Chapter 10 - The Canyon’s Edge
Two hours later, the utility vehicle cut its engine and coasted silently into a dense grove of towering pine trees perched on a high ridge overlooking a sheer limestone cliff.
Through the binoculars, Project Chimera looked less like a military base and more like an industrial scar carved directly into the sheer rock face of the canyon. Massive steel blast doors were set flush into the cliffside, surrounded by reinforced concrete watchtowers and heavy automated defense turrets.
Except the turrets weren't tracking the perimeter. Their barrels were twisted and mangled, smoking softly in the morning air.
“They’ve already cleared the outer security ring,” the major whispered, unholstering a silenced carbine and checking the magazine. “We go in through the ventilation maintenance shaft on the western cliff face. It bypasses the primary biometric locks and puts us directly above Sector Four.”
I pulled my tactical cap down low over my forehead, securing my gloves with a sharp tug on the velcro straps. The familiar weight of the combat knife on my hip felt right—far more natural than the denim jacket and suburban quiet of Silver Creek.
“Let’s move,” I said.
We dropped out of the vehicle and moved down the steep, rocky slope toward the edge of the cliff, stepping with the silent, fluid grace of operators who had walked this kind of ground a hundred times before.
We reached the mouth of the ventilation shaft—a six-foot-wide circular steel tunnel half-hidden behind thick mountain brush. The heavy security grate had been blown open from the inside, the metal jagged and warped by high-explosive breaching charges.
I knelt at the edge of the opening, peering into the pitch-black interior of the subterranean facility. A faint, sterile breeze drifted up from the depths, carrying the unmistakable scent of burnt wiring, ozone, and fresh cordite.
I unclipped my suppressed pistol from my chest rig, flicked off the safety, and gestured for the major to take point.
We slipped into the dark shaft one by one, swallowed by the cold concrete belly of the mountain.
Back in Silver Creek, Grant Whitmore and his black-belt son were probably still nursing their bruised egos, wondering what kind of ordinary woman lived in the blue house at the end of the cul-de-sche. They had no idea who I was, where I was, or what kind of storm they had accidentally stepped aside for.
And as we descended deeper into the dark, silent corridors of Project Chimera, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: whoever had taken Marcus was about to learn the hard way that a retired Ranger colonel never truly leaves the fight.
May you like
Suddenly, the tactical radio clipped to my shoulder crackled to life with a burst of static, followed by a harsh, distorted voice whispering a chilling warning directly into my earpiece:
“Welcome back to the regiment, Colonel. We’ve been waiting for you.”
