Chapter 3 - The Shot Nobody Could Explain
We waited until the range was completely secured before moving.
Nolan sent two men toward the perimeter.
Mercer contacted base security.
Kane wanted the entire matter moved to a classified facility.
I refused.
"If Aaron left something here, we're finding it."
Kane looked at me.
"You don't know that Aaron left the note."
"Neither do you."
"Which is exactly why charging toward those coordinates is reckless."
Nolan folded his arms.
"He's right."
I looked at him.
"That must hurt."
"Enjoy it. Doesn't happen often."
Despite everything, Mercer nearly smiled.
The coordinates led beyond the six-hundred-meter berm to an old maintenance strip no longer used by range vehicles.
Security swept it first.
Nothing.
Then we walked.
The heat had settled into the ground.
Every step through the gravel brought memories I didn't want.
Eleven years earlier, Aaron had stood beside me on this same range.
He had been the only person who knew how nervous I was before the record attempt.
He had also been the only one who didn't offer advice.
Just before I went prone, he had said, You already know what to do. Stop listening to everyone else.
That had been Aaron.
He understood that sometimes confidence wasn't something another person gave you.
Sometimes they gave you silence so you could find it yourself.
We reached the coordinates.
Nothing obvious.
Nolan surveyed the dirt.
"What are we looking for?"
"I don't know."
Kane pointed toward an old target frame half buried beside the service road.
"There."
The frame was rusted.
On one metal support, someone had carved three letters.
RAV.
My throat tightened.
Mercer crouched.
"Same marking as the plaque."
I nodded.
Aaron had scratched that nickname onto the original board after my record.
I had threatened to break his finger for it.
He'd laughed for ten minutes.
Nolan examined the ground.
"Recently disturbed."
Kane shook his head.
"Could be maintenance."
"No."
Nolan pointed.
"Different compaction."
He began digging with a folding tool.
Six inches down, metal appeared.
A weatherproof box.
No markings.
Mercer looked at me.
"Want the honors?"
I knelt and opened it.
Inside were four things.
An old encrypted drive.
A laminated photograph.
A shell casing.
And a letter.
My name was written across the front.
Claire.
I knew the handwriting.
Aaron.
My fingers trembled for the first time all day.
I opened it.
Claire,
If you found this, then somebody finally made the mistake of bringing you back to Range Twelve.
Trust Mercer.
Don't trust the record.
And whatever they tell you, remember Kodiak wasn't your failure.
The rest was shorter.
Vector wasn't built to find the best shooters.
It was built to identify people who could see patterns before others did.
Someone realized that ability could be used for more than shooting.
Someone inside the program began manipulating operations to test us under real casualties.
I found proof.
Kane knows part of it.
He doesn't know the name.
The drive does.
My eyes stopped there.
Nolan was reading my face.
"What?"
I continued.
One more thing.
If they tell you I'm dead, ask them where they buried me.
Aaron
I lowered the page.
Nobody spoke.
Kane looked sick.
"You knew," I said.
"No."
"You signed the casualty report."
"I was given confirmation."
"From whom?"
His mouth tightened.
"I can't remember."
I stepped toward him.
"You better."
Nolan moved between us.
"Not helping."
I wanted to shove him aside.
Instead, I stopped.
He was right.
Again.
Infuriating.
Mercer picked up the encrypted drive.
"Can we access this?"
Kane nodded slowly.
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Vector encryption."
Nolan frowned.
"I thought Vector was dead."
"So did I."
We returned to the tower.
Base security had found no shooter.
The cylinder had apparently been launched from a pneumatic device outside the immediate perimeter.
Whoever delivered it had planned carefully.
Kane connected the drive to an isolated terminal.
A login screen appeared.
USERNAME.
PASSWORD.
Mercer looked at Kane.
"You?"
Kane tried.
Denied.
I tried Aaron's old identification number.
Denied.
Nolan leaned over my shoulder.
"What's the shell casing for?"
I hadn't considered it.
I picked it up.
7.62 brass.
A number had been etched along the side.
I entered it.
Denied.
Kane examined the photograph.
