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Chapter Twenty-One - "Enemies of the State"
Location: Unknown
…
…
*groans*
The deep sleep was starting to fade. The blurry light didn't cause him to stir at first - rather, the pain inside the skull was what awakened the senses. It was like a pair of drills noisily boring through either temple. Arms were limp as well, hung up above and stretched to their fullest, while the skin felt exposed to the steely air. The rest of the body also hurt; some spots were worse than others. Pain was good, however. Pain meant he was still alive.
…
"Argh..."
Ethan Mallory was still in darkness, lacking the strength to even open his eyes. His speech was but a whimper, unlike the other voice he heard immediately after.
"Looks like he's waking up, lads..."
It was a man's. Gravelly, gruff, and somehow... familiar. English, like a gentleman's. Head still fuzzy and memory still a blur, he nonetheless mustered just enough vigor to regain his bearings. His eyes peeled open to a mess of faded colors. As they sharpened to focus, he recognized a dim room, a few squares of beeping lights, and three figures that took the shapes of men. One of those figures was darker than the others, all of them were standing around like gawking statues. Little by little, however, the picture started to become clearer. And the first thing that Ethan recognized was the face of that dark figure, whose burn mark on the cheek was certainly notable.
"...Rise 'n shine, mate.", Orson Rose smirked.
"...Y... You..."
"Noggin's still working I see. Good."
Ethan clenched his fists, then realized once again that he was held up by his arms with metal chains. That explained the limpness and the pain on his limbs; his head wasn't faring any better either. As for his clothes, only a shirt and trousers remained. He remembered being armed and tooled up befor he blacked out; now, his rifle and the rest of his gear where nowhere to be seen. He was in the middle of a dark room with metal sheets for walls and computer monitors for illumination. Wandering his eyes downwards, he realized that his body was also hooked up to some sort of machine, with thin wires that resembled electrodes. Helpless, like guinea pig. Orson taunted him with his smug expression, though his two associates weren't as emotive. They were all wearing grey jumpsuits with harnesses and weapons dangling on the side.
"Call the boss.", Orson ordered one of the men. "Tell 'em our sleepyhead's finally up."
The lackey left without question, opening the door then swiftly closing it behind him. That brief opening brightened the room with a white flare. Industrial lights. He also felt the ground shake and his chains sway, with the rumbling of heavy metal beneath them.
It seemed like they were on a train.
"W...Where am I?", he muttered.
"Nowhere to concern yourself, Mallory.", Orson replied. "You've already done quite a lot of trouble for us in San Francisco."
He made it sound like they weren't in that city anymore.
The reality quickly dawned on him. He was captured. The last thing he remembered was a needle being pressed into his neck, lethargy instantly setting in. He was in the basement of a suburban house, where he discovered something ominous - something his addled mind struggled to recall. A corpse? A bomb? Either way, he vividly remembered Orson being there as well, taunting him like he did just now. And before that, Ethan had been in battle, fighting in a wharf, helpless to protect dozens of innocent people from masked shooters out to kill him and his companions. Erin and Agnes… they were whisked away to safety by Rainbow, thank God. If only he could say the same to himself. Ethan gritted his teeth as he looked at Orson with bitter, pained contempt; part of him wanted to tear his bonds off and strangle the bastard with his bare hands if it was only possible.
Not even half a minute went by when the door to the room to swung open again. The lackey had returned, but this time with another person following closely behind.
A woman.
"Ma'am...", Orson turned his heel to face her. "...He's all yours."
"..."
She walked closer to look Ethan in the eye. Her tan complexion, her wrinkled visage, her greying black hair neatly tied behind her head. With the blue office blazer and slacks, as well as the American flag pinned on her lapel, her appearance matched that of a lady of import. Ambiguities slowly disappeared, yet the captive could not help but be slack-jawed out of disbelief. He'd seen her in the news before. He never thought he'd see her here.
...Senator Darcy?!
Cold and composed, she didn't seem too bothered seeing a battered, helpless man strung up like a slab of meat. She was expecting him. She was one of them.
"*sigh* I can already tell this will be a waste of my time, Mr. Rose...", she frowned.
"Eh?"
"This soldier's not gonna talk. Not like this. See it in his eyes."
It was all true. Erin's data from Prestige National Bank, the ties between Earth's Hope and some powerful figures in the government. No other reason for the head of the Senate Committee on Enhanced Domestic Defense to be in the same room with the most notorious terrorists in the world right now. All sorts of questions started to flood Ethan's head, even though the obvious signs were already there. He harbored suspicions before, considering the intel that Rainbow extracted in other battles against these guys and their lackeys. He just couldn't believe how right on the money he was.
Senator Darcy took another step towards him. Unlike with Orson, Ethan felt a slight dread by her presence. Her aura was that of an imperious lady he'd been seeing in the news, but now made more sinister by her true colors. There was a slightly change in how she presented herself to him. The way she spoke, the way she walked, the way her icy expression pierced his own gaze. The signs felt all too familiar. He'd seen them before from another time, from another woman whose name still haunted his memory and hurt his heart like a dagger.
"America is honored to have men like you, Mr. Mallory...", she went on. "...But it's always a goddamn shame whenever they have to be sacrificed for the greater good."
"W-What... what do you want with me…?"
"Leverage. Intel. Depends on what parts of you we can still use."
Parts. The analogy of him being a slab of meat rang even more true.
"Erin... Erin was right...", Ethan continued to babble. "...You... Prestige National, Ithaca... We found out-"
"Whatever you 'found out' is irrelevant now, soldier. I suggest you look into your own welfare. No more heroics from you, from this point on."
Darcy then shook her head and walked away, hands firmly clasped behind her. It seemed like a show of genuine sympathy, as twisted as that sounded. The lady must have gestured something to the other men with her, because another person entered the room when she tipped her chin. This one, however, wasn't wearing a jumpsuit like the others: he was in a suit, making him more like an aide than a mere lackey. This new visitor went to the computer monitors and typed something into the keyboard. Whatever it was, it caused Ethan to relive the pain in his head again, making him grimace. His temples felt like they were caught between a vice as his arms struggled in vain.
He clenched his fists, yearning to lash out. If this was a form of torture, it was quite crude and unnecessary. He'd been in this position before: captured by different killers, brought before a different woman. This time, the motive was likely the same. And thus, the same question he'd asked her came to mind once again. He was in no position to beg, but he still wanted to know.
"W-Why...?!", he called out.
Why did Darcy collude with these people? Why would she rebuild America's prestige by drowning the world in fire? Why do this now?
"Hmph… 'Why'…", she scoffed at him, clearly incensed. "You expect me to say something that can help you jeopardize our operation?"
"..."
"Emily Jacobsen was right. You are resilient, determined... but ultimately a tool. We're better off killing you, but that can always come later."
