It was not even fear of Harlan.
It was the fear of a man who believed speaking a name might kill him.
I lowered my voice.
“Captain Mercer, look at me.”
He did.
“Jonah Pierce had a wife.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“Two children.”
“I know.”
“He died believing something was wrong with that mission.”
Mercer’s eyes shone.
“I know.”
“Then tell me who put him on that aircraft.”
His composure broke.
Just a fracture.
But enough.
“I was supposed to be on it.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Mercer looked down at his boots.
“The original manifest was mine.”
A cold sensation moved through me.
Behind us, someone whispered, “Oh my God.”
Mercer continued.
“Pierce wasn’t even supposed to be flying that night. He had finished his operational rotation. He was leaving Guam the next morning.”
I knew that.
His bags had been packed.
His daughter had sent him a photograph of a cardboard sign she made for the airport.
WELCOME HOME DAD.
His wife had kept it.
Still did.
“Why did he take your seat?” I asked.
Mercer shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You changed the assignment.”
“Yes.”
“You put him there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His face crumpled for half a second.
“Because the message told me to.”
“What message?”
Harlan slammed his palm onto the table.
“Enough!”
The sound cracked through the room.
Several officers flinched.
I turned toward him.
His face had gone gray.
Not angry.
Afraid.
“Commander Hart,” he said, “you need to stop.”
“You wanted me out of your command center five minutes ago.”
“I’m telling you now for your own protection.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Yes, you do.”
He walked toward me.
All the mockery was gone.
No sweetheart.
No little lady.
No contempt for the silver oak leaf.
Just urgency.
“I was refusing your requests because I was trying to keep you away from this.”
“From what?”
Harlan looked toward Mercer.
Mercer shook his head desperately.
“Sir.”
Harlan ignored him.
“Jonah Pierce’s helicopter did not go down because of a maintenance failure.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He stepped closer.
“And I did not authorize the alteration of those records.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was too convenient.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to survive long enough to decide.”
He pointed at the photograph.
“You found that component because somebody wanted you to find it.”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I traced it through three depots.”
“And each trail was just difficult enough to make you feel clever.”
I said nothing.
Harlan’s eyes were hard now.
“Think, Commander.”
I hated that he might be right.
“You found Voss.”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Cooperative?”
“Eventually.”
“And then you found the altered maintenance authentication.”
“Yes.”
“And then the ghost-channel reference.”
I looked at the folder.
Harlan leaned nearer.
“One clue after another.”
My fingers went cold.
“Leading here.”
“Exactly.”
The lieutenant near the door whispered, “A funnel.”
Harlan looked at him.
The lieutenant went pale again.
But this time I wanted him to continue.
“What did you say?”
He swallowed.
“A funnel, ma’am. Intelligence tradecraft. You control what somebody discovers so they think they’re investigating independently.”
The room felt smaller.
I looked at Harlan.
“Why would someone funnel me toward you?”
“Because you arrived with fleet authority, froze my records, and put twenty witnesses in one room.”
His eyes moved slowly around the conference table.
“Exactly where someone wanted us.”
That was when the lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the room.
Someone cursed.
A chair overturned.
The emergency lights should have activated immediately.
They didn’t.
“Stay where you are!” I shouted.
A metallic click sounded near the door.
Then another.
I knew that sound.
Electronic locks.
“Lieutenant!”
“I’m here, ma’am.”
“Door.”
“It’s sealed.”
A phone screen lit briefly.
Then went black.
“No signal,” someone said.
“Mine too.”
Harlan’s voice came through the darkness.
“Mercer.”
No response.
“Mercer!”
A strangled gasp.
Then a heavy impact.
