Chương 10
“At the beach?”
“Or after.”
Emma touched the blue button.
The lieutenant had placed it in her hand. Evelyn had pinned the wrap around her. Hale’s aide had given her the jacket. Her father had entered the apartment. Mr. Alvarez had touched her elbow.
Too many people. Too many moments when she had been off balance.
The page was not evidence meant to help her.
It was a message.
You signed it.
Or someone could make it appear that she had.
Ortiz photographed the paper and sealed it separately.
“Do you recognize the format?”
“Yes.”
“Could you have signed a blank authorization?”
“No.”
“Could the signature have been lifted from another document?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn said, “Why place it on her instead of releasing it?”
Emma looked at the signature.
“Because Bell wants to know what I remember. If I panic, I may contradict myself.”
Ortiz nodded slowly. “Or contact someone.”
“Who?”
“That’s what he would be watching.”
Emma looked toward the curtained windows.
Malik had a sister in Oceanside.
A medic named Rosa Valez had survived the first blast and vanished from every official record Emma later found.
And there had been a local interpreter called Sami, nineteen years old, who had sent the retransmission from the evacuation hub.
The one packet Hale received.
“Rosa,” Emma said.
Ortiz waited.
“Petty Officer Rosa Valez. She was alive when I was evacuated. She knew the strike order had been altered.”
“Her file lists her as killed in action.”
“She wasn’t dead.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Emma shook her head. “But I know who might.”
Malik’s sister answered the phone at 1:13 in the morning.
At first she refused to believe Emma was calling.
“Emma Reed is dead,” Nia Turner said.
“So was I, apparently.”
The silence lasted so long Emma checked the call.
Then Nia said, “You stood outside my brother’s memorial.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“You saw me?”
“I followed you to the parking lot. You got into a gray Honda and drove away.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could have said his name.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nia breathed through her nose.
“Why are you calling now?”
“Did Malik ever mention Rosa Valez?”
“He mentioned everybody.”
“After Nightfall.”
Another silence.
“Why?”
“Because Rosa survived.”
Nia’s voice sharpened. “No.”
“I saw her alive.”
“No. The Navy sent her mother a flag.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find her.”
“Five years later?”
“Yes.”
Nia gave a small, furious laugh. “That video made you brave?”
Emma looked at the sealed folder on Evelyn’s table.
“No. It made hiding pointless.”
The answer did not soften Nia.
“Rosa sent me a postcard,” she said.
Emma stood.
“When?”
“Three years ago. No return address. It had a picture of a diner in New Mexico.”
“What did it say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Nia hesitated.
“It said, ‘He kept the blue wire. Don’t let them call it red.’”
Emma sat again.
The communications truck at the compound had used blue sheathed wire for the civilian relay and red for the contractor-controlled channel. Official reports claimed hostile personnel routed strike coordinates through the red system.
Malik had removed a section of blue wire after discovering the timestamp contradiction.
“He kept physical proof,” Emma said.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t. Not yet.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I can come to you.”
“No.”
“You can speak to a federal agent.”
“No.”
“Nia—”
“My brother called me two days before he died. He said if anything happened, I should not believe people who used the word confusion. Then the report said there had been confusion on the ground. Your father came to the memorial and told my mother the truth might never be fully known.”
Emma stared at the tabletop.
“I didn’t know he said that.”
“You don’t know much about what happened after you left.”
“No.”
“At least you can admit one thing.”
The call ended.
Ortiz had heard only Emma’s side.
“Can we locate the postcard?” she asked.
Emma shook her head. “Not without Nia.”
“We can approach her.”
“She’ll disappear.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone official told her Malik died in a mistake. Now we want her to trust another official process.”
Ortiz leaned back, tired.
“What do you suggest?”
Emma looked at the forged authorization.
“I go alone.”
“No.”
“You asked what I suggest.”
“And I’m rejecting it.”
Emma almost smiled. “That felt familiar.”
By dawn, news vans had gathered outside Evelyn’s neighborhood. Someone had identified the surf shop van. Ortiz arranged an unmarked vehicle and moved Emma through the neighboring yard while Evelyn’s husband stood in his driveway arguing loudly with a reporter about property lines.
Emma slept for ninety minutes in a small hotel under a borrowed name.
When she woke, twelve voicemails waited on the prepaid phone.
One was from Vanessa.
The message had been left before her device was seized.
“Emma, listen to me. Whatever happens today, do not open anything Hale gives you in public. You don’t know who he’s working for. Call me before you speak to anyone. I mean it.”
The tone was urgent, not smug.
Emma played it again.
Vanessa had known Hale might give her something.
She had also warned her.
That contradiction remained lodged beneath everything else.
At eight, Shah arrived with coffee and the name of an independent attorney, Mara Levin, a former federal prosecutor now in private practice. Emma called from the hotel phone.
Mara listened for twelve minutes without interruption.
Then she said, “Do not give another substantive statement today.”
“People died.”
“They will still be dead tomorrow.”
“Bell is missing.”
“Which is why you do not rush into a process he may have compromised.”
Emma looked at the hotel curtains. Light edged around them.
“My sister may be involved.”
“Then do not contact her.”
“My father is involved.”
“Do not contact him either.”
“I need to find a witness.”
“You need to retain counsel.”
May you like
“How much?”
Mara named a fee that exceeded Emma’s savings.
