Chapter 8 - General Ellis
Robert Ellis had taught James Washington two rules.
Never confuse authority with integrity.
And never sign your name to something you have not read.
For twenty-two years, James had considered Ellis one of the best officers he knew.
Now his name sat on a spreadsheet beside suspicious payments.
James refused to believe it immediately.
Not because Ellis was his friend.
Because evidence mattered.
“Could the entry be fake?” James asked Sara.
“Rachel says the accounting structure looks authentic.”
“Looks authentic isn’t proof.”
“I know.”
“Send nothing electronically until federal investigators secure it.”
“They’re twenty minutes out.”
James glanced at Gregory.
“Good.”
After the call, he walked toward the executive.
Gregory watched him approach.
“Major General Robert Ellis.”
That did it.
Gregory’s left eye twitched.
James saw.
“You know him.”
Gregory recovered.
“Atlantic works with many military officials.”
“You didn’t ask what I meant.”
Gregory remained silent.
James moved closer.
“Thomas Carter kept records.”
Gregory’s face went pale.
“Thomas Carter was a troubled employee.”
“Careful.”
“I knew him professionally.”
“He named you.”
Gregory’s lawyers stepped forward.
“Mr. Hale will not answer further questions without counsel.”
James looked at them.
“I’m not law enforcement. He can ignore me.”
Then back to Gregory.
“But he can’t stop his face from answering.”
Gregory turned away.
James’s phone vibrated.
Robert Ellis.
James stared at the name.
Patricia noticed.
“Speak of the devil?”
“Maybe.”
James answered.
“Sir.”
Ellis’s voice was warm and familiar.
“James, what the hell is happening? I’m hearing that Atlantic blocked your escort.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Maria secure?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
James listened to every breath.
Ellis continued.
“I’m working channels from here. We’ll get you on another carrier if necessary.”
“Sir, did you know Thomas Carter?”
Silence.
Only half a second.
But enough.
“Who?”
“Thomas Carter. Atlantic cargo employee.”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“James, I’ve met thousands of civilian employees.”
James said nothing.
Ellis’s tone changed.
“What is this about?”
“His records include your name.”
Longer silence.
“What records?”
“You tell me.”
“Colonel.”
There it was.
Rank.
Distance.
James’s mentor had become his superior.
“You need to be very careful with unsupported accusations.”
“I didn’t accuse you.”
“You implied—”
“I said your name appears in records.”
Ellis exhaled.
“James, listen to me. Your job today is Maria.”
“I know my job.”
“Then do it. Stop chasing something you don’t understand.”
James’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t tell you what the records concern.”
Ellis stopped.
James felt betrayal arrive quietly.
Not as certainty.
As a crack.
“Sir,” James said, “how do you know I don’t understand them?”
Ellis answered too quickly.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“People who can make your remaining career very difficult.”
James almost laughed.
“Maria is dead.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“Everything.”
James looked through the glass.
“I am standing ten yards from a soldier coming home under a flag, and you’re warning me about my career.”
Ellis’s voice lowered.
“Do not romanticize this.”
James’s grip tightened.
“Excuse me?”
“You think every contract discrepancy is some moral crusade? Logistics is messy. Contractors shift codes. Costs get moved.”
“Eight million dollars in payments?”
Silence.
James closed his eyes.
He had not told Ellis the amount.
When he opened them, Gregory Hale was watching.
James spoke slowly.
“How do you know the amount?”
Ellis hung up.
James lowered the phone.
Patricia had heard enough from his side.
“What happened?”
“He knew.”
“Enough for probable suspicion?”
“Enough for me.”
Minutes later, two federal investigators arrived with Department of Defense credentials, followed by an FBI public-corruption team.
The senior FBI agent, Special Agent Lena Brooks, listened without interruption.
She secured the terminal logs, Rachel’s drive and Bradley’s devices with consent orders already being drafted.
Then she asked James a question he did not expect.
“Colonel, when was the last time you saw Staff Sergeant Rodriguez alive?”
“Eight days ago.”
“Where?”
“Fort Belvoir.”
“Did she give you anything?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
James remembered the brown folder on the flight three months before.
“She showed me documents once. She never transferred them.”
Lena nodded.
“We recovered an encrypted message from an account connected to Sergeant Rodriguez.”
James’s stomach tightened.
“What message?”
“It was scheduled to transmit automatically if she did not cancel it within seven days.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
James stared at her.
Lena held out a government tablet.
The message contained only twelve words.
Colonel, if I don’t make it home, look behind my mother’s photograph.
James looked through the glass at Maria’s transfer case.
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Her personal-effects case was missing.
Inside it, he remembered, Maria always carried one framed photograph of Elena Rodriguez.
