Chapter 30 – Weapons and Responsibilities
October 31, 1995 – Last Day of Training – JSOC Tactical Center, Washington, D.C.
Sweat trickled down the side of Logan's face as he pulled off his tactical gloves. The last simulation of the day was over, and with it, the intensive training program for TS/SCI-cleared agents. Ten days of learning, overcoming, muscle pain, gunshots and blows. But also of growth.
Logan stopped in front of the metal mirror in the equipment room. His dark brown eyes stared at his own image with serenity and purpose. He was still wearing his tactical vest, his arms marked by small bruises, but none of that mattered. What had changed was deeper: a sense of readiness.
He took a deep breath and muttered to himself:
"I never thought I would feel this… a certain kind of peace, even surrounded by chaos."
The door to the room opened and Instructor Helman entered. Sweaty, with a clipboard of evaluations in his hand. He stopped next to Logan, looked in the mirror too.
"Moore, you're one of the few lawyers who doesn't run away at the first kick."
Logan smiled.
"I guess there's always been something in me that liked to be in control... even of my own body."
"You've earned your clearance. And even more, the respect. Good eyes out there are on you, Moore. Keep it up."
"Thank you, sir. Really."
Helman patted him lightly on the shoulder and left.
November 1 – Dr. Rowe's Office – DOD Headquarters – Washington, D.C. – 9:15 a.m.
The office was the same as always: light beige walls, confidential files in locked cabinets, an American flag in the background and, in the center of it all, the figure of Dr. Rowe — elegant, firm, mind sharp as a surgical precision blade.
Logan walked in, already in civilian clothes, but with the posture that training had further refined. She looked up from her report and gestured for him to sit down.
"I heard about your performance. Ramos and Helman sent in glowing reports. It seems we're not the only ones impressed here."
"They're excellent instructors. And I really enjoyed the experience. More than I expected."
"I'm glad. It's not common to see someone in the legal field with that kind of adaptability."
Logan hesitated for a moment. Then, she looked at her mentor seriously.
"Dr. Rowe, can I ask you a question that's a little more… personal?"
"Sure."
"Is there any chance I could get a federal gun permit?"
She raised an eyebrow, curious but not surprised.
"Explain."
"I live in New York now, and even though I continue to work remotely for Washington cases, I'm aware of the kind of information I carry." And not only that… after the training, I realized that even though I'm a civilian, I'm a cog in something bigger. If something happens, I want to be prepared. Legally and technically.
Rowe leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and was silent for a few seconds. Logan waited, silent.
"This isn't a typical application. And it's certainly not for everyone. But you're not just anyone."
She opened a drawer and pulled out a light blue form with specific security markings.
"This is the initial application form for Federal LEOSA Exception. As a civil servant with TS/SCI clearance and active duty assignment with the DOD, you can apply to carry, provided you prove you have training which you already have and pass an additional psychological assessment."
"Can it take that long?"
"Three to four months. But I know the right people. I can speed it up. You'll need to go through an extra round of shooting qualification in New York with the Federal Police." And, of course, keep records of the use and transportation of the weapon, even with the SCIF as a basis.
Logan took the form, holding it as if it were something heavy, symbolic.
"I understand the implications. And I promise to treat this with the responsibility it demands."
She looked at him with veiled admiration. It was clear that Logan was growing in every way.
"This is the kind of decision that marks the transition from just being part of the system to becoming an active advocate for it. Are you ready?"
"More than ever."
November 5th – New York – Logan's Apartment – 8:47 p.m.
The night was cold. Logan had just returned from dinner with Thomas. They both laughed about how they had become adults faster than they imagined.
Now, sitting at the dinner table, Logan calmly filled out the form. Item by item. Attaching copies of the training certificates, the letter of recommendation from Helman and Ramos, the performance report issued by Dr. Rowe herself.
His phone rang.
— Hello?
— Logan, it's my dad — Richard said on the other end, his voice warm and light.
