Chapter 7 - MIDNIGHT OVER THE POTOMACThe Gulfstream touched down at Andrews Air Force Base under a blanket of heavy, humid midnight fog. There was no red carpet waiting for us, no welcoming committee of generals or aides. Instead, two armored military police humvees blocked the taxiway, their high-beam headlights slicing through the mist like searchlights.
As the aircraft door swung open, a squad of armed federal protective service agents stood at the base of the mobile stairs, hands resting menacingly on their holstered sidearms.
Stepping out ahead of them was a tall, immaculate man in a bespoke charcoal suit. Arthur Sterling.
He didn't look like a corrupt bureaucrat. He looked like royalty—calm, composed, and utterly untouchable. He held a leather-bound folio under one arm and looked up at me with a patronizing, grandfatherly smile as I descended the steps.
"Commander Vance," Sterling said smoothly, his voice carrying clearly over the whine of the idling jet engines. "I must say, you have a remarkable talent for causing chaos wherever you go."
I didn't stop until I was standing two feet away from him. Behind me, Vance and two JSOC operators stepped off the ramp, their weapons lowered but ready.
"You look nervous, Arthur," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "For a man who just stole three terabytes of naval defense data, you're cutting it pretty close to the tarmac."
Sterling’s smile didn't waver, but his eyes hardened into chips of slate. "You are treading on dangerous ground, young lady. A civilian operative playing soldier, throwing around false accusations against decorated officers, and now trespassing on restricted federal airfields with stolen classified evidence."
"Stolen?" I pulled the encrypted flash drive from my pocket and held it up right under his nose. "This isn't stolen, Arthur. This is a mirror image of the server node you just synced with Shanghai thirty minutes ago. The Department of Justice already has a backup copy."
Sterling’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second. A muscle twitched near his right eye. But he recovered instantly, chuckling softly.
"You really think anyone in the White House is going to believe a bruised desk jockey over the President’s chief strategic advisor?" Sterling shook his head, gesturing to the armed guards around us. "Agents, place Commander Vance and Director Vance under arrest under Section 14 of the National Security Act. Confiscate all personal electronics."
The protective service agents stepped forward, raising their zip-ties.
"Don't do it," Vance warned, his hand drifting dangerously close to his holster.
Before a shot could be fired, the heavy steel security gates at the edge of the tarmac swung open with a shriek of strained hinges.
A single sleek black limousine rolled through, bearing the official presidential seal embossed in gold on the rear door.
The rear window rolled down smoothly.
May you like
A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the fog like a razor.
"Put your hands down, Arthur. Before I have you arrested for treason."
