Chapter 16 - The Captain Who Buried the Truth
Captain Victor Hale had been a legend among junior aviators.
At fifty-six, he carried the kind of reputation that made officers straighten their posture before he entered a room. He had commanded carrier aviation units, survived combat deployments, and earned decorations most pilots only read about.
He had also written my first recommendation for advanced tactical flight training.
For years, I'd considered him a mentor.
Now his face appeared in a threatening video beside my bound former wingman.
I watched the footage inside Commander Whitcomb's secure office.
Daniel sat in a metal chair under harsh fluorescent lighting.
His face was bruised.
A man wearing a Navy captain's uniform stood behind him.
The image was slightly blurred, but the resemblance to Hale was unmistakable.
"Commander Peterson," the man said into the camera. "You've been asking questions that should remain unanswered."
He placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder.
"Your friend understands the consequences of disobedience."
Daniel lifted his head.
"Don't listen to him, Avery."
The man struck the chair hard enough to make Daniel flinch.
"Silence."
I leaned toward the screen.
"Can you identify the location?" I asked.
Whitcomb shook her head.
"Not yet."
The man continued.
"Deliver all materials concerning Night Lantern and the recovery initiative to the location provided in the next message. Come alone."
Then the recording ended.
Whitcomb turned off the screen.
"You're not going."
"I wasn't planning to."
She looked surprised.
"I know how an ambush works," I said. "And I know the difference between rescuing someone and giving a criminal exactly what he wants."
Whitcomb nodded.
"Good."
I studied the frozen frame.
"Something's wrong."
"What?"
"The uniform."
Whitcomb enlarged the image.
The captain's collar insignia was visible.
So were several service ribbons.
"Those ribbons don't match Hale's documented awards."
Whitcomb leaned closer.
"Could be an old uniform."
"No. One of the ribbon combinations is inconsistent with his service history. And look at the name tape."
She zoomed again.
The stitching appeared crooked.
"Hale was obsessive about uniform standards," I said. "He once made an entire briefing group return to quarters because two officers had improperly aligned insignia."
Whitcomb studied the image.
"You think it's an impersonator."
"I think somebody wants us to believe Captain Hale kidnapped Daniel."
She made a call.
Within minutes, investigators confirmed that Hale had appeared at a naval conference in Maryland that morning.
Multiple independent witnesses placed him there during the apparent recording window.
He was being interviewed voluntarily.
The man in the video wasn't necessarily Hale.
Someone had borrowed his face, his authority, and his reputation.
Just as Douglas had borrowed military credibility to humiliate me at Richard's dinner.
Only this time, the deception was more sophisticated.
And much more dangerous.
That evening, I returned home to find Ethan standing in the kitchen.
He had prepared dinner but hadn't eaten.
"Any news?"
"Daniel's alive in the recording. That's all we know."
Ethan wrapped his arms around me.
I let myself lean into him.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "I keep thinking about your deployments."
"What about them?"
"All those nights you were gone. I worried about aircraft emergencies, weather, hostile fire."
I looked up.
"And?"
"I never imagined the people trying to destroy you might be wearing the same uniform."
I pressed my forehead against his chest.
"Neither did I."
My phone vibrated.
An encrypted message from Whitcomb.
URGENT. AUTHENTICATED MAINTENANCE DOCUMENT RECOVERED. REPORT IMMEDIATELY.
I kissed Ethan.
"I have to go."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he handed me my jacket.
"Then come home."
At the liaison office, Whitcomb showed me a scanned maintenance report.
The original had been filed shortly before Operation Night Lantern.
It documented an unexplained alteration to aircraft mission-planning data.
A technician had flagged it.
A supervisor had dismissed the discrepancy.
The revised report omitted the warning completely.
I recognized the technician's signature.
Petty Officer First Class Rachel Donovan.
She had worked on my aircraft during that deployment.
She had also died in a supposedly accidental vehicle collision four months after returning home.
My stomach turned.
"Who authorized the revision?"
Whitcomb enlarged the final page.
One signature appeared beneath the approval line.
Captain Victor Hale.
I stared at it.
Then noticed a handwritten annotation in the margin.
May you like
Three words.
ASK THE ADMIRAL.
