Chapter 4 - THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION
The mercenaries were advancing, laying down suppressing fire that shredded the expensive artwork lining the walls. Sterling fired twice, dropping the man on the left, but the second mercenary kept coming.
"Go! Now!" Sterling yelled.
Maya ripped open the brass door. The chute was a dark, yawning metallic throat that smelled of stale detergent and lint. Without hesitating, she swung her legs in and pushed off.
It was a terrifying plunge. The aluminum walls scraped against her shoulders as she slid at a breakneck pace in total darkness. She curled into a ball, trying to reduce the friction, praying the catching bins at the bottom were full.
Seconds later, she hit a mountain of hotel linens with a heavy, breathless thud. Dust and feathers exploded around her. She scrambled out of the massive canvas bin just as a heavy, metallic slam echoed from above.
Governor Sterling shot out of the chute, landing in the linens with the grace of a falling safe. He groaned, rolling over and clutching his ribs.
"You alive?" Maya asked, pulling him up by his tuxedo jacket.
"I've had better Tuesday nights," he grimaced. He checked his weapon. "We're in the sub-basement. We need to find a landline that doesn't route through the hotel's main PBX switchboard."
The laundry facility was a cavernous, industrial nightmare of humming washing machines the size of minivans, hissing steam presses, and fluorescent lights that flickered with a sickly green hue.
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors at the far end of the room swung open. A sweep team of three men, dressed in the same unmarked tactical gear, entered, their rifles raised. They were sweeping the lower levels.
"Take cover!" Sterling hissed. They dove behind a row of colossal industrial dryers.
"They're tracking the K-9s," Maya whispered, noticing a handler bringing a German Shepherd into the room. "The dog will smell the gunpowder on you."
Sterling looked at his gun. Two bullets. Three heavily armed men and a dog. The math was fatal.
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Maya looked at a massive vat of industrial bleach and ammonia sitting near the drain grates. Her mother had taught her never to mix them. It created chloramine gas—highly toxic, highly corrosive.
She looked at Sterling. "Hold your breath."