And there it was, the proverbial dagger to his heart.
"Emily...?", he raised his head.
His mind snapped to focus when Ethan heard the name. Another draught of vigor returned that his body sorely needed. Could be the drugs in his system. Could be something buried deep in his chest now starting to come back to life. 'Emily Jacobsen'. He still hated hearing that name, even after all this time. Deep within his mind was still a strong desire to kill her if he ever found her. She was a traitor who wounded him greatly, yet he also still wanted to see her again. To gloat over, to mock, perhaps to hear her whole story, to know 'why'. If anything else, she'd have answers. The White Masks, Freedom Day, Earth's Hope... she was in the middle of it all.
"Oh, that's right. Team Rainbow sent you to America to retrieve her, correct?", Darcy turned to him. "It's why you hit our black site in Iowa..."
This woman had the same look that Emily gave to him before. A sense of self-righteousness only the most deluded or fanatical could ever flaunt with a straight face. It was chilling to see the same expression on someone else, to see the root of Emily's corruption taking hold elsewhere. Eager anticipation to hear Darcy's words slowly took a grim turn. Ethan felt it in his gut that he would regret bringing her up. The elder woman inched closer to him, as if to offer words of solace...
...
...
"...Well… Emily's dead, Mr. Mallory. She became a liability the moment your people returned her to us, so…"
"W-What...?"
Darcy smirked and walked away, rather than indulge his curiosity.
"We're done here, Mr. Rose. Let Mother Goose deal with him first. Make sure he's alive and coherent when I return."
"If ya say so, boss.", went the British man with a shrug. "And my niece?"
"We'll wire her your money once the next Phase is complete. We only have a few hours left."
"Aye-aye."
Orson gave her a cheerful, casual salute as gratitude. Ethan, however, fell quiet. To hear that Emily was dead all this time...? It was a lie. It had to be. She was important to this people's cause; surely they wouldn't deem her a liability because of one failure. She didn't even talk when Rainbow captured her! There had to be something else going on. There had to be a different reason, a good reason, why they'd off her just like that.
And then, he felt a pit open in his chest. Deep and heavy. Between grimaces and grunts, he felt as though his heart was about to implode. He couldn't fathom why his body would react like this to the news. He had no reason to believe the words of a complicit politician, yet he felt she wasn't lying to him either. With blurring eyes, he stared back at Darcy, who looked quite curious about his own reaction. He could say the same to himself. He could give her a piece of his mind, right now. Use the chains on his hands to break her neck, even if he would be riddled with bullets by then. It would've been worth it.
"Y-You won't...get away with this..."
"Threats at this point are empty and useless, Mr. Mallory.", the old woman shook her head. "I promise you: what'll happen next is no longer your concern."
"..."
"In fact, you won't even remember us after we're done."
With gritted teeth he struggled in his bonds again; it was in vain, of course. The last bit of what Darcy said was a massive red flag, for Ethan knew these people still had plans for him. With that, the Senator stepped out, with the aide following closely behind who then closed the door with a clang. And just as soon as it started, the lone prisoner had no other company, save for his captors. Orson wasted no time to grate on his nerves.
"Tsk, tsk. I almost wanna apologise, mate. Know what your CIA's gonna do to ya?"
"…"
"(chuckles) Some literal mind-fuckery, it is. Ain't gonna be as clean as how the SAS do it either. I mean with Darcy and all that... You did see their faces..."
Ethan lowered his head, remained firm in his quiet contempt. At the very least, he has further proof of the CIA's involvement in this... madness. Just like Emily. A good chance he's only dealing with a small, but powerful faction within the otherwise-noble agency, but that's a moot point now.
"...Which reminds me: your mates in Hereford aren't gonna come to the rescue anytime soon. Darcy made sure of that too."
"…"
He had just enough of the damn Brit's taunting; the bastard had been enjoying himself too much. As if to hammer home how helpless Ethan was, Orson propped up a chair just a few feet from his dangling body. Just close enough to talk face-to-face, a little more than an arm's length. If Ethan wasn't helpless, he could've punched him in the face right now - maybe even grapple him with his legs, twist his neck like a toothpick.
"So! Let's have a 'lil chat in the meantime, eh? How did it go down between you and that other bird (woman)?"
"..."
"Heard you and Emily had a thing."
"...Fuck you..."
"I bet people like her are feisty in bed. But what do I know, eh?", Orson egged him on, then pointed behind with his thumb. "This lot's been all tight-lipped about her."
Ethan didn't deign to indulge him with small talk. The desire to kill this man had just grown tenfold, what with the way he was nonchalant about such a revelation. Perhaps Orson was purposely pushing his buttons. It was working, unfortunately: the fierce look Ethan was giving to the terrorist scumbag was a telltale sign of success. Coupled with pain one was helpless against, poor judgment was very much encouraged at this point. Of course, deep inside his mind, he was lambasting himself for showing such weakness. Emily Jacobsen… she proved to be yet one more weakness of his after all this time. Hard to believe a tiny part of his heart wanted to mourn her.
"Damn shame if true, that one.", the Brit continued. "Heard she's smart and sexy... only to be wasted like that..."
Orson then stood up from his seat and took a water bottle from one of the computer tables, quickly sipping from it. He was so relaxed, accentuating the prisoner's helplessness. The anger only continued to grow, so much so that it began to cloud his thoughts and lowered his awareness. He was in no position to fight. Yet, he wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in the room with him. Rage slowly rose to the boiling point, causing Ethan to struggle with his bonds and rattle them.
He failed to realize that Orson was actually distracting him, for another lackey had crept up from his blindside.
"...If nothing else, you're lucky. I'm a generous man."
"…"
"I'll let you have sweet dreams about her."
Before Ethan could spit back the insult, a rifle butt smacked him square in the left temple. So strong and abrupt, it sent him back to the darkness whence he came from.
Nothing pleasant awaited him there.
...
Six hours before Zero Protocol
Joint Baltic Command Fehmarn (JBCF), Hamburg, Germany
…
This was "Peter" Kovalenko's second time as a tourist to this place. "The Kanal". Not too long ago, in a parking lot far from where he was standing, he and his boss hatched a plan with the Amerikanski to take down a sinister conspiracy eager to kick-start another World War. Much had happened since then, not all of it good. The mere fact that he had returned to the JBCF at all was evidence of that.
Peter took a deep breath to calm himself, emerging from the utility shack after having just finished dressing up. Tonight, he was but a humble systems technician wearing a blue jumpsuit and a fake ID, clutching a duffel bag containing the tools for the mission. Wasn't the first time he'd be playing a role in enemy territory, for the Federal Security Service had given him ample practice over the years. There he was, standing beneath a lamppost, just a hop and a skip away from one of the most secretive NATO bases in the world. Even from this distance, he could see that the JBCF was abuzz with activity. Mostly Americans, judging by their flag patches. The US Navy had basically made this NATO base their home when their vaunted Supercarrier came to port a few weeks ago. Further away, he saw sailors walking about on the deck of another warship moored on the Kanal.
