Chapter 5: The Eleven Missing Minutes
"That's impossible.""
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Samuel Price didn't argue.
He simply turned the photograph toward me again.
Colonel Stephen Rowe stood beside my husband outside a military administration building in North Carolina.
There was no mistaking him.
Same broad shoulders.
Same narrow mouth.
Same habit of holding his hands behind his back when he walked.
The timestamp read 21:14.
James had been pronounced dead at 22:06.
"Rowe was supposed to be overseas," I said.
"He flew back on a temporary travel authorization.""
"Why?""
"That's what I couldn't determine.""
I looked at Bennett.
"Have Mercer verify Rowe's travel records for that date. Quietly.""
"Yes, ma'am.""
"And locate the original security footage.""
Price shook his head.
"Already tried. The recording was marked for routine deletion.""
"Marked?""
He nodded.
"Someone suspended the deletion for an internal review. The log says the footage was then transferred to a secure repository, but the transfer number was never included in the final case file.""
I studied him.
"How did you get this photograph?""
"A former security technician. He'd kept it because he thought it was unusual that an officer returning from deployment would visit an administrative building so late at night.""
"Where is he?""
Price hesitated.
"He died last December.""
Rebecca's head lifted.
"How?""
"Cancer.""
I looked at Price.
He seemed almost embarrassed.
"I'm not suggesting every death connected to this case was suspicious, General. I know how that sounds.""
"You're presenting facts. Keep doing that.""
He nodded.
I picked up the photograph.
James was carrying his leather briefcase.
I knew that briefcase too.
Brown. Scuffed at the corners. A silver clasp that never closed properly.
It had been a gift from Rebecca when she graduated from college.
After the funeral, I had searched for it because I wanted to preserve the letters he'd kept inside.
His office told me it had been inventoried with his personal effects.
It was never returned.
I remembered calling twice.
Then the memorial arrangements swallowed everything, and I'd stopped asking.
"My husband's briefcase," I said.
"Was it listed in the security report?""
Price looked down at his notes.
"No.""
Of course it wasn't.
At 11:42 that morning, I walked into Colonel Rowe's temporary office.
He stood immediately.
"General.""
"Sit down.""
He remained standing.
I closed the door.
Bennett stayed outside.
There are conversations that require witnesses.
And there are conversations where you learn more by letting a man believe nobody is listening.
This one was being documented through appropriate command procedures, but Rowe didn't need to know every step I'd already taken to preserve the record.
I placed the photograph on his desk.
"Recognize this?""
He glanced down.
For the first time that day, Stephen Rowe looked genuinely frightened.
"Where did you get that?""
"Interesting question.""
He pulled the photograph closer.
"General, this is a private matter.""
"Why were you with my husband on the night he died?""
He leaned back.
"I was asked to meet him.""
"By whom?""
"James.""
I watched his face.
"Why?""
Rowe rubbed his jaw.
"He was concerned about an administrative irregularity involving his credentials.""
"An irregularity that sent our son into an ambush?""
"I wouldn't characterize it that way.""
"How would you characterize it?""
He said nothing.
I leaned forward.
"Colonel, I have a recording made by Staff Sergeant Michael Conroy before his death. On it, he states that he warned you about the route change.""
Rowe's face lost color.
"General—"
"He says you ordered the convoy to proceed.""
"I did not authorize that route.""
"That wasn't what I asked.""
He stood.
I remained seated.
"General, with all due respect, you're emotionally involved in this matter.""
"Sit down, Colonel.""
He didn't.
"Your personal relationship to the deceased makes it difficult for you to evaluate this objectively.""
I looked at him.
"Sit. Down.""
He sat.
The room became very quiet.
I took the original route memorandum from my folder and placed it beside the photograph.
"Did Michael submit this objection?""
Rowe read it.
"That appears to be an operational record.""
"Did you receive it?""
"Not personally.""
"Your operations officer marked it resolved.""
"Major Cross managed movement coordination.""
"Then why does my son's recording say you personally instructed the convoy to proceed?""
Rowe looked toward the door.
"I'd need to review the context.""
"You'll have the opportunity.""
I gathered the documents.
