Page 188 of Fractured Loyalties
I look at her. “Volker’s a strategist. He doesn’t leave things to chance. He knew.”
“Then I played right into it.”
“No,” I say. “You made the choice. There’s a difference.”
She leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes.
In the rearview mirror, Lydia catches my gaze. “So, what’s the move?”
“We find Jori,” I say. “And then we bury Volker with whatever’s left.”
Mara speaks again. “And if he already broke him?”
I don’t flinch.
“Then we break him back.”
Because last time, back in the facility, Jori was caught on surveillance near Sublevel C, hallway six. Volker wanted us to see him. Let us see him. He dangled him like bait.
When we set off the charges, they were focused on the upper east wing and the main server room—just enough to collapse access routes and fry the surveillance grid. But the other levels? They’re still intact. Volker built his foundations deep, and we’re betting he didn’t expect us to come back so soon.
This time, we go in from beneath. From the supply tunnels that snake under the western access road—old maintenance shafts they used for transporting sealed crates when the upper docks were offline.
And we don’t leave without Jori.
Chapter 31 – Elias - Into the Hollow
The SUV eats up the dark stretch of road, headlights slicing through the low mist. No one speaks. The silence is thick enough to hear the grind of gravel under the tires and the distant rumble of the river beyond the pines. My shoulder throbs with every vibration; the pulse of pain is an anchor that keeps me sharp.
The closer we get to the facility, the more the air changes—like the ground remembers what we did to it. Smoke still lingers in places, a faint chemical tang in the wind. The upper east wing is nothing but a jagged silhouette now, metal warped inward, blackened edges curling like burnt paper. But below it? The skeletal remains of Volker's underground network still stand, untouched and waiting beneath the ruined shell above.
Kinley slows the SUV as we near the access road. Lydia kills the headlights. The vehicle drifts forward in near-darkness until the outline of the service gate emerges—a rusted chain-link, half-collapsed from the blast shockwave. No guards. No movement. Just the hush of trees and the far-off hum of whatever power still runs deep underground.
"We go in from the west tunnel," I say. "No deviations. No comms unless it’s life or death."
Lydia nods once, already pulling the handheld jammer from her kit. "Five minutes of static when we hit the first hatch. After that, we’re ghosts."
I step out first. The cold bites deep, sharper than it should be. Behind me, Mara follows, pulling her jacket tighter. She doesn’t ask where we’re going—she already knows. She saw him, too. Jori, alive in the feed. Shackled by Volker’s intent.
Kinley pops the rear hatch and hands out both go-bags. I sling mine over my good shoulder, pass Mara hers. She doesn’t look inside, just keeps her eyes on me. Waiting.
"Stay behind me. If I tell you to move, you move," I tell her.
"I know," she says.
The western access road curves toward a bluff where a line of crumbling concrete hides the old maintenance shafts. I used one years ago, back when this place ran on stolen contracts and black-market transport. It smells the same now—oil, dust, the faint metallic tang of forgotten air.
Kinley kneels by the first hatch, running his fingers along the seam until he finds the recessed lock. He glances at me. "Still the old code?"
"Volker's nothing if not arrogant."
Kinley keys it in. The mechanism grinds reluctantly before the hatch pops open with a shuddering sigh.
The air that spills out is stale and damp. Beneath it is something else—faint, but enough to tighten the muscles at the back of my neck. A trace of cleaning solvent. Recent.
"Someone’s been through here recently," Lydia says.
"Then we’re not alone," I answer.
