“They will, but they’re still in testing. The
“Time, it always comes down to time we don’t have.” Varnell checked his watch. “Look, I’m supposed to brief the President in twenty minutes about this Taiwan development. What should I be telling him?”
“The truth. Tell him TSG is moving, but we’re obviously going to have to accelerate its timeline. Assure him we’ll have Taiwan hardened before the shipping inspections start,” explained Batista. “And tell him it might be helpful to pray Beijing doesn’t accelerate their timeline.”
The radiator clanked again, a counterpoint to the gravity of their discussion. Varnell picked up the presidential finding, studying it once more.
“You trust Harrington?”
“I served with him in Iraq. He’s solid.”
“He’d better be.” Varnell moved toward the door, then paused. “Jim, I’ve got the SECNAV and the Joint Chiefs breathing down my neck about force allocation. If this goes sideways, if Congress gets wind of what we’re authorizing…”
“It won’t go sideways.” Batista returned to his desk. “Marcus knows what’s at stake. TSG isn’t just defending Taiwan. They’re defending the first Island chain and our entire Pacific architecture.”
Varnell grunted, nodding slowly. “When do you brief Harrington?”
“Tonight. Crystal City, 2000 hours.” Batista glanced at the snow, now falling in thick sheets. “Weather permitting of course.”
“In this town, my friend, the weather’s the least of our problems.” Varnell buttoned his coat as he prepared to leave. “Keep me updated. And, Jim? No surprises. With another term, I’ve got a chance to fully modernize the entire Defense Department. Last thing I need is a scandal derailing everything we’ve worked toward.”
“I know. Understood, Mr. Secretary.”
After Varnell left, Batista sat alone in his office, the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. Outside, Washington disappeared behind a curtain of white. But his mind was eight thousand miles away, on an island democracy that didn’t know it had months to prepare for war.
He pulled up the secure comms channel to TSG. Time to set the wheels in motion. Time to see if six hundred contractors and an arsenal of autonomous weapons could deter an empire.
The radiator clanked one more time, like a countdown clock marking time until April.
The six-story office building in Crystal City was a masterpiece of hiding in plain sight. Building 1770 was no different from the other nearby buildings that housed various government offices and the myriad of contracting companies supporting one government agency or another. But that was a facade for the public. Within the building, hidden behind faux storefronts and secret entrances, was a hidden world of classified workspaces and intelligence workings. It was the quintessential example of how Washington’s overt and covert worlds blended seamlessly together.
When Marcus Harrington reached the elevator leading to his workspace, two security guards greeted him — one seated behind a desk, the other standing vigilant near the elevator doors. Marcus nodded, recognizing the tailored suit jackets designed to conceal weapons. Standard procedure in this line of work.
“Evening. Here to access the mainframe?” the seated guard asked, delivering the authentication phrase with practiced neutrality.
“Yes, terminal four, yellow protocol,” Harrington responded, completing the countersign that granted him elevator access.
The guard gave a curt nod. “You have a visitor. Room 412.”
Harrington stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor, a slight smile crossing his weathered face.
Three years ago, he’d been savoring retirement on Thailand’s Phi Phi Islands, sipping fruity drinks and living the carefree life of a beach bum. After two decades in special forces and ten tense years in the world of private military contracting, he desperately needed to decompress. The PMC work had paid well, but the constant strain of wondering if each day might be his last had worn him to the bone.
Thailand had felt like the natural choice. Having worked closely with the Thai military throughout his career, he appreciated that a few grand a month allowed him a comfortable, stress-free lifestyle. He might still be there if Jim Batista, a former SOF operator and longtime colleague, hadn’t called out of the blue with an offer he couldn’t refuse.
When Batista had become National Security Advisor, he’d offered Marcus a chance to lead what had eventually become the Taiwan Study Group. TSG was a concept they’d discussed for years back on their ODA team: an unconventional approach aligning with the US’s public stance on Taiwan while quietly ensuring the island’s continued independence.
