Chapter 8 - Donovan Status Unresolved
Donovan’s name echoed from the hidden speaker.
Status unresolved.
He looked less offended than terrified.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means the system cannot determine whether I’m compromised.”
“Are you?”
His eyes met mine. “I don’t know.”
That answer frightened me because it did not sound evasive.
The main lid of the equipment case remained open by less than an inch. A thin internal cable kept it from rising farther.
The handler studied Rex. “He’s no longer holding us back.”
Rex stood squarely behind the gate, focused on me.
“Then what is he waiting for?”
“A choice.”
I approached the case.
Donovan moved to block me, but the background personnel shifted subtly. No one raised a weapon or spoke, yet their formation changed. Harper stepped to my right. Doc stood to my left with the drive.
For the first time, Donovan was isolated.
He noticed.
“Emily, whoever designed this expected you to distrust me.”
“You made that easy.”
“Exactly. That may be the trap.”
I stopped beside the case.
“If Ben believed you were innocent, why warn me that you had lied?”
“Because I did lie. He may have needed you angry enough to keep digging.”
“Or alive enough not to hand you the evidence.”
Donovan’s face tightened.
Doc scanned the outer shell. “No explosives detected. There is a biometric reader beneath the lid.”
“For whom?” I asked.
“Likely you.”
Donovan shook his head. “Ben would never place his wife’s biometrics in an operational system.”
“He used my voice to start it.”
“Your voice is easier to obtain than a live blood sample.”
A narrow silver pin extended from the side of the case.
I understood.
“Absolutely not,” Donovan said.
I looked at Rex.
His gaze remained steady.
Ben had always trusted the dog’s judgment more than most people’s.
I placed my thumb against the pin.
Pain flashed.
A single drop of blood disappeared into the reader.
The lid released.
Inside lay layers of dark foam holding a partially concealed photograph, a second sealed file, and an empty slot shaped exactly like the encrypted drive.
No writing was readable.
Doc held the drive above the slot.
“Wait,” Donovan said.
“Why?”
“The moment we connect it, the system may send a location beacon.”
“Isn’t it already transmitting?”
“Possibly only within the hangar.”
Harper’s phone vibrated.
The countdown vanished.
In its place appeared a live audio indicator.
Someone was listening.
She muted the device, but the indicator remained active.
“They can hear us without the microphone permission,” she said.
Donovan scanned the ceiling. “Kill power to the hangar.”
A technician moved toward the breaker cabinet.
The lights shut off before he reached it.
Darkness swallowed the aircraft.
Emergency strips glowed near the floor.
The drive’s faint pulse illuminated Doc’s fingers.
Then Rex growled.
It was the first hostile sound he had made.
Not at Donovan.
At the observation window above us.
A shadow moved behind the glass.
The handler reached for his radio. Static.
Donovan raised one hand, signaling everyone down.
A sharp crack sounded overhead.
The observation window shattered.
Something small fell through the darkness and bounced across the concrete.
A smoke canister.
Donovan kicked it beneath the aircraft before it discharged fully, but gray vapor poured outward.
“Respirators!” he shouted.
Personnel pulled emergency masks from wall stations.
I covered my mouth with my sleeve.
Doc grabbed my arm and dragged me behind the medical cart. The handler dropped the kennel’s protective side panel to shield Rex.
Through the smoke, a figure moved toward the open equipment case.
I saw only boots and gloved hands.
The figure reached inside.
I lunged from behind the cart and caught the edge of the concealed photograph as the intruder pulled it free.
The paper tore between us.
The intruder escaped with one half.
I fell backward holding the other.
Donovan pursued, disappearing into the smoke near the aircraft stairs.
A side access door opened for less than a second.
Then slammed shut.
The ventilation system cleared the haze gradually.
The equipment case remained open.
The file was gone.
So was Donovan.
On the torn half of the photograph in my hand, Ben stood beside Rex.
Behind them was a concrete room with a date painted on the wall.
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The date was six weeks after Ben’s reported death.
📖 Follow the photograph proving Ben survived—and uncover why Donovan vanished with the intruder in CHAPTER 9. 👇
