Chapter 6 - The Bloodline of Betrayal
Harold stared at me, his fingers frozen over the keypad of the satellite phone. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse standing under the harsh interior lights of the cargo bay.
"Morgan?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "What... what are you doing here?"
"Put the drive on the crate, Harold," I said, keeping my weapon trained squarely on the center of his chest. "Step away from the cargo."
Harold swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the open ramp, where Brody and four JSOC operators were fanning out, their laser designators painting red dots across his chest.
"You don't understand," Harold pleaded, raising his hands slowly, though his fingers still clenched the drive. "Richard... Richard organized this! He said it was an off-the-books intelligence transfer! He told me the White House cleared it!"
"Don't insult my intelligence," I stepped closer, my voice echoing off the corrugated ribs of the aircraft hull. "The White House doesn't clear arms transfers to shell companies owned by the Russian GRU. And they certainly don't use Aegis Vanguard to smuggle drone guidance processors through an active military installation."
Harold’s breath hitched. "How... how did you find out? Richard swore nobody was tracking the logistics chain."
"Richard thought I was a secretary," I said, a cold smile touching the corners of my lips. "He thought because I sat at a desk and didn't brag about my ribbons, I couldn't read an inventory ledger. He forgot that every single pound of equipment that enters or leaves Fort Bragg passes through the logistics oversight node. Every flight manifest. Every maintenance write-off. Every serial number."
I took another step forward.
"I spent six months letting you and Richard believe you were untouchable," I said. "Every time he yelled at me in public, every time he called me useless at the dinner table, he became more confident that his flank was secure. He thought his own house was clean."
"Morgan... we're family," Harold choked out, tears of panic brimming in his eyes. "I'm your uncle. Your mother—"
"Do not speak her name," I snapped, the ice in my voice so sharp it made the Brigadier General flinch. "My mother gave thirty years of her life to this country with honor and humility. You and Richard used her death to clear the way for your greed."
"Director," Brody interrupted, checking his tactical tablet. "Base security has locked down SCIF Three. General Richard Vance just tried to activate a remote wipe on his office servers. The protocol was intercepted by our cyber team. We have everything."
Harold slumped against the shipping container, the last spark of defiance evaporating from his eyes. His hand opened, and the encrypted data drive clattered to the ribbed metal floor.
"Secure him," I ordered. "And get these containers into the high-security vault at JSOC headquarters. If anyone asks, this aircraft never landed, and this cargo never existed."
Brody grabbed Harold by the collar, slapping heavy steel zip-ties around his wrists. "What about the General, ma'am?"
I looked down at the data drive, then back toward the dark tarmac where the rain was beginning to wash away the tire tracks and spent brass.
May you like
"Richard wanted an audience," I said softly. "Let's give him one."
***
