Chapter 2 - The Meaning of the Pin
"Security!" Hale shouted.
The room moved at once.
The civilian man's hand came out of his coat.
Nathan stepped between Walter and the stranger.
Two Marines rushed forward.
The man froze.
In his hand was not a weapon.
It was an envelope.
"I need to give this to Walter Mercer."
"Hands where I can see them," Nathan ordered.
The stranger placed the envelope on the floor.
"I'm unarmed."
Within seconds he was against the wall.
Walter remained standing behind Nathan.
The young SEAL who had mocked him minutes earlier was now shielding him with his own body.
Walter noticed the irony.
He didn't comment.
Hale did.
"Who are you?"
"Samuel Price."
Walter's face changed.
"Price?"
The man looked at him.
"My father was Benjamin Price."
Walter gripped the table.
Ben Price.
Black water returned.
A hand reaching from the waves.
Blood washing from a man's shoulder.
Walter closed his eyes.
"Your father died in 1968."
Samuel nodded.
"He told us you would say that."
Walter opened his eyes.
"What?"
"He didn't die in 1968."
Nobody spoke.
Samuel looked at the envelope on the floor.
"He died eleven days ago."
The room seemed to shrink around Walter.
Hale ordered everyone back.
Samuel was searched.
No weapon.
No threat.
Only an old photograph, a driver's license, and the envelope.
Walter picked it up himself.
His name was written across the front.
The handwriting was shaky.
He knew it anyway.
Benjamin Price.
Walter sat.
Nathan stood nearby, suddenly unsure whether he belonged there.
Walter opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Seven young men stood beside a gray military transport aircraft.
Their faces were sunburned.
Their uniforms were dirty.
Walter was third from the left.
Benjamin Price stood beside him.
All seven men wore versions of the same strange pin.
Nathan stared.
"What unit was that?"
Walter didn't answer.
Hale did.
"There was no official unit."
Walter gave him a sharp look.
Hale continued carefully.
"At least not one acknowledged publicly."
Nathan looked at Walter.
"Special operations?"
Walter laughed without humor.
"Before people had nice names for everything."
The letter inside the envelope was short.
Walter read silently.
Walt,
If you're reading this, I'm gone.
I'm sorry I let you believe I died.
I was ordered to disappear.
We all were.
Someone has been searching for the seven pins.
I thought they wanted the metal.
I was wrong.
They want what the pins unlock.
You're the last one.
Don't give yours to anyone.
Especially not the Navy.
—Ben
Walter folded the letter.
Hale looked disturbed.
"What does he mean, unlock?"
Walter stared at the tarnished pin.
"I don't know."
Nathan almost spoke.
Then stopped himself.
Walter noticed.
"Go ahead."
Nathan hesitated.
"Sir—Mr. Mercer—I owe you an apology."
"Yes."
Nathan wasn't expecting such a direct answer.
Walter looked at him.
"You embarrassed an old man because you wanted the room to know you were important."
Nathan's jaw tightened.
Walter continued.
"That's not leadership."
"No, sir."
"Stop calling me sir."
"Yes—Mr. Mercer."
"Better."
Nathan glanced at the pin.
"But if someone is looking for that, you may be in danger."
Walter smiled faintly.
"Commander, I've been in danger since before your father learned to shave."
Hale almost smiled.
Then Walter's expression became serious.
"But Ben was afraid."
That mattered.
Benjamin Price had never been afraid.
Not when their boat overturned.
Not when he was shot.
Not when six men were surrounded and he volunteered to draw fire.
If Ben had spent fifty-eight years hiding, something had followed them home.
Hale ordered the mess hall secured.
The viral photograph was traced.
It had been posted by a junior sailor who thought Nathan's confrontation was amusing.
Someone had copied it within ninety seconds.
The anonymous message followed two minutes later.
The stranger had known Walter was there almost immediately.
Nathan stared at the floor.
"This started because of me."
Walter corrected him.
"No. It started because somebody took a picture."
"I created the scene."
"Then learn from it."
Walter stood.
Hale told him he wasn't leaving alone.
