Chapter 2: The Call From the Dead
The phone kept ringing.
It was not a normal ringtone.
Three slow chimes.
A pause.
Then three more.
The sound came from somewhere inside the classified folder.
No one in the ballroom moved.
Maya stared at the black leather folder as if it had become an animal capable of biting her.
General Harris reached inside and pulled out a secure military phone.
The screen displayed no number.
Only one word:
UNKNOWN.
Maya's chest tightened.
“Answer it,” she whispered.
Harris looked at her.
“You're sure?””
“No.””
The phone rang again.
Maya swallowed.
“Answer it anyway.””
Harris pressed the button.
“This is General Harris.””
Static.
Then breathing.
Slow.
Uneven.
Human.
Maya stepped closer.
A man's voice emerged through the speaker.
Older than she remembered.
Rougher.
But familiar enough to stop her heart.
“Maya?””
She grabbed the edge of the table.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Harris's eyes shifted toward her.
“Maya?””
The voice came again.
“Maya, if that's you…”
A long burst of static swallowed the rest.
Maya finally found her voice.
“Elijah?””
The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Harris immediately raised one hand.
“Everyone remain seated.””
No one listened.
Chairs scraped backward.
Phones appeared.
People stood in clusters, staring.
The man on the phone spoke again.
“Don't trust the general.””
Harris went perfectly still.
Maya looked at him.
“What?””
The voice became urgent.
“Maya, listen to me. They found you because—”
The line died.
Silence.
Then the phone screen went black.
Maya stared at it.
“Call him back.””
Harris didn't move.
“Call him back!””
“We can't.””
“Then get another line.””
“There is no number.””
“You just answered it!””
“It wasn't a civilian call.””
“Then what was it?””
Harris placed the phone back into the folder.
“A ghost channel.””
Maya laughed once.
It was a small, broken sound.
“A ghost channel?””
“An emergency communications system designed for personnel believed missing or compromised.””
“You're telling me my supposedly dead brother just called through a ghost channel?””
“I’m telling you somebody used it.””
Maya's eyes hardened.
“You said you found him alive.””
“I said we found evidence of him alive.””
“You said you found him six hours ago.””
“That's what I was told.””
“By whom?””
Harris didn't answer.
Maya stared at him.
The silence was an answer.
She stepped away from the table.
“You don't know.””
“I know enough to tell you that you're in danger.””
The mocking guest, who had spent the first few minutes enjoying himself, finally spoke.
“General, maybe we should clear the room.””
Harris turned.
“You should have kept your mouth shut ten minutes ago.””
The guest's face reddened.
“I was only saying—”
“Leave.””
“What?””
“Leave this room.””
The guest stared at him.
“You can't order me around.””
Harris's expression didn't change.
“No.””
He nodded toward the two officers.
“They can.””
The officers stepped forward.
The guest looked from them to Maya.
His face had lost all arrogance.
“I didn't do anything.””
Harris replied, “That's still under review.””
The officer took the guest by the arm and led him toward the rear doors.
Maya watched.
Then she noticed something.
The man's right hand.
He was rubbing his thumb against his index finger.
Back and forth.
Three times.
Pause.
Three times.
Maya's stomach dropped.
She knew that movement.
She had seen it twenty-eight years earlier.
In a desert operations tent.
Elijah used to do it whenever he was lying.
Not because he was nervous.
Because he was thinking.
She turned sharply.
“General.””
Harris looked at her.
“That man.””
“What about him?””
“Where did you find him?””
“I didn't.””
“Then why was he here?””
“He was invited.””
“By whom?””
Harris's eyes narrowed.
“I don't know.””
Maya stared toward the door.
The guest had disappeared.
“That's convenient.””
Harris closed the folder.
“We need to leave.””
“Where?””
“Somewhere private.””
“No.””
“Maya—”
“You want me to trust you after my dead brother calls me and tells me not to?””
“I don't expect trust.””
“Then what do you expect?””
Harris took a slow breath.
“Cooperation.””
She almost smiled.
“You military men have a word for everything except the truth.””
One of the officers approached.
“General.””
Harris turned.
“Speak.””
“Rear corridor is clear.””
“And the exits?””
“Secured.””
Maya immediately noticed the wording.
Not protected.
Secured.
She looked at Harris.
“Why are you locking doors?””
“Because whoever contacted you knows where you are.””
“So do half the people in this room.””
“No.””
Harris shook his head.
“They know specifically where you are.””
He pointed at the medal case on the floor.
“They know what you carried in here.””
Maya looked down.
The medal lay beside her shoe.
It was old.
The metal was scratched.
The ribbon had nearly faded to white.
She crouched and picked it up.
Harris watched her.
“What does it mean?””
Maya rubbed her thumb across the engraving.
“Elijah gave it to me.””
“What medal?””
“He wasn't supposed to have it.””
“Why?””
Maya looked up.
“Because it wasn't awarded to him.””
Harris's expression sharpened.
“Who was it awarded to?””
Maya hesitated.
“My name.””
The general went silent.
Maya opened the case.
Inside was a second piece of metal beneath the torn lining.
