On Hold

I tapped the mute key on my terminal.

"Boris! Where's the QS-19 document safe?"

The sleepy NCO looked up from his morning tea. All our shifts had been rearranged by the crisis.

"Nineteen? Sub-basement. In the vault."

"Seriously? Okay…" I unmuted the mic. "Mr. Secretary, please transmit confirmation code."

A tense few seconds passed as a progress bar filled before blinking green.

"Hold, please." I bounced the SecDef back into the departmental call queue, and sprinted for the door, thankful for the emergency-relaxed dress code that let me wear sensible shoes that day.

Who puts emergency plans in the sub-basement?

I waited for the elevator, ignoring standing orders to use the stairs when on alert. Leaving the SecDef on hold for too long is a career-ending move.

Fourteen floors lower, the room somehow still lit with archaic LED strips, I struggled with a rusty keypad and retina scanner embedded in an unimpressive gray-painted steel door.

Finally, a sad little speaker beeped, and the door swung inward.