Chapter 8 - The Depth of the Betrayal
I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach. "What kind of tech, David?"
"The Vanguard system," David said, dropping a heavily classified document onto the desk. "The next-generation drone targeting software your father's company developed for the Department of Defense. The tech that is currently being integrated into our military’s tactical operations."
I picked up the file. The Vanguard system was a game-changer. It allowed drones to operate autonomously in GPS-denied environments—exactly like the mountainous terrain of Kandar Province. In the wrong hands, it could dismantle US air superiority in seconds.
"Who was the buyer?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"A shell company based in Eastern Europe, but the ultimate beneficiary is a known front for a hostile state intelligence agency," David said. "The transaction was set to finalize this Friday. A fifty-million-dollar wire transfer was scheduled to hit Curtis's offshore account upon delivery of the source code."
I closed the file, my knuckles turning white. "And where is the source code now?"
"It's on a secure server in our research and development facility in Maryland. Curtis has the only access key."
"Not anymore," I said, standing up. "He’s in a federal holding cell. I am the executor of the estate and the controlling shareholder. Revoke his access immediately and transfer the security protocols to my name."
"I tried," David said, his voice tight. "But Curtis was smart. He set up a dead-man's switch. If his biometric data isn't scanned at the R&D facility every forty-eight hours, the system assumes there's a hostile takeover and initiates a complete wipe of the Vanguard source code—or worse, it automatically uploads the code to the buyer's server as a failsafe."
I looked at the clock on my phone.
"How much time do we have before the next scan is required?" I asked.
"Ten hours," David said. "And the federal authorities won't let us release Curtis from his cell to scan his thumbprint, even if we wanted to. They’re treating this as an active espionage case. The FBI is moving in to seize the entire facility."
"If the FBI seizes it and the dead-man's switch triggers, the code will be sent to our adversaries," I said, the gravity of the situation crashing down on me. "We can't let that happen. We need to bypass the switch."
"The only person who can bypass it without triggering the upload is the lead developer," David said. "A man named Dr. Aris Thorne. But he went missing three days ago. Right around the time your father died."
I stared out the window, looking at the city below. The web Curtis and Elaine had spun was far larger and more dangerous than a simple dispute over an inheritance. They hadn't just tried to steal my father's company. They had put the lives of active-duty soldiers—the very people I had bled with—on the line for fifty million dollars.
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"They sold out our country," I whispered, a cold, unyielding rage replacing the dread. "They sold out the men and women in the field."
I turned to David. "Call General Carney. Tell him we need a tactical team. We are going to find Dr. Thorne. And we are going to shut down Curtis's play before the clock runs out."