Flat.
Thin.
A small brass plate.
Harris leaned closer.
“What is that?””
Maya pulled it free.
On the back was a number.
Not a serial number.
A mission designation.
17-K.
Harris's face changed.
One of the officers noticed.
“Sir?””
Harris didn't answer.
Maya saw it immediately.
“You know that number.””
“No.””
“Don't lie to me.””
Harris's jaw tightened.
“Maya, put that back.””
“Why?””
“Because you don't understand what it is.””
“Then explain it.””
“I can't.””
“Can't?””
“Won't,” Maya corrected.
Harris looked away.
That was enough.
She grabbed the folder.
Harris reached for it.
“Maya.””
She stepped back.
“No.””
“You don't know what you're opening.””
“I've spent twenty-eight years not knowing.””
She opened the folder herself.
The first pages were military records.
Most names were blacked out.
Some had dates.
Some had photographs.
Then she found a map.
A large aerial photograph.
A section of desert.
Three coordinates circled in red.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Maya recognized the handwriting instantly.
Her breath caught.
“No…”
Harris saw it.
“What?””
She touched the page.
“This is Elijah's.””
“What does it say?””
Maya read the words aloud.
“Extraction point changed.””
She looked at the next line.
“Do not report location to command.””
The officer behind Harris stepped closer.
“General…”
Harris held up a hand.
Maya turned the page.
A second note.
Shorter.
More desperate.
“Someone inside the unit is feeding them our coordinates.””
The ballroom seemed to disappear around her.
She remembered a helicopter.
Red dust.
A radio screaming with static.
Elijah's hand grabbing hers.
His voice in her ear.
Don't trust the radio.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The memory vanished.
When she opened them, Harris was watching her.
“You remember something.””
Maya stared at him.
“I remember enough.””
“Tell me.””
“No.””
His expression hardened.
“If Elijah is alive, you may be the only person who can help us find him.””
Maya shook her head.
“You're not listening.””
“What?””
“I don't think he wants you to find him.””
Harris stopped.
She pointed to the message.
“He warned me.””
“That message is twenty-eight years old.””
“And his voice wasn't.””
Neither officer spoke.
Maya turned another page.
A photograph slid out.
It showed six soldiers beside a transport helicopter.
Five were smiling.
The sixth stood apart.
Elijah.
Beside him stood Maya.
But there was something wrong.
Maya stared.
Her younger self wasn't looking at the camera.
She was looking at Elijah.
And Elijah wasn't looking at her.
He was looking behind them.
Toward a seventh figure.
Someone partially hidden by the helicopter's open door.
Maya leaned closer.
“Who is that?””
Harris didn't respond.
“General.””
Nothing.
“Who is the man behind us?””
Harris finally said, “We don't know.””
Maya looked at him.
“That's impossible.””
“The original photograph was cropped.””
“By whom?””
“We don't know.””
She flipped it over.
There was writing on the back.
One sentence.
Her handwriting.
Maya's face drained of color.
Harris noticed.
“What does it say?””
She couldn't speak.
He took the photograph.
Read it.
Then looked at her.
“Maya?””
She whispered, “I wrote that.””
“What?””
“I wrote the message.””
“What message?””
She forced herself to look.
The words were unmistakable.
*If I forget, find the boy in Room 214.*
Harris frowned.
“What boy?””
Maya shook her head.
“I don't remember.””
“Try.””
“I can't.””
“You can.””
“No!””
Her voice cracked across the ballroom.
Everyone heard it.
Maya pressed a hand to her forehead.
Then something struck her.
A sound.
A small metallic click.
She looked toward the ballroom doors.
One of the officers had just checked his weapon.
The sound was unmistakable.
Harris turned.
“Stand down.””
The officer froze.
Maya looked at him.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
She stared at his nameplate.
*COLLINS.*
Her heart began pounding.
She remembered that name.
Not from 1998.
From last week.
A man had called her apartment.
He hadn't identified himself.
He had asked one question.
“Do you still have the medal?””
Maya had hung up.
Now she looked at Collins.
“Where have I seen you?””
Collins blinked.
“Ma'am?””
“Your face.””
“I don't believe we've met.””
Maya stared harder.
“Yes, we have.””
Harris turned toward Collins.
“Remove your gloves.””
Collins hesitated.
Then slowly pulled them off.
His left hand was bare.
On his wrist was a thin white scar.
Three inches long.
Maya felt the room tilt.
That scar belonged to someone she knew.
Someone from the desert.
Someone who had been listed as missing.
Someone who, according to every military document she'd ever seen, had died twenty-eight years ago.
Maya looked at Harris.
“He was there.””
Harris's face went rigid.
Collins reached inside his jacket.
“General—”
“Don't move,” Harris commanded.
Collins stopped.
Maya backed away.
Her fingers closed around the medal.
“What did you do to my brother?””
Collins stared at her.
Then smiled.
It was the first genuine smile Maya had seen from him.
And she realized why it frightened her.
He looked exactly like the man she remembered standing beside Elijah's helicopter.
May you like
He whispered four words.
“He never was your brother.””