— Hi, Dad! Is everything okay?
— Everything, son. We just wanted to know how that training you mentioned went…
Logan took a deep breath, looked at the papers in front of him and smiled.
— It was intense. Transformative, even. You know, Dad… I think I've learned to trust myself even more. And now, I'm making a special request to be allowed to carry a gun. As a protective measure.
There was a brief silence on the other end.
— Armed? You? This is serious…
— Yes, Dad. It's much more about precaution than action. The world I'm in today… demands it.
— We trust you, Logan. Just take care of your heart, okay? Don't lose your essence.
— Never. Thank you, Dad.
November 15 – Federal Law Enforcement Office – Manhattan – 7:30 AM
Logan was ready. Plain uniform, hair neatly combed, file in hand.
The gray-haired police officer who greeted him nodded:
— Moore? Let's go to the qualifying track.
The field was smaller than the one at JSOC, but with equally advanced technology. Moving targets, urban obstacles, simulations of reaction under pressure.
— You need to hit 80% of the targets in critical zones. We'll start with a Glock 19. Then you'll do a movement simulation with an M&P 2.0. Any questions?
— None.
The first series began. Logan, already accustomed to the recoil, moved steadily. He controlled his breathing. He aimed. He fired. He reloaded in record time. The adrenaline was there, but tamed.
At the end, the instructor looked at the digital report.
— 94% accuracy. Where did you train?
— JSOC, in D.C.
She smiled. A rare gesture in that environment.
— Now I understand. I'll sign your report. You'll receive your certificate in a week. The carry permit will come shortly after.
— Thank you, officer.
— You have a huge responsibility now, Moore. Not only to do the right thing... but to think for those who don't know.
— I know.
November 22 – SCIF Office – New York – 9:00 AM
Logan opened the metal box. Inside was the Glock 19 he had purchased with federal authorization. It would be registered in the DOD system and used exclusively for personal security purposes.
He delicately assembled the weapon, tested the safety mechanism, and placed it in the tactical holster inside its own briefcase. Everything was recorded. Every step was written down.
Then he sat down at his desk and began reviewing a new case: an infiltration of information about naval operations in the Persian Gulf. Top Secret classification. He knew the weight of it.
But he also knew that now, more than ever, he was ready.
Chapter 31 – Silence of War
Washington, D.C. – March 2007 – DOD Headquarters – SCIF Office – 06:32
Logan's office was almost like a sanctuary. No sound but the low hum of the ventilation system and the occasional click of his finger tapping against the mechanical keyboard. The fluorescent lights reflected off the darkened glass of the screen, which was classified "Top Secret – Eyes Only."
He had been here before dawn. It was a habit.
Most SOCOM and JSOC reports passed through his hands for review and forwarding to higher command. After 17 years, Logan was more than a senior analyst. He was a silent bridge between the legal world and the clandestine actions that saved or destroyed lives in silence.
He wore a navy blue Egyptian cotton shirt and a discreet tie, but his posture was as firm as that of a soldier on patrol. His shoulders were broader, his jaw was slightly marked by tension lines, and his dark brown eyes were now slightly lined with tiredness... and wisdom.
It was 2007, and the world still bore the scars of 9/11.
Flashback – September 2001 – 9:00 AM – DOD Office, Washington
Logan held the phone in his right hand, his eyes frantically reading a new emergency update. His other hand was shaking slightly. On the other end of the line, the head of the military counterintelligence division was saying in a grave voice:
"The second plane has already hit the south tower. This is not an accident. This is a coordinated attack."
That morning, the world had changed. And Logan... too.
Back to 2007 – SCIF
He was typing quickly, finishing the analysis of a document about unauthorized movements of JSOC operators in the Horn of Africa. His job was not to question the "why" of actions, but to ensure that everything was legally justified, within the government's secret parameters.
A subtle sound at the door. Logan pressed the command sequence and closed the files in seconds.
