Chapter 5 - My Father's Gun
"Drop the rifle, Evelyn."
My father's voice sounded almost exactly as I remembered.
I didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because this isn't what you think."
Caleb stood beside him.
My mother struggled against her restraints.
"Jonathan, don't."
My father kept the weapon trained on me.
Vale and my operators held positions behind cover.
Nobody had a clean shot.
"Dad."
His eyes changed when I called him that.
Pain.
"Please."
He lowered the weapon slightly.
That was enough.
I moved.
Three steps.
Disarm.
Turn.
Caleb reached for something.
Vale tackled him.
Seconds later both men were restrained.
My father didn't resist.
He simply looked at me.
"You got faster."
"You missed twelve years."
"I know."
The words carried more regret than any apology could.
We secured the airfield.
My mother was freed.
Caleb was taken into federal custody.
My father sat across from me inside the warehouse.
"Start talking."
He did.
Project Reaper had begun as an illegal profiling system.
Caleb transformed it into a recruitment network.
He identified vulnerable officers, manipulated careers, created debts, and eventually controlled logistics channels across multiple commands.
My father discovered it.
Caleb tried to kill him.
The helicopter crash was staged by allies to save his life.
He disappeared to investigate from outside the system.
My mother knew enough to protect the lie.
"Why watch me?"
My father looked ashamed.
"Because Caleb became interested in you."
"At fourteen?"
"Because of me."
He explained that Caleb believed personality traits useful to Reaper could run in families.
When I enlisted, Vale secretly recruited me first to keep Caleb from controlling my career.
Vale had been protecting me.
Mostly.
"Then who compromised Reaper?"
My father looked toward Caleb.
"Not him."
Caleb laughed from across the warehouse.
"You finally understand."
I approached.
"Who?"
He smiled.
"You keep searching for villains outside your circle."
I wanted to hit him.
I didn't.
"Name."
"You already met him."
"Who?"
"The man wearing Hayes's uniform."
The imposter.
"Name."
Caleb leaned closer.
"Michael Trent."
I knew it.
Every Reaper operator did.
Colonel Michael Trent was Reaper's operations director.
My direct superior.
The man who approved my mission at Camp Pendleton.
The man who sent me there.
The realization settled heavily.
Trent had engineered everything.
Why?
My father answered.
"To expose Caleb."
I stared.
"Trent is hunting him?"
"Yes."
"Then why attack us?"
"Because Trent doesn't want Caleb arrested."
Caleb's smile disappeared.
"He wants the network."
Not destroy it.
Take it.
The entire investigation had been a succession battle.
We returned to Camp Pendleton before sunrise.
Blackwood waited.
The moment he saw my father, he stopped walking.
"Jonathan."
My father smiled faintly.
"Warren."
Blackwood hugged him.
That surprised everyone.
Then Blackwood looked at me.
"You found him."
"I did."
His expression softened.
"I'm glad."
The admiral who had slapped me twelve hours earlier suddenly looked human.
"About yesterday—"
"Don't."
"I owe you an apology."
"You owe me several."
He nodded.
"Probably."
"We'll deal with it after Trent."
That became our temporary truce.
Trent had vanished.
Reaper headquarters had been emptied.
Several databases wiped.
But he made one mistake.
He contacted me.
A message arrived at 6:42 a.m.
COME ALONE.
Coordinates followed.
An abandoned coastal training facility.
My father shook his head.
"Trap."
"Obviously."
"You're not going."
"Obviously I am."
Blackwood almost smiled.
"You really are Jonathan's daughter."
I looked at him.
"Careful, Admiral."
His smile vanished.
"Right."
We prepared a covert perimeter.
I entered alone.
The facility was dark.
My challenge coin hung around my neck.
Trent waited in an empty training room.
No disguise.
No weapon visible.
"Commander."
"Colonel."
"You've had an interesting twenty-four hours."
"I've had better."
He nodded toward my lip.
"Blackwood?"
"Blackwood."
"Always had a temper."
"You knew he'd react."
"I suspected."
"You used me."
"I deployed you."
"There's a difference."
"Not in our profession."
I hated that he sounded like every mentor who had ever taught me to sacrifice personal feelings for missions.
"What do you want?"
"Caleb's archive."
"We have it."
"No. You have Jonathan's archive."
Trent stepped closer.
"Caleb's is much larger."
"Where?"
"Ask your father."
I stared.
"He doesn't know."
Trent smiled.
"That's what he told you."
My stomach tightened.
"Don't."
"Your father wasn't merely investigating Project Reaper, Eve."
"What was he doing?"
"He helped create it."
I refused to react.
Trent continued.
"Jonathan Mercer designed the original selection model."
"You're lying."
"Ask him."
My earpiece remained silent.
My father was listening.
"Tell her, Jonathan," Trent said toward the hidden microphone.
Nothing.
Then my father's voice came through.
"Eve."
One word.
Enough.
I closed my eyes.
Trent smiled.
"Families are complicated."
I looked at him.
"So are arrests."
The doors opened.
Federal agents entered.
Trent didn't resist.
That bothered me.
As they cuffed him, he whispered:
"You still don't understand."
"What?"
"I wanted you to arrest me."
He looked toward the observation window.
"Because while everyone was watching this building, Caleb Shaw was never in federal custody."
My earpiece erupted.
Shouting.
Then Daniel Shaw's voice:
"Transport convoy has been hit."
I turned toward Trent.
He smiled.
"Caleb is gone."
My phone vibrated.
A message.
One photograph.
May you like
Blackwood standing alone on the parade ground.
Crosshairs centered over his chest.
