Chapter 17 - The Ghost Fleet
"Report!" I shouted above the wailing alarm, my voice slicing through the panic inside the command center.
"The power cut was initiated from an internal breaker beneath the concourse!" Vance yelled into his radio, drawing his sidearm.
"We have an active saboteur inside the perimeter!"
"Secure the server banks!" I barked.
"Marcus, take two squads and lock down every exit from the River Entrance to the Metro station!"
"Nobody leaves this building without a retinal scan and my personal sign-off!"
Before Cole could reach the armored doorway, the tactical display flickered back to life, bypassing our local controls entirely.
A live, high-definition satellite feed overrode the network.
The camera zoomed in on the Atlantic coastline, forty miles off the shores of Virginia Beach.
Three massive, unmarked industrial container vessels—the sister ships of the scuttled freighter from the Azores—were moving in aggressive formation toward the Chesapeake Bay.
"Those aren't commercial shipping freighters," Vance gasped, studying the radar signatures appearing on his tactical tablet.
"Their hulls are retrofitted with automated vertical launch missile systems."
"Eleanor bought the surplus inventory from the Sevastopol naval shipyards during the collapse of the Soviet Union," I realized, the full horrifying scope of her endgame snapping into view.
"She didn't smuggle warheads into the country through customs."
"She brought an entire rogue strike fleet to our front door."
"Her ransom demand just hit the White House secure terminal," an intelligence officer reported, his hands trembling as he read the classified dispatch.
"She demands the immediate release of Arthur Mercer, the unconditional dismissal of all federal charges against House Mercer, and the immediate surrender of General Katherine Mercer to her flagship."
"If her demands are not met by sunrise, she will launch forty-eight dual-yield kinetic warheads into the Norfolk Naval Base and the capital."
The room went deathly silent.
Vance looked at me, the gravity of the crisis pressing down like a mountain of lead.
"We can scramble the Atlantic fighter wings from Langley, Katherine, but the ships are operating inside our civilian maritime corridor."
"If we strike them with air-to-surface missiles, the kinetic fallout will shower toxic debris across three civilian shipping lanes and two coastal cities."
"We don't strike them from the air," I said, my voice hardening into titanium.
"How do we stop three floating arsenals before dawn, General?" Cole asked, his face pale under the amber emergency lights.
"We take the flagship from the inside out," I replied, stripping off my ceremonial dress jacket and tossing it onto the conference table.
Beneath it, my black tactical under-armor was already strapped tight.
"Vance, contact the commander of the Navy SEAL Team Six unit stationed at Dam Neck."
"Tell them the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs have authorized a unilateral maritime assault."
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"And tell them their lead breacher on the flight deck will be a four-star General who has personal business with the captain."
***
