Chapter 5 - The Man Who Needed to WinSergeant Vance didn’t apologize.
That surprised nobody.
But the following morning he did something nearly as unlikely.
He knocked on my office door and waited for permission to enter.
I looked up.
“Did you get lost?”
He didn’t smile.
“Can we talk?”
Captain Ramirez was across the building.
We were alone.
“About?”
“Blake.”
I closed the folder in front of me.
“Come in.”
Vance shut the door.
He looked different outside the combatives room.
Less enormous.
Not physically.
Psychologically.
Without an audience, the performance disappeared.
He sat.
“I’ve known Captain Blake three years.”
“And?”
“He likes control.”
“So do most captains.”
“No. I mean he collects things.”
I frowned.
“What kind of things?”
“Information.”
Vance rubbed his hands together.
“He knows who’s divorcing. Who owes money. Who got drunk downtown. Who failed a test. Who has family problems.”
“That isn’t illegal.”
“No.”
Vance looked at me.
“But he uses it.”
“How?”
“To make people loyal.”
That interested me.
“Give me an example.”
He hesitated.
I waited.
Finally:
“Me.”
There it was.
Vance stared at the floor.
“Two years ago, I got into a fight off post.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Charges?”
“Should’ve been.”
“Blake helped?”
“He knew somebody.”
Vance swallowed.
“Report disappeared.”
“And you owed him.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“What has he asked you to do?”
“Nothing illegal.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Vance’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t push me.”
“You came into my office.”
He looked away.
“Mostly little things. Recommend people. Discourage complaints. Make sure certain soldiers didn’t get leadership positions.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Of course.
“You humiliated people for him?”
His silence answered.
I thought about the way soldiers had laughed automatically when Vance mocked me.
A habit.
A culture.
Built because power rewarded participation.
“Did Blake tell you to target me?”
“No.”
I believed him.
“That was all me.”
“I believe that too.”
He grimaced.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Vance gave me a look.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“But Blake encouraged the match,” he said. “After the first day, he called me into his office. Said everybody was laughing at me.”
“That was manipulative.”
“I know that now.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Vance thought.
“He said, ‘You going to let some supply clerk take your reputation?’”
My stomach tightened.
Supply clerk.
Not transfer.
Not staff sergeant.
Specific diminishing language designed to provoke.
“He wanted you angry.”
“Yeah.”
“He knew you’d push for the match.”
“Yeah.”
“And he knew I might reveal training.”
Vance nodded.
Silence settled.
For the first time, he looked genuinely ashamed.
“I nearly hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
There was nothing for me to say.
Vance finally looked up.
“I’m sorry.”
The words seemed physically painful for him.
I studied his face.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because yesterday, when those guys were closing on you, I saw Blake standing outside before the MPs arrived.”
“What?”
“He was near the north parking area.”
“Did Mercer see him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure it was Blake?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say this last night?”
Vance hesitated.
“Because I was scared.”
That honesty earned more respect than anything else he had done.
“Of what?”
“Blake knows everything about me.”
“No. He knows the things you let him use.”
“Same difference.”
“It isn’t.”
I stood.
“We need Ramirez.”
Vance stood too.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“If Blake finds out I talked—”
“He already knows you were at Building 47.”
Vance went pale.
That hadn’t occurred to him.
“He saw you?”
“If you saw him, assume he saw you.”
We went to Captain Ramirez.
Her reaction was not comforting.
She listened.
Asked precise questions.
Took no visible notes.
Then locked her office door.
“Neither of you discusses this with anyone.”
Vance nodded.
I asked, “Are you contacting CID?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A person I trust.”
That wording mattered.
Not a department.
A person.
Ramirez apparently had doubts too.
She made a call from an encrypted office line.
Twenty minutes later, Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Hale arrived.
Hale wore no expression worth reading.
Mid-forties.
Short hair.
Gray eyes.
CID.
He listened without interruption.
Then asked me about Red Creek.
I told him more than I had told Mercer.
Not everything.
Still enough.
When I mentioned Hannah Brooks, Hale’s face changed.
“You know her?” I asked.
He ignored the question.
“Show me the photograph.”
I did.
Hale studied it for thirty seconds.
“Where was this taken?”
“I don’t know.”
He enlarged the image on my phone.
“There.”
He pointed behind Hannah.
A storefront sign reflected in glass.
Only part was visible.
...FIELD PHARMACY
Hale photographed the image.
Then made a call.
Ten minutes later, we had a likely location.
Springfield Pharmacy.
Not Springfield, Virginia.
