Chapter 43 - The Ghost Protocol Activated
The localized atmospheric detonation turned the damp crypt into a blinding furnace.
The shockwave blasted the three contractors backward off their feet, their tactical optics blown apart by the concussive pressure wave. Claire didn't flinch. She had dropped into a low crouch a fraction of a second before the spark hit, letting the fireball roar over her head against the stone ceiling.
Before the smoke could even clear, she surged through the flames.
Her combat knife slashed through the first contractor’s carotid artery before his back even hit the floor. She ripped the secondary sidearm from his chest rig, spun, and put two rounds through the faceplate of the second man who was scrambling to recover his weapon. The third man, blinded and coughing up soot, raised both hands in terror, but Claire’s boot smashed into his knee with sickening crunch, sending him crashing onto the bloody tiles.
She pinned him by the throat against the tomb, pressing the smoking barrel of her sidearm against his temple.
"Who launched the armada?" Claire hissed, her thumb pulling the hammer back.
The mercenary coughed blood, laughing through broken teeth. "It’s... it’s not an armada you can stop, One-Eighty-Seven. Operation Obsidian was just... the prototype. Julian Vance was an errand boy. The real fleet... is already off the Grand Banks."
"What is the fleet's designation?" Claire shoved the barrel deeper into his temple until the skin split.
"Aegis... Aegis Zero..." the man choked out. "They... they bought the entire third tier of the Pentagon. You’re already marked as... domestic terrorists. Look at the feeds..."
Claire broke his neck with a singular, remorseless jerk of her wrist.
She retrieved the contractor’s satellite encrypted comms tablet from his assault pack and booted it up.
The screen flickered to life, showing live news feeds from CNN, Fox, and the BBC. Claire’s heart clenched into an iron fist.
Across every major television network, breaking news banners flashed red:
*CRITICAL ALERT: ROGUE ARMY SPECIAL FORCES CAPTAIN CLAIRE WALKER DECLARED TERRORIST THREAT. MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AT THE NATIONAL CATHEDRAL. DEPT OF DEFENSE AUTHORIZES DEADLY FORCE ON SIGHT.*
Marcus limped out of the corridor, his face pale as he looked over Claire’s shoulder at the screen. "Dear God... they didn't just attack us. They framed us. Vance's syndicate controls the media infrastructure through the Pentagon’s Defense Public Affairs."
"They cut off the entire United States mainland from us," Ethan said, his voice trembling as he held Maya close against his chest. "Claire... there is nowhere left to hide. Every cop, every federal agent, every soldier in this country is going to hunt you down."
Claire looked down at her bloody hands, then at her little niece, whose tear-stained face was buried in Ethan's shirt.
"They control the mainland," Claire said softly, her eyes turning into pure, lethal diamond. "So we take the fight out of their jurisdiction."
She pulled out her personal, deeply encrypted burn phone and dialed a ten-digit sequence that had remained dormant for six years.
"Marcus," she ordered. "Get Ethan and Maya into the trunk of the diplomatic sedan parked behind the Embassy of the Czech Republic. Three blocks east. Tell the ambassador that the 'One-Eighty-Seven has called in the debt of Kandahar.'"
"Where are you going, Claire?" Marcus demanded, grabbing her shoulder. "You can't fight the entire United States government alone!"
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"I'm not fighting the government," Claire said, wiping the blood from her cheek. "I’m going to see my mother."
***
