Chapter 4 - The Dead Admiral
"Put the weapons down," Thomas Vale said from the darkness.
Nobody moved.
I hadn't seen Vale's face since his funeral.
Yet there he stood when the emergency lights activated.
Older.
Thinner.
Very much alive.
Blackwood aimed at him.
Vale raised his hands.
"I didn't come to fight."
"Dead men rarely do," I said.
He almost smiled.
"Still sarcastic."
"You recruited me."
"Yes."
"My father told you not to."
Vale's expression changed.
"Jonathan told everyone not to."
"Why did you ignore him?"
"Because I thought he was wrong."
That answer hurt more than a lie.
Vale entered slowly.
He explained Reaper.
The modern unit had been built from the remains of the psychological program.
Vale believed elite operators could reclaim something created for manipulation and turn it into a force for legitimate national defense.
For years, it worked.
Then classified missions started leaking.
Equipment disappeared.
Operators died.
Someone had resurrected the original network inside the new Reaper.
"Caleb Shaw?" Daniel asked.
Vale nodded.
"We believe he's alive."
"Where?"
"That's why I'm here."
Vale produced a drive.
Tracking data.
The missing targeting systems were moving toward a private airfield near the Mexican border.
If transferred, they would disappear overseas within hours.
"Why fake your death?" I asked.
"Because Caleb tried to kill me."
Blackwood lowered his weapon slightly.
Vale looked at my split lip.
"What happened?"
I looked at Blackwood.
Blackwood cleared his throat.
"Misunderstanding."
Vale stared at him.
"You hit her?"
Blackwood said nothing.
Vale actually laughed.
It was the first laugh I'd heard all day.
"You survived forty years in the Marine Corps just to make the dumbest decision of your career."
Even I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the technician called.
The photograph had been enhanced.
The reflected face appeared on my screen.
We gathered around.
Nobody spoke.
It wasn't Caleb.
It was my mother.
Rebecca Mercer.
I stared at her younger face in the photograph.
Daniel whispered, "Eve..."
"No."
The timestamp was 2015.
Seven years after my father supposedly died.
One year after he contacted Blackwood.
My mother had told me she never saw him again.
She had lied.
I called her protective detail.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my mother called me.
"Mom?"
Her breathing was fast.
"Evelyn, listen carefully."
"Where are you?"
"You need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Looking for your father."
I closed my eyes.
"You knew."
Silence.
"Mom."
"I knew he survived."
Blackwood looked away.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because staying dead kept him alive."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know anymore."
"Who is Caleb Shaw?"
Her breath caught.
That told me enough.
"Mom?"
"You need to leave Camp Pendleton."
"I can't."
"They know who you are now."
"They always knew."
"No, Evelyn."
Her voice broke.
"They know what you are."
The call disconnected.
Seconds later, her protection team reported her house empty.
My mother had disappeared.
We had two crises.
The weapons shipment.
My mother.
Professional judgment demanded the weapons.
Emotion demanded my mother.
Then I remembered my father's warning.
The network created reasons for loyal people to betray everything.
This was the test.
They wanted me to abandon the mission.
I wouldn't.
"We go to the airfield."
Blackwood stared at me.
"Your mother?"
"Someone else finds her."
Vale nodded approvingly.
We launched before midnight.
Two helicopters.
Eight operators.
Blackwood stayed behind under federal supervision, though he protested.
Daniel coordinated Washington.
Vale came with us.
The airfield appeared at 1:13 a.m.
Three trucks.
Cargo aircraft.
Armed security.
We landed outside the perimeter and moved silently.
My old instincts returned.
The parade ground disappeared.
The slap disappeared.
My father disappeared.
Mission first.
We breached the warehouse.
Gunfire erupted.
Short.
Controlled.
Within four minutes, the security team surrendered.
We found the stolen guidance systems packed for transport.
Mission accomplished.
Almost.
One truck was missing.
Vale checked the manifest.
His face tightened.
"There's a fourth system."
"Where?"
He looked toward the runway.
An SUV raced toward a waiting aircraft.
We pursued.
The plane began moving.
I reached the SUV first.
The driver abandoned it and ran.
I opened the rear door.
My mother sat inside.
Hands bound.
Alive.
"Mom."
She looked at me.
Not relieved.
Terrified.
"Evelyn, don't!"
A man stepped from behind the aircraft.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
A scar crossing his forehead.
Caleb Shaw.
He held no weapon.
He didn't need one.
He smiled.
"Jonathan's daughter."
I raised my rifle.
"Where's my father?"
Caleb's smile widened.
"Closer than you think."
Then another man emerged from the aircraft.
My weapon lowered without permission.
I knew his walk.
I knew his eyes.
Older.
Changed.
But unmistakable.
My father stopped beneath the runway lights.
"Eve."
Twelve years of training disappeared for one heartbeat.
"Dad?"
He looked at Caleb.
Then at me.
And he raised a gun.
May you like
Not at Caleb.
At me.
