Chapter 3 - The Room Without Records
Elena reached the restricted door before security did.
She pulled it open.
Nobody stood behind it.
Only an empty corridor stretched into darkness.
Blood marked the floor.
One drop.
Another.
Another.
Then nothing.
“General Mercer!” Ellis shouted.
No answer.
Elena crouched beside the final stain.
She touched it with two fingers.
Warm.
Reeves appeared behind her.
“You still do that.”
“Do what?”
“Move toward trouble before everyone else decides whether it's safe.”
She stood.
“That's probably why I died.”
Despite everything, Reeves almost smiled.
Crawford pushed through behind them.
“My security team handles this.”
Elena turned.
“Your security team let someone plant a note in your pocket.”
He stopped.
“That doesn't give you authority.”
“No. Experience does.”
“You're a civilian.”
“Then stop following me.”
She walked into the corridor.
Crawford followed.
Reeves whispered, “Still good at that too.”
The corridor led behind exhibition rooms into the convention center's service area.
Security lights pulsed along concrete walls.
Mercer's blood appeared again near a freight elevator.
Ellis checked the panel.
“Elevator's disabled.”
Elena looked upward.
“Camera?”
Ellis pointed at a black dome.
“No signal since the power interruption.”
Reeves studied the countdown on his phone.
Eight minutes remained.
“What happens at zero?” Elena asked.
“No idea.”
“You built Nightglass systems.”
“I built communications. Not this.”
Crawford looked at him.
“Who else knew the protocol?”
Reeves hesitated.
“Michael.”
Elena felt the name again.
Michael Hayes.
Alive.
Possibly somewhere inside the building.
She had once trusted him more than anyone except her husband.
Her husband, David Ward, had died five years earlier from cancer.
A real death.
No conspiracy.
No secret operation.
At least she had believed that.
The thought suddenly disturbed her.
How many things did she still believe simply because someone had handed her a death certificate?
They reached a security office.
The door was open.
Inside, two guards lay unconscious.
Alive.
No visible wounds.
Ellis checked one.
“Sedative.”
Elena noticed an open medical pouch on the floor.
Military-grade autoinjectors.
Professional.
Precise.
“No amateur did this,” she said.
Reeves agreed.
She sat at the computer.
Screens were black.
Crawford looked impatient.
“Can you restore them?”
Elena stared at him.
“You really don't know anything about me, do you?”
“I know you have an attitude.”
“That wasn't classified.”
Reeves connected the memory drive.
The screen flashed.
A login appeared.
ANGEL AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.
Elena looked at Reeves.
“You said you couldn't access the files.”
“I couldn't.”
“But it wants me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You didn't bring me here to expose the truth.”
Reeves looked guilty.
“You brought me because you needed a key.”
“I needed both.”
“You used me.”
“I ran out of choices.”
Elena stood.
“Find another key.”
“Elena, people are dying.”
“You had seventeen years to tell me.”
“I didn't know where you were.”
“You found me now.”
“Because someone else found you first.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
Reeves lowered his voice.
“The invitation wasn't my first contact.”
“What was?”
“A photograph.”
He removed his phone.
On the screen was Elena leaving a grocery store near her home in Virginia.
Taken three weeks ago.
Another showed her entering a library.
Another showed her sitting alone at David's grave.
Someone had been following her.
Under the final image was one sentence.
BRING ANGEL TO THE EXPO OR SHE DIES.
Elena's anger shifted.
“Why didn't you warn me?”
“I thought they'd kill you if I did.”
“Who sent this?”
“I don't know.”
The countdown reached six minutes.
She sat again.
The system requested a biometric scan.
Fingerprint.
She placed her thumb.
ACCESS DENIED.
VOICEPRINT REQUIRED.
A text box appeared.
STATE CALL SIGN AND FINAL NIGHTGLASS CODE.
Reeves looked at her.
“What was the code?”
Elena knew.
She had never said it after the mission.
