Chapter 3 - The Betrayal Inside Headquarters
Mercer collapsed inside my room.
I locked the door and dragged him behind the bed, away from the window.
His blood came from a deep cut above his ribs.
Not a gunshot.
Knife.
“Who did this?”
“Reed.”
I tore open my emergency medical kit.
Mercer grabbed my wrist.
“No hospital.”
“You may need stitches.”
“If I go to the hospital, Sterling hears about it.”
“He’s already looking for you.”
“He doesn’t know where I am.”
“Then stop talking.”
I pressed gauze against the wound.
Mercer winced.
The flash drive remained clenched in his other hand.
“What’s on that?”
His breathing steadied.
“Everything I could copy.”
“Financial records?”
“Some.”
“What else?”
“Sterling’s payment accounts. Names. Transfers.”
“General Dorian?”
Mercer closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
That answer bothered me.
“You’re the finance officer.”
“That doesn’t mean I control every account.”
“Were you helping Sterling?”
His eyes opened.
“Yes.”
At least he did not lie.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“Why?”
Mercer laughed softly.
“Because I was an idiot.”
“That’s not useful.”
He looked toward the door.
“I had gambling debt.”
I said nothing.
“Twenty-seven thousand dollars when I arrived.”
“Sterling found out.”
“He paid it.”
“And then owned you.”
Mercer nodded.
“He started small. Asked me to move expenses between accounts. Delay reconciliations. Approve purchases I knew were questionable.”
“Then Site Twelve?”
“Yes.”
“How much equipment?”
“I stopped counting after one point eight million.”
I stared at him.
“Dollars?”
“Replacement value.”
This was larger than the initial complaints suggested.
“Where did the money go?”
“Some to Sterling. Some to civilian buyers. Some to people above him.”
“Names.”
“I don’t have all of them.”
“Then give me the ones you have.”
Mercer stared at the flash drive.
“I need protection.”
“You don’t get to negotiate immunity with me.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you bargaining?”
“Because I have a daughter.”
That changed his voice.
Not the words.
The voice.
“What happened?”
“My ex-wife received photographs this morning.”
“Of what?”
“Our daughter leaving school.”
My anger became cold.
“Sterling?”
“He called five minutes later.”
“What did he want?”
“To know whether I had spoken to anyone from Washington.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Why would he think Washington was involved?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Because somebody told him an undercover inspector arrived last week.”
My blood went still.
Only seven people knew my identity.
General Hale.
Two investigators on my external support team.
My deputy.
One secure operations technician.
General Samuel Dorian.
And me.
“Did Sterling know the inspector was a woman?”
Mercer shook his head.
“He only knew someone had been inserted.”
That meant the leak might not know my exact cover.
Yet.
I moved to the desk and opened my encrypted field device.
“No outside network,” Mercer said quickly.
“Why?”
“They monitor traffic.”
“Military network traffic?”
“Everything leaving the installation if it touches local infrastructure.”
I looked at him.
“That is not easy to do.”
“No.”
“Who built it?”
He hesitated.
“Chief Warrant Officer Mason Pike.”
I knew Pike.
Camp communications chief.
Quiet.
Respected.
Twenty years of service.
Another name added to the list.
I connected the flash drive to an isolated reader.
Folders appeared.
TRANSFER.
RAVEN.
MORALE FUND.
GRANT.
My finger stopped.
“Why is Noah Grant’s name here?”
Mercer said, “Open it.”
Inside were scanned copies of inventory records and seven photographs.
The first six showed equipment being loaded at Site Twelve.
The seventh showed Sergeant Reed standing beside Noah Grant’s damaged vehicle.
Timestamp:
11:18 p.m.
Official police report:
Emergency services arrived at 11:46.
Reed had been at the crash nearly half an hour before authorities.
“How did you get this?”
“A traffic camera.”
“Why wasn’t it in the investigation?”
Mercer looked ashamed.
“I deleted it from the official system.”
I turned toward him.
“You helped cover up his death.”
“I thought it was an accident.”
“You deleted evidence.”
“Sterling told me Noah had been drinking.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
Mercer’s face crumbled.
“I found the toxicology report later.”
“What did it say?”
“No alcohol.”
“Drugs?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did he crash?”
Mercer whispered, “Brake fluid line was damaged.”
That was enough.
Noah Grant had not merely died after trying to expose Sterling.
Someone may have killed him.
A sound came from outside.
Footsteps.
Two sets.
Mercer looked at me.
“Did anyone follow you?”
“No.”
The handle moved.
