Chapter 6 - The General’s TrapBeckett pointed the gun at my chest.
“Where’s the drive?”
I leaned against my crutches.
“You traveled all this way to ask?”
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“You killed my father.”
His face stayed calm.
“That is a dangerous accusation.”
“You’re pointing a gun at me in a hospital.”
“Temporary necessity.”
I almost laughed.
He truly believed language could sanitize anything.
Theft became procurement adjustment.
Threats became pressure.
Murder became necessity.
“Where is General Hale?” he asked.
“Probably looking for you.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
“You wanted him here?”
“I want the folder.”
“What folder?”
His eyes narrowed.
“The original Reed file.”
“You burned it eleven years ago.”
“Matthew copied everything.”
“You were afraid of him.”
“I respected him.”
“You murdered him.”
“Russell lost control.”
There.
Another admission.
“You authorized it.”
“I authorized them to recover documents.”
“And if Dad refused?”
Beckett’s jaw tightened.
“Your father made unfortunate choices.”
I looked at the ceiling camera.
He noticed.
“Disabled.”
Of course.
“Move.”
He forced me toward the stairwell.
The fire alarm covered everything.
Smoke made visibility poor.
We descended one floor.
My hip screamed with every step.
Beckett kept the gun behind my ribs.
“You know something funny?” I said.
“No.”
“You’re the third man this week who assumed shooting me would make me cooperative.”
“Keep moving.”
“You’re not very good at reading people.”
We reached the landing.
He shoved the door open.
General Hale stood on the other side.
Alone.
Beckett immediately grabbed my collar and pulled me against him.
The barrel pressed beneath my jaw.
Hale raised empty hands.
“Warren.”
“Nathaniel.”
They knew each other well.
That made the moment stranger.
Two senior Army officers.
Years of service.
Same uniform once.
Now one was using a wounded lieutenant as a shield.
“Put the weapon down,” Hale said.
“Where’s the drive?”
“You lost.”
“Not yet.”
“Russell confessed.”
Beckett’s face twitched.
“Douglas is cooperating.”
Nothing.
“Warehouse 19 is in federal custody.”
Beckett tightened his grip.
“Those records prove accounting irregularities.”
“They prove conspiracy.”
“You don’t have authorization.”
“For Matthew Reed’s murder?”
Beckett paused.
Hale saw it.
So did I.
“That’s what this is about,” Hale continued. “You didn’t come for a flash drive.”
Beckett said nothing.
“You came because you’re afraid Matthew recorded you.”
My heart skipped.
Recorded?
I hadn’t known.
Hale had.
Beckett’s breathing changed.
“Where is it?”
Hale smiled slightly.
“Safe.”
The gun pushed harder beneath my chin.
“Hannah.”
“Yes?”
“Tell him.”
“I don’t know.”
“Your father gave it to you.”
“He gave me data.”
“He recorded the final meeting.”
I suddenly remembered an audio file on the flash drive.
Encrypted.
I had been unable to open it.
General Hale’s cyber team had.
That was the trap.
They knew Beckett was searching for it.
The information about the mountain house.
The flight plan.
The “escape.”
Maybe all of it had been manipulated to force Beckett into moving.
“You baited him,” I said.
Hale kept his eyes on Beckett.
“Yes.”
“Using me?”
“We knew he was watching hospital communications. We leaked that the original drive remained here.”
Beckett snapped, “Enough.”
Hale continued anyway.
“The recording is already duplicated.”
Beckett’s face drained.
“What does it contain?” I asked.
Hale answered.
“Your father meeting Beckett forty-eight hours before his death.”
My throat tightened.
“What did Beckett say?”
Beckett yelled, “SHUT UP!”
Too late.
Hale’s voice remained steady.
“He threatened Matthew.”
Beckett pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Click.
He stared at the gun.
I moved.
I drove my elbow backward into his ribs.
Pain exploded through my hip.
We both fell.
General Hale crossed the landing immediately.
Agents surged through both doors.
They had been waiting.
Beckett reached for another weapon at his ankle.
An agent pinned his arm.
“DON’T MOVE!”
Within seconds, he was face down.
Cuffed.
Disarmed.
Finished.
I lay against the wall breathing hard.
General Hale crouched beside me.
“You okay?”
“You gave him a gun?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t it fire?”
“One of our people replaced the magazine before he entered the secured floor.”
I stared.
“You knew he was here.”
“We confirmed his identity three minutes before he reached you.”
“Three minutes?”
“I told the team not to engage until we knew his objective.”
“You let him point a gun at me.”
“It had no live ammunition.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No.”
I glared at him.
He helped me stand.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m considering insubordination.”
“You’ve been an officer four days.”
“Five.”
“Impressive start.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Beckett was dragged upright.
He looked at me with hatred.
“You think this ends anything?”
I stepped closer.
“No.”
He smiled.
“Smart girl.”
“It ends you.”
His smile vanished.
The audio recording destroyed the remainder of his defense.
My father’s voice was clear.
So was Beckett’s.
Matthew Reed: If I disappear, copies go out.
Beckett: Then you should hope you don’t disappear before telling me where they are.
Matthew: Is that a threat, Warren?
Beckett: It’s advice. Men with families should know when to stop.
There was also discussion of contracts.
Kickbacks.
Fake manifests.
Russell.
Crane.
It was enough to charge Beckett with conspiracy, bribery, obstruction, theft of government property, and eventually involvement in my father’s death.
But one question remained.
If Dad believed copies would go out when he died…
Where were they?
The flash drive had not contained everything.
Then I remembered the original envelope.
The one Dad gave me.
I had kept it.
For eleven years.
General Hale and I examined it that evening.
Nothing inside.
Until I noticed the inside seam.
A small strip of paper was stitched between layers.
We carefully opened it.
One line.
Hannah — the truth belongs where your first salute began.
I stared.
General Hale frowned.
“First salute?”
Then I understood.
My father had taught me to salute when I was ten.
At the old memorial garden behind Fort Preston.
May you like
He had buried the final evidence there.
And if I was right, it had been waiting for me for twenty-two years.
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