Sandstorm

DIRECTOR SEAN MCKNIGHT.

The former leader of Sigma.

It was tossed in the garbage.

The custodian grabbed the new black-and-silver plate from the secretary’s desk. He pressed it to the door and used an electric screwdriver to affix it in place. He stepped back.

“How’s that?” the man asked, tipping back his cap.

He nodded, staring at the plate.

The leader of Sigma Force’s next generation.

He was due to be sworn in and take his oath in half an hour. How could he sit behind that desk?

But it was his duty. Presidential directive. After all that had happened in Oman, DARPA had been shaken from top to bottom. The leader of the Guild had been a member of their own organization. Painter had brought both his suspicions and proof out of Oman. The experts here were able to recover the data from the hard drive of Cassandra’s laptop. It left a trail confirming Painter’s claim.

The Minister was exposed.

His plan to corrupt Sigma stopped.

He unfortunately swallowed his own pistol before he could be taken into custody. It was surely a blow to the Guild, but they were like the mythic Hydra. Cut off one head, and another would eventually arise.

Painter would be ready.

A scuff of shoe drew his attention around. Painter smiled broadly, reaching out a hand. “What are you doing down here, sir?”

Sean McKnight took his hand. “Old habits die hard. I just wanted to make sure you’re settled in here.”

“Fine, sir.”

He nodded, clapped Painter on the shoulder. “I’m leaving Sigma in good hands.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sean stepped forward, noted his old nameplate in the trash, and bent to retrieve it. He picked it up and tucked it inside his jacket.

Painter’s face burned with shame.

But Sean merely smiled and patted his jacket. “For old times’ sake.” He strode away. “I’ll see you at the swearing-in ceremony.”

They would both be taking their oaths today.

As Painter was filling Sean’s position, Sean would be filling the vacancy in the directorship left behind by Vice Admiral Tony “The Tiger” Rector.

The Minister.

The bastard was so vain as to use a code name derived from his own last name. Rector. Meaning a member of the clergy.

In Oman, Painter had almost pegged Sean as the traitor. But when Painter had heard Cassandra mention the Minister, he had realized his mistake. Two men sent him on this mission: Sean McKnight and Admiral Tony Rector. Naturally, Sean would have passed Painter’s intelligence to Rector, his boss, but it was Rector who had leaked it to Cassandra.

The laptop’s data confirmed the connection.

Rector had been attempting to usurp Sigma for himself. Cassandra was his first mole. Even back at Foxwoods, she had been ordered to orchestrate and facilitate the passing of military secrets to the Chinese through Xin Zhang. The purpose was to embarrass Sigma’s leadership. This failure had been intended as a crowbar to pry Sean McKnight out of office so Rector could place someone loyal to the Guild in charge.

But now it was over.

He stared at the closed door. It was a new chapter of his life.

He thought back to the long road that had led him here. The letter was still in his jacket pocket. Standing now, he took it out. He fingered its sharp edges, ran a thumb over the oatmeal envelope. His name was neatly embossed on the front. He had received it last week. If he wasn’t brave enough to face this, he’d never get past the door here.

Standing still, he sliced open the seal and pulled out the contents. Translucent vellum, textured cotton card stock, hand-deckled edge. Nice.

A slip of paper fell out. He caught it and flipped it over.