Chapter 14 - THE BREACH AT LEVEL THREE
The breaching charge detonated with a thunderous, ear-splitting roar.
A brilliant flash of orange fire and blinding white smoke burst through the doorway, showering the concrete vault with jagged steel shrapnel and pulverized masonry. The heavy reinforced door was blown off its hinges, crashing onto the epoxy floor with a deafening metallic clang that echoed through the subterranean complex.
Before the smoke could clear, the three black-clad mercenaries poured through the shattered entryway, their carbines raised, sweeping the dark corners of the room with high-intensity weapon lights.
"Target status unknown!" the lead mercenary barked into his throat microphone, his voice muffled by his respirator mask. "Clear the workbench! Secure the terminal drive!"
From behind the high-density steel weapon rack, Jack Reeves erupted like an enraged shadow.
He didn't fire his weapon immediately. He closed the six-foot gap between himself and the lead mercenary in a split second, using the heavy stock of his shotgun to strike the operative’s carbine upward, deflecting a volley of suppressed bullets harmlessly into the concrete ceiling.
Jack drove his combat boot straight into the mercenary's chest, throwing him back against the ruined doorframe.
Simultaneously, Grace leaned out from behind the steel workbench, her service pistol locked in two hands. She executed two controlled double-taps with surgical precision.
BANG-BANG.
The center operative gasped as two nine-millimeter rounds struck the flexible high-impact plates of his tactical vest, forcing him back three paces into the smoky corridor.
The third mercenary turned his weapon toward Grace, his laser sight painting a bright red dot over her chest—but Jack was already upon him.
Jack grabbed the barrel of the operative’s carbine, twisting it downward with brutal, terrifying leverage that snapped the mercenary's wrist with an audible crunch. Jack followed through with a short, powerful elbow strike to the man's throat, neutralizing him instantly.
The remaining mercenary on the floor reached for his sidearm, but Grace stepped out from the smoke, her pistol aimed directly between his thermal goggles.
"Don't," Grace said, her voice dropping into an icy, absolute register that made the wounded operative freeze in place. "Who authorized your entry into this base?"
The mercenary let out a wet, raspy laugh through his respirator mask. "You're too late, Thornton... the contract was updated ten minutes ago. Every exit on this base is locked down under a level-one biological alert. You aren't leaving Coronado alive."
Jack stepped up beside Grace, picking up the fallen operative's tactical radio. He switched the channel knob until a low, rhythmic static hummed through the speaker.
"This is Master Chief Reeves," Jack said into the radio, his baritone voice dripping with cold promise. "Tell your controller at Prometheus that Colonel Thornton's daughter is coming for everything he built."
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Jack crushed the radio beneath the heel of his heavy combat boot, turning to Grace with a dark, resolute glare.
"We take the underground utility tunnel," Jack said, picking up the canvas rifle case and slinging it over his shoulder. "It leads directly to the submarine pens at the north pier. From there, we go to Point Loma."
