"Exactly."
I process the implications. The testimony raised the stakes. The exposé raised them higher. And now federal investigators are squeezing his organization, which means he has to choose between fighting a legal battle he might lose or eliminating the witnesses who started the whole investigation.
Webb has never been the type to put his fate in the hands of lawyers and judges.
"What's our security posture?" I ask.
"Mercer's maintaining overwatch. Stryker's running perimeter checks every four hours. Tommy has surveillance on every approach road within twenty miles." Kane pauses. "But this location was always temporary. We need to consider relocating to Echo Base."
"Not yet." Reagan's voice is firm. "I need to coordinate the next wave of releases. Moving now would disrupt communications with my sources, delay the schedule we've established. We can't afford to lose momentum."
"We can't afford to get killed either."
"Give me a little more time." She meets Kane's eyes steadily. "A couple more waves of releases, then we move. By then, thestory will have enough momentum to sustain itself even if I go dark for a few days."
Kane considers, then nods reluctantly. "We'll give you what time we can. But if Cross reports any movement toward this location, we evacuate immediately."
The afternoon passes in a rhythm of work and waiting. Reagan coordinates her rolling investigation, fielding calls from journalists and managing the flow of information with the precision of a military operation. I resume light operational duties, helping Kane review security protocols and coordinate with Tommy and Delaney at Echo Base.
My body is healing. The wound still aches, but the sharp pain has faded to something I can work through. Movement comes easier now, and I test my limits, pushing just slightly beyond what Willa would approve.
It feels good to be useful again. To contribute something beyond sitting in a chair and watching others work.
Khalid is quiet. He hasn't said much since the testimony, spending hours in his room or sitting by the window staring at nothing. The kid who held himself together in front of Congress has retreated into himself, and none of us know how to reach him.
The nightmares have returned, worse than before. Last night I heard him crying out in his sleep, calling for his mother in Arabic, and when I went to check on him, he was curled in a ball on his cot, tears streaming down a face caught somewhere between waking and dreaming.
I sat with him until dawn, not speaking, just being present. It's all I can offer right now. All any of us can offer. Willa wanted to give him something to help him sleep, but Khalid refused. He said the nightmares were all he had left of his family, and he wasn't ready to let them go.
The testimony cost him something. Forcing himself to relive those memories, to speak his family's names in front of strangers who might not believe him. To describe how it felt, knowing his family and village were dying while he hid in a well. He held himself together with remarkable composure during the hearing, but the composure was a mask, and masks eventually crack.
Reagan noticed too. She's been checking on him between calls, bringing him food he barely touches, sitting with him in comfortable silence when words feel inadequate. We've become something like parents to him without ever planning it, and the responsibility of that role weighs heavier than I expected.
Kane's encrypted phone buzzes just after sunset. He steps outside to take the call, and when he returns, his expression is grimmer than I've seen it in days.
"Cross," he announces. "The Committee is fracturing."
Everyone stops what they're doing. Even Khalid looks up from his position by the window.
"She says some members are cooperating with federal investigators. Trying to cut deals, protect themselves, throw others under the bus." Kane pulls up something on his tablet, studies it. "The financial subpoenas spooked them. They're starting to realize that Webb's strategy of denial and disinformation isn't working, and they're looking for exits."
"That's good," Reagan says. "The more people who cooperate, the stronger the case becomes."
"It's complicated." Kane sets down the tablet. "The ones who are cooperating are giving up information about lower-level operations. Things that can be documented, proven, prosecuted. But Webb himself is insulated by layers of cutouts and deniability. Cross says there's no direct evidence connecting him to specific crimes. Everything runs through intermediaries who can be sacrificed without touching him."
The weight of that settles over me, cold and heavy. We've been fighting to expose the Committee, to bring its leaders to justice. But Webb designed his organization specifically to protect himself from exactly this scenario. He can watch his subordinates go to prison while maintaining plausible deniability about his own involvement.
"So the testimony, the exposé, all of it. It's not going to be enough to get Webb."
"Not in a courtroom," Kane confirms. "He's too careful for that."
I stand, crossing to the window where Khalid sits. The boy doesn't look up, but I feel him register my presence. Outside, the sun is dropping behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of red and gold.
"We're not going to get Webb in a courtroom," I say slowly, thinking it through. "But we can destroy everything around him. His organization. His network. His ability to operate. We can take away every tool he uses, every asset he controls, every ally he depends on. Leave him standing alone in the wreckage of everything he built."
"That's a long-term campaign," Kane observes. "Could take years."
"Then it takes years." I turn to face the room. "Webb spent decades building this thing. We don't have to destroy it overnight. We just have to keep pushing, keep exposing, keep making it impossible for anyone to work with him without risking their own freedom. Eventually, he runs out of people willing to take that risk."
