Chapter 5 - The Raid on Room 402
The heavy metal door of the basement briefing room groaned as the reinforced latch rattled under a sudden, powerful strike from the outside. Major Hayes jumped to his feet, instinctively reaching for the sidearm holster at his hip before remembering that security protocols prohibited firearms in the secure civilian annex. Evelyn Cross drew back sharply against the concrete wall, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as shadows flickered across the frosted glass window of the door.
“Federal Military Police! Open the door under executive security directive!” a gruff voice commanded from the hallway.
Loa Sing didn’t panic. Her military training kicked in with cold, methodical precision. She swept the physical voice recorder and the manila folder off the table, sliding them into the deep interior pocket of her service dress coat. “They aren’t here to arrest us legally,” she whispered to Hayes and Evelyn. “If they had a proper civilian warrant, local bailiffs would be with them. This is an internal snatch-and-grab.”
“We’re trapped,” Evelyn hissed, her eyes darting toward the small, barred high window near the ceiling that looked out onto the alleyway. “That window barely fits a stray cat.”
“We don’t need to run,” Loa said calmly, stepping directly in front of the door. “We need to buy ten minutes.”
The door burst inward with a deafening crash as the steel hinges sheared away from the concrete frame. Two military police officers in full tactical gear—black helmets, heavy ceramic vests, and suppressors fitted to their carbines—flooded the room, their weapon lights cutting through the green fluorescent haze. Behind them stepped Colonel Marcus Vance, his dark service uniform unwrinkled, his face twisted into a mask of cold, triumphant malice.
“Captain Sing,” Marcus drawled, stepping over the splintered wood of the doorframe. “I hear you’ve been making quite a scene tonight. My brother Julian is very upset about the way you handled his little presentation.”
“Your brother is a criminal, Colonel, and you’re harboring a treasonous supply ring,” Loa said, her voice steady and unyielding as she stood her ground against the leveled barrels of the tactical team.
Marcus chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that echoed off the concrete walls. He gestured to the two MPs. “Search her. She’s carrying classified intelligence stolen from a restricted sector.”
The lead MP stepped forward, heavy boots grinding against the broken glass. He reached out a gloved hand to grab Loa’s shoulder, but before his fingers could close around the dark blue fabric, the heavy metal security alarm of the federal building began to wail a piercing, automated shriek. Red emergency strobe lights flashed to life overhead, casting a bloody tint across the room.
Marcus froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “What is that?” he barked at the tactical team leader.
From the hallway behind the colonel, a lone civilian courier in a gray trench coat stepped calmly around the MPs, holding a glowing tablet high in the air. “Federal subpoena, Colonel Vance,” the courier announced clearly over the screaming alarm. “Issued ten seconds ago by Judge Miller. You are officially ordered to surrender all communication devices and hand over command of the Mojave sector.”
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Marcus stared at the tablet, his face turning an ash-gray, but as the courier swiped the screen, the entire building’s power grid suddenly failed, plunging them into total darkness.
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