Chapter 10 - ARDEN
Miles arrived at the annex forty minutes after Pike’s voicemail was authenticated.
He did not know about it.
At least that was what we believed.
Price ordered him into Interview Room Three without explanation.
I watched through one-way glass with Trent and Kline.
Miles sat alone at the metal table.
He did not fidget.
He did not look toward the mirror.
He simply waited.
That bothered Kline.
“He knows this room.”
“So do I,” I said.
“You look at mirrors.”
“Because I have vanity.”
Kline ignored me.
Trent entered the room.
Miles looked up.
“Am I finally being arrested for visiting Rowan’s kitchen?”
Trent sat.
“Where were you yesterday between 1045 and 1145?”
Miles’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“Washington.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where in Washington?”
“Union Station.”
Kline whispered a curse.
Trent remained calm.
“Why?”
“To meet Thomas Pike.”
That was not the answer any of us expected.
“Did you meet him?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Approximately 1135.”
“After Admiral Vale?”
Miles hesitated.
“I saw Vale leave.”
“Did Pike tell you why he met him?”
“No.”
“What did Pike give you?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he give you access credentials?”
“No.”
“An access phrase?”
“No.”
“Did he mention Lantern?”
Miles looked toward the mirror.
For the first time.
“Yes.”
Trent leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
“He said Lantern was larger than the favor network Kline was investigating.”
Kline stiffened beside me.
Trent asked, “How did you know about Kline’s investigation?”
Miles looked tired.
“Because Kline told me.”
All eyes in the observation room turned toward Kline.
He looked furious.
“I never told him the scope.”
But he had told Miles something.
That mattered.
Trent continued.
“What did Pike say about the ledger?”
“That Sloane did not own it.”
“Who did?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why did Pike contact you?”
Miles rubbed his jaw.
“Because eleven years ago I worked for Marcus.”
“We know.”
“No.”
Miles looked directly toward the mirror.
“You know I was his flag lieutenant.”
“You do not know what I did for him.”
The room around me seemed to contract.
Trent said nothing.
Miles continued.
“I maintained his relationship files.”
“Explain.”
“Who owed him favors.”
“Who he owed.”
“Whose children were applying where.”
“Whose spouses needed transfers.”
“Who had disciplinary vulnerabilities.”
Kline whispered, “Jesus.”
Trent’s voice hardened.
“You kept Lantern records?”
“I kept Marcus’s records.”
“Same thing?”
“I did not know then.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
Miles did not defend himself.
That made me more uneasy, not less.
“Did you alter personnel files?” Trent asked.
“No.”
“Did you transmit requests?”
“Yes.”
“Did you understand those requests were improper?”
“Some.”
“Did you report them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Miles laughed softly.
“Because I was thirty, ambitious, and Admiral Marcus Vale knew how to make complicity feel like mentorship.”
I looked away from the glass.
That sentence described more of my childhood than I wanted to admit.
Trent placed a photograph on the table.
Sailors Rest.
The torn security patch.
“Did you know Chief Morrow was involved?”
“No.”
“Did you know about Daniel Harker’s case?”
“No.”
“Did you know Pike had an access phrase?”
Miles’s face changed.
“Yes.”
I went cold.
Trent’s voice became quieter.
“You told Commander Vale you did not know.”
“I told her I did not know what it was.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Why conceal it?”
“Because Pike told me there were two phrases.”
“One real.”
“One decoy.”
“What does the decoy do?”
Miles looked toward the mirror again.
“It identifies whoever uses it.”
Kline leaned closer to the glass.
“A tracer.”
“Yes,” I said.
A trap.
Pike had not simply run.
He was testing who came after him.
Trent asked, “Which phrase did he give you?”
“Neither.”
“Then why warn your daughter not to trust you?”
Miles froze.
For the first time, genuine surprise broke through.
“What?”
Trent played the voicemail.
Pike’s voice filled the interview room.
Do not trust Arden.
Marcus does not have the ledger.
Miles listened once.
Then requested it again.
Trent played it.
Miles closed his eyes.
“Damn him.”
