Chapter 5 - The General’s Dilemma
General Thomas Vance slowly walked toward the conference table, resting both hands on the polished wood surface as he leaned in toward me. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now held a deep, exhausting resignation.
“I take it your analysts found the maritime manifests pointing toward the logistics division,” Vance said quietly, not phrasing it as a question.
“They did, General,” I replied, my voice remaining completely level, though my hand hovered near the encrypted panic transmitter clipped inside my jacket lining. “Which raises a very complicated, very dangerous question. How did a mid-level operational commander like Brock Sullivan manage to siphon millions of dollars in classified defense inventory without the head of naval logistics noticing—unless the head of logistics was actively shielding him?”
Vance closed his eyes for a long, slow second, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a blinding migraine. When he opened them, the resignation was gone, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve.
“Marcus is my brother, Captain,” Vance said, his voice dropping into a gravelly whisper. “He made a mistake—a catastrophic, criminal mistake—getting entangled with private contractors who promised to pad the fleet’s operational budget through unauthorized secondary sales. When I found out three weeks ago, I tried to pull him back. I tried to force him to resign quietly.”
“Quietly?” I echoed, my tone sharpening. “General, we are talking about treasonous diversion of classified military assets. This isn't a family dispute; it’s a federal felony.”
“I know what it is,” Vance snapped, slamming his palm softly against the table. “And I was prepared to hand him over to military justice the moment your audit concluded. But what you don't know, Captain—what is currently sitting on the secure terminal in my private office—changes the timeline entirely.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Before Vance could answer, the overhead fluorescent lights in the conference room flickered violently and died, plunging us into sudden, amber-lit emergency darkness.
Simultaneously, a shrill, piercing electronic alarm began wailing through the base’s internal intercom system.
“Warning. Base lockdown initiated. Unidentified tactical breach at Pier Four. All units mobilize immediately.”
Sarah gasped, her fingers flying across her laptop keyboard to override the local firewall. “Captain! The mainframe is under a massive external cyber-attack! Someone is wiping our evidentiary servers from an internal terminal!”
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General Vance spun around toward the locked door, drawing his sidearm from its holster with practiced speed.
“It’s not an external attack,” Vance said grimly, his face draining of all color as the sounds of heavy, armored boots echoed down the concrete hallway outside our room. “Marcus’s contractors didn't wait for the tribunal. They’re here to burn the evidence—and everyone in this room with it.”
