The water in the sump pit surged as Captain Laminate took his first full stride forward.
Four feet of brown brine threw up an oily bow wave that slapped against the brick foundations of the catwalk. The seven-foot Admiralty Liquidator didn’t look like a rusted relic anymore. The fifty-eight hertz hum from his chest grille sounded like a locomotive building pressure inside a closed tunnel.
“Stand your ground!” Senior Enforcer Rourke shouted into his brass loudhailer.
His nasal voice cracked at the edges. “Detachment One, arm the charges! Blow the columns right now!”
Across the flooded floor, forty feet away, the two demolition commandos scrambled. Their polished calfskin boots skidded in the slick mud lining the submerged grating.
One of them fumbled with the second magnetic clamp, slamming a five-pound thermite block against the third granite pier. The green chemical delay ampoules glowed faintly in their rubber gloves.
“Thirty-second fuses are armed, Senior!” the commando on the left yelled through his respirator. “Get clear of the blast radius!”
Rourke backed toward the conveyor stairs, his eyes locked on the advancing diving suit. He held the purple warrant in front of him like a crucifix.
