Part 26
The next morning,
they started planning their offense,
shifting from journalists to insurgents.
Julian reached out to his old military contacts,
the ones who had left the service,
disillusioned and angry.
He needed information on Vanguard,
blueprints,
personnel files,
anything they could use.
Eleanor went to the office,
acting completely normal,
smiling at her colleagues.
She wrote follow-up articles on Thorne,
playing the role of the victorious reporter,
feeding the public narrative.
But in secret,
she used Pacific Media's vast archives,
searching for historical anomalies related to Vanguard.
She found old defense contracts,
redacted heavily,
signed by a man named General Clayton.
He was the founder of Vanguard,
retired from the Pentagon,
but still pulling the levers of power.
Clayton was the King,
the Director,
the man sitting at the top of the pyramid.
She printed his photo,
pinning it to her hidden corkboard,
staring at his decorated uniform.
He looked like a hero,
a patriot,
a man who would do anything for his country.
And that made him the most dangerous adversary,
because he believed his crimes,
were righteous.
She met Julian later that evening,
in a loud, crowded bar,
where the noise would mask their conversation.
"I got a name," she told him,
sliding a folded napkin across the sticky table.
Julian opened it,
read the name,
and cursed softly.
"General Clayton," he nodded,
taking a sip of his beer.
"He is a legend in the black ops community,
ruthless,
efficient."
"How do we get to him?" she asked,
leaning in close.
"You don't get to a man like Clayton,
he lives behind layers of security,
in a fortress in Virginia."
"There has to be a weakness,
a vulnerability," she insisted.
"Everyone has a blind spot."
Julian thought for a moment,
tapping his fingers,
on the glass.
"His blind spot is his legacy," Julian suggested,
looking up at her.
"He believes he is saving the world,
if we expose him as a traitor,
he will lose everything."
"But we need hard proof,
not just financial links,
we need direct orders from him."
"There is a data vault," Julian recalled,
lowering his voice even further.
"A physical server farm,
where Vanguard keeps their operational records,
unconnected to the internet."
"Where is it?" she asked,
her pulse quickening.
"It is hidden under a front company,
a logistics warehouse,
in Nevada."
Eleanor smiled,
the thrill of the hunt returning.
"Then we go to Nevada."
"It is a suicide mission,
Eleanor,
it is guarded by armed mercenaries."
"We don't need to break in,
we just need to get close enough,
to tap their localized network."
Julian looked at her,
shaking his head,
but smiling despite himself.
"You are insane,
you know that?"
"It is the only way to win the game," she replied,
finishing her drink.
The King was identified,
May you like
the target was set,
and the final move was being calculated.
