The tunnel smelled of diesel and damp stone, a petroleum tang that clung to Joey’s throat. Headlamps carved narrow moons of light into the dark, catching the sweat on his brow and the jagged edges of rock. He kept his breath steady, matching it to the soft thud of Derrick’s boots ahead. They were a rhythm Joey had learned to trust; Derrick’s silence said more than words ever could.

Derrick moved like a man who’d been born into the dark and never fully left it. The older man’s hands were steady as he worked a length of detonating cord along a rusted fuel line that ran like a vein through the tunnel. He’d come prepared: explosives taped into place at intervals, blasting caps pocketed and ready. Each touch he made was precise, practiced. Joey watched him with an unease that had nothing to do with the cord and everything to do with the person who’d wrapped it.

“You’re itching to throw that detonator, aren’t you?” Joey asked in a low voice. He kept his hand on his gun, though his fingers didn’t close around the grip. He kept thinking about Tim — about the chain and the polished floor — and how close the rest of his life had come to collapsing into that sterile room.

Derrick’s reply was a half-smile, half-ridicule. He didn’t look up. “Multiple points. If you want to blow the whole staging area and take them by surprise, that’s what a controlled explosion does. Sends them scrambling, gives you cover, chaos—”

Joey cut him off. “You want to blow up the fuel line and maybe take half the county with it? I want to find Tim and Allie first.”
Derrick’s jaw tightened. The lamplight hollowed his face into a chiseled sculpture of impatience. “I know what’s at stake? You think I haven’t had to make choices? Listen — I can do both. We find them, we drag them out, and when they get to the tunnel we light ‘em up.”

Joey wanted to argue, to unpack every moral calculus Derrrick offered and hammer it into something they both could live with. Instead he took a breath and pictured Tim’s hands when they’d first met — that steadiness under the chaos — and he swallowed. “We do this my way first,” he said. “We move fast. We get them out. Then we get the hell out and you have your fireworks.”

Derrick’s mouth twitched like a man indulging a child. “You and your sentimental heroics. But I’m not the one who’s going to sit idly by if the exit closes on us.”

They moved, two shadows in a narrow artery beneath the runway. The tunnel shuddered with the distant hum of generators and the muted clank of activity above. Joey’s lamp picked up cobwebbed ladder rungs, abandoned maintenance equipment, the occasional slick of oil that made his boots hiss. Everywhere, the world above had a muffled pulse — engines idling, voices clipped in suits — and under it, their own small, dangerous heartbeat.

When they reached the maintenance shaft, Derrick climbed with the practiced confidence of a man who’d gone through this a hundred times, his boot finding the hatch’s lip like it knew the place. Joey followed, shoulders tight. Derrick hauled the hatch open with a metallic groan and peered up into the dim underside of the hangar.

The light above was artificial and clean: luminescent strips that made the polished floor look like glass. They could hear the murmur of voices — the prepared cadence of a speech being warmed up — and the distant flash of cameras. Derrick handed Joey a silenced pistol; the weapon’s weight felt like a decision in his palm.

“Where’s Tim?” Joey whispered.

Derrick’s eyes scanned the maintenance catwalks below the hangar’s mezzanine, then flicked to the crates stacked near the jet. “I don’t know,” he said.

“If we follow the crowd where they move the cargo, Tim will be there.”

“You sure about that?” Derrick asked.

Joey bit his lip and nodded.

They climbed out the hatch like ghosts, boots making no sound on the service ladder. They flowed into a corridor that ran parallel to the logistics bay — a narrow service lane lined with conduit and emergency lights. Joey kept his shoulders down, his breathing shallow. The corridor smelled faintly of bleach and disinfectant, an antiseptic attempt to erase the oil and lies.

They’d moved three blocks when Joey saw her: Allie.
She was a silhouette against an emergency door, Jessie pressed against her side, the boy’s small shoulders sagging as if he’d just carried too much. Her face was wet with tears, but she held herself like somebody who’d swallowed an ocean: deliberate, fierce. Joey’s heart lurched like a punch.

“Allie,” he breathed.

She turned as if sensing them, then relaxed when she recognized Joey — then stiffened when she saw Derrick behind him. For a second she looked as if she might crumble, then she reclaimed herself and stepped forward.

Allie looked between them, eyes flitting. “Joey! Thank God, you came!”

She ran to him and hugged him, with Jessie squeezed in the middle.

“Allie, where’s Tim? Where is he?” His voice was small. Panic had papered itself to the edges.

She shook her head. “He’s on the plane.”

Joey’s fingers closed briefly around Allie’s wrist. The contact was a jolt. “We’ll get him,” he said.

Allie’s laugh was brittle. “No,” she said. “You have to get Jessie out. Now.”

Joey’s whole being rebelled. “No. We to get Tim and—”

“No.” Her voice was a flat, immovable thing now. She cupped Joey’s face and forced him to look at her. “You take Jessie. Get him out of here. I’ll find Tim.”

“No,” Joey responded and shook his head.

“Don’t argue. Take him and run. Don’t stop for anything.”

“You can’t—” Joey started.

“I know Juliette. I know what’s going on up there and I’ll have a better chance than you will up there.”

Jessie’s eyes were enormous. “Mom—”

She kissed his forehead. “I love you, baby,” she said, and the words broke like glass. Tears slid down her cheeks and left salt tracks in the dust on her face. “I love you.”

Joey’s throat closed around his own pain. He handed his pistol to Allie without thinking, the movement as automatic as breathing. “Here,” he said.

“Take my gun. If you need—”

Allie snatched it from him, fumbling the strap with a rush of clumsy fingers that made Joey’s heart twist with helplessness. “Go!”

Joey swallowed, angry and raw and useless. He scooped Jessie into his arms, the boy’s sobs muffled against his shoulder. Jessie’s toy car fell and bounced once off the corridor’s concrete before clattering out of sight. Joey snapped it up, stuffing it into his pack, then turned toward the tunnel hatch.

Allie ran back to confront her best friend and lover.