Hayes crossed her arms.
"Then what is he?"
Ryan looked at Robert.
And for the first time, Robert saw something in the young soldier's expression he hadn't seen in decades.
Recognition.
Respect.
Fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of realizing how little he understood.
Ryan swallowed.
"He's one of the reasons people like me are still alive."
The Colonel
Hayes laughed.
It was short and uncomfortable.
"That's ridiculous."
Ryan didn't laugh.
Foster didn't either.
Robert simply looked down at his motorcycle.
"Ryan."
"Sir?"
"Go home."
"But—"
"That's an order."
Ryan hesitated.
He understood orders.
He also understood when someone was using an order to protect him.
He stepped back.
"Yes, sir."
But before he left, he turned toward Hayes.
"Officer, whatever you're about to do, I would strongly recommend you reconsider."
Hayes stared at him.
"You don't tell me how to do my job."
"No, ma'am."
Ryan looked at Robert.
"But he doesn't need anyone telling him how to live."
Then Ryan walked away.
Hayes watched him cross the highway.
"What was that?"
Robert started his engine.
Hayes stepped forward.
"You can't leave yet."
Robert looked at her.
"You've made your point."
"I haven't finished."
She held up the citation book.
Robert reached into his pocket.
Instead of arguing, he pulled out a small leather wallet.
He opened it.
Inside were several old identification cards.
One carried a military seal.
Another carried a photograph of Robert decades younger.
But Hayes barely looked.
"Military credentials don't excuse unsafe equipment."
Robert closed the wallet.
"They don't."
"Good."
"But experience does matter."
Hayes rolled her eyes.
"Experience doesn't stop aging."
"No."
Robert put on his helmet.
"It teaches you how to respect it."
He started the Triumph.
The engine coughed once.
Then settled into its familiar rhythm.
Hayes stepped backward.
Robert looked at her through the visor.
"You should learn something."
"What?"
"Never mistake quiet for weakness."
Then he pulled onto the highway.
Hayes stood beside the cruiser.
Foster watched the old motorcycle disappear into the distance.
After a moment, he said:
"Kimberly."
"What?"
"I think we just stopped somebody important."
Hayes scoffed.
"He's an old man on an antique motorcycle."
Foster looked at the empty road.
"No."
He shook his head.
"That's not what I mean."
What Ryan Knew
Ryan Blake didn't go home.
Instead, he drove straight to the Fort Harrison library.
He found an old unit history.
Then another.
Then another.
Finally, he found the name.
Robert James Sullivan.
His pulse quickened.
Colonel Robert Sullivan.
Special Forces.
Multiple deployments.
Advisor.
Instructor.
Operations officer.
Decorated.
But the public records only told part of the story.
Ryan searched deeper.
He found a photograph.
Robert was forty years younger.
His hair was dark.
His face was hard.
His eyes were exactly the same.
Ryan stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered:
"You're him."
A retired sergeant named Walter Price happened to be sitting nearby.
He noticed the screen.
"What are you looking at?"
Ryan turned the laptop.
Walter's face changed.
"Where did you find that?"
"Highway 14."
Walter leaned closer.
"That's Colonel Sullivan."
"You know him?"
"I knew of him."
"What did he do?"
Walter sat down.