"Infil complete, moving to top deck...", his earpiece buzzed with Sam Fisher's dour voice. "...All points check in, over.
It appeared he successfully boarded the USS John P. Ryan undetected.
"Falcon: in position by the gate, over.", Peter whispered into the mini-microphone in his undershirt.
"Geist, established overwatch - two buildings to the south, over."
"Sino here. Network scanner prepped, readying your extraction by the jetty, over."
The last two call-ins were from Aurelia's trusted button men from her vaunted "Office of Special Projects" in the Pentagon. "Geist" and "Asesino" – two young agents who had pledged to see this mission through, despite what had happened to their boss in Moscow. They didn't seem to mind squaring up against their own countrymen tonight either.
"Copy all.", Sam acknowledged the messages. "I'm at the portside, proceeding to the bridge. Remember: JBCF is at Combat Alert, so keep it cool and fast, or we'll all go home in body bags"
"Understood."
"Falcon: proceed to Customs now. The rest of you: keep watch and don't wet the bed… that goes double for Geist."
"Heh. Whatever, grandpa.", went the jovial American. "Don't let your arthritis kill ya."
The attempt at humor fell flat on Peter, who was understandably concerned about his appointed task. Dressed as a contractor for the JBCF, he was to somehow make his way to the West Wing and gain access to the Server Room, located on the East Wing's second floor. The objective: intercept communications at the JBCF to sniff out the dastardly puppeteers responsible for America's belligerent actions as of late. If at all possible, Peter and his comrades should also block the base from transmitting orders to initiate Zero Protocol. The USS John P. Ryan was undoubtedly the centerpiece of this global preemptive strike - the menacing Supercarrier hadn't yet left its moorings in Kanal. And somewhere scaling its hull, Sam Fisher was doing what he did best – infiltrating the ship and seeking to delay its departure, if it was indeed scheduled to leave port tonight. Time was of the essence for everyone involved. Peter resolved to play his part as best he could.
He started walking towards the front gate, where a pair of American sentries flagged him and inspected his belongings. Nothing tipped them off, all thanks to Sam's meticulous planning and Fourth Echelon's digital handiwork behind the scenes. When he was cleared to enter the base's premises, Peter proceeded to the main entrance of JBCF West Wing. It was a small structure, drab and dark grey, and connected the East Wing via a short bridge on the lower floor, dangling above the main driveway to the Kanal itself. If the blueprints were still up to date, Peter would have to cross that bridge to reach the Server Room and do his thing. Would've been easier to simply waltz into the East Wing but JBCF's security protocols had to be obeyed – all visitors had to be processed at the Customs area, or "Zoll" as written in black text above the door.
Upon reaching the destination, he was immediately greeted by yet another American security team. Metal detectors rang as Peter walked past them. One of the soldiers opened his bag and inspected its contents with a scanner, while another took his ID and ran it through a computer. He prayed that his altered digital profile would not raise any suspicions.
"Huh. Haven't seen you here before, sir.", went one of the soldiers.
Peter cleared his throat, then readied his best impression of a nondescript German accent.
"I work the day shift in Berth Seven."
"What happened to Andi?"
"Wife called him home early. You know how it is, ja?"
What Peter said was also a carefully prepared cover story, as Sino and Geist had snooped out the real technician before they knocked him out, about half an hour ago.
"*sigh* Actually, I don't want to know…", the soldier shook his head then continued working the device. "…Give me a second, sir."
"Sure. I'm in no rush."
The guard went back to his female colleague manning the Reception desk. After a quick chat in hushed tones, she left the keyboard and picked up a phone on the desk. Peter assumed that the young woman was only checking in with their superiors about the sudden shift change. True enough, an American officer emerged from a room to the left where Peter stood. "Archives", it was labeled. The officer in his crisp uniform waltzed in and asked his subordinates what the fuzz was about. They discussed amongst themselves, saying nothing of note to Peter's eavesdropping ears. If Sam and his people were really up to stuff, nobody should suspect anything was amiss.
"Falcon, Sam, heads-up...", his earpiece buzzed again, this time with Sino's voice. "...I've tapped into the base's comm network. Tracking multiple message streams routed through a different encrypted channel, how copy?"
Peter responded by pressing the microphone hidden in his lapel. A coded message for acknowledgment, not unlike what the FSB would do in an undercover op like this.
"Copy. That's probably the comms line that Aurelia warned us about.", Sam replied to his younger colleague. "Falcon, that's your objective. Tag and isolate it from the Server Room, then extract everything that may give us a lead to the conspirators..."
He repeated the same gesture, hiding it by pretending to brush away a speck of dirt in his shirt.
"...Do it snappy, but stick to the script. You're dead if you get compromised."
"Falcon, be advised: channel's dynamically-encrypted in real-time.", Sino added another detail. "Someone at the JBCF keeps changing the codes; doin' my best to keep up, over."
That didn't sound good; seemed that the terrorists somehow had an active presence in this NATO base. However, the Russian ignored the red flag he heard over the radio and hummed to himself, keeping into his role as a humble German techie. No reason for him to worry. Not right now. He couldn't afford to break his cover by acting all too worried. An old veteran like him should be used to whatever snags he might encounter at this point. He was Pyotr Andreyevitch Kovalenko – he survived Afghanistan, he lived through Beirut. He was among the FSB's best - he should act like one, even unto death.
"Alright sir. You can go ahead.", the receptionist flagged him in. "You're cleared to the next building; second floor only."
"Danke."
He picked up his things from the other sentry and went on his way, acting naturally. He crossed the bridge with a purposeful stride, disregarding the strange looks one US Navy officer gave him when they crossed paths. So far so good. Briefly, Peter looked to his left and peered outside the window, into the nightly landscape yonder. The skies were dark and cloudy, but the profile of the USS John P. Ryan was unmistakable. She was still anchored to the Kanal, with flickering lights and people moving about the flight deck. Those signs were also pointing at something odd. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Peter nonetheless kept tabs on his gut feeling as he entered the other Building. Another JBCF guard did the usual security checks, but this time the old man was not enthused to converse. The sight of that menacing American warship was still on his head.
Then, the sirens rang.
"Ah hell…", an exasperated American soldier blurted out.
The guards seemed to know what the alarms were about. For a second there, Peter thought he'd been made, until he saw soldiers walking past him instead of restraining him. They had their weapons slung while they strode, seemingly moving at a designated location. This was not drill.
"Geist here.", the other operative suddenly radioed. "I'm seeing a lotta activity in the Base's perimeter. MPs and regulars, fanning out. Grandpa, what's the skinny?"
