Marcus answered:
“He is.”
Dylan frowned.
“And?”
“Being a janitor doesn't erase everything else you've done.”
Dylan was silent.
Later that evening, he found Walter alone in the equipment room.
“I owe you an apology.”
Walter looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For making you a joke.”
Walter nodded.
“Thank you.”
Dylan waited.
“That's it?”
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
Walter sat down.
Dylan remained standing.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Tell them what?”
“That you could do that.”
Walter smiled.
“Would it have changed how you treated me?”
Dylan hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then that's exactly why I didn't tell you.”
Dylan stared at him.
Walter continued.
“I didn't want respect because people were afraid of what I could do.”
Dylan looked down.
“I wasn't afraid.”
Walter smiled.
“You were.”
Dylan didn't answer.
After a moment, he asked:
“Did you kill people?”
Walter's face changed.
“Yes.”
Dylan swallowed.
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because sometimes there are situations where every option is terrible.”
Dylan looked away.
Walter said:
“That's why I stopped.”
Dylan finally understood.
The old man wasn't hiding because he was ashamed of being strong.
He was hiding because he remembered what strength had cost him.
The Attack
The attack happened three nights later.
Walter was leaving the pavilion.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
He heard footsteps.
He stopped.
A figure moved behind a parked van.
Walter did not run.
He waited.
“Daniel,” he said.
No answer.
Another figure approached from the opposite side.
Walter's eyes narrowed.
Two.
Not one.
The first man rushed him.
Walter moved.
He avoided the strike and pushed the attacker into the side of the van.
The second man came from behind.
Walter turned.
Blocked.
Countered.
But age mattered.
His knee screamed.
His shoulder protested.
He stumbled.
The attacker grabbed him.
Then a voice shouted:
“HEY!”
Dylan.
He came running across the parking lot.
He hit the second man hard enough to knock him away.
Marcus followed.
The attackers fled.
Dylan chased them to the street.
Marcus stayed with Walter.
“You okay?”
Walter nodded.
“My knee.”
“Can you stand?”
“With help.”
Marcus helped him up.
Dylan returned breathing heavily.
“They're gone.”
Walter looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Dylan shook his head.
“You saved me first.”
Walter smiled.
“That was different.”
“No.”
Dylan's voice was quiet.
“It wasn't.”
Police arrived.
The attackers were gone.
But they had left something behind.
A small metal case.
Inside was an old military identification card.
Walter stared at it.
His face became pale.
Marcus asked:
“What?”
Walter turned the card around.
It belonged to one of the three men who had supposedly died during the extraction thirty years earlier.
Dylan looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
Walter answered:
“It means someone has been alive all this time.”
The Old File
The following morning, Walter finally told Marcus everything.
The failed extraction had not been an accident.
Their team had been transporting a witness.
The witness possessed evidence of corruption involving a private security contractor.
Someone inside the operation had sold their route.
Three soldiers died.
Walter survived.
Daniel Cross disappeared.
The official investigation concluded that Cross had been killed.
Walter never believed it.
But he had no proof.
Until now.
Marcus listened carefully.
“What was the witness carrying?”
Walter hesitated.
“A list.”
“What kind?”
“Names.”
“Names of who?”
“People involved.”
“Government?”
“Some.”
“Military?”
“Yes.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
Marcus's face tightened.
“And the list still exists?”
Walter nodded.
“I don't know.”
A knock came at the door.
Dylan entered.
“I found something.”
He placed a phone on the table.
The security camera footage from the attack.
Marcus watched.
Then paused it.
One attacker turned toward the camera.
His face was visible.
Marcus recognized him.
“So does Walter.”
Walter stared.
“Michael Rourke.”
“Who is he?”
“Former contractor.”
“Working for Cross?”
Walter nodded.
“Probably.”
Dylan looked at Walter.
“What do they want?”
Walter stared at the frozen image.
“The list.”
“And where is it?”
Walter didn't answer.
Marcus looked at him.
“You have it.”
Walter finally nodded.
“I thought I lost it.”
“But?”
Walter looked toward the old locker in the corner.
“I hid it.”
What Walter Had Buried
The locker had been at Eastbrook for nearly two years.
Walter had never opened it in front of anyone.
He pulled out a key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was an old metal box.
He removed it carefully.
Dylan watched.
Walter opened the box.
Inside was a notebook.
A photograph.
And a small memory card.
Marcus stared.
“You've had that here?”
“For almost two years.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody looks at the janitor's locker.”
Dylan laughed softly.
“That's actually brilliant.”