Chapter 7 - THE FIRST COUNTERSTRIKE
Keene collapsed against the kennel wall.
Mercer caught him before he hit the floor.
Barrett was already calling military police.
I grabbed Keene’s phone.
The call number was blocked, but the signal trace remained active for three seconds.
Long enough.
I opened a mapping app, entered the routing code, and found the last relay tower.
Seattle.
Mercer looked over my shoulder.
“You can trace encrypted calls?”
“I used to do more than patch wounds.”
Barrett stared at me.
“You were intelligence.”
“I was whatever the mission required.”
Mercer stood.
“Keene’s daughter lives in Tacoma.”
“The signal bounced from Seattle,” I said. “That means the call may be staged.”
Keene looked up.
“What?”
“Cole wants us moving fast. He wants us emotional.”
“My daughter screamed.”
“I know.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know exactly what it sounds like when someone weaponizes family.”
The words came out colder than I intended.
Dr. Lawson placed a hand on Keene’s shoulder.
“We’ll find her.”
Mercer turned to Barrett.
“Stay with Keene.”
“No,” Barrett said. “Ranger is mine.”
“He was mine first,” I said.
Barrett’s face tightened.
Then he nodded once.
Mercer and I left through the rear service exit.
Rain had begun falling over the hospital grounds.
We reached his vehicle, but I stopped before opening the door.
“Cole expects us to follow the call.”
Mercer looked at me.
“You have another plan?”
“He took Ranger because Ranger remembers people.”
“Meaning?”
“Dogs remember scent better than faces. If Ranger was in Fort Talon after Shah Dara, he may recognize everyone involved.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“Cole is afraid the dog can identify someone.”
“Not someone.”
I thought of the container beneath the clinic.
The serial numbers.
The man who had ordered us to burn it.
“Everyone.”
We returned to the security room.
Mercer locked the door.
I inserted Keene’s black drive into an isolated computer.
The first file opened.
Surgical footage.
My body lay on an operating table eleven years earlier.
Blood covered the sheets.
Dr. Keene worked over my chest while alarms screamed.
Major Cole stood behind him.
Younger.
Calm.
Watching.
Then another man entered the frame.
Mercer leaned toward the screen.
“That’s General Henry Vale.”
Chairman of the Defense Oversight Council.
One of the most respected military leaders in the country.
Vale spoke to Cole.
The audio was faint, but clear enough.
“If she wakes up, the shipment becomes a problem.”
Cole replied, “She won’t.”
Keene’s voice came from the recording.
“She’s alive.”
Vale moved closer to the table.
“Then make her dead.”
Mercer stared at the screen.
His face went gray.
The hospital lights flickered.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO TACOMA.
A live video opened.
Keene’s daughter was tied to a chair.
Ranger stood beside her, sedated but alive.
Behind them was a warehouse wall marked with the faded insignia of Fort Talon.
Mercer whispered, “That base was closed ten years ago.”
“No,” I said.
I zoomed in on the background.
A current military transport schedule hung beside the door.
“It was hidden.”
Then Ranger lifted his head.
His ears moved toward someone outside the frame.
May you like
A man walked into view.
General Henry Vale.
