Chapter 10 - The Carrier Strike
I threw the phone back to the Secret Service agent.
"Marcus, get the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on the secure horn right now," I barked as I leapt into the back seat of the Suburban. "Get me the commanding officer of Carrier Strike Group Twelve. We need an immediate operational stand-down on the *Gerald R. Ford*."
Vance jumped in beside me, slamming the door. The Suburban accelerated violently, tires screeching against the asphalt as the police escort cleared the intersection onto Pennsylvania Avenue with sirens screaming.
"What did he mean, Kate?" Vance demanded, already punching priority authentication codes into his tactical tablet.
"Arthur didn't wait for the White House contract signing to deliver the Aegis prototype units," I said, pulling up the naval logistics manifests on my own terminal. "He rushed six pre-production drones to the *Ford* two days ago to create a fait accompli for the procurement board! Trevor signed the delivery release!"
"Those drones are equipped with live telemetry links to the ship’s Aegis combat system," Vance muttered, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his knees. "If there’s an active hardware exploit inside their guidance chips..."
"They aren't just drones, Marcus," I said, looking up from the screen, my heart pounding against my ribs. "They’re Trojan horses sitting inside the firewalls of our newest supercarrier."
My tablet screen flickered red.
A high-priority alert flashed from the naval operations center in Norfolk:
**PRIORITY FLASH: USS GERALD R. FORD REPORTS UNCOMMANDED NETWORK BREACH. AUTONOMOUS FLIGHT SYSTEMS ENGAGED ON TEST PLATFORMS 1 THROUGH 4. SHIPBOARD RADAR BLINDED.**
The foreign intelligence network Arthur had unwittingly invited into our defense infrastructure had just turned the key.
"Driver! Floor it!" Vance roared. "Get us to the Pentagon helipad!"
The black SUV tore through the streets of Washington, weaving through afternoon traffic at eighty miles per hour behind three motorcycle units.
I leaned back against the headrest for a fraction of a second, closing my eyes.
Arthur’s arrogant words from this morning echoed in my head with horrifying clarity: *You threw away a dynasty so you could play soldier in the dirt.*
He had spent twenty-six years thinking his wealth made him a king. He had thought that money was the ultimate arbiter of power, that loyalty was something you bought, and that his daughter’s devotion to duty was the pathetic choice of a loser who couldn't cut it in his high-stakes world.
And now, his pathetic, blinded vanity had brought an American aircraft carrier into the crosshairs of an invisible enemy.
I opened my eyes. They were cold, steady, and focused.
"Marcus," I said, my voice completely steady. "Notify the strike wing at Oceana. Tell them to scramble two F/A-18s with live Sidewinders. If those drones try to lift off from the *Ford*’s deck, we blow them into the Atlantic before they can broadcast the exploit to the rest of the fleet."
"Copy that, General," Vance said, leaning into his comms.
May you like
The war Arthur had started in his corporate boardroom had just spilled into the open ocean.
***
