Amelia Sachs pushed through the crowds exiting the Cirque Fantastique and ran into the center of the tent, where marching music was blaring loudly and Edward Kadesky was holding a microphone and enthusiastically urging everyone outside to see a special illusion—to avoid panic, she assumed.

Brilliant idea, she thought, picturing the horrific crush if this many people raced for the exits.

Sachs was the first officer to arrive—approaching sirens told her other rescue workers would be here soon—but she didn't wait for anyone else; she began the search immediately. She looked around, trying to decide the best place to leave a fuel bomb. To cause the most fatalities, she supposed, he'd plant it under some bleachers, near an exit.

The device—or devices—would be bulky. Unlike dynamite or plastic explosives, fuel bombs must be large to do significant damage. They could be hidden in a shipping container or a large cardboard box. Maybe in an oil drum. She noticed a plastic trash container—a big one, which would hold about fifty gallons, she guessed. It was just to the side of the main exit and dozens of people were walking slowly past it on their way outside. There were twenty or twenty-five such bins inside the tent. The dark-green containers would be the perfect choice to hide bombs.

She ran to the one nearest her and paused at the drum. She was unable to see inside—the lid was in an inverted V-shape with a swinging door—but Sachs knew the door wouldn't be rigged to trigger the detonator; the brass told them he was using a timer. She took a small flashlight from her back pocket and shone it into the messy, foul-smelling interior. The bin was already more than half full of paper and food wrappers and empty cups; she couldn't see the bottom. She shifted the drum slightly; it was too light to hold even a gallon of gasoline.

Another glance around the tent. Still hundreds of people inside, heading slowly for the doors.

And dozens of other trash bins to check out. She started for the next one.

Then she stopped and squinted. Under the main bleachers and right near the south exit of the tent was an object about four feet square, covered by a black tarp.

She thought immediately about Weir's trick of using a cloth to hide himself.

Whatever was under the cloth was virtually invisible and was big enough to hold hundreds of gallons of gas.

A large crowd was within twenty feet of it.

Outside, sirens grew louder and then began to go silent as the emergency vehicles parked near the tent. Firemen and police officers began to enter. She flashed her shield to the one nearest her. "Bomb Squad here yet?"

"Should be five, six minutes."

She nodded and told them to carefully check the trash drums then she started toward the tarp-covered box.

And then it happened.