Chapter 14 - Cornered in the Vault
-14-
Panic surged through my veins. The footsteps were coming fast, accompanied by the distinct sound of tactical boots and the metallic clinking of gear. There was no time to put the documents back into the storage bin.
“Hide!” I hissed to Sarah, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind a massive, industrial-sized paper shredder unit at the end of Section 4-B.
We crouched down in the narrow gap between the shredder and the metal shelving, our breathing shallow and silent as two figures in dark civilian windbreakers stepped into our aisle, sweeping the beams of high-intensity tactical flashlights across the floor.
“I told you someone disabled the motion sensor on the service hatch,” the first man growled, his voice low and gravelly. “Marcus’s network may be locked down, but the silent partners are still cleaning house.”
“Check the Reynolds files,” the second man replied, his flashlight beam sweeping dangerously close to our hiding spot, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air just inches above my head.
My heart hammered so loudly against my ribs I was certain they could hear it. I clutched the manila envelope containing Clara Reynolds’s diary and the forged death certificate tightly to my chest, while Sarah quietly slipped the micro-cassette recorder into her jacket pocket.
The footsteps drew closer. A pair of heavy boots stopped right beside the metal shelving unit where we were crouched.
I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst, praying silently that Chloe would be safe if we didn't make it out of this vault.
Suddenly, a loud, echoing crash reverberated from the upper level of the administration building—the sound of a heavy security door slamming shut, followed by a piercing automated fire alarm bell ringing through the pipes.
“What the hell is that?” the first man cursed, spinning around away from our aisle.
“Perimeter breach at the front gates,” his partner muttered into a shoulder radio. “Let’s move! Sweep the perimeter!”
The footsteps turned and bolted back toward the stairwell, their tactical flashlights bouncing against the concrete walls until the heavy fire door slammed shut behind them, plunging the archives room back into eerie, suffocating silence.
Sarah and I let out a simultaneous, shaky breath.
“That was entirely too close,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Come on,” I said, standing up on shaky legs. “We have what we need. Let’s get out of here before they realize the alarm was a false trigger.”
We scrambled back through the maintenance service hatch into the cool autumn air, racing across the athletic fields until we reached Sarah’s Honda Civic parked safely down the block.
Once we locked the doors and pulled away from the campus, Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out the small micro-cassette recorder we had rescued from the archive bin.
May you like
“Do you think we can play this?” she asked, looking at the vintage device.
“My uncle has an old studio deck at his electronics repair shop downtown,” I said, pressing the manila envelope firmly against my chest. “Let’s drive. It’s time to let Clara Reynolds speak for herself.”
