The truck seemed to have a will of its own; gliding effortlessly through the crowded streets. Throngs of protesters lined the streets. Pro-choice and pro-life advocates faced each other, shouting slogans, waving signs. No one noticed a nondescript truck making its way through the teeming humanity.
Jerry parked in front of the abortion clinic. It was time. He nodded, then prodded Joey. Joey turned, reached behind him, set the timer. "OK," he said. Jerry opened the door and started to descend, dragging Joey with him.
"I can't," Joey suddenly said. He lurched backward painfully, threatening to tear himself loose from the bond that had always held him tight to his brother.
"Are you crazy?" Jerry shouted. "You're going to kill us!"
"I can't do it!" Joey shouted. He wrestled his brother back into the driver's seat. The twins' noisy struggle was beginning to attract a crowd. Joey remembered what the bomb makers taught him: the red wire connects the two bombs. The blue wire triggers the first bomb -- big enough, but not nearly as deadly as the second. Holding his breath, Joey cut the red wire. No explosion. They were still alive. The first bomb consisted of four charges to go off in sequence. Joey disconnected the first charge. He breathed. They were still alive. He disconnected the second charge. No explosion. He hesitated, trembling. He disconnected the third charge.
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