Chapter 8 - The Underboss's Betrayal
The thermal purge was not a data-wiping protocol; it was a physical lockdown designed to incinerate the room's contents.
Thick, suffocating white smoke billowed from the ceiling vents, instantly blinding Thomas and his men.
Coughing and shouting erupted as the mercenaries fired blindly into the hazy chaos.
"Down!" Larkin yelled, grabbing Penelope by the waist and pulling her behind a massive leather sofa.
Bullets chewed through the upholstery inches above their heads, sending expensive stuffing raining down like snow.
"You rigged the drive?" Larkin coughed, his face pale from blood loss.
"I didn't rig anything," Penelope shouted over the blaring siren.
"The drive you had in your pocket was a decoy."
Larkin stared at her in shock.
"The real ledger is uploaded to a secure cloud server that only I have the password to," Penelope confessed.
"I swapped the physical drive weeks ago when I realized the syndicate numbers weren't adding up."
Larkin let out a breathless, painful laugh.
His secretary had outsmarted the entire criminal underworld from a cubicle.
"We have to get out of this room before the Halon gas activates," Larkin gasped, clutching his bleeding side.
"There's a maintenance hatch behind the bookshelf."
Penelope helped him up, acting as a human crutch as they stumbled through the blinding smoke.
They reached the towering mahogany bookshelf just as the automatic fire-suppression system began humming dangerously.
Larkin fumbled blindly for the hidden latch, his blood-slicked fingers slipping against the wood.
"Hurry," Penelope urged, hearing the heavy footsteps of Thomas's men closing in on their position.
With a final, desperate shove, Larkin triggered the mechanism.
The bookshelf swung open, revealing a narrow, dark ventilation shaft.
They tumbled inside just as a mercenary sprayed their previous position with automatic gunfire.
Penelope slammed the secret door shut, plunging them into absolute darkness.
They crawled through the cramped, dusty space for what felt like hours, guided only by the dim glow of Penelope's burner phone.
Larkin's breathing was growing shallow, his movements sluggish.
They finally reached a metal grate that opened into a sub-basement parking garage.
Penelope kicked the grate loose and helped Larkin down to the concrete floor.
He collapsed against a concrete pillar, his face an alarming shade of gray.
"You need a hospital," Penelope said, tearing a strip of silk from her ruined dress to bind his wound.
"No hospitals," Larkin whispered, pulling out his phone.
"I have a safehouse."
Before he could dial, the garage's overhead PA system crackled to life.
Thomas's voice echoed through the empty concrete chamber, sounding utterly deranged.
"Attention all remaining personnel," Thomas announced over the speakers.
"My cousin Larkin Steves has been compromised."
Larkin's eyes widened in horror.
"The woman with him, Penelope Woods, is a Russian spy working directly for Victor."
"I am authorizing a two-million-dollar bounty on her head."
"Bring me the girl alive, and put Larkin out of his misery."
Larkin slowly lowered his phone and turned his head to look at Penelope.
May you like
His winter-ocean eyes were no longer grateful; they were filled with cold, calculating suspicion.
He slowly raised his matte black handgun and pointed it directly at Penelope's chest.
