Chapter 19 - THE FINAL UPLINK
The battle inside the subterranean entrance raged with terrifying intensity.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark concrete tunnel in violent, rhythmic strobes of orange light. Suppressed automatic gunfire chewed through the blast door's steel frame, showering the air with sparks, hot lead, and pulverized concrete.
Jack operated like an unstoppable machine of nature, utilizing every inch of cover, shifting between firing angles with the fluid, deadly efficiency of a master special warfare operator. He fired, racked the slide, and fired again, driving the mercenaries back every time they attempted to force their way through the narrow choke point.
Behind the map table, Grace worked feverishly to initiate the satellite sequence.
She inserted the flash drive into the safe's secondary interface port. The small LED screen on the safe flashed green: MAIN FRAME DETECTED. ENCRYPTING UPLINK PACKAGE...
0% ... 15% ... 35% ...
"Grace!" Jack yelled over the thunder of gunfire, reloading his shotgun with three fresh shells. "The uplink! How much longer?"
"Sixty seconds!" Grace called back, her hands moving across the interface keypad, bypassing two secondary firewalls. "It’s routing through the military satellite network over Hawaii!"
Suddenly, a heavy concussion grenade bounced through the blast door, landing three feet from Jack’s position.
"GRANADE!" Jack roared, throwing himself backward over the oak map table, shielding Grace with his heavy body just as the device exploded in a blinding flash of white light and pressure.
The shockwave knocked out the remaining green tritium lights, plunging the bunker into shadows lit only by the glowing computer terminal screen.
Commander Vance stepped through the smoking threshold, his heavy combat boots crunching over the spent shotgun shells on the floor. He raised his suppressed carbine, aiming it directly at Jack, who lay stunned on the concrete floor beside the ruined table.
"It ends here, Master Chief," Vance sneered, his finger tightening around the trigger.
A loud, clear voice echoed from the dark corner of the room.
"Hey, Vance."
Vance spun his weapon toward the sound—just as Grace Thornton stepped out from the shadows, holding her father's vintage walnut rifle raised to her shoulder.
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She had loaded the rifle's custom chamber with a single high-velocity round retrieved from her father's desk.
Before Vance could react, Grace pulled the trigger.
