Chapter 6 - The Confession
The color vanished entirely from Julian Vance’s face. He looked at the heavy steel ceiling beams above him, then down at the fragile glass vial of VX-9 in his hand, and finally into my eyes. He saw no bluff there—only the cold, unyielding resolve of a man who had crossed the Rubicon.
With a shaky, defeated gasp, Julian’s fingers loosened. The aluminum briefcase slipped from his grip, clattering against the epoxy floor. He bent down slowly, picked up the single glass vial of amber antidote, and pushed it through the rotating mechanical sterilization hatch built into the vault wall.
“You’re insane, Sloane,” Julian muttered through the intercom, his voice trembling as red emergency lights began flashing across the lab. “Meridian will destroy you. My father has judges, politicians, and federal regulators in his pocket. You can’t fight an entire system!”
“I am the system now,” I said coldly, hitting the release mechanism on the security hatch and retrieving the precious vial. I tucked it safely into my interior suit pocket.
Marcus stepped forward with heavy-duty tactical zip-ties, breaching the emergency bypass seal on the vault door and dragging Julian out onto the floor.
“You’re coming with us, Doctor,” Marcus growled, hoisting the screaming scientist to his feet by his collar. “The federal penitentiary in Leavenworth has a lovely medical wing waiting for you.”
As we raced back up through the subterranean tunnels toward the waiting helicopters, my satellite phone vibrated violently in my pocket. I yanked it out and hit answer.
“Mason!” Dr. Adrian Bennett’s voice came through, frantic and breathless. “Where are you? Claire’s vitals are crashing! Her blood pressure is bottoming out, and the standard life support machines are failing to stabilize her oxygen levels!”
“I have the antidote,” I shouted over the deafening roar of the helicopter rotor blades as we boarded the Sikorsky. “We’re airborne now. ETA to St. Catherine’s roof helipad is six minutes. Have the surgical team prepped at the landing zone!”
“Hurry, Mason!” Bennett cried. “She’s slipping away!”
The flight back was a blur of high-altitude turbulence and pure, unfiltered terror. I clutched the small glass vial in my hand so tightly I thought it might shatter, silently praying to whatever higher power governed the universe to give Claire the strength to hold on just a few minutes longer.
When the helicopter touched down on the rooftop helipad of St. Catherine’s Medical Center, Dr. Bennett and a trauma team were already waiting with a mobile resuscitation unit. I threw open the aircraft door before the landing gear had even settled, leaping onto the concrete and handing the vial directly into Bennett’s gloved hands.
“Administer it immediately!” I ordered.
May you like
Bennett didn't waste a second. He sprinted toward the emergency stairwell elevator banks, the medical team trailing behind him like a protective formation.
I followed them down to the ICU, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
