At the entrance of Roslin tro station, four escalators plunge deep underground like the throat of a beast, reaching fifty to sixty ters down.
This is an engineering feat built during the Cold War era, with underground concrete walls two ters thick, capable of withstanding even nuclear shock waves.
National Guard soldiers surround the station entrance, staring at a pickup truck that crashed into the escalator entrance.
The pickup’s front is twisted and deford, wedged stubbornly like a wedge at the tro station, with gasoline leaking from the tank in drizzles, giving off a heavy, dangerous odor.
"Damn it, how do we get in?" A soldier kicked the pickup’s tire, "Will it explode?"
"Call a tow truck first..." Another soldier planned to report it, leaving the headache to the officers. After all, they were all wearing white protective suits, which were not suitable for combat.
Suddenly, the crisp sound of high heels striking the ground ca from the back of the crowd.
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Monica got off the car, flashed her Departnt of Holand Security ID to the soldiers on site, and proceeded to walk toward the tro entrance blocked by the pickup.
Half an hour ago, surveillance caras throughout the city sounded the alarm, facial recognition locked on the target, and the surveillance footage was fixed on Zhou Qingfeng pushing a cart into the tunnel at that mont.
"Victor..." Monica read the na with relish, "We et again."
The guards’ soldiers glanced at the emblem worn by the woman in front of them and respectfully said, "Ma’am, we are dispatching a tow truck—"
"What do you need a tow truck for?" Monica turned and shouted to the ’big black man’ behind her, "Let’s head to Pentagon Station and settle the score with that kid!"
The monster-like ’big black man’ responded, accepting the command.
Following Monica, forr Special Service Bureau employee Yeager rubbed his chin, the stubble he hadn’t shaved for three days prickling his palm.
Monica is manic and crazy, relying on having been vaccinated, staying in the infected area without wearing protective clothing, and maintains her routine attire.
Chasing Zhou Qingfeng has beco an obsession for this United States ’cherished girl,’ and seeing the silhouette of the other party invigorates her.
Coincidentally, her mother is the Secretary of Naval Operations, a four-star admiral responsible for Navy personnel and resource allocation, who can attend the Joint Chiefs of Staff etings, a sure United States military authority.
Yeager opened his mouth, knowing whatever he said would be in vain, so he could only follow helplessly. He now reminisces about the days serving as Zhou Qingfeng’s bodyguard, as those days were leisurely.
At this mont, the only thing he can do is find a way to borrow a platoon from the National Guard, nominally for ’pursuing fleeing personnel,’ but actually to protect the ’admiral’s daughter.’
Yet he has a premonition, that two fierce enemies who can’t stand each other are about to et, and it will co down to life and death.
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In the dark tunnel, Old Hamr yanked off the hood of the protective suit. He breathed heavily, sweat rolling down his furrowed cheeks.
"This damned thing is worse than being in a body bag!" The old man hoarsely cursed, throwing the white plastic sheet, slling of disinfectant, onto the ground.
The inner lining of the protective suit is soaked, sticky and clinging to the skin, like dead skin ready to peel off.
Seeing her grandpa’s purple lips, Lucy decisively suggested to the others, "Take the suits off. We won’t make it to the exit wearing these."
Pieces of the protective suit were discarded beside the tracks.
anwhile, the aftermath of an explosion spread, a dust-laden wave rushing along the tunnel. The walkie-talkie suddenly crackled:
"Lucy, bring people over." Zhou Qingfeng’s voice ca through, mixed with electronic noise, "The passage is open."
A group of old and weak people assisted one another, trudged more than three hundred ters, and entered the stuffy air maintenance passage.
There was so good news; the n scouting ahead found an abandoned rail track car within the passage.
Its body was rusting, but surprisingly, the lead-acid battery powering it could still be used. Upon starting, the headlights lit up, enabling movent along the tracks, clanking and clattering.
With this simple railcar, the elderly and weak in the group could conserve valuable energy, hastening their pace by tenfold.
"This place might not be abandoned but sealed," an army lieutenant colonel pointed his flashlight toward the tunnel ceiling, revealing densely packed cables.
Decades ago, the United States was wealthy, even the abandoned tunnels inside were fully equipped, and the circuits functioned correctly.
"I’ve seen many such defense projects, characterized by high security, large scale, full equipnt, but after spending vast sums to build, they were only tested several tis, never used."
The railcar advanced forward, its headlights illuminating a bright whiteness.
Zhou Qingfeng unfolded a map drawn by Mr. Brown, showing this tunnel running beneath the Potomac River, entering the absolute core area of Washington D.C.
Because the ’White House’ is only 1.5 kiloters from the riverbank, and Congress Building is less than three kiloters away.
About ten minutes later, the group arrived at the end of the maintenance passage, blocked again by a sealed wall.
Due to the passage being sealed for years, the air had low oxygen levels, even making Zhou Qingfeng feel breathless.
Seeing the blocked wall, without a word, he took a makeshift explosive device from the cart and tossed it against the wall, shooting to detonate it.
After the explosion, fresh air surged into the passage, and over a dozen people poured from the darkness into another large underground space.
Everyone examined their surroundings carefully and astonishingly realized they were inside an underground parking lot. Then checking the parking lot signs, Lucy exclaid in surprise, "We’re at the National Air and Space Museum."
Zhou Qingfeng opened the map, "Here, we are 1.5 kiloters from the ’White House,’ and less than a thousand ters from Congress Building."
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