Chapter 6 - Total Blackout
The sudden pitch-black darkness of the basement briefing room was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic, strobe-like pulse of the red emergency backup lights high on the concrete ceiling. In the split-second interval before the emergency generators kicked in, a scuffle broke out near the doorway. Shouts of confusion echoed through the narrow hallway as the tactical MPs collided with one another in the gloom.
“Hold your positions! Do not fire!” Colonel Marcus Vance’s voice cut through the din, strained and furious. “Secure the exits! Someone cut the main breaker!”
Loa Sing didn’t hesitate. Relying purely on spatial memory and her years of tactical night-navigation training, she dropped into a low crouch, sliding silently beneath the stainless-steel briefing table. Her fingers brushed against Dr. Evelyn Cross’s trembling hand in the dark.
“Stay down,” Loa whispered directly into Evelyn’s ear. “They’re blind right now. We need to move toward the service stairwell while the confusion holds.”
“What about the subpoena?” Evelyn whispered back, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to remain composed. “Did the courier get it through?”
“The digital transmission went out the second the server connected,” Loa replied, her eyes adjusting to the dim red wash of the emergency strobes. “Judge Miller’s order is locked in the federal registry. Even if Marcus arrests us now, the electronic paper trail is permanent. He can’t delete the cloud mirror.”
A heavy boot slammed onto the table above them, splintering the thin laminate surface as one of the tactical MPs swept the area with a tactical flashlight. The bright white beam cut erratic arcs through the dust-filled air, missing Loa and Evelyn by mere inches.
“Clear the perimeter!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from the hallway—not an MP, but someone speaking with the distinct cadence of a federal marshal. “Drop your weapons! This is the United States Marshals Service! Federal jurisdiction!”
The sound of chambering rounds echoed down the corridor, followed by the unmistakable metallic clack of tactical rifles being lowered against concrete. Marcus Vance’s voice rose in sharp protest. “You have no authority here! This is an internal military matter under Department of Defense purview!”
“Not anymore, Colonel,” the marshal shouted back. “We have an active warrant for obstruction of justice, embezzlement of federal military assets, and conspiracy against a commissioned officer. Put the rifle down or face immediate detention.”
Loa slowly emerged from beneath the table, pulling Evelyn up with her. As the emergency generator whirred to life, flooding the room with a harsh, yellow utility light, the scene in the hallway came into sharp focus. Three U.S. Marshals in heavy black raid gear had Colonel Marcus Vance pinned against the scarred corridor wall, their zip-ties ratcheting tight around his wrists.
Marcus glared across the room, his eyes locking onto Loa with pure venom. “You think this is the end of it, Captain? You’ve just signed your own death warrant. The syndicate goes much higher than my father.”
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Before Loa could demand to know what syndicate he was referring to, a sharp beep emanated from the small black voice recorder still in her coat pocket, indicating an incoming encrypted satellite transmission. She pulled it out and saw a single name flashing on the screen: Unknown Sender – Priority One.
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