Chapter 7 - I Had Every Reason to Let My Brother Pay for What He DidThere is a version of me I don't enjoy remembering.
She heard Curtis was in danger and hesitated.
Only for a second.
But she hesitated.
My brother had betrayed information that helped compromise my mission.
He had helped frame me.
He had threatened our mother.
He had tried to destroy my reputation because facing his own guilt was harder.
If consequences were justice, why save him?
Then I remembered General Reeves.
Truth, not revenge.
I called Agent Bell.
“Find that convoy.”
They tried.
The transport vehicles were supposed to follow Interstate 64.
They disappeared from tracking twelve minutes after departure.
The contractor Rebecca named, Daniel Pike, reported a “system failure.”
Then communication stopped entirely.
State police began searching.
I asked for the planned route.
Bell refused.
I reminded him I'd spent years in operational logistics.
He still refused.
Then Reeves pulled rank in a way that probably created paperwork for half the Pentagon.
We got the route.
I studied it.
Dalton wouldn't attack on the interstate.
Too visible.
He needed a transfer point where surveillance could be interrupted.
One existed.
A maintenance detour caused by bridge construction.
Ten miles of rural road.
I pointed.
“Here.”
Police reached the first transport vehicle seventeen minutes later.
Empty.
The driver was alive but injured.
Pike was gone.
Curtis was gone.
A second guard had been bound.
Dalton finally had my brother.
Agent Bell asked why.
“To silence him?”
I shook my head.
“Curtis already talked.”
“So?”
“Dalton wants something.”
“What?”
Then I remembered Dad's notebook.
Dalton believed Curtis had something.
Maybe evidence.
Maybe access.
We searched Curtis's cooperation transcripts.
Nothing.
Then one detail caught my attention.
Curtis had repeatedly asked whether investigators had recovered his father's watch.
Why?
Dad's watch was a cheap old Hamilton he wore despite owning expensive ones.
Curtis took it after the funeral.
I assumed sentimental value.
Maybe not.
Agents searched Curtis's property inventory.
The watch had been seized.
A technician opened it.
Inside the case backing was a micro-SD card.
My father had created more than one copy.
The card contained encryption keys.
Enough to unlock a larger data archive stored somewhere online.
Curtis apparently didn't know exactly what was on it, but Dalton did.
Now Dalton had Curtis.
We had the card.
That made my brother bargaining material.
At 9:18 p.m., a video arrived on my phone.
Curtis sat tied to a metal chair in an industrial building.
Bruised.
Alive.
Dalton stepped into frame.
I hadn't seen him since Dad's funeral.
He looked older.
Still elegant.
Still composed.
“Evelyn,” he said.
“You have something I need.”
He held up Curtis's hand.
“Your brother has approximately eight fingers I don't require.”
The video ended.
A message followed.
The card for Curtis. Come alone.
Agent Bell actually laughed when I suggested going.
“No.”
“He'll kill Curtis.”
“We're not letting you walk into a hostage exchange alone.”
“He'll know if you're there.”
“Then we let him know.”
I studied the video.
Behind Dalton was a wall.
Rust.
A yellow stripe.
Above it, partially visible numbers.
17-B.
I knew that wall.
Carter Aerospace had numbered old engine-test bays that way.
“It's the Chesapeake facility.”
Agents mobilized.
But Dalton anticipated that.
The facility had eleven buildings and underground utility tunnels.
Thermal scanning produced multiple heat signatures.
Some were decoys.
Some were automated heaters.
One might be Curtis.
Dalton sent another message.
Thirty minutes.
I made a decision.
Bell hated it.
Reeves hated it more.
I would go in visibly.
Agents would remain outside the perimeter.
A tactical team would use the utility drawings Dad preserved to approach underground.
I wore a transmitter.
No weapon.
No armor visible beneath my coat.
Reeves pulled me aside.
“If this becomes unstable, you leave your brother.”
I stared at him.
“Sir—”
“That isn't a suggestion.”
“I won't leave him.”
Reeves's eyes hardened.
“You cannot fix his choices by dying beside him.”
That followed me inside.
The Chesapeake facility smelled like rust and old machinery.
My footsteps echoed.
“Dalton!”
A light turned on.
Curtis appeared twenty yards away.
Tied to a chair.
Dalton stood behind him holding a pistol.
“You came.”
“You knew I would.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
I held up an envelope.
“The card.”
“Put it on the floor.”
I did.
“Kick it forward.”
I did.
Dalton kept the gun pointed at Curtis while retrieving it.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a memory card.
Real.
We had decided a fake might get Curtis killed instantly.
Dalton inserted it into a small reader.
A green light appeared.
His smile widened.
“Your father was clever.”
“You left him to die.”
“He was given opportunities.”
Curtis suddenly spoke.
“Don't.”
Dalton looked at him.
“Still trying to protect your sister?”
Curtis laughed painfully.
“No. I'm telling her not to listen to you.”
Dalton's smile vanished.
Curtis looked at me.
“I found Dad.”
I stared.
“What?”
“That night.”
Dalton struck him.
Curtis fell sideways with the chair.
“Stop!”
Dalton aimed at me.
“Your family talks too much.”
Curtis continued from the floor.
“I found him after they left!”
Dalton kicked him.
Curtis groaned.
“He was still alive!”
My world narrowed.
“What did you do?”
Curtis's face crumpled.
“I panicked.”
“No.”
“I called 911.”
Hope rose.
Then died when he continued.
“And hung up.”
I couldn't understand.
“Why?”
“Because Dad grabbed me.”
Curtis was sobbing.
“He told me Dalton knew about Afghanistan. He told me to tell you.”
“You left him.”
Curtis closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I forgot Dalton.
Forgot the agents outside.
Forgot everything.
“You left Dad dying?”
“I was scared he'd tell police what I'd done.”
My little brother had chosen himself again.
Dad might have survived.
Maybe not.
We would never know.
Dalton raised his pistol.
“This family confession is touching.”
Then the lights went out.
Not Dalton's doing.
Ours.
The tactical team cut power.
I dropped.
Gunfire cracked.
Someone screamed.
Emergency strobes activated.
I crawled toward Curtis.
Dalton ran toward a side door.
An agent shouted.
Curtis yelled, “Evelyn!”
Dalton turned.
His pistol lifted toward me.
Then Curtis did the first selfless thing I had seen him do in years.
He threw himself sideways, chair and all, into Dalton's legs.
The gun fired.
Dalton fell.
Agents swarmed him.
I reached Curtis.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“No.”
He looked down.
Then up at me.
“Is it bad?”
“Don't talk.”
“Evie—”
“Don't call me—”
I stopped.
He smiled weakly.
“Still hate that?”
Paramedics rushed in.
As they lifted him, Curtis grabbed my sleeve.
“I should've told you seven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I should've told Dad.”
“Yes.”
“I should've—”
“Curtis.”
He looked at me.
“You're going to live long enough to answer for it.”
He almost laughed.
Then lost consciousness.
Dalton lay handcuffed fifteen feet away.
For the first time in seven years, Archer had nowhere left to run.
But as agents searched him, they found a folded paper inside his jacket.
A flight itinerary.
For Aunt Rebecca.
Departure time: forty minutes earlier.
Destination:
A country with no extradition treaty.
May you like
Rebecca had escaped.
Or so Dalton wanted us to believe.
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