Chapter 13 - Mercer
Daniel Mercer lived in a farmhouse outside Mill Creek.
By the time Léa’s convoy reached it, the front door was open.
A lamp burned in the kitchen.
No car.
No family.
Thomas entered first with investigators.
“Clear left.”
Léa moved through the hallway.
A child’s backpack lay on the floor.
Breakfast dishes sat in the sink.
A family photograph had been knocked from a table.
Delcourt picked it up.
Mercer.
His wife.
A twelve-year-old girl.
Léa looked at him.
“How long have you known them?”
“Since the accident.”
“You stayed in contact?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I promised him.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Thomas raised his weapon.
“Come out!”
A door opened.
Daniel Mercer appeared.
He held a baseball bat.
His face was pale.
Delcourt lowered his gun.
“Daniel.”
Mercer nearly collapsed.
“They took them.”
“Who?”
“Two men.”
“When?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
“Your wife and daughter?”
“Yes.”
Léa stepped closer.
“Did they say where?”
Mercer looked at her.
“You’re Beaumont.”
“Yes.”
“You’re the officer who wouldn’t sign the maintenance report.”
“How do you know?”
“You became popular online today.”
Thomas blinked.
“What?”
Mercer gave a humorless laugh.
“Someone leaked the video of Varenne humiliating you.”
Léa stared.
“There was video?”
“Three angles.”
Thomas looked at her.
“So much for no video.”
She shook her head.
“Doesn’t change anything.”
Mercer sat down.
“They told me to withdraw every statement I ever gave Delcourt.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“They wanted the backup location.”
Delcourt froze.
“What backup?”
Mercer looked at him.
“The one I never told you about.”
He stood.
He opened a kitchen cabinet and removed a child’s metal lunchbox.
Inside were memory cards.
Receipts.
Photographs.
And one small voice recorder.
Delcourt stared.
“You had this?”
“For two years.”
“What’s on it?”
Mercer pressed play.
A man’s voice filled the kitchen.
General Cutter.
“If the readiness number drops below ninety-two, we lose the funding package.”
Another voice.
Sloan.
“What about the defective vehicles?”
“Make them operational.”
“They need parts.”
“Then find parts.”
A pause.
Varenne spoke.
“Sir, some of those parts were transferred.”
Cutter answered.
“Then you should have thought about that before signing the transfer order.”
The recording continued.
Money.
Contractors.
Fake invoices.
Readiness reports.
Every piece.
Then Cutter said something that silenced the room.
“If anybody becomes a problem, make the problem administrative.”
Mercer stopped the recording.
“That meeting happened three days before my accident.”
Léa stared at him.
“You recorded it?”
“I was fixing an air-conditioning vent outside the conference room.”
Thomas exhaled slowly.
“This is enough.”
Mercer shook his head.
“Not for my family.”
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
Mercer answered.
“Hello?”
A distorted voice spoke.
“You have what we want.”
Mercer looked at Léa.
“What do you want?”
“The recorder.”
“Where are my wife and daughter?”
“Alive.”
A child cried in the background.
Mercer’s face twisted.
“Emily!”
The voice continued.
“Old Kestrel distribution yard. One hour.”
The call ended.
Thomas looked at Léa.
“Trap.”
“Yes.”
Mercer grabbed the recorder.
“I don’t care.”
Delcourt stopped him.
“You walk in there alone, they kill you.”
“That’s my daughter.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Delcourt went silent.
Mercer shoved past him.
Léa caught his arm.
“We get them back.”
“How?”
“We give them exactly what they think they want.”
An hour later, Mercer drove alone into the abandoned Kestrel distribution yard.
The recorder sat on the dashboard.
At least, it looked like the recorder.
Five hundred yards away, Léa watched through binoculars.
Thomas whispered into his radio.
“Movement.”
Two men emerged.
Then a third.
They brought Mercer’s wife forward.
His daughter was beside her.
Léa exhaled.
“Visual on both hostages.”
Then another man stepped from behind a truck.
Léa lowered the binoculars.
She knew him.
Captain Rhodes.
Thomas stared.
“No way.”
May you like
Rhodes walked directly toward Mercer.
And raised a gun.
