Chapter 5 - The Sub-Basement Trap
The quiet in the executive study was suffocating.
Five minutes felt like five hours. I paced back and forth across the Persian rug, my eyes darting between the heavy oak doors and the digital clock on Vincent’s desk.
3:15 p.m. 3:22 p.m. 3:30 p.m.
I couldn't just sit here doing nothing.
I stepped up to Vincent’s primary terminal on the main desk. The screen was secured with a biometric scanner, but right beside it was the internal building monitoring panel—a secondary system used for climate control and emergency overrides. Because of my years working the night shift, I knew the physical layout of Hayes Tower better than almost anyone. Level B4 wasn't just a server room; it was directly connected to the main water drainage system and the old pneumatic tube tunnels built in the 1950s.
If someone was trapped on B4, there was only one way out if the primary elevators were locked down: the emergency stairwell behind maintenance chute 3.
Suddenly, the screen on the emergency panel flashed red. A blaring silent alarm indicator lit up: LEVEL B4 - POWER CUT - FIRE SUPPRESSION ACTIVATED.
My heart stopped. Fire suppression in the server rooms meant halon gas. If the gas was discharged, anyone trapped inside without an oxygen mask would suffocate within three minutes.
"Vincent," I whispered, horror rising in my throat.
Ignoring every instruction Vincent had given me, I grabbed a master keycard from the top drawer of the desk, sprinted out of the office, and ran toward the service elevator at the end of the corridor.
The service elevator plunged rapidly down the shaft, passing floor after floor until it reached the dark, concrete bowels of Level B4.
When the doors opened, the smell of burnt rubber and chemical gas hit my nostrils. The basement was bathed in flashing red emergency lights. The hum of massive generators echoed through the damp concrete corridors.
I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth, stepping carefully over thick cables scattered across the wet floor.
"Vincent?!" I called out, my voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt. "Luke?!"
Silence answered me, followed by the dull sound of a distant metallic crash.
I moved toward the sound, creeping around a massive air filtration unit. Ahead, the door to the main server room hung off its hinges, thick smoke billowing out into the hallway.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed my arm!
I gasped and tried to pull away, but a strong arm pulled me into a dark alcove. I was about to scream when a hand covered my mouth.
"Shh! It's me!"
I looked up to see Luke. His coat was gone, his white dress shirt was stained with soot, and he had a deep cut bleeding above his left eyebrow.
"Luke!" I whispered frantically as he released his hand. "Where is Vincent? What happened?"
"It was a setup," Luke hissed, pressing his back against the concrete wall while holding his pistol ready. "The Moretti hit squad hijacked the primary security feed. They cut the power to trap us in the lower corridors. Vincent went in after the shooter, but two more armed men flanked us from the boiler room."
"Where is he now?"
"Inside the main server vault," Luke said, grimacing as he touched the bleeding cut on his forehead. "He managed to seal the inner blast doors from the inside, but the halon gas system was triggered manually from the control room. If I can't reset the gas valve in two minutes, the oxygen in that vault will be gone!"
"Where is the gas valve?" I demanded.
"In the maintenance crawlspace behind chute 3," Luke said, pointing toward a narrow metal door across the hallway. "But there's a gunman pinned down near the junction box. Every time I step out, he opens fire."
I looked at the narrow metal door, then at Luke's heavy frame. He was over six feet tall and built like a tank. He would never fit through the narrow utility pipes in time.
But I could.
"Cover me," I said firmly, tightening my ponytail.
Luke stared at me like I had lost my mind. "Claire, no! If Vincent finds out I let you get shot—"
"If we don't turn off that gas, Vincent dies!" I shouted over the hum of the emergency sirens. "Give me your flashlight!"
Luke hesitated for a split second, then swore under his breath and handed me a small, heavy tactical flashlight. "On three, I draw his fire. You run for the low pipe hatch under the junction box. Don't look back!"
"Got it."
"One... two... THREE!"
Luke stepped out from the alcove, firing three rapid shots down the dark hallway. Heavy gunfire immediately erupted in response, bullets ricocheting off the concrete walls with terrifying deafening cracks, sparking bright light in the dark.
I dropped low, scrambling across the slick floor on my hands and knees. Bullets whizzed through the air above me, deafeningly loud. I reached the small square hatch beneath the junction box, ripped open the latch, and wriggled my body inside the narrow metal duct.
The duct was cold, cramped, and smelled of rust and dust. I squeezed forward, dragging myself through the dark pipe with my elbows and knees, using the tactical flashlight between my teeth to illuminate the path.
Up ahead, I saw the emergency yellow shut-off valve for the Halon 1301 suppression system.
The valve was locked with a heavy steel chain and padlock.
"Damn it!" I cried out, dropping the flashlight from my mouth.
I looked around frantically. Beside the pipe was a heavy iron pipe wrench left behind by the night maintenance team. I grabbed the wrench with both hands, hauled myself up, and slammed it down onto the padlock with all the strength in my body.
CLANG!
The lock held.
"Come on!" I screamed, thinking of Vincent trapped inside the airtight vault, suffocating in the dark.
I slammed the wrench down again.
CLANG!
The lock snapped!
I grabbed the bright red wheel of the valve and turned it counterclockwise with everything I had. The valve groaned, rusted metal grinding against rusted metal, until it finally spun freely.
A loud hiss echoed through the pipes as the gas line depressurized.
Above me, the warning sirens changed pitch, and the emergency exhaust fans kicked on with a roaring hum, sucking the chemical gas out of the server vault.
I slumped against the damp metal wall of the pipe, gasping for air, my hands raw and bleeding.
Suddenly, the heavy metal grating at the end of the duct was ripped open from the outside.
Strong hands reached into the narrow space, grabbing my arms and pulling me out into the light with powerful, frantic force.
I tumbled out onto the floor, coughing violently.
"Claire!"
I opened my eyes to see Vincent kneeling beside me. His suit jacket was gone, his tie was loosened, and his gray eyes were filled with an intense, raw emotion I had never seen in him before—fear.
"Claire, look at me," Vincent demanded, his large hands cradling my face, his thumbs gently wiping away dust and soot from my cheeks. "Are you hit? Did they shoot you?"
"I... I shut off the valve," I stammered, my chest heaving as I sucked in clean air. "The gas... it stopped."
Vincent stared at me, his eyes dark with an overwhelming mix of disbelief, gratitude, and fierce possessiveness.
"You crazy, reckless woman," Vincent whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he pulled me hard against his chest, holding me so tightly I could hear the rapid, heavy pounding of his heart against his ribs. "I told you to stay in the penthouse."
"You would have died," I murmured, resting my forehead against his shoulder, letting the warm scent of his cedarwood cologne wash over me.
"I don't care," Vincent hissed softly into my hair. "You don't risk your life for me, Claire. Never again."
Luke walked up behind us, wiping blood from his cheek, looking down at us with a weary, respectful smile. "The gunman is down, Boss. Securing the perimeter now."
May you like
Vincent pulled back slightly, looking down into my eyes. His expression hardened into pure, lethal steel.
"The traitor didn't just target me today," Vincent declared, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. "They put you in danger. And for that, I am going to tear Chicago apart."
