Chapter 72 – Choices and Silences
April 23, 2014 – Wednesday – 7:21 AM
Pearson Hardman – Logan Moore's Office
The day began with clear skies in Manhattan, but on the 51st floor of Pearson Hardman, the panoramic windows did not interest Logan Moore. He was in front of the computer, with his email open, his eyes fixed on the words he had read for the third time:
"Your participation in the National Committee on Public Integrity will be an honor to the country, and necessary to restore public confidence in government processes."
The email came directly from the Attorney General's desk, signed by him.
On the screen, the cursor blinked in response, waiting for the last word. Logan finished typing:
"I deeply appreciate your trust. However, I respectfully decline. My contribution to the country will continue to be made through advocacy, ethics, and daily commitment to the truth, wherever it may be. Count on me always as a lawyer. Sincerely, Logan Moore."
He clicked Send.
He closed his laptop, took a deep breath, and drank the last sip of his coffee.
Rachel walked in shortly after, carrying a folder.
"Good morning. So? Are you going to lead the committee?"
Logan just nodded, without hesitation.
"I declined."
Rachel blinked, surprised.
"Why?"
"Because I'm more useful here," Logan replied. "In the field. In the lawsuits. In the dirt. And, frankly, I prefer a pen to a board. A word to a policy."
She smiled.
"The city will breathe a sigh of relief with this. It's bad enough that they don't know when you'll show up on the other side of a lawsuit.
08:05 – Jessica Pearson's Office
Jessica was reading a briefing when Logan walked in.
"I just declined the committee," he said.
"I know. I was copied on the acknowledgement."
Jessica looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I would have declined too, if I were you."
"I thought you'd try to convince me otherwise."
"Logan… you're already doing the work of a hundred lawyers. And besides…"—she pushed a briefing toward him—"…I have something more interesting."
Logan sat down. He opened the briefing.
On the front page was a picture of a man: Jonathan Kray, CEO of Atlas Guardian, one of the largest private security companies in the country. Listed in Forbes as one of the most influential executives in the industry. Contracts with the State Department, NSA, and classified overseas operations.
But the headline below the photo was different:
"Atlas Guardian Investigated for Possible Involvement in Sanctioned Assassinations Under Federal Special Operations Contract."
Logan frowned.
"Are they being accused of executing targets with implicit approval?"
"Or no approval at all. There's a leaked memo indicating that operations conducted by "third-party contractors" were verbally ordered by unidentified agents. Three kills on foreign soil. No formal documentation. And now the DOJ is on to them."
Logan flipped through the file. He stopped at a contract clause.
"That's double-edged swordplay. 'Autonomous operational interventions with on-site tactical assessment.' That could be construed as a license to kill."
Jessica nodded.
"Kray is desperate. He says he didn't know. That someone in the company acted on their own, or that the authorization came through a channel he didn't control."
Logan leaned back in his chair.
"And what does he want?"
"For you to represent him."
Silence.
Jessica continued:
"He doesn't trust traditional law firms. He wants someone who knows the inside of the government. Who knows how the DOJ thinks. Someone who won't be intimidated."
Logan rested his elbows on the table. He looked out at the city.
"And what do you think?"
"I think you'll find out what's true… and then you'll decide how to proceed."
10:20 AM – Private Conference Room – 48th Floor
Logan walked in to find Jonathan Kray waiting. Tall, elegant, with a neatly trimmed gray beard. Eyes that seemed to observe before trusting.
"Mr. Moore," he said, standing up.
"Mr. Kray."
A firm handshake. They both sat down.
"I've read your brief. I've got the basics. Now tell me what's not in the papers yet."
Kray looked at Logan for a moment, then said,
"We've been working with governments for 12 years." We provided security, tactical intelligence, infiltration. At times… we were what the government could not officially be.
"Ghost officers," Logan said.
"You know how it works. You've lived it."
"I know the lines," Logan said. "And I know when someone crosses them."
Kray sighed.
"Three deaths. All in countries with sensitive contracts. All carried out with military precision tactics. It is alleged that our men acted under verbal instruction from a federal agent. But there is no record of it. And now… they want my head."
"And you authorized these actions?"
Kray shook his head.
"Never. But if someone inside the company made this decision without my approval… it's still my responsibility."
Logan crossed his arms.
"And what do you want from me?"
"Find out who did it. Protect what can be protected. And if it's necessary… tell me how to land on my feet.
Logan took a deep breath.
— Okay then. Let's get started.
1:00 p.m. – Strategy Room – Pearson Hardman
Logan gathered Rachel, Mike, and an international law consultant from the firm. On the table: contracts, Atlas Guardian operational reports, maps, emails, and payment records.
— This is too sensitive to leave the building — Logan said. — Everything is on an isolated network. Nothing goes to the cloud. And we're going to use encrypted lines for everything.
Mike leafed through a clause.
— They used legal proxies to record the orders. That's intelligence language. Heavy stuff.
Rachel analyzed financial reports.
— Two of the agents involved disappeared after the actions. Gone. No trace.
Logan took notes. Observed. And said little. His gaze connected the dots that no one else could see.