He spoke quickly.
"Kate.""
My hand stopped.
He had never called me Kate.
We hadn't known each other socially. We weren't friends. He had never earned the right.
"General Conroy," I corrected.
He swallowed.
"James was a good man.""
I looked at him.
"Yes.""
"He was trying to protect you.""
A pulse began hammering in my temples.
"From whom?""
Rowe looked down.
"There's a lot you don't understand about what happened.""
"Then enlighten me.""
"I can't.""
"Can't or won't?""
He pressed his palms against the desk.
"If I tell you what James was involved in, you'll wish you'd never opened this.""
I stood.
"Colonel, my son is dead. My husband is dead. My daughter spent four years believing her mother abandoned her. I don't have much left that can be frightened by a sentence.""
Something shifted in his expression.
For a moment, he looked like a man standing at the edge of a very high building.
Then he said, "Ask Prescott why he retired early.""
I waited.
"Why?""
"Ask him what was inside the sealed folder transferred to division headquarters before your appointment.""
I moved toward the door.
Rowe spoke again.
"And General?""
I turned.
"Don't trust Eleanor Whitcomb.""
I almost laughed.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said all morning.""
His voice dropped.
"You don't understand. She doesn't just want the recording.""
"What does she want?""
Rowe stared at the photograph of my husband.
"She wants the person who knows where James put the original files.""
I felt something cold settle behind my ribs.
"Who is that?""
He looked at me.
"Your daughter.""
Rebecca was waiting in my office when I returned.
She had purchased two sandwiches from the base cafeteria and placed one beside my computer.
Turkey on wheat.
No mayonnaise.
Exactly how I'd eaten them for years.
I looked at her.
"What?""
"You haven't eaten.""
I stared at the sandwich.
She shrugged.
"Michael told you to eat something.""
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I sat down and unwrapped it.
"Thank you.""
She took the opposite chair.
We ate in a silence that wasn't comfortable, exactly.
But it wasn't hostile either.
That was something.
Halfway through, she asked, "Did you find out what Rowe knows?""
"Some of it.""
"Are you going to tell me?""
"Yes.""
I put down the sandwich.
"But first I need to ask you about Dad.""
Her expression changed.
"What about him?""
"Did he give you anything before he died? Documents? A key? Something he asked you to keep?""
Rebecca frowned.
"He gave me his camera.""
"What camera?""
"His old one. The little silver digital camera he always used on vacations.""
I remembered it.
James had taken it everywhere.
There were thousands of terrible photographs of landscapes and at least a hundred of me looking annoyed because he'd insisted on photographing me before coffee.
"When did he give it to you?""
"The day before he died. He drove over to my apartment.""
My hand tightened around the sandwich wrapper.
"Did he seem upset?""
"Yes.""
"What did he say?""
Rebecca looked away.
"He asked whether I'd heard from Michael.""
I waited.
"I told him Michael had sent me a video. Dad asked me to keep it somewhere safe, somewhere nobody connected to the military could access.""
"Anything else?""
She rubbed her forehead.
"He told me he loved me. Then he gave me the camera.""
"Where is it now?""
"At my apartment.""
"Are you certain?""
"Yes. I kept it after the burglary because it was one of the few things they didn't take.""
I felt my pulse quicken.
"Have you checked the memory card?""
"Years ago. It had old family photos.""
"Nothing unusual?""
"No.""
She studied me.
"Mom, what's going on?""
I told her what Rowe had said.
Her expression hardened.
"So now he thinks I'm hiding evidence?""
"I think your father gave you that camera for a reason.""
"Why wouldn't he just tell me?""
"Because he was frightened.""
Rebecca looked down.
I reached across the desk.
"Your father wasn't a perfect man, sweetheart. Neither am I. But he loved you more than anything.""
She swallowed.
"I know.""
I took her hand.
"And whatever is on that camera, we're going to find it together.""
My office door opened after a sharp knock.
Mercer entered carrying a secure tablet.
"Ma'am. General Prescott is on the line.""
I nodded.
"Put him through.""
Mercer placed the tablet on my desk and withdrew.
Brigadier General Alan Prescott appeared on screen.
