The sky was heavy with clouds the day Chief Officer Narson drove away from Commissioner Clinton’s office.
Rain threatened to fall. Inside his coat pocket, the report burned against his chest. CBC Media. Classified server breach. One name circled in red: Cerin Klark.
He hadn’t been requested.
He had been summoned.
The Commissioner’s office smelled of old coffee, paper, and power. The air didn’t move.
"Good morning, Chief Officer Narson," Commissioner Clinton said without looking up from his desk. "I’m glad you accepted my invitation."
Narson stood straight. Shoulders back. " The early bird catches the prey, Commissioner."
That earned a smirk.
"You and your jokes," Clinton said, finally lifting his gaze. His eyes were steel. "People say you have a sense of humor. I hope it’s still intact after this."
He slid a folder across the mahogany. Network logs. IP addresses. Forensic screenshots. A news draft with the CBC Media watermark.
"Our private server, "Clinton said, his voice low. "Compromised. An external linkage through a zero-day exploit on the VPN gateway. Someone established a persistent backdoor, exfiltrated data packets, and routed them through a proxy chain straight to the press."
"Cerin Klark," Narson said.
"Yes. Cerin Klark," the Commissioner repeated, tasting the name like poison. "An investigative journalist. She’s running OSINT, forensic genealogy, and packet tracing. She’s not just chasing a leak. She’s chasing a pattern."
He stood. Circled the desk. Stopped inches from Narson. Too close.
"You know what I hate, Narson? People who exploit vulnerabilities in my system. People who use a national crisis as an opportunity. To drag this department down. To make us look weak."
Narson’s jaw tightened. The accusation was clear.
"I understand, Commissioner," he said carefully. "I’ll initiate containment protocols. Firewall the subnet, revoke compromised credentials, and run a full forensic audit. And whoever dares to stand in my way..."
He paused.
"...I’ll be the one to end this."
Silence. Only the hum of the AC.
Then ring. An encrypted line. Sharp. Intrusive.
Clinton answered with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"Ambassador Nerrie Bryan. It’s been too long."
he didn’t move. But his hands curled into fists.
"Yes, I received the brief," Clinton said, turning to the window. His back to Narson now. "About the promotion to Undersecretary? Consider it handled. The oversight committee owes us after the redaction of Project Aegis. The same playbook we used during the 1918 pandemic."
He blood went cold.
"No,"Clinton lowered his voice. "The Victims’ Compensation Fund isn’t going to civilian aid, Nerrie. It’s being reallocated. Black budget. For the new data facility. Off-grid. Outside congressional oversight. Classified under a national security directive."
"Relax. The breach won’t reach the press. This Klark woman found the pattern. 1918. Then again during the recent outbreak. She’s connecting mortality data across a century. But we’ll sever the connection before attribution. Chief Officer Narson will handle counter-intelligence."
He glanced over his shoulder. Right at Narson.
"Yes. He has clearance. For now."
"Illegal? Call it continuity of operations. The same protocol from 1918, and again now. Quarantine the information. Quarantine the people. No paper trail. No questions asked."
"1900 hours. We’ll discuss the vendor contracts. And Nerrie... move the funds before the COA audit cycle begins."
Click.
The line went dead. The room got quieter.
"Sorry for the interruption, Chief Officer Narson,"
Clinton said smoothly, turning back. "Now. Where were we?"
Narson didn’t flinch.
"We were discussing the security breach, Commissioner. The external linkage to our classified server. And the journalist flagged for surveillance."
"Correct." Clinton sat down.
""Cerin Klark. Full surveillance. Digital and physical." Track her sources. Monitor her communications."
He looked down "This isn’t a 10 year old case..."
"She’s exposing a century of secrets."He handed it to him.
"Open it "
His hands moved before his mind could catch up. He opened the folder.
Death certificates. Newspaper clippings. Redacted files. " Sir." his jaw was tight.
Dates: 1918. 2000s. Present day. Same surnames. Same districts.
"...if she attempts to publish..." he watched him.
"This can ruin our office."
A pause hung in the air. " Or the country."
He closed the folder. The sound was final.
"...execute Protocol 7. Containment. Like we did before."
Narson nodded once. He turned to leave.
"By the way, Narson,"Clinton’s voice cut through the room. Cold. Amused. Deliberate.
Narson stopped. He didn’t turn around.
"Before you head out, don’t forget your position. I don’t want to waste my time on all of this."
A beat.
"Anyway... how’s your uncle? The retired epidemiologist? How’s his life? Is everything all right?"
The words landed like a slap.
Insult. Embarrassment. A threat wrapped in concern. A gun without the gun.
Narson kept his eyes forward. "Yes, Commissioner. Everything is fine... for now."
His voice was steady. Barely. "I swear. I’ll do my best. To clear this."
Behind him, Clinton smirked. Firm. Narcissistic.
"Good. That’s what I like to hear, Chief Officer Narson."
"Nerson." His voice was flat. Final.
"The Gala. Tonight. You're with me."
"Dismissed."
He stood.
Before he reached the door, the Comsioner spoke again.
"And don't screw up my orders."
The air went heavy. Suffocating.
He felt it in his ribs and throat.
Not ten years. A century.
"The information."
"Quarantine everyone. Including his family."
Cerin Klark wasn’t just chasing a headline.
She was chasing the truth he had buried.
The truth that began in 1918.
Could he follow orders?
Or would he have to choose between duty...
and breaking a cycle that should have ended a century ago?
YOU ARE READING
156 DAY ? - HORIZON
General Fiction156 DAYS? ( Part 1 ) Have you everbeen asking a questions? Or doubt on your whole life ? PREFACE: Nez suffered on his life when his family lie to him, sometimes he tries to kill his self to end whatever he takes... nez can be better? or he still...
