Chapter 49 - Mutiny on the Potomac
The federal safehouse outside Arlington was an unassuming two-story brick building surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence.
Inside the basement interrogation suite, Bradley Vance was strapped to a steel chair. His designer shirt was torn, his expensive hair was matted with sweat, and his hands shook so violently that his handcuffs rattled against the armrests.
Standing across from him was not a federal agent, but Jonathan Crane, the Consoritum’s chief operative, his silk tie loosened, his eyes like two pieces of chipped flint.
"Bradley," Crane said smoothly, setting a fresh cup of coffee on the table. "You have twenty minutes before the transport arrives to take you to the federal supermax in Colorado. Once you pass through those gates, you will never see the sun again. You will die an old, forgotten traitor."
"I didn't do anything!" Bradley sobbed, his voice cracking with hysteria. "I'm a real estate broker! My mother told me to hit Ethan! She told me if I humiliated him in front of his friends, he wouldn't contest the will! I didn't know about the black sites! I didn't know about the submarines!"
"We don't care about your family drama, Bradley," Crane whispered, leaning down so his face was inches from Bradley’s. "Where did your brother hide Arthur’s footlocker? We tore apart Crestview Drive. Clara found the logbook, but the locker wasn't there. Where did Ethan put it when he came back from his first deployment?"
Bradley stared at Crane, his eyes wide with incomprehension. "I... I don't know! He took a taxi to the storage unit in Norfolk! The old naval yard near Pier 4! He paid the rent for thirty years in advance with his enlistment bonus!"
Crane smiled. "Good boy."
Crane reached into his jacket, pulling out a suppressed .22 caliber pistol. "Thank you, Bradley. Unfortunately, you are a loose end. And loose ends get trimmed."
Bradley’s eyes bulged in pure terror. He strained against the handcuffs, screaming behind his gag as the cold muzzle of the weapon was pressed against the center of his forehead.
The wall behind Crane suddenly blew inward in a massive concussive detonation of brick, plaster, and blinding flash-bang light.
Crane was hurled across the room, smashing into the opposite wall as smoke filled the chamber.
Through the gaping hole in the brickwork surged four figures in dark woodland camouflage, carrying suppressed shotgun breaches and carbines. Leading them was seventy-one-year-old Master Chief Marcus Brody, moving with the terrifying speed of an apex predator.
Brody swept his weapon across the room, firing two double-taps into Crane’s two private security guards before they could clear their holsters.
Crane scrambled for his gun on the floor, but Brody’s heavy combat boot came down on his wrist with a sickening crunch of breaking bones. Crane howled in agony as Brody kicked the pistol away.
"Federal authority!" Crane gasped through gritted teeth, clutching his shattered wrist. "I am an operational director for the Department of Defense!"
"You're a parasite in an expensive suit," Brody rasped, shoving the muzzle of his .45 ACP into Crane’s open mouth. "And you’re trespassing on Navy ground."
Brody looked over at Bradley, who was sobbing hysterically in his chair, his pants soaked with urine.
Brody stepped over, grabbed the chain connecting Bradley’s handcuffs, and wrenched it downward, bringing Bradley's tear-streaked face level with his own.
"You remember me, boy?" Brody growled.
"P-please..." Bradley whimpered. "Don't kill me... Ethan is my brother... we're family..."
"Family?" Brody barked out a harsh, bitter laugh that echoed through the smoking ruins of the room. "You threw that boy out with his clothes in a garbage bag when he had nothing. You slapped him in front of four hundred decorated warriors while he wore the uniform of this Republic. You aren't his family. You're just a cowardly mistake his father couldn't prevent."
Brody sliced the zip-ties binding Bradley’s legs and hauled him to his feet by the scruff of his neck.
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"Get up, you miserable coward," Brody said. "The Admiral is landing in two hours. And you are going to stand on that pier and watch him finish what your greed started."
***