He looked older than he had nineteen days earlier.
His normally immaculate hair was uncombed. There were shadows beneath his eyes.
"Kate.""
"Alan.""
"I heard what happened at the ceremony.""
"Then you know why I'm calling.""
He glanced offscreen.
"Are you alone?""
"No. My daughter is with me.""
"Good. She needs to hear this.""
Rebecca straightened.
Prescott took a breath.
"Before I retired, I received a sealed packet from the Army Criminal Investigation Division. It concerned irregularities in the original Echo-Seven investigation.""
"Why wasn't I informed?""
"Because the packet was not intended for the incoming division commander.""
"Who was it intended for?""
He looked directly at me.
"You.""
I stared.
"Explain.""
"It was addressed to Major General Katherine Conroy personally. Not your command office. Not your staff.""
"Who sent it?""
"A former investigator. Special Agent Daniel Reeves.""
Price had mentioned no such man.
"What was inside?""
"Copies of the route orders, financial records, and a request that you contact him through a secure channel.""
"Where is the packet?""
Prescott looked down.
"I placed it in the command transition safe.""
"Then why didn't I receive it?""
"Because when I checked the safe the morning before my retirement, it was gone.""
Silence.
"Who had access?""
"Three people. Myself, my executive officer, and the officer assigned to oversee your transition.""
I already knew the answer before I asked.
"Name?""
Prescott swallowed.
"Major Jennifer Hale.""
I leaned back.
Rebecca's face changed.
"Hale?""
I nodded slowly.
Jennifer Hale.
The same officer who had screened my daughter's calls after James died.
The same officer who had told Rebecca I couldn't be disturbed when she was hospitalized.
A woman I'd trusted with my schedule, my correspondence, and access to my family during the worst week of my life.
"Where is Hale now?"" I asked.
Prescott hesitated.
"She left active duty two years ago.""
"Where did she go?""
He looked toward Rebecca.
"She's now director of government relations for the Whitcomb Foundation.""
Bennett found Hale's current contact details in less than fifteen minutes.
Her profile appeared on the screen.
Jennifer Hale.
Director of Government Relations.
Whitcomb Foundation.
Smiling in a navy blazer beneath the foundation's gold-and-blue logo.
Rebecca stared at the photograph.
"That's her.""
"You remember?""
"I met her.""
"When?""
"At the hospital.""
I looked up.
Rebecca's face had gone pale.
"She came with the woman from the foundation. I didn't know she used to work for you. She introduced herself as Jennifer.""
My throat tightened.
"What did she say?""
"She told me you'd asked the foundation to help.""
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
They hadn't merely intercepted my daughter's calls.
They had used my name to gain her trust.
I reached for the phone.
Then stopped.
Anger was easy.
Anger would have let me call Jennifer Hale and demand answers.
It would also have warned everyone involved that we had identified another link.
I put the phone down.
"Mercer.""
He appeared in the doorway.
"Ma'am?""
"I need legal counsel, the appropriate criminal investigators, and a full preservation order covering the ceremony records. Route everything through authorized channels. Include the transition-safe access logs.""
"Understood.""
"And no one contacts Hale yet.""
"Yes, ma'am.""
After he left, Rebecca stood and walked toward the window.
"Mom?""
"Yes?""
"I need to tell you something.""
I turned.
She was staring at her phone.
"When I received that anonymous message this morning, there was another attachment.""
"What attachment?""
"An audio file. It wouldn't open at first. I thought it was corrupted.""
"And now?""
She held out the phone.
"It just finished downloading.""
I took it.
The filename was a string of numbers.
The recording lasted eleven minutes and twenty-three seconds.
The timestamp matched the night James died.
21:14.
Rebecca pressed play.
At first there was only the faint sound of footsteps.
Then a door opened.
My husband's voice came through the speaker.
"Stephen, close the door.""
Rowe answered.
"Jim, we need to talk.""
"No. You need to explain why my son's name is on a casualty list because someone used my authorization.""
A chair scraped.
May you like
Then Rowe said something that made every muscle in my body go rigid.
"James, you have to understand. The convoy wasn't supposed to be attacked.""
