Chapter 7 - SLOANE
Victor Sloane reached the international security checkpoint at 1848.
By 1851, three federal agents were walking toward him.
By 1853, the airport cameras lost him.
That should have been impossible.
It happened anyway.
I watched the security footage from a windowless operations room while Trent replayed the last clear frame.
Sloane was seventy-two, silver-haired, tall, and dressed like a man who had spent retirement making sure nobody forgot he had once been important.
He wore a dark overcoat and carried one leather briefcase.
At 1852:14, he turned toward a service corridor.
At 1852:21, the camera feed glitched.
Seven seconds.
At 1852:28, the image returned.
The corridor was empty.
“Maintenance fault?” I asked.
“No.”
“Cyber intrusion?”
“Probably.”
“From inside the airport?”
“Almost certainly.”
Price stood behind us with her arms crossed.
“Who knew we were moving on him?”
Trent answered carefully.
“Five people.”
“Names.”
“Me.”
“Agent Kline.”
“You.”
“Commander Vale.”
“And Deputy Director Halpern.”
Price’s expression hardened.
“Not Marcus?”
“No.”
“Not officially,” I said.
Nobody liked the implication.
If the leak came from our five, the compromised person was now very close.
Kline entered carrying a folder.
“We found Sloane’s airport car.”
“Anything?” Trent asked.
“Driver says Sloane made two calls.”
“To whom?”
“First number is prepaid.”
“Second?”
Kline looked at me.
“Registered to Claire Marlow Vale.”
My stepmother.
Of course.
Price turned to me.
“Did Claire know Sloane?”
“I’ve never heard her mention him.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
Kline continued.
“The call lasted eleven minutes.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes before Sloane reached the airport.”
I remembered Rebecca.
Claire had called her about the Harker letter two months earlier.
Now Sloane called Claire before vanishing.
The graceful wife in the sequined dress was moving toward the center of the board.
“I want to talk to her,” I said.
Price shook her head.
“No.”
“She is my stepmother.”
“That is exactly why.”
“She warned me last night.”
“What did she say?”
I repeated it.
Someone who knows what your father is capable of when he believes his family is threatened.
Price’s eyes narrowed.
“She may have been warning you away.”
“Or warning me honestly.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Trent checked the time.
“We have authority to interview her voluntarily.”
“Then do it,” Price said.
“Without Rowan.”
I objected.
Price ended the discussion with one look.
For the next two hours, I was kept in another room with no phone, no computer, and nothing to do except think.
That was almost certainly intentional.
Commanders hate being useless.
Investigators know it.
At 2130, Miles Arden arrived.
I had not seen him since he left my townhouse.
He looked worse.
There was a cut near his temple.
“What happened to you?”
“Car door.”
“That car door punch you first?”
He ignored the question.
“I heard about Sloane.”
“How?”
He gave me a tired look.
“I still work here.”
“That answer is becoming less reassuring every hour.”
He sat across from me.
“Price told me you found Harker recordings.”
“She told you?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Miles.”
“My source did.”
“Your source is inside the investigation.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then get out.”
He blinked.
“I’m serious.”
I pointed toward the door.
“Everyone keeps bringing me one piece of truth and asking me to trust the missing pieces.”
“I’m done.”
“If you know something, say it.”
“If you can’t, leave.”
Miles stared at me for a long moment.
Then he closed the door.
“My source is Owen Kline.”
The room went still.
“The agent who came to the marina?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Kline was assigned to a separate inspector-general inquiry involving procurement irregularities connected to Lantern.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“And he never told Trent?”
“He couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Trent was not cleared into the inquiry.”
I laughed once.
“This institution has invented secrecy so advanced that investigators can investigate each other by accident.”
Miles did not smile.
“Kline believes Halpern is compromised.”
Deputy Director Halpern.
One of the five people who knew about Sloane.
“Evidence?”
“Pattern.”
