"He’s watching me, isn't he?" Sayeed asked, his breath heavy in the helmet.
The humidity in Dhaka didn’t just sit on your skin; it pushed against you. For Captain Sayeed of the Bomb Disposal Unit, the weight of his protective suit was a familiar, suffocating friend.
"I see it, Ashfaq. He’s used a bridge circuit. If I cut the red-herring, the pressure trigger takes over."