"We just mitigated two nuclear devices in New York and Chicago, one on a passenger train, the other in a packed stadium. The decisions were brutal, but necessary to save millions."
The President listened in silence, his expression growing darker with each word. He had received fragmentary reports, but Daniel's impassive voice and graphic details were compelling.
"And from what I see on the map," Daniel continued, and a new projection appeared on the bunker's screen, showing the United States with ten additional red dots, scattered across strategic locations—ports, transportation hubs, large depots. "In the United States alone, there are stillten nuclear devices not yet activated, waiting for the right moment. My network has located them. They are identical in signature to the ones I just deactivated. And globally, as I've already informed your subordinates, there are twenty-four more, in capitals around the world."
The President pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening. "Ten unactivated devices on American soil? How is that possible? Our defenses... our borders..."
"They were outmaneuvered, Mr. President," Daniel replied, his voice devoid of judgment, merely a presentation of facts. "Not by missiles, but by silent infiltration, by years of planning. These devices are camouflaged as ordinary payloads. They activate only when in position. But there is no time to investigate this now. There is time to act."
"What is your proposal, Ghost?" the President asked, his voice serious and controlled despite the shock. He leaned forward, histired eyesfixed on Daniel.
"I need full authority, Mr. President," Daniel declared, his voice rising, becoming an order. "Authority to use whatever resources are necessary to deactivate these devices, without question or bureaucracy. This means unrestricted control over response teams, drones, kinetic warheads if necessary, and access to any network or information I need. It means that when I tell a team to go to a location and deactivate a device, they will. No questions asked. It means that I am the sole authority for this operation. No Secretary, no General, no chain of command can stop me. It is a matter of complete and absolute trust in me and my decisions. It is the only way to save what remains."
The silence in the bunker was deafening. The chief of staff and the vice president exchanged nervous glances. Giving an anonymous individual such power was unprecedented, an unimaginable abdication of authority.
"You're asking for a blank check, Ghost," the President stated, his voice slow and heavy, hisfixed eyesDaniel's, trying to decipher the man behind the cold voice.
"I'm asking for the chance to save your nation, Mr. President," Daniel corrected him. "That's what I do. I see the lines. I connect them. I undo them. And I'm protecting your nation not for governments, but for the children who don't deserve to live what I lived. For those who gave their lives to protect them. For those who died on 9/11, for the families that were destroyed. For the legacy of a nation that, despite its flaws, still stands as a symbol of hope for so many." Daniel's voice, once purely matter-of-fact, now held a restrained passion, a conviction forged in pain. He wasn't pleading; he was stating a truth.
The President closed his eyes for a brief moment, absorbing Daniel's words, the raw honesty of a nameless man who promised to protect millions for a cause greater than any politics or power. He thought of the faces of his grandchildren, the memories of the firefighters he saw weep on 9/11. It was a gamble, yes, but the alternative was annihilation.
He opened his eyes. Histired eyes, but now filled with iron resolve, met Daniel's. "You have my full authority, Ghost," the President declared, his voice firm and resonant. "Any resources, any team, any decision. I am the President of the United States of America, and I am giving you command of this operation. Do whatever it takes. Save America. And, Ghost," he added, a note of reluctant respect in his voice, "when this is all over... I want to meet you. In person."
Daniel nodded, the slightest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. There was no triumph on his face, only the recognition that the fight was just beginning. "Understood, Mr. President. I appreciate your confidence. The clock is ticking. We have less than forty minutes before the global detonation window closes. Now is the time to act. Director Vance, General, Secretaries. You heard the President. My orders are his orders. Prepare for global engagement."
The conference screens lit up with a frenzy of activity. The leaders, once hesitant, now moved with new urgency, aware that they had the President's full authority behind every command. Daniel had become the conductor of a global orchestra of invisible war.
Already mansionHenry looked at Daniel with a newfound admiration. He wasn't just the cold, calculating boss Henry knew. He was a man forged in adversity, with a painful past that drove him to protect those he'd never met. Henry knew he was standing beside a man who held the fate of the world in his invisible hands. And he was ready to help Daniel succeed.
The air in Daniel's office vibrated with the energy of power and responsibility. The fight against time and a global terror network was at its peak.
In the imposingmansionIn Dubai, the air crackled with frenetic energy. The glass walls of Daniel's office glowed with a digital tapestry of global maps, cascading lines of code, and real-time video streams. The hum of the servers was a constant chorus, the soundtrack to a silent war fought in milliseconds. Henry, beside Daniel, was a blur of movement, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboards, opening communication channels, transmitting data, and coordinating teams in distant time zones. His throat was dry, he could smell the ozone of high-tech equipment, and the cold sweat trickled down his temples, but his concentration was absolute.
The conference screens, now filled with the faces of world leaders—the head of London's MI6, the director of the French DGSE, the head of the Japanese Intelligence Agency, and so many others—reflected a mixture of shock, relief, and a growing dependence on Daniel. The President of the United States, in his austere bunker, watched Daniel's every move with silent intensity, his hand clenching a silver pen.
