Chapter 12 - The Fourth Coffin
I remembered every funeral.
Daniel Frost's mother had held my hand so tightly I thought she'd break my fingers.
Marcus Bell's wife had refused to cry until the honor guard folded the flag.
Tyler Brooks's younger brother had stood outside the church for an hour because he couldn't bear to go inside.
And Andrew Keene's daughter had asked why everybody kept talking about heaven when she wanted her daddy at home.
Four funerals.
Four folded flags.
Four names I'd carried like stones in my chest.
Now Rachel was telling me one of them might have lived.
I looked at Sarah.
"Pull the original casualty records."
She nodded.
"Already requesting them."
"Not the final report."
"I know."
"The first field report."
"I understand."
My hands were shaking.
I hated that.
I'd spent years learning to live with grief.
I'd gone through therapy.
I'd built a garage.
I'd married Rachel.
I'd convinced myself there was still something worth having in this world.
Now someone had reached into the graveyard of my past and opened a coffin.
Bennett came closer.
"Who would have had access to the original casualty reporting?"
"Medical personnel. Recovery team. Command staff."
"Rourke?"
"Yes."
"Voss?"
"Not officially."
Sarah looked at me.
"Who was the fourth man recovered?"
I stared at her.
"Andrew."
Andrew Keene.
Twenty-nine years old.
A father.
A medic.
The best man I'd ever known under pressure.
He'd been wounded when the convoy was hit.
I remembered trying to reach him.
Smoke.
Gunfire.
A broken radio.
Then nothing.
The official report said he'd died at the site.
His remains had been identified.
His family had received a sealed coffin.
I suddenly couldn't breathe.
"Sarah."
She looked at me.
"Find out who signed the identification."
She typed quickly.
Minutes passed.
The room felt smaller with every second.
Then Keller entered.
"Agent Bennett, we got a hit on the freight records."
Bennett turned.
"What kind?"
"Private shipments through the old rail spur. Unregistered in county records, but documented through a commercial logistics clearinghouse."
"Dates?"
"Regular movements for at least two years."
"Cargo?"
"Industrial equipment. Electronics. Agricultural machinery."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
Keller continued.
"One shipment is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
Bennett leaned closer.
"Destination?"
"Cross-border transfer through a licensed freight broker."
"Consignee?"
He checked his tablet.
"Meridian Agricultural Systems."
Sarah and I exchanged a look.
A familiar name wearing a new suit.
I pointed at the screen.
"That's Voss."
Bennett turned to Keller.
"Coordinate with federal investigators to preserve the freight records and seek authority to inspect the shipment. Notify the agencies with relevant export-control jurisdiction."
Keller nodded and left.
Sarah's laptop chimed.
She opened a file.
Her expression changed.
"Ethan."
I turned.
"What?"
She looked up slowly.
"The first casualty notification listed Andrew Keene as missing."
I stared at her.
"Missing?"
"Presumed dead."
"Who changed it?"
She scrolled.
"An amended report was entered seventy-two hours later."
"By whom?"
"Under Rourke's authority."
My mouth went dry.
Sarah continued.
"The remains identification was based on personal effects and a partial biological sample. The chain of custody was disputed in a later audit."
I sat down.
Hard.
"They never proved it was him."
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
"No."
For eight years, I'd blamed myself for Andrew's death.
For not getting to him.
For failing him.
I'd visited his grave every Memorial Day when I could.
I'd stood beside his daughter as she grew taller.
And now there was a possibility he was alive.
Somewhere.
Possibly suffering.
Possibly believing we'd abandoned him.
Bennett rested a hand on the table.
"We need to avoid drawing conclusions until we have independent confirmation."
I looked up.
"Rachel said he survived."
"Then we find out what she knows."
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
A photograph.
The image showed a man sitting in a bare concrete room.
His hair was gray.
His beard was long.
One side of his face carried an old burn scar.
But I knew his eyes.
I knew them instantly.
Andrew Keene.
My friend.
My teammate.
The man I'd buried eight years ago.
He held a newspaper dated that morning.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
ONE LIFE FOR ANOTHER.
Then a second message.
BRING THE EVIDENCE. GET YOUR WIFE AND YOUR FRIEND.
I stared at Andrew's face.
Tears blurred my vision.
He was thinner.
Older.
Broken in ways I couldn't imagine.
But he was alive.
Bennett looked at the photograph.
Her voice softened.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"Don't."
I wiped my eyes.
"Don't apologize."
"Okay."
I looked at her.
"Help me bring him home."
She nodded.
"We will."
A second later, Sarah's secure phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face changed.
Then she slowly sat down.
"What is it?" I asked.
She looked at me.
"We've received confirmation that General Rourke has been informed of the investigation."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"And?"
"He just issued a statement through counsel."
"What statement?"
Sarah swallowed.
"He's claiming you stole classified evidence eight years ago and have been attempting to blackmail former defense contractors ever since."
I stared at her.
Bennett's face hardened.
Sarah continued.
"He's requesting that federal authorities detain you for questioning."
I looked toward the photograph of Andrew.
Then at the map of the rail yard.
Then back at Sarah.
"He knows."
She nodded.
"Yes."
I stood.
"He knows we found the survivor."
Bennett looked toward the door.
"Secure this room."
An agent moved into the hallway.
My phone vibrated one more time.
This time the message came from Rachel's number.
ETHAN, DON'T TRUST SARAH.
I slowly raised my eyes.
May you like
Sarah was looking directly at me.
And for the first time in eight years, I wondered whether the last person I trusted had been lying too.