5:30 p.m. – Logan's Office
Jessica entered without knocking.
— So?
— This isn't just a case — Logan replied. — It's a mirror. Of what the government outsources. Of what it pretends not to know. And of what it later calls a mistake.
— And will you accept it?
Logan closed the file.
— I don't accept impunity. But I do accept the truth. If it's in here, I'll find it.
Jessica nodded.
— As always.
10:00 PM – Logan's Apartment
The city was already asleep. But Logan wasn't. He flipped through the records, pen in hand, scribbling in the margins with arrows and short sentences:
"Clandestine channel?"
"Coded name?"
"Verbal instruction = no audit."
He paused. He looked at the whiteboard in his office. Then he picked up his cell phone. He recorded a voice note to himself.
"Three deaths. A CEO who may not know everything. And a government that may know more than it admits. I'm not here to cover for anyone. I'm here to find… the place where the truth has been hidden."
Chapter 73 – Echoes in the Dark
April 24, 2014 – Thursday – 6:47 AM
Pearson Hardman – Logan Moore's Office
The city was still waking up, but Logan had been working for hours. On the whiteboard in his office, interconnected lines mapped out names, codes, and dates. In the center were three photos of victims of executions allegedly linked to Atlas Guardian. Beside them, red arrows pointed to contract numbers, uninvoiced payments, and intercepted messages.
Rachel came in with two mugs of coffee and a sealed envelope.
"Just arrived. Additional material from an internal whistleblower."
"Anonymous?"
"Not exactly. He asked that it be kept out of the records. But he left enough clues to validate what's in the documents."
Logan opened the envelope. Inside were a series of internal communications logs from Atlas Guardian, including email exchanges between executives and agents codenamed "GHOST," "DELTA-9," and "ORACLE."
"That's agency speak," Logan said.
Rachel read over her shoulder.
"These emails refer to 'unassigned actions' and 'confirmed results in paperless operations.' That's… scary."
Logan sat back in his chair.
"Scary and familiar."
9:10 AM – Meeting with Jonathan Kray
In the private conference room, Jonathan Kray watched Logan silently.
"Did you know about this?"
Logan slid the printed emails in front of him. Kray read them, his face impassive.
"I… knew about the codenames. But I never knew the extent of it."
"One of your directors authorized tactical executions outside the scope of the law." And he used Atlas's internal cover to cover it all up. "Ghost," "Delta-9," and "Oracle" are names that appear in the government's own clandestine operations.
Kray closed his eyes for a moment.
"So it's not just the company. It's… bigger."
"Yes. The problem isn't just Atlas. It's the invisible line between private contract and federal interest."
Kray shook his hands.
"What now?"
Logan stared at the CEO.
"Now you tell me how far you're willing to go. Because if you keep going, we might be knocking on the doors of agencies with three letters. And they don't like visitors."
Kray took a deep breath.
"Find the truth. Whatever it takes."
11:45 AM – Strategy Room
Logan gathered Rachel, Mike, and the international consultant.
"Our target now is Thomas Berenger, Atlas's vice president of international operations. He validated the contract from Oman, where one of the executions took place."
Mike brought documents to the table. "He was in London at the time, but records show he used VPNs from the state of Virginia. Langley area. CIA base."
Rachel added: "And one of the emails codenamed "ORACLE" came from a server known for clandestine military operations."
Silence in the room.
"We just touched the edge of the abyss," Mike said.
Logan just nodded. "Let's set up an appointment with Berenger."
2:20 p.m. – Interview with Thomas Berenger – Atlas Headquarters
The Atlas conference room was modern, elegant, cool. The kind of room designed to inspire respect but hide nervousness. Thomas Berenger walked in with a firm stance. His gray hair was neatly combed, his suit tailored, his face too calm.
"Dr. Moore," he said. — A pleasure.
— Mutual — Logan replied.
They sat across from each other.
— I'll be blunt — Logan began. — I need to understand your board's role in operational decisions in foreign territory.
— Tactical decisions do not cross my desk, Dr. Moore.
Logan slid the printed emails over.
— And this?
Berenger looked. Read. Took a deep breath.
— These are confidential messages. Outside the scope of the company.
— So who do they involve?
Berenger hesitated. Then he said:
— I can't comment.
Logan looked at him firmly.
— I'm not a federal agent. But I'm not blind either. And with or without your cooperation, the truth will come out. The question is: do you want to come out as an accomplice or as someone who decided to break the cycle?
The executive lowered his eyes.
— If I talk… I'll be destroyed.
— Don't worry — Logan said, lowering his tone — they're already doing that now.
5:00 p.m. – Logan's Office
Rachel entered with a tense air.
— We received an informal subpoena. An "invitation" to speak with a representative from the Office of National Security Coordination. They want to know why we're investigating this in depth.
Logan put the documents away.
— Because we're doing what they're supposed to do.
— What if they come at us with force?
— We respond with law. With proof. With truth.
Rachel hesitated.
— What if this ends up affecting you?
Logan looked her in the eyes.
— It already does. Ever since I chose to leave theory and enter the real world.
9:10 p.m. – Logan's Apartment
He reviewed the material alone. His eyes followed the lines with precision, as he took notes with military precision.
