Chapter 12 - THE CONVOY TO FORT MEADE
Inside the rear cabin of the armored Chevrolet Suburban, the air was cold, smelling faintly of leather, gun oil, and ozone from the heavy military-grade communications gear mounted between the front bucket seats.
Maya Bennett sat with her knees together, her rifle case lying across her lap. Her long hair was tied back in a tight, functional braid. Though her hands were steady, the soft yellow light from her encrypted tablet reflected off the severe purple bruise still visible near her collarbone beneath her high-collared shirt—the lingering mark from her confrontation in the honeymoon suite two nights earlier.
Beside her, sitting upright with his arms crossed over his chest, was Colonel Alexander Brooks. He wore a sharp, non-descript dark suit instead of his old field jacket, though his rigid military posture remained entirely unchanged.
"Your zero was off by half a mil at three hundred," Alexander said without looking away from the reinforced side window.
"The wind was pushing twenty knots off the ridge, Dad," Maya replied calmly, her tone devoid of filial pretense. "I held left-edge. The round went where I needed it to go."
"Good," Alexander said quietly. "Because when we step out of this vehicle at the Meade joint terminal, there won't be any sighting shots. Carmen Robles didn't just mobilize her family's legal team; she activated two retired private security elements operating out of Miami. They’ve established a surveillance umbrella around your mother’s house and three of our former safe houses."
Maya tapped the screen of her tablet, pulling up a series of financial flow charts and property deeds.
"They're searching for the hard drives from Operation Sundown," she said, her brown eyes narrowing as she analyzed the lines of data. "Javier didn't marry me because of a family feud, Dad. He married me because his mother believed you stored the original offshore ledger keys in my name when I turned eighteen."
Alexander’s jaw tightened. A dark, dangerous shadow passed over his weathered features.
"That ledger cost eleven good men their lives in Colombia," he said, his voice dropping an octave into that terrifying, gravelly register that made even seasoned officers step back. "Carmen Robles thinks she can use corporate law and thugs in expensive suits to shake down my family for a ghost document. She took you for a soft target because you grew up living a normal life with your mother."
"I was never soft, Dad," Maya said gently, looking at her father. "Mother built a home for me, but you taught me how to survive in the dark. I didn't sign her papers in that hotel room. I broke her chief security operative's wrist before I cleared the fire door."
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Alexander turned his head, looking at his daughter’s resolute profile. For a brief second, the icy exterior of the military commander cracked, revealing a faint glimmer of profound, fierce pride.
"I know you did," he murmured. "That's why we're going to give Carmen exactly what she asked for. A meeting."
