His voice comes through the speaker, tinny but sharp. “Already on it, Reese. Give me two minutes.”
Chris crosses the small space in record time, bracing one hand on the back of my chair as he looks over my shoulder at the screen. “What’s that?”
“An authorization order,” I say. “It’s dated two weeks before the village attack. It could be a coincidence, but…”
“Nothing about anything that has happened here has been a coincidence,” he grouses.
The static hum of Mattis’s keyboard clacking fills the tent, followed by a low whistle. “Jesus Christ. Okay. This order links up the chain. Pollock didn’t act alone. There’s a memo attached.”
“Send it.”
A few seconds later, the document appears on my screen. The letterhead is official.Government seal official.I read out loud, “Re: Pipeline Protection Directive. Ensure operational silence regarding civilian clearance efforts. Local population to be removed for construction by any and all means necessary. All actions fall under national interest authorization. Signed—’” I stop, my throat tightening and heart racing at the realization of what we’ve just found.
Chris leans over me again. “Signed who?”
I look up at him, my stomach sinking. “Thomas Weller.”
“Thomas Weller?” Chris asks, his tone a mixture of surprise and confusion. “TheSenate Majority Leader Thomas Weller?”
“Fuck,” Mattis swears on the other end. “This goes high, guys. Real fucking high.”
I stare at the name on the document, my pulse echoing in my ears.It’s him. It has to be.Weller isn’t justanyone.He is one of the senior sponsors of the US pipeline initiative. A project sold to the locals as a means of creating jobs and economic stability. In reality, it is a billion-dollar enterprise for the men pumping oil through this country.
Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair. “He sanctioned it,” I whisper. “He covered up the massacre to keep the pipeline clean in the press.”
Chris exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Mattis cuts in, voice hard. “Every signature, every time stamp checks out. They buried it under layers of top-secret classified clearance, but it’s there.”
“All those people… To make money,” I mutter, disgusted. I close my laptop slowly, determination taking hold. “That’s it. That’s my story.”
“No,” Chris barks, almost immediately.
I blink, turning toward him. “Excuse me?”
He crouches down in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees. The normal soft golden hue of his eyes looks dark as he stares up at me. “Reese, baby. You publish that and you’re done.” His tone is as deadly serious as his unwavering stare. “You’re not just poking the bear. You’relying down and offering to be his dinner. You could die for this.”
“Then at least it’ll mean something.”
“Don’t say that,” he snaps, his tone low but sharp.
I meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “You think I can just walk away from this? Pretend we didn’t see what we saw? That those families don’t deserve justice?”
He pushes to his feet as I stand from the chair, nearly knocking him over. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying we can’tdoanything about it if you’re dead, Reese. There are ways to get this out safely?—”
“Safely?” I let out a humorless laugh. “Do you know what the government is going to do once this hits the press? They’ll deny it, discredit it, and by the time the truth crawls out again, it’ll be buried under a dozen other headlines. I have to release it myself.Now. Before they can bury the truth.”
“And you,” Chris mumbles under his breath, not meant for me to hear. He turns back toward me and demands. “At least leave the country first.”
It’s logical. Smart. Smarter than outing a couple of dozen high-ranking men as murderers while I’m sleeping in their camp. “I can’t,” I exhale.
Hawk’s expression tightens, his teeth grinding so tightly that his jaw ticks. “Reese…”
“I need to tell Adeya first.” He lets out a heavy exhale, his frustration dissolving into understanding. “She sent me on this story. She deserves to know what happened to herdaughter. Before the story breaks and the corrupt Western media manages to twist it into something it’s not.”
He stares at me for a long moment in silence. I hold my stance, not breaking eye contact with him, because this is not something I have any intention of backing down from. Grumbling, he caves first, “You’re going to be the death of me, baby.”
“Probably,” I chirp at my victory.
