Chapter 15 - The Poisoned Vault
"Override the vents! Shut down the secondary filtration now!" Daniel yelled, lunging toward the console.
"I can't!" the tech screamed, his fingers blurring across the mechanical keyboard. "The local terminal at the house has been physically breached! Someone inserted an encrypted flash drive directly into the server bank in the basement!"
"Get the car!" Daniel sprinted toward the executive elevator, Marcus running stride-for-stride beside him. "Call the perimeter squad! Tell them to breach the panic room from the outside and get Mason into open air!"
Inside the armored SUV, Daniel drove like a madman possessed by the devil. The heavy vehicle tore through the congested evening traffic of downtown, sirens screaming, running red lights and bouncing over medians as the rain turned into an unrelenting deluge.
On the dashboard display, the camera feed from the panic room was descending into horror.
The two security operatives collapsed first, clutching their throats as their eyes rolled back into their heads. Mrs. Gable stood up, crying out, reaching for Mason before she too crumpled onto the rug, unconscious.
Mason was alone.
The six-year-old boy coughed, dropping his toy truck. He fell to his knees, his little hands scrabbling at the carpet, gasping for air. "Daddy... Daddy, help me... It hurts..."
"Mason! Hold your breath, buddy! Daddy is coming!" Daniel screamed into the hands-free console, tears of pure agony blurring his vision as he slammed his foot harder onto the accelerator. The speedometer hit ninety-five miles per hour on the slick suburban boulevard. "Fight it, Mason! Fight it!"
The boy collapsed onto his side, his eyes fluttering shut.
Then, on the monitor, the twelve-inch ballistic steel door slowly swung inward.
A tall figure stepped through the toxic vapor. He wore a heavy black trench coat, tactical gloves, and an antique gas mask reminiscent of the First World War.
The intruder didn't look at the unconscious guards or the dying nanny. He walked straight toward Mason.
He knelt beside the limp child. From inside his coat, he pulled out a long, stainless-steel hypodermic needle filled with a luminescent blue liquid. He pressed the needle against the tender curve of Mason’s jugular vein.
Then, the masked man looked directly up into the security camera.
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He raised his free hand, holding up a small chalkboard. Written on it in red grease pencil was an address:
*The Old Mercer Foundry. Docks 4. You have fifteen minutes, Daniel. Come alone, or the antidote dies with him.*
