Chapter 94 - The Subterranean Trench
The air inside the maintenance tunnel reeked of ozone, diesel exhaust, and raw rocket propellant. Metal gratings clattered beneath our boots as Abigail and I moved down the spiral staircase, weapons raised, scanning every shadowed catwalk.
Below us, the cavernous interior of the missile complex opened up into a modern-day inferno. Silo Seven was a monumental concrete cylinder dropping two hundred feet into the bedrock. In the center of the abyss hung the colossal, white-and-black spear of a Minuteman III ICBM, surrounded by scaffolding, fueling lines, and high-voltage umbilical conduits.
Dozens of armed operatives in sterile white hazard suits and black plate carriers were swarming the gantry platforms. On the command deck overlooking the missile tube stood a man in a tailored charcoal overcoat, watching the launch telemetry screens with hands folded casually behind his back.
I recognized that posture. It was the same arrogant, untouchable posture Julian Sterling had displayed when he told me that his family bought judges and owned politicians.
"Harrison Sterling’s older brother," Abigail whispered beside me, her eyes narrowing to slits of pure fury. "Victor Sterling. He was declared dead twelve years ago in a private jet crash off the coast of Lisbon."
"Faking your death is expensive," I muttered. "Ruining a country pays for it."
Victor Sterling turned slightly, as if sensing a disturbance in the air. He picked up a radio microphone from the central console. His voice boomed across the industrial cavern, echoing off the steel plates of the silo walls:
"General Gardner. I must applaud your tenacity. Most mothers would have been satisfied with rescuing their daughter and watching my foolish nephew die in the ashes of our estate. But you... you insist on clawing your way into rooms where the fate of empires is decided."
I didn't answer with words. I raised my MCX, rested the barrel against the steel railing of the catwalk, and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet shattered the heavy ballistic glass of the command deck, spider-webbing the transparent shield inches from Victor Sterling’s face. He didn't even flinch. He merely lowered the microphone, smiled a dead, patronizing smile, and raised his hand.
"Kill them," Sterling commanded. "And accelerate the ignition sequence. Burn Silos One through Six now."
Instantly, the catwalk beneath us erupted in gunfire. Heavy machine gun rounds tore through the grating, sending jagged shards of hot steel flying through the air. Abigail dropped prone, firing her submachine gun in controlled bursts, catching two mercenaries as they tried to flank us from the upper maintenance rail.
"Mom! The primary umbilical junction is at the base of the gantry!" Abigail shouted through the thunderous roar of gunfire. "If they start the ignition sequence for Silos One through Six, the back-blast through the venting manifold will incinerate everything in this shaft! We have less than eight minutes!"
"Cover me!" I yelled, pulling a smoke grenade from my vest and hurling it into the center of the gantry.
May you like
Thick, blinding gray smoke blossomed across the metal bridge. I vaulted over the railing, catching the vertical maintenance ladder with one arm, sliding thirty feet down the steel rung until my boots slammed onto the middle gantry platform.
The battle for Silo Seven had begun.
