Chapter 9 - The Dual Key
I stood frozen in the cold airlock hallway, Vance’s keycard resting in my palm.
Through my earpiece, I could hear Ethan’s frantic breathing. “Mark, don't do it! The moment you swipe that card, the vault opens and he has everything he needs! He has a silenced pistol in his suit jacket—I’m looking at his security profile right now!”
I looked at Sterling. His right hand was resting inside his tailored jacket. The subtle outline of a firearm was clearly visible against the fabric.
“If I don't swipe this card,” I said softly to Sterling, “you don't get the stabilizer. Your buyers in Dubai walk away.”
Sterling’s smile vanished. His eyes turned into two slits of cold steel.
“If you don't swipe that card, Mr. Miller, I pull this gun, shoot you in the kneecap, take the card from your bleeding fingers, and swipe it myself.” He stepped closer, the barrel of a sleek black pistol emerging from his coat lining. “You are an amateur playing a game far above your pay grade. Swipe the card.”
I looked down at the console.
Two key slots.
I slowly reached my hand toward the left slot.
“On three,” Sterling commanded, bringing his keycard to the right slot. “One… two…”
We swiped simultaneously.
BEEP-BEEP.
A high-pitched chime echoed through the vault. Deep inside the concrete wall, heavy hydraulic pumps groaned into life. The massive five-ton steel vault door began to rotate, unsealing itself with a deafening hiss of compressed air.
Inside the vault, sitting on a glowing glass pedestal surrounded by plumes of cold nitrogen vapor, was a small, insulated chrome cylinder labeled AP-9: PERMANENT STABILIZER.
Sterling’s eyes lit up with unadulterated greed. He completely forgot about me, pushing past me into the cold vapor of the vault, reaching out his leather-gloved hands to grab the cylinder.
“Finally,” Sterling whispered, holding the chrome container up to the light. “Forty million dollars.”
“Ethan!” I screamed into my earpiece. “NOW!”
In Ethan’s apartment miles away, his fingers slammed down on a red key.
Ethan had hacked into the facility's local emergency response network three minutes prior, overriding the fire safety protocols for Sub-Level 4.
Instantly, a deafening siren began to blare throughout the underground complex. Red strobe lights flashed violently against the walls.
“WARNING: BIO-CONTAINMENT BREACH IN SUB-LEVEL 4. AUTOMATIC SEAL SEQUENCE INITIATED.”
Sterling whipped around, horror flashing across his face. “What did you do?!”
The massive five-ton steel vault door began to slam shut automatically, swinging inward with terrifying force.
Sterling lunged toward the exit, trying to squeeze through the closing gap.
I didn't run away. I surged forward, grabbing the heavy steel toolbox I had brought with me, and jammed it directly into the door’s threshold.
CRUNCH!
The massive steel vault door slammed into the heavy iron toolbox, jamming the gears with a sickening crunch of grinding metal. The door stopped three inches short of closing, stuck fast.
Sterling hit the steel door from the inside, screaming in rage. He tried to slide the cylinder through the tiny three-inch gap, but it was too wide.
“Miller!” Sterling shrieked, his face contorted in panic through the narrow glass window of the vault door. “Let me out! The air in here will be purged with nitrogen gas in sixty seconds! Open the door!”
I reached through the three-inch gap, my fingers reaching into the cold vapor, and grabbed the chrome cylinder containing the cure out of his trembling hands.
I pulled it back through the gap.
“You said it yourself, Sterling,” I said, looking through the thick glass at his terrified eyes. “Every good crime needs a narrative.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket. Connected to the facility’s wireless network via Ethan’s hack, my phone screen was displaying a live, uncompressed audio and video recording of Sterling’s entire confession—broadcast directly to the Chicago Police Department, the FBI, and the local news stations.
Sterling stared at the phone screen, realizing in one terrifying second that his voice, his face, and his complete confession were already recorded on federal servers.
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“You ruined yourself,” I whispered.
I turned around, holding the chrome cylinder tightly against my chest, and ran up the metal stairs as the sound of federal sirens began to wail in the streets above.
