He’d lived it, breathed it and plotted it for twenty years. And tonight it would finally be his. He pressed the trigger on the remote control detonator, then watched as a potent mixture of C-4 and diesel fuel exploded, shooting brilliant orange flames high into the midnight sky and rumbling the ground beneath his feet. With a quick surge of satisfaction, he slid the detonator back into his knapsack, then slipped through the inky shadows to the machinery shed where the casino’s emergency generators were housed. The bomb’s fire leaped and roared in the darkness. Security guards rushed past, shouting into their radios as they raced toward the rocketing blaze. Dante crept around the shed, the thick smoke shielding his movements from the surveillance cameras mounted on the walls, and paused at the metal door. Using his custom-made stainless-steel diamond pick, he jimmied the lock and stepped inside. He glanced at his watch. Sixteen minutes. Not much time to disable the backup generators and get himself in place.
