A name flashed on the screen in bold, white letters.

It was a name I recognized from my time in the service.

A name that should not have been on Charles Whitmore’s speed dial.

Charles stared at the phone.

His hand shook.

The flame of the lighter wavered.

The phone kept ringing, its blue light casting a cold glow over his terrified face.

“Answer it,” I said.

Charles reached down with his free hand.

He did not pick up the phone.

He tapped the speaker icon with a trembling finger.

A harsh, static-filled voice cut through the silence of the room.

It was the Senator.

“Charles, the perimeter is breached,” the Senator said, his voice urgent.

“The federal agencies are acting on an anonymous tip.”

“They bypassed local law enforcement.”

“Mercer cannot help you now.”

“Get rid of everything.”

The line went dead with a sharp click.

The room felt colder.

Charles looked up at me, his eyes wide and wild.

A frantic, desperate smile spread across his face.

“You heard him,” Charles whispered.

“I still have time.”

He raised his voice and screamed toward the open doorway.