"JBCF's on elevated alert. Shit, this isn't good..."
Before his question could be answered, a horn blared from the distance. Sam Fisher, a former Navy man himself, was the first to recognize it.
"...It's the John P. Ryan. It's about to weigh anchor.", he reported.
"What?! This soon?!"
"Probably headed out to sea. They need to launch their jets far from the mainland."
"Fuck. That ain't good!"
"Change of plans, boys.", Sam continued. "I'll head to the power room; see if I can make this boat stop. Everyone else stay the course, over."
That confirmed Peter's worst fears. Soldiers in his midst started to scurry, ignoring the humble technician and seemingly leaving him alone, save for a couple of MPs who stood behind him. His cover was safe for now, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. He needed to proceed with the mission and head to the Server Room before it entered lockdown too. With a faux eagerness to do his job, the old man crossed the hall and past the JBCF's visitor area, past the security room, the map room, and the break room where several Bundeswehr guys were eating their dinner, completely undeterred by what's going on around. A flight of stairs marked in green was just past the corner, which Peter took. The two MPs followed him closely as per procedure. The objective was very close. The clock was ticking.
Pleasant thoughts briefly entered his mind. That fine Kafe in Moscow. The soothing music of Tchaikovsky. The sweet flavor of Cuban cigars. He need only finish this mission, to relish in those things once again.
…
…
…
*groans*
He didn't know how much time had gone by. The darkness remained the same for Ethan, seemingly forever. For all he knew, he was already a dead man, whose spirit still clung to his chained up corpse in vain. Part of him felt it was better this way - better to be dead than to live at the enemy's mercy. They had plans for him and he would be helpless to resist them. Yet, his heart continued to beat. The pain continued to keep him alive.
Darcy was right: he's a soldier. This isn't yet his end.
Consciously, he kept his eyes closed as soon as he woke up. His vision bathed in darkness, he used his ears to keep tabs on things, for what little good it did to help him. There was still a slow rumbling of metal beneath his feet. His chains creaked as they swayed to and fro ever so slightly. As for footsteps, he could faintly hear two pairs of shuffling feet: likely the same guards or lackeys ordered to keep an eye on him in this small room. A few minutes later, a ham radio buzzed to life somewhere, too far away for him to listen into properly.
"...Odysseus *static*... ETA ten mikes... *static* sectors secure *static* receive additional pax, over."
"Understood.", one of the mystery men radioed back. "Requesting sitrep on transport for the Subject, over?"
What followed next was a garble of words that his addled mind couldn't make sense of. No second guesses that 'Subject' referred to him, however. It didn't sound good. More to the point, he was still too weak to do anything overt. He needed to hatch a plan and fast, but it was easier said than done when his battered body is left hanging by its arms. The pain kept him alive and awake. He couldn't afford to tarry any longer.
Then, he heard the two pairs of feet started moving again.
"Let's bring him down from there.", he overheard a lackey.
"We gonna sedate him?", went another man.
"Negative. His heart rate will drop too low. Besides, he's still out cold, see?"
Ethan might have found his window. He showed them what they wanted to see: an unconscious and pitiful man that they could approach without fear. His breaths became fainter and slower, further playing up the charade. The two men were thoroughly convinced, and they detached the bonds from his arms without care. The limbs cracked audibly too, not from any bones being broken, but rather the tendons finally being freed from such an awkward position for so long. Next, the men removed some of the electrodes on his chest, then hoisted him by his forearms, presumably to lay him down to a different bed.
It was his chance.
"RAAARGH!"
Ethan suddenly swung his feet upwards and wrapped them around one of the bad guys' neck. It was such a surprise that the latter didn't have time to pull out his handgun from his hip. A tussle ensued, with the bloody and unwashed captive trying to choke the life out of one adversary and knocking the other one down with a punch. The latter quickly got back on his feet and brought out his sidearm, but Ethan quickly dispatched him again with a quick chop to the trachea. All three men fell down, one gagging from the blow to his throat, the other being choked out. There was punching and muffled screams, but Ethan internalized the pain. Seconds went by until the victor of the struggle finally emerged. It took a great deal of effort for Ethan to pull off such a daring maneuver, and he collapsed to the metallic floor alongside two bodies, just to catch his breath.
Immediately, he winced in pain; wounds in his body he had ignored suddenly came back to life. Blood oozed out where they should, prompting him to first find what he could use as bandages. Yet, he took a few seconds to admire his handiwork, impressed at what a burst of adrenaline could do. The pain persisted, both from fresh wounds and old ones that had not yet fully healed. Survival instincts also kicked in at this point. He removed the rest of the electrodes from his body, regardless of the stabbing and shocking sensations he felt from their tips. Then, he rummaged through the fallen guards' clothes, helping himself with one guy's Beretta handgun that was holstered on the right hip, plus two spare magazines from him and his deceased partner. Ethan had finally secured a weapon for himself, but it wasn't enough of an advantage. He didn't know how many bad guys were there in his midst. Again, letting craftiness do the thinking, Ethan noticed the water bottle that Orson drank from earlier, sitting beside the computer tables and medical apparatus used to torture him. Draining the liquid, he fastened the empty bottle to the muzzle of his gun using the last reams of hospital gauze he didn't use to seal his wounds.
This will do.
It was time to leave. He motioned to the door first, weapon drawn. He limped towards it cautiously, then realized that no guards were actually posted outside the room, considering nobody else barged in during the commotion. Ethan's eyes were immediately greeted with a bright white flare – industrial lights, like his previous suspicion. He stumbled across a metallic hallway with no windows, though he also felt the floor beneath him rumble and rock, to and fro.
He was right a second time too; he was indeed in a train.
His destination was uncertain. All the more reason for him to get a move on and somehow find a way out. Just then, he thought about Orson Rose, who was still here somewhere in this train. Ethan figured he should find him, use him for leverage or intel, just as what they were intending to do with him. Thus, he crept forwards like a cat, silently and swiftly. Bare feet made him feel the cold metal more intensely, yet it also meant his footsteps wouldn't squeak like a boot would. He moved along the hallway, through the railway carriage, then onto the next one, carefully muffling his body movement all the way. Adrenaline was in his bloodstream, giving him much needed extra vigor and a way to mask the pain in his body.
It didn't take long for him to ascertain the one place where he thought Orson would be: the radio room. There were no guards posted outside this one either, a fact which Ethan chose to ignore. With his jury-rigged suppressed pistol raised, he reached to the door handle and twisted it. Slowly opening the hatch, he happened across a small room not unlike the one he left, but lined with various computer equipment and manned by three people. They were all in grey jumpsuits, but one of them had a much darker complexion. This person turned around to see what the noise was all about. Two pairs of eyes caught sight of each other, and one of them knew he was in the right place.
