Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCHFoster vanished for eleven hours.
By sunrise, every law-enforcement agency with appropriate jurisdiction had his description.
The news media knew only that a government employee was wanted for questioning.
We kept everything else contained.
At 8:03 a.m., my personal phone rang from an unknown number.
I answered.
“Reed.”
Silence.
Then:
“General.”
Foster.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You disappeared from federal investigators.”
“I know.”
“You’re making yourself look guilty.”
“I know.”
“Then come in.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because someone knew exactly which route they were using to transport me.”
I said nothing.
Only a limited number of people had known.
“Are you injured?”
“Bruised.”
“Were you involved in the Building Seven breach?”
“No.”
“Did you install the certificate?”
“No.”
“Did you meet Derek Harper?”
“Yes.”
That confession mattered.
“Why?”
“Because he approached me.”
“When?”
“May.”
“At the fundraiser?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Information about procurement procedures.”
“Did you give him any?”
“Nothing classified.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Foster sighed.
“I explained how contractors compete for emergency logistics work. Public stuff. Procedures.”
“Then why hide the meetings?”
“Because he offered me money.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“For what?”
“A copy of upcoming emergency-routing criteria.”
“Which he knew you could access.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was deputy chief of logistics before coming to Hawthorne.”
“Did you take the money?”
“No.”
“Did you report him?”
Silence.
That answer made me close my eyes.
“James.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My son.”
I waited.
“He had gambling debt.”
“How much?”
“Almost ninety grand.”
Everything became clearer.
“Derek knew?”
“Yes.”
“He threatened to expose it?”
“Not initially. He said he could help. Then when I refused, he showed me photographs of my son meeting illegal lenders.”
Foster’s voice cracked.
“He said if I reported him, he’d make sure my son was prosecuted.”
“You should have come to me.”
“I know.”
“Instead?”
“I tried to handle it.”
That phrase had destroyed more careers than almost any other.
“What did handling it involve?”
“I fed him harmless information.”
“You maintained contact.”
“Yes.”
“You let him believe you might cooperate.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever ask about certificates?”
“No.”
“Building Seven?”
“Twice.”
“Who did you tell about Derek’s approach?”
“Only one person.”
My heart sank.
“Who?”
“Mercer.”
I looked through the window at the headquarters floor.
Colonel Mercer was standing near the briefing table.
He had his back to me.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That he would handle it quietly.”
“Did he tell you to continue talking to Derek?”
“Yes.”
That made sense if Mercer had begun his own counterintelligence observation.
It also created a problem.
“Why are you hiding now?”
“Because after the crash, I heard one of the injured agents’ radios.”
“What did you hear?”
“A voice giving instructions to move me to Secondary Site Indigo.”
I frowned.
“There is no Secondary Site Indigo.”
“I know.”
So did anyone senior enough to understand the phrase.
“Who used it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Accent?”
“No.”
“Anything unusual?”
“Called me by my old call sign.”
My pulse changed.
“What call sign?”
“Harbor.”
Only people from a deployment seven years earlier would know that.
I had been there.
Mercer had been there.
So had one other officer.
Brigadier General Victor Sloane.
Now deputy commander of regional logistics coordination.
One of my closest professional peers.
And a man who had visited Hawthorne twice during the last month.
“Foster, listen carefully. I need you somewhere safe.”
“I am.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
Then gave me an address.
An abandoned marina warehouse near the James River.
“Stay there.”
“General—”
“Do not leave.”
I disconnected.
Then I did something I had never imagined doing.
I walked out of my office and told Colonel Mercer only half the truth.
“Foster contacted me.”
Mercer turned.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
That was a lie.
And I hated it.
“He say anything useful?”
“He claims he didn’t install the certificate.”
Mercer exhaled.
“Of course he does.”
“He also claims Derek tried to recruit him.”
“That part is true.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t it reported to me?”
“I was building a case.”
“Without informing your commanding general?”
His face tightened.
“I planned to.”
“When?”
“When I had enough evidence.”
I stared at him.
“People who say they’ll tell me when they have enough evidence usually mean when they no longer have a choice.”
He didn’t answer.
I lowered my voice.
“Did you know Foster’s call sign was Harbor?”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes.”
“Who else knew?”
“Anyone from our 2019 deployment group.”
“Name them.”
He listed eleven people.
Sloane was among them.
I ordered discrete location checks on all eleven.
Nine were immediately accounted for.
Foster was missing.
Sloane was supposedly at a conference in Denver.
Except hotel security records showed he had checked out two days earlier.
Nobody knew where he was.
At noon, Brooke arrived carrying something wrapped in a grocery bag.
“What is that?”
“Derek’s laptop.”
I stared at her.
“Where did you get it?”
“Our house.”
“You entered a location investigators may search?”
“They cleared me to collect personal clothes.”
“And you took his computer?”
“It was behind a false panel in his office.”
I resisted the urge to shout.
“Do not open it.”
“I already did.”
“Brooke.”
“Listen to me.”
She placed it on the desk.
“I guessed his password.”
“You may have compromised evidence.”
“I know. But you need to see one file.”
“What file?”
She opened the laptop.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Payments.
Dates.
Initials.
D.H.
M.D.
G.V.
And V.S.
Victor Sloane.
Beside his initials was the largest figure.
$1,800,000.
Brooke whispered, “Who is V.S.?”
I looked at her.
“A general.”
Her face changed.
“Like you?”
“Yes.”
“Above you?”
“Not in my chain of command.”
“Can he get into Building Seven?”
“Not normally.”
“But he could make somebody help him.”
“Yes.”
My secure phone rang.
Major Ruiz.
“General, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Someone just accessed the emergency-routing backup server.”
“From where?”
She paused.
“Your office.”
I looked at the terminal behind my desk.
The screen was dark.
My credential card sat inside my wallet.
Then I noticed the small light beside the network port blinking.
May you like
Someone had cloned me.
And whoever had done it was trying to make the breach look like mine.
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