Chapter 3 - Protected Transfer
The destination changed.
Alexis was moved to a secure federal facility outside Greenfield rather than the hotel originally designated in her orders.
Her Jeep remained at the fuel stop temporarily for evidence processing.
Mitchell rode with her in the second SUV.
For several miles neither woman spoke.
Finally Mitchell said, “Your knees?”
“Bruised.”
“Wrists?”
“Bruised.”
“Pride?”
Alexis looked at her.
Mitchell almost smiled.
“Intact.”
“Good.”
Alexis turned toward the darkening suburbs.
“Why didn’t we know Northline had a vehicle on me?”
“That is the question.”
“You signed the protection protocol.”
“I did.”
“Who knew my route?”
Mitchell hesitated.
Alexis turned.
“Claire.”
“Six people.”
“Names.”
“Me. You. Major Ellis in operations. Two security personnel. General Pike’s executive aide.”
Alexis stared ahead.
“So five people besides me.”
“Yes.”
“And the destination?”
“Four.”
Alexis waited.
Mitchell understood.
“The executive aide did not have destination details.”
“Who did?”
Mitchell’s voice tightened.
“You, me, Ellis, and the transfer coordinator.”
Alexis looked at her.
“Name.”
“David Mercer.”
Alexis knew him.
Civilian Department of Defense logistics specialist.
Fifty-three.
Twenty years of service.
Quiet.
Respected.
He had processed transfer documentation for dozens of sensitive witnesses.
“Mercer has access to contractor records,” Alexis said.
“Yes.”
“He also helped gather Sentinel Ridge invoices.”
“Yes.”
“That bothers you?”
“It does now.”
The SUV continued through the night.
Alexis looked down at the temporary bandage around one wrist.
“This was supposed to be procurement fraud.”
Mitchell leaned back.
“It may still be.”
“Procurement fraud doesn’t follow witnesses to gas stations.”
“It does when twenty-three million dollars is involved.”
Alexis looked at her sharply.
“You told me seventeen.”
Mitchell did not answer.
Alexis’s stomach tightened.
“How much?”
Mitchell stared through the windshield.
“Forty-one-point-six million under review.”
Silence.
Alexis slowly turned.
“You withheld half the scope.”
“I withheld figures outside your review cell.”
“You put me under protected transfer without telling me how large the case was?”
“I told you enough to understand the risk.”
“No. You told me enough to obey.”
Mitchell’s jaw tightened.
“This is not the time.”
“It became the time when I hit concrete.”
Mitchell looked at her.
Alexis’s anger remained controlled.
That made it sharper.
“You asked me to trust your security plan. Someone got my route. A contractor vehicle followed me. A police officer delayed me during the exact check-in window. And now I learn the case is twice as large as you said.”
“I did not authorize that stop.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you’re wondering.”
Alexis did not answer.
Mitchell looked away first.
The secure facility was a low government building without signage.
Inside, Alexis surrendered her phone for forensic copying.
Her CAC was examined.
Kyle had not damaged it.
Reyes had apparently intended humiliation, not destruction.
A security specialist reviewed the gas-station surveillance feed remotely.
The silver sedan had entered eleven minutes before Alexis arrived.
Its driver never went inside.
Never bought fuel.
He parked with a direct line of sight to Pump Six.
Alexis watched the video.
“That wasn’t coincidence.”
“No,” Mitchell said.
The sedan left twenty-one seconds after the first black SUV entered.
Security froze the driver’s face.
Baseball cap.
Sunglasses.
Partial profile.
One analyst frowned.
“I know him.”
Mitchell looked over.
“Who?”
“Former police.”
The analyst typed.
A database result appeared.
Eric Vale.
Forty-seven.
Former Greenfield Police detective.
Left the department four years earlier.
Current employer:
Sentinel Ridge Systems.
Corporate Security Division.
Alexis felt something inside her become very still.
“Greenfield Police.”
Mitchell nodded.
“Reyes’s department.”
The analyst continued.
“Vale worked there fifteen years.”
Alexis asked, “Any overlap with Reyes?”
“Reyes joined eight years ago.”
“So seven years.”
“Yes.”
Mitchell looked toward the door.
“We notify federal investigators tonight.”
Alexis nodded.
Then the analyst raised a hand.
“There’s more.”
He opened an archived personnel page.
Eric Vale’s former supervisor appeared.
Captain Nathan Harlan.
Alexis recognized the surname.
“Who’s Harlan now?”
The analyst searched.
The answer appeared.
Chief Nathan Harlan.
Greenfield Police Department.
Mitchell swore softly.
Alexis stared at the screen.
The police chief who would ultimately decide what happened to Danny Reyes had once supervised the man who followed Alexis to Pump Six.
Her phone sat in an evidence tray across the room.
It buzzed.
The forensic technician looked.
“Major?”
“What?”
“You have a missed call.”
“From?”
The technician frowned.
“Your brother.”
Alexis’s chest tightened.
Marcus Washington almost never called during duty hours.
Then the phone rang again.
Same number.
Alexis took it.
“Marcus?”
His voice came fast.
“Alexis, where are you?”
“What happened?”
“It’s Mom.”
Alexis stood.
“What about her?”
“Someone came to the house.”
Her blood went cold.
“Who?”
“They said they were federal investigators.”
“Did she let them in?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“They left something.”
Alexis gripped the phone.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Dad.”
Alexis stopped breathing.
Their father had been dead for six years.
Marcus continued.
“It’s him standing beside a Sentinel Ridge truck.”
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And suddenly the corruption case was no longer only about Alexis’s career.
It had entered her family.
