military-widow-rex-recognizes-buried-tag-hidden-encrypted-drive-cliffhanger

The aircraft doors slammed together with a boom that shook dust from the overhead beams.

Sunlight narrowed to a bright seam, then disappeared.

Emergency lights blinked on along the hangar walls. The American flag above the mission board stopped moving as the ocean breeze was cut off.

Several personnel reached for radios.

Only static answered.

Donovan immediately became the senior operator again.

“Everyone remain calm. Secure the kennel. Carter, isolate that drive.”

Doc closed his fingers around the device. “You don’t get to give medical staff operational orders.”

“This is no longer a medical event.”

“It became one when somebody remotely interfered with my equipment.”

The handler checked Rex’s outer latch. “Gate is secure.”

Rex had not reacted to the doors. He remained focused on the black case beside the aircraft, body lowered, ears forward.

I watched Donovan scan the hangar.

He was not looking for a way out.

He was looking for whoever had betrayed him.

That distinction mattered.

“Was Ben part of your unit?” I asked.

Donovan kept his attention on the darkened observation windows above the hangar floor.

“He served under several commands.”

“Was he part of the unit represented by that symbol?”

“Emily, right now we need to determine whether there is a security threat.”

“You’ve had eight months to tell me what happened to my husband.”

“And I kept you alive for eight months.”

The words escaped him before he could pull them back.

Silence settled again.

My pulse hammered beneath the high collar of my dress uniform.

“Kept me alive from whom?”

Donovan looked at the personnel around us. “This conversation is over.”

“No. It just started.”

I held up the tag.

Rex rose from his crouch and pressed his nose toward it.

The handler moved closer to the bars. “Chief, I need to know whether this object was used in his training.”

Donovan did not answer.

The handler’s jaw tightened. “If Rex has been conditioned to respond to it, opening that case without the correct command could be dangerous.”

“Rex doesn’t attack,” I said.

“Not dangerous because of Rex.”

He glanced toward the case.

“Dangerous because trained dogs were sometimes used to identify tampered equipment. If he’s holding on that case, he may be warning us not to approach.”

Doc turned the encrypted drive over in his hand. “Or he may be directing us toward it.”

Donovan pointed at him. “Do not connect that device to anything.”

“I haven’t.”

A second pulse appeared beneath the drive’s black casing.

The monitor cart beeped again.

This time, the screen did not return to Rex’s vitals.

A line of unreadable encrypted blocks flashed across it before the display went dark.

Doc’s professional calm cracked. “That system isn’t networked.”

“Then the drive has a proximity transmitter,” said the woman with the smartphone.

Donovan turned toward her. “Lieutenant Harper, stop recording.”

“I stopped when the doors closed.”

“Hand me the phone.”

She hesitated.

That was enough for me to notice the fear in her face.

“Why does he need your phone?” I asked.

Donovan stepped toward her.

Harper backed away.

“I received a message,” she said.

“From whom?”

“There’s no sender.”

“Show me.”

She looked at me instead of Donovan.

The fear on his face deepened.

I crossed the distance before he could stop me. Harper angled the phone so only I could see it. The screen was mostly dark, its contents blurred by a security filter, but one image was clear enough to recognize.

It was a photograph of me entering the base that afternoon.

Taken from above.

Beneath it was a countdown clock.

Fourteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds.

“What happens when it reaches zero?” I asked.

Harper swallowed. “The message only says, ‘Ask the widow which command he taught her.’”

Donovan seized the phone.

Harper resisted for less than a second before military instinct forced her to release it.

He stared at the screen.

His thumb shook.

“What command?” the handler asked me.

“I don’t know.”