Chapter 2 - The Woman Officially DeadThe man in the red tie reached the first row of parked government vehicles before the Marines understood what was happening.
He was wrong.
The sound cracked across the parade ground at Camp Pendleton like a rifle shot.
For one impossible second, everything stopped.
The brass band went silent.
A flag snapped hard in the Pacific wind.
Rows of Marines stood frozen beneath the California sun, their dress uniforms immaculate, their faces trained not to react.
I tasted blood.
Blackwood’s academy ring had split the inside of my lower lip.
A thin red line ran down my chin and disappeared into the collar of my faded sand-colored combat shirt.
I didn’t wipe it away.
Blackwood leaned toward me, his face burning with rage.
“You were ordered to leave this restricted area.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“No, Admiral. I wasn’t.”
His expression tightened.
He was sixty-two, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and decorated enough to make younger officers nervous just by entering a room. He was also the commander hosting that morning’s ceremony, and every camera on the reviewing platform was pointed toward us.
That was probably why he had decided to make an example of me.
To him, I looked like a woman who had wandered in from somewhere she didn’t belong.
No rank on my shirt.
No name tape.
No visible insignia.
Dust on my boots.
A bruised cheek.
Three scratches across my forehead.
And a black canvas backpack hanging from one shoulder.
I looked like trouble.
What Blackwood didn’t know was where I had been forty-eight hours earlier.
Or why three people had died getting me here.
“Security!” he shouted.
Two military police officers ran toward us.
One was a young lieutenant named Harris. I had shown him my temporary credentials at the gate twenty minutes earlier.
Now he slowed.
“Sir…”
Blackwood turned.
“Remove her.”
Lieutenant Harris swallowed.
“Admiral, her authorization—”
“I don’t care what piece of paper she waved at you.”
Blackwood pointed toward me.
“She walked through a formation during a memorial ceremony.”
“I was told to stand at Marker Seven,” I said.
He snapped his head back toward me.
“You speak when I give you permission.”
A murmur moved through the civilians gathered behind the barricades.
My fingers tightened around the object inside my pocket.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary.
Blackwood stepped closer.
“You have ten seconds to leave my parade ground.”
I stared at him.
“Admiral, I recommend you let me finish what I came here to do.”
His face went crimson.
“You recommend?”
“Yes, sir.”
He laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because men like Grant Blackwood sometimes laughed when they couldn’t imagine consequences reaching them.
He looked toward the Marines.
“This is what happens when civilians think a military installation is a stage for their personal drama.”
My jaw tightened.
Civilian.
If only he knew.
Blackwood raised his voice.
“Get her out.”
The MPs moved.
I reached slowly into my pocket.
Several rifles shifted behind me.
“Hands where we can see them!” someone shouted.
I stopped.
Lieutenant Harris looked terrified.
Blackwood’s hand moved toward his sidearm.
“Whatever you’re reaching for,” he said, “don’t.”
I pulled out a coin.
Not currency.
Not exactly.
It was heavy, matte black, and roughly the diameter of a silver dollar.
No writing appeared around its edge.
Only a symbol.
A spear crossing a broken compass.
Blackwood saw it.
His anger vanished.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The color drained from his face.
Lieutenant Harris stared at the coin, clearly confused.
“What is that?”
Blackwood didn’t answer.
I held the coin between two bloody fingers.
“Now do you remember Marker Seven?”
Blackwood’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
That was when we heard the helicopters.
At first, it was only a distant thudding beyond the hills.
Then everyone looked west.
One aircraft appeared.
Then another.
Then four more.
Black military helicopters swept low across the coastline in tight formation, moving toward the base.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
Blackwood stared upward.
“No…”
The lead helicopter banked.
A white spear-and-compass symbol was painted beneath its fuselage.
The same symbol engraved into my coin.
Someone behind Blackwood whispered, “Who the hell is she?”
I slipped the coin back into my pocket.
“My name is Commander Evelyn Cross.”
Blackwood’s eyes widened.
That name meant something to him.
Good.
It was supposed to.
I stepped closer, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear.
“Seven years ago, you signed a casualty report saying I died in Afghanistan.”
His lips trembled.
I continued.
“You buried an empty coffin.”
One helicopter descended toward the far landing zone.
Wind blasted across the parade ground.
Blackwood looked toward it, then back at me.
I leaned nearer.
“And now, Admiral…”
I wiped the blood from my mouth with my thumb.
“…I’ve come to ask why.”
The first helicopter touched down.
The side door opened.
Three men in dark uniforms stepped onto the pavement.
The man in front carried a sealed red folder.
Blackwood saw him.
His knees nearly buckled.
Because the man walking toward us was not one of Blackwood’s officers.
He was Lieutenant General Thomas Mercer, Deputy Commander of U.S. Special Operations Command.
And judging by his expression, he had not flown across the country to attend a parade.
He had come for Grant Blackwood.
But Blackwood wasn’t the only person suddenly afraid.
Across the reviewing stand, I saw a civilian man quietly step backward.
Gray suit.
Red tie.
Scar beneath his left ear.
My heart stopped.
I knew that scar.
I had seen it through a rifle scope seven years earlier, seconds before my entire team disappeared.
The man turned.
Started walking.
I looked at Lieutenant Harris.
“Stop the man in the red tie.”
Blackwood grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I looked down at his hand.
Then into his eyes.
And for the first time that morning, I saw something more powerful than arrogance.
Fear.
“Why?” I whispered.
Blackwood loosened his grip.
His voice broke.
“Because if he knows you’re alive…”
The man in the red tie began running.
May you like
Blackwood stared at me.
“…everyone connected to you is already in danger.”
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