Chapter 10 - The General's Greatest Regret|
Victor Sloane's attempted departure transformed the investigation from a quiet internal review into an urgent federal matter.
Ortiz contacted the appropriate authorities and forwarded the information supporting an immediate examination of his travel plans.
Within the hour, investigators reported that Sloane had been stopped before boarding his aircraft.
He was not yet under arrest.
But he was no longer free to leave without answering questions.
I expected that news to bring relief.
Instead, I felt strangely empty.
Stopping one man from boarding a plane would not bring Mara back.
It would not undo the letters sent to five grieving families.
And it would not erase eight years of being told that my memories couldn't be trusted.
I left the conference room and walked toward an empty courtyard behind headquarters.
The sky had turned purple.
American flags hung motionless beside the administration buildings.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Whitaker approached carrying two cups of coffee.
He handed me one.
“You still drink it black?”
“Some things never change.”
He sat beside me on a low stone wall.
For a while, we watched the base settle into its evening routine.
Then he said, “I owe you the truth about my part in this.”
I looked at him.
He kept his eyes on the courtyard.
“Eight years ago, I received the Night Sparrow preliminary report.”
“I questioned the route change.”
“I questioned the missing communication files.”
“But Vale assured me the investigative team had verified the field decisions.”
I listened without interrupting.
Whitaker continued.
“When the final report arrived, I authorized the administrative closure of the operational review.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
“You signed it?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing the recordings were missing?”
“Yes.”
The silence between us became unbearable.
“Then why didn't you fight harder?”
He looked at me.
There were tears in his eyes.
“Because I convinced myself that imperfect information was still enough to make a decision.”
He swallowed.
“I was wrong.”
I stood and walked several steps away.
For years, Whitaker had been one of the few senior officers willing to take my concerns seriously.
He had helped me rebuild a career.
He had given me access to investigations nobody else would let me touch.
And now I knew he had once helped close the very case that destroyed my life.
“You let them call us reckless,” I whispered.
Whitaker didn't defend himself.
“Yes.”
“You let Mara's mother believe her daughter died because I chose the wrong road.”
His voice broke.
“Yes.”
I turned toward him.
“Do you understand what that did to her?”
He nodded.
“I do.”
“No, Alan.”
“You don't.”
My anger finally broke through the calm I'd worn all day.
“You got to go home and tell yourself the system had worked.”
“I went home to five empty places at a table.”
“I went to funerals where I couldn't tell the families what really happened.”
“I stood in front of Mara's mother while she asked whether her daughter had suffered.”
I struggled to keep my voice steady.
“And I had to say I didn't know.”
Whitaker lowered his head.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he stood.
“I'm not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I'm asking you to let me do what I should have done eight years ago.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Put the truth ahead of my reputation.”
He took out his phone.
“I've requested an independent review of my own decisions.”
“I've also provided the original closure documents to the investigators.”
I studied him.
He wasn't offering an excuse.
He was offering accountability.
It didn't erase his mistake.
But it mattered.
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the message.
His expression darkened.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Vale has filed an emergency complaint against your involvement.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course he has.”
Whitaker continued reading.
“He claims you're compromising classified information and intimidating potential witnesses.”
I shook my head.
“He's running out of options.”
“There's more.”
Whitaker looked up.
“He's requested a temporary restriction on your access to the training facilities.”
“Can he get it?”
“Possibly, while the complaint is reviewed.”
I stared toward the distant range.
Vale was still trying to make the story about me.
My emotional state.
My reputation.
My past.
Anything except the missing soldiers and falsified data.
Whitaker placed his phone away.
“I won't let him bury this again.”
I turned toward him.
“Then don't protect me from the investigation.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Let every legitimate question be asked.”
“Let them examine my conduct, your signatures, and Rourke's decisions.”
“Don't give Vale a single excuse to claim we're hiding something.”
Whitaker nodded slowly.
“You're right.”
I picked up my coffee.
“Truth doesn't need special treatment.”
“It needs people brave enough to leave it uncovered.”
A sharp crack sounded in the distance.
Then another.
We both turned toward the training complex.
At first, I assumed it was routine activity from a distant range.
But the next sound was unmistakable.
A basewide emergency siren.
Whitaker's radio came alive with a frantic voice.
“Command, this is Range Control.”
“We have an unauthorized exercise activation in Sector Four.”
“Personnel are still inside the restricted area.”
Whitaker grabbed his radio.
“Terminate all activity and clear the sector.”
A burst of static answered him.
Then came the words that sent ice through my veins.
“Sir, the automated system isn't responding.”
I looked toward the darkening training fields.
May you like
Somewhere beyond those buildings, soldiers were trapped inside an exercise nobody had authorized.
And the same software that killed Mara was making decisions again.