*thwoop thwoop*
Ethan wasted no time to dispatch the other two terrorists, then made darted towards Orson, lunging at him like a feral beast. The Brit was caught completely by surprise and was tackled before he could announce the intrusion over a microphone. A brief struggled ensued, with the attacker quickly gaining the upper hand by thwacking the other man's head with a pistol butt to the cranium. He then forced Orson on his belly, brought his hands across his back, then pressed a knee on both of them, while making sure his legs were also held down. Ethan also placed the pistol on the back of the bastard's head just for good measure. The impromptu silencer had been blown off; the muzzle was still hot from the burnt gunpowder.
"Oi, oi! Watch it, mate! Watch it!", Orson yelped as he felt the hot gun scald his skin.
"Noggin's still working I see. Good…"
Ethan felt fulfillment, even if it was fleeting. This guy who taunted and tortured him before was now in his mercy. High time to know exactly what on earth was going on.
"…Where's Darcy?!"
"Easy, easy! I'm not gonna fight."
"Where IS SHE?!"
"She was choppered off after we woke ya. I-I don't know where."
Ethan clenched his fist around the gun. He would have to bring the Senator to justice another day.
"This train…", he muttered. "…Where were you gonna take me?"
"CIA black site, mate. Due east. Darcy wanted to get ya processed there."
"Processed? Stick tubes into me and scramble my brain?", Ethan emphasized by sticking the handgun's muzzle to Orson's cranium.
"Woah woah, you nicked that girl Erin from us!", he complied. "Should've killed her when we had the chance, but we figured someone else might have known about her investigation and what she learned."
Ethan recalled her investigation within Prestige National Bank about suspicious bank accounts, which turned out to be owned by the terrorists. In short, Orson and his buddies wanted to find everyone else Erin might have talked to and neutralize them as well - hence why he found her strapped to a strange medical apparatus in Utah. Not a stretch to say the CIA had the tech to forcefully extract information from a human brain. They probably had done the same to Agnes, this time when Rainbow found her in Morocco after the first bombings.
"So that's why you were hunting us down."
"You specifically? Not the only reason; Darcy also needs something else… Something about your mates before we proceed to Phase Nine."
Ethan was puzzled by the answers, but they slowly formed a coherent picture in his head. This train seemed to be an undisclosed railway service, used by the CIA to travel incognito throughout the country should flying be deemed impossible. After the attack in San Francisco, it made sense; the authorities would be flagging any unidentified aircraft as potentially hostile, and the CIA, by law, had no business operating domestically. Just proved how deep this terrorist conspiracy ran, within the highest levels of government no less.
"Awfully chatty aren't you?", Ethan asked his erstwhile captor again.
"Why not? These buggers didn't pay me to keep my mouth shut. Besides, you've a gun to my head."
There was still the elephant in the room, however. Senator Darcy mentioned something peculiar earlier.
"Phase Nine... what is it?"
Once again, the bastard he was holding on the floor was more than happy to spill the beans.
"Heh. America's about to bear its teeth to the world, mate. Russia's the first target; your whole government thinks Moscow's behind Earth's Hope and the attacks."
"Darcy invented a threat to initiate Zero Protocol.", Ethan muttered, now made aware of the truth.
"Hah! You won't believe her kind. True patriots and enemies of the state: that is the kind of commitment they have! This lot's a scary bunch, let me tell ya..."
It was a puzzling statement, but Ethan quickly realized the rest of the answer was in the Radio Room itself. The radio equipment was far too advanced for a mere railway intercom. No, these seemed like serious hardware: powerful enough to transmit messages at a far greater distance, even from a fast-moving train.
"...All they need to do is to call some blokes in Ithaca. Then 'Boom!'; spots in the world will light up like Christmas trees. Simple."
Ithaca Corporation. Orson made it seem like the massive construction firm had a bigger role in the conspiracy than Rainbow thought. Then, Ethan remembered about the dirty bomb in San Francisco - surely, these psychos have placed other such bombs elsewhere, using the uranium that Earth's Hope had stolen in Australia and probably elsewhere too. The epiphany came not long after. The reason why Ithaca muscled its way into the European construction market? Perhaps to scope out the best places where these terrorists could strike, maybe even had a hand in planting the bombs as well. It wasn't a stretch to suspect the company had already reached Russia... paving the way for a massive display of American firepower.
The plan was starting to unravel in Ethan's head. It didn't paint a pretty picture: Earth's Hope wasn't just a group of anarchistic eco-warriors, they were actually the first wave of America's pre-emptive strike against its enemies.
"Well that's not gonna happen."
Ethan brought the prisoner to his feet and started to walk him out of the room. To Orson's credit, he was still defiant. Even as he was dragged by a disheveled, limping man with a gun to his head, the Brit still found the backbone to blabber and resist with words.
"What, ya think you could still stop it at this point?! Haha! You're fuckin' too late."
"Shut up."
"I'd jump outta this train car now, if I were you. You're outgunned. Outnumbered."
They found themselves in the hallway again, with the same rumbling metal underneath the train car's floor. Ethan needed to hatch another plan that would somehow force the terrorists to abort their plan. He didn't have all the information, however. He didn't know how many of Orson's comrades were still on the train, not to mention the myriads of cells still hiding elsewhere in the world. What happened in San Francisco was just a taste of things to come. At least that's what he kept telling himself: the alternative of full-scale war between America and Russia, instigated by these murderous bastards, was a worse thought. In the span of a few heartbeats, he prayed that Rainbow would somehow figure what was about to happen next, somehow create a miracle of their own to save the world. Emma, Miles, Meghan… he surely could use their help right now.
Then the ground beneath him shook more fervently. This time, however, he realized that the rumbling didn't come from the railway tracks. It actually come from outside: whirling and heavy, as though from a large engine. He heard chopping in the air… much like helicopter blades. Sure enough, the moment Ethan looked out of the window, a large unmarked chopper appeared into view. Its cabin door was open, revealing two hooded figures in grey, brandishing rifles, both aimed at him. They neither were the Feds nor friendlies. They were reinforcements. Two red dots suddenly appeared on Ethan's forehead, much to his dreadful surprise.
"Tsk tsk. Should've listened to the Senator, mate.", Orson chuckled, very pleased to see the tables turned. "No more heroics from you, remember?"
Ethan had only a second to duck.
…
…
"Running static test pattern now…", Peter blurted out, secretly speaking into his lapel microphone, while he typed into the laptop. "…And confirm signal."
To the soldiers guarding him, they thought he was only thinking out loud.
"Copy.", Sino radioed back with a soft and calm voice. "Signal's clear. We can start."
