Chapter 1136: Ready for Action (Patreon)

Director Womack, arm still in a sling, glared daggers right back at Mason from across the warehouse.

Earlier that day, at the hotel, Mason had taken advantage of the simplest tools at his disposal. While in the shower, he had discreetly removed the plastic cord from the curtain rod and hid it under his clothing. Then, calling for room service, he ordered a full spread of luxurious food, knowing full well it would attract the attention of the agents stationed nearby.

When the barber arrived, Mason insisted on taking in some sunshine while getting his hair cut, suggesting they move to the balcony. Director Womack, wary but eager to seal the deal, came along personally. A few friendly words later, thinking he'd secured cooperation, the director shook Mason's hand.

That was the moment Mason slipped the sailor’s knot—pre-tied from the curtain rope—onto Womack’s wrist and promptly hurled him over the balcony.

By the time Jack arrived with Mason’s daughter, the director was dangling seven stories up, suspended by a single strand of cord. Agents scrambled to rescue him while Mason tried to slip out through the front, only to be intercepted.

To be honest, Jack thought the director kind of deserved it. Unlike Rossi, Womack treated Mason like a fool—fully intending to toss him back in the hole once he’d served his purpose. That was more or less what happened in the original version of events.

Jack’s decision to protect Mason’s daughter was entirely genuine. And Mason, after learning the full extent of the VX missile threat, clearly understood that.

Taking the schematics from Jason Hayes, Jack frowned. The diagram showed a winding, dashed line—no distance markings whatsoever. “That pipe should lead to a holding reservoir connected to the sewage system, but… how far is it?”

“Uh…” Mason furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. “Fifty-seven steps.”

Jack and Hayes exchanged a glance, then Jack nodded. That number lined up perfectly with Mason’s earlier testimony. If he had really escaped through that tunnel, it would’ve been during low tide, in total darkness—counting steps was the only way to measure.

“And after that?” Hayes asked.

The sewage system was located beside the old factory, almost 300 meters from the central prison block. And all the FBI had to go on were a pile of nearly unreadable, outdated utility maps. The pipelines had been built atop even older gold mining tunnels, which made them completely unreliable for modern planning. Aside from Mason, no one really knew what was down there.

Mason flipped through the tattered blueprints, frowning just as hard as Jack. “Good question. I have no idea.”

“Don’t play dumb, you old bastard!” Womack snapped, instantly alarmed.

Mason offered him a toothy, fake smile. “I’m serious. I won’t remember until I get down there again.”

“Forget it! Mark the route on the map!” Womack shouted, shaking his head like a bobblehead on caffeine.

“I can’t. It’s been nearly thirty years. Try using your pea-brain for a second—when I crawled through there, it took me three days in total darkness, groping through mud and rock. You think I can recall a turn-by-turn map just by staring at this crap? I have to be down there to remember.”

He looked entirely sincere—but Womack wasn’t having it. “You’re full of it. No way in hell. You’re not going anywhere.”

Finally, Rossi, who had been quietly listening, stepped in. “Jim, we have no other choice. He’s our only lead.”

“No. He can point, but he’s not going in,” Womack argued, raising his voice.

Jason Hayes looked at Jack, who gave a slight nod. Hayes added, “If he’s the only one with real knowledge of the tunnels, it’s safest if he leads us in person.”

“He’s going to get you all killed. Then run. Just like before!” Womack’s face turned purple, veins bulging across his temples and neck.

“He won’t,” Jack said calmly. Womack gave him a death glare, but Jack went on, unfazed. “If this mission fails, the military will bomb the entire island with incendiaries. Even if he hides underground and avoids burning, he’ll suffocate from oxygen depletion.”

The others seemed to agree. Womack was clearly outnumbered and out of arguments.

“Well, looks like you’ve got no choice,” Mason grinned, baring pearly white teeth. “Oh—and by the way, how’s the arm doing, Womack?”

The director visibly trembled with rage. Jack, sensing it was time for a diversion, turned to Dr. Stanley Goosby, who was hunched over a drone monitor.

“Doctor Goosby, any update on the VX warhead locations?”

“Hmm? What?” Goosby finally looked up, completely unaware of the tension around him.

“I asked if you’d located the VX missiles. Neutralizing them is our top priority.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Goosby grabbed a satellite map and circled an area in red marker.

“You said Hammer’s men are spec-ops, right? Then they’d know that VX is best stored under cold conditions. The prison morgue’s backup generator has been reactivated—according to thermal scans—so I believe that’s where the warheads are.”

He pinned two maps to a whiteboard and picked up a laser pointer. “This is the internal structure of a VX missile. I’ve cracked the design. Gather your team—I’ll teach them how to disarm the detonators and avoid contamination.”

“No need,” Jason Hayes replied, shaking his head. “You’re coming with us.”

Bringing the chemical weapons expert had been Jack’s idea. Sure, the SEALs had extensive NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) training and were excellent EOD (explosive ordnance disposal) techs. But VX gas warheads? Those existed only in the realm of myth—until now. Goosby was the only one present who’d ever seen anything like them in the flesh.

Also, Jack had to admit, he was playing favorites. As long as he had both leads from the original mission in the room—the scientist and the grizzled ex-operative—he could breathe easier.

After all, in the film’s climax, even a VX warhead and a napalm blast hadn’t managed to kill Stanley Goosby. The man was basically a cockroach in a lab coat.