After confirming the secret knock, the five Secret Service agents carefully opened the door, weapons at the ready. Seeing the hallway was empty, they relaxed slightly.
"Hurry, we don't have much time," Martin urged them.
Gun in hand, Martin led the way down the corridor toward the small library where the secondary bunker entrance was located.
"Go, go, go!" They dashed down the hall, reaching the library in under ten seconds.
Benjamin walked to the far end of the library and paused to catch his breath after the intense sprint. He activated the hidden panel behind a bookshelf, stating, "Benjamin George Arthur."
After his voiceprint was confirmed, he entered his fingerprint, retinal scan, and password.
With a click, the bookshelf split in two, slowly opening.
"Go, go, go! You first; I'll bring up the rear," Martin instructed, motioning for the others to enter the bunker. Once Benjamin and the agents were inside, Martin, instead of locking the door completely, left it slightly ajar so that it could be easily pulled open from the outside.
Watching from the second floor, William saw everything. Placing Emily on a table, he reassured the anxious little girl by patting her head, saying, "Don't worry, I'm not leaving you here."
He removed his coat and suit jacket, tore a clean bedsheet from the closet into strips, and used his suit jacket to wrap Emily securely, fashioning a makeshift baby carrier with the cloth. Just as he was about to strap her onto his back, Sunday, his AI assistant, reminded him, "Sir, if you're truly concerned for Miss Emily, you could use a portal to transport her to the underground basement of Oxford Castle."
"Huh?" William paused. Realizing he didn't need to carry the girl into danger, he considered simply teleporting her to Oxford Castle.
But how could he ensure her safe transfer without causing her any harm or alarm? Magic? He wasn't certain if a sleep spell would have any adverse effects on a six-year-old, and knocking her out was out of the question.
Thinking quickly, he attempted a gentle ruse. "It's almost noon, Emily. Would you like a nap?"
"No way! Don't even think about it—you're planning to leave me behind, aren't you?"
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clung to his neck, jumping from the table into his arms.
"Don't leave me, Mr. Devonshire. I promise I'll be good and won't cause any trouble."
Momentarily at a loss, William sighed and reassured her, "Alright, don't worry. I won't leave you behind unless I know you're safe."
Revealing magic or a teleportation portal to Emily was something William had no intention of doing. He hadn't even shared his abilities with his mother, so he wasn't about to make an exception for Emily.
Besides, once things were resolved, he'd have to find a way to bring Emily back from Oxford Castle without raising suspicion. Sending her to England without a proper record would be difficult to explain.
"Sir, if you're undecided, I suggest you secure the underground bunker first. Emily will be safe there. Alternatively, you could use the hidden passage from the White Palace. According to various sources, there's an abandoned tunnel over thirty years old. After joining President Benjamin, he could potentially lead you both out through it."
"Such a hassle…" William grinned, considering his options. "No, I have another plan. Once Emily is safely in the bunker, I'll take out the intruders and walk right out of here."
Without further hesitation, William wrapped Emily securely in his bulletproof jacket, strapped her to his back, adjusted the fabric strips, put on his smart glasses, and stepped out of the room.
With his mental scanning ability and Sunday monitoring the security cameras, he silently dispatched two guards he couldn't avoid. Dragging their bodies into a nearby room, he discarded the rifles, opting for two silenced pistols and spare magazines.
Though he had plenty of weapons in his storage, using the intruders' own firearms would avoid any complications later concerning weapon origin.
With a pistol in each hand, William advanced carefully through the palace, taking extra time to avoid detection due to Emily on his back. Soon, he reached the small library on the ground floor.
Assuming they had cleared the palace of all enemies and non-combatants, the intruders had left the library unguarded. Entering, he saw the secret door had been left open.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a handful of small orbs from his storage space and tossed them onto the carpet. The orbs rolled a few inches before deploying eight metallic spider legs. Within seconds, they transformed into deadly spider drones equipped with explosive and electric capabilities.
Ten spider drones, guided by Sunday, scurried into the bunker, while the others climbed along the walls and ceiling, positioning themselves to cover the library and surrounding areas.
With the spider drones clearing the way, William entered the secret passage, locking the door behind him. After only a few steps, Sunday's voice came over his earpiece.
"Sir, Benjamin has been captured. The bunker's server will be breached in thirty seconds. Shall I lock down control?"
"Be aware, Sir. If I secure the control, even if our presence isn't revealed, the act of locking the server would expose the White Palace's compromised state."
"Let's wait. Inform me the moment they make any further moves."
"Understood, Sir."
A few seconds later, Sunday's urgent voice came through. "Sir, an anti-air missile is being prepped, targeting Air Force One. Estimated launch in ten seconds."
"Anti-air missile? Against Air Force One? Who's aboard?"
"Vice President Trueman Bull, Sir."
William considered intervening but hesitated, remembering the look of murderous intent Trueman Bull had given him a month prior during the London attack. He kept quiet, seeming to ignore the two pistols he'd prepared, instead calmly checking their magazines.
"Sir, missile launch countdown: three, two, one. Missile launched. Missile launched. Targeting Air Force One. Impact in ten seconds... three, two, one."
"Air Force One has been hit. Left wing detached. The aircraft is spinning out of control."
Minutes later, Sunday confirmed, "Sir, Air Force One has crashed. Estimated survival rate: zero."
"Understood," William replied expressionlessly.
"Mr. Devonshire, why are we waiting here so long?" A small head poked out from the bundle of the jacket, and Emily, now peeking over his shoulder, asked cheerfully, "Does this mean we're safe now?"
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