Chapter 45 - Hunters in the Capitol
The rain over Washington D.C. turned into a relentless, freezing downpour as night enveloped the District.
Inside a high-level briefing room within the Pentagon’s subterranean command hub, three four-star generals and the Deputy Director of National Intelligence stood in front of a giant digital display tracking satellite feeds across the eastern seaboard.
"Captain Claire Walker has breached perimeter security three times in the last six hours," the Deputy Director said, tapping the glass. "She slipped past FBI cordons, breached the federal detention center, and executed a secondary exfiltration. The President is demanding answers. How does one woman run rings around the entire national security apparatus?"
Sitting at the far end of the conference table, his uniform crisp and utterly immaculate, sat Admiral Arthur Vance—Julian Vance's elder brother, and the highest-ranking naval officer on the Joint Chiefs.
"She’s not just a woman, Director," Admiral Vance said coldly, sipping his black coffee without a flicker of emotion. "She is the One-Eighty-Seven. She was trained by the most lethal shadow-warfare instructors this nation ever produced. Conventional law enforcement will never catch her. If you want to eliminate her, you have to unleash the assets she doesn't know exist."
"The Aegis Zero armada is approaching international airspace near the Grand Banks," the Director warned. "If this leaks to the Senate Armed Services Committee, we will all face a military tribunal for treason."
"It won't leak," Vance replied with a dark, predatory smirk. "Because Claire Walker will be dead before sunrise."
Suddenly, the heavy biometric doors of the Pentagon command center slid open with a sharp hydraulic hiss.
Two armed secret service sentries stepped backward into the room, their hands raised in total surrender.
Walking slowly into the room behind them was General Thomas Bradley, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—flanked by twenty fully armed, battle-hardened Tier-One Delta Force operators in combat fatigues, their rifles leveled directly at Admiral Vance and the civilian directors.
"What is the meaning of this, Bradley?!" Admiral Vance shouted, rising from his chair in outrage. "This is an active tactical briefing!"
General Bradley walked up to the edge of the conference table, his weather-beaten face carved out of Appalachian granite. He reached into his coat and slammed a hard drive onto the mahogany surface.
"The meaning of this, Vance," Bradley said in a voice of thundering wrath, "is that the One-Eighty-Seven just delivered Julian Vance's unencrypted secondary offshore ledger directly to my personal server. Along with your mother’s signed confession."
Admiral Vance froze. The color drained from his face until his skin looked like parchment.
"You sold out our brothers in Helmand," Bradley continued, taking a step closer until his medals brushed against Vance’s chest. "You sanctioned illegal biological weapon trials on Master Sergeant Ethan Walker. And you used unmarked private gunships to fire on the National Cathedral of the United States."
"You have no jurisdiction to arrest a member of the Joint Chiefs without—" Vance started, reaching for the red panic button under the table.
General Bradley didn't let him finish. In one swift, brutal motion, the Chairman swung his heavy fist, breaking Vance’s nose and sending him sprawling across the glass display table.
"I’m not arresting you, Arthur," Bradley growled, motioning to the Delta operators who immediately descended on Vance with zip-ties and hoods. "I’m handing you over to the One-Eighty-Seven’s former unit. And may God have mercy on your filthy, treasonous soul, because they won't."
Bradley picked up his secure field radio and keyed the frequency: "Falcon Actual to Ghost Leader. The domestic perimeter is neutralized. You have your green light. The skies belong to you."
Over the static, Claire’s voice came back clear, chilling, and lethal:
May you like
*"Understood, General. Tell Ethan and Maya I’ll be back for breakfast."*
***
