Chapter Twelve

February 5, 2011 – 2:33am

At the last moment, Jimmy regained sense enough to dash down the cubicle hallway and duck into the first cube. Feeling as helpless as a kid hiding under the bed, he climbed underneath the desk and huddled, knees drawn to his chest. With any luck, their bickering would cover the sounds of his panicked breathing until he could get himself under control.

Relax, Palmer. They have no reason to suspect that you're here. You're safe.

Probably safe.

From the other side of the cubicle wall behind him, Jimmy heard two thumps, as if the men had dropped something on the floor.

"Okay, can we get it right this time?" the first voice said.

The second person – Carl – sighed dramatically. "Hey, it's not my fault if Hayes can't pack the right equipment," he defended himself.

"Whatever," the first man said. "Just finish the job already."

"Fine," Carl snapped. "Hold the damn light steady, then."

The sound of something opening on squeaky hinges preceded several moments of thumps, creaks, and irritated swearing on the other side of the wall. From his hiding place under the desk, Jimmy had a sudden realization.

The document sorter! That's where they've hidden the bomb! It made perfect sense – hide it in the insides of the machine, and no one, not even the bank employees, would notice unless they tried to turn the sorter on. Even if law enforcement managed to get into the building without blowing it up, they wouldn't see it right away.

And they wouldn't know where exactly to look, either, Jimmy thought. I only knew because I saw the damage it did – is going to do. They'd have to go through the whole building, and by that time, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs would be driving overhead… just like last night. They wouldn't – didn't – have a chance.

And they wouldn't tonight, either – unless Jimmy could survive without being found long enough to get word to them.

The minutes ticked by. Carl worked on the machine, while the unnamed man appeared to do nothing but harangue his partner. It reminded Jimmy of some of the 'team' projects he'd done in school – with Jimmy doing all the work, while his partners gossiped about other classmates behind their backs. That lasted right up until the last project of his senior year, when – knowing that his final grade wouldn't be worse than a B – Jimmy deliberately tanked the project. It earned him a punch in the stomach from the football player who'd been in his group, but overall, Jimmy thought it had been worth it.

Finally, it sounded like they were ready to leave. Jimmy suppressed a sigh of relief and waited impatiently while they packed up their gear.

"So the remote will work?" the first man nagged his partner.

"As long as Garrett planted the transmitter somewhere in the car, it should work," Carl confirmed.

"Nice to see Garrett actually being useful for once."

"No kidding. All I've ever heard from him is 'Oh, I can't do that, I can't compromise my position.'" Carl said this last in a whining falsetto. "Mr. High-and-Mighty, 'I'm so important because I work at the Pentagon.' I wonder why he finally decided to go all in?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?"

"No, what?"

"Budget cuts. Mr. I'm So Important wasn't important enough to save his job. They told him this morning, but they were gonna let him work through next week." Carl's partner snorted in derision. "Coward can't tell his boss what he thinks to his face, but sure can stab him in the back on the way out the door."

"Still, good thing for us, right?"

"Sure." Jimmy heard the hinges of the machine creak again, then a muffled click as the door to the inner workings of the sorter was closed again. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Jimmy held his breath as he listened to the sound of their footsteps walking away. He waited until he heard the stairwell door close behind them before dropping his head to his knees with a relieved sigh.

"God, that was too close," he whispered.

This time, he made himself wait the full five minutes before crawling out from his hiding space. He stood up and stretched, arms over his head, glancing around the cubicle as he did so. I'm so glad I don't have an office job, he thought as he brought his arms down. One hand brushed against something cool and metallic.

A sudden flare of light startled him; he was later ashamed of the undignified squeak that burst from his lips as he ducked, arms coming up to protect his head. But when nothing happened, he lowered his arms, then had to slap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at himself. The light was coming from nothing so sinister as a touch-sensitive lamp sitting on the desk; Jimmy had accidentally bumped it with his hand. It wasn't very bright, but after the darkness of his hiding place, it seemed to shine like the sun.

A little jumpy there, aren't you, Palmer?

He reached out a hand to turn the lamp off, but as he did so, an idea occurred to him.

"That's perfect!" he whispered. A plan quickly presented itself in his head for consideration: he would take pictures of the bomb with his phone, using the lamp for illumination, then send them to Tony and explain what he knew. He still didn't know what to say when they asked him how he knew what was going to happen, but at least he'd have proof that was he was saying was true – and as long as they all lived through it, he'd deal with the consequences later. Right now, saving lives was more important.

Jimmy picked up the lamp to move it, and it brightened again at his touch. A three-way bulb – even better. He pulled it out into the hallway as far as the cord would go, then set it on the floor. One more tap, and the lamp was at its brightest setting. With any luck, enough light would shine on the machine that the phone could pick up details, and McGee or Abby could enhance the picture even further if necessary.

He reached into an inside coat pocket and pulled out his phone. He'd been too panicked that first night to remember that he'd left his phone in his coat, instead of putting it on his desk as he usually did when he came home. He positioned himself so that he wasn't blocking the light, then flipped open the phone –

The screen was dark.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Jimmy moaned. He pressed the power button, but nothing happened. How could he have let his battery run down? Disgusted with himself, he raised his hand and slapped the back of his own head, as he'd often seen Tony do when his lover knew he'd messed up. Now what was he going to do?

Think, Jimmy. You can't take pictures, but you can still give them the details they'll need to at least find the thing. Plus, now you know that they've got some kind of transmitter in the chairman's car that will set the bomb off. That's more than you had before.

I just hope it's enough.