Chapter 50 - Into the Submerged Vault
"Halon!" Dominic shouted, recognizing the chemical smell instantly as the oxygen-depleting suppression gas filled the small underground chamber. "Hold your breath!"
In a single fluid motion, Dominic grabbed Casey by the arm, dragging her backward through the steel bulkhead door just as the automated security system locked down with a deafening pneumatic thud. The heavy steel bolts slammed home, sealing the vault tight from the inside.
Coughing and gasping for fresh air, they tumbled out onto the stone floor at the base of the ladder. Julianna raced down the iron rungs from above, her face pale with panic.
"Telemetry dropped!" Julianna yelled over the roar of the building's emergency ventilation system kicking in. "The moment the vault sealed, a localized override signal severed our data feed from Cambridge!"
Dominic helped Casey to her feet, checking her over to ensure she hadn't inhaled the heavy suppression gas. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Casey gasped, her heart pounding against her ribs as she clutched her flashlight. "The ledgers... they're locked inside the vault."
"Not necessarily," a familiar, aristocratic voice chimed from the ladder above. Alistair Vance leaned down into the shaft, holding a heavy iron crank handle. "My dear children, you truly must learn to read the architectural schematics of mid-century intelligence installations. Vault B-72 was engineered during the Berlin Crisis. It has an independent mechanical gravity-drain and pressure-release valve located behind the northern foundation wall."
Dominic looked up at Alistair, a grim smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Show me."
Working with desperate speed, Alistair directed Dominic to a secondary panel hidden behind a rotting wooden storage crate in the outer corridor. Using a heavy brass pry bar, Dominic ripped the rotting wood away, exposing a manual bronze hand-wheel connected to a thick copper pipe running upward toward the riverbank.
"Turn it counter-clockwise," Alistair instructed from above. "Three full rotations. It vents the gas directly into the gravel filtration bed outside the seawall."
Dominic gripped the heavy bronze wheel, throwing his entire weight into the frozen mechanism. With a piercing screech of protesting metal, the valve unseated, and a massive rush of compressed air hissed out into the night, venting the dangerous halon gas safely away from the subterranean chamber.
A minute later, the red warning lights above the bulkhead door flickered from crimson to a steady, amber standby glow. The pneumatic locks disengaged with a soft pneumatic sigh.
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Casey stepped forward, gripping the handle of the steel door and pulling it open. The air inside the vault was now clear, though smelling faintly of ozone and old paper.
"No more games," Dominic said, stepping past her with his flashlight drawn. He walked directly to the oak partner's desk, picked up the stack of black leather-bound ledgers, and tucked them securely into his tactical waterproof bag. "Let's get these back upstairs before our anonymous benefactor decides to drop by for a personal visit."
