Chapter 5 - They Knew About My Sister
Captain Mercer answered his phone.
That mattered.
People who start fires sometimes answer.
People who are framed answer too.
Nothing was simple anymore.
Ross put him on speaker.
“Sir, where are you?”
“Headquarters annex.”
“Stay there.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“Your badge is inside a compromised records room.”
Silence.
Then Mercer said, “My badge is on me.”
Ross looked at me.
“Show security.”
Two officers verified Mercer’s physical badge at the annex.
The one recovered by the fire was a duplicate.
Cloned.
Like Ellis’s credentials.
Someone wasn’t merely stealing access.
They were manufacturing evidence.
Mercer arrived thirty minutes later under escort.
He looked angry, not frightened.
“What exactly am I being accused of?”
“Nothing yet.”
He looked at me.
“Your face?”
“Later.”
His eyes shifted toward Ellis.
“You brought him into this?”
Ellis stood.
“You told me to destroy the Harbor proposal.”
Mercer went still.
“I told you to archive redundant procurement material.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
“Be careful.”
I stepped between them verbally before physically became necessary.
“Captain, did you see Harbor’s first proposal?”
“Yes.”
“Did it contain a behavioral-validation program?”
Mercer said nothing.
That was answer enough.
“Why didn’t you disclose it when my team reviewed the second proposal?”
“Because I was told not to.”
“By who?”
“Naval Training Systems Command liaison.”
“Name.”
Mercer hesitated.
“Dr. Adrian Cole.”
Civilian.
I knew the name only vaguely.
He had consulted on training simulation research.
Ross asked, “Where is Cole now?”
“Off base.”
“Working for who?”
“Officially? The Department’s Human Performance Lab.”
“Unofficially?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Possibly Harbor.”
I felt irritation rise.
“You suspected a conflict and said nothing.”
“I reported it through channels.”
“Show us.”
“My report disappeared.”
Ellis gave a bitter laugh.
“Convenient again.”
Mercer ignored him.
“Harbor’s original proposal came with a letter claiming the behavioral-validation material had already been approved at higher level.”
“Was it?”
“I couldn’t establish that.”
“So why protect it?”
“Because Cole told me exposing it prematurely could compromise a counterintelligence investigation.”
Ross folded his arms.
“Did he provide a case number?”
“No.”
“Agency contact?”
“No.”
“Written instruction?”
“No.”
Ross stared at him.
“And you accepted that?”
“For forty-eight hours.”
“What changed?”
“Laura Benton came to me.”
Senior Chief Benton.
The third person on Harbor’s target cohort.
“What did she have?”
“A photograph.”
“Of?”
“Dr. Cole meeting Harbor’s managing director.”
“Who is that?”
Mercer looked toward me.
“Rebecca Sloan.”
I knew her.
Not professionally.
Personally.
Rebecca Sloan had been my older sister Emily’s college roommate.
My pulse changed.
“When was the photograph taken?”
“Four months ago.”
“My sister knows Rebecca.”
Mercer nodded.
“I’m aware.”
“How?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Because Harbor’s background file on you contains a family map.”
The words landed harder than Ethan’s slap.
“What family map?”
“Relationships. Emergency contacts. Residence history.”
“Where did you see it?”
“Attached to the original proposal.”
I took one step toward him.
“You saw my sister listed as a target variable and didn’t tell me?”
“I did not say target.”
“What did it say?”
Mercer looked at Ross.
Ross said, “Answer her.”
Mercer’s voice lowered.
“DEPENDENT LEVERAGE OPTIONS.”
My hands went cold.
Emily Mitchell was thirty-nine.
A civilian high-school counselor.
Married.
Two children.
No military role.
No reason to appear anywhere inside a contractor behavioral model.
“Where is that page?”
“Gone with the original file.”
I took out my phone.
Called Emily.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Ross watched me.
“Text her.”
I did.
Call me immediately.
My breathing stayed controlled.
My body did not.
I could feel my pulse in my hands.
That was what Harbor wanted.
A dependent variable.
Personal pressure.
Mercer said, “Sarah, don’t assume—”
“Do not tell me what to assume.”
My voice remained quiet.
That scared him more than yelling would have.
My phone rang.
Emily.
I answered instantly.
“Where are you?”
“At work. Why?”
“Are you safe?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Kids?”
“In class.”
“Husband?”
“At his office.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Has anyone contacted you about me?”
“Actually…”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A woman called yesterday.”
“Name?”
“Rebecca.”
Every person in the room went silent.
“Rebecca Sloan?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
Emily sounded confused.
“She said she was doing research for a veterans’ resilience nonprofit and wanted to ask about our family.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing personal. I thought it was weird.”
“Did she ask where you work?”
“She already knew.”
“Anything else?”
Emily hesitated.
“She asked how I usually know when you’re really angry.”
I stared at Mercer.
“Exactly what did she ask?”
“She said, ‘What makes Sarah stop thinking like an officer and start thinking like a sister?’”
My skin went cold.
“Emily, stay inside your school. Do not leave until law enforcement contacts you.”
“What is going on?”
“I’ll explain when I can.”
I ended the call.
Ross was already arranging protection.
Then the forensic technician rushed into the room.
“We opened FATALITY PROTOCOL.”
No one spoke.
He turned the tablet.
The file wasn’t about killing me.
Not directly.
It was a decision tree.
If SUBJECT MITCHELL fails escalation under humiliation stress, introduce dependent threat.
If dependent threat fails:
SIMULATE CASUALTY EVENT.
At the bottom was a scheduled date.
Tomorrow.
And a location.
May you like
Emily’s school.
📖 Find out what Harbor planned to stage at my sister’s school—and why Senior Chief Benton recognized the “casualty event” protocol in CHAPTER 6. 👇