“What?”
“He is not warning you about me.”
Trent said nothing.
“He is warning me.”
“Explain.”
“Pike called me Arden only when he was angry.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means something to us.”
“What?”
Miles leaned forward.
“Before I left Union Station, Pike said if he contacted me again, he would use a challenge phrase.”
“What challenge phrase?”
“He said, ‘Trust is a rank, not a feeling.’”
Trent frowned.
“That is not in the voicemail.”
“Exactly.”
Miles pointed toward the recorder.
“That message was made under pressure.”
Kline shook his head.
“Or he changed his mind about you.”
I looked at Kline.
Then at Miles through the glass.
Neither interpretation could be trusted.
Trent asked, “Where is Pike?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who has the ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he mean when he said Harker died twice?”
Miles went still.
So still that I knew he understood.
Trent saw it too.
“Captain.”
Miles looked down at his hands.
“The first death was Grey Current.”
“And the second?”
“When his findings were removed from the casualty review.”
“That is metaphorical.”
“No.”
Miles raised his eyes.
“Daniel Harker filed a protected disclosure before Grey Current.”
My breath stopped.
“What?” Trent asked.
“He sent a whistleblower complaint to an inspector general intake office.”
“When?”
“Forty-eight hours before the operation.”
“What happened to it?”
“It vanished.”
Kline stepped back from the glass.
Price, who had been silent behind us, whispered, “That is impossible.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“IG intake records are mirrored.”
Miles continued inside the room.
“It did not vanish from the server.”
“It vanished from the case-routing layer.”
Trent stared at him.
“Meaning?”
“Someone intercepted the complaint before assignment.”
“Who?”
Miles laughed without humor.
“That is the question that made Pike run.”
Trent sat back.
“You knew all this and waited until now?”
“No.”
“I learned about the protected disclosure three weeks ago.”
“How?”
“An old colleague found a routing artifact during a system migration.”
“Name.”
Miles hesitated.
Trent’s voice hardened.
“Name.”
“Eleanor Shaw.”
Price inhaled sharply.
I looked at her.
“Who is she?”
“Former civilian intake supervisor.”
“Where is she now?”
Miles stared toward the mirror.
“Missing.”
That word had become too common.
Trent asked, “Since when?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she told me not to.”
“You are becoming very difficult to distinguish from the people we are investigating.”
“I know.”
The bluntness of it silenced the room.
Miles continued.
“Eleanor believed the routing artifact pointed to an administrative certificate used by someone who later worked in Admiral Price’s office.”
Every face turned toward Price.
She did not move.
“Who?” Trent asked.
Miles looked toward the mirror one more time.
“Deputy Director Halpern.”
There it was.
The man Kline already suspected.
The fifth person who knew about the Sloane intercept.
The man with a financial link to Sloane’s foundation.
But Miles was not finished.
“Halpern was not senior enough to suppress a protected disclosure by himself.”
“Who authorized it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marcus?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sloane?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Miles looked directly through the one-way glass.
“I know Eleanor found the original routing receipt.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where?” Trent asked.
“She did not tell me.”
“Did she make a copy?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Trent stood.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“Then help me.”
Miles’s voice became quiet.
“Find Rowan’s mother.”
The observation room went silent.
I stopped breathing.
My mother had been dead for thirteen years.
“What did he say?” Price whispered.
Trent repeated the question inside.
“Commander Vale’s mother is deceased.”
Miles nodded.
“I know.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Eleanor said the safest place was with the only person Marcus could no longer pressure.”
I understood before Trent did.
Not my mother.
Her belongings.
Her estate.
The storage unit I had never opened after she died because my father told me there was nothing inside worth keeping.
My hands began to shake.
Marcus had handled the estate.
Marcus had told me the unit contained old clothes and household papers.
Marcus had offered to dispose of it for me.
I had refused only because grief made every decision impossible.
Thirteen years later, I was still paying the storage fee automatically.
I stepped out of the observation room.
Price followed.
“Rowan.”
I was already moving toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
May you like
“To find out what my father was so afraid I might inherit.”
