Chapter 9 - The Siege Below
"They found the hatch," I said, my momentary shock evaporating instantly into pure survival instinct. I lowered the gun from Larkin’s chest and spun around, sweeping the flashlight beam down the dark, curving corridor of the steam tunnel.
"It's a dead end about three hundred yards down," Larkin said, his executive calm returning in an instant as he shoved the brass key back into his pocket and drew his own backup weapon from an ankle holster—a compact Sig Sauer. "Old maintenance junction. There's a drainage ladder leading up into the basement of the New York Public Library annex."
"Move," I commanded, breaking into a sprint across the uneven concrete floor, my bare feet ignoring the sharp gravel and pooling water.
Behind us, the heavy steel hatch gave way with a deafening screech of snapping iron bolts. Shouts echoed down the narrow concrete tube—rough, clipped commands in German and Russian. Vance’s private cleanup crew. They hadn't just sent local thugs; they had deployed professionals who knew every underground rat run in Manhattan.
"They're closing the distance!" Larkin yelled over my shoulder as a silenced bullet sparked off the concrete wall two feet to our left, sending a shower of white dust flying into our faces.
"Keep running!" I shouted back, ducking low as another round whined past, embedding itself in a rusted iron pipe overhead and hissing out a jet of scalding steam.
The tunnel began to narrow, the concrete walls giving way to crumbling brick archways built over a century ago. The air grew thick with the smell of old dust and mildew. Ahead of us, the tunnel terminated in a massive circular bulkhead door fitted with an old-style industrial wheel lock.
"The library annex ladder!" Larkin pointed as we skidded to a halt in front of the heavy iron wheel. "Turn it counterclockwise! Three full rotations!"
I threw my weight against the rusted iron spokes, my muscles straining against decades of corrosion. Behind us, the beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the wet walls of the corridor.
"Target spotted!" a harsh voice barked from the shadows.
"Hurry, Penelope!" Larkin shouted, stepping back and raising his Sig Sauer, unleashing three rapid shots down the corridor to suppress the advancing shooters. The muzzle flashes painted the damp brick walls in violent strokes of orange and shadow.
I threw all my remaining strength into the wheel. With a heavy, resonant clunk, the internal locking mechanism disengaged. I yanked the bulkhead door open just as a bullet struck the iron frame an inch from my ear, sending a hot spray of metal fragments against my cheek.
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"Go! Go!" Larkin yelled, shoving me through the narrow opening into the vertical vertical shaft beyond just as a fresh wave of automatic gunfire erupted behind us.
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