Chapter 37 - The Lockdown Trap
“They knew we were coming,” Sterling cursed, slamming his fist against the central control console as the primary terminal screen locked up behind a wall of cascading red encryption code. “The moment we plugged into the access port upstairs, the system mirrored our MAC addresses and routed a localized trap.”
“Can you bypass the lockout?” I demanded, rushing over to the console as the heavy steel exit doors at the far end of the tunnel slammed shut with a deafening hydraulic crash.
“Not from this terminal,” Ethan yelled over the blaring alarm, his fingers moving frantically across a secondary maintenance panel. “The automated firewall has completely isolated the primary motherboard. Someone in Zurich just triggered a remote self-destruct loop. If we don't inject the lead-lined microchip into the manual override port within two minutes, the entire vault is going to vent superheated coolant gas into this room.”
I reached into my tactical vest, pulled out the lead-lined microchip David Vance had given me at Lake Tahoe, and tossed it across the console to Ethan. “Do it. Now.”
Ethan caught the microchip with a fumbling grab, slammed it into the manual override slot beneath the main display, and hammered the execution key with the palm of his hand.
For three agonizing seconds, the crimson klaxons stuttered and went dead silent. The harsh red lights flickered, struggling against a surge of power, before shifting into a steady, calming blue.
OVERRIDE ACCEPTED. CORE DECOMMISSIONING IN PROGRESS.
A massive digital progress bar appeared on the central screen, ticking upward slowly: 10%... 25%... 40%...
“It’s working,” Ethan exhaled, wiping a line of sweat from his forehead. “The core is dumping its entire neural network into the local hard-storage vault. Once it hits one hundred percent, the Aegis Protocol will be permanently erased from every server on the planet.”
Suddenly, the heavy steel security door at the entrance of the tunnel—the one we had just bypassed—shuddered violently.
Bang.
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A muffled, concussive explosion echoed down the concrete corridor, sending a shower of dust and concrete chips raining down from the ceiling.
“They’re blowing the outer bulkhead,” Sterling said, drawing his sidearm and dropping into a tactical crouch near the edge of the control deck. “And they didn't send lawyers this time.”
