Chapter 9 - THE HIGHWAY TO WASHINGTON
The black Suburban glided smoothly down Highway 41, its heavy V8 engine humming softly as it accelerated past the pine forests and rusted tin barns of rural Georgia.
Inside the rear cabin, the air conditioning was crisp and cold. Amara sat comfortably in the leather captain's chair, a secure military-grade tablet resting on her lap. The screen displayed a real-time video feed connecting her directly to a conference room in the Pentagon.
On the screen was a three-star general wearing Army Operational Camouflage Pattern fatigues, his face stern as he listened to her report.
"The situation in Oakhaven has been stabilized, General," Amara said smoothly, her voice calm and unaffected by the morning's events. "The evidence files have been locked down by local deputy personnel. Federal preservation orders are in effect."
The general on the screen let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. "Amara... you were supposed to be on a quiet civilian leave before taking command of the 75th Logistics Brigade."
"I was on leave, sir," Amara replied, a faint, almost imperceptible trace of humor touching her eyes. "I simply stopped for breakfast."
"And a corrupt county sheriff decided to pick a fight with the wrong traveler," the general remarked dryly. "The Department of Justice is already drafting the civil rights indictments. Voss won't be wearing a badge by next week."
"Deputy Carter handled the situation appropriately once the identification was verified," Amara noted, always fair, always observing the performance of personnel. "He protected the evidence and maintained order."
"I'll make sure the regional coordinator knows," the general said. "Your secondary transport is waiting at Savannah Air National Guard Base. We’ll have you in D.C. by thirteen-hundred hours."
"Understood, General. Whitlock out."
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Amara tapped the screen, terminating the call. She set the tablet down on the console beside her and looked out the dark tinted window at the passing Georgia landscape.
Her wrists still bore the faint pink indents from Voss’s steel handcuffs, but her face was serene. She adjusted her denim jacket, leaned back into the leather seat, and watched the sun climb higher into the blue southern sky.
