Chapter 8 - THE SECURE REFUGE
The rain began to fall again, turning the alley pavement into a slick mirror reflecting the neon signs of the city.
"They can't come here," Miriam said, her mind racing through the architectural layout of the municipal building. "The archive has three panic exits, reinforced concrete foundation walls built in 1912, and a private security lock tied directly to the city’s emergency dispatch grid."
"Concrete won't stop thermal-guided breaching charges if they track your cell phone ping," Marcus countered, pulling a encrypted satellite phone from his coat pocket. "We have twenty minutes before Vanguard’s hit squad realizes Clara isn't at the penthouse."
"Then we don't use cell phones," Miriam said, her voice dropping into the cold, absolute register of command she had learned from watching Callum Nash and Thomas Aldren operate. "Marcus, take my phone, leave it on the front desk upstairs, and walk out the front entrance to draw any spotters down the block. Clara and I are going out the service tunnel."
Marcus stared at her for a second, measuring her resolve. A grim, approving nod crossed his face. "Done. Stay safe, Miss Calloway."
He handed her a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol from his shoulder holster—a weapon she had never held before, but whose weight felt terrifyingly logical in her palm.
"Keep this locked," Marcus said. "Use it only if you have to."
He turned and vanished back up the alley into the rain.
"Clara," Miriam said, turning to the girl. "We’re going underground. Do you remember the Prohibition blueprints we were looking at an hour ago?"
Clara’s eyes widened with sudden, electric understanding. The drainage tunnel beneath the boiler room.
"Exactly," Miriam said. "Move."
They sprinted back down into the dim basement of the archive. Miriam grabbed her leather bag, stuffed the flash drive Clara handed her inside, and threw her heavy trench coat over her shoulders.
As they reached the heavy iron door of the boiler room at the back of the basement, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered violently—and then clicked off entirely.
Absolute darkness enveloped them.
Clack.
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The sound of heavy boots kicking open the front entrance of the municipal archive echoed through the hollow ventilation shafts above.
"Clear the lower level!" a harsh, gruff voice shouted from the main intake room. "Search every desk, every shelf! Find the girl!"
