Chapter 5 - FRIENDLY FIRE
Thomas Reed had his rifle pointed at Brock Sullivan's chest.
For half a second I thought every suspicion I had tried to bury was finally proving itself right.
Then Reed fired.
The round passed inches from Sullivan's shoulder and struck a man climbing over the far gunwale behind him.
The attacker dropped backward into the sea.
Sullivan spun, saw the body disappear, and threw himself flat as another burst shredded the console.
"Move!"
Reed fired again toward the black speedboat.
Pike dragged me behind the sailboat mast.
The waterproof drive was still locked in my fist.
The attackers came at us from two directions now.
One boat circled wide to starboard while a second low-profile craft appeared behind Pike's sailboat.
No navigation lights.
No radio calls.
They were not trying to arrest anyone.
They were erasing the scene.
Sullivan crawled toward the burning engine compartment of our disabled boat.
"Reed!"
"What?"
"Fuel line!"
Reed looked over.
He understood immediately.
"Avery, get off Pike's boat!"
"Why?"
"Because Brock is about to do something stupid."
Sullivan tore open the aft access panel and yanked a hose free.
Fuel spilled across the deck.
One attacker saw it and started shouting.
Sullivan kicked the emergency raft release.
The canister launched into the water between us and the approaching speedboat.
Then he grabbed a flare from the safety case.
"Brock, don't."
He grinned at Reed.
"You always hated my ideas."
He fired the flare.
The burning projectile hit the fuel slick.
A wall of orange flame rolled across the water.
The lead speedboat veered hard.
Its driver overcorrected.
The bow struck the floating raft canister, lifted violently, and slammed sideways into the wake.
Two armed men were thrown into the sea.
The second boat broke off.
For the first time we had room to breathe.
Pike shoved me toward the stern.
"There is an auxiliary dinghy."
"How many fit?"
"Four if nobody enjoys breathing."
There were four of us.
I looked toward the burning training boat.
"Reed! Sullivan! Move!"
They jumped across as flames spread behind them.
Reed landed first.
Sullivan landed badly and nearly went over the side.
Reed caught his harness and hauled him upright.
Their eyes met.
Neither thanked the other.
That was as close to friendship as those two were likely to get.
We lowered the dinghy.
Pike started the small outboard.
I looked back at the dark water.
The remaining attackers were regrouping beyond the fire.
"Where do we go?"
Pike pointed south.
"Not Coronado."
"Why?"
"Because the person who gave them our coordinates is on the base."
Reed looked at me.
"Mercer?"
Pike shook his head.
"Maybe."
Sullivan laughed bitterly.
"Very helpful."
Pike turned on him.
"You want helpful?"
"I want names."
"Then stop pretending you're innocent."
Sullivan's face changed.
"Careful."
Pike moved closer despite the unstable dinghy.
"You protected the courtyard for nineteen minutes after Harker named American buyers."
"I had orders."
"You always had orders."
"And you always had opinions after the shooting stopped."
"Three sources died because we held that perimeter."
"I didn't know what was happening inside."
"You heard them."
Sullivan said nothing.
Pike's voice dropped.
"You heard them begging."
The small boat seemed to shrink around us.
I looked at Sullivan.
"What is he talking about?"
Sullivan stared at the floor.
"Harker wasn't alone."
"How many?"
"Three local assets."
"Protected sources?"
He nodded once.
"And they died?"
"Yes."
"Inside the courtyard you secured?"
"Yes."
I wanted to hate him cleanly.
It would have been easier.
But his expression was not the face of a man defending himself.
It was the face of someone who had been carrying the same moment every night for two years.
"Who gave the order?"
Sullivan looked at Pike.
Pike answered for him.
"Elias Voss."
Reed cursed.
"Then the missing aircraft—"
"Was theater."
Pike looked at me.
"Voss didn't disappear."
"Where is he?"
"Meridian keeps a maritime command site off San Clemente Island."
"Military property?"
"Technically leased communications infrastructure."
"To whom?"
"A shell company that bills the Navy."
Sullivan leaned forward.
"You know the location?"
"I know where it was sixteen months ago."
"And you waited until now?"
Pike's eyes flashed.
"I was waiting for someone whose identity Meridian couldn't predict."
He looked at me.
I understood.
"Me."
"Your assignment was compartmented late."
"And still leaked."
"Which tells us the leak is inside the final approval chain."
Reed counted on his fingers.
"Voss, Mercer, the inspector general's counsel, NCIS counterintelligence lead, and Avery's mission coordinator."
Pike nodded.
"Five names."
Sullivan looked at me.
"One of them told me about your paperwork mistake."
"Which one?"
"I never saw the sender."
"How did the message reach you?"
"Printed sheet placed inside my morning briefing packet."
"By your staff?"
"Packet was sealed before it reached my office."
