Chapter 7 - The Subterranean Descent
The heavy armored transport screeched to a halt on the wet concrete of the abandoned municipal pier, right above the rusted skeletal frame of the old Lake Michigan research facility. The wind howled off the black, churning waters of the lake, spraying icy mist across the landing pads.
“Suit up with rebreathers and tactical wet-rigs,” I ordered, swinging open the passenger door and stepping directly into the freezing downpour. “If they’ve flooded the lower service access tunnels, we’re going in through the dry-well intake valves.”
Before Prescott could finish pulling our secondary tactical gear from the rear compartment, the passenger-side door of the gray sedan parked fifty yards away popped open.
A figure stumbled out onto the wet concrete, hands raised above her head, soaked to the bone.
It was Elena.
“Lawson! Don't move!” she screamed over the roar of the wind, her voice cracking with raw panic.
From the driver's side of the sedan, a tall figure in a dark trench coat emerged, an assault rifle pressed firmly against the back of Elena’s neck. The hood fell back in the gale-force wind, revealing a face I hadn't expected to see for another decade—a face buried under a federal witness protection file we thought was sealed forever.
Director Vance. The former deputy director of NSA Black-Ops intelligence whom I had personally helped expose five years ago.
“Drop the weapon, Mercer!” Vance shouted, his voice cutting cleanly through the storm. “Or I scatter her brains across this wet concrete right now. She’s the only one who can interface with the biometric core in the vault, and you need her alive just as much as I need you down there.”
My men raised their rifles instantly, red laser sights painting Vance’s chest in a web of crimson dots.
“Hold your fire!” I commanded, keeping my hands empty as I took two slow steps forward. “Let her go, Vance. You want the Chimera core? I’m standing right here. My biometric signature is the only one authorized to open the primary vault doors anyway.”
Vance let out a dry, chilling laugh, the rain matting his graying hair across his forehead. “You think this is about corporate revenge, Lawson? Or your little biotech company? Look at the girl. Ask her who funded Project Chimera in the first place before Genevieve ever set foot in the lab.”
I looked past Vance’s barrel at Elena. Her eyes were swimming with tears, the rain washing away the mud and blood on her cheeks.
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“He’s lying,” Elena gasped, her voice trembling violently. “Genevieve didn't build the virus to destroy people, Lawson. She built it to cure the genetic marker that killed your family. And Vance wants to weaponize it.”
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