“Are we going to the research station?”
“Yes.”
“Will bad people be there?”
Ethan answered before I could.
“We are going to make sure no one dangerous gets close to you again.”
Caleb studied him, then gave a small nod.
It was the first moment that felt remotely like the beginning of trust.
General Rowan had hidden a black SUV beneath a tarp behind the cabin months earlier for emergencies. We loaded the children into the middle seats. Ethan, Tessa, and I took positions around them while General Rowan drove.
The SUV eased onto an unmarked mountain road.
For twenty minutes, silence filled the vehicle.
Then General Rowan tightened his hands around the steering wheel.
“There is something I should have told you.”
I turned toward him.
“Lenora contacted me three weeks ago. She asked for the coordinates of the research station.”
“Why?”
“She claimed she was updating the family’s emergency plans.”
“And you gave them to her?”
“At the time, I had no reason not to.”
Ethan’s face hardened.
“She gave them to Valerie.”
General Rowan looked sick.
“Then I may be driving us into a trap.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “They will expect us to remain at the lodge or travel after dark. We may still be ahead of them.”
“How far ahead?”
“Two hours, if we are lucky.”
The road climbed into a broad, snowbound valley.
At its center stood several abandoned gray buildings.
General Rowan stopped beneath the trees.
“We walk from here. The access road is exposed.”
Tessa checked her weapon. Ethan did the same.
I turned toward the children.
“Stay between us. If I tell you to get down, do it immediately. If I tell you to run, go to the trees and do not stop until one of us finds you. Understood?”
All four nodded.
Ivy’s lip trembled, but she did not cry.
We crossed the snow-covered field without a word.
The main structure was a two-story concrete building with boarded windows and a rusted metal entrance.
A faded sign read:
REDMONT ADVANCED RESEARCH FACILITY
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
General Rowan unlocked the door with an old key.
I entered first, weapon raised.
The corridors stretched ahead, dark, dusty, and empty. No footprints marked the floor. No equipment appeared recently disturbed.
“Clear.”
Tessa brought the children inside. General Rowan secured the door.
Ethan found the electrical controls. After several attempts, fluorescent lights flickered to life.
The central laboratory held long worktables and old machinery beneath plastic covers.
In the center stood a single computer terminal disconnected from every network.
I removed the encrypted drive.
Tessa uncovered the machine and powered it on.
The aging system woke with painful slowness.
I inserted the drive.
A password screen appeared.
Beneath it was one sentence.
ENTER YOUR FATHER’S BIRTH CODE.
I stared at the sentence on the screen.
My father’s personnel records had been classified for years. I had never known his military birth code.
“Do you know it?” Ethan asked.
“No.”
Noah stepped closer to the terminal.
“I do.”
I spun toward him.
“How?”
“The man from the school told me.”
“When?”
“He gave me a note months ago. He said I should remember the code in case we ever needed to open something important.”
“Why did you keep this from me?”
“He said you would be afraid. He said you would understand when the right time came.”
Noah reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and removed a worn piece of paper.
I unfolded it.
A sequence of letters and numbers had been written in precise, slanted handwriting.
Recognition struck instantly.
My father’s handwriting.
I had seen the same letters in old birthday cards stored beneath my bed.
This message had been written before his death.
He had known I would eventually need it.
“Did the man tell you anything else?” I asked.
Noah nodded.
“He said Grandpa loved you more than he loved the truth. And he was sorry he could not tell you himself.”
I pressed the note against my chest.
Then I typed in the code.
The screen dropped to black.
Three seconds later, one video file appeared.
The date was from twenty years earlier.
I pressed play.
My father’s face flickered onto the screen.
