Chapter 3 - ENEMY LINES
Sterling immediately moved to Vance’s body, stripping him of his spare magazines and the encrypted radio on his belt. The radio hissed to life in his ear.
"Vance, sit rep. Do we have the package?" a synthesized voice crackled.
Sterling crushed the earpiece beneath his heel. He turned back to Maya, his political persona completely stripped away. Now, he was just a soldier behind enemy lines. "What's your name?"
"Maya."
"Okay, Maya. You saved my life. Now I need you to help me save both of ours. If Vance is dirty, I don't know who else on my detail is compromised. The entire Secret Service perimeter downstairs could be in on it, or they could be completely blind. Either way, we can't use the front door, and we can't use the VIP elevators."
"The whole floor is locked down," Maya said, trying to force her breathing to steady. "There are K-9s in the lobby. If you walk out there, they'll shoot you and claim you were the target of a terror attack."
Sterling nodded grimly. "We need a ghost route. How do the staff move?"
"Service elevators," Maya said. "But they require a blue keycard. Vance’s card is red—executive override, but it logs every swipe in the main security frame. If you use it, they’ll track us."
Maya reached into her apron and pulled out her battered blue keycard on a retractable lanyard. "Mine only logs as 'Custodial 4'. But we have to cross the East Corridor to get to the chute."
"Lead the way," Sterling said, handing her Vance’s flashlight. "Keep low."
They stepped out of the master suite. The penthouse was a sprawling, multi-level maze of opulence. From the main ballroom downstairs, they could hear the muffled thumping of bass and the cheers of the political elite, entirely oblivious to the corpses bleeding out on the Italian marble upstairs.
As they crept down the dimly lit hallway, two men in tactical gear rounded the corner. They weren't Secret Service—they wore no insignia. Mercenaries.
"Hey!" one yelled, raising a rifle.
Sterling shoved Maya behind a decorative marble pillar and returned fire. The suppressed shots chipped the walls, raining plaster down on them.
"We're pinned," Sterling muttered, checking his magazine. "I've only got four rounds left."
Maya looked around desperately. She noticed the brass handle of the laundry chute set into the wall, originally designed for the massive volume of linens the penthouse generated.
"Governor," she whispered urgently, pointing. "The chute. It drops straight to the sub-basement laundry facility."
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"Is it wide enough?"
"Barely," she said. "But it's better than dying here."
