Chapter 1 - The Man From Booth Seven
“Sir, I didn’t start that fight!” Jake Reynolds shouted as two military police officers pulled him through the corridor.
Major Daniel Mercer stepped from his office holding Jake’s cracked identification card.
A thin red line had been drawn across the back.
Beneath it were four handwritten numbers: 0417.
Mercer’s face changed.
“This isn’t about the fight.”
Corporal Jake Reynolds stopped resisting.
The military police officers holding his arms exchanged a glance, but neither loosened his grip.
Jake’s left eye had swollen overnight. A purple bruise ran from his cheekbone toward his temple. His lower lip had split open again during morning formation when he tried to explain himself to his platoon sergeant.
Nobody had cared.
A corporal fighting another service member outside a bar was an easy story.
Except Jake had never been inside the bar.
And the man he had fought had attacked him first.
“Major,” Jake said, lowering his voice, “I don’t know what those numbers mean.”
Mercer stared at the damaged identification card.
“Neither do I.”
That was a lie.
Jake recognized lies differently after six years in uniform. Not from what people said, but from what they did with their hands.
Mercer’s thumb had stopped moving.
Until that moment, he had been rubbing the edge of Jake’s ID card unconsciously.
Now his hand was completely still.
“Sir?”
Mercer looked toward the military police officers.
“Release him.”
“Major, we were told—”
“I know what you were told.”
The officers immediately let go.
Jake rolled his shoulders, feeling soreness along his ribs.
Mercer stepped closer.
“Where did you get this card?”
“It’s mine.”
“Obviously.”
“Then I don’t understand the question.”
“Who had access to it?”
Jake thought.
“My wallet went missing for maybe twenty minutes two nights ago.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“Where?”
“Diner off Highway 16.”
That got a stronger reaction.
Mercer looked up sharply.
“What diner?”
“Harbor Light.”
The name sounded harmless.
Nothing about the Harbor Light Diner had seemed important when Jake walked into it two weeks earlier.
He had been tired after fourteen hours on duty. Rain hammered the diner windows hard enough to blur the highway lights outside. He had ordered black coffee, eggs, and toast because payday was still three days away and his bank account was close enough to empty that he had checked the price before ordering.
That was when he noticed the older man in Booth Seven.
Silver hair.
Dark civilian coat.
Straight posture.
Alone.
The waitress stood beside him, embarrassed.
“Sir, your card declined again.”
The older man had looked down at the machine.
“Try it once more.”
“I already did three times.”
Jake had watched him reach for another pocket.
Empty.
The man looked more irritated than ashamed, which Jake understood. There was something about having strangers watch you discover you couldn’t pay for dinner that could make pride burn worse than hunger.
Jake called the waitress over.
“Put his bill on mine.”
She blinked.
“His too?”
“Yeah.”
The older man immediately turned.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Jake shrugged.
“It’s twelve dollars.”
“I can pay my own bill.”
“Apparently not tonight.”
For half a second Jake worried he had offended him.
Then the stranger laughed.
Not loudly.
Just once.
“You always talk to people like that?”
“Only people arguing with a card reader.”
The waitress smiled and walked away.
The man studied Jake’s camouflage uniform.
“Marine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why’d you pay?”
Jake had shrugged again.
“Because you needed dinner.”
“That simple?”
“It should be.”
The stranger stared at him for several seconds.
Then he asked Jake’s name.
“Corporal Jake Reynolds.”
The older man repeated it once.
“Jake Reynolds.”
Like he was memorizing it.
Jake forgot about the encounter almost immediately.
Until now.
Major Mercer closed his office door.
“Tell me everything that happened at Harbor Light.”
Jake did.
He mentioned the declined card.
The dinner.
The stranger.
The conversation.
He also mentioned something he had originally considered meaningless.
When Jake had gone to the restroom, his wallet had been sitting beside his coffee.
When he returned, it was gone.
He found it twenty minutes later underneath his truck in the parking lot.
Nothing had been missing.
At least he thought nothing had been missing.
Mercer paced behind the desk.
“And the stranger?”
“Already gone.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“No.”
“Did he ask anything else?”
Jake remembered.
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“He asked where I was stationed.”
Mercer stopped.
Jake continued.
