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Her voice was smooth, mechanical. No hesitation, no filler. Just raw data, straight from the page—names, places, action sequences, dialogue. Everything.
He didn’t interrupt, he was too busy following along. Didn’t say a word until she finished the final sentence and looked up, her eyes meeting his.
“Well?”
He blinked once. “You’ve got a photographic memory.”
She broke into a smile. “Told you so.”
Tom scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Shit. This changes everything.”
CHAPTER 9
Tom punched in a number he knew by heart, tapping the digits into his mobile phone. Thank God the cell towers were still operational. Wouldn’t be for long, though. It rang twice before a voice snapped through the line.
“Staff duty.”
“Sergeant Tom Wilde, United States Marine Corps. ID number 7129-Bravo-Charlie. I need to speak with Commander Larson. Priority One.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the voice said, “Copy that. Stand by.”
He exhaled through his nose, eyes fixed on the battered wall opposite him. Hannah lay on the couch, but her eyes were fixed on him. Hopeful, eager, tinged with desperation. She was waiting for the verdict. So was he.
The line clicked.
“Wilde,” barked the familiar gravel of Commander Larson. “What’s news?”
Instinctively, Tom stood at attention. Realizing he’d done it, he forced himself to relax.
“Sir, the U.S. Embassy in Syman has been compromised. RPG strike. Structural damage is severe. Security breachconfirmed. I have evac’d from the premises with a high-value American civilian asset. Name: Hannah Evans.”
“Talk to me,” Larson said, after a brief pause. “What makes her high-value?”
Tom laid it out clean. He told his CO about her employment with Prince Hakeem, the classified intelligence she’d accessed, the contents of the document—military strike plans, internal security operations, and escape routes for Syman’s royal elite.
Larson didn’t interrupt, but Tom heard the rapid intake of breath at the mention of military strike plans. This wasn’t something he could ignore.
“Where are these documents now?” Larson asked.
Tom cleared his throat, while Hannah glanced down at her hands. Embarrassed.
“She had the file in hand, sir, but lost it during exfil.”
Larson gave a frustrated growl. Tom pushed through. “But here’s the kicker, sir. She’s got a photographic memory. Full recall. She can recite the entire four-page memo, word for word, including Arabic technical terms. I verified her ability firsthand.”
There was silence on the line.
“Sir?”
Larson spoke, his voice lower now. “You may not be aware, Sergeant, but as of 0600 Zulu, the Symanian regime launched chemical ordnance on Hamabad. VX-grade neurotoxin, airborne delivery.”
The words hit like a sledgehammer. “Jesus.”
“Dozens are already dead with casualties rising by the hour. This is Syria all over again, except dirtier. We’ve got civilians dropping in the streets. Hospital footage just hit the wire. It’s total chaos. The UN is convening, but it’s already too late for diplomacy.”
Tom’s jaw locked tight. He knew what was coming. Boots on the ground. Airstrikes. Fire and fury.
“The President’s being briefed. Western media’s already condemning the offensive. Human rights watchdogs are screaming war crimes. The entire Red Sea theater is heating up.”