Chapter 5: The Man in the Photograph
I stared at the photograph until the faces began to blur.
Voss was younger in the picture, but unmistakable. His hair was darker, his jaw less lined, and his expression almost pleasant. He wore a field jacket with no visible insignia and stood behind the six sailors as though he belonged with them.
I turned the phone toward Dr. Feldstein.
“Do you know where this was taken?””
He studied the image.
“No. But whoever sent it wants you to believe Voss was involved in your mission.””
“He admitted knowing about my military history.””
“That's not proof he was there.””
“He was standing with the six men.””
“Then we need the original photograph and its source.””
I looked at the unknown number.
“There's no sender information beyond the number.””
“Don't respond yet.””
My phone vibrated again.
A second message appeared.
*Find the old surgical wing. Room B-17. Before midnight. Come alone.*
I read it twice.
Feldstein's expression darkened.
“Absolutely not.””
“If somebody knows what happened to those men, this may be our only lead.””
“Or it's a trap designed to get you out of the hospital.””
“Either way, someone wants me to go.””
“And that's precisely why you shouldn't.””
I pocketed my phone.
“We need to find out whether B-17 exists.””
Feldstein sighed.
“You are the most difficult nurse I've ever worked with.””
“You've said that before.””
“I meant it before, too.””
He reached for his office phone and called hospital maintenance.
While he spoke, I studied the photograph again.
My eyes settled on the man standing at the far left.
I knew him.
Not well. I'd treated him briefly during the mission, after a piece of shrapnel cut his forehead. He'd joked that the scar would make him look more intimidating.
His name was Jonah Reeves.
According to the report, Jonah had died when the extraction site collapsed.
I zoomed in on his left hand.
Three knots.
One brass bead.
The same bracelet.
My heart started beating faster.
If Jonah was alive, the official report was a lie.
If Voss had been present, then the lie had reached beyond the officers who signed it.
And if someone inside Ashford Memorial had contacted me, the mission might never have truly ended.
Feldstein hung up.
“Maintenance has no record of a Room B-17 in the current hospital layout. But there was an older surgical wing beneath the east building before the renovation.””
“The restricted unit.””
“Possibly. Most of that space has been sealed.””
“Can security access the old floor plans?””
“Not without an administrative authorization.””
“Voss.””
“Or Pike.””
We looked at each other.
Neither of us liked the alternatives.
“Stay away from the restricted unit tonight,” Feldstein said.
“I'll find someone outside this hospital who can verify the transfer documents.””
“Who?””
“A lawyer who handles military medical cases. I've known her for years. She won't be impressed by Voss's title.””
“Good.””
“And, Caroline?””
“Yes?””
“If you go looking for Room B-17, do not go alone.””
I nodded.
It was an easy promise to make.
At 7:40 that evening, I returned to the ICU.
Marcus was awake and more comfortable. His blood pressure had improved, and his surgical team was cautiously optimistic about his recovery.
I checked his lines and adjusted his blankets.
“Any visitors?”” I asked.
“An officer stopped by. Gray hair. Scar under his eye.””
My hands went still.
“The man from the transport?””
“He said he was here to collect a statement.””
“What did you tell him?””
“That I was too tired to talk.””
“Good.””
“He didn't like that.””
“I imagine he doesn't like hearing the word no.””
Marcus managed a small smile.
“Neither do you.””
“I'm a nurse. I prefer the word 'not yet.''”
He laughed, then winced.
I lowered the bed slightly.
“Don't make me call the surgeon because you think you're funny.””
Marcus grew serious.
“Caroline, did you find the bracelet?””
“Not yet. But I received a photograph.””
I showed it to him.
He looked at the screen.
For a moment, his entire body seemed to tense.
“Where did you get this?””
“An unknown number.””
He enlarged the photograph with a trembling finger.
“Jonah.””
“You recognize everyone?””
“Yes.””
“Then confirm something for me. Is that Voss?””
Marcus stared at the image.
“That's Harlon Voss.””
“You knew him?””
“He was with our team before the mission.””
My stomach dropped.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I didn't recognize him at first. He was working under another name.””
“Which name?””
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Dr. Hale. Medical liaison for the contractor.””
The room seemed suddenly too small.
“What was he doing with your unit?””
“Evaluating the wounded personnel. He had clearance to inspect our treatment records and sign off on casualty transfers.””
“So he knew the men who were supposed to be evacuated.””
“He knew exactly who was there.””
“And the mission?””
“He knew about the drive before we did.””
I gripped the bed rail.