Walter objected.
Hale ignored him.
That surprised Nathan more than anything else.
Few people ignored Walter Mercer successfully.
They moved into a secure conference room.
Samuel Price joined them.
There he explained his father's secret.
Benjamin had lived under another name for decades.
He had married.
Raised children.
Worked as a mechanic.
Only near death had he told Samuel the truth.
"He kept one thing locked in a safe," Samuel said.
"What?" Walter asked.
"His pin."
Walter looked at him.
"Where is it?"
"Gone."
"When?"
"The night he died."
Hale leaned forward.
"Stolen?"
Samuel nodded.
"The house wasn't disturbed. No money missing. No jewelry. Just the pin."
Walter removed his own.
Nathan saw the back clearly for the first time.
Three numbers.
4-1-7.
Hale frowned.
"Four seventeen."
Walter nodded.
"Ben's was 416."
Samuel stared.
"How do you know?"
"We were issued sequentially."
Nathan asked, "What were the others?"
Walter looked toward the window.
"411 through 417."
Seven men.
Seven pins.
Hale ordered a classified archive search.
The results were strange.
Every record referencing Walter's old operational team had been sealed under an authority that no longer existed.
Even Hale couldn't access it.
Then one file appeared.
A casualty report.
Seven names.
Six listed as killed.
One listed as surviving.
Walter Mercer.
Nathan read the names.
Alan Briggs.
Joseph Turner.
Marcus Webb.
Raymond Sloan.
David Keller.
Benjamin Price.
Walter Mercer.
Samuel whispered, "My father wasn't dead."
Walter shook his head.
"No."
Nathan looked at the list.
"If Price survived, maybe others did."
Walter stared at him.
That possibility had haunted him for half a century.
He had attended funerals without bodies.
Written letters to mothers.
Carried guilt for being the only man who came home.
Hale's aide entered.
"Sir, archive search found something else."
He placed a folder on the table.
Inside was a blueprint.
A secure storage facility beneath an abandoned naval installation.
On the blueprint was a vault.
Beside it:
411-417 REQUIRED.
Seven pins.
Seven keys.
Walter stared.
Hale said, "Whatever is inside requires all seven."
Samuel whispered, "Then whoever stole my father's pin..."
"Has at least one," Nathan finished.
Walter stood.
"Find the families of the others."
Hale's aide began searching.
One by one, the answers appeared.
Alan Briggs's daughter reported a burglary six months earlier.
Joseph Turner's widow had died after a home invasion.
Marcus Webb's grandson reported a missing military keepsake.
Raymond Sloan's estate had been robbed.
David Keller's son had disappeared.
Five pins.
Then Benjamin's.
Six.
Everyone looked at Walter.
The seventh.
Hale ordered armed protection.
Walter refused.
Nathan spoke.
"Sir, with respect, that's not your decision anymore."
Walter looked at him.
Nathan swallowed.
"Mr. Mercer."
Walter almost smiled.
Hale assigned Nathan personally.
Nathan accepted without hesitation.
That evening they drove toward Walter's small Coronado home.
Nathan sat beside him.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Finally Nathan said, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"About what?"
"Who you were."
Walter looked out the window.
"Because respect that requires a résumé isn't respect."
Nathan absorbed that.
They reached Walter's street at 7:42 p.m.
The porch light was off.
Walter frowned.
"I left it on."
Nathan's hand moved toward his sidearm.
"Stay in the vehicle."
Walter ignored him and opened the door.
Nathan cursed quietly and followed.
The front door was closed.
No visible damage.
Nathan touched the handle.
Unlocked.
Walter whispered, "I locked it."
Nathan pushed the door open.
The living room was dark.
Something sat on Walter's coffee table.
A wooden box.
Walter had never seen it before.
Nathan illuminated it with a flashlight.
On the lid were seven carved numbers.
Walter's blood went cold.
Nathan opened the box.
Six tarnished pins lay inside.
One slot was empty.
Walter touched his lapel.
May you like
Then a floorboard creaked upstairs.
Someone was still inside the house.
