She spread it across the table. The others leaned in, reading.
POST-WAR PLANNING COMMITTEE - PRELIMINARY RECOMMENDATIONS
Permanent intelligence apparatus. Consolidated command. Minimal oversight. Peacetime budgets in the hundreds of millions, scalable to billions during "elevated threat periods."
"They're planning to keep wartime powers permanently," David said slowly. "Everything we've accepted as temporary emergency measures—they want to make it permanent."
Rick pointed to another section. "And look at this. 'Threat management strategy.' They're already positioning the USSR as the next enemy. Creating the conditions for permanent confrontation."
"The Cold War," Catherine said. "They're engineering it before this war even ends."
Webb found the most chilling section: personnel assignments. Names they recognized—Hartley, obviously, slotted for a directorship in the proposed intelligence agency. But also dozens of others. War profiteers being positioned for post-war power. Scientists whose ethics were questionable. Foreign assets to be "acquired" regardless of their wartime activities.
"They're planning to hire Nazis," Rick said, his voice flat. "Look at this list. 'German rocket specialists. Chemical weapons researchers. Intelligence officers with Eastern European networks.' They're going to bring war criminals to America and put them on the government payroll."
"Because they'll be useful for the next war," David said. "Ethics don't matter. Only utility."
Catherine stood and walked to the window, looking out at Baltimore's darkening streets. Somewhere out there, America was fighting a just war against genuine evil. Soldiers were dying to defeat fascism, to protect freedom, to build a better world.
And here, in this dusty safe house, four people were discovering that the better world was already being corrupted before it could be born.
"We have to stop this," she said quietly. "All of it. Not just the current profiteering, but the whole post-war architecture. If we don't, everything soldiers are dying for right now will be betrayed."
"How?" Webb asked. "We have evidence, but evidence of what? War profiteering? That's been happening since wars began. Equipment sabotage? We can't prove intent. Post-war planning? That's not illegal—it's prudent."
"Unless we can prove it's all connected," Rick said. "That the sabotage is deliberate, the profiteering is systematic, and the post-war planning is designed to make the whole corrupt system permanent."
David pulled out his copy of Reeves's note. "The summit meeting. October 15th. If Prometheus Protocol's leadership is gathering in one place, discussing their plans—"
"We record it," Catherine finished. "Get them on record discussing the sabotage, the money laundering, the post-war conspiracy. Make it undeniable."
"That's insane," Webb said. "We don't know where the meeting is. We don't know who'll be there. We don't know security arrangements. How are we supposed to infiltrate a meeting of the most powerful conspiracy in America?"
"We have six months to figure it out."
"Or six months to get ourselves killed."
Catherine turned from the window. "Then we make sure the evidence survives even if we don't. We create multiple copies. Dead man's switches. Timed releases. If they kill us, the truth still gets out."
She pulled out a map and spread it on the table. "Here's what I propose. We split into two operations. Investigation and insurance."
Investigation Team:
"David, you're at the War Department. You're closest to Hartley. Use your position to find out where the October meeting is. Who's attending. What security they're planning."
David nodded, though his hands shook harder.
"Rick, you continue in Detroit. But shift focus from production to logistics. Where are they building the post-war facilities? What infrastructure is going in now that will outlast the war?"
"Webb, you push Hartford for more testimony. Get him to name names, specify crimes. If we can't stop the summit, we at least need witnesses who can testify to what's happened so far."
Insurance Team:
"I'll coordinate the evidence protection. Create multiple copies. Establish dead man's switches with different triggers. Find journalists, congressmen, military officers who might be trustworthy. Build a network that can release everything if we're compromised."
She looked at each of them. "We work separately but communicate regularly. Dead drops every two weeks. Emergency protocols if anyone's in danger. And we all—all four of us—focus on October 15th as the deadline. Either we expose them then, or we accept that we've failed and go public with what we have."
"What about allies?" Rick asked. "Reeves is helping. Brennan might help. Are there others?"
