Chapter 7 - THE NAME AT THE TOP
The screen displayed hundreds of names.
But one appeared at the top.
PROJECT DIRECTOR: UNITED STATES NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL.
I stared.
“This goes higher than Voss.”
Captain Reynolds nodded.
“Much higher.”
David looked terrified.
“My father wasn't the mastermind.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
A new name appeared.
DIRECTOR ELENA MARSH.
I recognized it.
The former national security director.
Retired five years earlier.
Reportedly dead two years ago.
I whispered:
“She recruited my unit.”
Reynolds nodded.
“And she ordered the mission.”
My stomach turned.
The mission wasn't designed to stop Voss.
It was designed to recover the archive.
And eliminate the witnesses.
Including me.
David looked at me.
“You were never supposed to survive.”
I looked at my former team.
“Neither were they.”
Reynolds nodded.
“We were expendable.”
Then the ship's captain entered.
“There's an incoming transmission.”
A woman appeared on the monitor.
Elena Marsh.
Older.
Calm.
Alive.
“Sarah.”
I stared.
“You're alive.”
“So are you.”
“Why?”
“Because you remembered.”
I shook my head.
“You used us.”
“I used everyone.”
“You killed civilians.”
“I prevented a larger war.”
“That's what they always say.”
She smiled.
“History doesn't remember the dead.”
“No.”
I looked at the children.
“It remembers what they did.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You have no idea how dangerous the world is.”
“I know exactly how dangerous people like you are.”
She sighed.
“Then you know why the archive must disappear.”
“No.”
“You don't have a choice.”
I held up the tablet.
“Actually, I do.”
She froze.
I pressed a button.
The archive uploaded.
Every file.
Every name.
Every transaction.
Every recording.
Public.
Worldwide.
Her face went pale.
“You've just destroyed national security.”
“No.”
I looked at David.
“We destroyed a criminal network.”
The transmission ended.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then phones began ringing.
Hundreds of them.
News alerts exploded across every screen.
The truth was out.
But Voss was gone.
I turned.
“Where is he?”
Reynolds looked toward the emergency exit.
“Gone.”
I ran.
Too late.
The door was open.
On the floor was the aluminum bat.
The same family heirloom David had brought into our honeymoon cabin.
Except now there was a message carved into the metal.
THE FIRST WOMAN WASN'T A VICTIM.
I stared.
David walked beside me.
“What's that mean?”
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
May you like
The first woman had survived.
And she had been waiting for me.
