Page 84 of Echo: Burn
"No." I meet her eyes. "I swear to you, Willa. I didn't know they threatened you specifically. We were told to neutralize Hart's testimony. Make sure he couldn't damage national security. I thought we were protecting classified operations. I didn't know we were protecting the Committee."
"But you would have done it anyway." It's not a question. "If you'd known about me. About the threats. You still would have followed orders."
The truth hangs in the air between us. Raw. Ugly. Unavoidable.
"Yes," I admit. "Back then, I would have. Orders were everything. The mission was everything. I was a different person."
"And now?"
"Now I'd burn the whole system down before I let them hurt you." I touch her face gently. "Now you're everything."
She leans into my hand, eyes closing briefly. When she opens them again, there's forgiveness there. Understanding. Maybe even a glimmer of the same feeling I'm carrying.
"We're going to finish this," she says.
I nod. No other words needed.
After that, we drive in silence. Rourke and Mercer follow in the second vehicle, maintaining overwatch. The facility burns behind us, lighting up the Montana night like a second sunrise. By the time emergency services arrive, there won't be anything left to find but dead bodies. The Committee will have sanitized everything that survived the fire.
But we have the data. We have samples. We have proof.
That's what matters.
We reach Echo Base just before dawn. Tommy meets us at the entrance, face tight with stress and relief.
"Thank God," he says. "When the facility went up, we thought...”
"We're fine." I hand him the chemical samples I collected. "Get these to the lab. I want full analysis within six hours."
"Already prepping the equipment." Tommy takes the samples carefully. "But Kane, you need to see this. Cross came through. Big time."
We follow him to the operations center. Every screen is showing the same thing—news broadcasts, social media feeds, government websites. All displaying leaked documents. Chemical formulas. Production schedules. Committee operational plans.
Our evidence. Everywhere. Simultaneously.
"Cross uploaded everything to WikiLeaks thirty minutes ago," Tommy explains. "Then sent copies to the New York Times, Washington Post, CNN, BBC, Reuters—every major news outlet in the world. It's spreading faster than we can track."
On the main screen, a news anchor discusses the leaked documents with obvious shock. Behind her, chemical formulas scroll past—the same ones Willa identified at the facility.
"The inauguration," Willa breathes. "They know about the attack."
"Everyone knows," Tommy confirms. "Secret Service has already elevated security to Level One. They're implementing chemical weapons protocols. Every person entering the ceremony will be screened. Every package inspected. The Committee can't pull this off now."
Relief floods through me. We did it. We actually stopped them.
Then Victoria Cross's face appears on screen, a pre-recorded video message.
"If you're seeing this, it means the evidence has been released," she says calmly. "The Committee's primary operation has been exposed. But you stopped one attack. One. They have backups—they always have backups. Contingencies. Alternate plans."
Her expression hardens.
"Now that you've gone public, Protocol Seven escalates. Every asset on that termination list just became kill-on-sight priority. That includes everyone at Echo Base. Kane. Willa. The entire team. Even the damn dog. They won't wait, won't plan, won't hesitate. They're coming for all of you now, with everything they have. You won this battle. The war just escalated."
The screen goes dark.
In the silence that follows, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We all understand what this means.
We stopped the attack. Exposed the Committee's plans. Saved thousands of lives.
