Chapter 8 - The Shadow ProtocolMy father stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked toward the secure cockpit communication terminal at the front of the cabin.
I watched through the glass partition as he slipped a cryptographic decryption key into the console. A holographic display flickered to life, bathing his face in emerald-green light.
A voice echoed through the encrypted cabin speakers—a voice so high-ranking and gravelly that even through the scrambler, it commanded instant obedience.
"Vance. We monitored your extraction in New York. Clean op. Zero civilian collateral. Impressive as always."
"Save the praise, General," my father replied coldly, leaning over the console. "State your business. I'm currently dealing with family business."
"Your family business just intersected with national security," the voice on the other end replied grimly. "That husband of yours? Marcus Sterling? We ran his financial records through the deep-state neural net after your team secured him."
My father narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"He wasn't just a low-level corporate accountant. For the past three years, Marcus has been selling classified logistics data on domestic military housing contracts to an underground syndicate tied directly to rogue Russian intelligence operatives. He had dossiers on hundreds of special ops families—including yours."
The cabin temperature seemed to drop to freezing.
Across the aisle, my breath hitched. Marcus hadn't just been abusing me out of drunken cruelty; he had been profiling me, tracking my father's movements, and treating my life as collateral damage in an espionage ring.
My father didn't raise his voice. He didn't shout. But the silence that filled the jet cabin was more terrifying than any explosion.
"Where is he being held right now?" my father asked softly.
May you like
"Site-4. The Mojave facility."
"Good," my father said, his voice deadpan and absolute. "Cancel his interrogation schedule. Hand him over to me."
