Chapter 13 - Into the Dragon’s Maw
The rain fell in blinding sheets across the asphalt apron of Terminal 9.
Massive stacks of colorful shipping containers towered five stories high like the walls of a labyrinth.
The roar of the Atlantic wind whipped through the steel frames, howling like a dying beast.
Matteo led the way through the narrow lanes between the steel containers, moving with predatory grace.
Emma kept her weapon drawn, her eyes darting across every elevated catwalk and crane platform above.
Victoria stumbled behind them, clutching the back of Emma’s jacket to keep from collapsing in the wind.
High above them, illuminated by sweeping industrial halogen spotlights, rose the gantry operations tower.
The building was a brutalist structure of reinforced concrete and tinted plate glass, suspended over the docks.
At the top of the tower, the master dispatch room glowed like a lighthouse in the storm.
Matteo reached the heavy reinforced steel door at the base of the gantry’s service elevator shaft.
He pulled the master electronic keycard Julian had cloned from the fallen mercenary in the rail yard.
He swiped the magnetic strip across the access panel.
The indicator light flickered from crimson to deep emerald green with a soft mechanical hiss.
The pneumatic seals released, and the heavy door slid inward into the concrete wall.
“Elevator is compromised,” Matteo whispered, pointing toward the emergency stairwell shaft.
“Six flights of stairs.”
“Keep your footsteps on the outer edge of the treads to minimize the sound of the metal ringing.”
They began the grueling ascent up the narrow spiral staircase.
Every muscle in Emma’s legs screamed with exhaustion, but the ticking clock in her mind propelled her upward.
She could hear her father’s voice echoing in her ears with every step.
Do not look for me; look for my little girl.
He had believed in her survival when she was just a frightened child in an oversized coat.
Now she was climbing the steps to take back the life that had been stolen from them both.
They reached the fourth-floor landing when the building’s internal intercom system crackled to life.
The smooth, resonant baritone of Harrison Crane echoed through the concrete stairwell.
“Matteo,” Harrison’s voice projected through the ceiling speakers with sickening, theatrical amusement.
“I must admit, your persistence borders on the heroic.”
“Most men would have bled out in that railway yard or fled across the state line with their lives.”
“Instead, you drag my disappointing daughter up six flights of stairs to witness her own funeral.”
Matteo stopped on the landing, his posture unyielding as he looked up toward the ceiling speaker.
He did not waste his breath replying to a loudspeaker; he kept moving, taking two steps at a time.
Victoria leaned against the cold concrete wall, tears mingling with the sweat running down her face.
“Father, please!” Victoria shouted toward the speaker, her voice breaking into hysterical sobs.
“Call off the detonation!”
“You have billions of dollars… you can leave the country tonight!”
A cruel, mocking laugh rattled through the intercom system.
“Victoria, you were always blinded by your mother’s sentimental weakness,” Harrison replied coldly.
“You panicked over an ancient piece of paper delivered by an orphaned peasant girl.”
“You brought Matteo directly to the one location that could bury us both.”
“You are no longer an asset to the Crane name, my dear.”
“You are an operational liability that will be written off as a tragic casualty of Moretti’s industrial terrorism.”
The intercom clicked off with a sharp snap of static, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.
Victoria sank to her knees on the metal grating, completely broken by the ultimate betrayal.
“He never loved me,” she whispered, staring into the dark stairwell.
“I was just another shell corporation to him.”
Emma stopped on the stairs, turned around, and pulled Victoria up by her forearms with forceful determination.
“Welcome to the real world, Victoria,” Emma said, her voice fierce and uncompromising.
“Now stop crying and help us stop him from murdering three thousand other people.”
Victoria wiped her eyes with the back of her bruised hand, a spark of genuine hatred replacing her fear.
“The master control room has an armored blast door,” Victoria said, her voice dropping into a raspy whisper.
“The override sequence cannot be entered from the keyboard if the manual lockdown lever is engaged.”
“Where is the manual lockdown lever?” Matteo asked, pausing at the threshold of the sixth floor.
“Inside the hydraulic pump room behind the primary server rack,” Victoria explained rapidly.
“There is a maintenance crawlspace beneath the floorplates that leads directly under the console.”
“Harrison’s bodyguards will be watching the main entrance; they will not be watching the floor vents.”
Matteo looked at Emma, assessing the narrow dimensions of the crawlspace Victoria described.
A grown man with broad shoulders could never squeeze through the ventilation shafts.
“Emma,” Matteo began, his eyes filled with unspoken concern.
“I will do it,” Emma said before he could finish the sentence.
“You kick in the front door and draw their fire.”
“I will crawl beneath the floorplates and disengage the manual lockdown lever.”
Matteo reached out, his hand cupping the back of her neck and pulling her forehead against his lips.
“The moment that lever is pulled, you stay flat on the ground until I tell you it is clear,” he commanded softly.
“Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Emma whispered, looking into the dark depths of his eyes.
May you like
Matteo unholstered his weapon, signaled Julian’s team over the radio, and placed his boot against the final door.
“Let us finish this war.”
