Chapter 8 - The Run to the Annex
The cold Virginia night air hit us like a physical blow as General Hayes, Colonel Avery, and I sprinted across the parade ground toward the base communications annex.
In the distance, the wail of a military police siren tore through the darkness, echoing off the red-brick barracks and the towering white radio masts that pierced the starless sky.
“How did she get past the secondary gate?” I demanded, keeping pace with Hayes as our boots crutched across the gravel path.
“She used her husband’s retired general’s decal,” Avery panted, struggling to keep up. “The gate guards didn't question a Whitmore vehicle. They’ve been letting her onto secure installations for twenty years without checking IDs.”
The communications annex was a squat, reinforced concrete bunker surrounded by razor wire and guarded by automated motion-tracking cameras. But as we rounded the corner of the perimeter fence, the reality of the breach became brutally clear.
The heavy steel security gate of the annex was crumpled inward, warped by the impact of an SUV.
Parked thirty feet away against the loading dock was Victoria’s emerald-trimmed luxury sedan, its engine still running, headlights casting long, erratic beams across the concrete yard.
The heavy exterior door of the server room was blasted open, the electronic keypad hanging by a tangle of severed copper wires.
“She’s inside the core terminal,” Hayes said, his face grim as he unholstered his service weapon with a sharp, mechanical click. “If she reaches the main military satellite relay before we shut down the terminal, she can wipe every digital trace of the offshore accounts and transfer the remaining escrow funds to an overseas receiver.”
“Not if I get to her first,” I said, drawing my own sidearm and flicking the safety catch off.
I didn't wait for Hayes or Avery to form a tactical wedge. I moved through the shattered doorway of the annex, my training in counter-espionage operations kicking in with cold, flawless precision.
The interior hallway was dark, illuminated only by the pulsing amber error lights of the main server racks.
From down the hall, in the primary optical-drive vault, came the frantic, rhythmic tapping of a computer keyboard, followed by a woman’s desperate, high-pitched mutterings.
“Come on... come on, bypass the firewall...”
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I crept silently down the corridor, my back pressed flat against the concrete wall, stepping carefully over shards of shattered glass and torn security cables.
When I reached the open doorway of the vault, I raised my weapon, pivoted around the frame, and froze.