"Come in," he said, without getting up.
It was Colonel Judith Kessler, a veteran of tactical intelligence, now in charge of communications between SOCOM and the DOD.
"Logan, we need you in the crisis room. It's classified, but I can tell you this: there's been a leak, probably within our own system. And… it has your signature on one of the lines of the report."
Logan turned slowly. His face firm.
"What report?"
"Mission "Obsidian Echo." Somalia. 2005."
He took a deep breath. That operation was one of the most heavily secret in recent years. Not because of its military complexity, but because of its diplomatic implications. If something had slipped out…
"Give me five minutes."
Situation Room – 07:15
The room was controlled, with the top national security directors and legal analysts present. There were two large screens showing maps and logs of extracted data. Logan walked in, eyes directly on the screen. The first line of the document was there.
"Reviewed by: Moore, L. – Clearance TS/SCI"
He didn't react.
Dr. Rowe, now deputy director of DOD legal, sat in the back. Older, with short gray hair, but with the same firm expression. She and Logan exchanged a brief, silent nod.
"Gentlemen," Logan said, approaching the center, "I want to clarify that yes, I reviewed this document in 2005, but security protocol required it to be forwarded in a chain. After my review, it went through three departments before being encrypted and archived."
Kessler nodded.
"We're tracking a possible insider access via a backdoor on server III-Alpha." We need your cooperation to trace the digital trail back to its point of origin. And... if possible, assess whether any of the legal content may have been distorted or maliciously reinterpreted.
Logan sat down. He took a deep breath. He was back in the arena. This was what he did.
2:47 p.m. – Forensic Analysis Technical Room – DOD Basement
The hours passed like seconds. Logan and a cybersecurity technician named Jamal were sifting through access logs, encrypted data blocks, digital signatures.
"Here," Jamal said, pointing. "Masked IP. But look at the time. Three hours before the system recognized the final logout. That shouldn't have happened."
Logan frowned. He gestured.
"Go back three days. I want to see the full trail."
As the data loaded, he said to Jamal,
"Did you know that before all this, all I wanted to do was be a criminal lawyer in New York?"
"No kidding." And now here he is, hunting ghosts inside the most protected defense system on the planet.
— Fate is ironic.
They both laughed briefly before returning to the silence of analysis.
9:12 p.m. – Logan's SCIF
Alone, Logan reopened a personal file. A report from 2002. It was the first JSOC operation he had followed in its entirety. His name was on the final authorization that allowed an extraction in Kandahar, Afghanistan.
Memories came back. Images he had never seen with his own eyes, but he read in reports so realistic that they were etched in his mind.
Men entering in the dark. Guns. Whispered orders. Helicopters leaving at dawn. And at the end, a digital signature: "Reviewed and Approved – Moore, L."
He closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing slowed.
That was the weight.
Next Day – April 2 – 8:00 AM – Coffee near the Pentagon
Logan sat, drinking a black coffee and reading the newspaper. The headline was about diplomatic issues with Iran. He looked away. That was the surface. He knew what was behind the scenes.
The doorbell rang. Thomas came in. He was wearing a gray suit jacket, clean-shaven, and his hair already showing traces of gray.
"I knew you'd be here," he said, sitting down.
Logan smiled, happy to see his old friend.
"And you?" How is life in the world of international law?
— Tedious. Fewer deaths, more paperwork. But... it keeps me sane. And you? Do you still have that gleam in your eyes from reading reports that no one can argue with?
— Bright or dark?
Thomas looked at Logan seriously.
— You carry more than you should, Logan. Always have.
— Someone has to do it.
— But not alone.
Silence. Then Logan smiled sincerely.
— Thank you, Tom. For reminding me of that.
April 3 – Confidential Email – Sent to Dr. Rowe
Subject: Closing the "Obsidian Echo" Investigation
Dear Dr. Rowe,
After a thorough analysis of the leak incident linked to the "Obsidian Echo" report, I would like to inform you that the data revealed does not compromise current operations or agents in the field. The improper access has been identified and blocked, and corrective measures are underway.
