James burst through the narrow doorway and into the West Wing. The change in atmosphere was immediate. The main hall had been bright and open; the West Wing was dark, cool, and silent, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelving holding hundreds of fragile, parchment-yellowed scrolls. The air here was heavy with the smell of old paper, camphor, and deep, undisturbed dust.
He skidded to a stop, his breath ragged. He glanced back. The sounds of Mei's desperate stand were already receding, muffled by the thick, ancient wooden door he had just passed through. But he knew this peace was temporary. The woman in the silk scarf was not paying by the hour. Her backup would be relentless.
He heard a low shout from the main hall—a sound of pain, perhaps Mei's, perhaps one of her attackers. The sound spurred him into action.
They will be through that door in thirty seconds, he calculated, a grim, unwelcome pragmatism taking hold. I need to buy her time.
He looked around frantically. The corridor was perhaps twelve feet wide, lined on both sides by the delicate scrolls. There was no furniture, no obvious hiding place. Only the scrolls, and a single object against the far wall: a small, dark, beautifully carved wooden storage chest. It was heavy, solid teak, probably used to store important documents or incense.
It was too small to fully block the doorway. Too light to resist two enraged, highly-trained operatives.
James didn't try to move it across the hallway. Instead, thinking laterally, he grabbed the chest and, with a grunt of exertion, flipped it onto its side, maneuvering it so that the heaviest edge was jammed directly against the base of the sliding wooden door frame.
The temple's doors were massive, sliding panels of dark wood, heavy and designed to hold. But they were secured by simple, ancient iron latches. The small chest, wedged in the lower track, acted as a physical barrier. It wouldn't hold them out forever, but it would jam the door just enough to delay their opening by precious seconds.
He heard the heavy thud as his pursuers slammed into the outside of the door, trying to force it open.
THUD!CRACK! The wood groaned ominously.
He was out of time. He spun around and sprinted down the silent, echoing corridor, the microchip and the caddy still clutched tightly. He could hear the first slivers of wood beginning to splinter at the doorway.