Chapter 6 #2
But watching her walk away feels exactly like watching the video feed of the bombing that killed my wife and daughter. I force the memory down. Focus on the present. The briefing starts in two minutes.
The conference room carries the stale air of recycled ventilation and too many bodies in a small space.
Kane sits at the head of the table. Stryker to his right, reviewing tactical displays.
Mercer across from him with satellite imagery pulled up on his tablet.
Reagan sits with her spine straight and her expression carefully blank.
Khalid hunches in his corner with that book he's probably already finished twice.
Kane gets straight to it. "Status update.
Sarah confirmed the Committee is using Reagan's investigation as a roadmap.
Charlie, Ellen, the barista—they're part of a systematic sweep.
The Committee breached Reagan's apartment hours ago.
They're attempting to crack her cloud storage.
Tommy estimates they'll succeed within days. "
"What's in the cloud?" Stryker asks.
"Everything." Reagan's voice stays flat.
"Six months of investigation. Every source, every document, every connection I found tracing Protocol Seven from Morrison's original operation to Webb's current network.
It's encrypted but they'll break it. And when they do, everyone who helped me becomes a target. "
Kane pulls up a list. Names scroll across the wall display. Too many names.
"Forty-seven individuals with direct contact. Another hundred-plus with indirect connections. Researchers, librarians, IT specialists, analysts. All of them potential targets."
"We can't protect that many people." Mercer doesn't look up from his tablet. "Too many targets across too many locations. Best we can do is warn high-value individuals and hope they disappear before Committee teams find them."
"These are civilians." Reagan leans forward. "Professors. Analysts. They don't know how to defend against professional killers."
"Then we prioritize." Kane highlights twelve names.
"These have information critical to your case.
They can testify about Webb's operations.
They can verify evidence. We focus protective resources here.
Federal marshals where we have contacts.
Anonymous warnings for everyone else. Instructions to go to ground until this is over. "
"And the hundred-plus who helped without knowing what I was investigating?" Reagan's hands clench on the table. "The people who pulled archived documents or gave me database access because I asked? They're exposed because they did their jobs."
"They're casualties of the Committee's response." Kane's tone stays level. "You asked questions about Webb's network. The Committee decided killing witnesses was easier than answering them. That's on Webb, not you."
"Doesn't feel that way when their names are on my source list."
"Guilt doesn't help them. Action does." Kane closes the list. "Tommy's scrubbing databases. Removing digital trails. Sarah's coordinating warnings through back channels. We save who we can. We accept that some casualties are inevitable."
Reagan stares at the blank display where the names were.
"Blackout protocols are in effect. No external communication. No database access. No research that creates digital signatures the Committee can track." Kane looks at Reagan. "You work with what you have. Once Tommy clears the threat, you expand the investigation."
"We can't go to trial with half the story."
"You help her build a preliminary case with existing evidence. Prove Webb's involvement. Document Protocol Seven's continuation after Morrison's death. Establish the connections you've already found." Kane stands. "That's the order. Dylan agrees."
He dismisses the briefing. Stryker heads to perimeter duty. Mercer gathers Reagan’s tactical displays. Khalid slips out first.
Reagan stays seated. Staring at the blank screen.
"I should have used better security." Her voice barely carries across the table. "Should have protected my sources instead of assuming my precautions were enough. Charlie, Ellen, that barista—they trusted me. Now they're dead because I wasn't careful enough."
"You used professional-grade encryption. Layered security. Everything a trained investigator would implement." The chair scrapes when I move to turn off the display. "The Committee broke it anyway because they have resources you don't."
"Then whose fault is it? Webb's? The Committee's? The system that lets generals continue Morrison's work and murder civilians?" Reagan finally looks at me. "I wanted to expose corruption. Instead I got people killed. That's on me."
"They made their own choices. They knew helping you was dangerous."
"Based on information I provided. Based on my assessment of the threat. Based on my promise that I'd protect their identities." Reagan stands. "I failed them. Now forty-seven more people are at risk because I couldn't keep my investigation secure."
"Then help us save the ones we can. Help Delaney build the case that makes their deaths mean something. Destroy Webb's operation so completely the Committee can't rebuild."
Reagan stares at the blank wall where the casualty list was displayed. "How am I supposed to do that without access to current intelligence?"
"You find a way."
"You say that like it's simple."
"It's not simple. It's necessary." I move toward the door. "Because the alternative is Webb walks free and everyone who died protecting your investigation died for nothing. And you're too stubborn to let that happen."
"You say stubborn. I say determined."
"Same thing with different branding."
She almost smiles. Almost.
"For what it's worth, I know you're trying to protect me." Reagan heads for the door, pauses in the frame. "I just wish your protection didn't feel like a cage."
She leaves.
The conference room is empty behind her. Just me and the recycled air and the blank display where forty-seven names were listed like inventory.
Blackout protocols are a cage. Necessary. Essential. But still a cage.
I spent years in interrogation rooms building cages for people. Rooms without windows. Rooms where I controlled every variable—light, temperature, time, hope. Made them depend on me for everything until they told me what I needed to know.
Called it intelligence gathering. Called it operational necessity. Called it a lot of things that sounded better than breaking people until they gave up their secrets.
Now I'm building a cage for Reagan. Controlling her access. Limiting her options. Deciding what she needs. Telling myself it's protection when it's really just another interrogation room with better justification.
The difference is I'm trying to keep her alive instead of breaking her down.
But from inside the cage, it probably feels exactly the same.
The hallway is empty when I leave the conference room. Somewhere in the base, Tommy's scrubbing databases. Sarah's coordinating warnings. Kane's implementing security protocols. Everyone moving through their assigned tasks like we can actually control this.
Like we can actually save anyone.
In a few days, the Committee breaks Reagan's encryption. Gets every name. Every source. Every person who helped her.
And we'll be right here, locked in this safe house, watching the casualty list grow while Reagan provides evidence from inside a cage.
I pass Khalid's room. The door's cracked open. Inside, Reagan sits on the floor beside him. He's showing her something in his book—probably those sketches he draws in the margins. Maps of places that don't exist anymore. Paths out of Syria that closed before he could take them.
She listens like it matters. Like his drawings are the most important thing in the world right now.
Maya used to draw in the margins of her homework. Stars and planets and the space station she wanted to visit someday. She'd show them to Lisa first, then me, explaining each detail with absolute certainty about how space elevators would work and why Mars needed terraforming before colonization.
She was eight.
She'd be an adult now if she hadn’t died that day.
Reagan glances up. Sees me in the hallway. Something flickers across her face—recognition, maybe. Understanding. Then she returns to Khalid's book like I'm not there.
The cage keeps her safe. Keeps her contained. Keeps her from getting killed, but it also keeps her from finishing what she started.
And eventually, I'm going to have to open it.