Chương 6
She did not smile.
“Voss’s phone is active.”
“Where?”
“Forty miles west of Atlanta.”
“Moving?”
“Yes.”
“Direction?”
“Southwest.”
I looked at her.
“Interstate?”
“Local roads.”
“Then it may be a dump phone.”
“That was my thought.”
Mercer gestured toward the table.
“Map.”
Shaw pulled up a secure application on her government phone and set it down.
A moving location marker appeared over a county road I did not recognize.
The location refreshed every few seconds.
It was too clean.
Too convenient.
“He wants us watching it,” I said.
Shaw nodded.
“We’re treating it as deception.”
“Where’s Kessler?”
“No current entry record under that name.”
“He won’t travel under it.”
“We’re checking known identities.”
“Known to whom?”
She looked at Mercer.
“Interagency databases.”
“Those are seven years old.”
“Emma.”
Mercer’s tone carried warning.
I stopped.
Not because he was wrong.
Because I had started slipping into the old rhythm without noticing.
Find the breach.
Find the route.
Find the human weakness.
Solve before fear catches up.
I had promised myself that life was over.
The envelope on the table seemed almost mocking now.
Shaw watched me.
“You know how he operates.”
“I knew how he operated.”
“Difference?”
“Time.”
I folded my arms.
“People adapt.”
“Would he come here personally?”
“No.”
The certainty left my mouth before I examined it.
I corrected myself.
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like uncontrollable environments.”
Mercer glanced toward the parade field beyond the windows.
“A military installation qualifies.”
“He prefers distance, intermediaries, financial pressure, compromised employees.”
Shaw tapped the moving marker.
“Voss.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Kessler never trusted single points of failure.”
I looked at Mercer.
“If Voss was caught, somebody else would already be positioned.”
Shaw’s phone rang again.
She answered.
Her face sharpened while she listened.
“Say that again.”
Mercer and I waited.
She ended the call.
“General Wade’s phone contains encrypted messages with Voss.”
I felt my stomach sink.
“How many?”
“Seventeen over three weeks.”
Mercer swore softly.
“Content?”
“Most are mundane.”
“Most?”
Shaw looked at me.
“One thread mentions a family photograph.”
My skin went cold.
“What photograph?”
“Christmas.”
I closed my eyes.
Michael and I had sent exactly one family Christmas card in six years.
Diane had insisted.
We stood in front of our house in Alexandria with a ridiculous wreath on the door and Michael holding our neighbor’s golden retriever because the dog had wandered into the frame.
I had complained that the picture made us look like people advertising mortgage insurance.
Michael had printed fifty copies anyway.
“Which year?”
“Last December.”
“That shows our house.”
Shaw nodded.
“Address?”
“Not visible.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Mercer was already issuing instructions.
“Protective detail to the residence.”
“No.”
He turned.
“My house is empty.”
“Your belongings are not.”
“Neither is the neighborhood.”
That slowed him.
“Our neighbors have children.”
Shaw nodded.
“We can coordinate local law enforcement discreetly.”
“Do that.”
Mercer looked at me.
“You are not going there.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking about Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor.”
He stared.
“She’s seventy-two, keeps her television loud enough to guide aircraft, and notices every car that parks on our street.”
Shaw lifted her phone.
“You want us to interview her?”
“I want someone to make sure she doesn’t walk outside and challenge an armed stranger with her recycling bin.”
Shaw almost smiled.
“I’ll mention that.”
Another officer appeared at the door.
“General Mercer.”
He handed Shaw a printed sheet.
She read it, then gave it to Mercer.
Mercer’s expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
He passed it to me.
The document was a preliminary extraction from Harold’s phone.
One message stood out.
Voss had asked for confirmation of my maiden name.
Harold had replied that Lauren might know.
Two days later, another message contained a photograph attachment.
The preview showed a scanned copy of something familiar.
My marriage license.
Michael’s sister had sent it.
I stared at the tiny image.
“She had access because Diane keeps family records in the upstairs desk.”
Mercer looked toward the hall.
“Then Lauren may have provided more than she admitted.”
“She probably didn’t understand what she was giving him.”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters to me.”
Mercer studied my face.
“She laughed when her father humiliated you in public.”
“I noticed.”
“And you’re defending her.”
“I’m distinguishing cruelty from espionage.”
“That distinction may get difficult.”
“It usually does.”
Shaw returned to the conference room door.
“I need Mrs. Wade.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“Lauren.”
I almost corrected her automatically.
Then I remembered we shared the name.
Another small absurdity.
“Why?”
“We found a second message chain.”
“Between her and Voss?”
“Between her and someone saved as Daniel K.”
The room seemed to contract.
Mercer’s voice dropped.
“Direct communication?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Shaw checked the screen.
“Approximately four months.”
I looked at her.
“That predates Harold’s investigation.”
“By a lot.”
“What are they discussing?”
“Mostly professional networking.”
Lauren worked for a defense-adjacent consulting company in Atlanta.
I had never paid much attention to what she did because Lauren had made it clear early in my marriage that interest from me felt like intrusion.
“Who initiated contact?”
Shaw scrolled.
“Kessler.”
“Using what pretext?”
“Recruitment.”
Of course.
People like Kessler rarely began with threats.
They began with flattering questions.
Who are you.
What do you deserve.
Who has failed to recognize your value.
Mercer walked toward the hall.
“Bring her in separately.”
“I want to be there,” I said.
“No.”
“She knows me.”
“That is exactly why you should not be.”
“If Kessler cultivated her because of me, I need to hear how.”
“Investigators need to hear how.”
“She may lie to them.”
“She may lie to you faster.”
I looked at Shaw.
She agreed with him without saying so.
That irritated me because she was right.
Mercer softened his voice.
“Emma, if Lauren was targeted, this is not the moment to decide whether she deserves your sympathy.”
“I’m not.”
“What are you deciding?”
May you like
“Whether she knew who she was helping.”
The door opened before he could answer.
