“Where is he?”
Malloy reached the back door.
He pulled the handle.
Locked.
He cursed and searched his pockets for the key.
A voice came from behind him.
“Don't move.”
Malloy turned.
The first man was standing at the end of the kitchen.
“Listen,” Malloy said, raising his hands. “I can help you.”
The man approached.
“You've already helped enough.”
“I know where the records are.”
The man stopped.
“What records?”
“The original Fort Adams files.”
The second intruder appeared behind him.
“Where?”
Malloy swallowed.
“Under the old courthouse.”
The first man looked at his partner.
Neither seemed surprised.
That frightened Malloy more than the weapons.
They already knew.
He had only confirmed what they wanted.
“Take him,” the first man said.
Before they could move, sirens sounded outside.
Malloy turned toward the window.
Blue lights flashed across the walls.
The two men exchanged a glance.
“Police,” one whispered.
“No,” Malloy said.
He looked at them.
“Those aren't police.”
The men rushed toward the back hallway.
A moment later, the apartment door burst open.
“POLICE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”
Uniformed officers flooded the room.
Malloy dropped to his knees.
His hands remained above his head.
He looked at the first officer who entered.
It was Lieutenant Frank Dorsey.
Dorsey pointed his weapon toward the hallway.
“Secure the apartment!”
Two officers moved past Malloy.
Dorsey looked down at him.
“Officer Malloy, you're coming with us.”
Malloy stared at him.
“Who sent you?”
Dorsey didn't answer.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why are you treating me like a criminal?”
Dorsey lowered his voice.
“Because somebody just tried to kill you.”
Malloy began to tremble.
Dorsey crouched.
“Listen carefully. Whatever you know, you'd better tell someone before the next people arrive.”
Malloy looked at him.
“Who are you working for?”
Dorsey stared back.
Then he said:
“I'm working for the truth.”
Chapter 18: The General's Name on the List
At Fort Liberty, Hayes sat in his office with the notebook open in front of him.
He had not slept.
The list of names was spread across the desk.
Every page seemed to reveal another connection.
Private contractors.
Military officers.
Police officials.
Government employees.
Some names were crossed out.
Others had dates beside them.
A few had a single letter written in the margin.
D.
Turner entered carrying a report.
“Sir, we have confirmation that Malloy was attacked.”
Hayes looked up.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. Local officers secured him. Lieutenant Dorsey has requested a meeting.”
“Bring Malloy somewhere safe.”
“Sir, the police department is insisting that he remain in their custody.”
“Then make sure the location is secure and independently monitored.”
Turner placed the report on the desk.
“There is something else. We found a reference to Colonel Brooks in the notebook. It appears he was not declared dead immediately after the incident.”
Hayes looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“His status was changed several times over a period of six months.”
“Who authorized the changes?”
Turner hesitated.
“Victor Langford.”
Hayes stood.
“Why would a civilian contractor have authority over a military casualty record?”
“He didn't officially have that authority.”
“Then how did he do it?”
Turner placed another page on the desk.
“Through an administrative office that processed records for the unit.”
Hayes examined the document.
At the bottom was a signature.
A familiar one.
Major General Samuel Whitmore.
Hayes sat down.
Whitmore had been his commanding officer at Fort Adams.
He had retired years ago.
Hayes remembered him as a strict but respected soldier. A man who had spoken frequently about duty, loyalty, and honor.
He also remembered Whitmore standing beside Colonel Brooks at the funeral.
Hayes slowly closed the notebook.
“Find him.”
“General Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, he's retired. We don't have an immediate reason to question him.”
Hayes looked up.
“We have a dead colonel whose records were manipulated, a police officer who was attacked, and a contractor who somehow controlled classified personnel files.”
He paused.
“That's reason enough to ask questions.”
Turner nodded.
“Understood.”
Hayes returned to the notebook.
He had almost reached the last page when he noticed something.
The final entry was written in a different hand.
It contained only one name.
JONATHAN HAYES.
Beneath it was a date.
The date was three days in the future.
And beside it were two words.
Final authorization.
Hayes stared at the page.
Someone was planning to use his identity again.
This time, the consequences might be irreversible.
Chapter 19: The General and the Police Lieutenant
Lieutenant Frank Dorsey arrived at Fort Liberty shortly after noon.
He carried a small briefcase and looked as though he had not slept.
Hayes met him in a private conference room.
“Lieutenant.”
“General.”
They shook hands.
Dorsey placed a folder on the table.
“Officer Malloy is prepared to speak.”
“Has he requested legal counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He should have it.”
Dorsey studied Hayes.
“You're not going to question him yourself?”
“No. That's your department's responsibility. I want the evidence preserved and the investigation handled properly.”
Dorsey nodded.
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“Chief Cole has ordered Malloy transferred to a secure police facility.”
Hayes frowned.
“Where?”
“Unknown.”
“Unknown?”
“The order came through a restricted channel.”
Hayes leaned forward.
“Who authorized it?”
Dorsey opened the folder.
“The signature belongs to Chief Cole.”
Hayes looked at the document.
“Is it authentic?”
“I don't know.”
“Then don't move Malloy until you verify it.”
Dorsey hesitated.
“General, I need to tell you something about Chief Cole.”
“Go ahead.”
“I used to work under him in internal investigations. Three years ago, I received a complaint about evidence disappearing from a police storage facility.”
“What happened?”
“I reported it.”
“And?”
“The investigation was closed.”
“Why?”
“Insufficient evidence.”
Hayes waited.
Dorsey continued.
“Six months later, I was reassigned to administrative duties. I was told I was no longer suitable for investigative work.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I found the original complaint.”
He opened the folder.
Inside was a copy of a report.