Chapter 15 - The Safehouse
Three hours later, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket inside a nondescript safehouse in rural Virginia, I plugged the salvaged, waterproofed micro-drive into a sanitized laptop.
Admiral Bennett stood over my shoulder, holding a mug of steaming black coffee that smelled faintly of chicory. The old sea dog had driven two hours through the storm to meet me the moment my emergency beacon pinged his secure pager.
"You look like hell, Commander," Bennett said, handing me the mug.
"The water was cold, Admiral. But the footage is clear."
On the screen, Thorne’s face was unmistakable as he signed the fraudulent manifests, while Miller and his men loaded the crates.
"It's worse than we thought," Bennett said, pointing at the crate markings. "Those aren't just surplus weapons. Those are experimental drone guidance modules developed by DARPA. Vanguard is brokering them to an unregistered foreign buyer operating out of a private airfield in West Virginia."
"When is the exchange?" I asked.
"Tonight at midnight. Thorne is flying out on a Vanguard charter from an abandoned strip near Martinsburg. Once that plane leaves U.S. airspace, the trail goes cold, and Thorne disappears with fifty million dollars in offshore shell accounts."
"We can't get an FBI raid coordinated in six hours without the Pentagon finding out," I noted, studying the satellite layout of the airstrip. "Thorne's contacts in the building will leak the warrant the second it's filed."
Bennett’s jaw tightened. "Which means we go off-book. I have a squad of active-duty SEALs from Team Two who despise what Thorne has done to the Trident. They’re loyal to the bone, and they want this traitor brought to justice just as badly as we do."
I set the coffee down, feeling the fire return to my veins. The ache in my jaw seemed to pulse with purposeful rhythm.
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"Give me the operational lead, Admiral," I said quietly. "Thorne thinks I’m at the bottom of the Elizabeth River. Let’s make sure his welcoming party isn't what he's expecting."
***
