Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Fort Bragg
Richard stared at me as if I had spoken in ancient Aramaic.
A ripple of panicked whispers surged through the rows of captains, majors, and colonels watching from their seats.
“Project Avernus?” Richard scoffed, though a thin bead of sweat now glistened at his receding hairline.
“There is no such project listed in the Pentagon appropriations budget! I sit on the Armed Services Review Board!”
Colonel Vance stepped between Richard and me, his massive frame completely blocking the general’s view.
“That’s because your board only oversees conventional toys, General,” Vance said with ruthless calm.
“Cerberus answers to the White House Situation Room and the Director of National Intelligence.”
“Your stepdaughter built the autonomous targeting algorithm that kept your forward strike teams alive in the Kunduz Valley.”
Richard’s mouth fell slightly open, his mind desperately trying to reconcile the facts.
Three years ago, an entire detachment of Bradley’s elite infantry had been surrounded on a barren ridge during a blizzard.
An unseen intelligence asset had routed unmanned aerial support through an impossible mountain gorge, neutralizing the enemy without losing a single American soldier.
Richard had spent months bragging at gala dinners that his “tactical brilliance” and “Bradley warrior DNA” had saved those boys.
He had collected a Distinguished Service Medal for that operation.
He had pinned it on his dress jacket right above his heart.
“You?” Richard whispered, his voice cracking like brittle twigs. “You were just a girl crying in your mother's kitchen.”
“I was an MIT graduate with a double doctorate in applied cryptography and orbital systems,” I reminded him.
“My mother begged me to take the field assignment here so I could keep an eye on you after she passed.”
“She knew your arrogance would eventually get real soldiers killed.”
Major Yates looked like he was about to vomit as two armed Tier-One operators in sterile black gear appeared at the auditorium doors.
They carried suppressed short-barreled carbines and wore no insignia, patches, or unit identifiers.
The lead operator tapped his throat microphone.
“Director Bradley, transport is waiting on the pad. The Pentagon secure channel is established on the bird.”
I slung my canvas jacket over my shoulder and picked up the red steel folder.
“General Bradley, I suggest you return to your podium and conclude your lecture on filing logistics,” I said softly.
“Major Yates, escort your commanding officer back to his stage before I have JSOC revoke his parking pass.”
I walked past Richard without brushing his uniform, leaving him frozen in the aisle like a stone statue.
May you like
As the heavy soundproof doors swung shut behind me, the muffled uproar inside the auditorium sounded like an explosion.
The myth of the useless stepdaughter had died in five devastating minutes.