Not once.
“Angel,” she said quietly. “Last light falls west.”
The computer chimed.
ACCESS GRANTED.
Files appeared.
Hundreds.
Transactions.
Mission reports.
Photographs.
Names.
Crawford stepped closer.
Elena searched NIGHTGLASS FINAL TRANSMISSION.
One result.
She opened it.
Audio.
Static.
Then a younger version of her own voice.
“Nightglass Actual to Command. Package verified. Repeat, package verified. Evidence confirms unauthorized weapons transfer through contractor Blue Meridian.”
Reeves's voice followed.
“Request immediate extraction.”
Then Michael Hayes.
“We've got movement north ridge.”
Then Mercer.
“Nightglass, hold position. Extraction inbound.”
Elena leaned closer.
A second voice entered the transmission.
Distorted.
“Negative. Redirect Nightglass to Point Seven.”
Her younger voice responded.
“Identify.”
The distorted speaker gave a clearance code.
Crawford stepped backward.
Elena paused the recording.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“You recognized it.”
“No.”
Reeves blocked the doorway.
“James.”
Crawford looked at him.
“That clearance code belonged to the procurement intelligence office.”
Crawford snapped, “It belonged to twelve officers.”
“Name them.”
“I don't remember everyone from seventeen years ago.”
Elena resumed the recording.
Mercer's younger voice protested.
“Point Seven is not secure.”
Distorted voice:
“Order confirmed.”
Mercer:
“Who authorized this?”
Then silence.
A gunshot.
Static.
The recording ended.
The countdown hit four minutes.
Another folder suddenly unlocked.
POST-OPERATION DISPOSITION.
Elena opened it.
Seven names.
Each carried a status.
REEVES: DECEASED.
WARD: DECEASED.
HAYES: DECEASED.
BENNETT: DECEASED.
COLE: DECEASED.
SHAW: DECEASED.
MORGAN: DECEASED.
All seven.
Elena scrolled.
There were attached orders.
New identities.
Relocation authorizations.
Payments.
“Wait,” Reeves said.
Elena looked.
Each order had been signed by Thomas Mercer.
Crawford smiled grimly.
“Your General buried you.”
Reeves stared.
“He protected us.”
“By declaring seven people dead?”
“He had to.”
Elena opened Michael Hayes's file.
RELOCATION FAILED.
SUBJECT REFUSED COMPLIANCE.
CURRENT STATUS: UNKNOWN.
Then Daniel Reeves.
IDENTITY COMPROMISED.
MONITOR.
Then her own.
Elena Ward.
ORIGINAL SURNAME: MARSH.
PROTECTION STATUS: ACTIVE.
MONITORING AUTHORITY—
The screen froze.
“Come on,” she whispered.
The countdown reached one minute.
Reeves unplugged the drive.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving what we can.”
A red warning flashed.
NIGHTGLASS PURGE IN 00:00:45.
Crawford understood.
“The countdown isn't an attack.”
“No,” Reeves said. “It's deleting everything.”
Elena began transferring folders.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
Ten.
The progress bar reached 64 percent.
Five.
Four.
Three.
The system went black.
Files gone.
Reeves checked the drive.
“Partial transfer.”
“How much?”
“Enough to prove something happened.”
“Not enough to prove who ordered it.”
Ellis's radio crackled.
“We found General Mercer.”
Elena grabbed it.
“Where?”
“Lower loading dock.”
“Condition?”
A pause.
“Alive.”
She exhaled.
“But there's something else.”
“What?”
“We found another person with him.”
Elena's grip tightened.
“Who?”
The officer on the radio hesitated.
“He says his name is Michael Hayes.”
Reeves closed his eyes.
Elena stared toward the corridor.
Then the officer added:
“He says Daniel Reeves is the man who tried to kill General Mercer.”
Elena slowly turned.
May you like
Reeves was standing behind her.
And the memory drive had disappeared from his hand.
