Chapter 6 - The Basement Infestation
The service basement was a labyrinth of concrete corridors, industrial laundry chutes, and massive HVAC units humming with low-frequency vibration.
Claire dropped into a tactical crouch behind a row of gray industrial linen bins, catching her breath. Her evening gown was torn at the hem, and her high heels had long since been discarded, leaving her stockinged feet bruised and aching against the cold concrete.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor from the north stairwell.
""Sweep the lower sector!"" a harsh voice commanded. ""The girl has nowhere to go. The exterior exits are sealed by our secondary unit.""
Claire's hand brushed against her small evening clutch, which she had miraculously managed to keep clutched in her hand. Inside wasn't lipstick or a compact mirror. It was a satellite burner phone—a direct line to her father's emergency tactical relay.
She pulled it out, punched a four-digit shortcut, and pressed it to her ear.
The phone connected on the first ring.
""Dad,"" she whispered urgently. ""I'm in the sub-level service corridor near Sector Four. They've sealed the exterior exits.""
""Hold your position, Elizabeth,"" Richard's voice came back through the static, calm and steady. ""I'm coming down the freight elevator shaft now. I bypassed their jammer using an analog frequency.""
""How many are up top?""
""Marcus took three men toward the roof helipad thinking you'd try for extraction via air. The rest are sweeping the ground floor. You have a window of ninety seconds before the sub-level team reaches your sector.""
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Claire clicked off the phone, tucked it securely into her torn bodice, and pulled a heavy metal wrench from a maintenance cart beside her. She gripped it with both hands, pressing her back against the damp concrete wall as the shadows shifted down the hallway.
A pair of tactical boots stepped around the corner.
