Right… the majority of my readers seem to be:

-BORED OUT OF THEIR MINDS.

-Confused

-Annoyed

–Unsatisfied

–Hating me for leaving cliffys.

Thanks loads for all the reviews, and honesty! Never will I be annoyed at someone for speaking their mind. So if there's something you need to get off your chest, please, tell me about it either in review or PM. Or you could just stalk me and find my house and ask me about it.

Uhh, so… just so you know, I'm going to seriously try and write more details into this chapter. Please give me a loud BOO if I fail [: {Oh, and this hasn't been beta-ed by my new beta XxXMoeGanXxX (so, a huge sorry to her for not sending it first, I just wanted to update because I haven't for a while!)

Onwards.

'This' turns out to be an electronic map of the world.

Actually, it's a pretty large map of the world. The screen – which I estimate to be at least six metres by four metres – covers one wall, showing nothing more on it than the outline of the countries of the world. There aren't any legends, labels, colours, or anything that distinguishes something important on it.

"Grant?" I begin, my eyebrows scrunched together. "I know I passed COW pretty well, but seriously? I don't think I'm the best person to tutor you…"

Slightly exasperated, he nods to a raven-haired lady, who's standing by a wooden podium, holding a small, matching remote. When Grant gives the signal, she presses the blue button with one perfectly-manicured finger.

The woman's action causes the screen to light up with seven different colours, each colour outlining a continent. I watch as North America turns a deep green, South America goes light-blue, Antarctica floods a pretty purple, Australia fades into a delicate yellow, Europe turns pink, Asia bleeds into a dark red, and Africa glows a vivid orange.

More confused than ever, I turn to Grant, who gestures again at the lady with dark hair. Again, she presses that blue button. This time, six black circles appear at various points on the map; but with no more than one to a continent.

Only Europe doesn't have a black circle.

"Uh, are these targets, or something?" I enquire, slowly lowering myself into a chair.

Shaking his head, Grant walks forward and stops at the edge of the screen. He waves a hand at the whole thing, saying, "This, I think you've gathered by now, is a map of the world." I roll my eyes. "There are seven continents." I scoff, and roll my eyes again. "And six black circles."

Does he think that I'm stupid?

"Thankyou, Captain Obvious, now could you explain what you need my help with?"

He simply shoots the raven-haired lady an amused look, but it immediately slides off his face as a loud voice says behind me, "Wipe that smirk off, Newman, and tell the lady what's going on."

I withhold a laugh, and turn to see Lerner walking towards us, his scarred, rough arms folded.

Grant clears his throat and turns back to the screen. "Cam, you know how I told you about all those people after you?"

Nodding slowly, I reply, "Yeah… More than usual, you mean?"

"Well, they need something from you."

"And what would that be?"

Before Grant can explain, Lerner butts in. "We should tell her what our latest project is first, Newman."

"Right…"

"And by 'we', I mean you."

I can tell Grant has to resist from rolling his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Perhaps because he knows Lerner could totally take him down if a fight ever broke out.

"So you see these black circles?" Grant points to the six of them as I nod. "Well, we have a suspicion—"

"More than a suspicion. We know," the remote-lady cuts in, walking over to Grant.

By now I'm ready to rip the answer from their throats. Is it so hard to tell me something? "Guys, just tell me already!" My patience is wearing thin.

As the remote-lady steps forward, I see that she has a nametag on her crisp, white blouse, which reads 'Amelia.' Grant lets her take over his position by the screen.

"For years now, there have been an accumulating number of terrorist organisations who want to bring down the world, because that's what they do; they cause terror and chaos. Someone, we're not sure who, exactly – though we do have suspects – came up with a plan – many years ago – to place seven nuclear bombs at strategic points around the earth, making absolutely certain that, once detonated, they would cause as much destruction as possible."

Although astonished, I see now what the black circles are for.

Amelia continues on, her cold, green eyes boring into me. "The thing is, whoever planted them made sure that not just anyone could activate them, so he or she made an eight-digit code. This code is the only thing that can possibly successfully activate the bombs. The problem is it's also the only thing that can deactivate the nuclear bombs."

Amelia glances over at her boss, who is wearing a grim expression on his face.

"And we're close to certain that you have that code," Lerner contributes, running a hand through his blonde, shaggy hair.

I splutter. "I've never been given a code! No one ever tells me anything!"

"Ah, but, you see," says Lerner with that grim smile returning to his face, "Your father has been linked to all of this. We believe he may have either subconsciously told you the codes, through, say, a bedtime story, or he could have hidden single digits on your childhood treasures."

