Chapter 11: Suspicion in the Silence
Location: Delta Division Headquarters — Secure Communications Room
The sterile room hummed with the low buzz of electronics. Dim lights flickered above, casting long shadows over a polished steel desk where Commander Abdul Faheem sat, tapping his pen restlessly.
He wasn't just a leader. He was a man with years carved into his bones—years of knowing when something smelled wrong even before the paperwork showed it.
On the desk, a secure monitor blinked an irritating message:
> NO SIGNAL. CONNECTION LOST.
He refreshed the secret comms channel for the tenth time. Still nothing.
Abdul leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled against his chin, mind racing.
Where was Rana?
Every day like clockwork, his old friend had sent encrypted, casual pings from Black Site 47—updates disguised as personal jokes, minor complaints, football scores, even poetry. No matter how grim things were at the island, Rana always found a way to stay human.
Stay connected.
But now?
Two days of radio silence.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
---
Abdul opened a file on his private terminal: Personnel Transfer Requests.
There it was—Rana's transfer application, marked pending.
Two weeks ago, Rana had all but pleaded with him through coded chats:
"Brother... it's been long enough. I served. Let me go back to my family. My parents are old. They need me more than ever."
Abdul had promised. "Just a little more time."
Now, guilt gnawed at him.
Was it already too late?
---
He stood abruptly, pacing the room. His boots clicked sharply against the floor.
He reviewed the last official satellite scans of Black Site 47.
No major activity.
No distress calls.
No troop movement.
No alerts raised.
> Too clean. Too still.
Abdul had seen enough operations in hostile zones to know:
> No news is not good news. It's usually a graveyard.
He slammed the terminal shut.
His instincts screamed at him now. Something had happened at the island. Something bad. And it was being buried.
But who would bury it?
---
Abdul's face hardened.
> If the system won't tell me...
I'll find out myself.
He reached for his classified access codes.
Because if Rana was in danger—or worse—he was going to uncover the truth.
Even if he had to go against the entire system to do it.
He clenched his fists as a cold realization washed over him:
Will Abdul be able to find out what really happened at Black Site 47?
Or will the truth be buried along with the fallen?