Chapter 13
The gymnasium was quiet when Elena and Vance stepped through the heavy metal doors just after sunrise. The weak morning light filtered through the high, wired windows, casting long geometric shadows across the polished concrete floor and the bright blue fighting mat with its thick red trim.
Coach Miller was already there, standing alone in the center of the mat, wrapping his hands with white cotton tape in slow, rhythmic loops. He looked up as the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, his gaze shifting from Vance’s grim posture to Elena’s resolute face. He didn't ask questions; the tension in the room communicated everything that needed to be said.
“The northern access road is blocked by security transport trucks,” Miller said, his voice flat as he finished securing his left wrist. “Hayes and three of his civilian contractors are heading this way. They’re claiming a national security breach originating from this wing.”
Vance stepped toward the gym entrance, sliding the heavy interior deadbolt into place with a sharp, echoing snap. “They won't get through this door in under five minutes. That’s all the time we need.”
Elena opened her tactical laptop on the bench near the water cooler, snapping the satellite uplink transponder into place. The small LED indicator light flickered amber as it searched for a clear orbital lock through the gymnasium's reinforced steel roof.
The sudden, violent pounding of heavy fists echoed against the gym’s exterior doors down the hall.
“Open this door! Base security directive!” Captain Hayes’s voice roared from the corridor, muffled by the thick acoustic steel of the entrance. “Stand down immediately, Lieutenant, or face immediate arrest for treason and espionage!”
Elena didn't look back at the door. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, initiating the final upload sequence for the encrypted transaction logs. The progress bar appeared on the screen, crawling steadily toward completion.
60%... 75%... 90%...
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the building as a heavy metal battering ram struck the exterior doors. The reinforced frame groaned under the impact, the bolts rattling loose from the cinderblock wall.
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Miller stepped forward, walking directly to the edge of the blue fighting mat. He unzipped his grey t-shirt, tossing it onto the bench, and stood bare-chested with his fighting gloves laced tight, his stance wide and immovable. He looked at Vance, then back toward the trembling entrance doors.
“Looks like you’re finally going to get that real fight, Lieutenant,” Miller said, a grim, humorless smile touching his lips.
