Chapter 104 - The Ghost Protocol at Dawn
"They're scrubbing your entire service record," Miller said, his fingers flying across the datapad.
Claire watched the screen.
On national television, an official Department of Defense spokesperson was standing at the Pentagon briefing podium.
"At zero-two-hundred hours," the spokesperson announced, "disgraced former officer Claire Montgomery executed an armed breach of a classified military installation, killing four federal security officers."
"Those weren't federal officers," Vance snarled. "Those were Sterling's personal executioners!"
"The public doesn't know that," Miller countered frantically. "Look at the classified military network. Claire... your One-Eighty-Seven citation... it’s gone."
Claire leaned over his shoulder.
On the restricted defense mainframe, her file was rapidly deteriorating.
Her Bronze Star, her Purple Hearts, her combat deployments to Wardak and Kunar—all of them were turning into red error codes.
*FILE NOT FOUND.*
*CLEARANCE REVOKED.*
*RECORD DELETED BY DIRECTIVE OF SENATE SELECT COMMITTEE.*
"They are turning you into a ghost," Vance whispered. "If they kill you now, there won't even be a headstone in Arlington. You’ll just be an unhinged terrorist who was neutralized."
Margaret remained huddled on the floor, listening to the broadcast with dull, resigned eyes.
"He always does this," Margaret muttered numbly. "He erases the truth before he spills the blood."
Claire straightened up, her posture rigid, her breathing steady.
The panic that should have consumed her was replaced by the terrifying, clinical focus that had kept her alive in the mountains of Afghanistan.
"Miller," Claire said calmly. "Do you still have access to the Navy’s tactical satellite uplinks?"
"Only for another fifteen minutes," Miller replied. "Once the Pentagon network admins complete the firewall purge, my credentials will be completely locked out."
"Then don't try to save my record," Claire said.
Miller looked up, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Broadcast the emergency authentication sequence," Claire ordered. "The one we established at the gala."
Vance’s eyes widened. "The One-Eighty-Seven beacon?"
"Every active-duty SEAL team and special operations unit in the Atlantic theater monitors that frequency," Claire said, her voice cutting through the cold dampness of the bunker. "It’s hardwired into their tactical transceivers. Sterling can wipe the Pentagon servers, but he can't wipe the radios on the operators' vests."
Miller hesitated, his finger hovering over the terminal.
"Claire... if I transmit that signal, every listening post from Fort Meade to Langley will pinpoint our coordinates in this bunker."
"Let them pinpoint us," Claire said, pulling the charging handle of her stolen rifle. "We aren't staying here anyway."
"Where the hell are we going?" Vance asked.
"To the Capitol," Claire said.
Margaret gasped, clutching Claire’s ankle. "Are you insane?! The Capitol is crawling with federal agents! Sterling has his entire perimeter locked down!"
Claire pulled her boot away from Margaret’s grip with cold precision.
"Sterling thinks he's fighting a scandal," Claire said. "He thinks he's fighting an investigation."
She looked down at her mother, her eyes burning with lethal certainty.
"He forgot that he's fighting the One-Eighty-Seven."
Miller gritted his teeth, tapped three rapid confirmation keys, and hit *ENTER.*
Across the encrypted global defense grid, a silent, high-priority ping was transmitted.
*ORIGIN: COMMANDER CLAIRE MONTGOMERY.*
*STATUS: ACTIVE IN PURSUIT.*
*TARGET: SENATE INTEL VAULT.*
*ALL STATIONS STAND BY.*
Within three seconds, a red warning indicator flashed across Miller's screen.
"Signal received," Miller reported, his heart hammering against his ribs. "And Claire... someone just acknowledged receipt."
"Who?" Vance demanded.
Miller swallowed hard, staring at the responder code.
"Master Chief James Brody. SEAL Team Six. Currently deployed at Andrews Air Force Base."
A ghost of a smile touched Claire’s soot-stained lips.
Brody was the decorated SEAL who had saluted her in the ballroom while her mother had spat on her name.
"What did Brody say?" Claire asked.
Miller looked up, his eyes shining in the dim emergency light.
"He transmitted two words, Commander: *HOLD POSITION.*"
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"Tell Brody we don't hold," Claire said, turning toward the heavy iron exit grate that led upward toward Constitution Avenue. "Tell him we're advancing."
***
