Chapter 13 - THE PROMETHEUS THREAT
Before Grace or Jack could process the weight of the Colonel's final message, a harsh red warning light began flashing atop the vault's primary electrical junction box.
An automated siren began to wail—a low, pulsating tone that vibrated through the reinforced floorboards of the subterranean room.
SECURITY ALERT: EXTERNAL PROTOCOL OVERRIDE DETECTED ON LEVEL THREE.
Jack moved instantly, his decades of special warfare training taking over without a single second of hesitation. He slammed his hand against the terminal's console, ejecting the flash drive and sweeping the hand-written coordinates off the workbench into his tactical jacket pocket.
"They found the ping," Jack barked, grabbing the vintage walnut rifle and sliding it back into its heavy canvas case. "Prometheus has active sleeper cells embedded within the base security network. That alarm wasn't triggered by base command—it was triggered by an external hack."
Grace pulled her service pistol from her holster, racking the slide to seat a round into the chamber with a sharp, lethal metallic click. Her fear had completely vanished, replaced by an absolute, icy focus inherited from generations of military officers.
"Where are the coordinates pointing, Jack?" Grace demanded as she stepped toward the heavy vault door.
"The old naval ammunition depot at Point Loma," Jack replied, pulling a heavy tactical shotgun from the wall rack and slinging two bands of twelve-gauge shells across his chest. "It was decommissioned in nineteen-ninety-eight. The entire site is subterranean, built directly into the coastal cliffs. If your father hid the primary decryption key there, it’s behind three feet of reinforced concrete and eighty feet of solid granite."
The pneumatic seal on the heavy vault door hissed sharply.
Through the narrow bulletproof glass viewport set into the steel door, Jack saw three dark figures advancing down the concrete corridor. They were not wearing standard Navy Master-at-Arms fatigues. They wore matte-black tactical gear without insignia or unit patches, armed with suppressed carbines and specialized thermal night-vision goggles.
"Mercenaries," Jack growled, his eyes hardening into flint. "Prometheus contractors. They’re already inside the perimeter."
"How did they bypass the surface guards?" Grace asked, lowering her stance and taking cover behind the steel workbench.
"Because the surface guards don't know this vault exists," Jack answered, flicking the safety off his shotgun. "This facility was erased from base schematics twenty years ago. The men coming down that hall aren't here to arrest us, Grace. They're here to clean up the last loose ends of Project Archangel."
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The lead mercenary reached the door, attaching a rectangular breaching charge directly against the heavy electronic lock mechanism. A bright red timer began counting down on the explosive device: 00:05... 00:04... 00:03...
"Get behind the weapon rack!" Jack yelled, grabbing Grace by her tactical vest and pulling her down into the fortified alcove at the rear of the room.
