THE GENERAL, THE BROKER, AND THE FIVE THOUSAND SECRETS THAT WOULD DESTROY US ALL

The high-pitched whine grew into a deafening roar that vibrated straight through the floorboards and rattled the teeth in their skulls. Through the blown-out glass windows, the foggy sky above the suburban street suddenly lit up with a brilliant, blinding white glare that turned midday into the middle of a magnesium fire.

Sarah lowered her carbine, her face draining of all color as she stared up through the ruined ceiling. "No... they wouldn't authorize kinetic bombardment on domestic soil. It’s a violation of every treaty!"

"Treaties are written by politicians and burned by soldiers, Sarah," Clara said calmly, standing tall despite her age, leaning on her wooden cane like a general reviewing her final parade ground.

Elena scrambled backward, clutching the two microchips to her chest as the heat from the descending projectile began to radiate down through the shattered roof. She looked at David, who dropped his pistol to the floor, walked over, and extended a steady hand to help her up.

"David, is this really happening?" Elena whispered, tears of terror and exhaustion streaming down her face as she took his hand.

"It’s ending, Elena," David said softly, his voice full of a quiet, mournful peace. "All of it. The lies, the files, the cover-ups."

Sarah spun around, desperate to reach the front door, but the heavy oak door was still bolted shut from the outside, and the smart-panel had been completely fried by the EMP pulse earlier. She pounded her fists against the wood in a frenzy of absolute panic.

"Open it! Open the damn door!" Sarah screamed, her composure completely shattered.

The remaining operatives scrambled in every direction, but there was nowhere left to run. The walls of the bright living room began to groan under the incredible atmospheric pressure of the descending payload, paint peeling from the drywall as the temperature inside the room climbed rapidly.

Clara looked at David and Elena one last time. She reached into her uniform pocket, pulling out a small brass token, and tossed it onto the coffee table right beside the charred leather ledger.

"Make sure that token reaches the press, David," Clara commanded softly. "It’s the key to the Swiss bank accounts."