Easier said than done. The old man had been working for a couple of hours now and sweat had drenched his wrinkled skin and blue jumpsuit. Not that his computer skills were rusty, but rather the prospect of him being compromised was still high. The JBCF had maintained an elevated level of alertness since the sirens rang, far longer than American forces should've done.
Worse, Sam had gone dark since the USS John P. Ryan departed the Kanal. He was somewhere out there in sea, doing what he did best and infiltrating the Supercarrier. The other agents, Sino and Geist, didn't seem too worried about him despite the lack of radio contact - perhaps being labeled a living legend by his ilk had its perks. And so, Peter was left in his lonesome, inside enemy territory, pretending to be a technician. The American soldiers allowed him inside the Server Room to fix a systems glitch; he was in fact about to dig up the JBCF's dirtiest secret. He was so close too. He just needed to "keep walking": bypass several firewalls and erase his digital footprints along the way…
…
…
Shit.
His aged eyes snapped at a particular computer window; he had found the secure communications line that Sam and Sino had informed him about. However, to gain access he would have to bypass the security system manually; he had to do something that could tip off the guards standing just a few feet away from him, watching his every move. Peter cursed mentally once more and weighed his options carefully. He didn't like any of them.
Shaking his head, he whispered into his microphone.
"Distraction. Now."
"What was that?", asked one of the MPs who overheard him.
"I-I'm extracting it now. The, uh, system error report."
The guard gave him a puzzle look, then decided not to pry any further. Peter wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but that would probably break his cover. He just hoped that his comrade with the sniper rifle, perched far away, had understood what he meant with such a short message.
"Ah shit…", Geist replied. "…Better make it count, Pete. I can only do this fuckin' once. Out."
He replied with a press on his microphone – the usual covert gesture of acknowledging a message. Seconds passed by while Peter pretended to work. Then, he heard a loud bang somewhere in the distance, which caught everyone by surprise. A fuel tank or similar had probably exploded, courtesy of a well-placed rifle shot, which also led to a fire alarm blaring throughout the base. In his laptop, Peter saw chatter inside the JBCF spike up dramatically; the garbled noises from the guards' walkie-talkies further proved this point. He didn't dare look behind him.
"Shit. The construction site is burning!", said the American MP to his colleague. "Skipper wants us down there; secure a perimeter for the fire crew."
"You go, Dave. I'll watch over this guy."
The other guard seemed to have gone ahead, judging by the plodding of his boots. Alarms still blared on, but Peter realized that he still had one person hovering over his shoulder. One little thing left to do.
"Hey, Junge (boy).", he called to the MP behind him. "Help me pull this server drive out, ja? I need to check on something."
He frowned at him, suddenly becoming a helper of all things. Then the soldier approached the old man, hands off the rifle dangling on his chest. As soon as he was well within breathing distance, Peter suddenly grabbed the poor kid by his hand and stuck a tazer into his neck. He yelped and jolted, falling down with his lights knocked out. Before the body fell on the ground, however, the veteran FSB agent quickly scooped him up and propped him on a chair behind him, make it look like he was still keeping watch. All that was done in less than five seconds; the people in the next room didn't hear anything. With that, Peter was free to work in peace, dropping the charade for now.
"Falcon to Sino. I'm inside their secondary server. Do you copy, over?"
"Copy, Falcon. Signal's clear."
"Ugh. Remind me again why we can't hack this place remotely?"
"Like I said, old man. We got a better chance of finding the secret comms channel if we breach the hardware security first."
Hmph. Things were a lot easier back in my day.
"Understood.", Peter sighed. "Opening an auxiliary connection now. Stand by."
He inputted commands into the keyboard. Good thing that the fancy hacking program installed in the laptop was doing most of the work. Lines of code filled Peter's monitor, indicating that he had passed control of his device over to the other American agent, tucked deep somewhere in one of the Kanal's jetties. Millions of data-bits transferred in seconds.
"Signal confirmed, Falcon. Now, let's see if I can... oh shit..."
"What is it?", Peter noted the man's tone.
"I-It's all here. The plans. Target coordinates, kill estimates... They're transmitting directly from somewhere in DC!"
Bingo. He smiled to himself, knowing that this mission had paid off. Of course the emotion was short-lived as he read the contents themselves, realizing the gravitas of what they had just uncovered. Aurelia's suspicions were correct, that the mission to capture Orson Rose in Moscow was indeed purposely derailed by the Americans. And with Aurelia gone, both the White House and Kremlin were now at each other's throats. It was all there in Peter's monitor, so long as his eyes could catch up with the scrolling text. There had to be something, anything, that could still avert disaster.
...
...
Then the computer stalled. 'Unknown Error'.
"What just happened?!", Peter radioed Agent Sino.
"Encryption codes got changed again! Fuck, I think someone knows we're here."
"Can you find the source?!"
A few seconds of silence went by until his fellow agent came back to him.
"Got it. Maintenance ducts, West Wing, basement level. There's no time to-"
"I'm on it.", Peter cut him off. "You keep working on the hack, over."
"Falcon?! Falcon, do you copy?"
He ignored the man's calls. Instead, he pulled out the laptop connected to the server drives and stashed it into his bag. Seeing the coast was clear, he stood up from his spot and went towards the door. He also locked it behind him for good measure. He's in luck, for there were no other guards patrolling the hallways nor standing watch outside; it seemed that his distraction worked a little too well. At any rate, he needed to slink out of this building and go to the next one, navigating the same flight of green stairs as he did earlier. He didn't have free reign to wander around the JBCF, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about that either. Surely, these Yanks would leave him alone if he pretended to be right where he belonged.
That's what he's good at, anyway. Pretending to be someone else to serve his country. He'd been deep undercover as a private contractor for years, and led counter-terror operations with the FSB at the same time. Tonight should be no different. If he wavered now, his beloved homeland would be destroyed in a massive war along with much of the world. No matter what happened next, he needed to succeed. The grim determination was mirrored in his face, and the JBCF's security people didn't bother flagging him as he walked past them. He looked like a systems technician, after all, well in his element. It made sense for him to be walking the East Wing's exterior, past the quay containers and other guards, headed to where the job was taking him to even while a fire alert was raised.
Sure enough, he got inside the West Wing's lower levels uninterrupted. The first area he stumbled across was the Diving Room, which was where repair crews and security personnel used submersible to traverse the Kanal's waters. Peter immediately looked for the hatch that led to the Maintenance Tunnel, clearly recalling the JBCF's blueprints to the letter. When he located it, he pryed the hatch open and climbed down, immediately being greeted by steam and humid air. The narrow passage was lined with pipes and featured an emergency generator locked behind a security gate. His objective, however, was an electrical closet not too far from the ladder. A quick gander at the labels told Peter that one particular closet housed a different communications line, which he unlocked using a screwdriver.
Amidst the circuitry was a black box wired into it.
