Chapter 12 - Descent into Prague
The private jet touched down on the snow-dusted tarmac of a private airfield outside Prague under the cover of a freezing, starless midnight. The air was sharp enough to burn my lungs, biting through my tailored wool coat as Julian and I descended the metal steps into the waiting armored SUV.
"The local assets are in position," Julian said, shifting the vehicle into gear and roaring away from the runway toward the industrial sector. "A four-man tactical team from our Berlin branch will meet us at the perimeter of the facility. But I have to warn you, Oanh—if Project Lazarus was sealed the way Carl intended, the automated defenses inside won't recognize your biometric clearance. ECHO's signals are heavily attenuated down there."
"Then we do it the old-fashioned way," I replied, checking the magazine of the compact sidearm Julian had handed me before takeoff. The cold steel felt foreign in my hands, yet entirely natural. The hospice volunteer who once worried about overdue rent bills was dead and buried in a white T-shirt. The woman sitting in this car was the head of the table.
Thirty minutes later, the SUV slid to a halt behind a rusted, nondescript shipping container.
Before us stood an abandoned subterranean fallout shelter disguised as an old Soviet-era electrical substation. Heavy steel doors, scorched by age and overgrown with frozen ivy, were bolted shut from the inside.
Two armed operatives stepped out from the shadows, nodding respectfully as we approached.
"Status?" Julian barked, keeping his voice low.
"Thermal scans show zero human life signs inside, sir," the lead operative reported, tapping a ruggedized tablet. "However, the power grid is active. Something—or someone—manually flipped the main turbine switch thirty minutes ago. The internal security drones are active and patrolling Sector One."
"They're waiting for us," I said, stepping forward and pulling a heavy mechanical override key from my pocket—the second key Carl’s lawyer had handed me in that sealed envelope back in Zurich.
"Are you sure about this, Mrs. Thorne?" Julian asked, his hand catching my shoulder. "It could be a trap set by Vanguard remnants or a rival faction we haven't flushed out yet."
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"If it's a trap, it's one Carl laid for me," I answered quietly. "Open the door."
With a heavy groan of protesting hydraulics and screeching metal, the rusted vault door swung inward, revealing a pitch-black corridor that descended deep into the frozen earth.
