Chapter 4 - The Man Who Should Have Been Dead
I left through the tavern’s back door.
Walter followed.
“Clayton!”
“Go home.”
“Black Cedar?”
I stopped.
“Never say that name again.”
His expression changed.
“You think whoever posted that is here?”
“I don’t know.”
That was worse.
My rusted Ford started on the second attempt.
Before I could pull away, Walter knocked on the window.
“You dropped this.”
Not the challenge coin.
A folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
A telephone number.
Below it:
Ask why Commander Voss survived.
My hands went cold.
Elias Voss had commanded our unit.
Brilliant.
Controlled.
The man who taught me the phrase that had returned during the fight.
Stay small.
Watch his hips.
Let him believe he has already won.
Voss died during Black Cedar.
I watched the building burn.
I signed the casualty report.
So why had somebody just shown me a photograph supposedly taken afterward?
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
“Clayton Hale?”
Female voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Special Agent Mara Keene.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“How did you get this number?”
“We need to discuss the video from tonight.”
“The bar fight?”
“No.”
Pause.
“The photograph.”
I looked at Walter.
“Where are you?”
“Do not return to your farm.”
Too late.
Across the road, headlights switched on.
A black SUV.
Engine running.
Walter saw it.
“Friend?”
“No.”
The SUV began moving.
I started the Ford.
It followed.
Agent Keene remained on the line.
“Clayton, listen carefully. Someone accessed sealed Defense Department records forty minutes before your livestream went viral.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why me?”
“That’s what concerns us.”
I turned onto County Road 17.
The SUV followed.
Walter was still in the tavern parking lot.
Good.
At least he wasn’t involved.
Then Agent Keene said:
“Your farm was searched yesterday.”
My grip tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing appears stolen.”
“How do you know?”
Silence.
“You’ve been watching me.”
“For eleven months.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody else was watching you first.”
The SUV accelerated.
My farmhouse appeared in the distance.
One upstairs light was on.
I never left upstairs lights on.
Keene heard my breathing change.
“What?”
“Someone’s inside.”
“Do not enter.”
I stopped the truck fifty yards away.
The front door opened.
A man stepped onto my porch.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Older.
But unmistakable.
My mind rejected him before my eyes could.
Elias Voss.
My dead commander.
He raised one hand.
Then my phone crackled.
Keene shouted:
“Clayton, get out of there! That man isn’t Voss!”
May you like
The porch light went dark.
And a gunshot shattered my windshield.
