Chapter 6 - The Eighth Man
Walter stared at the pin in Ray's hand.
His number.
His supposed key.
"Talk."
Ray lowered his eyes.
"There were eight men connected to Lantern."
Walter shook his head.
"Seven."
"Seven operators."
"And the eighth?"
Ray looked at him.
"The man who got us out."
Walter remembered fragments.
Smoke.
Blood.
A helicopter that wasn't supposed to come.
A stranger dragging Walter aboard after Walter refused to leave without the others.
Walter had never seen the man's face clearly.
Ray continued.
"His name was Henry Cole."
Nathan went completely still.
Walter turned.
"Cole?"
Nathan's face emptied.
"My grandfather."
Nobody spoke.
Nathan shook his head.
"He died before I was born."
Ray answered, "That's what your family was told."
Walter touched the pin on his lapel.
"Whose is this?"
"Henry's."
Nathan stepped forward.
"Why would my grandfather give his pin to Walter?"
Ray's voice softened.
"Because he saved Walter's life."
The room shifted.
Walter remembered a hand pressing something into his palm while morphine pulled him under.
Keep it.
He had assumed the pin belonged to his unit.
It didn't.
Nathan stared at the old man he had humiliated.
The object he'd mocked belonged to his own grandfather.
Walter saw shame crush him.
"Nathan."
"I pointed at it."
"Yes."
"I accused you of stealing it."
"Yes."
"My grandfather gave it to you."
"Apparently."
Nathan sat.
Walter lowered himself beside him.
"Life has a nasty sense of humor."
Nathan looked up.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"No. I mean—"
"I know."
That was enough.
Ray explained that Henry Cole had been an intelligence extraction pilot working unofficially with Lantern.
After rescuing Walter, Henry discovered the conspiracy extended into command.
He disappeared to protect his family.
His special identification pin had been left with Walter because Walter was the only survivor officially outside the hidden network.
The real 417 remained with Ray.
Voss believed Walter's visible pin was necessary because his father had spent decades searching for Henry Cole's missing identifier.
"What does Henry's pin open?" Hale asked.
Ray shook his head.
"I don't know."
Nathan looked at Walter's pin.
"Voss does."
And now Voss had Nathan's daughter.
Walter removed the pin.
For the first time in decades, his lapel felt naked.
They went to the pier.
Not alone.
Voss expected surveillance, so Hale kept his people far back.
Walter and Nathan approached together.
Voss called immediately.
"I said alone."
Walter answered, "He's the girl's father."
"Send him away."
"No."
Silence.
Then Voss laughed.
"You were stubborn in 1968 too."
Walter stopped.
"You were there?"
"I was thirteen."
Walter remembered a boy.
Charles Voss had brought his son to the facility once.
A quiet teenager standing in a hallway.
Walter had forgotten him.
Voss directed them toward an abandoned warehouse.
Inside, Nathan's daughter Emily sat in a chair.
Unhurt.
A woman stood behind her.
Captain Cross's wife.
Nathan froze.
Cross emerged.
Walter stared at him.
"You."
Cross raised both hands.
"I'm helping get her out."
Voss appeared on an overhead walkway.
"Put the pin on the table."
Walter did.
Voss descended.
He picked it up.
For the first time, genuine emotion appeared on his face.
"Henry Cole."
Nathan said, "Where is he?"
Voss looked at him.
"Alive."
Nathan staggered.
Walter stared.
Henry Cole would be over ninety.
"Where?"
Voss smiled.
"Waiting."
He ordered them into a vehicle.
The destination was an old coastal bunker.
Inside was a door unlike the seven-key vault.
One slot.
Voss inserted Henry's pin.
The door opened.
A small room.
No treasure.
No weapons.
A desk.
A tape recorder.
And an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair.
Nathan stopped breathing.
The man looked at him.
Tears filled his eyes.
"Nathan?"
Nathan whispered, "Grandpa?"
Henry Cole was ninety-four.
Alive.
Voss had found him six months earlier.
He'd been kept prisoner because only Henry knew where the final copy of Elizabeth Voss's testimony was hidden.
Nathan knelt beside him.
Henry touched his grandson's face.
"You look like your father."
Walter stood quietly.
Henry looked past Nathan.
"Walt."
Walter smiled through tears.
"You took your time."
Henry laughed weakly.
"I've been busy."
For one brief moment, fifty-eight years of lies disappeared.
Then Voss raised a gun.
"Enough."
Nathan stood.
Voss demanded the testimony.
Henry refused.
Voss aimed at Emily.
Walter stepped forward.
"No."
Voss smiled.
"Still protecting everyone."
Walter looked at Henry.
Henry looked toward the tape recorder.
Walter understood.
He pressed PLAY.
Elizabeth Voss's voice filled the bunker.
She described everything.
Charles's betrayals.
The payments.
The deaths.
And something Andrew had done as a teenager.
He had discovered his mother's cooperation.
He told his father.
That information led to James Mercer's murder.
Andrew Voss's face collapsed.
"Turn it off."
Walter didn't.
Elizabeth's final words played.
If my son Andrew ever hears this, I hope he understands that protecting evil does not make him loyal. It only makes him part of it.
Voss screamed and raised his gun.
Nathan moved.
Cross moved.
Walter pulled Emily down.
A shot fired.
Voss fell.
The bullet had struck his shoulder.
Cross stood holding the weapon.
Federal agents flooded the bunker.
Hale had tracked them.
Voss was arrested.
Emily ran into Nathan's arms.
Nathan held her so tightly she complained she couldn't breathe.
He laughed and cried simultaneously.
Walter helped Henry.
It seemed finished.
But Henry grabbed Walter's wrist.
"No."
Walter frowned.
"What?"
Henry looked toward the single-key room.
"Voss wasn't the only one looking for the testimony."
Hale approached.
Henry stared directly at him.
"Thomas."
Admiral Hale froze.
Walter looked between them.
Henry whispered, "Tell Walter why you really saluted him."
Nobody moved.
Hale's face went pale.
Then Henry pointed at Hale's uniform.
"Ask him what happened to the original seventh file."
Walter turned toward the admiral.
Hale slowly reached inside his jacket.
He removed a sealed envelope.
May you like
Walter's name was written across the front.
And the handwriting belonged to Walter's father.
