Chapter 15 - The Subterranean Skirmish-15
"Don't move, Mr. Owens," the tactical operator hissed through his throat microphone, his voice a cold, mechanical rasp that sounded exactly like the operators from the Vanguard annex. He didn't point the weapon at my head; his visor remained locked onto the leather journal and the industrial data tape clutched in my right hand. "Hand over the repository files. The Vanguard board has officially terminated your family's civil trust."
"The trust doesn't belong to your board, you coward," I said, my voice steady and cold as I kept my body low, my weight balanced on the balls of my feet. "And the federal investigators are already clearing the mile marker 14 foundation as we speak."
The operator let out a sharp, mocking chuckle. "The annex is private commercial real estate, Mr. Owens. Your federal friends can't touch the core pylons without a signed state engineering variance—a variance that our legal representatives in the capital just tied up in administrative litigation fifteen minutes ago. You have no cards left to play."
He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching down to grab the data tape from my grip.
I didn't argue. I didn't wait for him to touch the plastic casing. I launched my entire body weight forward, driving the steel head of my crowbar straight into the center of his automatic carbine's barrel assembly.
CRACK.
The weapon fired a wild, uncontrolled three-round burst into the concrete floorboards, sparks and flying stone fragments blasting across my boots as the force of my impact tore the gun out of his broken grip. The carbine spun across the floorboards, disappearing into the dark recesses of the safety deposit racks.
The operator let out a sharp guttural curse, his night-vision visor flying off his helmet as he stumbled backward against the iron pylon. But he was a highly trained operative; he reached into his tactical vest, his hand emerging with a long, serrated military combat knife, lunging straight toward my chest with a terrifying, professional velocity.
I didn't think about my safety. I didn't think about the knife. I swung the heavy steel crowbar in a brutal, horizontal arc, catching him squarely across the wrists with a force that shattered the bones in his forearm.
The combat knife flew from his frozen fingers, clattering dismally into the dark pool of stagnant drainage water in the corner of the corridor.
Arthur Pendelton and Clara Vance slammed the mechanical override panel valves open down the hall, a loud hiss of compressed air echoing through the tunnel as the primary security doors tore open. A dozen heavily armed municipal police officers flooded the corridor, their high-intensity tactical flashlights pinning the operator against the iron racks as they slammed him down onto the concrete, securing his wrists in steel cuffs.
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"The building is secure, Sawyer!" Pendelton shouted, running down the hall, his face covered in sweat but a proud, victorious light in his old eyes. "The emergency grid has reset! The tape is safe!"
I looked down at the industrial data block in my hand, my jaw tightening as the white lights of the bank vault finally stabilized. "Let’s get back to Oakhill, Arthur. It’s time to drill the concrete."