Reed frowned.
"So somebody touched it upstream."
Pike suddenly killed the engine.
The dinghy drifted in darkness.
I heard nothing except water tapping the hull.
"Why did you stop?"
He pointed toward the horizon.
A helicopter was approaching with no searchlight.
Low altitude.
Military silhouette.
Sullivan reached for his empty holster by reflex.
"Friendly?"
Reed shook his head.
"No transponder lights."
The helicopter passed overhead once.
Then banked.
Pike started the engine again.
"They're searching."
"Can we outrun it?"
"In this?"
He almost laughed.
"No."
I looked at the waterproof drive.
"Can we destroy this without losing the information?"
Pike shook his head.
"That's the only surviving copy of the authorization segment."
"Then we split."
Reed stared at me.
"How?"
A dark shape rose to our west.
An unmanned navigation buoy.
I pointed.
"We hide the drive."
Pike understood first.
We moved alongside the buoy while Reed and Sullivan watched the helicopter.
I sealed the drive inside a plastic emergency pouch, clipped it behind the buoy's lower service plate, and memorized the identification number.
The helicopter turned toward us.
Too soon.
A spotlight snapped on.
White light flooded the dinghy.
A voice boomed from an external speaker.
"United States Navy security. Shut down your engine and raise your hands."
Reed looked at me.
"Could be legitimate."
Sullivan shook his head.
"It isn't."
"How do you know?"
Sullivan stared up into the light.
"Because that helicopter was decommissioned eight years ago."
The side door opened.
A man leaned out with a rifle.
Pike slammed the throttle forward.
Rounds struck the water behind us.
The dinghy bounced hard over the chop.
Reed fired upward, forcing the gunman back.
Then Sullivan looked ahead and shouted.
A larger vessel emerged from the darkness directly in our path.
Its deck lights came on one by one.
White hull.
No visible name.
No flag.
On the side of its bridge was a familiar symbol.
Three short lines inside a circle.
Meridian.
And standing beneath it, illuminated by the deck lights, was Rear Admiral Elias Voss.
Alive.
Waiting for us.
The Meridian vessel did not approach immediately.
It let us see it first.
That mattered.
Predators rushed.
Power waited to be noticed.
The white hull moved parallel to us while the helicopter remained overhead.
Pike stared at the symbol on the bridge.
"That's not the same ship."
Sullivan looked at him.
"You've seen one before?"
"Three."
"Meridian fleet?"
"Not officially."
Reed groaned.
"If anyone says those words again tonight, I'm swimming home."
Pike almost smiled.
Then his face became serious.
"They lease vessels through research companies, salvage firms, offshore survey contractors. Different names. Same communications backbone."
"How do you recognize them?"
"Antenna layout."
He pointed toward the mast.
"And that symbol only appears when they want you to know who owns the room."
The loudspeaker activated.
Voss's voice ordered us aboard.
Before we moved, I looked at Pike.
"Who signed your death certificate?"
His eyes changed.
"Why?"
"Answer."
"Dr. Samuel Rusk."
The name meant nothing to me yet.
It would later become one of the oldest threads in the entire case.
"You trust him?"
Pike laughed softly.
"I don't even trust the man who helped me become dead."
"Voss?"
"Yes."
"Then why come tonight?"
"Because hiding stopped working."
He looked toward the approaching vessel.
"Meridian found my mother."
That was new.
"Did they hurt her?"
"No."
"Threaten her?"
"Worse."
He reached into his pocket and produced a photograph.
An elderly woman stood outside a grocery store holding a bouquet of flowers.
A red circle had been drawn around her head.
Same style as the surveillance photo of me.
On the back were three words.
WE KNOW HOME.
Pike's hand trembled slightly.
"I can stay dead. She can't."
I understood why he had surfaced.
Not for justice.
Not at first.
For family.
Most people eventually reached the point where abstract duty stopped mattering and one face mattered more.
That weakness was also a strength.
It made people predictable.
Meridian knew that.
My father had known it too.
I just did not know yet how deeply.
The ladder dropped from Voss's ship.
Sullivan looked at me.
"Once we climb, we lose control."
"We lost control before sunrise."
Reed checked the tiny tracker hidden inside his belt seam.
"At least someone may know where we are."
Pike glanced at it.
"Unless Meridian is the someone."
Reed removed the tracker.
He threw it into the sea.
"Happy?"
"No."
"Good."
I climbed first.
That was not bravery.
It was command.
If someone wanted to shoot the first person over the rail, I preferred the risk to be mine.
At the top, two armed men searched me and took my pistol.
Neither wore a name.
Neither met my eyes.
Behind them stood Elias Voss.
Alive, composed, and unsurprised.
In that instant I knew the night had changed again.
We were no longer investigating a compromised commander.
May you like
We were inside the machine that had compromised him.
