Chapter 5 - THE CHOKE POINT
The hiss of gas through the ceiling vents was quiet.
Like a gentle winter breeze.
Deadly.
Invisible.
Zeus’s head snapped toward the upper air ducts.
His ears flattened.
A low whine escaped his throat.
Animals smell poison long before humans register it.
"Carbon monoxide," I whispered, my chest tightening.
"We have six minutes before the oxygen concentration drops below twelve percent."
Dominic didn't yell.
He didn't curse Matteo.
He walked to the central surgical console and hit the emergency override switch.
Nothing happened.
The digital keypad flashed red:
ACCESS DENIED - SYSTEM HARDWARE SEVERED.
"Matteo knew the auxiliary codes," Dominic said calmly.
He pulled a small tactical pry bar from the wall cabinet.
"He was my father's lieutenant for twenty years."
"He helped build this bunker."
"Then he knows where the weak spots are," I said, rushing to Zeus's side.
I helped the heavy dog slide off the table onto his feet.
His back legs were slightly stiff from the local anesthetic, but he was standing.
He leaned heavily against my hip.
"Dominic, where does the main exhaust lead?" I asked.
"To the old carriage house above the garden," Dominic replied, prying at the control panel housing.
"The air ducts are reinforced with three-inch steel rebar."
"We can't crawl through them."
"We don't crawl through the ducts," I said, pointing toward the floor.
"What's beneath that drain grate?"
Dominic paused, his pry bar hovering.
"The old stormwater cistern from 1893."
"Does it connect to the ravine outside the perimeter fence?"
"Yes," Dominic said, realization flashing in his eyes.
"But the overflow pipe is twenty-four inches wide."
"And the water level is three feet deep."
"I grew up squeezing through drainpipes to rescue feral litters in South Chicago," I said.
"And Zeus can swim."
Dominic dropped the pry bar.
He grabbed the heavy iron rim of the floor drain.
His biceps bulged against the fabric of his dark shirt.
Veins corded along his neck.
With a massive grunt of raw strength, he tore the hundred-pound cast-iron grate from the concrete floor.
A blast of freezing, stagnant sewer air rushed up into the sterile room.
Black water surged three feet below in the darkness.
"You first," Dominic commanded, holding out his hand.
"Zeus first," I countered. "If I drop in, he won't follow you."
"He will if I push him."
"Push a traumatized pit bull into dark water and he'll drown from panic," I snapped.
"Let me guide him."
Dominic stared at me through the thickening haze of gas.
His jaw clamped shut.
"Two minutes, Nora."
I knelt beside the opening.
"Come on, Zeus," I said, keeping my tone cheerful, light, and confident.
"Just a bath, buddy. Easy water."
I slid down into the freezing black cistern first.
The icy water hit my waist, knocking the breath from my lungs.
The bottom was slick with century-old silt.
I held my arms up toward the opening.
"Zeus, down!"
Zeus hesitated for a single second at the lip of the concrete hole.
He looked at the smoke above.
He looked at me in the water.
He leaped.
A hundred pounds of wet muscle slammed into my chest, driving me back against the brick wall.
I caught him under his front legs, keeping his snout above the foul water.
He paddled frantically, his claws scraping my ribs through my server uniform.
"I have him!" I gasped, coughing from the cold.
Dominic dropped in beside us with a heavy splash.
He had the titanium cylinder clamped in his teeth and two waterproof tactical bags slung over his shoulders.
He grabbed my waist with his left arm, stabilizing me against the current.
The water was rushing toward a narrow arched culvert at the far end of the cistern.
"The current flows toward the lake," Dominic said, spitting river water.
"Stay behind me."
We waded through the dark tunnel.
The ceiling sloped downward until our heads were barely three inches above the black surface.
Zeus swam between us, his ears pinned back, his breathing rhythmic and determined.
After fifty yards of suffocating darkness, a faint circle of moonlight appeared ahead.
The iron bars of the stormwater outlet.
We scrambled out onto the muddy banks of the wooded ravine outside the estate's main perimeter.
The cold Chicago wind whipped through our soaked clothes.
My teeth chattered so violently I couldn't speak.
Up on the hill, three hundred yards away, the Castellano mansion sat dark and silent.
Headlights swept across the main driveway.
Six black SUVs were pulling out through the broken front gates.
Heading south.
Toward Pullman.
"They think we're suffocating in the basement," Dominic whispered, crouching low in the wet brush.
He pulled a waterproof satellite phone from his tactical bag.
He dialed a three-digit speed dial.
"Frankie," Dominic spoke into the mic.
His voice was like crushed glass.
"Get the gunboat ready at the Calumet slip."
"We're going to Pullman."
"Boss?" Frankie’s voice crackled through. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the ditch with my trainer and my hound."
Dominic hung up.
He turned toward me.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a dry wool tactical sweater.
He pulled it over my head before I could protest.
The wool smelled of cedar and his skin.
Warm.
Dry.
He pulled the fabric down over my shivering frame, his hands lingering on my shoulders for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"You did good, Nora," he murmured.
His fingers brushed a wet lock of hair from my forehead.
Zeus leaned his heavy body against Dominic's shins, letting out a soft, contented huff.
Dominic looked down at the dog.
Then up at me.
"Now," Dominic said, his dark eyes igniting with lethal intent.
"We go save your shelter."
May you like
Suddenly, a dry branch snapped in the woods behind us.
A laser sight painted a glowing green dot directly between Zeus’s eyes.
