Chapter 13 #3
"New plan," I say, already moving. "We trigger the collapse now. Seal them out before they can deploy the agent."
"What if backup can't reach us?"
"Then we dig ourselves out or we die trying." I'm pulling det cord from my tactical vest, setting charges on the structural weak points I identified months ago. "Better than dying from nerve agent."
Willa doesn't argue. She's already covering the entrance while I work, her rifle steady despite knowing what's coming.
I'm placing the last charge when the canister rolls into view.
Small. Cylindrical. Releasing vapor that immediately makes my eyes water.
"Run!" I grab Willa, dragging her deeper into the tunnel. Odin follows, barking frantically. Behind us, I hear mercenaries advancing, confident we're about to be incapacitated.
Twenty meters. The charges I set are behind us now. The collapse zone ahead.
Ten meters. My lungs are burning. Willa's coughing, eyes streaming. We're both breathing the agent now.
Five meters. I hit the detonator.
The explosion is catastrophic. Shaped charges blow through support timbers, collapsing tons of rock behind us. The roar is deafening. The pressure wave throws us forward into darkness.
We land hard. I taste blood, feel ribs screaming. Willa's beside me, gasping, coughing, but moving. Alive.
The tunnel is sealed. We're trapped. But at least we're trapped without nerve agent slowly killing us.
"Kane." Willa's voice is rough. "My vest. Inside pocket. Atropine auto-injector. My father—he made me carry it. Said if I was going to work as a trauma nurse in one of the overseas bases, I probably needed chemical weapons countermeasures."
I find the injector with shaking hands. Three doses. Enough for all of us if the exposure wasn't too severe.
"Give me your thigh," I order.
She doesn't argue. I inject her first, watching for signs of the antidote taking effect. Her breathing steadies. The coughing eases. Then Odin, who also feels the effects of the atropine.
Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant Hart.
I do my own injection, feeling the atropine burning through my system. Within seconds, my vision clears. The respiratory distress eases.
We're alive. Trapped, but alive.
"Tommy's going to kill me for collapsing my own tunnel," I mutter.
"Only if we survive long enough for him to be angry." Willa manages a weak smile. "How long until backup?"
I check my chronometer. "Fifteen minutes. Maybe less if they heard the explosion."
"And if the mercenaries are still out there when backup arrives?"
"Then Stryker and Mercer are walking into the same ambush we did.
" I pull out my backup comm unit, praying it survived the explosion.
"Tommy, this is Kane. If you can hear this, do not approach the cabin.
Repeat, do not approach. It's compromised.
Multiple hostiles. Chemical weapons deployed.
We're alive but trapped. Need extraction from secondary position. "
Static. Then, blessedly: "Copy, Kane. Stryker and Mercer are en route. ETA twelve minutes. Hang tight."
Relief floods through me. We're not dead yet.
Willa leans against the rock wall, Odin pressed against her side. "When we get out of here," she says quietly, "I want to know everything. About Yemen. About my father. About what the Committee is planning. No more secrets."
"Deal." I settle beside her, checking my wounds. The ribs are still bleeding but manageable. "And Willa? What you did tonight—holding that position, keeping your head, saving us both with that atropine—that was good work. Real operator-level work."
She meets my eyes. "Am I part of the team now?"
"You were always part of the team." I pull her close, careful of injuries. "You just had to prove it to yourself."
We sit in darkness, listening to the settling rock, waiting for extraction. Above us, the cabin is compromised. My cover position is burned. The Committee knows we're here.
But we're alive. And we've got twelve minutes until backup arrives.
Twelve minutes to catch our breath before the real war begins.
Because if Karina Miles is right—if the Committee is planning to attack the inauguration with chemical weapons—we're running out of time.
The next seventy-two hours will determine whether we stop them or die trying.
And failure isn't an option.
Not when thousands of lives hang in the balance.
Not when everything we've been fighting for comes down to one final operation.
My comm crackles. "Kane, Stryker here. We're approaching your position. Give me a sitrep."
"Tunnel collapsed. We're sealed in about ninety meters from the entrance. Hostiles may still be present. Chemical weapons have been deployed. Approach with caution."
"Copy. ETA eight minutes."
Eight minutes until extraction. Then we get back to base and figure out our next move—because what we learned tonight changes everything.
That the cabin isn't safe anymore. That the Committee is willing to use chemical weapons. That they're closer than we thought.
And that our window to stop them is closing fast.
Willa's hand finds mine in the darkness. "Whatever happens next," she says quietly, "I'm with you."
I squeeze her hand. "Damn right you are."
The darkness presses in around us. My ribs throb where shrapnel cut through. Willa's breathing is steadier now, the atropine is doing its work. Odin's alert posture has finally relaxed—no more chemical signatures to detect.
Eight minutes until Stryker digs us out. Eight minutes trapped in a tunnel I collapsed to save our lives.
Worth it.
My comm crackles with static, then Stryker's voice cuts through: "Boss, we've got eyes on the entrance. Hostiles have withdrawn. We're coming in."
I close my eyes, allowing myself one moment of relief. Then I key the comm.
"Copy that. And Stryker? When we get back to base, we need to talk about what just happened here. Because the Committee just showed their hand."
Willa shifts beside me. I feel rather than see her looking at me in the darkness.
"They're scared," she says.
"Yeah." I test my weight, preparing to move when extraction arrives. "They are. Which means we're closer than they want us to be."
The sound of digging echoes down the tunnel. Stryker and Mercer working to reach us.
Time to finish this.