Chapter 18 - The Severed Thread
Vance's fingers slammed into the keyboard: *T-e-x-a-s-S-t-a-t-e-C-h-a-m-p-s-0-8-!*
The terminal let out a sharp, resonant chime. The red screen flashed amber, then turned a solid, calming blue.
*AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.*
*ABORT SIGNAL TRANSMITTING ON LOW FREQUENCY 14.8 KHZ.*
Across the Pacific, five hundred miles away, the digital tactical map showed the homing signal abruptly cut. A tiny red blip representing the inbound torpedo suddenly veered off course, its guidance system blinded by the abort pulse. Seconds later, a confirmation ping from the *USS Ronald Reagan* illuminated the main console.
*TORPEDO IMPACT AVERTED. SELF-DESTRUCT INITIATED. CARRIER SAFE.*
A collective breath left the lungs of every operator in the machine shop. Miller slammed a fist against the metal bulkhead in quiet triumph.
On the monitor, Jake was still weeping, looking at my face with a mixture of terror and awe. He had spent his whole life looking down at me from the pedestal our parents had built for him. Now, looking through a screen from a cold concrete holding cell, he was seeing who I truly was: someone who commanded life and death on the global stage, while he was nothing more than an insignificant parasite who had almost burned down the world for five hundred thousand dollars.
"Is... is it over?" Jake whispered through the tears. "Emily... did I help? Can I get a plea deal now?"
I looked at him through the camera with cold, unyielding pity.
"You didn't help, Jake. You just barely paid the interest on your sins. Goodbye."
I reached forward and severed the connection, plunging his screen into darkness.
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"Miller," I turned to my team leader. "Rig this entire machine shop with C4. This vessel and everything on it ceases to exist. We pull out on the RHIBs in three minutes."
"Copy that, Director."
