Chương 9 - The Drowning
The freezing water rose with terrifying speed, quickly reaching my knees.
The vault was entirely airtight, meaning we would drown long before we ran out of oxygen.
Dante waded through the rising water, meticulously examining the massive steel door.
"There has to be a manual override," I panicked, splashing behind him.
"This is a 1920s bank vault, Clare," Dante grunted, his uninjured arm straining against the metal wheel.
"It was designed specifically to keep people out, and keep things in."
The water was incredibly cold, numbing my legs completely.
It reached my waist within minutes.
Dante finally stopped pulling on the wheel and turned to face me.
"Stand back," he ordered, pulling a waterproof pouch from his inner jacket pocket.
He extracted a block of gray, putty-like material.
"Is that C4?" I screamed, terrified he was going to blow us to pieces.
"It is our only chance," Dante replied, molding the explosive around the main locking mechanism.
He pushed a small electronic detonator into the putty.
"Get to the back of the vault and cover your ears," he commanded.
I waded to the furthest corner, the water now reaching my chest.
Dante joined me, wrapping his good arm tightly around my waist and pressing my face into his shoulder.
"Hold your breath," he whispered against my wet hair.
He pressed the button.
The explosion in the enclosed space was entirely deafening.
The shockwave hit the water like a physical punch, knocking all the air from my lungs.
The massive steel door blew entirely off its hinges, crashing out into the hallway.
A torrent of trapped water violently surged out of the vault, sweeping us along with it.
I tumbled through the dark, scraping my knees against the concrete floor.
Dante grabbed my collar and hauled me to my feet in the flooded hallway.
We were completely soaked, battered, and freezing, but we were alive.
We ran up the marble staircase, bursting out into the pale morning light of the bank lobby.
The armored Mercedes was gone.
"They went to the docks," Dante gasped, checking his weapon.
"Enzo has a boat waiting there to smuggle Salvatore out of the city."
We stole a rusted pickup truck from a nearby alley and sped toward the Brooklyn waterfront.
We arrived just as Salvatore and Enzo were walking up the gangway of a private yacht.
Dante did not hesitate.
He stepped out of the truck and fired a warning shot into the side of the boat.
"Enzo!" Dante roared, his voice echoing across the empty harbor.
Enzo spun around, raising his rifle to fire at us.
Before Enzo could pull the trigger, a single, suppressed gunshot rang out from the shadows of the cargo containers.
Enzo gasped, dropping his rifle as a red stain bloomed across his chest.
He fell off the gangway and splashed violently into the dark water.
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I turned in shock to see who had fired the shot.
Tommy, my former diner manager, stepped out of the shadows, holding a smoking pistol.
