Chapter 3 - The Room Above the Dining Table
“Stay where you are,” I ordered.
Nobody listened.
Grant swore.
Patricia screamed Daniel's name.
Harrison moved toward the hallway.
I caught his sleeve.
“Don't.”
“My security system—”
“Is probably compromised.”
Emergency lights flickered on several seconds later, filling the corridor with dim amber illumination.
Naomi drew her service weapon but kept it lowered.
“Everybody together.”
The family obeyed now.
Funny how quickly social hierarchy disappeared when people became frightened.
We heard a footstep upstairs.
Then another.
Daniel looked at me.
“Someone's in the house?”
“Possibly.”
Grant whispered, “How?”
Harrison didn't answer.
That interested me.
Naomi called for the officers at the front entrance.
No response.
She tried again.
Static.
“Signal jammer,” I said.
“Likely.”
Harrison muttered something.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“I said there's a panic room.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs.”
Of course there was.
“Can it communicate externally?”
“Yes.”
“Then take us there.”
He hesitated.
“Harrison.”
He led us upstairs.
The Mercer house was enormous, but I had visited enough times to know the layout.
Guest rooms to the east.
Master suite west.
A gallery overlooking the foyer.
Harrison stopped beside a painting.
He pressed a hidden panel.
Nothing happened.
“Power's out,” Grant said.
“Backup should work.”
Harrison entered a code manually.
The panel clicked.
Behind it was a steel door.
Grant stared.
“You have a panic room?”
Harrison ignored him.
Inside were monitors, communications equipment, emergency supplies and a secure telephone.
But one monitor was already turned on.
Naomi saw it.
“So much for the outage.”
The screen displayed security-camera feeds.
One camera showed the dining room.
Another showed the driveway.
The two federal officers who had been stationed outside were alive, standing beside their vehicle and speaking urgently into radios.
The jammer affected internal communications only.
Then I noticed camera six.
Harrison's office.
A figure in dark clothing stood behind his desk.
Grant stepped closer.
“Who is that?”
The figure opened a drawer.
Naomi spoke into the secure phone.
I watched.
The intruder removed a folder.
Then looked directly into the camera.
Not accidentally.
Deliberately.
The face was hidden behind a black mask.
But the intruder raised one gloved hand and held something toward the lens.
A photograph.
My photograph.
Military portrait.
Commander Evelyn Cross-Mercer.
Underneath it, written in black marker:
SHE KNOWS.
The feed went black.
Daniel whispered, “Evelyn.”
I was already moving.
Naomi caught my shoulder.
“No.”
“They're taking evidence.”
“And may be waiting for you.”
She was right.
I hated that.
We remained inside while the exterior officers secured the property.
Seven minutes later the lights returned.
The intruder was gone.
No broken windows.
No forced doors.
Whoever entered had access.
The missing folder was worse.
Harrison initially claimed he didn't know what it contained.
Naomi didn't believe him.
Neither did I.
Eventually he sat in the library surrounded by federal investigators.
Thanksgiving dinner remained untouched in the next room.
The turkey had gone cold.
Broken crystal still covered the floor where Grant had fallen.
It felt like hours ago.
Naomi placed a recorder on the table.
“Harrison Mercer, what was in the folder?”
He stared at me.
“I want a lawyer.”
“You're entitled to one.”
“Then I'm finished.”
I leaned forward.
“Someone accessed Nightglass.”
His expression shifted.
“Evelyn,” Daniel said softly.
I ignored him.
“Your wife recognized the name. You recognized Admiral Reyes. Somebody installed classified hardware in your office.”
Harrison said nothing.
“Whatever you're protecting is already collapsing.”
Still nothing.
Then Grant spoke from the doorway.
“Dad, tell them.”
Harrison looked at his son.
Grant's face had changed since dinner.
The arrogance was gone.
For once, he looked like a man confronting consequences larger than himself.
“My login was used,” Grant said. “If you know why, tell them.”