“Then why would he come here and pretend not to know you?””
Marcus gave me a grim look.
“Because he wants to know what I told you.””
The monitor continued to beep between us.
I lowered my voice.
“Someone told me to find Room B-17 in the old surgical wing.””
His eyes widened.
“Don't go.””
“Do you know what it is?””
“I've heard the name. It's where they took people who were transferred under the restricted program.””
“Have you ever been there?””
“No. But I know someone who was.””
“Who?””
Marcus glanced toward the glass door.
“Elias Rourke.””
Before I could answer, a soft knock sounded at the door.
A woman entered wearing a hospital housekeeping uniform. She was in her fifties, with short silver hair and a small scar along her chin. She pushed a linen cart and kept her gaze lowered.
“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“I'm here to change the bedding.””
“I'll finish my assessment first,” I replied.
She nodded and moved toward the sink.
As she passed me, something brushed my hand.
A folded slip of paper.
I looked up sharply.
The woman kept working.
When I unfolded it beneath the bed rail, I found a handwritten message.
*B-17 is real. Voss has the key. Don't trust Pike. Ask about the night shift records from October 12, four years ago.*
I looked toward the woman.
“Excuse me. What's your name?””
She didn't turn.
“Margaret.””
“Margaret what?””
She paused with a pillowcase in her hand.
“Reed.””
“Have we met before?””
Her fingers tightened around the fabric.
“I don't think so.””
“Then how do you know my name?””
She finally looked at me.
There was fear in her eyes, but there was something else, too.
Regret.
“I've been waiting four years for you to ask the right question.””
Marcus shifted in his bed.
“Who are you?””
Margaret glanced at him and went pale.
“You shouldn't be awake.””
“That's a strange thing for a nurse to say.””
“I'm not a nurse.””
She set the pillowcase down.
“I worked in the old surgical wing before they sealed it.””
“What happened there?”” I asked.
Margaret swallowed.
“I signed records stating that six military patients had been transferred out of this hospital. They hadn't.””
I stepped toward her.
“Where were they taken?””
“I don't know their final destination. I only know they were moved downstairs.””
“Were they alive?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.””
Marcus made a strangled sound.
“Jonah?””
Margaret looked at him.
“I saw Jonah Reeves. I saw all six men.””
For a moment, nobody moved.
Four years of grief seemed to collapse into the space between us.
Then Margaret reached into her pocket and placed a small brass key on the bedside table.
“Room B-17,” she whispered.
I picked it up.
“Why give this to me now?””
“Because the records are being destroyed tonight.””
My mouth went dry.
“Who ordered that?””
She looked toward the door.
“The man who signed the original transfer orders.””
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Margaret shoved the linen cart toward the door.
“Don't let Voss get that key.””
The door opened.
Dr. Voss stood outside.
His gaze moved from Margaret to the key in my hand.
Then he smiled.
“Caroline,” he said, “I was hoping we'd have a chance to speak privately.””
Margaret stepped between us.
“She's busy.””
Voss barely looked at her.
“Move aside.””
“No.””
He took one step into the room.
The smile disappeared.
“Margaret, you were told never to return to this floor.””
She went rigid.
I looked at her.
“You know each other.””
Voss's eyes never left mine.
“Unfortunately, Nurse Ashworth has developed a habit of collecting people who should have remained forgotten.””
He extended his hand.
“Give me the key.””
I closed my fingers around it.
“No.””
Voss looked past me toward Marcus.
“Mr. Delgado, you have no idea how many people have been harmed because of what you carry.””
Marcus's voice was weak but unmistakable.
“I know exactly how many.””
Voss's jaw tightened.
Then a security alarm sounded somewhere in the building.
Pike's voice came over the corridor speakers.
“Attention. All personnel are to remain at their assigned stations. A restricted medical record breach has been detected.””
Voss glanced toward the speaker.
That was all the distraction Margaret needed.
She slammed the linen cart into his knees.
He stumbled backward.
“Run!”” she shouted.
I grabbed the key and pulled Margaret toward the stairwell.
Behind us, Voss shouted my name.
But I didn't stop.
Because as I reached the corridor, my phone buzzed again.
The message contained a new photograph.
This one showed a hospital room with a single bed, a locked metal door, and six men standing behind reinforced glass.
At the bottom was a caption.
*They're alive, Caroline. And one of them knows who ordered your father's death.*
I stopped so suddenly Margaret collided with my shoulder.
My father had died when I was twenty-three.
A vehicle accident, according to the official report.
May you like
I had never questioned it.
Not until that moment.
