Chapter 39 Hawk
Hawk
D.C. smelled exactly the way I remembered—old carpet, over-polished wood, recycled air, too many people in suits who’d never bled for anything more dangerous than a paper cut.
I’d been in the same windowless conference room for nine hours.
Nine.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Coffee cups littered the table. Charts and data streams were projected onto the wall—lines, graphs, statistics, probabilities. Everything to them was numbers.
Everything except one thing.
What I wanted.
“What we need,” the Deputy Director was saying, pacing back and forth in front of the screen, “is stability. A public face that the committee respects. Someone with field experience, psychological resilience, and demonstrated capacity for decisive leadership.”
He turned to me.
“We need you, Jensen.”
The other agents around the table murmured their agreement. Some nodded. Some pretended not to look too eager.
A younger suit leaned forward. “You’d have oversight on the next-gen AI protocols. You’d be the firewall. The conscience. The one who ensures Echo never happens again.”
My jaw tightened.
They kept saying “never again” as if they’d learned something.
As if they understood the cost.
The Deputy Director stopped pacing. “We can’t afford another Reese. You know that better than anyone.”
I blew out a slow breath. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you this is a bad idea.”
Silence froze the room.
Every pair of eyes turned toward me.
“Explain,” the Deputy Director said calmly.
“You don’t want oversight,” I said. “You want absolution. You want someone to stand in front of cameras and reassure the world you’ve got everything under control while you experiment with systems you barely understand.”
“You’re oversimplifying—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m not.”
The younger suit frowned. “Look, Jensen, we’re offering you influence. Authority. A chance to—”
“Manipulate me the same way you manipulated Reese,” I said flatly.
Several jaws dropped.
The Deputy Director’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
“Or what?” I asked. “You’ll demote me? Reassign me?
I don’t work for you. I work for the field.
For the team that almost died as a result of your oversight.
I have a Team, and we are The Brave; we are good at what we do.
I am a boots-on-the-ground man. You need to make sure this never happens again. ”
The Deputy Director slowly sat down. “You’re angry.”
“Damn right, I’m angry,” I said. “You built Echo. You funded Veridian. You approved Halcyon’s project oversight after warnings were flagged. You sent me in to fix your mistake and buried the truth in a thousand pages of redacted reports.”
The younger suit’s jaw flexed. “We did what we thought was in the national interest.”
“Then maybe the national interest needs a new set of people making decisions.”
Murmurs erupted around the table.
“Jensen,” the General said carefully, “I understand this has been emotionally taxing—”
Emotionally taxing.
Like we’d had a rough day at the office.
“But this position gives you the chance to make sure nothing like Echo happens again.”
I leaned back in my chair, suddenly, painfully tired.
“I already have that chance.”
He frowned. “And what chance is that?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small black sat device Miles had given me. The same one I’d used to call Julia.
“I have something better than oversight. Better than a title. Better than sitting in this room pretending you’ll listen if I say something you don’t like.”
“And what is that?” the General asked quietly.
I thought of Julia—her voice soft and shaking on the phone, the way she’d said Don’t disappear on me, and how her eyes had looked on the tarmac, like she was losing something important all over again.
“My own damn life,” I said. “And someone I’m not willing to lose.”
The General said. “You’re turning the position down.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“You understand what you’re walking away from?”
“Yes.”
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.
“No,” I said, standing. “I’m finally making the right call.”
A long silence stretched.
The General exhaled through his nose. “Then you’re dismissed.”
I nodded once.
Walked to the door.
Opened it.
Paused.
“Just so we’re clear,” I said without looking back, “if I hear you’re building Echo 2.0, I won’t come with a report. I’ll come with a team.”
A couple of the suits paled.
Then I stepped out and let the door close behind me.
The hallway outside was empty, quiet, humming softly with power.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could fill my lungs all the way.
I took out the sat phone.
Typed a message.
Leaving D.C. tomorrow.
Coming home.
—H
A few seconds later, the reply buzzed back.
Then I’ll be waiting.
—J
Warmth cracked through my chest like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Yeah.
I was going home.