"Sino, it's me. I found the source. It's a... strange device. Looks like a frequency scrambler."
"Forget about that old man. I've already downloaded the files from that drive you pulled. You need to evac now!"
"Negative. Continue the hack from there; I'm gonna re-wire the connection to the Server Room."
Peter pulled out his laptop again and hooked it inside. Sino's initial reluctance quickly evaporated at the sight of progress.
"Alright, old man. I'm in."
"Good. Do your thing, tovarishch."
The screen booted up once more, unfreezing itself much to Peter's relief. He saw Sino's wireless connection come alive as well, thus he could continue to pore iver the server's contents. As his comrade worked his magic, Peter inspected the mysterious item he had just pried off. It resembled a scrambling device, what with the wires and the antenna sticking out of one end. It looked incredibly out of place too, at least from all the American hardware he'd seen. But this one's highly-advanced, compact, and quite heavy. No stamps, no specs, no serial numbers either. Only one detail clued him in, written in white text on one side of the device...
...
...'QCR'? What does that mean?
"This is Zero, does anyone copy?", his radio buzzed again. Sam Fisher was on the other end, sounding quite haggard but still hushed.
"Falcon here. Go ahead, Zero."
"I'm exfiling now from the John P. Ryan. Their guidance system's sabotaged but not for long. Pete, did you locate the encrypted channel, over?"
"Affirmative. Your man is extracting the messages now."
...
And then, another alarm rang.
This one was different from what preceded it; sounded like an internal security alert. Peter's heart skipped a beat as he heard stomping boots from the floor above him. People were barking orders as well, seemingly instructing their fellows to fan out. They were Bundeswehr guys - they were barking 'Eindringling', or intruder. Agent Geist, perched up in a building somewhere and watching the action, seemed to have gotten the same message as well.
"Geist to all points! JBCF initiated a full lockdown on the West Wing! Falcon get out of there! Ten-plus security troops are headed your way, over!"
Someone must have discovered the unconscious guard that Peter left behind in the Server Room, then asked where the "technician" had gone to. Or worse, Sino's hunch was right: someone was expecting them here.
"Negative. We need to get this information to Moscow, no matter what...", he insisted. "...We just need thirty seconds to finish the data transfer, over."
Against his better instincts, Peter held onto the laptop, ensuring that it remained in place to ensure a steady transmission of data. Everything in it was of upmost priority, particularly the evidence of terrorist collusion that the Kremlin needed. Zero Protocol, God-forbid should it ever happen, needed to be exposed for what it really was: a deceitful gambit by warmongers who lied to their own countrymen.
His eyes scanned elsewhere in the meantime, looking for an escape route. The Maintenance Tunnel had another point of egress, one that led outside of the JBCF's West Wing and into another jetty, albeit far from their initial extraction point. No worries, Peter thought, as he could just ask Geist again to give him cover as he moved through the shadows. It would be a mad dash to the exit, which would probably be hell to the Russian's elderly stamina. Risky, tense, yet strangely exciting. He was so close to accomplishing his mission, and he could soon go back to Moscow, the city he always loved. The food, the cigars, the music. However, that's assuming the FSB doesn't kill him for going rogue with American agents to save the world.
The laptop beeped again. Sino was the first to radio him the good news.
"Download complete. Transmitting them now to FSB headquarters, Falcon."
"Copy that!"
"Pulling the plug now! Meet you all at the rally."
"Falcon, it's done!", Geist radioed as well. "Get your ass outta there now! Additional armed security have just entered the West Wing!"
No time to waste. Peter unhooked the laptop and stashed it back into his bag. His heart raced, in part because of the getaway, and also because of job well done. He smiled to himself, thinking that Aurelia would owe him for this one if she was still here. They're definitely even now...
…
As soon as he turned to his left, footsteps frantically approached his flank. A man then shone a flashlight over his face.
"Stop right there!", yelled an American soldier, aiming a rifle to him. "On the ground now!"
More people joined this lad, all bristling with weapons. Peter, confused, raised his hands.
"Woah, easy! EASY! I can explain-"
*Bang!*
...
"The Nest"
Raven Rock Mountain Complex, Pennsylvania
…
…
It's three hours before Zero Protocol.
Shuffling feet echoed down the dull, grey halls. Small voices chatter amongst themselves in direct defiance to operational security. By the sounds of it, something had happened in Hamburg and the Navy Supercarrier. An attempted sabotage on both counts. The odds of them happening had always been significant, but even Secretary Robert Treadway did not expect these to come so soon.
"…Any word who the infiltrator was?", Senator Patricia Darcy asked over the cellphone.
"One Pyotr Andreyevitch Kovalenko, senior employee at Puissance HQ in London.", he answered softly. "CIA pulled me his file – he's former Soviet military."
"I don't buy it. He could be an undercover from the FSB or GRU. Ain't a coincidence he was in Puissance."
"Likely, but irrelevant now. MPs took him out before he could extract everything from the network."
Of all the outfits that would threaten their plan, it's one of the organizations he and Darcy had been covertly using for legwork. Sheer coincidence maybe, or evidence of a much deeper subterfuge from their biggest threat right now. Either way, it was time to move ahead of schedule – the attempted sabotage was a blessing in disguise, in a way.
"Maybe he's with Rainbow?"
"My people in Greece say no. I'm inclined to believe them.", Treadway continued.
He walked past scurrying aides and soldiers who were preoccupied with orders from the top. Given the nature of this top-secret military facility, they had very little time nor reason to dawdle anymore. The grizzled old man relished every moment being here. He'd spent more than half his life for this chance to steer America to where he and his friend wanted it. To take the first steps of rebuilding his country's prestige and honor, no matter the cost. Even now, a few loose lips that he encountered in the hallway were still talking about Hamburg. Briefly, he reviewed in his head about how the CIA had hidden his tracks there.
"If this was an act of desperation from Aurelia's people, then we have to remain on guard.", Darcy continued. "Who knows what data they pulled from the JBCF?"
"You worry too much, Trish."
"Really now? The Brits reported only a small fraction of Rainbow in Hereford was KIA. There's also that operative of theirs we captured in San Francisco-"
"I'll talk to my man once I'm done here, okay?", he reassured her, masking his annoyance. "The ball is rolling now. I need to seize the initiative for us."
There was a long pause from the Senator, just long enough for Treadway to reach into the Nest's War Room. He was greeted to the sight of dozens of digital monitors, lighting up with real-time images of history in the making, with military people of all stripes observing them. Dial back the technology several generations, then he could've sworn the same setup was used back in Vietnam, once upon a time.
"It's your show and our funeral. Don't forget that, Robin."
