"So, you're proposing a global tour, with meetings at every stop, and you want me to know that you have full access to everything. That you can be anywhere at any time," the President said, trying to process the information, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
"It's not a threat, Mr. President," Daniel corrected him. His voice, though calm, had a steely edge. "It's a fact. It's the reality of who I am. I'm not an agency. I'm not a government. I'm a force. And that force is what saved your world. Do you want to know my story, President?"
Daniel's question took the President by surprise. He had asked to meet Daniel, but the question about the history of such an enigmatic, powerful man carried a gravity that went beyond a simple request for information. He thought for a moment, looking at the faces of his aides, who were staring at Daniel, as if awaiting the revelation of an age-old enigma.
"Yes, Ghost," the President replied, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I want to. I need to know."
"Let's talk here for now," Daniel proposed, his voice without a hint of hesitation. "There's no need for a formal meeting for this. Just you and me. And maybe the General, if he'll listen."
The Pentagon General, who had listened silently, nodded vigorously, his steely eyes fixed on Daniel. He wanted to understand the man who had defied all logic of war and intelligence, who had rewritten the rules of global confrontation in a matter of minutes. The Attorney General and the other Secretaries, though not explicitly invited, remained connected, too curious to disconnect, captivated by that voice, that presence.
Daniel paused, and the silence in the Dubai mansion deepened, becoming almost oppressive. Henry, beside Daniel, felt a lump in his throat. He knew what was coming next. It was the story of "Twelve," the story Daniel had never told anyone but himself, the best-kept secret of a man who was, himself, a secret.
"As I said before, Mr. President, I was born an orphan in the United States," Daniel began, his voice lower, almost a whisper, but each word carrying an emotional weight that contrasted with his usual coldness. The image on his main screen focused on an old map of the United States, with a small dot blinking in a state Daniel didn't name, but which Henry knew was where it all began. "I have no name. I have no birth certificate. I have no date of birth. I was just a number. 'Twelve.' That's what they called me at the orphanage."
The President of the United States, his face grave, listened intently. He pictured little "Twelve," a nameless child with no family, lost in an arrangement that was supposed to protect her but had instead hurt her.
"Until I was ten," Daniel continued, his voice hardening slightly, like a sharpening blade. "I was tortured. Not sexually, I assure you. But constant physical abuse. Deprivation. Violence that you, in your bunkers and offices, cannot even imagine. I saw the hunger in the eyes of the other children, the fear, the hopelessness. I saw the brutality. And I learned to survive." The image on Daniel's screen shifted to a 3D rendering of a gloomy building with barred windows, a place that seemed designed to suppress life, to suffocate any flame of hope. It was a nightmarish edifice, gray and soulless.
"I ran away when I was ten," Daniel revealed, his voice maintaining a matter-of-fact, almost clinical tone, but with a latent pain, an invisible scar that manifested itself in every syllable. "I lived on the streets. In several American cities. I ate whatever I could find, stole when necessary. I was invisible to the world. To its control structures. To its statistics." He didn't use the term "the system," but its implication was clear to the President. "But I didn't starve. I didn't freeze to death. I read. Books thrown in the trash. Books from public libraries, at night, when the doors were unlocked or I found a way in. I ate knowledge. I absorbed everything."
Daniel's screen displayed a projection of thousands of books, scrolls of code, electronic diagrams, programming languages, all in a symphony of self-taught learning. Lines of text overlapped, diagrams connected and expanded into an infinite web of information. Henry, who knew Daniel's brilliant mind, was still impressed by the depth of that knowledge, acquired under such harsh conditions, under the uncertain glow of streetlights and the silence of the night.
"I learned to see the lines," Daniel said, his voice regaining its characteristic coldness, a layer of ice over the pain. "The lines no one else saw. The connections. The patterns. The vulnerabilities. The blind spots of your organizations. I had nothing, so I had nothing to lose. I had no name, so I could be anyone. I could be invisible. And I began to understand how the world really worked. Not like in the history books, but behind the scenes, behind the scenes no one dares to look."
