Chapter 4: The Open Door
"Someone's still inside.""
The words came through Captain Brooks's radio beneath a burst of static.
Then silence.
Brooks was already moving.
"Reed, Miller, with me.""
We ran.
By the time we reached the security vehicle, my hands were shaking so badly I missed the door handle the first time.
Brooks drove.
Fast.
My apartment was twelve minutes from the base gate.
It felt like an hour.
"Tell me exactly where the shipping tag is," Brooks said.
"Kitchen counter. Beside the coffee maker.""
"Did you photograph it?""
"No.""
"Did you tell anyone about it?""
"No.""
Reed turned from the passenger seat.
"Then how do they know you have it?""
I had no answer.
That question followed us all the way to my building.
Two security vehicles were parked outside.
A local police cruiser arrived seconds after us.
Brooks caught my arm before I could run toward the entrance.
"You stay behind me.""
"That's my apartment.""
"Exactly.""
We climbed the stairs.
Apartment 214.
My door stood open three inches.
The lock had been damaged.
A security officer named Hayes waited beside the wall.
"The person inside ran when we announced ourselves," he whispered.
"Ran where?""
"Back bedroom.""
Brooks looked at me.
"Another exit?""
"Window. Fire stairs.""
Hayes cursed under his breath.
Two officers moved down the hall.
A minute later, a voice came over the radio.
"Fire stairs clear.""
We entered.
My living room looked as though a storm had passed through it.
Couch cushions on the floor.
Drawers emptied.
Closet doors open.
My framed photograph of Mom lay facedown near the television.
I stared at it.
Reed noticed.
"Sarah.""
"I'm okay.""
I wasn't.
This wasn't a burglary.
My television remained untouched.
My laptop was still on the desk.
Even the emergency cash in the ceramic jar beside my books hadn't been taken.
They had been searching.
Brooks walked into the kitchen.
I followed.
The counter was bare.
"The tag was here.""
"You're certain?""
"Yes.""
Brooks examined the floor.
Nothing.
Reed opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
He was staring at my refrigerator.
"What?""
He pointed.
A small piece of white adhesive was stuck beneath the handle.
I stepped closer.
Not the tag.
Just torn backing paper.
Someone had found what they wanted.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I showed Brooks before opening it.
She nodded.
The message contained a photograph.
My kitchen counter.
The shipping tag sitting beside the coffee maker.
Photographed before it had been taken.
Beneath the image:
NOW YOU HAVE NOTHING.
Reed's jaw tightened.
"Except they just sent her a picture of it.""
Brooks looked at him.
Then at me.
He was right.
The person threatening me had just created evidence that the tag existed.
"Forward that to me," Brooks said.
I did.
Another message arrived.
YOU STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND.
Brooks held out her hand.
"Give me the phone.""
I passed it over.
She placed it inside an evidence sleeve.
"From now on, every contact goes through us.""
Hayes entered from the bedroom.
"Captain.""
"What?""
"We found something.""
He led us to my closet.
At first, I saw only clothes thrown across the floor.
Then Hayes pointed toward the upper shelf.
A tiny black object was attached beneath it.
A camera.
My skin went cold.
"How long has that been there?""
"I don't know.""
Hayes removed it carefully.
Reed looked furious.
"Somebody was watching her.""
"Apparently," Brooks said.
I stared at the camera.
Then something clicked.
"Wait.""
Everyone looked at me.
"Tuesday night.""
"What about it?""
"When I got home from Warehouse Four, my bedroom window was unlocked.""
Reed frowned.
"You always lock it?""
"Always.""
I'd blamed myself.
Exhaustion.
Carelessness.
But what if someone had entered before Tuesday?
What if they had been watching me long enough to know my habits?
Brooks called for a full sweep of the apartment.
Twenty minutes later, they found another device.
A microphone beneath my kitchen table.
That was where I'd dropped the shipping tag.
That was how they knew.
"They heard you bring it home," Reed said.
I remembered talking to myself that night.
I had picked the tag off my boot.
"Where did you come from?""
I'd actually said it aloud.
Then tossed it onto the counter.
Someone listening remotely would have known immediately.
Brooks's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
"When?""
A pause.
"Keep him there.""
She hung up.
"Keller just tried to leave the base.""
Reed straightened.
"Where is he?""
"North gate. Security stopped him.""
Finally.
Something tangible.
Something we could confront.
We returned to Camp Redstone.
Major Keller was waiting inside a security conference room.
He didn't look frightened.
He looked offended.
"Captain Brooks," he said as we entered.
"Would you explain why armed personnel prevented me from leaving?""
Brooks placed a photograph of the Warehouse Four video on the table.
Keller looked down.
His expression didn't change.
"You recognize this?""
"Yes.""
"That's you?""
"Obviously.""
"What were you doing?""
"Inspecting contractor inventory.""
"At eleven forty-three at night?""
"Schedules change.""
Brooks placed the forged receiving document beside it.
"And this?""
Keller looked at my signature.
"Corporal Miller received the shipment.""
"No, sir," I said.
His eyes moved to me.
For half a second, something ugly passed across his face.
Then it disappeared.
"Are you accusing me of something, Corporal?""
"I'm saying that's not my signature.""
Keller leaned back.
"Then perhaps you forgot.""
"I don't forget signing for four missing refrigeration units.""
Silence.
Keller looked at Brooks.
"Missing?""
Again, too fast.
Nobody had told him how many.
Brooks noticed.
"Interesting choice of word, Major.""
His jaw tightened.
"I assumed that's what this melodrama is about.""
The door opened.
Staff Sergeant Nolan entered.
He whispered something to Brooks.
She stared at him.
"You're sure?""
"Yes, ma'am.""
Brooks turned toward Keller.
"Major, Victor Hale's flash drive contained a second encrypted partition.""
For the first time, Keller's confidence slipped.
Nolan placed the laptop on the table.
"We opened it.""
He turned the screen toward us.
A list of payments appeared.
Dates.
Amounts.
Initials.
One set appeared repeatedly.
T.K.
Keller stood.
"This interview is over.""
Brooks didn't move.
Then Nolan scrolled lower.
My stomach dropped.
Because beneath T.K. was another set of initials.
M.R.
I looked at Sergeant Marcus Reed.
May you like
So did everyone else.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, my closest friend looked genuinely afraid.
