Chapter 5 - Directive Twelve
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Nobody spoke during the first ten minutes of the flight back toward Washington.
The damaged telemetry recorder rested inside a sealed evidence bag on Secretary Pendelton’s lap.
Marcus sat beside Buster across from me.
A medic had started an IV in his arm.
Another had finally given up trying to convince me to lie down.
Rain streaked across the helicopter windows.
Below us, highways moved like glowing veins through the darkness.
Pendelton stared at the recorder.
I knew what he was hearing in his mind.
The same two voices I was.
General Thomas Vance.
Vice President Raymond Cole.
Confirm Directive Twelve.
The phrase meant nothing to me.
But Pendelton had reacted as though someone had pointed a weapon at the country.
“What is Directive Twelve?” I asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Marcus looked between us.
“Sir?”
Pendelton finally lifted his head.
“It is a continuity protocol.”
“For what?”
“For the removal of compromised national security leadership during wartime.”
I stared at him.
“Removal?”
“It was written after a series of simulated attacks against the federal government.”
Pendelton’s voice became quieter.
“Directive Twelve allows emergency transfer of command authority if civilian leadership is believed to be compromised by foreign influence.”
Marcus frowned.
“Who decides they’re compromised?”
“That is the problem.”
Pendelton looked toward the sealed recorder.
“A classified review council.”
“Who sits on it?”
“People like General Vance.”
My stomach tightened.
“And the Vice President?”
“He chairs it.”
The helicopter seemed suddenly too small.
I leaned back.
“So if Cole activates Directive Twelve…”
“He could attempt to suspend portions of the normal chain of command.”
Marcus stared at Pendelton.
“You’re describing a coup.”
Pendelton did not correct him.
Buster rested his head across Marcus’s boot.
I looked toward the darkness outside.
“Why would Snow Lantern matter?”
“Because Dr. Elias Ward discovered who was financing the network.”
“The procurement network?”
Pendelton nodded.
“Ward traced covert payments through defense contractors, foreign shell corporations, and political foundations.”
“And Vance wanted the evidence destroyed.”
“Yes.”
“Did Cole?”
Pendelton looked at me.
“That recording suggests he knew enough to be involved.”
We landed at Andrews instead of returning directly to the Pentagon.
Pendelton no longer trusted Pentagon communications.
Neither did I.
A convoy moved us to a restricted medical building under armed guard.
For the first time since the tribunal, doctors were allowed to examine me properly.
My thigh required surgery.
My hand required skin grafts.
The physician looked furious when I told him I was not staying.
“You may permanently damage your leg.”
“Then repair what you can.”
“You’re not listening.”
“I’m listening.”
I looked through the glass wall toward Marcus.
He sat on another examination table while Buster refused to leave his side.
“I’m choosing.”
The surgeon muttered something about soldiers being impossible.
He removed a piece of shrapnel from my thigh under local anesthesia.
Thirty-seven minutes later, I was standing again.
Barely.
Pendelton waited in a secure conference room.
Three intelligence officers had managed to extract the first portion of Buster’s recording.
Audio filled the room.
Wind.
Gunfire.
Marcus shouting.
Buster barking.
Then Lieutenant Dana Park’s voice.
“I found the outbound relay.”
My chest tightened.
She sounded alive.
For a few seconds, she was alive again.
The recording continued.
Park said, “Command credentials are authenticated to Vance.”
Then Mercer answered.
“Shut it down.”
A gunshot followed.
Marcus closed his eyes.
I did not.
I forced myself to listen.
The next voice was Vance over the radio.
“All Snow Lantern elements, immediate withdrawal.”
Then my own voice.
“Negative.”
I remembered every second.
Vance responded.
“Captain Jenkins, that is a direct order.”
“Marcus is down.”
“Collateral damage.”
Buster whined on the recording.
Then came the words I had carried all the way to Washington.
“The K9 unit is expendable.”
Marcus looked down at Buster.
The dog stared back.
Pendelton’s jaw tightened.
The audio continued.
Twenty minutes later, after our helicopter had been hit, another transmission appeared.
Vance.
“Snow Lantern has deviated.”
Then Vice President Cole.
“Confirm Directive Twelve.”
Vance answered.
“Phase One confirmed.”
Cole spoke again.
“Then Washington proceeds.”
The recording ended in static.
Nobody moved.
One intelligence officer finally spoke.
“Sir, if Phase One was Snow Lantern…”
Pendelton finished the thought.
“There are additional phases.”
A phone rang.
Every person in the room froze.
It was the secure landline.
Pendelton picked it up.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He turned toward the television on the wall.
“Turn on the news.”
An officer did.
The screen showed the White House.
Breaking news graphics filled the bottom.
The President had been moved to an undisclosed location because of a reported national security threat.
Then the reporter delivered the sentence that made my blood run cold.
Vice President Raymond Cole would address the nation within the hour.
Marcus looked at Pendelton.
“Phase Two?”
Pendelton grabbed his cane.
“No.”
He stared at the television.
“If Cole is already controlling presidential movement, we are beyond Phase Two.”
The secure phone rang again.
This time, an intelligence officer answered.
He listened for several seconds.
Then slowly lowered the receiver.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“General Vance just entered Mount Weather.”
Pendelton went still.
Every soldier knew the name.
Mount Weather was one of the government’s most important continuity facilities.
A place designed to keep leadership functioning during catastrophe.
I looked toward the television.
Then toward Buster’s recorder.
Vance was not running.
He was taking position.
And Vice President Cole was about to speak to the entire country from somewhere we could not reach.
Pendelton turned toward us.
“Captain Jenkins.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you still fight?”
My leg throbbed.
My right hand burned.
I thought of Dana Park.
I thought of the dead MP inside the tribunal.
I thought of Marcus lying beneath the snow.
Then I looked at Buster.
“Yes.”
Pendelton nodded.
“Good.”
May you like
He opened a secure weapons locker.
“Because we may have less than an hour to stop the United States government from being stolen.”