We remain vigilant.
Respectfully,
Moore, L.
April 4 – 11:33 p.m. – New York City Apartment
Logan watched the city through the window. The skyscrapers shone like beacons in the darkness.
He called home.
"Hello?" said his mother Clara's voice, still as sweet as ever.
"Hi, Mom. Sorry to call so late. I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Is everything okay, son?"
"Yeah. I just… thought about you and Dad. How are you?"
"I miss you. Your dad asked about you last night. He said he's been dreaming about you when you were little, in your white kimono, jumping around the dojo…"
Logan smiled.
"Sometimes I miss that. The simplicity."
"You're still the same boy, you just have more responsibilities."
He closed his eyes, touched.
"I love you, Mom."
— I love you, my son.
Chapter 32 – Between Secrecy and Power
New York – DOD Regional Office – SCIF – 08:37 AM
The woody aroma of Colombian coffee filled the silent room. Logan, as usual, had arrived before 7:00 AM. The security monitor displayed the reading of the previous night's encrypted logs, an almost monastic routine. White dress shirt impeccable, navy tie, the federal security badge hanging from his belt.
In the center of the room, his desk was occupied by three reports from special operations units, all classified Top Secret. He read silently, underlining parts with surgical precision. Logan's focus was no longer a talent it was an extension of his body. He belonged to the DOD machinery as if he had been born to it.
At 08:42 AM, a discreet notification flashed on the side screen of his secure system: "Visitor under the name of Jessica Pearson waiting in the lobby – ID confirmed – supervised entry requested."
Logan arched an eyebrow.
Jessica Pearson.
Jessica Pearson.
Senior partner at Pearson Hardman, one of the most prestigious and ruthless law firms in New York. Her presence here, inside a federal building, said it all: she didn't make visits without a purpose. Logan pressed a button on the console.
"Security, bring her to the 8th floor. Conference Room Charlie, please. I'll see her myself."
08:59 – Conference Room Charlie – DOD Office – New York
The dark glass door opened with a soft click. Jessica Pearson walked in with the air of someone who never asks permission she just takes up space. She wore an elegant ensemble of a precisely cut dark gray blazer, discreet high heels, and a string of short pearls. Her gaze was sharp as a scalpel.
Logan rose from his chair.
"Miss Pearson, it's an honor to welcome you. I confess I wasn't expecting your visit."
"I'm not one to make idle visits, Mr. Moore." She held out her hand firmly.
Logan shook her hand respectfully. "I imagine not."
They both sat down. Jessica crossed her legs, opened her leather briefcase, and pulled out a small folder with Logan's name printed on the flap. He recognized the discreet Pearson Hardman crest in the bottom corner.
"I did my homework," she said bluntly. "Harvard Law, JD and LL.M in Criminal Law with a focus on National Security. Notable work with the Department of Defense. Author of legal opinions used as a model for SOCOM joint actions. And" she looked up "TS/SCI access."
Logan kept his gaze calm. "That's not exactly public information."
"I know. But I'm not here to breach confidentiality, either. I'm here because you're brilliant. And because I want you to work with me."
Silence. Jessica waited for him to respond. Logan, however, only leaned forward slightly.
"Go on."
"Pearson Hardman needs someone like you. Smart. Ethical. And with a vision that goes beyond the confines of a courtroom. I have clients individuals and corporations who often deal with delicate intersections of law and national security. You could help us protect those interests. With your track record, your analysis, and your precision."
Logan took a deep breath.
"I am employed by the Department of Defense. I work under wraps. My time and knowledge belong, essentially, to the American people. What you are offering me…is interesting. But it is not simple."
Jessica smiled slightly. She liked difficult people.
