Chapter 64 - The Surface Tremor
On the monitor, the truck rammed the heavy padlocked chain on the secondary forestry gate, sending iron links snapping across the gravel. Behind Donald’s vehicle followed a flatbed commercial transport carrying an industrial core-drilling rig, flanked by two unmarked utility vans.
"He went to the creditors," Arthur said, his face pale as he watched the convoy pull onto the private gravel drive Cassidy had legally reclaimed only hours earlier. "When the court froze Donald's accounts and placed Eleanor under federal investigative hold, Donald didn't surrender. He sold the sub-surface mineral exploration rights to an unregulated private liquidation outfit."
"He sold what he never owned," Cassidy said, standing up and pulling the primary power interlocks on the console. "He thinks he's coming to salvage copper wiring, diesel generators, and timber to post his bail and pay off his loan sharks."
A low shudder rippled through the floorplates of the sub-trench bunker. The external telemetry system signaled that the core-drilling rig on the surface had already deployed its hydraulic outriggers near the edge of the old carriage house—right above the secondary ventilation intake for the deep complex.
Cassidy engaged the audio pickup on the surface gate camera.
Through the scratchy speaker on the terminal, Donald Vance’s voice echoed down into the depths of the earth, sharp, frantic, and dripping with manic desperation.
*"I don't give a damn about the court order!"* Donald was screaming at the driver of the flatbed. *"The judge is on her payroll! My mother built this place, and that little bitch Cassidy thinks she can throw me out of my own inheritance with a piece of paper? Drill the damn pad! The old man told me there are five thousand ounces of silver bullion in the bedrock foundations! We take it tonight, we cross the state line into Idaho by sunrise, and she can choke on her damn mortgage!"*
Arthur grabbed the emergency comms mic on the wall. "I'll call the Lane County Sheriff. Sheriff Campbell has the certified contempt warrant."
"No," Cassidy said, her hand coming down firmly over Arthur's wrist. "Sheriff Campbell is forty-five minutes away through winding mountain roads in the dark. By the time two deputies arrive, Donald’s drill will puncture the high-pressure glycol lines that cool the sub-level transformers. If that line blows, this whole installation suffocates in toxic vapor, and the surface house collapses into the sinkhole."
"Then what do we do?" Arthur asked. "We're five thousand feet beneath the ridge. We can't climb that shaft in time."
Cassidy looked down at the mechanical keyboard, then at the heavy brass pneumatic switches labeled *SURFACE INTERLOCKS — SECTION 1 THROUGH 4*.
May you like
"We don't climb," Cassidy said, her eyes flashing with cold, clinical precision. "Arthur, did you think Project Boreas was just a listening post? This facility was designed to control the structural integrity of the entire plateau. Donald thinks he's standing on solid ground. Let's remind him whose house he's trying to tear down."
***
