Chapter 6 - What Grandpa Really Left Me
Peter Cole looked exactly as he had at Christmas dinners.
Gray hair.
Thin glasses.
Calm eyes.
He wore a charcoal overcoat and leather gloves.
No dramatic villainy.
No anger.
That made him more dangerous.
"Put your hands where I can see them," he said.
I complied.
Hale sat perfectly still.
Peter smiled.
"Edward trained you well."
"Grandpa taught me to fish."
"He taught you much more than that."
"Let Hale go."
"No."
"What do you want?"
"Your access."
Of course.
My operational authorization still opened doors Peter could never reach.
"You already compromised Nightingale."
"That was five years ago. Things evolve."
"What do you need now?"
"Authentication to a secure archive."
"For what?"
"Names."
My stomach tightened.
The archive contained identities of protected intelligence sources, undercover officers and foreign partners.
Handing Peter access would destroy lives across several continents.
"Not happening."
One of the armed men moved closer to Hale.
Peter shrugged.
"Then Marcus dies."
Hale looked at me.
"Don't."
Peter smiled.
"This is why good people are so wonderfully predictable."
I studied the room.
Two gunmen.
Peter.
Hale restrained.
One door behind me.
Potential surveillance.
Likely additional security.
I needed time.
"Did you kill Grandpa?"
"No."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I respected Edward."
"You stole from him."
"I protected myself from him."
"Same thing to cowards."
His jaw tightened.
Good.
Grandpa taught me another lesson too.
Angry people make mistakes.
Peter stepped closer.
"Edward became sentimental in old age."
"He became suspicious."
"He became dangerous."
"But you didn't kill him."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he was dying anyway."
The words hit me.
"What?"
Peter looked almost surprised.
"You didn't know?"
Grandpa had seemed healthy.
Slower, yes.
But healthy.
"He had advanced pancreatic cancer," Peter said. "He told almost no one."
My throat closed.
Grandpa had known he was dying.
That's why he'd accelerated the investigation.
Why he left the drive.
Why he took risks.
Hale spoke quietly.
"Claire."
I looked at him.
His eyes shifted almost imperceptibly toward the ceiling.
Camera.
Good.
Someone was watching.
Peter continued.
"Edward wanted his final act to be cleaning up a system he helped create."
"What system?"
"The relationships between government and private defense."
"You mean corruption."
"I mean reality."
Peter spread his hands.
"Governments change every four years. Companies remain. Intelligence services require continuity."
"So you sold American operations."
"I sold controlled information."
"Four people almost died on Nightingale."
"And thirty-six lived because the intelligence exchange prevented a larger attack."
I felt rage rise.
"You don't get to choose who becomes collateral."
Peter smiled sadly.
"Commander, that is exactly what people like you do every day."
I hated that he understood enough to make the accusation sound plausible.
But there was a difference.
We answered to law.
Oversight.
Rules.
Peter answered only to himself.
"Authentication," he said.
I stepped toward the terminal.
"Claire," Hale warned.
I ignored him.
Peter relaxed slightly.
Mistake number one.
I placed my hand on the biometric pad.
The screen activated.
"Voice confirmation," Peter said.
I leaned toward the microphone.
"Commander Claire Whitmore. Authorization Nightingale Seven."
The system chimed.
Peter smiled.
Then the lights went out.
Total darkness.
I dropped.
A gun fired.
Hale shouted.
I rolled toward the wall as emergency lighting flashed red.
One gunman went down.
Not shot.
Tackled.
Rebecca was standing behind him holding a fire extinguisher.
I stared.
"What are you doing here?"
She swung the extinguisher again.
"Not underestimating your sister!"
Grandpa.
I almost laughed.
Hale broke free from the chair.
Federal tactical officers stormed through the rear entrance.
Peter ran.
I followed.
He reached an exterior stairwell.
Rain hammered the metal platform.
"Stop!"
Peter turned.
His gun was aimed at me.
"You always were Edward's favorite."
"This isn't about Grandpa's favorite."
"Isn't it?"
His hand shook.
"You disappear for five years and everyone waits for you. Rebecca stays, and nobody sees her."
I glanced behind him.
Rebecca stood in the doorway.
She heard everything.
Peter continued.
"That's why she was useful."
Rebecca's face changed.
"You used me?"
Peter smiled.
"You wanted to prove you mattered."
Rebecca looked devastated.
I knew that expression.
Because I had spent half my childhood causing it.
Peter aimed at her.
I moved instantly.
A shot exploded.
Metal sparked beside us.
Hale's team tackled Peter before he could fire again.
Seconds later he was face-down against the platform, wrists restrained.
Nobody spoke.
Rain washed across the steel.
Rebecca slowly lowered the extinguisher.
I looked at her.
"You followed me."
"You said you'd come back."
"That didn't mean follow me into a hostage situation."
She shrugged shakily.
"I'm still learning the rules."
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then she started laughing.
The kind that comes when terror has nowhere else to go.
Hale approached.
"You two finished?"
Rebecca nodded toward him.
"Is he always this pleasant?"
"Usually worse."
Hale almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
The smile vanished.
He listened.
"What do you mean?"
I immediately stopped laughing.
"What?"
Hale ended the call.
Peter looked strangely satisfied.
Hale turned toward me.
"The network just dumped classified procurement records onto multiple servers."
"How much?"
"Enough to burn ongoing operations."
Peter smiled.
"I told you."
I crouched beside him.
"Where's the shutdown key?"
"There isn't one."
"Peter."
"The files release automatically unless the system receives a biometric confirmation every six hours."
"Whose biometric?"
He looked at me.
"Mine."
Rebecca whispered, "Then make him do it."
Peter's smile widened.
"I won't."
Hale checked the time.
"How long?"
Peter answered.
"Fifty-seven minutes."
And for the first time that night, I realized arresting Peter Cole had not ended anything.
May you like
It had started the countdown.
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