Chapter 66 - The Salt Flat Signal
The sterile silence of the federal holding facility was instantly shattered by the ear-splitting shriek of high-priority security alarms. Red strobe lights began to pulse frantically along the corridors, casting long, bleeding shadows across the walls.
Director Sterling’s face drained of every drop of color, her immaculate professional composure fracturing into pure, unadulterated panic. She lunged forward, her hand clawing toward the satellite beacon on the table, but I snatched it up a fraction of a second before her fingers could close around it.
"You absolute fool!" Sterling screamed, her voice cracking as the sound of boots and shouting echoed heavily from the corridor outside. "You have no idea what you've just triggered! That network isn't just military logistics—it's an active tier-zero intelligence grid! You've just exposed every deep-cover asset from the South China Sea to the Aleutian Islands!"
"Then maybe Admiral Vance should have picked better business partners," I said coldly, slipping the beacon back into my vest pocket and drawing my carbine, leveling the barrel squarely at the center of the doorway.
Behind us, Julianna screamed as the heavy steel door began to shudder under the impact of heavy hydraulic breaching charges being slapped against the outer frame by unseen security teams. Charles curled himself into a tight ball beneath the steel table, sobbing hysterically, completely paralyzed by terror.
"Ethan! They're going to kill us all!" Julianna wailed, grabbing at the sleeve of my tactical jacket with trembling fingers. "Make them stop! Please!"
"They aren't going to kill us, Julianna," I said without looking down at her, my eyes fixed on the heavy steel door as the countdown on the hallway speakers reached its final seconds. "Not because they don't want to—but because right now, half a million people outside this mountain are watching a live satellite data stream with their names on it."
*BOOM.*
The heavy steel door blew inward in a blinding flash of concussive smoke and flying metal shrapnel, tearing the frame straight out of the reinforced concrete wall. Through the swirling white smoke, the dark, tactical silhouettes of a dozen heavily armed Division Nine operators swarmed into the room, their assault rifles raised, green laser sights painting the walls.
"Target the hostile! Secure the asset!" a voice roared through the smoke.
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I shoved Julianna down behind the heavy steel table, raised my carbine, and fired a rapid, calculated burst into the overhead sprinkler main.
Gallons of freezing high-pressure water instantly flooded the room, mixing with the thick gray smoke and creating a blinding, chaotic downpour. In the sudden confusion, alarms shrieked louder, warning lights spun frantically, and the entire concrete bunker began to tremble as a low, mechanical grinding sound echoed from deep beneath the floorboards—the sound of the facility’s emergency blast-doors sealing down from the outside, locking us all inside the vault together.
