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Red peered into the cavernous depths with rapt attention. The heat from within blasted his face, threatening to singe his eyebrows or, at the very least, ruddy the tender skin along his eyes and cheeks. Liz appeared beside him, as equally engaged by the subject, one errant strand of hair waving in the shimmering heat.

"So, what do you think?"

Red narrowed his gaze, his forehead wrinkling in consternation. He considered. "It looks done to me," he said seriously.

The turkey within was indeed a beautiful golden brown, with a seemingly crisp, taut, and glistening skin. Liz depressed the bulb on the turkey baster and steeped it in more of its own juices very much like she'd seen on a dozen or so cooking shows on so many cable networks. She sighed. For her first Thanksgiving dinner, this was going surprisingly well. She allowed herself a little smile.

She was just about to close the oven door when her eyes fell upon a small, peculiar- looking protuberance jutting from the turkey's breast. She furrowed her brow.

"Red…"

But he had already spotted it. It was a white plastic plunger about an inch and a half in length, and it extended from the flesh of the turkey where it disappeared into a red circular base.

"Let's get it out of there," Red said seriously. Grabbing some potholders, he hefted the roasting pan onto the stovetop where they could both examine it properly.

The oven door closed with a muted thud. Liz wiped her hands on the front of her apron and tucked the renegade strand behind her ears. For a moment, they simply looked at it, but the longer they peered at the plastic oddity, the more suspicious it appeared. Liz spoke first. "What the hell is that thing Red?"

He turned, looking at her, his demeanour vastly more serious. In lieu of answering, he posed another question, his tone grave. "Have you been out of the apartment at all today?"

Liz's first inclination was to say "no," but then she remembered. "Um, yeah," she said, her mind working, "I went down stairs to get the mail. I couldn't've been gone for more than a few minutes, though."

Red looked warily at the golden brown turkey as though it were now a coiled viper waiting to strike. "That's long enough," he said darkly. "We better call Aram." He whipped out his cell phone.

Liz put a hand on his arm, alarmed. "Red, what are you not telling me?"

His heart thundered as he dialled the number. "I've seen this before," he said evenly. "That piece of plastic…it's the detonator on a small-scale explosive device favoured by a particularly nasty criminal by the name of Chip Stouffer. We've had some unsavoury entanglements in the past." He worked his mouth, his eyes narrowed and his face serious. "That plunger is a weathervane. The gradual cooling of the turkey or any sudden vibration will trigger a highly volatile explosion."

Liz eyed the turkey warily, the white-bone finger of the anomaly in question pointing obtrusively upward.

"But how—"

Red ended the call in disgust. "Aram's not answering." His eyes searched the room, vying for something to help diffuse the situation. He made his way around the kitchen, fumbling through cabinets and opening drawers.

"I watched a man diffuse one of these once," he said as he plundered under the sink. "If we can disrupt the temperature gradation, cool it off quickly, then the bead of mercury inside the device will stall and so will detonation." He straightened, having found what he was looking for in a pair of compact fire extinguishers. "It's not a permanent fix, but it'll buy us some time."

Liz eyed him seriously, game face slipping firmly into place, and grabbed one of the fire extinguishers. With a resolute nod, she pulled the pin. They took aim and blasted the perfectly cooked turkey until it was complete covered in fire retardant foam. If all went according to plan, the chemical reaction of the CO2 would cool the bird quickly and render the explosive harmless until the bomb squad arrived.

They emptied their ammunition and sank to the kitchen floor in front of the sink. Fire retardant was everywhere; it slogged down the walls and billowed from the countertops to creep along the floor. Tufts of foam peppered Liz's hair and melted into Red's jeans. And, beneath a particularly rotund mound atop the stove, sat their Thanksgiving turkey.

As they sagged against cupboard, Red's burner phone rang. It was Aram. Red gave a small sigh of relief.

"Aram, thank God. I need the bomb squad…there's been an incident at the apartment." He paused, no doubt to register his inquiry, and listened as he spoke. "No, no we're not hurt, but we're going to need back up…an explosive…yeah. Someone gained entrance to the apartment and planted a localized explosive in the oven, of all places." He stopped, listening to Aram. "What? No no-inthe turkey. Plastic detonator cap very much like the one from Hainan."

He described the offending implement in detail. A few moments passed. As Aram spoke, a strange look passed over Red's face.

For a moment, Red was silent. He swallowed. "Oh," he said a little awkwardly. "Are you sure? A beat. "Uh huh."

In the confusion and aftermath of the kitchen crisis, neither of them had heard the early dinner guests arrive at the front door. Using his key, Dembe had let himself in and now stood in the doorway of the ruined kitchen. His daughter was close behind him, little Elle in her arms. They were dressed for dinner.

"Raymond?"

Red looked up, surprised to see them so early and a bit dumbstruck by the new intel he'd just received. "Hi," he said a little impishly. He turned to Liz who was looking more flustered by the minute. "Well, the bad news is, that wasn't an explosive," he began evenly. There was a smudge of fire retardant foam on his cheek, and his shirt had been ruined by the blowback.

Liz looked at him incredulously, one eyebrow shooting skyward. "And the good news?"

Red quirked his mouth. "Apparently the turkey's done."

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