Chapter 2 - Transit Code Black
"Flatline warning on monitor three, keep bagging him!" Sarah shouted as the stretcher clattered against the elevator doors leading down to the tarmac exit. Mark jogged alongside the moving gurney, his boots squeaking rhythmically on the linoleum. Rex followed in an alert heel, eyes tracking every shadow in the maintenance corridor.
Mark kept the silver key clenched in his fist. Its serrated edges pressed sharply into his calloused skin. The key was stamped with three letters: V-A-X. It wasn't an airline code used anywhere in North America.
"We're losing pressure," Dr. Bennett called out, adjusting the valve on the oxygen bag as they cleared the exit doors into the rainy grey morning. The transport ambulance sat idling, its rear doors wide open, red flashers painting the wet concrete in rhythmic pulses. "Mark, stay clear of the doors! We need sterile room to work!"
"He spoke before he passed out," Mark said, leaning into the ambulance bay as Bennett jumped up inside. "Who brought him into the terminal? Who booked the seat?"
Bennett threw a hurried look over his shoulder while slapping monitoring pads onto Leo's bare chest. "No ticket in his pockets, Mark. No wallet, no ID bracelet. Just that jacket and forty dollars in cash wrapped in an envelope addressed to nobody. If you want answers, you talk to airport dispatch before the feds lock down the video footage!"
The paramedic slammed the ambulance doors shut with a sharp clang. The siren wound up instantly, screaming as the heavy vehicle surged forward, tires churning through standing rainwater toward the city trauma center.
Mark stood on the wet asphalt, rain misting over his tactical vest. Rex let out a short, low whine, nudging Mark’s knee. The dog’s nose remained pointed not toward the ambulance, but toward the service staircase leading directly beneath the baggage carousel tunnels.
Mark reached down and unclipped Rex’s heavy leather lead, clicking into place the shorter tactical strap. He drew his service radio up to his lapel. "Dispatch, this is K9-Unit 4. I need immediate security lock on Mezzanine Level 2 and the sub-level baggage belt four. We have a suspected assailant still within the perimeter."
Static crackled back through the speaker. A hollow voice replied, "Unit 4, stand down on that sector. Homeland transit security has assumed jurisdictional control. You are ordered to return to the precinct immediately."
Mark stared down at the radio. The order hadn't come through the standard precinct dispatch channel; it came through an encrypted relay.
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Rex snapped his jaws, pulling hard against the leash toward the underground door. On the wet metal handle of the fire door, a smear of fresh red blood glinted in the grey morning light.
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