A.R.G.U.S. – Key Members' Point of View
The conference room inside A.R.G.U.S. headquarters was silent in the way only seasoned operatives understood—no one spoke, but everyone was thinking several steps ahead.
The recording of Rick Flag Sr.'s phone call had ended minutes ago, yet its final words still hung in the air.
A vacation. One month. Rent already paid.
Amanda Waller stood at the head of the table, her hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on the darkened screen. She did not sit. She never did when something bothered her.
Steve Trevor was the first to break the silence.
"A man like Rick Flag doesn't disappear without a reason," he said carefully. "So let's start with the obvious. Is it a weapon?"
Sam Lane leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Or alien tech. Something he didn't want A.R.G.U.S. anywhere near."
Lyla Michaels frowned, scrolling through her tablet. "Or worse—some kind of bio-weapon. Or a black-level mission so classified even we weren't cleared to know about it."
Waller's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned and walked slowly toward the window overlooking the facility, the lights of Washington glowing faintly in the distance.
"Rick Flag Sr. is many things," Waller finally said. "Stubborn. Loyal. Predictable in his unpredictability. But he is not reckless. If he walked away without a word, it means he didn't trust this organization with whatever he was doing."
That alone unsettled the room.
Steve Trevor glanced at the others. "Which begs the question—why?"
Sam Lane exhaled slowly. "There's one possibility we haven't ruled out yet."
Waller turned back toward the table. "Say it."
"A direct presidential assignment," Lane said. "One that bypassed A.R.G.U.S. entirely."
That got Waller's attention.
Without another word, she moved to the secure comm console at the side of the room. Her fingers moved quickly, entering authorization codes few people even knew existed. The line encrypted itself twice before finally connecting.
The President's face appeared on the screen, already irritated.
"Amanda," he said. "This better be important."
"It is," Waller replied evenly. "Did you assign Rick Flag Sr. to any classified mission in the last thirty days? Off the books. No A.R.G.U.S. oversight."
The President blinked, genuinely confused.
"No," he said. "Why would I? Last I heard, Flag was still recovering in the hospital."
Waller studied his face carefully. No hesitation. No tells.
"So you gave him no orders," she pressed. "No contingency mission. No independent authorization."
"None," the President said firmly. "If this is about his resignation, that came as a surprise to me as well."
There it was.
Waller nodded once. "Understood, Mr. President."
The screen went dark as the call ended.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"Well," Steve Trevor said quietly, "that rules out the White House."
Lyla leaned back in her chair, unease evident in her eyes. "Which means whatever Rick Flag is involved in… he chose it himself."
Amanda Waller returned to her seat at the head of the table, finally sitting down. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice carried steel.
"And that makes it dangerous."
Sam Lane tapped the table thoughtfully. "We know one thing for certain. That phone call to his landlord was made before he signed his resignation. He planned this in advance."
"Which means he anticipated us," Lyla added. "He knew questions would be asked."
"And he prepared an answer," Steve said. "A weak one."
Waller allowed herself a thin, humorless smile. "Rick Flag Sr. is not a man who takes vacations."
She activated the holographic display in the center of the table, pulling up Flag's personnel file, medical reports, and the timeline of his resignation.
"He didn't accept a supervisory role," Waller continued. "Didn't negotiate. Didn't argue. He signed and walked away."
Sam Lane shook his head. "That alone should've raised alarms."
"It did," Waller replied coldly. "That's why you're all here."
Lyla looked up from her tablet. "We already sent Harcourt's team to his house. They confirmed he's gone and staying gone."
"Yes," Waller said. "But we also know something else."
She brought up a surveillance map of Rick Flag Sr.'s neighborhood.
"He told his landlord he'd be gone for one month," she said. "Which means, eventually, he'll either return… or he won't."
Steve Trevor crossed his arms. "And if he doesn't?"
"Then we escalate," Waller answered without hesitation.
Sam Lane spoke next. "Why not keep eyes on the house? If he comes back early—or if someone else shows up—we'll know."
Waller considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed."
She looked around the table. "The team already sent—Harcourt, Adebayo, Economos, Bordeaux—they're familiar with the location. Keep them on passive surveillance. No contact. No confrontation."
"And if Flag shows up?" Lyla asked.
Waller's eyes hardened. "Then we observe. We listen. And when the time is right…"
She let the sentence hang.
"…we ask questions."
No one argued.
But unease settled deep in the room, because every person present understood the implication.
Rick Flag Sr. was not running.
He was preparing.
And whatever secret he was carrying—whatever was important enough to walk away from A.R.G.U.S., from command, from everything he had built—it was something even a man like Rick Flag Sr. didn't trust them with.
That made it more than a mystery.
It made it a threat.
And Amanda Waller never ignored threats.