Chapter 10
The air in the subterranean utility tunnel was thick, damp, and smelled heavily of stagnant river water and ancient rust. The only illumination came from the narrow beam of the tactical flashlight mounted beneath the barrel of Reyes’s Glock as they moved at a brisk, sliding jog across the slick concrete floor. Overhead, the low, vibrating rumble of the subway trains shook the brick arches, sending small cascades of dust and mortar grit down onto their shoulders.
Elena clutched the heavy aluminum Pelican case tightly against her chest with both arms, her breathing heavy but controlled. She knew every inch of these forgotten conduits, having mapped them during her early years as a systems auditor for municipal infrastructure projects.
“Keep moving,” Elena urged quietly, her voice echoing down the arched corridor. “The primary access hatch to the street-level storm drain is two hundred yards ahead. If Thomas’s tactical team deployed acoustic sensors, they’ll be tracking our footsteps through the seismic vibrations in the foundation.”
Reyes glanced back over his shoulder into the pitch-black darkness behind them, his ears straining to catch any sound over the distant roar of the subway lines. “How did they find the loft so fast?” he asked, keeping his voice down to a sharp whisper.
“They didn't track our physical location,” Elena replied without slowing her pace. “They tracked the encryption handshake I used to access the primary satellite relay from your burner phone. The moment you connected to the network, their automated perimeter flagged your IMEI number. We were compromised the second you answered my call.”
Reyes felt a cold pang of guilt tighten in his chest. “I walked right into their trap. I brought them straight to you.”
“You bought us enough time to wipe the core servers,” Elena countered firmly, her tone leaving no room for self-pity. “If Thomas gets his hands on the complete decryption key before midnight, the Janus grid goes live across the entire Eastern Seaboard. What happens to you or me tonight doesn't matter. What matters is keeping that key out of the machine.”
They rounded a sharp corner in the brickwork, coming to a dead stop before a rusted vertical iron ladder that disappeared up into a circular cast-iron manhole cover set into the ceiling six feet above. A faint sliver of amber light filtered down through the cracks, accompanied by the muffled sounds of late-night Manhattan traffic splashing through the rain.
Reyes holstered his weapon, stepped up to the ladder, and gripped the cold iron rungs. He pushed upward against the heavy metal lid, but it refused to budge. It had been bolted shut from the outside.
“It’s welded or pinned,” Reyes muttered, bracing his boots against the lower rungs and heaving his weight upward with a grunt of exertion. The metal groaned, but the lock held firm.
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“Stand back,” Elena said, setting the Pelican case down on the concrete and reaching into her suit jacket to pull out a small, military-grade thermal breaching charge she had grabbed from the loft.
Before she could arm the device, the sound of heavy tactical boots echoing down the concrete tunnel behind them froze them both in their tracks.
