32. Evie
EVIE
The symbol is carved directly into black steel.
Three concentric circles.
One inside another.
The First Circle hidden at the center.
Caleb catches my wrist before I can touch the door.
“You think it’s trapped.”
“I think everything down here is trapped.”
“I was hoping you’d say something reassuring.”
“I wasn’t.”
His hand remains around my wrist.
Warm.
Firm.
I turn my palm until our fingers meet.
He looks down.
Then at me.
For one quiet moment, the battle recedes.
Walter just tried to kill me.
The Chairman murdered our fathers.
We’re trapped beneath a mountain with an unknown number of armed guards.
But Caleb is here.
And when he closes his hand around mine, I believe we may survive long enough to see what waits on the other side of that door.
Rook approaches the vault.
“Fathom?”
“Minimal electronics. No keypad, wireless receiver, or biometric scanner.”
“How does it open?”
“I have no idea.”
Cobra smiles. “Explosives.”
“No,” everyone says at once.
His shoulders drop. “You people are no fun.”
Falcon cradles his wounded arm. “Your idea of fun might bury us beneath forty feet of concrete.”
“It would be memorable.”
Shark sweeps his flashlight across the floor.
“Hold up.”
Three circular plates are embedded in the concrete beneath years of dust.
Caleb crouches and brushes one clean.
“These have been used.”
Mac leans closer. “How can you tell?”
“The metal is worn around the center.”
I study their positions.
“Three plates. Three circles.”
“A three-person security system,” Fathom says. “No single person can open the vault.”
“The Chairman,” Mac whispers. “And two commanders.”
“But no one is standing on them,” I say.
Fathom’s expression tightens.
“Which means the manual system has already been overridden from inside.”
The first lock releases.
The sound reverberates through the archive.
Then the second.
The lights change from white to crimson.
A mechanical voice fills the room.
“Archive breach confirmed.”
“Chairman authorization unavailable.”
“Protocol Black initiated.”
Mac backs away from the vault.
“What is Protocol Black?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
Cobra looks at him. “You keep saying that.”
“Because no one outside the First Circle was allowed to know.”
A third lock releases.
Heavy doors slam shut throughout the bunker.
The archive entrance seals first.
Another door closes beyond it.
Then another.
Fathom checks his tablet.
“They’re compartmentalizing the facility.”
“Can you reopen the doors?” Rook asks.
“Not from here. The network has isolated the archive.”
Shark tries his radio. “External team, respond.”
Static.
He changes channels.
“Reef. Maverick. Anyone.”
Nothing.
“They’ve jammed every frequency,” Fathom says. “We’re completely isolated.”
A deep boom rolls through the floor.
Dust sifts from the ceiling.
Falcon’s face tightens as he adjusts his injured arm.
“What was that?”
Mac’s attention moves toward the vault.
“Containment charges.”
“They’re going to collapse the bunker?” I ask.
“Not yet. They’re sealing the lower levels so no one can escape when the final charges detonate.”
A timer appears on Fathom’s screen.
Twenty-eight minutes.
Rook looks at the vault. “Can Cobra stop it?”
“I need the control system,” Cobra answers.
“And where is it?”
Fathom points toward the door.
“Inside.”
The final lock releases.
Cold air escapes around the edge of the vault.
The door begins moving inward.
Slowly.
Silently.
Beyond it waits a circular chamber illuminated in red.
Walter Graves stands at its center.
Blood stains the torn shoulder of his suit.
He isn’t alone.
Twelve men in black armor surround him.
Three concentric circles are stamped over their hearts.
Walter smiles at me.
“Come in, Agent Hart.”
Caleb moves in front of me.
Walter’s smile widens.
“I believe we have unfinished business.”