Chapter 16: The Line of Authority

  A low static buzz emitted from the radio set on the folding table beside Martin. He blinked, pulling his mind away from the trembling lines of the notebook, and picked up the device.

  "Major General Martin. Please confirm—new intel received."

  The voice on the other end was taut as a bowstring:

  "Following an emergency session of the United National Security Council at 7:45, the government has officially classified the incident at Central Hospital as a terrorist attack. The damage was deliberate, and the victims are on the special list. All defense forces are to escalate to red alert status."

  Martin closed his eyes for a moment. His prediction had come true—though the nature of the “explosion” was far from a simple act of terror.

  "We repeat, according to United Accord No. 227, Article 14: All authority for handling the situation in the Capital of the Union is granted to the highest-ranking general officer present at the scene."

  Martin tightened his grip on the radio, his voice lowering, steady as stone sinking into water:

  "I confirm. General Martin—currently the highest-ranking officer in the Central Capital Zone."

  A brief silence followed, then the radio crackled again:

  "Unit 6 of the armed forces, along with divisions for information control, special mobilization, and emergency medical response… are en route. Estimated arrival: 20 minutes. You are ordered to return to command headquarters immediately. The Allied-level security meeting will begin in 30 minutes."

  Martin set the radio down, his gaze lingering on the open diary before him. Those words… were not a confession. Not a justification. They were a kind of warning—to a world trying to build justice upon clauses, instead of understanding people.

  He rose, carefully folded the notebook shut, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his uniform. In the distant sky, the rumble of military engines began to roar—helicopters slicing through the morning mist in sharp, deliberate lines.

  The moment Martin stepped into the grand hall of the National Security Headquarters, he could sense the tension in the air. Rushed footsteps. Murmured phone calls behind soundproof glass. Officers hurrying back and forth with barely contained urgency.

  Less than ten minutes after arriving at the coordination room, a document over two hundred pages thick was pushed in front of him.

  "Summons for investigative questioning," said a colonel—not yet of retirement age—without daring to meet Martin’s eyes. "For allowing a serious incident at the Central Capital Hospital and failing to prevent a terrorist act with exceptionally grave consequences."

  Martin picked up the file and flipped through a few pages. The arguments, procedures, and evidence… all meticulously prepared, as if they had been waiting for this moment. But he wasn’t surprised. In politics, when disaster strikes, the first thing hunted down is always someone to blame—someone without enough power to refuse.

  He set the file down.

  "Who has the authority to sign off on this decision?"

  Across the table, the officers were silent. Then one finally replied, slowly:

  "Only an officer of higher rank… who is currently stationed in the Capital."

  Martin gave a slight smile—but there was no warmth in it.

  "Then right now, who is that?"

  "No one, sir."

  "Exactly."

  According to the United Nations Security Charter, any disciplinary investigation request involving a major general must be submitted by a lieutenant general or higher, and that officer must be physically stationed in the jurisdiction at the time. But… the current situation was an ironic farce.

  General John, the Minister of Public Security, was in China, leading the investigation into the devastating Shanghai bombing of early 2170—a case critical to maintaining international unity. His return wouldn’t just be a matter of “switching command.” It would be seen as a blatant disrespect to Mainland China, and a diplomatic slap in the face to the entire world that had only just begun to open up and form the United Nations in 2100 after a historic turning point.

  Lieutenant General Mark had virtually vanished from the command map after a plane crash on Christmas last year while flying from Paris to the Capital. He remained in a coma in Lisbon.

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  General Rosha, the veteran strategist from the UK who was based in the Capital, was currently recovering after surviving an attempted assassination. She lay unconscious in a London hospital.

  Martin knew this all too well: the supposedly flawless disciplinary system of the United Nations Security Forces was in fact just as vulnerable to personal dependencies. With the three key links temporarily gone, the entire structure had fallen into a power vacuum.

  And then, as if whispered from the dimly lit hallway, the young officer continued:

  "However, the emergency executive board has been in session all night."

  "And the result?" Martin asked.

  "A lieutenant general and a colonel general Asia… are being urgently recalled to the Capital. They were just pulled from the Shanghai task force a few hours ago."

  Martin froze.

  "However, since they are not stationed in the Capital, they will have no authority to question you. Not unless one of the three generals returns to active duty."

  The lieutenant general was from the Korea-Japan Union: Naroki.

