Page 112 of Hunt Me
28
IRIS
The Federal Building’s conference room smells like industrial cleaner and old coffee. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in a sickly pallor that makes the gray walls look even more oppressive.
I sit between Alexi and Dmitri, my hands folded on the table’s scarred surface. No laptop. No phone. Nothing but the knowledge in my head and the weight of Nikolai’s warning look when we entered.
Say nothing unless they ask you a direct question.
Across from us, three government officials arrange folders. The woman in the center wears a navy pantsuit and an expression that could cut glass. Gray temples, hard eyes, the bearing of someone who’s spent decades making people disappear.
“I’m Director Kendall,” she says without preamble. Department of Homeland Security. To my left, Deputy Director Walsh from the NSA. To my right, General Hawkins, JSOC.”
Nikolai doesn’t offer introductions.
Kendall’s mouth tightens. “You’ve put us in a difficult position.”
“Funny.” Nikolai leans back in his chair with the casual confidence of a man who owns the room. “I was about to say the same thing.”
“Morrison acted outside official channels.” Walsh adjusts his glasses. “His operation was unauthorized and unsanctioned.”
“How convenient,” Dmitri murmurs.
“We’re prepared to offer amnesty,” Kendal continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Full immunity for everyone involved. In exchange for the complete Project Nightshade files and your cooperation in containing the breach.”
Alexi’s fingers tap once against the table. A warning.
“Define cooperation,” Nikolai says.
“You surrender all copies of classified material. You sign comprehensive non-disclosure agreements. You submit to debriefings regarding your acquisition of said materials.” Her gaze slides to me. “And Miss Mitchell provides detailed technical specifications of her encryption methodology.”
My stomach clenches.
They don’t just want the files back. They want to know how I got in and how deep I went.
“And if we refuse?” Nikolai asks mildly.
General Hawkins speaks for the first time, his voice gravel over steel. “Then we classify you as domestic terrorists in possession of stolen classified intelligence. We freeze your assets. We dismantle your operations. We prosecute everyone in this room to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Interesting definition of negotiation,” Alexi says.
“Thisisthe negotiation.” Kendall folds her hands. “Consider it our opening offer.”
“I’d like to propose an alternative.” I keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system. “One that addresses your actual problem rather than the convenient scapegoat sitting across from you.”
Kendall’s eyes narrow. “Miss Mitchell?—”
“Project Nightshade isn’t just compromised because I breached it.” I meet her stare. “It’s compromised because Sentinel Operations has been running black sites and targeted killings under your authorization for three years. Morrison wasn’t a rogue agent. He was cleaning up loose ends.”
Silence.
Walsh shifts in his seat. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“I have documentation. Financial transfers from Sentinel to Morrison’s offshore accounts. Kill orders signed by personnel operating under Homeland Security credentials.” I pause. “Including the one authorizing my parents’ deaths.”
Kendall’s expression doesn’t change, but her knuckles whiten against the folder. “We’re not here to discuss ancient history.”
“Ancient history?” Heat rises in my chest. “You murdered American citizens on American soil because they discovered your illegal black ops program. You framed it as a mechanical failure. You destroyed evidence. You used federal resources to cover up an assassination.”
