The Pentagon
Department of Defense
Sublevel 4
4:58 p.m.
General Biscayne scratched his signature across the last two forms and was just pushing back from his desk to head home when his phone jangled to life.
“Yeah,” he snapped. “What is it?”
“Hello, Cole. It’s Sebastian.”
A chill ran down the general’s spine. Sebastian Taylor frightened him. Always had. He’d suspected Sebastian was responsible for the disappearance of two operatives back in ’78 and a couple of others in the ’80s but had never been able to prove it.
General Biscayne tried to mask the fear in his voice. “What do you want?”
“You called Margaret Wellington, didn’t you?”
“Sebastian, I-”
“You told her to keep everything quiet. To make the case go away. But you made one mistake. You mentioned my name.”
A pause. A decision to lay down all his cards. “So maybe I did. You’re a fugitive. What are you going to do about it now?”
“I think, General, that I’m going to go fishing.”
The line went dead.
And with trembling fingers, the general set down his phone.
And so.
Now it begins.