Martin claimed that the plan was devised by White Mask and handed off for execution—this, Owen believed. Every previous encounter with White Mask followed a similar pattern: they designed the operation, then let others carry it out while they remained in the shadows.
But Martin's words also revealed something far more alarming—if White Mask had access to military secrets at the level of the Cyborstan Code, then someone high up in the U.S. government had to be working with them. It could be a current cabinet member, or someone from a previous administration—either case was deeply concerning.
That only further confirmed to Owen that hiding the President had been the right move. If the enemy discovered they couldn't get to him, they might panic—and panic in this context likely meant deadly backup plans, even more extreme than the original. And as long as they believed the President was still inside the White House, it increased the chances of the mole in the upper ranks exposing themselves.
They now urgently needed someone with deep knowledge of the Pentagon's internal workings. Owen thought of Carol. He had already told her the President was safe and instructed her not to reveal this to anyone. From Martin's reaction, it was clear he truly didn't know the President had escaped, meaning Carol had kept her mouth shut. That made her a trustworthy ally.
With that, Owen motioned to Martin to pause, stepped aside, and called President Palmer to report everything. Palmer would know how to handle Carol directly. Owen trusted that such a minor coordination would be no challenge for the President.
Once the call ended, the interrogation resumed.
"So aside from Avril, who else do you know?"
Now that the plan was exposed—and with the President safely out of reach—Owen shifted focus to other White Mask intel.
"I've only ever met two of them," Martin said. "Avril and an Asian man. He's the one who followed my wife that day, but I never spoke to him directly. It was always Avril who handled the contact. She told me that White Mask has four knights. She's one of them—the Knight of Death. I don't know who the others are; she never told me. As for their leader—I have no idea."
He went on: "The organization must be incredibly powerful. I once tried using my own contacts to investigate them. Got next to nothing. That kind of operational secrecy means their network is vast. And money isn't a problem for them. They do things without ever factoring in cost. That tells you what they're after—it's not profit. It's politics. Power."
The more Owen heard, the more disturbed he became. The Asian man Martin mentioned was likely Zheng Anshun. As for the "four knights," that was a new piece of information. If Avril was Death, presumably the others represented similar destructive forces. It aligned with her profile—ruthless and combative. But what were the others? Owen took note. He'd dig deeper later.
"What about the people working with you—the others in this operation? Especially Staz. If you want to live, you'd better be honest."
Martin met Owen's eyes and shrugged, almost indifferent. "I know what's coming for me. Even if you let me go, the U.S. government won't. They'll never let this slide. But I'll tell you everything. All I ask is that you make it quick in the end."
Owen neither agreed nor disagreed. He understood. There was no version of the future where Martin walked free. Storming the White House—it hadn't been done since the British in the early 1800s, and back then the U.S. was barely a fledgling nation. Not anymore.
"Staz and his people aren't White Mask. They're mercenaries, each with some grudge against America. White Mask hired them. Most are idiots who think they'll collect their pay and retire rich. Staz is their leader. Some of the others used to serve under him. The rest are freelance."
That aligned with intel Owen already had. Staz and his crew were former Delta Force. During a covert operation overseas, they were burned and abandoned. It was a harsh betrayal, and Owen could sympathize—he'd been dragged before Congress more times than he could count. Politicians often did operate with staggering irresponsibility.
"Well, that's everything I know. Just give me a clean end. Oh, one more thing—a little gift. My phone's in my pocket. It has numbers I used to contact White Mask. Might be useful to you. I just don't get it—where's the President? Shouldn't he be with you?"
Martin's tone had shifted. He was calm, almost reflective, like a man resigned to his fate. Owen ignored the question and gave Walker a sharp look to warn him not to speak.
Walker took the hint. Owen stepped forward to retrieve the phone from Martin's pocket. As he did, Martin looked at Walker and said gently, "Kid… you must be Wells' youngest, right? I remember you. I helped you get that job at the Pentagon. Your dad and I go way back…"
Martin's voice was soft, nostalgic even. He looked like a kindly elder addressing a younger man. The moment felt surreal. Owen hadn't expected this connection, and for a brief second, he glanced at Walker—just a split-second of distraction.
That's when it happened.
The man who'd seemed so passive and defeated suddenly exploded into action. Martin lunged, slashing a makeshift blade toward Owen's neck.
But Owen didn't hesitate. He instinctively ducked and struck back with the knife still in his hand.
Martin froze mid-motion.
A makeshift blade—sharpened from a shaving razor—clattered to the floor. Blood spattered in drops, then in waves. Martin clutched his neck, gargling in agony. The strike had hit home.
He collapsed. Blood pooled. His convulsions slowed, then ceased.
Owen stood there for a moment, shaken. He'd come within inches of being killed. A single lapse in attention—and it nearly cost him everything.
Martin had told the truth to build trust. That's what made the story believable. And all the while, he'd been working his hands free with a razor blade hidden in his sleeve. Not only had he managed to cut the ropes, he'd waited—he hadn't rushed. He played the long game. Pretending to be resigned to death. Repeating over and over that he just wanted a clean end. Lulling Owen into a false sense of security. Even the story about knowing Walker's father was part of the act, meant to split Owen's attention at the critical moment.
Owen exhaled slowly. These old spooks were no joke. They'd kill you in a heartbeat, and you'd never see it coming. He'd known this since the day he met Bryan and his crew of retired killers. And yet, today, he'd still slipped.
"We're leaving," he said finally.
Owen and Walker quickly departed. He just hoped Martin had been truthful about everything. In the engineering level, Owen had recently found a full structural map of the White House and now had confirmation of the top floor yellow hall's location. The good news: there was a fireplace up there too. The bad news: the room was far too large. There was no way it would be guarded by just a single enemy.
(End of Chapter)
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