He answered carefully.
“I can’t tell you yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you’re captured…”
“…the fewer details you know, the longer you’ll survive.”
I slammed my fist against the dashboard.
“My children could already be in danger!”
“I deserve the truth!”
Frank didn’t flinch.
“So did Raymond.”
The truck fell silent again.
An hour later we reached an isolated farmhouse surrounded by empty fields.
No mailbox.
No lights visible from the road.
Only when we drove into the barn did I realize the place was larger than it appeared.
Hidden beneath the hayloft was a reinforced steel door.
Inside…
It looked nothing like a farmhouse.
Computer monitors lined one wall.
Maps covered another.
Federal agents hurried between desks.
Phones rang constantly.
The room buzzed with controlled urgency.
One woman hurried toward Ellis.
“We lost contact with Team Three.”
Ellis nodded grimly.
“Expected.”
“And Mercer?”
She pointed toward me.
“Still breathing.”
Several agents looked relieved.
One of them actually smiled.
“He made it.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
Instead Ellis led me into a smaller office.
She locked the door.
Then placed a thin file on the desk.
“Read the first page.”
I opened it.
The title alone stole my breath.
Operation Lazarus
Below it…
Primary Civilian Asset: Raymond Mercer
Status:
Officially Deceased.
I looked up.
“You’ve been planning this.”
“For years.”
“Since Black Hollow infiltrated local law enforcement.”
I flipped through more pages.
My father’s photograph appeared again and again.
Different disguises.
Different cities.
Different meetings.
Reports written over nearly two decades.
“He wasn’t just helping you.”
Ellis nodded.
“He built the investigation.”
The realization hit me slowly.
My father…
The quiet accountant who spent weekends fixing fences and teaching me how to fish…
Had secretly become the government’s most valuable witness.
Then another question surfaced.
“If he was working with you…”
“…who betrayed him?”
Ellis didn’t answer immediately.
Instead she slid another photograph across the table.
It showed today’s funeral.
Taken from high above.
A drone.
Red circles had been drawn around several mourners.
Victor.
My mother.
Celeste.
I stared at my wife’s picture.
“What is this?”
Ellis’s expression hardened.
“Everyone at the funeral is under review.”
“No.”
“No?”
“My wife has nothing to do with this.”
“We hope you’re right.”
Hope.
Not certainty.
My pulse quickened.
“Remove her picture.”
“I can’t.”
“She’s my wife.”
“And she’s the last person who spoke privately with your father.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
“Impossible.”
Ellis opened another folder.
“Three nights before Raymond’s reported death…”
“…Celeste visited him alone.”