"Unassigned operations with tactical response under indirect validation of federal assets."
"Verbal directives with autonomous execution = shield clause."
He paused.
Then he recorded a voice note:
"The line between the agency and the company was erased. What started as security became a black op. And now... everyone wants to run away from the truth. Except me."
Logan closed the notebook.
He looked at the board on the wall, with the photos of the victims. Three faces that would never speak again except for him.
Chapter 74 – The Silence of the Lambs
April 28, 2014 – Monday – 8:12 AM
Washington, D.C. – Department of Homeland Security Federal Building
The sky in D.C. was overcast. The kind of day where the light was neither warm nor cold. The architecture of the DHS building projected authority. The entrance was guarded by men in suits, discreetly armed, and motion sensors hidden in the columns.
Logan Moore walked through security with a steady gaze. His briefcase contained only the bare necessities: hard copies of Atlas Guardian contracts, classified operations logs, and most importantly medical and forensic reports of the dead targets.
All civilians.
No criminal records. No confirmed ties to terrorist cells. No evidence. No prosecution. No chance.
The truth was harsh. And now, Logan carried that weight with him.
08:45 – Room 314 – DHS Basement
Logan sat in a cold, rectangular room with exposed concrete walls and a clearly active security camera. In front of him was a glass of water. To his left was a small personal recorder, turned off—for now.
The door opened and an ordinary-looking man entered. Dark suit, skeptical gaze. He sat across from Logan and gave a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Dr. Moore," he said. "I'm Agent Richard Callan. You requested this informal meeting. I'm here as a listener. This is not a deposition. This is not an investigation."
Logan laid the papers on the table, neatly arranged like a chess piece.
"The deaths of three civilians in Oman, Yemen, and Pakistan," Logan began. "All executed by snipers linked to Atlas Guardian. All contracts tied to Operation Zeta Sunrise, supposedly verbally authorized by… someone. But the names never appear."
Callan didn't answer. He just watched.
"These documents," Logan continued, "prove that the targets had no criminal records, were not under investigation, had no record of ties to terrorism or illegal networks. No evidence. Nothing."
Callan crossed his arms.
"And why are you here, exactly?"
"Because when the government outsources assassinations without legal basis, without formal authorization and without due process, that is not war. It is crime."
Silence.
Callan then spoke, for the first time with more force.
"You are poking a hornet's nest that has decades of layers. Do you really think that will change anything?"
"I am not here to change the past. I am here to prevent it from happening again."
"And how are you going to do that? With headlines? With legal bravado?"
Logan leaned forward.
"With evidence. With formal charges. With everything that the system says it values, but only respects when forced to do so."
10:12 AM – Office of the Inspector General – DOJ Building
After the meeting at DHS, Logan headed to the DOJ. He had scheduled a meeting with Assistant Attorney General Mariana Wells, who is responsible for internal prosecutions of private contracts linked to transnational crimes.
She was young, African-American, with a keen eye and rare patience.
"I've read your report," she said as Logan leafed through the documents. "And what you've brought is serious. But you have to understand: this goes beyond the two of us."
"Mariana, three people were executed. Someone decided they were 'threats' based on… nothing. And now they want to bury this because it would involve agencies that the public doesn't want to believe are wrong."
She was silent. Then she answered truthfully:
"Do you want a formal path?"
"Yes."
"Then get ready to burn bridges."
Logan nodded.
"Let them burn." But let them shed light on the truth.
1:40 p.m. – Discreet coffee in Georgetown
Rachel called.
— Atlas's deputy general counsel has left the country. Switzerland. Last-minute transfer. Clearly on the run.
— And the internal whistleblower?
— He's been in touch. He's willing to talk… but he wants immunity.
— He'll get it.
Rachel hesitated.
— Logan… this is getting too big.
— It was already big. The difference is that now we're seeing it.
5:05 p.m. – Back in New York – Pearson Hardman
Logan entered his office without taking off his jacket. His eyes were tired but focused. Jessica was already waiting, sitting on the couch.
— How was it in Washington?
— Official letters, faces that avoid eye contact, and a proposal for silence disguised as institutional caution.
— They know you won't stop.
— They know. And that's why they're moving. But I've already started putting together the petition.
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
"Are you really going to file a complaint?"
"Yes. Formally. If they don't act, I'll call the press."
She studied him for a moment, then said,
"You have my permission. But know this: once this comes out... there's no going back."
Logan stared at her, calm.
"I never wanted to go back."
10:20 p.m. - Logan's Apartment
He was reviewing the draft of the complaint. Well-founded legal lines, organized attachments, cross-referenced sources.
On a makeshift whiteboard, he wrote:
"No evidence, no warrant, no defense. Three civilians dead. A company paid to do what the government doesn't want to sign."
He turned on the recorder and spoke in a low voice: "If I am silenced, this document will go. It's on the firm's encrypted servers. It's with Rachel. It's with me. The truth is heavy. But it's lighter than guilt."
He stopped the recording. He leaned back in his chair. And thought for a moment. Three deaths. No chance. A silence that reeks of connivance. But tomorrow... the silence will be broken.
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