Chapter 9 - THE MIDNIGHT CIPHER
"Sniper!" Julian roared, tackling his father to the concrete floor.
CRACK.
A high-caliber bullet shattered the brick window frame, sending a shower of red dust and stone fragments into the room.
The deafening report echoed off the iron rafters of the train yard.
Marcus fired three bursts through the upper ceiling catwalk where the muzzle flash had appeared.
A body crashed through the rotten wooden ceiling, landing on the rail tracks thirty feet below with a sickening thud.
"They're inside the terminal!" Marcus yelled.
From the shadows of the rail yard, half a dozen flashlights flickered on.
Tactical boots clattered on the iron walkways.
"Price contracted Blackwood Security," Julian hissed, dragging Arthur behind a reinforced steel workbench.
"Former black-ops mercenaries. They don't leave survivors."
Gunfire erupted from all sides.
Rounds tore through the wooden dispatch office, shredding the plaster walls into clouds of white powder.
"Mason, get down!" I screamed, shielding his body with my own behind an iron safe.
Mason reached out, his hand wrapping around mine with desperate strength.
"Lily, take the drive," he gasped, trying to shove the black canvas pouch into my jacket.
"If they take us—"
"Nobody is taking anyone!" I shouted over the thunderous roar of the guns.
Julian fired methodically, dropping two mercenaries as they tried to breach the side door.
"We can't hold this room!" Julian shouted.
"Lily! Where does the service tunnel connect?!"
"Behind the old coal furnace! Under the loading dock!"
"Marcus, lay down suppressing fire!" Julian ordered.
Marcus stepped into the doorway, his weapon roaring in three-round bursts, driving the attackers back behind the rail cars.
"Go! Go! Go!" Marcus yelled.
We sprinted across the open concrete apron of the terminal floor.
Bullets sparked off the iron rails at our feet.
Mason stumbled, his injured ribs giving out, but Julian caught him by his collar and hauled him forward.
I reached the rusted iron door of the coal furnace.
It was secured with an old brass combination padlock.
Four dials. Numbers zero through nine.
My heart seized.
"It’s locked!" I cried out.
Julian lunged forward, inspecting the lock with his flashlight.
"It’s an old company cipher!" Julian said, his eyes scanning the rusted dial.
"Dad! What's the code?!"
Arthur stood against the brick wall, catching his breath.
His face was pale in the dark.
"The date we opened the first hotel," Arthur whispered, his memory fighting through the haze of the sedatives.
"October 14th, 1974."
"1-0-1-4!" I repeated aloud.
My fingers were covered in cold sweat and soot.
I spun the brass dials.
One.
Zero.
One.
Four.
The lock didn't budge.
"It's not working!" I panicked.
Bullets slammed into the brick wall inches from my ear, spraying dust into my eyes.
"Think, Dad!" Julian shouted, firing his last magazine toward the approaching mercenaries.
"What date?!"
Arthur looked at me, his eyes suddenly crystal clear amidst the chaos.
"Not the company date," Arthur said softly.
"The day my wife, Elizabeth, gave me twenty dollars to buy a bag of flour and open our first diner."
"April 22nd, 1968."
"0-4-2-2!"
I spun the dials frantically.
Zero.
Four.
Two.
Two.
CLICK.
The heavy brass shackle popped open.
I yanked the iron lever down with both hands.
The heavy steel furnace door swung open, revealing a downward concrete ramp leading into the earth.
"Inside! Now!" Julian shouted.
Marcus backed into the tunnel, firing his sidearm until the slide locked back empty.
Julian slammed the heavy steel furnace door shut and slammed the sliding deadbolt into place.
Heavy bullets thudded against the exterior steel plates like hail.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The steel held.
We collapsed onto the cool, damp concrete floor of the tunnel.
Silence swallowed us, thick, heavy, and profound.
Only the sound of our ragged breathing filled the darkness.
Julian clicked on his penlight.
The yellow beam illuminated the long, brick-lined arched corridor stretching into the earth.
"We have two hours until the Depository opens," Julian whispered.
He looked at me, then at his father, then at Mason.
May you like
"Let's go finish this."
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