CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Secretary of Defense Quentin Rigby jogged down the hall of the Pentagon toward his office. He felt the spike of a migraine coming on like an ice pick at the front of his skull.
Everything had gone upside-down. Pierson was alive. He’d been found on the shore of Roosevelt Island with three complex fractures and multiple contusions, but very much alive—and in the company of one Agent Zero.
There was only one way out of this that Rigby could think of, only one way to even begin to right what had been wronged: swift and irreversible action in the Fifth Fleet. Complete devastation of IRGC forces. The UN be damned; their plan could not fail now. They’d come too far and spent too much.
Rigby hurried into his office, pausing only to slam the door behind him and twist the loc
