That bothered him.
He picked up the phone.
"Run the facility name."
Caleb did.
A few seconds later he frowned.
"It's not in the public database."
"Exactly."
Harlan leaned back.
"Which means?"
"I don't know."
"Which means he's hiding something."
Caleb hesitated.
"Or the facility is restricted."
Harlan stared at him.
"You want to defend him?"
"No, sir."
"Then stop explaining."
Meanwhile, Marcus sat alone in an interview room.
He had requested a phone call.
The request was denied.
He had requested an attorney.
That request was delayed.
He had asked whether he was formally charged.
No answer.
He remained seated.
His military training had taught him something that civilian life rarely required:
When someone wants you to lose control, control becomes your greatest weapon.
He looked at the clock.
5:02.
Then 5:17.
Then 5:31.
His appointment was long gone.
At 5:42, Caleb quietly entered.
He closed the door.
"I owe you an apology."
Marcus looked at him.
"You don't owe me one yet."
Caleb lowered his voice.
"The sheriff found something in your folder."
Marcus's expression remained neutral.
"What?"
"A letter."
Marcus knew immediately which one.
"Did he read it?"
Caleb nodded.
"All of it?"
"I don't know."
Marcus leaned back.
"What did it say?"
Caleb looked uncomfortable.
"It was addressed to someone named Elena Ward."
Marcus's eyes sharpened.
"Director Ward."
"Yes."
"What else?"
Caleb shook his head.
"I shouldn't be telling you this."
Marcus studied him.
"Then why are you?"
The young deputy looked toward the door.
"Because something about this feels wrong."
Marcus nodded.
"Trust that feeling."
Before Caleb could respond, the door opened.
Harlan stood there.
"Deputy."
Caleb straightened.
"Yes, Sheriff?"
"Get out."
Caleb left.
Harlan sat across from Marcus.
He placed the folder between them.
"You've been very patient."
Marcus said nothing.
"I've decided to release you."
Marcus looked at him.
"Am I free to leave?"
"Not quite."
Harlan opened the folder.
"First, I'm going to ask you one more question."
Marcus waited.
"What exactly is inside the Blackstone facility?"
Marcus stared at him.
"That's classified."
Harlan smiled.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The word people use when they don't want to answer."
Marcus stood.
"Am I free to leave?"
Harlan didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up Marcus's discharge certificate.
He looked at it for several seconds.
Then he walked toward the metal trash can beside his desk.
Marcus watched him.
Harlan struck a match.
The flame illuminated his face.
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing?"
Harlan dropped the document into the trash.
The corner caught fire.
Caleb, standing outside the half-open door, froze.
Harlan watched the paper burn.
"You said these documents weren't yours to disclose."
He smiled.
"Now they're nobody's."
Marcus stared at the flames.
His voice was almost a whisper.
"You have no idea what you've just done."
Harlan shrugged.
"You're nobody now."
Marcus looked at the burning paper.
Then at the clock.
5:49.
He finally smiled.
"No."
He stood.
"You've just made yourself very visible."
At 6:03 p.m., four black SUVs turned onto the road leading to the Oak County Sheriff's Office.
They moved in perfect formation.
No sirens.
No flashing lights.
No obvious markings.
But every vehicle carried a small federal identification plate beneath the rear license plate.
The first SUV stopped at the entrance.
The second followed.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
The guards at the front desk looked at one another.
One of them stepped outside.
The driver's door of the first SUV opened.