Then bit down.
Ethan saw it.
"Stop him!"
Too late.
Wren convulsed.
Not poison exactly.
A concealed capsule.
He collapsed.
Medics rushed.
Alive.
Barely.
Whitmore stared.
"How many people inside my academy belong to them?"
Ethan answered:
"Enough."
Then the sky changed.
Three fighter aircraft passed high above the academy.
Not unusual near a naval facility.
But their formation was wrong.
Too tight.
Too low.
Whitmore looked up.
His phone remained dead.
Sloane said:
"Meridian already sent something."
Ethan asked:
"What assets are nearby?"
Whitmore thought.
"Training squadron."
"Destroyer group offshore."
"Strategic exercise command."
Sloane looked pale.
"That's enough."
Noah asked:
"For what?"
Ethan answered:
"To make one American unit believe another American unit has become hostile."
Noah understood.
A false order.
A false authentication.
Then a real response.
The perfect self-created crisis.
Whitmore shouted for runners to use hardline communications.
No wireless.
No tablets.
No digital authentication.
Old methods.
Paper.
Voice.
Physical confirmation.
The irony was immediate.
The most advanced command threat in naval history might be defeated by technology older than Noah.
They ran toward the west wing.
Ethan.
Noah.
Whitmore.
Sloane.
Three security officers.
Noah stayed beside his father.
Not because he trusted him.
Not yet.
Because whatever else Ethan was, he understood the threat.
They entered the administration building.
Lights flickered.
Elevators disabled.
They took the stairs.
Second floor.
Third.
At the fourth-floor landing, Ethan stopped.
A memory.
Twenty-two years earlier.
Same smell.
Hot electronics.
Industrial cleaner.
Metal.
Phantom Anchor facilities all smelled alike.
Intentional.
He looked toward Sloane.
"This wing was rebuilt."
"Five years ago."
"By who?"
She hesitated.
Whitmore answered.
"Naval Infrastructure Office."
Ethan smiled bitterly.
"Check the contractor."
Sloane already knew.
"Meridian Systems Group."
Noah almost laughed.
"They named the contractor Meridian?"
"A shell company."
"Apparently subtlety died before my father."
Ethan glanced at him.
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
They reached the server level.
The hallway was empty.
Too empty.
Whitmore's security chief tried the door.
Locked.
Ethan examined the frame.
"Stand back."
He found an old mechanical override.
Noah noticed.
"How did you know?"
"Same hardware family."
"From twenty-two years ago?"
"Some bureaucracies never change."
They entered.
Rows of servers.
Cooling fans.
Indicator lights.
At the center stood a single black terminal.
Not academy equipment.
Sloane whispered:
"Meridian."
Ethan approached.
The screen displayed:
AUTHORITY HANDSHAKE: 91%.
Noah stared.
"How is it still increasing?"
Sloane answered:
"Because your credential isn't only in the tablet."
"It's in academy enrollment."
"Medical."
"Identity."
"Commissioning systems."
Noah looked at Ethan.
"My entire record."
"Yes."
Whitmore asked:
"How do we stop it?"
Sloane stepped toward the terminal.
"Destroy the local node."
Ethan stopped her.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Mercer expects that."
She stared.
Ethan pointed toward the network diagram.
"This isn't the core."
"It's bait."
Whitmore frowned.
"Then where is the real system?"
Ethan looked at Noah.
"The graduation stage."
Noah stared.
"What?"
Every commissioning certificate had been digitally authenticated there.
Every cadet crossed the same platform.
Every identity passed through the ceremonial presentation system.
The stage itself had become the collection point.
The antenna on the administration building only transmitted.
The real biometric aggregation device was under the stage.
Whitmore swore.
They turned.