Chapter 10 - The General Everyone Trusted
|
We left Mount Weather with the evidence at 08:03.
General Vance left in restraints.
For several minutes after his arrest, he said nothing.
Then, as security officers moved him toward the transport vehicle, he looked at me.
“Rourke will destroy you.”
I stopped.
“You sound worried.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t understand him.”
“I understand enough.”
“No.”
Vance leaned closer.
“You think I wanted Snow Lantern destroyed?”
“You ordered Marcus abandoned.”
“Yes.”
“You killed Dana.”
“Mercer killed Dana.”
“You authorized it.”
Vance looked away.
That was answer enough.
I continued toward the helicopter.
Then he called after me.
“Jenkins.”
I turned.
For the first time, his voice lacked arrogance.
“Rourke does not believe in loyalty.”
I stared at him.
“Neither did you.”
The helicopter lifted toward Washington.
Ward sat between two security officers holding the encrypted drive.
Buster slept against Marcus’s leg.
His shoulder had been bandaged.
Every few minutes, Marcus checked the dog anyway.
The President joined us through a secure audio channel.
“Rourke has convened senior leadership.”
Pendelton answered.
“Under what authority?”
“He claims I am under hostile influence.”
“Evidence?”
“Fabricated medical and intelligence reports.”
Ward shook his head.
“Crown prepared those months ago.”
The President heard him.
“Dr. Ward?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What exactly is on your drive?”
“Enough to prosecute half the Directorate.”
“Half?”
Ward looked uncomfortable.
“The rest are identified only through operational codes.”
“Can Rourke destroy the evidence remotely?”
“No.”
That was something.
Pendelton looked toward me.
“Captain, your tribunal has become public.”
“What?”
A security agent handed me a tablet.
News channels were reporting that a decorated special operations officer accused of abandoning a classified mission had uncovered evidence of command corruption.
My name was everywhere.
So was a photograph of me being dragged into the tribunal.
Some called me a whistleblower.
Others called me a traitor.
One headline called me “America’s Rogue Captain.”
Marcus glanced over.
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“They could have used your driver’s license photo.”
I almost smiled.
Then another headline appeared.
GENERAL ROURKE WARNS OF INTERNAL MILITARY INSURRECTION.
My smile disappeared.
Rourke was moving faster than us.
He claimed Pendelton had been manipulated by compromised field personnel.
Meaning me.
Meaning Marcus.
Meaning Ward.
He was building the story before we could expose him.
Pendelton contacted the Attorney General.
No answer.
Then the FBI Director.
No answer.
Then the Speaker of the House.
Blocked.
Rourke had isolated the system.
Ward leaned forward.
“There is another option.”
“What?”
“The Directorate ledger includes payment signatures.”
Pendelton frowned.
“Financial signatures?”
“Cryptographic.”
Ward tapped the drive.
“They cannot be forged.”
“Can they be displayed publicly?”
“Yes.”
The President came over the speaker.
“Then that is exactly what we do.”
Pendelton looked surprised.
“Sir?”
“Rourke controls closed rooms.”
The President’s voice hardened.
“So we take away the room.”
Washington appeared beneath us.
The National Security Council meeting was taking place inside a secure federal complex.
Rourke expected secrecy.
Instead, the President ordered a live national address from the White House.
Every major network interrupted programming.
The President appeared on screen at 08:47.
Alive.
Standing.
Not compromised.
Not missing.
He spoke for less than three minutes.
“My fellow Americans, reports that I have transferred presidential authority are false.”
Across the nation, the story changed instantly.
Then he said the words Rourke feared most.
“An attempted abuse of emergency powers is under investigation.”
Pendelton looked at me.
“That buys us time.”
“How much?”
“Not enough.”
We landed near the federal complex.
Armed personnel blocked the entrance.
Their commander stepped forward.
“Secretary Pendelton, General Rourke has ordered—”
Pendelton kept walking.
“I outrank his order.”
“Sir…”
The President’s live address played from phones all around us.
The commander hesitated.
That hesitation saved democracy more than any weapon could have.
He stepped aside.
We entered.
The National Security Council chamber was one floor below.
Rourke had already begun.
His voice came through the doors.
“The President’s appearance proves nothing.”
Pendelton looked at me.
“Ready?”
I looked down at my burned hand.
Then at Marcus.
Then at Buster.
“Yes.”
We opened the doors.
Every face turned.
General Samuel Rourke stood at the head of the table.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Perfect uniform.
The kind of man recruitment posters were made for.
He stared at us.
Then smiled.
“Captain Jenkins.”
I understood immediately why Vance feared him.
Rourke did not look surprised.
He had expected us.
Pendelton entered behind me.
“Samuel.”
Rourke looked at Ward’s evidence case.
“You brought stolen classified material into a continuity session.”
Ward answered.
“I created it.”
Rourke ignored him.
He looked toward the council members.
“This is exactly the infiltration I warned you about.”
I stepped forward.
“No.”
Rourke’s eyes moved toward me.
“You are under military charges.”
“Charges filed by Vance.”
“General Vance is a decorated officer.”
“He’s also in custody.”
That caused movement around the table.
Rourke’s expression barely changed.
“For what?”
Pendelton answered.
“Treason.”
Silence.
Then Marcus placed Buster’s recorder on the table.
Rourke looked at it.
And for the first time, his confidence cracked.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“You left one thing out of your plan,” I said.
Rourke stared at the dog.
Buster stared back.
Marcus smiled.
“You forgot the K9 unit.”
Ward connected the drive to the room’s isolated display.
Financial records filled the wall.
Payments.
Companies.
Names.
Rourke’s name.
Vice President Cole.
Vance.
Mercer.
Others.
Several council members stood.
Rourke did not.
He looked at the evidence.
Then at Pendelton.
“You think this ends with me?”
Pendelton’s voice was quiet.
“It ends with accountability.”
Rourke smiled.
“No.”
His hand moved beneath the table.
I shouted.
“Gun!”
Rourke did not draw a weapon.
He pressed a switch.
Every electronic lock in the building engaged.
Then the television screens changed.
A live feed appeared.
Not Washington.
A military installation.
Rows of armed drones sat inside launch racks.
Rourke looked at me.
“Captain Jenkins.”
May you like
His smile returned.
“Welcome to Phase Six.”