"Maybe. But we can't trust anyone completely. Reeves seems genuine, but he's also being transferred where they can watch him. Brennan wants immunity as much as justice. We use them, but we don't depend on them."
Webb poured himself coffee, though Catherine noticed his hands still shook. "You realize what you're proposing? Six months of this. Six months of living as fake people, gathering evidence against the government we supposedly serve, planning to commit what any court would call treason."
"I know."
"And at the end, we probably die. Or spend the rest of our lives in prison. Those are the realistic outcomes."
"I know that too." Catherine met his eyes. "But what's the alternative? Let them build their empire? Let the sabotage continue? Let thousands more soldiers die because someone decided their lives were worth two hundred dollars each?"
Silence. Then Rick spoke quietly. "Morrison died for this. We owe it to him to finish what he started."
"Not just Morrison," David said. "Every soldier who died at Kasserine, Dieppe, Guadalcanal. Every one who'll die tomorrow because of faulty equipment or diverted supplies. We owe them the truth."
Webb was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood, walked to the table, and placed his hand on the stack of evidence.
"Alright. Six months. We build an airtight case, infiltrate the summit, expose everything. And if we die—" He smiled grimly. "—at least we die doing something that matters."
One by one, the others placed their hands on the pile. A pact sealed not with words but with shared understanding. They were committed now. All in.
"There's one more thing," Catherine said. "The post-war planning document mentions something called 'Phase 1.' Which implies there are other phases."
David nodded. "I've seen references to Phase 2 and Phase 3 in some of the files I've copied. Never complete documents, just fragments. But Phase 2 seems to involve something in Asia. Korea, specifically."
"Korea?" Rick frowned. "We're not even fighting in Korea."
"Not yet. But according to the timeline in those fragments, Phase 2 targets 1950-1952. Something about 'necessary regional conflict to justify Pacific presence.'"
Catherine felt ice in her stomach. "They're planning another war. After this one ends. Already planning it."
"Not just planning," David said quietly. "Engineering. Creating the conditions that will make it inevitable. Just like they did with Pearl Harbor."
The implications settled over them like a shroud. This wasn't just about stopping current corruption. This was about preventing decades of manufactured conflict. Permanent warfare as a business model.
"Then we have no choice," Catherine said. "We stop them now, or we watch them build an empire on a foundation of endless war."
They worked through the night, organizing evidence, planning operations, establishing protocols. By dawn, they had a framework. Dangerous, probably impossible, but a framework nonetheless.
As the sun rose over Baltimore, they prepared to separate again. Back to their fake lives, their fake identities, their real mission.
Rick paused at the door. "When do we meet again?"
"August," Catherine said. "Three months from now. We'll assess progress, adjust plans. And start final preparations for October."
"And if someone doesn't make it to August?"
"Then the rest of us continue. That's the pact. The mission doesn't end just because one of us dies."
They left one by one, the way they'd arrived. Staggered departures, different routes, careful tradecraft.
Catherine stayed last, cleaning the safe house, removing all traces they'd been there. She stood in the dining room where they'd reconstructed the conspiracy, looking at the empty table.
Four people. Four ghosts. Against the entire machinery of American power.
Morrison had tried to fight this through official channels. It had killed him.
Now they would fight it differently. From the shadows. Using the same secrecy and deception that Prometheus Protocol used, but turned against them.
She locked the safe house and walked into the Baltimore morning, just another woman on a crowded street. Marie Chevalier, refugee, helper of the displaced.
But underneath the mask, Catherine Dupré was planning a revolution.
Six months until October.
Six months to save the future from the people who were already selling it.
She caught a train back to New York, watching the American landscape roll past her window. Farms and factories, cities and towns, a nation mobilized for war.
Most people would never know how close they'd come to permanent tyranny. How their leaders were already building the structures that would outlast any election, any constitution, any democratic accountability.
But Catherine knew. And knowing meant she had to act.
For Morrison. For the soldiers. For the America that could be, if they could stop the one being built in secret.
The train carried her north, back to her fake life, her real war.
And in six months, one way or another, that war would end.