Chapter 71
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-ONE
“Not started. Took over.” Brass smiled coldly. “There was already a framework in place. Former operatives, disillusioned government officials, people who’d seen the system from the inside and realized it was rotten. I just gave them direction. Purpose.”
“Purpose?” Hudson’s voice rose despite himself. “You call mass murder purpose?”
“I call it accountability.” Brass stepped closer, and Hudson tensed.
“How many innocent people has our government killed with drone strikes? How many civilians died because of ‘acceptable collateral damage’? How many families were destroyed because we decided their lives mattered less than our strategic objectives?”
“That’s not the same—”
“Isn’t it?” Brass’s eyes blazed with conviction now. “The only difference is we wear a flag while we do it. We tell ourselves we’re the good guys while we rain death from the sky. At least I’m honest about what I’m doing.”
“You’re killing innocent people.” Hudson forced his voice to stay level. “People who had nothing to do with what happened to you in Ankara. Children. Families. How is that justice?”
“It’s not justice. It’s revolution.” Brass’s jaw tightened.
“The system won’t change unless it’s forced to.
Unless the people in power finally face consequences for their actions.
Those ‘innocent people’ you’re so worried about?
They vote for the politicians who send us to die.
They benefit from the economy our military protects.
They’re complicit, even if they don’t realize it. ”
“That’s insane.”
“Is it?” Brass challenged. “Or is it just inconvenient? We’ve been at war for decades, Hudson.
How many of those people you want to save have ever sacrificed anything?
Ever lost sleep worrying about the operatives dying in their name?
They watch the news for five minutes, say ‘that’s terrible,’ then go back to their comfortable lives. ”
Hudson stared at his former teammate—this man he’d served with, trusted, mourned—and saw the moment everything had broken inside him. Ankara hadn’t just damaged Brass’s body. It had shattered something fundamental in his soul.
“You’re wrong,” Hudson said quietly. “About all of it. Yes, the system is flawed. Yes, we’ve been asked to make impossible choices. But the answer isn’t to become the monsters we spent our lives fighting. It’s to be better. To hold ourselves to a higher standard.”
“Higher standard?” Brass laughed again, that broken sound that made Hudson’s chest ache. “How many times did we pull the trigger knowing innocents might die, telling ourselves it was for the greater good?”
“We tried to minimize casualties—”
“But you didn’t eliminate them. None of us did. We just learned to live with the guilt.” Brass’s hand moved toward his jacket. “I’m done living with guilt, Hudson. I’m done pretending we’re heroes when we’re just killers with better PR.”
“Don’t.” Hudson raised his rifle again. “Whatever you’re reaching for, don’t.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” Something like satisfaction crossed Brass’s face. “Go ahead. Prove my point. Show me how the ‘good guys’ really operate.”
“I don’t want to shoot you. I want you to surrender. Come in, face trial, tell your story. If you really believe the system is broken, stand up and say it publicly. That’s how you create change—not by killing people.”
“You really believe that?” Brass asked, and for a moment he sounded almost sad. “After everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve done, you still believe the system can be fixed from the inside?”
“I have to believe it,” Hudson said. “Because the alternative is becoming exactly what you’ve become. And I won’t do that. I refuse to.”
They stood there in the growing darkness, two men who’d once fought side by side now on opposite sides of an unbridgeable divide.
Brass stiffened, and his hand moved again toward his jacket.
“Please.” Hudson couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice now. “Please don’t make me do this. We were brothers, Brass. We saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. Don’t end it like this.”
“It ended for me after that helicopter crash,” Brass said quietly. “When everyone left me behind, assumed I was dead. This is just the epilogue.”
His hand continued moving, and Hudson saw the tablet emerge from the jacket pocket. Saw Brass’s thumb moving toward the screen.
And he knew, with terrible certainty, that his former teammate wasn’t going to stop.
Some wounds went too deep to heal. Some betrayals—real or perceived—couldn’t be forgiven.
“I’m sorry,” Hudson whispered. “I’m so sorry, brother.”
Brass met his eyes one last time. “So am I.”
Then Brass’s thumb descended toward the screen, and Hudson had no choice left.
He had to pull the trigger.
Natalie watched in horror as Brass’s thumb lowered toward the tablet screen.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Every person on that pier was about to die, and she was helpless to stop it.
Then her father moved.
He broke away from the FBI agent guarding them and sprinted toward Brass with a speed she didn’t know he possessed. His face was set with determination, with purpose, with something that looked almost like peace.
“Dad, no!” The scream tore from her throat.
Everything happened in slow motion and too fast at the same time.
Hudson’s rifle came up.
The sharp crack of a gunshot split the air.
Her father launched himself at Brass, his shoulder colliding with the man.
Brass jerked backward from the bullet’s impact, his hand spasming.
The tablet flew from his grip, spinning through the air in a lazy arc.
It hit the concrete pier with a crack that seemed impossibly loud, skittering toward the edge.
Toward the water.
Natalie started running before she realized she’d made the decision. Her legs pumped, her lungs burned, her entire focus narrowed to that small electronic device sliding across the wet pier.
If it went into the water, would it still work? Would the signal still transmit? Would everyone here still die?
She didn’t know, and she couldn’t take that chance.