Chapter 13 - The Billionaire's Locked Room
Arthur Mercer didn't appreciate being accused of concealing evidence.
He appreciated it even less when the accusation came from a man the Navy had declared dead.
I met him at his waterfront office in San Francisco that afternoon, accompanied by Commander Whitcomb.
Ethan was already waiting in the lobby.
He had received a call from Mercer less than an hour earlier, asking him to leave his investment files untouched until security personnel completed an internal review.
As I approached, Ethan searched my face.
"Tell me what's happening."
I glanced toward Whitcomb.
She gave a restrained nod.
"A possible connection has emerged between the investigation and Mercer's business," I said. "Nothing has been established."
Ethan looked toward the private elevators.
"Arthur isn't hiding something from us."
"I hope you're right."
"I've worked with him for six months. He's been nothing but supportive."
"So had Richard's investors," I replied softly, "until they found out what he was paying Douglas to do."
Ethan flinched.
I regretted the comparison immediately.
But I couldn't retract it.
We entered Mercer's office together.
The retired admiral stood beside a panoramic window overlooking the bay, his hands clasped behind his back.
He looked older than he had during my promotion ceremony.
"Commander," he said. "I understand we've had a development."
Whitcomb placed the recovered message on his desk.
Mercer read it without expression.
Then he did something unexpected.
He walked to a locked cabinet and removed a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small data-storage device.
"I've been trying to determine the origin of this for three months," he said.
Whitcomb straightened.
"What is it?"
"An encrypted archive delivered anonymously to my private office. It contained records concerning a former defense contractor and references to a project called Night Lantern."
I stared at him.
"You knew about this for three months?"
"I knew someone had sent an archive. I didn't know whether its contents were authentic."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Mercer's jaw tightened.
"Because the first document I opened suggested that someone connected to your squadron had sold restricted operational information."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
He looked directly at me.
"Lieutenant Daniel Brooks."
My former wingman.
The pilot whose life I'd saved.
The man who had stood beside my hospital bed after our mission, refusing to leave until the doctors assured him I would recover.
"Daniel would never betray his country," I said.
"That was my initial reaction."
"Then why keep this from me?"
"Because I wasn't going to destroy a young officer's reputation based on an anonymous document."
Whitcomb stepped forward.
"Admiral, has this archive been reported to federal authorities?"
Mercer nodded.
"I notified counsel and requested a secure review through the appropriate channels. The original device has remained sealed since then. Its contents have not been independently validated."
Whitcomb examined the bag.
"We'll need custody records and the names of everyone who accessed it."
"You'll have them."
Ethan moved beside me.
"Arthur, what does this have to do with the recovery initiative?"
Mercer turned toward him.
"Possibly everything."
He explained that a private aerospace supplier named Aegis Vector Systems had unsuccessfully bid for a major role in the autonomous carrier recovery program.
The company had access to certain unclassified demonstrations during early development.
When engineers discovered inconsistencies in technical materials supplied during a preliminary evaluation, its participation was suspended pending review.
"The company claimed our consortium had stolen its intellectual property," Mercer said. "The allegations were unsupported, but its executives threatened litigation."
"Who owns Aegis Vector?" Ethan asked.
Mercer hesitated.
"Officially, a group of private investors."
"And unofficially?"
"We've identified several shell companies. Some trace back to Harbor Crest Advisory."
A cold realization spread through me.
Douglas.
Richard.
The money.
The threats.
And the dead operator who might not be dead.
"What did Aegis Vector want?" I asked.
Mercer looked at the recovered message.
"Control over the recovery system's commercial licensing."
Ethan frowned.
"But a military program doesn't work like an ordinary private acquisition."
"Exactly," Mercer replied. "And someone may have been making promises they couldn't legally deliver."
Whitcomb's phone vibrated.
She read the message, then looked at us.
"We have a location."
My heart hammered.
"Nathan?"
"A possible sighting. A medical clinic near Richmond."
"Is he alive?"
"The witness believes so."
Before anyone could speak, Whitcomb received a second message.
Her expression changed.
"The clinic's security cameras have gone offline."
I stepped toward the door.
Whitcomb raised her hand.
"Commander, you're not part of the response team."
"I know."
"And you're not going there."
I looked at the image of Nathan Cole on the conference screen.
Somewhere out there, the man we'd mourned for eighteen months was running from people who wanted him silenced.
Whitcomb turned to Mercer.
"One more question, Admiral."
"Yes?"
"Who first recommended Aegis Vector Systems for the recovery initiative?"
Mercer's expression became unreadable.
May you like
Then he answered.
"Richard Peterson."
