Chapter 4 - Descent into the Vault
The subterranean corridor of St. Agnes Clinic was lit only by the pale beam of the narrow-faced agent's tactical flashlight.
They moved in a tight, silent formation, sweeping past abandoned examination rooms, dental chairs draped in white sheets, and locked pharmaceutical supply cages.
A muffled sound drifted up from the stairwell ahead—a low, rhythmic murmur.
A baby’s cry, instantly hushed.
Jonah.
The scarred agent raised his weapon, gesturing for Hannah and his partner to halt. He crept forward to the edge of the stairwell, peering down into the concrete stairwell leading to the sub-basement bio-vault.
A voice echoed up from below—cold, sharp, and laced with corporate menace.
“Drop the child, Mr. Vance. You’ve run out of road.”
Hannah recognized that voice instantly from the description in the intelligence files. It belonged to Marcus Thorne, the senior managing director of the private security conglomerate that had orchestrated the hit on Elena Vance.
Jonah’s voice answered, smooth, steady, and utterly devoid of fear.
“You burned my wife’s home, Thorne. You think I’m going to hand you the keys to finish the job?”
“Your wife was a brilliant cryptographer who didn't know when to mind her own business,” Thorne replied coldly. “And you’re just a tired tactical dog barking up the wrong tree. Thirty seconds, Jonah. Either you give us the biometric drive, or we burn this entire sub-level with you and the infant inside.”
From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, Hannah saw the scarred agent pull a heavy flashbang grenade from his tactical rig. He looked back at his partner, nodding once.
“On my mark,” the scarred agent mouthed.
Hannah’s hands trembled, but her eyes locked on the stairwell drop. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her notebook, flipping to the page where she had mapped the clinic’s old ventilation blueprints from an old county plat map she had studied years ago.
There was a secondary service shaft. Right behind the sub-basement vault.
She tapped the narrow-faced agent’s shoulder, pointing frantically at the blueprint sketch.
May you like
“Service shaft,” she whispered fiercely. “It drops right behind their flank.”
The agent stared at her map for one heartbeat, then made a split-second decision. He nodded.