It showed the original Range Twelve qualification team.
Aaron.
Me.
Mercer.
Kane.
And three others.
One face had been scratched out.
Nolan pointed.
"Who's that?"
Kane stared.
"I don't know."
"You stood beside him in a photograph."
"Eleven years ago."
"You don't forget people in programs this small."
Kane's silence answered for him.
I turned the photo over.
A sentence was written on the back.
THE RECORD IS THE PASSWORD.
Nolan looked toward the window.
"4.6?"
"No."
I typed 4.2.
The drive unlocked.
Mercer whispered, "Jesus."
Folders filled the screen.
Dozens.
Mission names.
Candidate profiles.
Operational reports.
Some dated after Vector had supposedly been terminated.
Kane sat down.
"No."
"What?" I asked.
"This can't be right."
I opened the most recent folder.
Three weeks old.
Inside were photographs.
Nolan.
Mercer.
Several members of the current SEAL team.
And me.
The photograph of me had been taken outside my apartment.
My stomach dropped.
Someone had been watching me before the evaluation order arrived.
Nolan's face hardened.
"We're current targets."
Mercer scrolled.
"Target isn't the right word."
He opened another file.
SELECTION CYCLE 12.
Nolan read aloud.
"Environmental cognition under social pressure."
His eyes shifted to me.
"Today."
I understood.
The confrontation.
The challenge.
The record.
Maybe even Nolan's hostility had been anticipated.
Someone wasn't simply watching.
They were testing.
Again.
Kane stood.
"Shut it down."
I didn't.
"Claire."
I opened the next file.
A video.
Timestamped during Kodiak.
My breath stopped.
The screen showed grainy aerial footage of the ridge where three people had died.
A marker tracked our team.
Then another marker appeared above a hostile position.
Thirty seconds before we entered the kill zone.
Someone had known.
Someone had seen the ambush.
And withheld the warning.
Nolan leaned closer.
"Play it."
Audio crackled.
A man's voice.
"Do not transmit."
Another voice answered.
"They'll walk straight into it."
"I know."
"Rowan will detect the shooter."
"That's the point."
I froze.
Nolan looked at me.
Mercer's hand curled into a fist.
The first voice continued.
"We need to know how quickly."
Gunfire erupted in the recording.
I stepped away from the computer.
For nine years, I had believed I failed to see the threat quickly enough.
Nine years of waking at 3:00 a.m.
Nine years hearing Aaron's voice in my dreams.
Nine years wondering what I could have noticed one second earlier.
They had known.
They sent us in anyway.
Kane whispered, "I never heard this."
I turned on him.
"Who did?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
The video ended.
A metadata pane opened automatically.
AUTHORIZED BY: DIRECTOR HOLLIS.
Mercer looked at Kane.
"Who's Hollis?"
Kane's face went blank.
Then fear entered it.
Not surprise.
Fear.
"Kane."
He backed away from the table.
"You need to destroy that drive."
Nolan blocked the door.
"Not happening."
"You don't understand."
"Then help us."
Kane looked at me.
"Claire, Hollis didn't run Vector."
"Who did?"
"He created it."
"Where is he?"
Kane swallowed.
"Officially?"
My blood went cold.
Nolan shook his head.
"Don't say it."
Kane answered anyway.
"Buried at Arlington eight years ago."
Mercer gave a bitter laugh.
"Another dead man."
A phone rang.
Not mine.
Not Nolan's.
Kane's.
He looked at the screen.
All the color drained from his face.
"Who is it?" I asked.
Kane turned the phone toward us.
The caller identification displayed one word.
HOLLIS.
He answered on speaker.
Nobody breathed.
A man's voice came through.
"Everett."
Kane gripped the table.
"Hollis?"
"You should have stayed dead."
The line disconnected.
Then the lights inside the tower went out.
A second later, the electronic lock on the door clicked.
Mercer reached for the handle.
It would not move.
Nolan looked toward the window.
Down on the supposedly cleared firing line, one target had risen by itself.
A human silhouette.
May you like
And painted across its chest were two words.
HELLO, RAVEN.
