Chapter 14 #2
The weight of that settles over me, cold and heavy.
We've been fighting to expose the Committee, to bring its leaders to justice.
But Webb designed his organization specifically to protect himself from exactly this scenario.
He can watch his subordinates go to prison while maintaining plausible deniability about his own involvement.
"So the testimony, the exposé, all of it. It's not going to be enough to get Webb."
"Not in a courtroom," Kane confirms. "He's too careful for that."
I stand, crossing to the window where Khalid sits. The boy doesn't look up, but I feel him register my presence. Outside, the sun is dropping behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of red and gold.
"We're not going to get Webb in a courtroom," I say slowly, thinking it through.
"But we can destroy everything around him.
His organization. His network. His ability to operate.
We can take away every tool he uses, every asset he controls, every ally he depends on.
Leave him standing alone in the wreckage of everything he built. "
"That's a long-term campaign," Kane observes. "Could take years."
"Then it takes years." I turn to face the room.
"Webb spent decades building this thing.
We don't have to destroy it overnight. We just have to keep pushing, keep exposing, keep making it impossible for anyone to work with him without risking their own freedom.
Eventually, he runs out of people willing to take that risk. "
"And every prosecution creates more pressure," Stryker adds from his position near the door. "More people looking to cut deals. More evidence coming to light. Even if Webb stays clean, he watches his entire network disappear around him."
Reagan nods slowly. "The journalism continues. Every operation we expose makes it harder for him to recruit new assets. Every prosecution makes potential collaborators think twice. We become the cost of doing business with Webb, and eventually that cost becomes too high for anyone to pay."
"And Echo Ridge keeps pressure on the operational side," Kane adds. "Hit their supply lines, disrupt their missions, make them bleed resources faster than they can replace them."
"It's not justice," I admit. "Not the kind Khalid deserves. Not the kind any of Morrison's victims deserve. But it might be the best we can do."
Khalid's voice surprises all of us. "It's enough."
I look down at him. He's still staring out the window, but his spine has straightened, his hands unclenched in his lap.
"What?"
"It's enough," he repeats. "Webb will never go to prison.
I have accepted this. But watching his empire crumble, watching the people who helped him pay for what they did, knowing that his name will be spoken with hatred and disgust." He finally looks up at me, and I see something hard in his eyes. "That is enough."
The admission hits harder than I expected. Khalid has been carrying the hope of real justice since I pulled him out of Syria. Watching him let go of that hope, watching him accept a lesser victory, feels like losing something precious.
"We'll make it enough," I promise him. "Whatever it takes."
The evening settles into a tense routine. Reagan finishes coordinating the second wave of releases, scheduled for tomorrow morning. Kane reviews security protocols with Mercer and Stryker. Willa prepares a late dinner that most of us pick at without really eating.
The lodge's small porch offers cold mountain air and a sky full of emerging stars. The isolation that felt like protection now feels like exposure. We're forty miles from the destroyed safe house, but we might as well be standing in an open field with targets painted on our backs.
Reagan joins me, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders against the chill. She doesn't speak at first, just stands beside me and looks up at the same stars.
"How's Khalid?" she finally asks.
"Better. I think." The question deserves more consideration. "He's processing. The testimony forced him to confront everything he's been carrying, and now he's trying to figure out how to carry it differently."
"That's a lot for a fifteen-year-old."
"It's a lot for anyone."
She moves closer, her shoulder pressing against my arm. "And how are you?"
I've been so focused on Khalid, on Reagan, on the operation, that I haven't stopped to consider my own state. The wound is healing. The mission is progressing. What else is there to think about?
"I'm fine."
"Dylan." Her voice carries gentle reproach. "You don't have to be fine. You took shrapnel protecting us. You testified about things that must have been painful to revisit. You've been holding everyone else together while you're still recovering."
"That's the job."
"No." She turns to face me, her expression serious despite the darkness.
"That's what you tell yourself because admitting vulnerability feels like weakness.
But I've seen you with Khalid. I've seen how much you care, how hard you try to protect him, how much it costs you when you can't make everything better.
That's not a man who's fine. That's a man who's exhausted and hurting and too stubborn to admit it. "
I don't have a response to that. She's right, and we both know it.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," Reagan continues. "That's what I'm here for. That's what this team is for. Let us help."
"I don't know how."
"Start by admitting you're not fine." She reaches up, cups my face in her hands. "Start there, and we'll figure out the rest together."
The touch is warm against my skin, grounding in a way I've come to depend on.
"I'm not fine," I admit. "I'm scared. Scared for Khalid, scared for you, scared that everything we're building is going to collapse because Webb decides to stop playing defense."
"Thank you." She smiles, soft and sad. "That's a start."
Kane's voice from inside the lodge interrupts the moment. "Dylan. Reagan. You need to hear this."
We step back inside to find the team gathered around Kane's tablet. Cross's voice crackles through the encrypted speaker, her words clipped and urgent.
"Webb's shifted strategy. He's no longer focused on discrediting your testimony or suppressing the exposé. He's pulled his PR teams off the disinformation campaign."
"What's he doing instead?" Kane asks.
A pause. When Cross speaks again, her voice carries something I've rarely heard from her. Concern. Maybe even fear.
"He's stopped trying to win the public relations war. That means he's accepted that he can't. And when Webb accepts that he can't win a fight, he doesn't retreat." Another pause. "He eliminates the problem."
"The problem being us," I say.
"The problem being all of you. Every witness, every journalist, every source who contributed to the investigation. He's compiling target packages. Moving assets into position."
Kane's jaw tightens. "How much time do we have?"
"Unknown. But Dylan, Reagan, listen to me carefully." Cross's voice drops. "Webb has stopped trying to discredit you. That means he's moving to eliminate. Watch your backs. Trust no one outside your immediate circle. And for God's sake, get somewhere defensible before he finds you."
The call ends. The room is silent except for the crackle of the dying fire.
Mercer moves first, crossing to the window to scan the treeline. Stryker checks his weapon automatically, muscle memory taking over. Willa puts a hand on Khalid's shoulder, steadying him. Kane starts pulling up tactical displays on his tablet, already shifting into operational mode.
I look at Reagan, at Khalid, at the team that has become my family. We knew this was coming. We've known since the beginning that Webb wouldn't let us expose his operation without a fight.
But preparation and reality are two different things.
"We said we'd give you more time," Kane says quietly. "But I don't think we have it anymore."
Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows of the hunting lodge. Somewhere in the darkness, Webb's assets are moving toward us.