Chapter 7 - The Reckoning in the SCIF
By midnight, the basement of Building 204 had been transformed into an operational center for Task Force Obsidian and the Department of Justice.
Federal agents in windbreakers moved between rows of server racks, tagging hard drives, boxing paper files, and downloading terabytes of financial data from the shadow network Marcus Vance had maintained for eighteen months.
I sat in the central computer bay, bathed in the blue-green glow of three tactical terminals, drinking black coffee from a styrofoam cup.
The door to the secure compartment hissed open.
Nathan Vance walked in, carrying a folder—not red this time, but standard Department of Defense manila, stamped with the seal of the Inspector General.
"Dagger-Six is safe," Vance said, leaning against the steel desk beside me. "The extraction bird picked them up ten minutes before sunrise in northern Iraq. Zero casualties. They recovered two crates of the modified thermal sights with serial numbers matching the Bragg inventory."
I exhaled slowly, setting the coffee cup down. "And the Syrian buyer?"
"Detained by Kurdish counter-terror units three hours ago," Vance said. "He started singing immediately. Confirmed that Apex had been routing shipments through the port of Wilmington for over a year using your mother's estate trust as the legal front."
I looked down at my hands. They were steady now, but the hollow ache in my chest hadn't gone away.
"What happens to Richard?" I asked.
Vance opened the manila folder.
"The Secretary of the Army convened an emergency review board two hours ago," Vance said. "They aren't going to court-martial him for treason. They don't have evidence that he had direct knowledge of the arms sales, and the Pentagon wants to avoid the public humiliation of putting a three-star installation commander on trial for selling weapons to foreign militias."
"Of course," I said with a bitter laugh. "Protect the institution at all costs."
"Not entirely," Vance corrected gently. "They're offering him an administrative discharge. Reduction in rank to Brigadier General for retirement pay purposes. Complete forfeiture of his command credentials. And he has seventy-two hours to vacate government quarters."
"And Tyler?"
"Tyler is a civilian," Vance said flatly. "The Army can't protect him, and the Department of Justice isn't in a forgiving mood. He’s looking at ten to fifteen years in federal prison for conspiracy to violate the Arms Export Control Act. Miller says he might get it down to seven if he testifies against Marcus Vance."
The door behind us opened again.
Special Agent Miller stepped into the SCIF, looking uneasy.
"Claire," Miller said. "He’s outside."
I looked up. "Who?"
"Richard," Miller said. "He drove himself to the checkpoint. The MPs turned him away, but he refused to leave. He’s standing by the gate in the rain. He says he won't leave until he speaks to you."
Vance frowned. "I can have the guard force remove him by force, Claire. He has no legal right to be on this installation anymore."
I looked at the monitors, at the endless lines of code that had governed my life for five years, and then down at the empty styrofoam cup.
May you like
"No," I said, standing up and smoothing down the front of my jacket. "Let him in."
***
