Chapter 14 - THE WAR ROOM RECONSTITUTED
The basement of Arthur’s suburban home looked less like a residential cellar and more like a tactical operations center from a bygone era. Heavy blackout curtains were nailed over the small ground-level windows, shutting out the streetlights and the indifferent world outside. In the center of the room sat a massive wooden workbench, now covered not with woodworking tools, but with satellite maps of the city, architectural blueprints of Chestnut Street, and high-resolution printouts of traffic camera stills.
Marcus stood by the workbench, shining a small penlight across a blown-up photograph of the tracking device Arthur had recovered from the fleeing operative.
"It's military-grade encryption," Marcus muttered, shaking his head. "Modified telemetry chip. It wasn't just broadcasting a signal; it was uploading localized surveillance data straight to an off-site server operated by a shell company tied directly to Victor Blackwood."
Arthur paced the length of the concrete floor, his boots echoing in the confined space like metronome beats of pure fury. His jaw was locked so tight his teeth ached. "Victor Blackwood is supposed to be under federal house arrest in Virginia. How the hell is he running domestic operations?"
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"Because men like Blackwood don't play by the rules of the justice system, Arthur," Marcus replied, looking up to meet the general's burning gaze. "He has money, he has rogue mercenaries on his payroll who were dishonorably discharged during your tenure, and above all, he has a personal vendetta. You humiliated him in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee. You sent his friends to federal prison. And now, he knows about the little girl."
At the mention of Marisol, Arthur stopped pacing. He turned toward