“I told him I couldn’t discuss much. He smiled and said he wasn’t asking for classified information.”
“What else?”
“He asked if I liked the Corps.”
“And?”
“I told him some days.”
Mercer almost smiled.
“What did he say?”
Jake could hear the older man’s voice clearly now.
“Good. Anybody who loves an institution every day probably isn’t paying attention.”
Mercer stared at him.
Jake frowned.
“Sir, who was he?”
Before Mercer could answer, somebody knocked.
Three slow knocks.
The major looked toward the door.
“Come in.”
Colonel Travis Hale entered.
Jake had seen Hale only twice before.
Both times from a distance.
The colonel commanded the entire installation support group and had the sort of reputation that made young Marines straighten their backs simply hearing his name.
Hale shut the door.
His eyes immediately went to Jake’s bruised face.
“Corporal Reynolds.”
“Sir.”
“I understand you were assaulted last night.”
Jake glanced at Mercer.
“That’s not how everyone else is describing it.”
“It is how I’m describing it.”
Hale placed a folder on Mercer’s desk.
“Your attacker has been identified.”
Jake waited.
“Who was he?”
“Former Staff Sergeant Eric Voss.”
“Former?”
“Separated three years ago.”
“Why would he attack me?”
Hale looked at Mercer.
Mercer looked away.
Jake felt his stomach tighten.
“Sir?”
Hale spoke carefully.
“Before Voss attacked you, did he say anything?”
Jake remembered being beside his truck.
A shadow stepping from between two parked vehicles.
A fist.
Concrete.
Then the man whispering something while Jake tried to stand.
“You should’ve let the old man pay his own bill.”
Jake’s throat went dry.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Jake repeated it.
The office became silent.
Colonel Hale closed his eyes for half a second.
Mercer swore under his breath.
Jake looked between them.
“So he knew about the diner.”
Neither officer answered.
“How?”
Still nothing.
Jake’s frustration rose.
“What exactly did I walk into?”
Colonel Hale came around the desk.
“Corporal, listen carefully. Until we know more, you are not to discuss the diner, the attack, or those numbers with anyone.”
“Why?”
“That is an order.”
“With respect, sir, someone broke two of my ribs because I bought a stranger twelve dollars worth of dinner.”
Hale’s expression softened slightly.
“I understand.”
“No, sir. I don’t think you do.”
Mercer looked alarmed.
But Hale raised one hand.
“Let him speak.”
Jake breathed through the pain in his ribs.
“I’ve been accused of starting a fight. My ID was tampered with. Somebody knew exactly where I was two weeks ago. And both of you clearly know something you’re not telling me.”
Hale nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
Jake waited.
“But I’m not authorized to tell you.”
“Who is?”
Hale looked at the clock.
“Someone arriving tomorrow morning.”
Jake stared at him.
“Who?”
Before Hale could answer, the secure telephone on his belt vibrated.
He checked the screen.
Everything about him changed.
He stepped away and answered.
“Hale.”
A pause.
“Yes, sir.”
Another pause.
His eyes moved to Jake.
“He’s standing right here.”
Jake felt cold.
Colonel Hale listened.
Then he said something that made Major Mercer stand straighter.
“Understood, General.”
He ended the call.
Jake looked from Hale to Mercer.
“What general?”
Hale slid the phone into his pocket.
“You’re reporting to Building One at 0800 tomorrow.”
“For what?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Sir, am I under investigation?”
Hale hesitated.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because somebody specifically requested you.”
Jake’s pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Hale looked toward the closed door.
Then back at Jake.
“The four-star general arriving on this base tomorrow morning.”
Jake stared.
He almost laughed, but the colonel’s expression stopped him.
“I don’t know any generals.”
Colonel Hale picked up Jake’s damaged identification card and placed it inside an evidence envelope.
“You might know this one.”
Jake’s phone vibrated inside his pocket.
All three officers looked at him.
Jake pulled it out.
Unknown number.
One message.
He opened it.
There were only six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM ALONE.
Then another message appeared.
A photograph.
Jake’s breath stopped.
It showed the rainy Harbor Light Diner.
Booth Seven.
Jake sitting across from the silver-haired stranger.
The picture had been taken from outside the window.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was one final line:
HE KNOWS WHAT YOU DID.