  The colonel general Southeast Asia Interzone: Quoc.

  Martin stood still.

  Not out of fear—but calculation. And deep down, he knew something more dangerous than the disciplinary order was approaching:

  If someone had orchestrated all of this… then the game had begun long ago, and the name "Two-Face" was merely the first ripple of a far deeper and darker undercurrent.

  At the VIP lounge, Shanghai International Airport, 4 PM.

  The early afternoon sunlight slanted through the foggy bulletproof glass, casting a pale golden hue over the glossy black leather seats. The air in the room was so still that one could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner on the ceiling. Though this area was reserved for generals, the urgency and tension of the global security situation seemed to seep into every corner.

  Lieutenant General Naroki, Japan’s most brilliant female general—at least by title—stood with her arms crossed, eyes staring intently at the hazy runway in the distance. She spoke with a tone that was half-mocking, half-bitter:

  — Hey, do you think… they’re transferring us somewhere else because they think we’re useless?

  Sitting across from her was General Quoc, regarded by the Vietnamese police as a strategic genius among their ranks… at least on paper, or perhaps because he once had the chance to shine. He let out a soft sigh, leaned back in his chair, and gazed at the ceiling as though speaking more to himself than to her.

  — That, I don’t know.I was working in Vietnam when I was suddenly called to Japan… for a press conference.He smirked, half-smiling.

  — I thought I’d be heading back after that. But before I could even withdraw the troops, I was invited to South Korea, to attend a consultation session for Southeast Asia. That meeting was so long I thought I might die if I heard the word ‘neutral’ one more time.He chuckled softly, though his eyes held an ocean of exhaustion.

  — After that, just as the meeting ended, Shanghai got bombed. And so, I was graciously invited to join the investigation team. I’d just settled in for two months when… guess what?

  He looked at Naroki, raising an eyebrow.

  — Got reassigned to the Union Capital. To join a task force investigating the terrorist attack there. At this point, I’m starting to think I’m not a general… I’m an express delivery package with priority shipping.Quoc laughed, but his voice was heavy.

  Naroki didn’t argue. She merely let out a soft laugh, like a breeze passing through a winter’s day.

  — You had it normal, at least. Me... I started off as just a Lieutenant Colonel, working in the narcotics crime investigation unit for the Japan–Korea sector.

  She leaned forward, eyes staring blankly as if flipping through pages of memories:

  — Then one day, I got caught up in a case that seemed simple at first: tracking a smuggled heroin shipment from Vladivostok. But the deeper I dug, the worse it got—until it unraveled into an international drug ring worth nearly a trillion dollars. A quarter of the world’s narcotics, all running through a single underground network.— And all of it... under my command. Every link we pulled triggered political shockwaves in another country. There were nights I couldn’t sleep, afraid I’d ‘have an accident’ the next day...

  She paused, pulled a mint candy from her pocket, and popped it into her mouth—as if it was the only way to silence the memories drowning her from within.

  — When the case was finally closed, during the press conference, I don’t even know why I blurted it out: ‘This was nothing.’— The Japanese heard that, and right at that moment they were short one General for the elite anti-organized crime division… and just like that, I was promoted. Shot up like a rocket. No one understood why. Not even me. I’m still in shock.

  She gave a crooked smile. In that smile was a bewilderment too deep for words.

  The two sat in silence for a long while. No one spoke further. Each was lost in their own thoughts—about duty, about glory, and about the uncertainty of a world where politics, the military, and human nature wove together like a labyrinth with no exit.

  At that moment, a military officer approached, his tone firm:

  — Generals, it’s time. Your flight will depart in 20 minutes.

  Naroki and Quoc exchanged a glance. Neither said a word. Both stood up almost in unison, a gesture born of police instinct long embedded in their bones. Their luggage was minimal—one black suitcase, a document case, and each carried a pair of eyes that had seen too many upheavals in this world.

  On the way to the plane, Naroki murmured, as if speaking to the wind:

  — I wonder if this time... we’ll get to be heroes or just sacrificial pawns...

  Quoc didn’t reply. He only tightened his grip on the strap of his document case, eyes fixed on the silvery-gray sky ahead. In his mind swirled hundreds of unanswered questions. But all of them pointed to one destination: the Union Capital—epicenter of power, and perhaps... the epicenter of the next quake.