From the armchair, Patricia Thornton’s voice was steel. “Hungry for human tissue. The modified strain dissolves organic matter in under ninety seconds. Kessler’s demands weren’t met. He’s releasing it into the Limmat River’s main intake valve in twenty-seven minutes.”

In the van outside, Riley Davis typed furiously. “I’m in. Kessler’s environmental controls are on a closed loop—but his personal tablet is mirroring his vitals. Heart rate spiking... there. I’ve locked his remote detonator. He can’t crack the seal remotely.”

The underground pumping station was a cathedral of concrete and rust. Kessler had two guards with P90s and a sealed lead-lined canister. Mac and Jack entered via a maintenance shaft—Jack taking point, Mac carrying his makeshift device: a miniaturized thermal lance powered by a nine-volt battery and the duct-taped clothespin as a pressure switch.

As the team packed up, Jack grabbed the clothespin. “So what’s this now? A ‘MacGyver good luck charm’?”

“Last chance.”