He called me twice.
I didn't answer.
On the third call, I did.
“Bob.”
“Meet me.”
“Bad idea.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain now.”
“Not over a phone.”
I almost hung up.
Then he said something that froze me.
“Griggs didn't find your van by accident.”
“He was waiting.”
“For me?”
“For Beck's evidence.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I made the same mistake Beck did.”
“What mistake?”
Kincaid's voice became quiet.
“We trusted OIG.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Then someone knocked on my front door.
Three hard knocks.
I reached for my cane.
A sedan sat outside.
Federal plates.
Marcus Bell stood on my porch.
I opened the door.
“Something wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
“Come in.”
He entered.
Looked around.
Living room.
Family photographs.
Ellen's urn on the shelf beside our wedding picture.
Bell stopped briefly at it.
“Your wife?”
“I'm sorry.”
We sat.
Bell placed a folder on my coffee table.
“We found Thomas Beck.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Alive?”
Bell didn't answer quickly enough.
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“An abandoned storage property outside Mesa.”
“How?”
“Anonymous tip.”
“Cause?”
“Still being determined.”
I looked toward Ellen's photograph.
Tom had survived war.
Raised children.
Grown old.
And somehow the past had reached across thirty-five years and taken him anyway.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“A piece of paper was found in his jacket.”
He handed me a photocopy.
Four words were written on it.
HANK KNOWS THE SECOND ORDER.
“What does that mean?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I told you. The second order was to continue the route instead of stopping for casualties.”
“Who gave it?”
“You heard the voice.”
“Radio distortion.”
“Try.”
Darkness.
Gunfire.
Then a voice.
Advance.
Ignore the building.
Proceed to checkpoint.
I had disobeyed.
A different voice later had supported me.
I opened my eyes.
“I can't identify it.”
Bell watched me closely.
“Can't or won't?”
That angered me.
“You think I'm protecting whoever did this?”
“I think memory protects people without permission.”
I stood.
“Interview over.”
Bell didn't move.
“Colonel Kincaid believes someone inside OIG is involved.”
“I'm aware.”
“He told me.”
Bell became still.
“Before you arrived.”
“What exactly did he say?”
I hesitated.
Bell saw it.
“He said Beck and he made the mistake of trusting OIG.”
Bell leaned back.
“That’s interesting.”
“Because Beck never contacted OIG.”
“He contacted internal affairs at the VA. His complaint was referred to us after he disappeared.”
I felt a chill.
“Then how did Kincaid know Beck trusted OIG?”
Bell stood.
“Call me if he contacts you again.”
He handed me a card.
Then walked toward the door.
“Bell.”
He turned.
“Who can I trust?”
For the first time since meeting him, he looked genuinely tired.
“I wish I knew.”
At 2:13 the next morning, my security alarm woke me.
Back door.
I reached beneath the bed and retrieved the pistol I had legally owned for twenty years.
I hated touching it.
But I hated being helpless more.
The hallway was dark.
I moved slowly.
Cane in left hand.
Pistol low in right.
A shadow passed outside the kitchen window.
I called 911.
Then someone whispered through the door.
I unlocked it.
He pushed inside.
His shirt was torn.
Blood darkened one sleeve.
“What happened?”
“Turn off the lights.”
“Bob—”
“Now.”
He leaned against the counter.
“You were followed.”
“By who?”
“He just left hours ago.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Glass.”
“Sit down.”
“No time.”
“You're seventy-three. Sit.”
He almost smiled.
Then did.
I cleaned the cut.
Shallow.
Ugly but manageable.
“Explain.”
Kincaid reached into his jacket and placed an old cassette tape on the table.
My heart sank.
“Where did you get that?”
“Beck mailed it to me.”
“Two days before he vanished.”
“What’s on it?”
“The second order.”
“You heard it?”
“Whose voice?”
“Mine.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I stepped backward.
“You gave the order?”
My hand went cold around the edge of the counter.
“Because I was ordered to.”
“By whom?”
“Major Pike.”
“You told us Pike was compromised.”
“He was.”
“And you followed him?”
“I didn't know then.”
“You ordered us to leave wounded men.”
“I ordered the convoy forward because Pike told me the intersection was about to be hit.”
“Our own aircraft.”
I froze.
“The target package had already been submitted.”
I remembered the building.
The civilians.
The wounded Marines.
If we had obeyed, they would have died.
“You knew?”
“Not about the civilians.”
“You knew the strike was coming.”
I grabbed the counter.
“Why did the report change?”
“Because the strike was canceled after you refused to move.”
“How does my refusal cancel an air strike?”
“It didn't.”
“Then what did?”
“You radioed your position openly.”
I remembered.
I had screamed coordinates across an unsecured channel because our encrypted set failed.
Kincaid nodded.
“Once you announced friendly troops were inside the target zone, the aircraft aborted.”
“So my disobedience exposed the false coordinates.”
“And that's why they wanted me court-martialed.”
“You did save my career.”
I looked at the cassette.
“And Beck knew?”
“Eventually.”