job, something had jammed the signal between the remote and the robot, and the team had lost two topnotch operators, a building, and their best robot unit. When they'd reviewed the footage afterward, it had seemed as though something else had controlled the final devastating moments. But nothing could bring back his men. The loss marked his soul.

He stared out the window. Willing the view to entice him. It was a decent day outside. No clouds, only bright sunshine. The light painted a prism of rainbows along one wall of the room. He'd noticed the tiny crystals at the sides of the window. They were mostly octagons. Some even shaped as animals.

In here, the office was serene. A nice place to work, probably. The name on the degrees on the wall read Brenda Rosing Pente.

The room had a woman's touch. He wondered what she was like. The lady who'd decorated this room. A delicate variation of blues and creams, it was gentle on the senses, and the art was engaging, too. Garden-scapes with a jewel-toned impressionist flare, but there was a texture on top of it. Like they held a dual meaning. Places he could find peacefulness in, a feeling he relished.

The Christmas tree stood next to a big credenza. On it sat several pictures-large sailboats; NASCARs; three people, perhaps a father and mother with their proud daughter at her graduation; that same woman dressed in business attire kissing a guy in a matching colored suit; and two women arm-in-arm. Sisters? The resemblance between the two was startling, except one had vivid, light green eyes. Both had athletic builds and warm expressions. Of course, trying to guess a woman's age could get a man in trouble.

He looked closer at the photos in back. The ladies had raised funds for cancer research, and one had donated bone marrow to a soldier in need. Several more shots showed her donating paintings and proceeds to hospitals, VA facilities, and shelters. These were extraordinary souls.

It shocked him to realize he'd like to know her.

Settling back in the chair, he thought about that as snowflakes dropped from the sky.

He waited for his team and word from down below. Overall, though, he couldn't complain. This was a nice setting. The office… where strangely enough, someone had set a bomb.

His military mind switched back into gear. Why here?

It was strategically located. An explosion here was capable of taking out several Washington, D.C. blocks. He was ninety percent sure the children's center below was the main target. This office might have simply been the most convenient in the building or perhaps there was a link to the occupant.

He looked again at the medical license on the wall. Dr. Brenda Rosing Pente was a shrink. Too bad the bomb-maker hadn't been able to talk to the psychiatrist. Therapy might have helped. A pretty sick guy to aim a bomb at kids, but terrorists only seemed to care about striking terror and harming children would do it.

Definitely the wrong move for a terrorist. The perpetrator would only incite entire families and groups to start hunting for him. Americans never forget and don't forgive innocent deaths. It's our culture. We're protective of what's ours. And, religion, well, that was a whole other enormous layer.