One sentence had been written by hand.
IF SHE IS REALLY GRANT, SHE WILL NOT LET YOU CONTROL HER RIGHT SIDE.
Olivia read it once.
Then again.
Ryan spoke quietly.
“Your first movement was left-hand wrist control, right forearm over the shoulder.”
Olivia kept staring at the note.
“That technique isn’t unique.”
“No.”
“But someone knew I would use it.”
“Yes.”
Olivia finally raised her eyes.
“Who gave Reyes that information?”
Ryan answered with the words that changed the entire situation.
“According to him, you did.”
Chapter 4: ROOM 42
Olivia slept for twenty-three minutes.
Not because fear kept her awake.
Memory did.
She lay in the dark, reconstructing twelve years of service in her head.
Courses.
Deployments.
Evaluations.
After-action reports.
People she had trusted.
People she had lost.
There had been dozens of training events where she used exactly that control technique. Hundreds of people might theoretically have seen it.
But Daniel Reyes appeared to know something more precise.
He had known she would choose it under pressure.
That implied profiling.
Or familiarity.
At 0430, Olivia got out of bed.
By 0500, she was inside the secure records facility.
She ignored Shaw’s instruction not to access restricted systems.
Sometimes obedience was discipline.
Other times, obedience was laziness disguised in uniform.
Olivia entered her credentials.
Her personnel file opened.
Most of it appeared ordinary.
Promotions.
Courses.
Deployments with heavy redactions.
Awards.
Medical clearance.
Then she found an archived evaluation record from seven years earlier.
No description.
No attached document.
Only a designation.
R-42.
She clicked it.
ACCESS DENIED.
She tried elevated credentials.
Denied.
She tried the historical archive.
Denied.
Olivia leaned back.
A voice behind her said:
“You really don’t listen.”
She turned.
Sergeant Miller stood in the doorway.
Two coffees in his hands.
She had not heard him approach.
He lifted one cup.
“Peace offering?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Opening the gym in forty minutes.”
“This isn’t the gym.”
“No, ma’am.”
The word caught her attention.
Ma’am.
He knew.
Olivia stood.
“How long have you known my rank?”
“Since before you arrived.”
“Who told you?”
Miller extended the coffee.
She did not take it.
He sighed.
“Colonel Shaw.”
“Why?”
“She told me to make sure nobody put you into a live round.”
Olivia’s expression hardened.
“Interesting.”
“Yeah.”
“Because someone did.”
“I know.”
“And you allowed it.”
Miller looked uncomfortable.
“Your name appeared two minutes before the match. I assumed Shaw changed the plan.”
“You could have stopped it.”
“I nearly did.”
“But?”
“You didn’t look like you wanted me to.”
“That is your explanation?”
“No.”
He placed the coffee down.
“My explanation is that I’ve taught combatives for fifteen years. I know when somebody needs rescuing.”
He looked at her.
“You didn’t.”
Olivia turned back to the terminal.
“Do you know what R-42 is?”
A faint change passed through his face.
Enough.
“Miller.”
He closed the door.
“What did Brooks tell you?”
“Enough.”
“That idiot.”
“He says Reyes disappeared.”
Miller looked away.
“You knew Reyes?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“I expect you to decide whether I look like I enjoy this conversation.”
Olivia moved closer.
“Forty-two names.”
Miller did not reply.
“My name is on that list.”
Nothing.
“Seven years ago, my personnel file was marked R-42.”
His jaw tightened.
“Olivia.”
It was the first time he had called her by her first name.
“Do not open that file on a networked terminal.”
She froze.
“Why?”
“Because access attempts are logged.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He stepped toward her.
“I mean somebody is waiting for those access attempts.”
A small sound came from the computer.
Olivia turned to the screen.
Her session had closed by itself.
Then the ceiling lights flickered.
Miller swore.
“What?”
“Come on.”
He moved toward the exit.
Olivia stayed where she was.
“What just happened?”
Miller opened the door.
“At 0600 yesterday, someone checked to see whether your R-42 record had been accessed within the past ninety days.”
“Who?”