At the European container, Lola heaves the dead Englishman over onto his back. She unzips his uniform, reaches in, and pulls out the remote control.
"Amateur." She shakes her head.
She turns and steps over more slain bodies, then walks over to the red and blue cases.
"Seven, four, nine, six, three," she reads off the numbers on the red case, entering them into the remote at the same time. As the last digit is entered, the remote beeps and a second blue LED illuminates on her collar.
She unsheathes a large combat knife strapped to her body and brings the blade up to her eye level. Using it as a compact mirror, she examines her reflection. She brushes a few strands of hair back into place and puckers her perfect lips.
"Beautiful, yes. No, sexy and beautiful—yes."
She resheathes the knife and walks over to the Canadians' Humvee. A dead Canadian man hangs out of the passenger door. She opens the door farther, freeing his body. With a thud, the lifeless form falls onto the ground next to her. She uses it as a step to hop up into the truck, then begins to search through the various compartments and boxes within the Humvee.
"The same—everything the same."
She moves through the hatchway into the Humvee's rear cabin and picks up a water bottle and a hand grenade. The truck's rear door is open. She jumps through it and lands on the salt pan, then ambles back over to the blue and red cases and places the grenade next to the blue case.
She stands for a moment and listens. It is silent.
"Dead Europeans—you have nothing to say to me? Your silence is deafening. Your defeat was optional and the worst of failures. Even if any of you were still alive, I would only have words of contempt for you."
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens the bottle of water and takes several gulps from it. She does not swallow but holds the water in her mouth. Her cheeks bulge. She controls the water and allows it to ooze into the back of her throat. She enjoys the sensation of the liquid flowing down and hitting her stomach lining. Quenched, she spits the remains of the water out onto her hand and uses it to wash the sweat and grime from her brow and face.
In her native tongue, she sings a Swedish children's nursery rhyme. "The bear is sleeping, the bear is sleeping, in his quiet den. He is not dangerous as long as we go carefully. But you can still, but you can still never trust him."
She opens her eyes and kneels down next to the blue case and opens it. It is full of ten-thousand-dollar bills. She unpacks some of the wads of money and creates a small hollow in the middle of the cash, about the size of a fist.
She picks up the grenade and wraps her right hand tightly around the small bomb's safety lever, then pulls out the safety pin with her left hand. Carefully, she places the live grenade, safety lever side down, into the hollow. Still using her right hand, she presses down on the lethal explosive charge and using her free hand she packs bundles of ten-thousand-dollar bills tightly around and on top of the grenade.
She sings the song again, "The bear is sleeping, the bear is sleeping—"
She inches her right hand away from the grenade. "In his quiet den."
She keeps pressure on the grenade. "He is not dangerous as long as we go carefully."
Her close proximity to the lethal explosive charge does not seem to faze her.
She packs more of the money into the case, keeping the downward force constant, and, again using her free hand, swings the case's lid over. As the lid squashes down on the money, she eases her right hand away, free of the case. With a click–click, she locks the case's latches securely in place.
Her booby trap is complete.
She picks up the two cases and carries them away from the container and lays them down on top of one another. She sits on top of them and unzips her uniform to her midriff. Relaxed, she leans back and turns her face up toward the sun, closes her eyes and smiles.
She finishes the song: "But you can still, but you can still never trust him."