“That is not evidence.”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Sloane vanished seven minutes after Halpern authorized the airport pickup plan.”
I sat back.
That was not proof.
It was enough to make my skin crawl.
“What does Halpern have to do with Lantern?”
“His wife’s nonprofit received funding from a defense foundation tied to Sloane.”
“Illegal?”
“Not by itself.”
“Convenient?”
“Very.”
I stared at Miles.
“And the cut?”
His expression changed.
“I was followed.”
“When?”
“Leaving the annex.”
“By whom?”
“I didn’t see.”
“What happened?”
“A car boxed me near the garage exit.”
“Accident?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The driver rolled down his window.”
“What did he say?”
Miles looked at me.
“He said, ‘Tell Rowan Harker died twice.’”
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
I did not.
But Daniel’s recordings echoed in my head.
The raw logs.
The second report.
A man who died physically once but whose story had been killed again afterward.
Maybe that was all it meant.
Or maybe it referred to something else.
A second death.
A second casualty.
A second report.
Price entered before I could answer.
She stopped when she saw Miles.
“What are you doing here?”
“Talking.”
“With authorization?”
“No.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Captain Arden, leave.”
Miles stood.
Then he looked at me.
“Think about the phrase.”
He walked out.
Price closed the door behind him.
“You trust him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“That did not sound like advice.”
“It wasn’t.”
She placed a file on the table.
“Claire agreed to an interview.”
“And?”
“She says Sloane called her asking about Tessa.”
“Why?”
“She claims Marcus told Sloane that Tessa might need a temporary position overseas if the scandal worsened.”
“That matches the ticket.”
“Partly.”
“What does not match?”
“Claire says she told Sloane Tessa would not go.”
“So the ticket was Marcus acting without consent.”
“Maybe.”
I hated that word now.
“What else?”
Price opened the file.
“Claire admitted she contacted Rebecca Harker.”
“Why?”
“She says Marcus asked her to help organize personal correspondence.”
“And she believed him?”
“She says she did.”
“You don’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Price slid a photograph across the table.
Claire entering a storage facility in Chesapeake.
Date stamp: six weeks earlier.
Another photograph.
Claire leaving with a document box.
“Whose storage unit?”
“Daniel Harker’s estate.”
I stared at it.
“Rebecca gave her access?”
“No.”
“How did she get in?”
“Forged estate authorization.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did Claire admit it?”
“She ended the interview when we showed her the photograph.”
I looked at the box in the image.
“What was in that box?”
“We don’t know.”
“Raw logs?”
“Possibly.”
“Harker’s letter?”
“Possibly.”
“Where is Claire now?”
“At home with Tessa.”
“Under watch?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“I want to talk to Tessa.”
Price shook her head.
“No.”
“If Claire took Harker’s records, Tessa may have seen them.”
“We’ll interview her.”
“She may not trust you.”
“She does not need to trust us.”
“She needs to tell the truth.”
Price studied me.
“Do you think she will tell you?”
“I think she is scared enough to stop protecting Marcus.”
A knock interrupted us.
Kline stepped in.
He looked directly at Price.
“We found Sloane.”
“Where?”
“Not at the airport.”
“Where?”
“Naval Medical Center Portsmouth.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Kline’s expression was grim.
“He was admitted under a false name forty minutes ago.”
“Condition?” Price asked.
“Unconscious.”
“What happened?”
“Unknown substance.”
I stared at him.
“Poisoned?”
“Maybe.”
“Can he talk?”
“No.”
“Was anything found with him?”
Kline nodded.
“A key.”
“To what?”
He placed a small evidence photo on the table.
A brass locker key.
Stamped into the metal were two words.
SAILORS REST.
The phrase from Daniel Harker’s riddle hit me immediately.
Where sailors go when the ship is gone.
Not a cemetery.
Not a memorial.
A place.
Sailors Rest.
May you like
And whatever Daniel had hidden there, Victor Sloane had somehow found the key first.