*click*
A scoff escaped his lips, but then he composed himself. A nagging, paranoid hen she might be tonight, Trish was correct to worry, considering they were both past the moment where any mistake could prove fatal. Several eyes in the War Room turned to him when he entered, acknowledging the presence of the Secretary of Homeland Security. They were probably looking to him as a source of reason, seeing that the highest ranking officer in the Nest was arguing with his commander-in-chief through one of the monitors. Treadway didn't deign to immediately announce his arrival to the poor man, and instead stopped his tracks just a few feet from his left shoulder.
"We're not yet done evacuating our people, sir!", went General Felix Ruiz, the Air Force Chief of Staff. "The embassy in Moscow is still online!"
"The Russians just made another move on us!", Treadway suddenly spoke, causing the military man to turn around. "The longer we wait, the more we risk getting hit again!"
The President, who was speaking through the monitor, smirked a little bit for his stunt.
"Secretary Treadway. I appreciate you coming here so soon."
"No problem at all sir.", he returned the courtesy.
"What's the latest from Homeland?"
"Still rounding up all suspects for the San Francisco attack, sir. But FBI's assured me they can put a lid on this within the hour. We have multiple National Guard units activated as well, ready for further reprisals. If any."
The War Room's monitors supplied additional information. In the Baltic Sea, the Russian Navy was arrayed just well beyond cruise missile range, but still close enough to intimidate any potential air and sea attacks. American forces all across Europe were still in various stages of mobilization, away from prying media eyes and spy satellites, but more than half of them were combat-ready. Even Air Force bases like Lakenheath already had their F-15s rolled out for the inevitable sorties. Elsewhere in the world, the US Navy's Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean and the Seventh in the Pacific were making similar preparations, with their commanders awaiting the Nest's word to launch. As for the JBCF, the situation there was marked "Resolved".
And unseen in the screens were Treadway's and Darcy's own assets, tasked with striking the real first blows. Earth's Hope, White Masks… whatever the world called them was irrelevant.
"Good.", the President nodded, then turned to the Vice-Chair of the Joint Chiefs. "General Henslowe, you said something about our diplomatic channels?"
"Sir, Turkey's PM (Prime Minister) has voiced concerns about our movements in the Aegean.", she replied. "Beijing is also calling, but Ambassador Keating is on the line with them."
"So… in other words…?"
"Other than that... we're set."
"Good.", the President sighed. "Then, all that's left is Hamburg."
The mere mention of that city caused Ruiz to turn his head away in frustration. It would appear that the chain of command in the War Room was less committed than it appeared. Treadway already noted the pushback at the meeting with the Joint Chiefs earlier today, when he persuaded that godforsaken President-elect to initiate Zero Protocol. The decision to "push the button" should've been done hours ago, if only the safety of American nationals in foreign soil was deemed an acceptable sacrifice. Now, there's this.
"This... This doesn't feel right, Mr. President.", Ruiz continued his meandering. "Our mandate is not about launching preemptive strikes when our people are still at risk!"
"Our mandate is to destroy any and all enemies, foreign and domestic, General.", Treadway interjected again. "We have good cause to move ahead of schedule."
"You can't be serious!"
"The world will not question us. Our people know what they signed up for... but do you?"
This time, the man took offense. He motioned to confront the bespectacled man and get on his face for undermining him, clenched fists hovered to the side, until a couple of officers urged him to calm down. Just then, a female officer on the observation deck also called his attention.
"General, sitrep from the John P. Ryan: the sabotage has been corrected, no casualties reported aboard. Full combat alert has been raised - four Strike Groups are on deck and waiting for orders. Pushing them to your screen now, sir."
Immediately, everyone turned their attention in front of them. One of the big digital monitors revealed rows and rows of seemingly-random data, someone with an inkling on military matters would easily decipher. Threat estimations, real-time weather reports, troop movements, and probabilities of mission successes. All metrics proved satisfactory to the old man's eyes, being intimately involved in such a subject himself. Then, four faces of nondescript pilots in full flight gear graced the smaller screens. They were obviously in aircraft cockpits, ready to fly, donning oxygen masks just for the occasion. Treadway grinned to himself, away from General Ruiz's gaze, as he realized that his plan was now much closer to reaching its zenith, unopposed.
The other man, instead, looked as though a large boulder was suddenly hoisted on his back. The burden of responsibility. He also knew what those data meant, but they confirmed a different meaning: he was about to take and spend countless lives in just a few minutes. Would've been a no-brainer in different circumstances. But if he had any qualms about the President's current course, he certainly wasn't in the position to question it now. Treadway played his role very well – that of a committed government man ready to get his hands dirty to safeguard his beloved nation. Someone who's opinion carried a great deal of weight. Anyone not towing the line at this point would have no choice but to concede. With a weary heart, General Ruiz walked towards the female officer's station and leaned to the microphone. A secure channel to the USS John P. Ryan's comms network was open.
…
"Nest to all Strike Leaders. Condition Apex has been confirmed. Say again: Condition Apex has been confirmed. Awaiting clearance from Phoenix; stand by for further instructions, over."
A string of voices radioed back.
"Inquisitor-One copies."
"Sovereign-One copies all."
"Paragon-One, solid copy."
"Harbinger-One. Copy that."
Ruiz didn't look all too pleased. He hovered his eyes upwards, looking into the monitor where the President was talking to them. To this fool's credit, he was well aware of the feelings of those under his wing. Everyone saw their commander-in-chief through the screen as he placed his thumb into a scanner on his White House desk. A series of authentication codes emerged from another monitor, which several officers acknowledged with a nod. And as merely a subordinate to the chain of command, General Ruiz had no other choice but to concede.
"Attention all Strike Leaders: Nest is assuming OpCon (Operational Control) from the John P. Ryan. Switch frequencies to Secure Channel Alpha. Target coordinates to follow…"
Treadway maintained a cool expression. Inside in his mind, however, he was jubilant and grinning with vindication. It's time for the warriors to take the lead. At long last, the foundations to a more proper world order would be laid. At long last, his country's enemies would be forced on their knees, no matter who they were and what they were innocent of. At long last, America's honor and prestige would be repaid in full. In blood, if that was it would take. This one was for Mickey, Chuck, and all the warriors dishonored by this country.
"…Initiate final systems check for Zero Protocol."
...
Author's Notes and Comments: Well, we're at the home stretch! I think I did a good job raising the tension here, and I hope to cap it off with a well-deserved finale. The last chapter is gonna come out with the Epilogue, so it's likely gonna take an even longer time for me to upload it. I'd like to thank my Discord pals for all their previous feedback, especially in ironing out some details for this chapter.
For those curious, again, the JBCF is obviously the "Kanal" map from Siege and I tried my best to visualize it here, at least in places that mattered to the story. I took some liberties, but the layout's more or less the same. Also, the callsigns used by the Strike Leaders are inspired by World in Conflict and Mass Effect, two other games I really like.