Chapter 6 - The Standoff in Marshall Hall
Arthur Sterling’s eyes narrowed into sharp, calculative slits. The silver-haired Assistant Secretary took two measured steps across the Persian rug, his custom leather shoes sinking softly into the pile. The two NCIS agents behind him shifted uncomfortably, clearly aware that standing in a four-star admiral’s personal quarters without a signed warrant was a career-ending landmine.
“Let’s not hide behind protocol, Richard,” Sterling said smoothly, resting his hand on his leather portfolio. “You’ve been in the Navy long enough to know when an operational authority outranks four stars on a shoulder board. A man stepped off the family plaza twenty minutes ago. He walked into this building with you. Where is he?”
Callahan didn't move an inch. He stood tall behind his mahogany desk, his posture unyielding.
“I receive dozens of guests, family members, and former service members on commissioning day, Mr. Sterling,” Callahan replied, his voice cold and even. “If you have a warrant issued by the Judge Advocate General or a federal magistrate, present it to my staff judge advocate. Otherwise, you are currently trespassing on an active naval command installation.”
Sterling let out a low, dry chuckle. “A warrant? For a ghost? Michael Carter died in 2002, Admiral. His death certificate bears a seal from the Department of Defense. Whoever you just met with is either an impersonator or a fugitive possessing stolen classified material under Title 18.”
Sterling gestured to the senior NCIS agent. “Search the premises.”
“Touch a single drawer in this office, Agent,” Callahan warned, his voice dropping into a register that made the officer freeze in his tracks, “and I will have the base master-at-arms place all three of you in pretrial confinement for unauthorized entry into a Top Secret / SCI compartmented facility.”
Sterling’s smile vanished completely, replaced by a dark, dangerous glare.
“You’re making a grave mistake, Callahan,” Sterling whispered, taking a step closer. “You think you’re protecting a former comrade. You think you’re being heroic. You have no idea what Michael Carter brought back with him from Palawan. If that material reaches the press or Congress, it won't just ruin Apex. It will dismantle twenty years of black-budget naval intelligence architecture.”
“Then perhaps,” Callahan said, stepping out from behind his desk and standing face-to-face with Sterling, “that architecture was built on quicksand and treason.”
Before Sterling could reply, Callahan raised his voice toward the open doorway. “Lieutenant Commander Miller!”
Miller pushed past the agents in the hallway, looking sharp and tense. “Sir!”
“Escort Mr. Sterling and his detail off the grounds of Marshall Hall,” Callahan commanded. “If they refuse to leave, notify Security Company B to post sentries at the doors.”
Miller snapped a crisp salute. “Aye, aye, Admiral. Right this way, gentlemen.”
Sterling stared at Callahan for three long seconds. He didn't look defeated; he looked like a man making a mental note to reallocate target priorities.
“We’ll talk again very soon, Admiral,” Sterling said softly, turning on his heel and walking out of the office, his two agents falling in step behind him.
As soon as the heavy oak door clicked shut, Callahan turned toward his terminal. He picked up his secure satellite phone and dialed a short, four-digit extension.
“Chief Torres,” Callahan said as soon as the line connected.
“Sir,” came the low, gravelly voice of his personal driver from the lower parking deck.
“Our guest is en route via the utility trunk,” Callahan ordered softly. “Execute Protocol Bravo. Move him to the Annapolis safehouse immediately. Do not use secondary highways.”
“Understood, Admiral. Moving now.”
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Callahan hung up, his pulse hammering in his temples. He had bought Michael ten minutes. Now came the hardest part of the mission.
He had to get Carter’s daughter off the grounds before Sterling realized she was the lever.
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