"I do not expect you to leave the DOD. What I am proposing is that, with proper authorization, you be an outside consultant, on select cases. Above-average pay, flexible hours. You choose the cases. Nothing that compromises your integrity or your federal position."
Logan crossed his arms thoughtfully.
— Jessica, you're known for your intelligence. And for knowing what you want. But you also know that in order for me to accept something like this, I need the approval of Dr. Rowe, the Conflicts of Interest Committee, and the Security Directorate. None of them like the idea of "private consulting."
"But they all respect talent. And results," Jessica replied firmly. "I can wait as long as it takes for you to get clearance. In the meantime, I can leave a few cases as a study. You can review them and give me an informal, no-obligation opinion. Just… as a favor."
Logan gave her a small smile.
"A favor?"
"A mutual test."
He took the folder she slid toward him. It was sealed with a discreet sticker.
"Can I open it here?"
"I'd prefer if you took it home. Read it slowly. It's not classified at your level, but it requires discretion. If you decide it's worth it, call me."
She stood up, the same air of natural dominance.
— Thank you for your time, Mr. Moore.
— Jessica, he said, standing up, "I appreciate your transparency. But if I feel, even for a second, that it conflicts with my work at the DOD, I will not touch that envelope."
"That's why I came to you, Logan. Because I knew you would say that. And I respect that."
She shook his hand once more and left, with the same elegance and firmness with which she had entered.
10:13 p.m. – Logan's Apartment – Brooklyn Heights
Logan sat on the couch with his briefcase on the coffee table. The sound of the wind blowing against the window. He turned on the record player. Coltrane began to play softly in the background.
With a glass of red wine by his side, he opened the briefcase.
The case was complex: an American executive accused of obstruction of justice in a multinational corruption case, with possible ramifications in defense contracts. The legal implications crossed borders and involved federal interests... but still, it was within the legal framework for an informal opinion.
He spent two hours immersed in the documents. Mentally noting possible flaws in the case, defense strategies, and technical issues regarding extradition.
Finally, she closed the folder and smiled. Jessica was smart. This was exactly the kind of case that could test not only her knowledge... but her conscience.
Two Days Later – DOD Office – SCIF – 07:51
Logan walked into Dr. Rowe's office with a thoughtful expression.
"Good morning, Dr. Rowe. I have something to discuss."
She looked up from her papers.
"Logan. Go ahead."
He sat down, getting straight to the point.
"Jessica Pearson came to me. She wants me to act as a consultant on specific cases, with the proper authorization. She said it wouldn't interfere with my work here. No conflict of interest. But I'd like your opinion before anything else."
Dr. Rowe studied him for a moment. Then she rested her elbows on the table.
"You already know my first reaction."
"I know."
"But I also know that you wouldn't bring this to me if you weren't sure you could keep your principles intact." And I trust you, Logan.
He nodded respectfully.
"If it's authorized, it will always be outside of business hours, and only for cases that don't directly interfere with our department."
She sighed.
"I'll forward your request to the Committee. And in the meantime… I want you to read the latest directive on private consulting for employees with TS/SCI. It's stricter."
Logan smiled slightly.
"I've read it. Three times."
Dr. Rowe rolled her eyes, almost laughing.
"Of course you have. Okay, Logan. Let's see where this goes."
Later – Jessica Pearson's Office – Manhattan – 6:27 PM
Her phone rang. It was a private line. She answered it, already wondering who it was.
"Pearson."
"Logan Moore. Just to say I've read the case. It has potential."
"And?"
"If the higher-ups approve it, I can give an advisory opinion." But nothing more than that, for now.
Jessica smiled, satisfied.
—That's all I need for now. Welcome, Logan.
—Not yet. But we'll see.
And she hung up.
Jessica looked out the window at the city. With that name in her network, the legal world gained a new layer of respect. And she knew: Logan Moore was more than a lawyer. He was a pillar. A fortress.
And now… he was, at least a little bit, on Pearson Hardman's radar.
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