Visions of my old, well-loved teddy bears, favourite fairytale books, and jewellery my father gave to me swim in my mind, but I banish them as the sheer ridiculousness of the whole scenario comes flooding back to me. "My father? He's dead! How can you possibly think he would have anything to do with earth-destroying, people-killing bombs?"

Grant strides across to where I sit and places a large, warm hand on my shoulder. Sinking down on his knees to my height, he says, "Well, like Mia said, we have suspects… and Matthew Morgan can be heavily linked to all of them. I'm sorry, Cam."

With my eyes closed, I tell them, "Continue."

"There's a lot of guesswork here…" Amelia sounds hesitant to continue after seeing my reaction. "And all we know is that we have to deactivate the bombs. Once deactivated, they can never be re-activated. I won't go into details, but the total fissionable material is increased so it exceeds the critical mass, which then stops the nuclear chain reaction occurring."

With a slight nod, I show her that I partially understand. Hey, I studied PHD level physics and chemistry.

Grant, looking amused, notices that I do not completely understand what Amelia is saying. "Look, even more basically than that, something releases this fuel stuff which stops the Big Bad Bomb going off, comprende?"

Laughing, I say, "Thanks, Grant. I didn't realise you could narrow such complex matters down into one sentence a first-grader could understand."

Lerner claps Grant on the back, and booms, "It's his speciality, isn't it, Newman?"

"So…" Amelia places down her remote, which she has been waving around energetically for the last few minutes, and bites at her perfect thumb-nail. "Any questions?"

"Definitely." I stand up and walk over to her. "If there are seven bombs, why are there only six black dots on the map?"

With a nervous laugh, Amelia glances at Lerner, and then replies, "Well, we haven't actually found them all yet. We've, so far, located three, leaving four to find. Three of which we have roughly estimated their locations. The last one we're still working on."

Another pressing question pops into my mind. "How could someone just dig a hole and shove a nuclear bomb into it without anyone else noticing? Surely someone would suspect something if a great big truck pulled up in the centre of a city – because that's where most of those black dots are – with 'WARNING: NUCLEAR BOMB' printed in big, red letters on the side?"

By now, my head is buzzing with all this new information, so I lean against a cold, metal desk and massage my temples.

"That's a good question." Amelia shrugs. "We guess that they are hidden beneath buildings and other structures that have been built in the last few years. This also makes their locations easier to pinpoint. We simply have to check the areas for recent construction sites."

Does this woman have an answer for everything? My arm has started to hurt again, but I ignore it, desperate to know all the facts. "And how on earth could the CIA or anyone else not know about all of this? It's a massive project. Not to mention the fact that all the organisations will be talking about it, and any spies will be bound to pick up things."

Grant says, "We're not sure. They probably do know, but don't have all the details just yet. We have sources that are very deep in the enemy ranks."

As I open my mouth again, Lerner interrupts. "No. No more questions. Ms Morgan needs sleep. She's just been shot if you don't recall. We'll deal with everything else once she wakes up."

I'm about to protest, but stop myself. Judging by the stern look on Lerner's face, and the way his eyebrows are knotted together, I know he's not someone to mess with. And I understand why he's the leader of all this.

Grant takes me by my good arm, and leads me down a few white-walled corridors. We stop at a dark wooden door labelled, 'FEMALE QUARTERS.'

Understanding this is where we part ways, I turn to Grant and give him a smile. "Thanks, Grant. You probably saved my life. Those people chasing us most likely would have slit my throat if I had stayed any longer."

"Hey, you're the one who insisted we leave. Besides, you'd have kicked their asses before they could have laid a finger on you."

Not caring about my arm, I pull Grant into a warm, friendly hug. "Thanks, anyway, Grant. I hope you can get home okay."

He grins sheepishly. "I'll be fine, Cam. I always am. I'll bring in your stuff before I go, and I'll leave it with Lerner. He's the only one I'd trust with it. You can ask him for it in the morning. Now, I'd suggest you sleep, before he comes and knocks my head in for keeping you awake."

With one last hug, I wave a small 'goodbye', before turning the cold, metallic doorhandle and walking into the room.

As I snuggle into the strangely comfortable, squashy bed, my mind tries to comprehend the enormous task ahead. But the last thing on my mind before I drift asleep is a certain guy who I miss more than anything, and who thinks I'm dead.

Whoa, Information overload!

Uh, kind of a lot of science-y stuff in there. Sorry about that. I thought it might add some detail? If you hated it, please tell me.