The soft grumbling of the earth assured The Gray Fox that he could not be followed by any relief force that would be sent to intercept his escape. He estimated the leveled fortress building had sealed the trapdoor to the escape tunnel, and that the chaos the explosion generated would shake off the soldiers' focus on pursuing him. Dust and bits of rock that were dislodged from the blast fell on the crime lord and the two aides who were carrying the still-unconscious commander. The iron scent of ages-old mould and slime pierced through the scientists' mask filters as the gritty air hung around and settled with clouding their eye shielding, which annoyed the leader to an extent that he fanned his arms in a vain effort to drive off the dusty atmosphere. Purplish, partial darkness clung on to their white gowns, which were now mottled with brown specks of fine, compacted earth. Their pace was greatly slowed down by the heavy load The Gray Fox's assistants were burdened with; soft squeaks made with the trampling of boots over slime-laden ground echoed and were twice louder than how they should be.

The escape tunnel spanned a third of a mile long. Its walls were marked with flickering lamps that crackled and fizzed; whatever was the last of the energy the lighting system was soon to be spent. The Gray Fox imagined the Albertan contingent had taken over the generator rooms and shut down the power plants for good. General von Schild's hulking mass proved to be more of a challenge for his assistants to lift or even drag as they found it hard to keep up with their leader (and keep their rifle barrels from hitting their heads), even with the partly-slippery path could not help much with their load. No attention was given to their slow progress - there was no hurry to flee the place when the enemy could not find them. How refreshing a hot bath would be once he leaves this place, the crime lord thought.

Three thumps bounced at the end of the tunnel; The Gray Fox's mask was left half-sunk on an underground puddle. It had served its purpose and its former wearer found no need for it after his lungs gulped greedily on the salty sea air. Besides, the scent of cavern slime has begun to take over the neutrality of its filter wool. There was a small group of men, around two dozen, scattered all over what looked to be a subterranean port. Clouds of thick white steam rose from a dorsal fin-like projection attached to an aquatic vehicle that resembled an upturned spoon. The sleek vessel had no deck, nor tower or even sails. One might mistake it for a capsized ship ready to sink. Anyone who would be ready to take to the water would see that the only a third of the vessel was surfaced and its real hull was underwater. Men in green coats rushed to the two now-weary assistants and carried the captured commander to the vehicle's interior. The grumbling and fizzling of rock and flaked debris were growing louder, signaling the rest of the group to leave the overrun facility.

The Gray Fox was second to the last to enter the vehicle through a hatch placed not too far from the triangular-shaped exhaust. One of the green coats in charge of loosening the vessel's restraints closed the circular door with a soft gong. Fins located on the dorsal attachment's back stopped the vehicle from letting out steam. Water moved and splashed from the vessel as it broke away from its moorings and went farther from the port. The hull gradually sank and took in more water until the vehicle vanished when it entered the open sea.