Chapter 37 - The Collapse of the Citadel
The bunker's internal alarm system began to wail—a high-pitched, deafening klaxon that signaled a catastrophic containment failure.
"The facility is initiating an automated self-purge," Marcus warned, keeping his knife steady against the Director's throat while using his free hand to haul the man upright by his expensive silk tie. "We've got less than three minutes before heavy blast doors seal this entire level into an unrecoverable tomb."
"Move!" I ordered, keeping my rifle trained on the remaining two disoriented tactical operators who had dropped their weapons in the sudden EMP blackout. "Out through the ventilation access tunnel. Now!"
We dragged the Director with us, shoving him ahead of us down the secondary escape corridor as the concrete floor beneath our boots began to vibrate with a low, menacing rumble. Overhead, the reinforced ceiling panels groaned under the immense weight of the limestone ridge as the automated demolition charges planted by the facility's fail-safe protocols began to detonate in sequence.
Explosions echoed dully through the subterranean labyrinth behind us, a rolling wave of concussive force that blew out air ducts and showered us in gray dust and concrete debris.
"The main vault just collapsed!" Chloe yelled over the roar of collapsing masonry, coughing as thick dust choked the corridor. "If we don't hit the surface ladder in sixty seconds, we're going to be part of the foundation!"
Marcus shoved the Director violently toward the vertical iron ladder leading up to the surface utility hatch behind the Lincoln Memorial. "Up! Move, you arrogant bastard, or you die right here in the dark!"
The Director, stripped of his power, his security details, and his corporate armor, scrambled up the rungs like a terrified animal. Marcus followed close behind him, pushing him upward with relentless urgency.
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I grabbed Chloe by the tactical webbing of her vest, hauling her up the ladder just as a massive fireball roared up the tunnel behind us, licking at the heels of our boots with a wall of searing heat.
I launched myself through the iron storm drain hatch just as the ground beneath the National Mall heaved in a muffled, subterranean tremor.
