Chapter 2 - SEVEN MINUTES EARLY
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The satellite phone remained on the desk between them, its speaker light glowing green.
The distorted caller had disconnected.
Colonel Wade stared at the locked door as though it had betrayed him.
Mike did not take his eyes off Wade.
“What gate?”
Wade turned slowly.
“I don’t know.”
“You knew not to answer.”
“I knew the call was hostile.”
“You recognized the number.”
“The number was encrypted.”
“You still recognized it.”
Wade’s mouth tightened.
Captain Torres stood beside the tablet, one hand resting against its protective case.
She was not looking at Mike.
She was watching the reflection in the rain-dark window.
“Sir,” she said, “the office lockdown wasn’t initiated from the wall panel.”
Wade crossed to the desktop terminal.
“Override it.”
Torres opened her tablet again.
“I’m trying.”
Mike picked up the satellite phone.
The call record displayed no number, no route, and no duration. The device claimed the call had never occurred.
He held it toward Wade.
“Military equipment doesn’t erase its own history.”
“No,” Wade said. “It doesn’t.”
That answer unsettled Mike more than denial would have.
Wade entered a command string into his terminal. The monitor rejected it.
He tried again.
ACCESS SUSPENDED.
A red restricted indicator appeared.
Torres’s eyes narrowed.
“Somebody has isolated this room from the rest of the base network.”
“Can they listen?” Mike asked.
“They may already be listening.”
Mike stepped away from the desk and scanned the ceiling.
Smoke detector.
Fluorescent fixture.
Ventilation grille.
Sprinkler head.
Nothing visibly altered.
“Then we stop giving them useful information,” he said.
Wade looked at him.
“Master Sergeant, you are inside a secure command office during a network breach. I am still the ranking officer here.”
Mike’s expression did not change.
“My sister’s family was murdered. A recording connected to their deaths was routed through this base. The authorization came from your office. Rank isn’t the problem in this room.”
Torres drew a careful breath.
“Both of you need to hear this.”
She turned the tablet toward them.
The deleted line in the access log had partially restored itself from temporary memory. Most of the entry remained corrupted, but the access category was visible.
VEHICLE CONTROL SYSTEM.
Mike looked at Wade.
“The gate.”
Wade moved closer.
“Which gate?”
Torres opened the base map. Red lines outlined the perimeter. Seven vehicle gates served the installation, but only three were active at night.
“The authorization code doesn’t identify the physical checkpoint,” she said. “It identifies the control network used to raise barriers remotely.”
Mike’s voice became quieter.
“Someone opened a military gate for something.”
“Or someone,” Wade said.
A green light blinked above the door.
The lock released.
Nobody touched the handle.
Torres checked the corridor camera on her tablet. The feed showed an empty hallway.
Wade opened the door two inches and looked out.
No footsteps.
No guards.
No movement.
Only the polished corridor and the emergency lights reflecting along the floor.
He shut the door again.
“We leave together,” he said. “We go to the command operations center, put the base on restricted movement, and bring cyber defense online.”
Torres shook her head.
“The central network is exactly where whoever did this wants us.”
Wade’s eyes sharpened.
“Captain—”
“She’s right,” Mike said.
Wade looked at him with open irritation.
Mike picked up the family photograph and slid it into his vest.
“Bill said the investigators arrived seven minutes after the call. I want to know what happened during those seven minutes.”
Wade folded his arms.
“You are not going to Texas county evidence storage in the middle of a base breach.”
“I don’t need to. Bill sent the chain-of-custody report.”
“He sent the drive.”
“He sent both.”
Mike removed a folded document from beneath the classified folder.
Wade stared at it.
“You brought that into my office without declaring it?”
“I declared everything to the security desk.”
Torres reached for the report.
The first page showed the official timeline.
10:41 p.m.—Emergency call received.
10:48 p.m.—State investigative team arrived.
10:52 p.m.—County sheriff notified.
Torres turned the page.
The murder scene had been placed under state control before Sheriff Bill, the elected county authority, was formally notified.
Wade read the names beneath the arrival log.
“Agents Holloway, Pierce, and Danner.”
“Bill knows them?” Torres asked.
Mike shook his head.
“He checked. Those badge numbers don’t exist.”
Wade looked up.
“Then the people who arrived weren’t investigators.”
Mike’s breathing slowed.
“They were cleaners.”
Silence settled over the room.
Torres continued reading.
The counterfeit team had removed three bags of evidence before Bill’s deputies stopped them. One bag contained Mark’s laptop. One contained the family’s home-security recorder.
The third was never described.
“What was in the missing bag?” Wade asked.
“Bill doesn’t know,” Mike said.
The satellite phone vibrated once.
A text message appeared.
NO ONE ARRIVED EARLY.
THEY WERE ALREADY INSIDE.
Mike read it twice.
Torres stepped closer.
A second message appeared.
YOUR SISTER OPENED THE DOOR FOR SOMEONE SHE TRUSTED.
Then the phone displayed a photograph.
May you like
Sarah stood inside her kitchen the afternoon before her death.
Behind her, reflected faintly in the microwave door, was a man wearing a United States Army service uniform.
