Chapter 3 - The Daughter of a Dead Man
General Mercer wanted federal agents involved.
I wanted Emma away from it.
Emma wanted neither of us making decisions for her.
That disagreement lasted exactly ninety seconds.
"I'm an officer now," she said from the passenger seat as I pulled onto the highway. "Maybe for five minutes, but still an officer."
"You're also my daughter."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"They are today."
"No."
I glanced at her.
She had changed out of her ceremonial coat but kept the uniform trousers and white undershirt. Her new gold bars were tucked carefully in a small case.
"This isn't a training exercise."
"I know."
"People disappeared over this."
"I know."
"You could get hurt."
"So could you."
"I'm used to it."
"That's the dumbest thing you've ever said."
Mercer sat behind us, speaking quietly on a secure phone.
His security detail followed in a black SUV.
We were heading toward the Nashville motel.
I had argued against it.
Then Mercer told me the agents he sent had found Room 214 empty.
No Rebecca.
No attacker.
No clear sign of where she went.
Only the rescue band.
When we arrived, the motel parking lot was blocked by local police and two unmarked federal vehicles.
I hated everything about it.
Too visible.
Too many uniforms.
Too many people who didn't know what they were looking for.
Mercer showed identification and took us upstairs.
Room 214 smelled like cleaning chemicals and stale air-conditioning.
A coffee cup sat on the desk.
Lipstick on the rim.
A suitcase lay open on the bed.
Emma moved toward it.
"Don't touch anything."
She stopped.
"I'm not twelve."
"No. When you were twelve, you listened occasionally."
An investigator wearing gloves approached Mercer.
"Sir, no forced entry. No blood. Security camera on the second-floor corridor went offline at 10:51."
"Parking lot cameras?"
"Vehicle left at 10:58. Plate obscured."
I looked toward the bathroom.
Something bothered me.
"What?"
Emma followed my gaze.
"The towels."
"What about them?"
"Only one used."
Mercer looked at me.
"So?"
"If somebody grabbed her unexpectedly, why did she pack almost everything?"
The suitcase wasn't tossed.
It was organized.
Half empty.
A toothbrush missing from the bathroom.
No shoes by the bed.
I walked toward the nightstand.
A motel Bible sat beneath the lamp.
Too neat.
I lifted it with a gloved tissue.
Underneath was a handwritten number.
71-6-4.
Mercer frowned.
"Mean anything?"
"Maybe."
Emma leaned closer.
"What?"
"Holloway used book ciphers."
Mercer stared.
"You remember?"
"I remember everything about those nine days."
The investigator brought over a Bible.
Page 71.
Line six.
Fourth word.
We counted.
RUN.
Emma exhaled.
"She left it intentionally."
I checked the next page.
A tiny pencil mark.
Page 72.
3-2-5.
We decoded it.
SAFE.
Then 119-8-1.
Not a word.
A name.
ELIAS.
My middle name.
Mercer looked at me.
"She knew you'd find this."
"She hoped."
Emma said, "So Rebecca wasn't kidnapped."
"No."
"Then who staged the room?"
"Maybe Rebecca."
Mercer shook his head.
"Why?"
"To make whoever is watching believe she was taken."
A knock came at the door.
One of Mercer's officers entered holding an evidence bag.
Inside was the leather rescue band.
I stared.
It wasn't Henry's.
I recognized the stamping.
B.T.
Ben Tully.
The helicopter pilot.
"That's impossible."
Mercer turned.
"What?"
"Tully's band."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"His widow donated his effects to a military museum after he died."
Emma whispered, "So somebody stole it."
"Or Ben didn't die with it."
Mercer's phone rang.
He answered.
"Mercer."
His posture changed.
"When?"
Pause.
"Send it to me."
He hung up.
"What?"
I asked.
"The museum."
"What about it?"
"Tully's rescue band isn't missing."
He looked at the bag.
"It's still in the display case."
Emma stared at the duplicate.
"So what's this?"
I knew before Mercer said it.
"A second band."
Rescue teams sometimes carried emergency replacements before deployment.
Blank pieces that could be stamped in the field.
If this one existed, somebody from Iron Lantern had kept it.
A memory returned.
Henry opening a small canvas pouch beside the helicopter.
Four leather straps.
Blank metal plates.
"Jack?"
Emma touched my shoulder.
I pointed to the inside edge.
"Look."
Tiny knife marks.
Three horizontal.
One vertical.
Mercer went still.
"What?"
"Henry marked equipment when he thought it had been tampered with."
"That mark means?"
"Compromised."
The entire room seemed colder.
Someone had left us a duplicate rescue band marked compromised.
A warning.
Mercer's security officer stepped into the hall.
Then immediately returned.
"Sir."
"What?"
"We found something under the truck driver's rig."
My pulse jumped.
We hurried downstairs.
A bomb technician was already under the Freightliner.
Emma moved closer.
I caught her arm.
"No."
"Dad—"
"Stay back."
The technician emerged holding a small magnetic box.
Not explosive.
Tracking device.
Mercer swore quietly.
"How long has that been there?"
The technician shrugged.
"Could be hours. Could be days."
I thought of truck stops.
Fuel stations.
Rest areas.
The stadium.
Someone hadn't found me because of Emma's commissioning post alone.
They had been following me.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number again.
I stared at the screen.
A video file.
Mercer said, "Don't open it."
I opened it.
Static appeared first.
Then a man's face.
Older.
Thin.
Gray beard.
Deep scar running from the left temple toward the jaw.
The video was dark and grainy.
But I knew the eyes.
My hand began to shake.
Emma whispered, "Who is that?"
The man looked directly into the camera.
"Ghost."
I stopped breathing.
His voice was weaker.
Older.
But unmistakable.
Henry Holloway.
"If you're watching this, Rebecca found you."
Emma grabbed my arm.
The video continued.
"You kept your promise longer than I deserved."
My vision blurred.
"I couldn't come home. Voss made sure of that."
Mercer moved closer.
Henry coughed.
"Don't trust the official Iron Lantern file. Don't trust the after-action report."
Then his eyes shifted toward somebody off camera.
Fear.
Real fear.
He leaned toward the camera.
"The betrayal didn't happen on the ridge."
The video glitched.
"It started before we deployed."
Mercer whispered, "Jesus."
Henry continued.
"One man changed the flight plan. One man delayed rescue. One man erased my family."
A sound came from behind him.
A door opening.
Henry looked over his shoulder.
Then back at us.
"If I'm gone before Ghost sees this, tell him Rebecca has the ledger."
The screen went black.
Emma whispered, "What ledger?"
A final frame appeared.
A photograph.
Henry.
Rebecca.
And a third person standing beside them.
Mercer.
Twenty years younger.
I turned toward him.
"What the hell is this?"
His face had gone white.
"I've never met Rebecca."
The motel door slammed shut behind us.
All three of us turned.
A voice came from the hallway.
"General Mercer?"
One of the federal agents stepped inside holding a phone.
"Sir, we just identified the vehicle that left the motel."
"Who owns it?"
The agent looked directly at me.
"Jackson Elias Carter."
Emma stared at me.
I shook my head.
"That's impossible."
The agent continued.
"And that's not the worst part."
He turned the screen around.
The traffic camera photograph showed a man driving the vehicle.
Gray beard.
Scarred face.
Alive.
May you like
Henry Holloway was behind the wheel.
And Rebecca was sitting beside him.