"Gentlemen, Ladies," Daniel's voice echoed through the encrypted communication channels, cutting through any murmurs. Hishoney brown eyesswept across the screens, their usual coldness replaced by an almost predatory determination. "The hunt is on. Not just in the United States, but around the world. We're against the clock. We have less thanforty minutesto deactivate twenty-four artifacts. My teams and yours must work in perfect synchronization. I will provide the coordinates, signatures, and deactivation frequencies in real time. Do not hesitate. Do not question. Act.
The order was given. And the world, through its leaders and intelligence agents, obeyed.
Daniel's main screen transformed into a vibrant web of red dots, each representing a nuclear threat in a global metropolis. London. Paris. Tokyo. Berlin. Sydney. Mumbai. Cairo. Mexico City. The list was long, and each city name was a punch to the stomach.
In London, a British decommissioning team in HAZMAT suits raced through an abandoned subway tunnel beneath Victoria Station. Their footsteps echoed on the damp concrete as they approached a camouflaged utility box. On Daniel's screen, the image was grainy, but clear enough to see sweat glistening beneath the team leader's helmet visor. Daniel's voice rang out in his headset: "Two meters ahead, to the left. Behind the main pipe. The device is camouflaged as a toolbox." Within seconds, the team confirmed the location. "Decommissioning frequency sent. Fire in three... two... one..." An invisible electromagnetic pulse, emitted by Daniel's remote device camouflaged in the city, struck the target. The red dot over London on Daniel's global map turned pale blue and dissipated.
"London: neutralized," Daniel announced, his voice emotionless. His gaze was already elsewhere.
In Paris, the scene was a maze of narrow streets and ancient architecture. A DGSE team, aided by French SWAT agents, infiltrated an underground art gallery beneath the Louvre. The silence was broken only by the squeak of boots on the cobblestone floor and the urgent whispers of the agents. Daniel appeared on the team leader's intercom: "Seven meters to the right, past the third pillar. The artifact is inside a modern sculpture, a cube of oxidized metal. It was designed to resemble local art." The team moved cautiously. Daniel's pulse raced. The red dot on Paris on the global map faded.
"Paris: neutralized," Daniel reported. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but his movements were calculated, each command deadly precise.
The race against time was relentless. Daniel didn't stop. His fingers danced over the keyboard, his eyes scanned the multiple screens, assimilating data, processing information, issuing orders at superhuman speed. The coordination was perfect, each team in the field an extension of his will. In Tokyo, the device was hidden in a package delivery drone, tethered to the roof of a skyscraper; in Berlin, inside a power transformer in an electrical substation; in Sydney, hidden in a cargo container in one of the largest ports in the southern hemisphere. Each scenario was unique, each deactivation a challenge that required the surgical precision that only Daniel could provide.
Henry, though exhausted, felt an electric energy in the air, the energy of Daniel's mind in full swing. He saw the faces of world leaders on the screens, once tense with dread, now showing a resigned acceptance of Daniel's authority. They were mere spectators, mere executors of his orders.
The Pentagon General, in the presidential bunker, watched the screens. He saw the red dots turning blue, one by one. He saw Daniel's teams and the local teams acting under his orders, without question. A mixture of admiration and a pang of bitter resentment grew within him. Who was this man operating with such power and knowledge? Yet the lives of millions were his priority. And Daniel was saving them.
Time ticked on. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Twenty-five minutes. The list of artifacts was shrinking dramatically. Daniel's global map now showed only a few remaining red dots, all in the United States. The climax was approaching.
"Attention, everyone," Daniel announced, his voice serious. He zoomed in on the image of Washington, D.C. A single red dot pulsed, terrifying in its proximity. "The final device, activated thirty seconds ago. At the White House gate."
A murmur of horror ran through the conference. The President, who had been silent until then, rose abruptly from his chair, histired eyeswide-eyed in panic. "At the gate?! How is that possible?! Our defenses... my Secret Service..." His voice was cracking, fury and fear mingling.
"There's no time for questions now, Mr. President," Daniel cut him off, his voice cold and imperative. "The deactivation team is already on site. They're approaching. The device is in a supply delivery vehicle, camouflaged as a catering package. It was delivered minutes ago. Time to detonation:forty-five seconds."
On Daniel's screen, the White House was clear. The iconic wrought-iron gates, the Secret Service guards in position, seemed oblivious to the invisible threat just feet away. A delivery van was parked at the security booth, the driver chatting casually with an agent.
"Deactivation frequency for the device at the White House gate sent," Daniel declared, his fingers flying. "Firing in thirty seconds."
The President, in his bunker, was pale. He could hear the Secretary of Defense's voice on his communicator, hysterical, screaming about the breach of presidential security.
"Twenty seconds..."
Daniel watched the van on the screen. The deactivation team, three CIA agents disguised as maintenance workers, approached with standard tools. One of them, a burly man in a sun hat, slipped a specialized tool under the van's chassis.
"Fifteen seconds..."
The Secret Service agent next to the van driver frowned. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible hum in the air. The driver looked confused.
"Ten seconds..."
Daniel's burly man activated the device. A nearly invisible green flash emanated from his hands, directed at the van's chassis.
"Five... four... three..."
The Secret Service guards near the van sensed a strange vibration, a smell of ozone. They looked at each other, confused, their hands on their holsters.
"Two... one..."