Now And in the Hour of Our Death
“SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1983 It was a lovely way to be spending a Sunday afternoon, Sammy thought, just bloody lovely. His headache refused to go away, and no wonder. It was heavy work in the outbuilding behind his cottage mixing ground-up ammonium nitrate fertilizer with Erin’s sugar, then adding aluminium powder to make the explosive ammonal.
He’d been using a plastic shovel. One spark—and a metal shovel could make such sparks—and Sammy McCandless knew that he would have joined the growing rank...s of Provo bomb makers who had scored own goals. Poor bastards.
He shivered and felt his vest clammy against his back. Despite the sweat generated by his exertions, it was chilly here in the big shed that Cal used to store farm machinery, but the place was well hidden from the road, a private place where a man could work undisturbed.
More importantly, the roof was watertight, not, he thought bitterly, like the roof of his bloody cottage across the lane. Water in the explosive mixture would ruin it, and although Sammy hoped to hell he’d be long gone before Erin had a chance to use it, he saw no reason not to take pride in using his skills to do a job right.MoreLess
He’d been using a plastic shovel. One spark—and a metal shovel could make such sparks—and Sammy McCandless knew that he would have joined the growing rank...s of Provo bomb makers who had scored own goals. Poor bastards.
He shivered and felt his vest clammy against his back. Despite the sweat generated by his exertions, it was chilly here in the big shed that Cal used to store farm machinery, but the place was well hidden from the road, a private place where a man could work undisturbed.
More importantly, the roof was watertight, not, he thought bitterly, like the roof of his bloody cottage across the lane. Water in the explosive mixture would ruin it, and although Sammy hoped to hell he’d be long gone before Erin had a chance to use it, he saw no reason not to take pride in using his skills to do a job right.MoreLess
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