Chapter 4 - The Strike in the Dark
Inside the subterranean command bunker four stories beneath the base runway, forty monitors bathed the room in blue light.
Colonel Vance stood behind my high-backed console, sipping black coffee from a chipped ceramic mug.
On the central projector, a satellite feed tracked a convoy of three unmarked armored transports moving through a contested valley.
“Hostile elements have tapped the Caspian crude terminal,” Vance said, pointing to an encrypted telemetry line on the map.
“They believe they’re operating inside an electronic blind spot created by their Russian-made jammers.”
I rested my fingers on the mechanical keyboard, watching strings of decompiled code scroll across my secondary screen.
“They aren’t in a blind spot,” I murmured, adjusting the frequency bandwidth by three decimal places.
“They’re bouncing their signal off a commercial communication relay I hijacked six months ago.”
With four quick keystrokes, I isolated the convoy’s command vehicle and inverted their telemetry loop.
On the main display, their communications grid flickered once, turned bright amber, and completely collapsed into static.
“Vance, advise the strike team in Incirlik,” I said calmly. “The corridor is clear. Target coordinates confirmed.”
Within twelve seconds, the tactical radio crackled to life with the calm voice of a forward air controller.
“Cerberus, this is Ghost Lead. Targets acquired and neutralized. No civilian casualties. The Caspian pipeline is secure.”
A collective sigh of relief washed through the underground bunker, followed by quiet, professional nods of approval.
Vance set his mug down and leaned over my workstation.
“That operation was scheduled to cost eighteen lives and forty million dollars if we had to go in on the ground, Claire.”
“Your algorithm ended it before breakfast without firing a single conventional artillery round.”
I closed the encrypted terminal and leaned back in my chair, massaging the bridge of my nose.
“Tell that to my stepfather, Nathan. He still thinks I spend my days alphabetizing requisition forms for winter socks.”
Vance let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
“Richard Bradley is currently sitting in his office fielding furious phone calls from the Pentagon’s inspector general.”
“He tried to pull your personnel file thirty minutes ago using his three-star override credentials.”
I smiled faintly, turning my chair toward the colonel.
“Let me guess. The automated tripwire activated?”
“Not only did it activate,” Vance replied with a predatory grin, “it routed his IP address directly to the Counterintelligence Division.”
“They flagged his account for unauthorized access of SAP level-five national defense assets.”
Before I could answer, the red landline on my desk began to ring.
It was the secure direct line from the office of General Marcus Vance—Nathan’s uncle and the current Chief of Staff of the Army.
I picked up the heavy receiver.
“Director Bradley speaking.”
“Claire,” General Vance’s booming voice came through the encrypted speaker.
“I just finished watching the Caspian telemetry. Brilliant work, as always.”
“Thank you, General. We wrapped it twelve minutes ahead of schedule.”
“Good. Now let’s discuss the circus Richard made of himself in front of two hundred junior officers this morning.”
The four-star general’s voice turned dangerously cold.
“I am landing at Fort Bragg on Army One at fourteen-hundred hours.”
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“I want you, Colonel Vance, and your full tactical team standing on that tarmac.”
“It’s time we remind Richard Bradley what actual service to this country looks like.”
