Chapter 5 - The Gate at Great Lakes
Within twenty minutes, Ryan and I were speeding away from the country club in my rental car, racing north toward Naval Station Great Lakes through the swirling snow.
My phone kept buzzing. Missed calls from my mother, frantic text messages from Lily asking where I had gone, and panicked voicemails from Alan demanding to know why federal agents were currently parked outside the country club asking questions about "Fleet Logistics Support Squadron Forty."
I ignored them all.
When we reached the massive security gates of Naval Station Great Lakes, the armed sentries didn't even slow down our vehicle. The moment they caught sight of my military identification card pressed against the window, the heavy steel barrier lifted instantly, and a military police escort vehicle fell in behind us with its lights flashing mutely against the falling snow.
We pulled up to the command headquarters building. Standing outside in the freezing wind, waiting by the double glass doors, was Captain Thomas Vance—a weathered, iron-jawed surface warfare officer who had been my mentor when I was a raw ensign fresh out of Annapolis.
As I stepped out of the car, Captain Vance snapped a crisp salute.
“Commander Hayes. Good to see you on secure soil,” Vance said, shaking my hand with a grip like a hydraulic press. Then he glanced at Ryan, raising an eyebrow. “And Commander Walker. Glad you caught a ride with the right person.”
“Captain, what’s going on?” I asked, buttoning my wool coat against the wind. “My orders to Bahrain don't take effect until next week, and my leave papers were approved.”
Vance’s expression turned grim. He motioned for us to follow him inside into the warm, brightly lit briefing room.
“Your leave papers are being amended as we speak, Nora,” Vance said, tossing a thick red-bordered intelligence folder onto the steel conference table. “Ten minutes ago, a priority encrypted dispatch came down from the Pentagon. The commercial shipping lane security grid we established across the Mediterranean has suffered a catastrophic cyber-breach. Supply lines for three amphibious ready groups have been compromised.”
Ryan gasped, stepping forward to look over the shoulder of the captain as the folder fell open. Financial ledgers, satellite coordinates, and routing manifests spilled across the table.
“That’s impossible,” Ryan whispered. “The firewall encryption we installed on those supply nodes is military-grade AES-256. A civilian hacker couldn't crack that in a lifetime.”
“It wasn't a civilian hacker,” Captain Vance said grimly, looking directly at me. “The breach originated from a domestic corporate server cluster located right here in Illinois. Registered to a private consulting firm that specializes in government subcontracting bids.”
I felt a cold chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the winter weather outside.
“What’s the name of the firm, Captain?” I asked slowly.
Vance tapped a finger against the bottom corner of the manifest sheet.
Brooks Strategic Consulting & Logistics.
May you like
Alan Brooks’s firm.
My stepfather’s company—the very company he spent every holiday dinner bragging about, claiming it was worth millions, the company he always claimed was far more important than my “little Navy thing.”
