Chapter 10 - The Last EnemyVictor Hale’s arrest dominated every major network by sunrise.
That part was true.
The television report said her security detail had been reduced.
That part was not.
The photograph showing Claire walking with crutches outside a small coastal house was genuine.
Everything else was theater.
The house belonged to the federal government.
The neighbors were agents.
The delivery driver was an agent.
The landscaping crew included two tactical officers.
A surveillance team occupied the building across the street.
Claire hated every second.
“Feel ridiculous?” Ethan asked.
She adjusted her crutches.
“Extremely.”
“Good disguise.”
“My disguise is being injured.”
“Method acting.”
Claire considered throwing a crutch at him.
Instead, she continued toward the porch.
The plan was simple.
Make Hale believe Claire had become impatient with security and demanded privacy.
Entirely believable.
Hale had studied her personality.
He knew she disliked confinement.
He knew she pushed boundaries.
So they gave him exactly the mistake he expected.
Daniel Reyes was supposedly visiting Claire that night to prepare testimony.
That information was deliberately leaked through a channel investigators knew Hale still monitored.
In reality, Reyes remained hundreds of miles away.
Claire was the only genuine bait.
Morales hated that.
Admiral Cole hated it more.
Ethan threatened to physically remove her from the operation.
Claire reminded him his security clearance could disappear.
He reminded her that threatening a retired chief was unattractive.
Somehow, they remained friends.
At 11:36 p.m., a black SUV passed the house.
Did not stop.
At 12:04, it passed again.
Different direction.
At 12:19, electricity flickered.
Claire sat in the living room.
One crutch beside her.
Concealed body armor beneath a sweatshirt.
Ethan waited upstairs.
Morales monitored from the command van.
“Movement east alley,” came a voice in Claire’s earpiece.
“Two individuals.”
Another voice.
“Third near rear fence.”
Morales: “Hold.”
Claire’s heartbeat slowed.
Training.
Focus.
The years between then and now disappeared.
Pain remained in her legs, but pain had become background noise.
The rear door clicked.
Lock bypassed.
Someone entered.
Silent.
Professional.
Claire stared at the television.
A cooking show played quietly.
Footsteps moved closer.
Then a man appeared in the hallway.
Leon Varga.
The shooter from Claire’s house.
He raised a suppressed weapon.
“Commander.”
Claire looked at him.
“You missed last time.”
“I was told to.”
“I know.”
“Mr. Hale would like to speak with you.”
“Tell him to call.”
Varga smiled.
“He prefers personal conversations.”
Claire heard movement behind the wall.
Agents ready.
But Hale was not here yet.
They needed him.
Claire stood using the crutch.
Varga watched carefully.
“You’re recovering.”
“Disappointed?”
“Impressed.”
“Don’t be.”
He gestured toward the door.
“Walk.”
Claire laughed.
“Have you seen me walk lately?”
His expression hardened.
“Move.”
Claire obeyed.
Slowly.
Outside waited a van.
Varga opened the side door.
Claire climbed inside with difficulty.
Another man sat behind the wheel.
Neither noticed the tracking transmitter sewn into Claire’s brace.
Or perhaps they did and did not care.
The van drove east.
Morales’s team followed at distance.
Ethan rode with them.
He had fought the plan until Claire made one promise:
If Hale appeared, tactical teams moved immediately.
No heroics.
No waiting.
No improvisation.
Claire intended to keep that promise.
Mostly.
The van entered an industrial district near National City.
Stopped inside an abandoned ship repair facility.
Varga guided Claire through a metal door.
A single figure waited beneath hanging lights.
Victor Hale.
Claire recognized him immediately.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
Calm eyes.
He looked more like a senator than Garrick did.
“Commander Donovan.”
“Victor Hale.”
He smiled.
“I’ve wanted to meet you again.”
“We met after Black Harbor.”
“You barely noticed me.”
“I remember criminals poorly.”
His smile disappeared.
“Sit.”
Claire remained standing.
Partly stubbornness.
Partly because lowering herself into the chair would take too long.
Hale studied her braces.
“I regret what Holt did.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I instructed him only to remove you from duty.”
“He followed instructions.”
Hale tilted his head.
“You’re remarkably calm.”
“I’ve met worse men.”
“That hurts.”
“It was intended to.”
Hale walked closer.
“Where is Reyes?”
Claire smiled.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you aren’t.”
Hale sighed.
“I hoped we could be reasonable.”
