Chapter 19 - The Subterranean Trap
I didn't run. Instead, my hand slipped into my coat pocket and slammed down hard on the emergency panic beacon linked directly to the TriBeCa private security relay—the same hardware override I had tested during the penthouse lockdown.
Overhead, the sub-basement’s emergency klaxons suddenly erupted into a deafening, piercing wail. Strobe lights flashed blinding red across the endless rows of server racks.
Thomas cursed loudly, lunging forward with the wrench raised, but the sudden sensory overload threw off his balance. I sidestepped sharply, letting his momentum carry him past me as he slammed shoulder-first into a rack of server cables. Sparks showered down in a brilliant cascade of blue light.
Before he could recover, heavy footsteps echoed thunderously down the concrete stairwell behind the elevator bank.
"NYPD! Drop the wrench!"
Detective Miller and two heavily armed tactical officers swarmed down the corridor, their weapons drawn and leveled squarely at Thomas's chest before he could regain his footing.
Thomas froze, looking from the drawn service weapons to the flashing red strobe lights overhead. With a snarl of pure frustration, he dropped the wrench to the concrete floor and dropped to his knees, thrusting his hands behind his head as the tactical team swarmed over him, snapping steel cuffs onto his wrists with ruthless efficiency.
Miller walked over to the master routing terminal, glancing down at the glowing monitor where the data upload progress bar was frozen at ninety-eight percent. He reached up, yanked the primary fiber-optic cable straight out of its port, and crushed the connector beneath his boot heel.
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"Upload terminated," Miller said, looking up at me with a mix of stern warning and deep respect. "You like playing bait, don't you, Mrs. Caldwell?"
"Someone had to draw them out," I breathed, letting out a long, shaky exhale as the adrenaline finally began to recede from my veins.