The President, listening, felt a chill run down his spine. He was listening to the genesis of the "Ghost," the man who became the most powerful and unstoppable weapon the world has ever seen, born of shadows and pain.
"By seventeen, I had accumulated more knowledge and practical experience in networking, security, tracking, and disruption than every government agency combined," Daniel continued. "I was already a ghost in the shadows, operating at a level you couldn't even comprehend. When the Twin Towers fell, I wasn't even born. But I read every report. Every testimony. Every word from the survivors. I saw the footage, the images you tried to erase from the collective memory. And I read about the heroism of the firefighters who refused to leave. Who stood with their lives, with the innocent, until the end. As so many police officers did. They didn't abandon their posts. They knew they would die, but they chose to stay. I read about their sacrifice, about courage that transcended logic, courage that was pure, unwavering."
The Pentagon General, his steely eyes brimming with tears, nodded slowly. He understood the fury and determination born from those ashes, inspired by such immense sacrifices. He had seen many soldiers swear the same, but the intensity in Daniel's voice was different, more visceral.
"They didn't run," Daniel continued, his voice vibrating with a restrained intensity, almost a muffled roar. "They embraced hell to save souls. I swore that day that I would never allow something like that to happen again. Not in my country. Not if I could stop it. That scarred me more than any beating in foster care. It gave me a purpose that pain never could."
"I don't do this for honor, Mr. President. Honor is for the dead in their graves with white crosses," Daniel said, and the image shifted to a vast military cemetery, the white crosses stretching to the horizon, a desolate landscape of sacrifice. "I do this for those children. For the ones who were orphaned that day. For the ones who might have been orphaned if I hadn't acted today. For the firefighters, the police officers, the first responders, the soldiers who give their lives without being called heroes by bureaucrats, by those who see the world in black and white."
"You think I'm made of ice? I have a family. A wife. And who knows, maybe children. And I want them to see a world where that doesn't happen. Where a son doesn't ask his mother, looking at a coffin, 'Where's daddy?' Or a child doesn't have the dead look of someone who saw hell too early, with their soul erased."
The revelation about his family was a shock to the leaders. Daniel, the "Ghost," the man with no name, had a life, a family, vulnerabilities. This humanized him in a way they never expected, adding a layer of complexity to a being that seemed purely machine. The Attorney General, her eyes red, nodded silently, deeply moved, tears streaming down her face.
"I built what I built to stop this," Daniel continued, his voice returning to its tone of cold authority, but now with a different, deeper resonance. "To see the lines, to act where you cannot, to be the wall. I don't ask for thanks. I don't ask for recognition. I only ask that you understand why I did what I did today. And that you give me the support I need to ensure that this terrorist network never rises again, that darkness never again swallows the light."
The President of the United States, his eyes tired but now filled with a new depth of understanding, looked at Daniel. "Ghost," he said, his voice choked, thick with an emotion he rarely displayed. "Twelve. I understand. And you have my full support. Unconditional. The diplomatic trip is scheduled. London, Paris, Dubai. I will meet you. And when we meet, Ghost... I want you to tell me what else you need to ensure this never happens again. Anything. It's at your service."
Daniel simply nodded, his expression unchanged, a mask of control over the inner storm. The connection was cut. The screen in his office returned to displaying the world map, the blue dots scattered like scars on a body. The silence in the Dubai mansion was deep, dense, laden with the weight of revelations. Henry, beside Daniel, felt the weight of the story he had just heard, a story of pain, resilience, and unimaginable power. Daniel, the most powerful man in the world in his sphere, was also the most invisible, the most marked. And his war was far from over. Victory brought no peace, only a brief respite in an endless battle. The journey, the encounters, would be merely the next chapter in a saga no one else saw, a game where Daniel was always several steps ahead, but which, deep down, he didn't want to play.
Suddenly, the image on Daniel's screen flickered again, a direct connection to the President of the United States, who had already disconnected from the main conference. Daniel had reopened the channel, and the President was visibly surprised, his mouth slightly open, as if about to ask a question.
"Oh, and before you hang up, Mr. President," Daniel said, his voice calm but with a tone that brooked no interruption. The President and everyone on the bunker's dedicated line,