Chapter 11 - The Subterranean Vault
Sarah didn't argue. She didn't engage with his twisted logic. She moved with violent, practiced efficiency.
She lunged forward, slamming the butt of her Glock hard into the side of David’s neck.
David gasped, his eyes rolling back as the blunt impact crushed his vagus nerve. He collapsed heavily onto the crimson carpet, groaning, his silver-rimmed glasses skittering across the floor.
Sarah didn't waste a second. She dropped to her knees, pulled David’s hands behind his back, and bound his wrists tightly with a pair of heavy plastic zip-ties from her jacket pocket.
She pulled a tactical knife from her boot, pressing the cold steel blade against his neck.
"The basement entrance," Sarah growled into his ear. "Where is it?"
David coughed, a thin line of blood trickling from his mouth, but he laughed—a soft, dry, wheezing sound.
"In the freezer," he gasped. "The third meat rack... pull the brass latch. But you're too late, Detective... Arthur is already initiating the final protocol..."
Sarah shoved his face into the carpet, grabbed her weapon, and ran toward the kitchen.
She burst through the swinging doors, sprinted to the walk-in freezer, and yanked the heavy insulated door open.
Cold air, thick with white frost, billowed out into her face. Hanging from chrome rails were rows of frozen beef carcasses wrapped in clear plastic.
She pushed past the cold meat, reaching the third rack on the left wall. Mounted behind a frozen side of beef was a polished brass lever.
She hauled the lever down.
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A loud pneumatic hiss echoed through the small space. The entire back wall of the freezer—a six-inch-thick panel of insulated steel—swung inward, revealing a brightly lit, concrete stairwell descending into the darkness below.
Sarah descended the stairs two at a time, her weapon raised, her heart hammering like a war drum in her chest.
