Julian Vance took the steel companionway stairs three at a time, the heavy brass key warm in his clenched fist.
Behind him, Mac Cole’s heavy work boots clattered against the diamond plate rungs, followed by the steady, measured pace of Doctor Victor Corvo and Lin Mei.
“Deck B corridor is clear,” Mac called out, his brass prosthetic clamp swinging as he hauled himself up the landing. “No signs of Syndicate patrol.”
“Keep moving,” Julian said, his eyes scanning the pipe conduits overhead. “The air pressure is stabilizing.”
Julian halted before a massive, airtight steel door painted in faded industrial yellow.
Stenciled across the reinforced steel plating in heavy black block lettering was: SATURATION DIVING CONTROL VAN #01 -- LIFE SUPPORT CRITICAL.
Directly beside the heavy brass dogging wheel was an antique circular keyway fitted with three internal tumbler pins.
“Here’s the lock,” Julian said, holding up the brass key they had taken from the lead Bilge-Laminate.