Springfield, West Virginia.
Three hours away.
Hale looked at Ramirez.
“I’m going.”
I stood.
“So am I.”
“No.”
“Hannah contacted me.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Caldwell believes she did.”
“That makes you bait.”
“Exactly.”
Hale stared at me.
“You think that makes your argument stronger?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Ramirez intervened.
“Mitchell stays.”
I wanted to object.
She raised one finger.
“That was not a discussion.”
Hale left.
For the next six hours, I pretended to work.
At 1700, he called.
Ramirez put him on speaker.
“Pharmacy confirmed Brooks comes in roughly once a month.”
My chest tightened.
“She alive?”
“According to the pharmacist, yes.”
“Did you find her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone got here first.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?” Vance asked.
“Her apartment was cleared out this afternoon.”
“When?”
“Neighbor saw two men loading boxes around noon.”
Hale paused.
“There was blood inside.”
Nobody spoke.
“How much?” I asked.
“Not enough to conclude serious injury.”
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Hale continued.
“We found something hidden behind a loose baseboard.”
“What?”
“A flash drive.”
“Ledger?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you opened it?”
“It’s encrypted.”
Vance cursed.
Hale ignored him.
“There was a note taped to it.”
“For who?”
“Avery.”
Everyone looked at me.
“What does it say?”
Paper rustled on Hale’s end.
Then he read:
Avery, if you’re reading this, they found me. Don’t trust anyone who says Red Creek was about recruiting soldiers. It was about creating leverage over them. Find Candidate Seven. He knows where the real ledger is.
I remembered the numbers.
At Red Creek, candidates weren’t called by name during certain phases.
I had been Candidate Twelve.
Hannah was Nine.
Candidate Seven—
I searched my memory.
Tall.
Quiet.
Engineering background.
Former Ranger.
Thomas Reed.
My eyes opened.
“I know who Seven is.”
Hale responded immediately.
“Name?”
“Thomas Reed.”
Keyboard sounds.
Then silence.
Too long.
“Hale?”
“I’ve got him.”
“Where is he?”
Another pause.
“He’s here.”
“At Fort Grafton?”
“Yes.”
“What unit?”
“No unit.”
Hale’s voice changed.
“Reed is buried at Fort Grafton National Cemetery.”
The room became cold.
“Date of death?” I asked.
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
“Suicide.”
I didn’t believe it.
Neither did Hale.
Vance paced.
“So the dead guy knows where the ledger is?”
I stared at Hannah’s message on the speakerphone display.
No.
Hannah wouldn’t send us to a dead man accidentally.
She knew he was dead.
Which meant Candidate Seven wasn’t Thomas Reed.
Or not the Thomas Reed we remembered.
“Wait.”
I looked at Ramirez.
“At Red Creek, Candidate numbers were recycled between selection cycles.”
Ramirez understood first.
“There was another Seven.”
“Yes.”
Hale typed rapidly.
“How many cycles?”
“At least five.”
“Can you access rosters?”
“No.”
“Who can?”
A voice answered from the open doorway.
“Captain Blake.”
We all turned.
Mercer stood there.
Ramirez’s hand immediately moved toward her desk phone.
Mercer lifted both hands.
“Door was open.”
“It was locked,” Ramirez said.
Mercer looked at the latch.
“Then you have a bigger problem.”
The door hadn’t been forced.
Someone had unlocked it remotely or with a master key.
Hale’s voice came through the speaker.
“Everybody leave that office now.”
We moved.
Seconds after entering the hallway, a sharp pop sounded behind us.
The lights flickered.
Smoke curled from beneath Ramirez’s office door.
Fire alarm.
Sprinklers.
Someone had triggered an electrical fire inside the room.
Exactly where we had been discussing the investigation.
As security personnel rushed toward us, Hale said through the phone:
“They know you’re working together.”
I looked at Vance.
Then Mercer.
Then Ramirez.
Four people.
Four very different reasons for being involved.
And one invisible enemy with access inside the installation.
Mercer looked at the smoke.
“We need to stop reacting.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Vance looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Caldwell and Blake believe they know what we’ll do next.”
“So?”
“So we do something they don’t expect.”
Ramirez folded her arms.
“And what exactly would that be?”
I looked at Vance.
He looked immediately suspicious.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You looked at me.”
Mercer almost smiled.
I finally did.
For the first time since arriving at Fort Grafton.
Because I had an idea.
May you like
And Sergeant Cole Vance was going to hate every second of it.
“We give them exactly what they wanted.”
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