Locked.
A voice spoke from the hallway.
“Specialist Vance?”
Sergeant Reed.
Mercer went white.
I switched off the lamp.
Another voice.
Chief Warrant Officer Pike.
“Open the door.”
I whispered, “Bathroom.”
Mercer crawled toward it.
I pushed the flash drive into the lining of my boot.
Then I opened the door three inches.
Reed stood outside.
Pike behind him.
“What?”
Reed looked past me.
“We’re checking rooms.”
“For what?”
“Missing classified material.”
I smiled.
“In temporary logistics housing?”
His eyes hardened.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
Pike stepped forward.
“That wasn’t a request.”
I could reveal myself.
End the undercover operation.
Call federal agents.
But if the leak inside headquarters remained unknown, the investigation would collapse before we found the full network.
I needed more time.
So I did something Sterling would expect from a lower-ranking soldier.
I looked frightened.
“Am I in trouble?”
Reed relaxed slightly.
Predators became careless when fear appeared.
Pike said, “Nobody said you were.”
“I don’t want problems.”
“Then step aside.”
I opened the door.
They entered.
Mercer was gone.
The bathroom window stood open.
For one terrible second I thought he had jumped.
Then I remembered the exterior maintenance ledge.
Reed searched beneath the bed.
Pike opened drawers.
“Where were you tonight?” Reed asked.
“Asleep.”
“Anyone visit?”
“No.”
Pike watched my face.
“Sure?”
“Who would visit me?”
Reed found the bloody gauze.
Everything stopped.
He picked it up.
“What’s this?”
I looked at it.
“My hand.”
“Show me.”
I cut my palm with the small blade hidden inside my sleeve before lowering it.
The motion was invisible.
Blood immediately surfaced.
Reed stared.
I held out my hand.
“Tore it on a crate.”
Pike glanced at Reed.
They believed me.
Barely.
After five minutes, they left.
I closed the door.
Mercer climbed back through the bathroom window.
“You cut yourself?”
“It was that or explain your blood.”
He looked at me differently after that.
Not like a mysterious temporary worker.
Like someone he finally understood was dangerous.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
I looked through the blinds.
Reed and Pike crossed the courtyard below.
Then I turned.
“Colonel Elena Vance.”
Mercer’s mouth opened.
“Pentagon Inspector General.”
He sat down hard.
“Oh God.”
“No. God isn’t handling this case.”
I pointed toward him.
“You are.”
His expression changed.
“You’re going to help me finish what Noah Grant started.”
Mercer swallowed.
“What if I refuse?”
“You’re already bleeding in my room because Sterling thinks you betrayed him.”
I let that settle.
“You don’t have a neutral position anymore.”
For the next hour, Mercer told me everything.
Sterling sold military equipment through a network of civilian contractors.
He forced soldiers into unpaid labor.
He collected fake “morale contributions.”
He manipulated evaluations and transfers.
He used confidential personnel information to blackmail anyone who resisted.
But the most disturbing detail came last.
“There’s a second ledger,” Mercer said.
“Different from the Site Twelve book?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s in it?”
“Names above Sterling.”
“How high?”
Mercer looked toward the dark window.
Then he whispered:
“One of them has a star on his uniform.”
My stomach tightened.
General Dorian.
I refused to believe it without evidence.
But Mercer was not finished.
“The ledger has a nickname.”
“What?”
“The King’s Book.”
“Why?”
“Because Sterling says whoever owns it owns Camp Vora.”
I looked at the flash drive.
“Then we find it.”
Mercer shook his head.
“Noah already did.”
I turned.
“What?”
“The night he died, Noah sent me one message.”
“What did it say?”
Mercer took a breath.
“He said, ‘The King’s Book isn’t with Sterling anymore.’”
“Where was it?”
“He never told me.”
A noise came from the courtyard.
A car door slammed.
We both looked outside.
An unmarked sedan had parked near the barracks.
A man stepped out.
General Samuel Dorian’s executive aide.
Lieutenant Colonel Eric Shaw.
He looked directly toward my window.
Then raised his phone.
My encrypted device vibrated.
One message appeared.
ELENA, YOUR COVER IS BLOWN.
I recognized the sender.
General Dorian.
But that was impossible.
Because only thirty seconds later, a second message came through the secure channel.
Also from General Dorian.
DO NOT TRUST ANY MESSAGE SENT IN MY NAME. WE HAVE A BREACH.
I stared at both screens.
May you like
Someone had access to senior command communications.
And whoever it was knew exactly who I was.
