Chapter 4 - The Vault Beneath ChicagoChicago was waiting under rain.Sarah watched the city from the back seat of Hank's truck while Monroe sat beside her.
Nobody spoke.
She kept thinking about the tape.
Frank himself.
It was impossible.
Her father had spent his life protecting her.
Why would he destroy the very evidence that could save her?
Unless the entire story had another layer.
The vault was beneath an old private bank building that had officially closed seventeen years ago.
Monroe led them through a service entrance.
Hank checked the corridor.
“No cameras.”
Monroe laughed.
“There are cameras.”
Hank glared.
“That's supposed to reassure me?”
“No. It's supposed to scare you.”
They reached a steel elevator.
Monroe entered the number.
The elevator descended.
And kept descending.
Sarah watched the floor display.
B3.
B4.
B5.
Then it stopped at B7.
The doors opened to a concrete corridor.
At the end stood a massive steel door.
A keypad waited beside it.
Monroe looked at Sarah.
“Your key.”
She inserted it.
Nothing happened.
“Why isn't it opening?”
“Because the key isn't the password.”
He pointed to the keypad.
“It's the question.”
Sarah frowned.
“What question?”
A screen lit up.
WHO DESERVES TO LIVE?
Sarah stared.
“That's insane.”
Monroe shook his head.
“Frank built it.”
“You knew?”
“I helped him design the security.”
Sarah looked at the screen.
“What answer does it want?”
Monroe didn't know.
Hank did.
“Sarah.”
She turned.
“Your father had a rule.”
“What rule?”
“He always said the wrong person would answer that question first.”
Sarah studied the words.
WHO DESERVES TO LIVE?
Then she understood.
“No one.”
The door unlocked.
Hank smiled.
“Your father.”
The vault was small.
One table.
One steel cabinet.
One chair.
One envelope.
Sarah picked it up.
Her name was written on the front.
SARAH.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Frank.
Sitting at a table.
Beside him was Robert Vale.
But Vale looked twenty years younger.
And alive.
Sarah flipped the photograph.
A note was written on the back.
THIS IS NOT THE MAN YOU THINK HE IS.
Monroe took it.
“There's another recording.”
Sarah found a small digital device.
She pressed play.
Frank's voice returned.
“Sarah, if you're here, you've already learned that Robert Vale is not responsible for my disappearance.”
Sarah's eyes widened.
“He tried to protect you.”
She stopped the recording.
“What?”
Monroe went still.
Sarah replayed it.
Frank continued.
“Vale tried to protect me from someone higher.”
Sarah stared at Monroe.
“Higher than Vale?”
Monroe nodded slowly.
“That was what we suspected.”
Frank's voice continued.
“There was a second network. Vale thought he controlled it.”
A pause.
“He was wrong.”
Sarah whispered:
“Who controlled it?”
Frank answered.
“The Directorate.”
Monroe closed his eyes.
Sarah turned to him.
“What is the Directorate?”
“An unofficial intelligence network,” he said.
“Government?”
“Not exactly.”
“Criminal?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
Monroe looked at the wall.
“People who learned they could control both.”
The recording continued.
“They recruited judges, bankers and investigators. They created wars between criminal organizations and then sold protection to both sides.”
Sarah felt cold.
“My father was working for them?”
“No,” Monroe said.
“He was inside them.”
The recording suddenly changed.
Frank's breathing became faster.
“If I fail, there is one person you must never trust.”
A pause.
“Not Vale.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“Hank.”
Sarah slowly looked at Hank.
He had gone pale.
Frank continued.
“He saved my life.”
Hank closed his eyes.
“But he also betrayed me.”
The recording ended.
Silence.
Sarah stepped toward Hank.
“What did you do?”
He didn't answer.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Hank finally whispered:
“I gave them your name.”
Sarah's face changed.
“Why?”
Hank looked at her.
“Because they already had you.”
A gunshot exploded.
Monroe dropped.
Blood spread across his chest.
Sarah screamed.
Hank grabbed her and dragged her behind the steel cabinet.
Another bullet struck the vault door.
Someone spoke from the corridor.
Calm.
Almost amused.
“Sarah.”
She recognized the voice.
Dale Cutter.
May you like
“You should've stayed home.”
THE SECOND ARCHIVE
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