Chapter 4 - The Ghost of Apex Vanguard
""You're supposed to be dead, Cole,"" I said, my finger steady on the trigger, the cold steel of the barrel pressing deep into the soft skin between his eyes. ""I saw your name on the memorial wall at Fort Bragg.""
Garrett coughed out a harsh, wet laugh that spattered crimson droplets across his tactical vest. ""A bronze plaque and a closed-casket funeral cost twenty grand. Apex Vanguard paid me five million to make sure Raven Talon never walked out of that valley. It was business, Nora. Pure balance-sheet economics.""
""Eleven of our brothers died in the dirt while you cashed a wire transfer,"" I hissed, leaning closer, my knuckles white against the grip.
""They died because your commander was too stubborn to take the buyout,"" Garrett snarled, his eyes defiant despite the blood pooling around his thighs. ""The defense contracts in that sector were worth billions. Rare earth minerals, privatized security pipelines, unaccountable logistics chains. Your team stumbled onto the staging yards. You were never meant to come back. And Vance... Vance thinks he's a savior? He was the one who signed the original operational charter that created Apex in the first place!""
A heavy boot slammed down onto Garrett's wrist, disarming him of the secondary knife he had been quietly sliding from his tactical belt. General Vance stood over us, his weapon drawn, surrounded by four heavily armed operators who had secured the immediate perimeter. The sound of distant sirens signaled that the installation's military police and civilian tactical units were finally closing the ring.
""Don't listen to his poison, Blake,"" Vance said coldly. His voice carried an edge I hadn't heard before—a razor-thin layer of defensive anxiety.
I kept the gun leveled at Garrett's face, but my peripheral vision locked onto Vance. ""Is that true, General? Did you authorize the Apex security charter?""
Vance didn't flinch, but his eyes hardened into flint. ""Apex was originally conceived as a black-budget logistics contractor to run logistics through non-permissive territory without congressional oversight. It was approved at the Cabinet level ten years ago. But three years ago, a cabal within the Pentagon privatized the entire apparatus for their own profit. They went rogue. They assassinated your unit to protect their revenue stream.""
""And who heads that cabal, General?"" I asked, slowly rising to my feet, keeping my weapon pointed down at Garrett.
Before Vance could answer, Garrett laughed again, more erratic this time. ""Ask him who's sitting in the Pentagon’s Directorate of Acquisition right now, Nora. Ask him who signed Vane’s transfer orders to Fort Meridian. Ask him about Senator Douglas Sterling.""
The name struck like a hammer. Sterling was the chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. A political heavyweight, a decorated veteran, and the man who gave the keynote address at Raven Talon's memorial service.
""You're out of time, Garrett,"" Vance commanded his lead operator. ""Secure the prisoner. Get him into the back of the second Suburban. Medics, patch his leg. I want him alive for the deposition.""
""He won't make it to the deposition,"" Garrett whispered, his eyes widening in sudden realization.
From the tree line three hundred yards past the motor pool fence, the crack of a high-caliber sniper rifle echoed across the base. A heavy .338 Lapua round tore through the humid air.
Garrett's head snapped back violently. The back of his skull erupted in a spray of bone and gore against the side of the fuel tanker.
""SNIPER!"" Vance yelled, diving toward the asphalt.
Two more high-velocity rounds punched through the roof of the adjacent maintenance bay, showering us with sparks and twisted sheet metal. The shooter was professional, concealed in the dense pine woods just outside the military reservation boundary, using suppressed precision fire to tie up loose ends.
""Get to the bunker!"" Vance shouted, grabbing my tactical vest and dragging me toward the reinforced entrance of the supply depot.
I broke free from his grip, sprinting in a low crouch toward the fallen sniper victim. Disregarding the rounds snapping around me, I ripped the tactical communicator from Garrett’s ear and snatched the encrypted satellite phone tucked into his chest rig.
As I rolled behind the reinforced concrete lip of the bunker entrance, the satellite phone in my hand buzzed with an incoming text message.
I opened the display. The screen flashed with a message from an unlisted contact:
VANE FAILED. GARRETT ELIMINATED. CHIP EXTRACTION ABORTED. CLEANING HOUSE AT THE RESIDENCE. YOU’RE NEXT, BLAKE.
My stomach plummeted. 'The residence' didn't mean my barracks room.
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It meant the small, quiet farmhouse in northern Alabama where the widowed mother of my fallen team leader, Sergeant First Class Marcus Wright, lived under the impression that her son had died a hero in a routine training accident. The woman who had treated me like a daughter when I was an orphaned recruit.
They weren't just hunting me. They were erasing everyone connected to the ghosts of Raven Talon.