“You ordered six Americans killed through sabotaged equipment.”
“They would have died during an exercise. Tragic.”
Claire’s jaw tightened.
“Say that again.”
Something in her voice changed the room.
Hale noticed.
“You still think like a warrior.”
“You say that like it’s a weakness.”
“It is when the war ended years ago.”
“Black Harbor never ended for you.”
“No.”
For the first time, Hale’s composure cracked.
“You destroyed everything.”
“You were selling weapons.”
“I was controlling markets.”
“You were enriching yourself.”
“I was building influence.”
“You were a traitor.”
Hale stepped closer.
“Careful.”
Claire laughed.
“You had four men break both my legs. You tried to kidnap me. You fired into my house. I think we’ve moved beyond manners.”
Hale stared at her.
Then smiled again.
“Where is Reyes?”
“You already asked.”
“And you haven’t answered.”
“Maybe because I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
His eyes searched hers.
Finally, Hale realized.
“You’re recording this.”
Claire said nothing.
Hale turned toward Varga.
“Search her.”
Varga approached.
Claire’s pulse accelerated.
The transmitter was inside her brace.
Hard to remove quickly.
But discoverable.
Varga found the earpiece.
Pulled it free.
Crushed it beneath his boot.
Hale smiled.
“Better.”
What he did not know was that the actual transmitter was still active.
Outside, Morales heard everything.
But something was wrong.
Ethan looked at the map.
Signal interference.
Claire’s location marker flickered.
Then disappeared.
The warehouse walls were shielding transmission.
Morales cursed.
“We lost audio.”
Ethan reached for his vest.
“Move.”
Inside, Hale stepped close enough that Claire could smell his cologne.
“Here’s what happens now.”
“I enjoy predictions.”
“You tell me where Reyes is.”
“No.”
“You tell me where the recording is.”
“No.”
“And then I let you live.”
Claire smiled.
“That one was funny.”
Hale’s face became cold.
“You believe someone is coming.”
“They are.”
“No.”
He gestured.
Varga opened a metal case.
Inside sat a signal jammer.
Hale smiled.
“Your friends lost you ten minutes ago.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
He was right.
But tracking had already established the general area.
They would search.
She only needed time.
Hale took out his phone.
“Markovic is waiting.”
Claire looked around.
“Where?”
“Far enough.”
“You’re afraid of him.”
Hale laughed.
“I fear very little.”
“Everyone fears someone.”
“Do you?”
Claire thought of rehabilitation.
Of waking unable to stand.
Of losing her team.
Of being forgotten as the commander who used to be able to run.
“Yes.”
Hale seemed surprised.
“What?”
“Not being useful.”
He blinked.
Claire continued.
“I spent years thinking usefulness meant being strongest in the room.”
She shifted her weight on the crutch.
“It doesn’t.”
Hale’s patience vanished.
“Enough.”
He drew a pistol.
“Where is Reyes?”
Claire looked directly into his eyes.
“No.”
Hale raised the weapon.
Then the warehouse lights went out.
Ethan’s voice came from darkness.
“Great answer.”
Gunfire erupted.
Claire dropped behind a steel barrier.
Federal agents breached the building.
Varga fired toward the entrance.
Hale ran.
Claire heard footsteps moving toward a rear corridor.
She could stay down.
She had promised.
No heroics.
No improvisation.
Then she saw Hale drop something beside the doorway.
A phone.
Its screen displayed an active call.
MARKOVIC.
Claire grabbed it.
“Hale!”
He stopped at the corridor entrance.
She held up the phone.
“You forgot something.”
His face changed.
Markovic’s voice came through.
“Victor?”
Hale lunged back.
Claire threw the phone across the floor toward Ethan.
Hale raised his pistol.
Claire swung the aluminum crutch with both hands.
It struck his wrist.
The gun fell.
Hale slammed into her.
Claire went down hard.
Pain exploded through her right leg.
He grabbed her throat.
“You ruined everything.”
Claire stared up at him.
“No.”
Behind Hale, federal agents aimed weapons.
“I just made sure everyone could see it.”
Hale froze.
Morales stepped forward.
“Victor Hale, get your hands where I can see them.”
He slowly released Claire.
For the first time in six years, Victor Hale had nowhere left to run.
But his phone was still connected.
And through it, Anton Markovic had heard everything.
May you like
Before the line disconnected, he said four quiet words.
“Then Donovan dies tonight.”
