Jacques' flashlight beam carved a trembling trail through darkness. It revealed drifting dust, slick surfaces and ahead the piled containers and secure box. The atmosphere was heavy, hard to inhale flavored with rust and a sharp bitter scent.
Giovanni's whole attention was locked on the map etched on his arm. Every heartbeat appeared to draw him a nauseating force. "There " he breathed, indicating the strongbox. "That's… the core."
Isabella acted initially holding the camera up capturing the scene. Arthur crouched beside the containers employing a penknife to cautiously open one. Within were no chemicals, but documents. Environmental impact analyses marked "REJECTED " assessments with concerning notes highlighted in red signed statements, from formerly outspoken specialists.
"Evidence " Isabella murmured, her tone quivering with victory. "He concealed the reality to construct his falsehood."
Jacques gave Giovanni the crowbar. "This is, for the box."
As Giovanni inserted the metal tip beneath the strongbox's latch a loud grinding rumble resonated through the conduit, from the entrance. It wasn't thunder. It was machinery. The ground. A shower of soil and small stones drifted down from above.
"What was that noise?" Arthur's head jerked upwards.
Maria, her expression carved with fear in the trembling light was drawing signs in the grit, on the ground using her finger. "They're locking us inside."
Overhead the excavator's bucket struck the heap of debris beside the conduit entry. With a bang, a torrent of concrete pieces and soil spilled over the opening blocking the dim moonlight. The universe reduced to their ray of light and the overwhelming darkness.
Terror, piercing and metallic Giovanni's mouth. He strained against the crowbar. The strongbox lock yielded with a screech of resisting metal. Inside no additional papers. One tiny item: a digital voice recorder. He clumsily opened it hit play.
Oliver Osborne's voice echoed within the confined area. It wasn't the loud passionate kind. Instead it was unfiltered trembling with dread and a stark unmistakability.
"Log record. October… I can't recall exactly. They're observing me. Sebastian… refers to it as 'course correction.' Helena… simply stares at me as if I'm an instrument. My vision… it was meant to be genuine.. The price… the documents… it's all toxic. I constructed it on toxicity.. There's this… this individual. The librarian. Graham. I noticed him during the speech. He understood. He glanced at me. He understood. I believe he's... Quite unusual. An eyewitness I can't buy off or intimidate. Helena insists on dealing with him. Sebastian aims to analyze him. I simply want... I want it to end. This finishes with me. If you're listening I attempted to—"
A sudden noise, on the tape—a door swinging open. Osborne's rushed whisper: "They've arrived." Click. The tape stopped.
Amid the quiet the maze etched on Giovanni's arm flared with intense pain causing him to scream. The dark core appeared to expand the ebony strands extending deeper into his veins. Yet alongside the agony arrived a clear image: not from the past but of this very channel. He witnessed Helena, moments prior, to Osborne's death concealing this box. He noticed she positioned one item, not on top but beneath it—a tiny grey block of plastic explosive, with wires running into the conduit wall.
"It's an ambush!" Giovanni yelled. "Not merely the collapse! Beneath the crate!"
Jacques responded immediately. He didn't hesitate. He pushed Isabella and Arthur back, into the tunnel distancing them from the strongbox. He seized Giovanni's arm and Maria's shoulder throwing them after the group. "RUN! KEEP GOING!"
They faltered, tumbled, clawed through the darkness, the sole flashlight beam flickering wildly. They turned a curve in the tunnel just as the space, behind them exploded.
Silence fell, substituted by a force that knocked the breath out of them. A surge of heat, power and a thunderous blast struck them hurling them ahead like discarded cloth. The overhead collapsed with a never-ending rumble.
Then, silence. A ringing, dusty, oppressive silence.
Jacques' flashlight, astonishingly still held in his grasp flickered before stabilizing. It illuminated a barrier of debris where the conduit opening once existed.. In front in place of the strongbox lay only a grave of shattered concrete and tangled rebar.
The way back was gone. The evidence, mostly destroyed. And they were buried alive.