Chapter 8 - The Daughter They Never SawMy parents were taken to a hospital.
I had never seen that expression on him.
Growing up, Dad had seemed physically incapable of fear.
Anger, yes.
Disappointment, constantly.
Fear?
Never.
Now his hands were tied behind a chair and blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow.
Mom sat beside him, shaking.
Master Chief Daniels appeared strangely calm.
That comforted me.
Luke was trained.
Injured, but thinking.
Mercer stood behind them.
“You have thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes for what?”
“To send the coordinates.”
“There are no coordinates.”
He smiled.
“Bad start.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“The files say otherwise.”
“The files are incomplete.”
His expression hardened.
“Twenty-nine minutes.”
The screen went black.
Patel immediately ordered technical teams to trace the transmission.
I sat still.
Reeves noticed.
“What?”
“He wanted me emotional.”
“Obviously.”
“No. More than that.”
I replayed the exchange in my mind.
Mercer had not asked me to prove the source existed.
He had demanded coordinates.
He believed geography was the answer.
Someone had told him that.
Someone who knew Lantern Reef contained a relocated source but not how the relocation worked.
“Who briefed Mercer?”
Patel looked at me.
“We’re working on it.”
“Find anyone connected to archival transfers.”
“We have.”
“And?”
“One civilian contractor accessed the archive before the file was misplaced.”
“Name?”
She hesitated.
“Arthur Vale.”
I knew him.
Former intelligence analyst.
Brilliant.
Resentful.
Forced into retirement after an unauthorized disclosure investigation that never produced enough evidence for charges.
“He knew about Lantern Reef.”
“Enough?”
“Enough to recognize my name.”
Patel started making calls.
Ryan entered with an escort.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered quickly enough.
He saw the video freeze-frame.
Mom.
Dad.
Daniels.
Ryan stared.
“No.”
I walked toward him.
“Stay calm.”
“You told me they were protected.”
“They were.”
“Then how—”
“We don’t know.”
He started toward the door.
The escort blocked him.
“Move.”
“Ryan.”
He looked at me.
“This is my fault.”
“We don’t have time for guilt.”
“That’s our parents!”
“Yes.”
“And you’re standing here like this is another day at work.”
The insult struck deeper than he intended.
I stepped closer.
“You think I don’t care because I’m not screaming?”
He stopped.
“Ryan, screaming will not help Mom. Guilt will not help Dad. The only thing that helps them is thinking clearly.”
His breathing slowed.
I pointed toward a chair.
“So either sit down and help, or leave professionals alone.”
He sat.
Ten minutes later, investigators found Arthur Vale.
Dead.
Apparent suicide.
Except I didn’t believe it.
Neither did Patel.
“He was cleaning up,” I said.
“Mercer?”
“Maybe.”
“Vale was sixty-eight.”
“Age doesn’t prevent someone from being dangerous.”
“We’re checking the scene.”
Ryan suddenly said, “Cole mentioned an old man.”
I turned.
“When?”
“Two months ago. He said some old intelligence guy knew the Navy buried millions after a failed mission.”
“What else?”
“I thought it was conspiracy nonsense.”
“Ryan.”
“He said the man had proof that an officer named Carter betrayed people.”
My chest tightened.
“Betrayed whom?”
“He didn’t say.”
Patel leaned forward.
“Try to remember exact words.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“He said, ‘Carter got them killed and got promoted for it.’”
The room went silent.
I knew exactly where that story came from.
Four Americans died during Lantern Reef.
One of them was Arthur Vale’s son.
Lieutenant Michael Vale.
The guilt I had carried for seven years suddenly gained a face.
Arthur hadn’t simply stumbled across the archive.
He had been looking for it.
He blamed me.
Maybe he convinced Mercer that I had abandoned Michael to protect a secret source.
The truth was uglier and simpler.
I had fought to send the recovery team toward Michael’s position.
Weather and enemy movement made it impossible.
The commander on scene made the final decision.
It was correct.
And Michael died anyway.
Correct decisions can still produce coffins.
At 5:22 a.m., Mercer called again.
“You figured out Vale.”
I said nothing.
“Smart woman.”
“You killed him.”
“He killed himself years ago. I just finished the paperwork.”
There was something unstable in his tone now.
“Cole, Arthur lied to you.”
“So did you.”
“I never spoke to you.”
“You left four men behind.”
“I was not on the ground.”
“You gave the route.”
“Yes.”
“The route that saved eleven and killed four.”
“No.”
Silence.
I continued.
“The four were separated before I identified the alternate extraction.”
He breathed heavily.
“Vale said—”
“Vale lost his son. Grief needed somewhere to go.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No. I expect you to verify facts.”
He laughed.
“You sound exactly like Ryan.”
My brother flinched.
Mercer continued.
“Always hiding behind his big sister.”
Ryan grabbed the microphone.
“Cole.”
I reached for him, but he spoke first.
“This is over.”
Mercer went quiet.
Ryan’s hands trembled.
“You used me.”
“You volunteered.”
“I forged those letters because you threatened me.”
“You forged the first one because you wanted an advantage.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised Mercer.
“And I’ll answer for that,” Ryan said. “But you answer for this.”
Mercer laughed.
“You think Emily will save you?”
“No.”
Ryan looked at me.
“I think she’ll tell the truth about me.”
Something shifted in his voice.
For the first time all day, I heard the man he might still become.
Mercer hated it.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Maybe.”
“Your family worshipped you.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
Ryan swallowed.
“Now they know I lied.”
Mercer ended the call.
But he had stayed connected twelve seconds longer than before.
Enough.
Technical teams narrowed the signal.
An industrial zone south of downtown San Diego.
Multiple warehouses.
Reeves dispatched teams.
Then I noticed something in the frozen video.
Behind my father, barely visible, was a yellow line painted on concrete.
Beside it, partial lettering.
…RINE REPAIR 4
I knew that facility type.
Patel searched.
Three matches.
Ryan leaned closer.
“Wait.”
He pointed toward the image.
“There’s water reflected behind Mom.”
One match.
A decommissioned marine repair warehouse near National City.
Teams moved.
I wanted to go.
Reeves said no.
He was right.
I hated him for being right.
Twenty-three minutes later, radio traffic intensified.
Entry made.
Shots fired.
My mother screamed through the live feed.
Then static.
I stood so fast the chair fell behind me.
Ryan grabbed the table.
Reeves listened to his earpiece.
“Daniels recovered.”
“And my parents?”
“Stand by.”
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Then Reeves exhaled.
“Both alive.”
Ryan collapsed into a chair.
I closed my eyes.
“Mercer?”
Reeves’ expression changed.
“Gone.”
“How?”
“Boat access behind the building.”
Of course.
Water.
Ryan had told us.
Mercer liked water.
Then Patel received another message.
A photograph of the Coronado shoreline.
Taken from offshore.
Mercer had escaped onto the bay.
And his message contained only one sentence.
Now I’m coming for the real Carter.
May you like
He wasn’t running anymore.
He was coming for me.
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