Harrison closed his eyes.
Patricia sat beside him.
“Tell them,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes.
“Nightglass started as a supply contract.”
I didn't move.
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
That was impossible.
Nightglass had officially begun eighteen months earlier.
“What kind of contract?”
“Prototype communications hardware.”
“With whom?”
He looked at Naomi.
“I didn't know the end user.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It was compartmentalized.”
“Contract number?”
“I don't remember.”
I believed that even less.
Harrison continued.
“We built components according to specifications. Nothing unusual.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because eighteen months ago, somebody contacted me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“They told me Nightglass had been compromised.”
My skin went cold.
“Compromised how?”
“Hardware produced by my company had been modified.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“Modified to do what?”
“Transmit.”
Daniel stared at his father.
“Transmit what?”
“Operational data.”
Silence.
That could cost lives.
Harrison looked at me.
“I panicked.”
“You covered it up.”
“I tried to find out who was responsible.”
“Without notifying the government?”
“If I'd reported it immediately, Mercer Strategic Systems would have lost every defense contract we had.”
Grant laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“That's what you cared about?”
“I cared about twelve hundred employees.”
“You cared about the company.”
“Yes!” Harrison shouted. “Because the company supports twelve hundred families!”
I stood.
“And how many military families could compromised hardware destroy?”
He had no answer.
Patricia began crying quietly.
Daniel stared at the floor.
The family that had spent two years measuring my worth by salary and status was discovering what their own status had cost them.
Naomi asked, “Who else knew?”
Harrison looked toward Patricia.
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
“Patricia.”
“I said don't.”
But Harrison answered.
“My wife.”
Grant looked at his mother.
“Mom?”
She covered her mouth.
“And one employee,” Harrison continued.
“Name?”
He hesitated.
“Martin Vale.”
I knew that name.
Everybody in naval procurement knew it.
Martin Vale had been a cybersecurity consultant.
He had died eight months earlier.
Car accident.
At least officially.
Naomi looked at me.
We were thinking the same thing.
“Vale discovered the modification?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And then died?”
Harrison nodded.
Daniel whispered, “Jesus.”
“What was in the stolen folder?”
Harrison's voice became quieter.
“Vale's evidence.”
There it was.
The thing somebody had entered the house to steal.
“Copies?”
“No.”
“Digital?”
“He refused.”
“Why?”
“He believed our network was compromised.”
Smart man.
“What evidence?”
Harrison looked at me.
“A list.”
“Of what?”
“People.”
“What people?”
He swallowed.
“People involved in changing the hardware.”
Naomi asked, “Employees?”
“Some.”
“Government personnel?”
Harrison didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
“Who was on the list?”
“I only saw three names.”
“Give them to me.”
He named two Mercer engineers.
Both unfamiliar.
Then stopped.
“And the third?”
Harrison stared at me.
I suddenly understood why he had recognized my rank.
Why he'd known more about me than he'd admitted.
“The third person wasn't from my company.”
“Who?”
He looked toward Daniel.
“No.”
Daniel frowned.
“Dad?”
“I won't.”
I stepped closer.
“Harrison, people may already have died because of this.”
He rubbed his forehead.
Then whispered, “Your commanding officer.”
My pulse stopped.
“Admiral Reyes?”
Harrison nodded.
I stared at him.
Impossible.
Reyes had mentored me for nine years.
He had recommended me for command.
He had personally selected me for Nightglass.
My government phone rang.
Everyone looked down.
ADMIRAL REYES.
Naomi whispered, “Don't answer.”
The phone stopped.
A message appeared instead.
EVELYN, DO NOT TRUST NCIS. COME ALONE.
Then another message arrived.
THIS INCLUDES YOUR HUSBAND.
Daniel read it over my shoulder.
His face went white.
Before either of us could speak, someone knocked on the library window.
Three slow knocks.
We turned.
May you like
A man stood outside in the darkness.
And in his hand was the folder stolen from Harrison's office.
