Chapter 17 - The Secret Arthur Mercer Kept
I arrived at Arthur Mercer's waterfront residence just after ten that night.
Two federal investigators accompanied me.
Mercer greeted us in a dark sweater and charcoal trousers, his silver hair slightly disheveled.
He looked toward my face.
"Something's happened."
I held up the maintenance report.
"Rachel Donovan."
The color drained from his expression.
"Where did you get that?"
"Investigators recovered the original."
Mercer stepped aside.
"Come in."
We sat in his private study beneath walls lined with naval photographs, ship models, and framed citations.
For the first time since I'd known him, Mercer seemed reluctant to speak.
"Admiral," I began, "Rachel wrote 'Ask the Admiral' beside a report that disappeared from official records. What did she mean?"
He stared at his hands.
"When Rachel returned from deployment, she contacted an officer in my former staff."
"Why?"
"She believed somebody had manipulated operational data before Night Lantern."
My pulse quickened.
"And?"
"She requested protection for herself and another witness."
"Nathan Cole?"
Mercer shook his head.
"She didn't identify the witness."
"Did you speak to her?"
"Once. By secure video."
"What did she tell you?"
"That she had preserved copies of the original data. She believed someone was trying to cover up deliberate interference."
"Why wasn't this investigated?"
"It was. But the material she provided was incomplete, and the initial review couldn't establish criminal wrongdoing."
I leaned forward.
"Then she died."
Mercer's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"And you never told me?"
He met my eyes.
"I was advised that further disclosure could compromise the investigation."
"Was it still active?"
"Not in the form I understood."
I stood.
"Admiral, Rachel died. Nathan was declared dead. Daniel has been kidnapped. Somebody has threatened my husband."
My voice shook.
"And all this time, you knew there might have been sabotage before our mission."
Mercer didn't defend himself.
"You're right to be angry."
"Angry?"
I looked toward the framed photograph of his own carrier squadron.
"Rachel trusted you."
His shoulders lowered.
"She did."
"And you trusted the system to protect her."
"Yes."
"It failed."
Mercer closed his eyes.
"It did."
The room fell silent.
Finally, he stood and walked to his desk.
He removed a handwritten letter from a folder.
"This arrived from Rachel's attorney after her death. It was released to me only when a specific condition in her instructions was satisfied."
"What condition?"
"The public announcement of the autonomous recovery initiative."
I stared.
"Rachel knew about the project?"
"Apparently."
He gave the letter to Whitcomb, who examined it before allowing me to read the portions approved for disclosure.
Rachel's handwriting was familiar.
Precise.
Compact.
Practical.
She had always labeled her tools with the same careful letters.
If anything happens to me, don't assume the original data was destroyed.
Someone copied our mission-planning files before the aircraft launched.
The unauthorized changes were meant to create a false operational picture.
I believe the same group is now pursuing a carrier recovery system that could give it access to far more valuable information.
Then came the sentence that stopped my breathing.
Commander Peterson was not the intended casualty.
My eyes blurred.
I read it again.
Not the intended casualty.
Rachel had known something about Night Lantern that I'd never suspected.
I looked at Mercer.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
Whitcomb examined the letter.
"There's a reference to an attached evidence index. Was one included?"
Mercer shook his head.
"No."
A sharp vibration interrupted us.
Whitcomb's phone.
She answered, listened, and straightened.
"Where?"
Her expression became grave.
"We'll coordinate."
She ended the call.
"Daniel Brooks has been located."
I grabbed the back of my chair.
"Alive?"
"Yes."
Relief surged through me so intensely I almost lost my balance.
"Where is he?"
"At a hospital in Sacramento. He was found unconscious beside a service road."
"Can I speak to him?"
"Not yet. He's receiving medical treatment."
Mercer exhaled.
"Thank God."
Whitcomb looked at me.
"There's another development."
"What?"
"Daniel had something hidden inside his jacket."
"A message?"
"A photograph."
She turned her phone.
The image showed Nathan Cole standing beside a tall, dark-haired man outside an industrial facility.
I recognized the second man immediately.
His face had appeared in dozens of financial publications over the previous year.
His name was Gregory Vale.
May you like
Chief executive officer of Aegis Vector Systems.
And according to Ethan's investment records, Gregory Vale had requested a private meeting with my husband the following morning.
