Captain Demarest stood at the porthole of the infirmary, her silhouette framed against the gray expanse of the sea, and listened to Evelyn's suggestion with the expression of a woman who had just been asked to set fire to her own career.
"Let me make sure I understand you," Demarest said slowly. "You want me to refuse a direct order from the Department of Homeland Security. You want me to tell the Deputy Secretary's office that I'm not releasing Reyes to their custody. And you want me to do this based on evidence that, according to you, implicates that same Deputy Secretary in a seventeen-year conspiracy."
"Yes," Evelyn said.
"And if Homeland Security decides to escalate? If they send their own team to intercept us? If they board this vessel and take Reyes by force?"
"Then we make sure they can't. We make sure Reyes is already off the ship."
Demarest turned from the porthole, her weathered face unreadable. "Explain."
"The Office of Inter-Agency Investigations agreed to send a team. Where are they coming from?"
"Port Laramie. They'll meet us at the dock."
"And how long until we reach Port Laramie?"
Demarest checked her watch. "Four hours. Maybe less, now that the sea is calming."
"Four hours is a long time. Long enough for Homeland Security to intercept us. Long enough for Draven to find a judge who'll sign an order compelling you to hand Reyes over. Long enough for something to go wrong." Evelyn paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "But we're not four hours from shore. We're two hours from the nearest fishing port. Calloway knows these waters. He says there's a harbor at Stannard's Point where we could dock a lifeboat."
"You want me to put Reyes ashore before we reach Port Laramie."
"I want you to put all of us ashore. Reyes, me, Calloway, Hannah, Thorne if he's stable enough to move. We'll make our own way to the OIIA office. We'll deliver Reyes and the evidence ourselves. And you can honestly tell Homeland Security that by the time their demand arrived, the prisoner was no longer aboard your vessel."
Demarest was silent for a long moment. Through the infirmary's thin walls, Evelyn could hear the steady hum of the engines and the distant crash of waves against the hull.
"You're asking me to risk my command," Demarest said finally. "My career. My pension. Everything I've worked for."
"I'm asking you to do what you said you would do. Your duty."
"My duty is to follow lawful orders."
"Your duty is to the Constitution. Not to Augustus Draven. Not to Homeland Security. To the document you swore an oath to defend. And that document doesn't authorize black sites on American soil. It doesn't authorize torture. It doesn't authorize murder."
Hannah rose from her chair beside Thorne's bunk and crossed to where Demarest stood. "Captain, I'm an old woman who has lived on Cormack Island my entire life. I've watched that island be used as a prison. I've watched people disappear into the darkness and never come out. I've watched my son be forced to participate in something he knew was wrong because the people above him told him it was legal. Please. Don't let them win. Don't let them bury the truth."
Demarest looked at Hannah, then at Thorne, then at Calloway, then finally at Evelyn. Her jaw was set, her posture rigid, the posture of a woman making a decision she knew would haunt her regardless of the outcome.
"Stannard's Point," she said. "There's a fishing cooperative there. I know the harbormaster. He owes me a favor from a rescue operation ten years ago. If I ask him to provide transport to the OIIA office, he'll do it without asking questions."
"Thank you," Evelyn said.
"Don't thank me yet. If this goes wrong, if Homeland Security figures out what we've done, we'll both be facing charges. Obstruction. Contempt. Maybe worse." Demarest moved toward the door. "I'll have the lifeboat prepared. You have thirty minutes to get your people ready."
When she was gone, Calloway let out a low whistle. "I didn't think she'd agree to it."
"Neither did I," Evelyn admitted. "But she's career military. She's spent her life believing in the chain of command. And right now, that chain of command is asking her to hand an innocent man over to the people who murdered his colleague. Even the most obedient soldier has a breaking point."
"Reyes isn't innocent," Thorne said from his bunk. "He killed Frost. He killed Calder. He admitted it."
"And he'll stand trial for those crimes. But if we let Homeland Security take him, there won't be a trial. There won't be anything. He'll disappear into the same system that swallowed Marcus Webb and all the others. And the truth will disappear with him."
Hannah was already gathering their supplies, her movements brisk and efficient despite her age. "Stannard's Point. I know the place. There's a road that leads inland to the highway. We can be at the OIIA office by nightfall."
"Thorne?" Evelyn asked. "Can you travel?"
"I can travel. I may not be much use in a fight, but I can sit in a car and stay conscious." He tried to smile, but the expression was more grimace than grin. "Besides, I want to be there when Delacroix and Draven realize their containment protocol has failed. I want to see their faces."
"They won't realize it," Calloway said. "Not until it's too late. That's the point of this whole operation. We move fast, we stay quiet, and we don't give them time to react."
Evelyn turned to the door. "I need to talk to Reyes. He needs to know what's happening."
"Do you trust him?" Hannah asked.
"I trust him to act in his own self-interest. Right now, his self-interest is staying alive. The only way to do that is to testify against the people who are trying to kill him."
The brig was quiet, the fluorescent lights humming their steady electric hum. Reyes was still on the bunk, but he had shifted position, his cuffed hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He looked up when Evelyn entered, and something in his expression had changed. The smug certainty was gone, replaced by a watchful wariness.
"You're moving me," he said. "I can tell by the look on your face."
"We're moving all of us. Homeland Security has demanded your transfer. Captain Demarest is going to put us ashore before we reach Port Laramie. We'll take you to the Office of Inter-Agency Investigations ourselves."
"And if Homeland Security intercepts us?"
"Then we'll have a problem. But I don't think they will. They're expecting us to arrive at Port Laramie in four hours. By the time they realize we're not on the ship, we'll already be at the OIIA office."
Reyes nodded slowly. "It's a good plan. Risky, but good. There's just one thing you haven't considered."
"What's that?"
"The containment team. The one that was searching the island. You think they've given up? You think they've gone home?" Reyes leaned forward, his eyes intense. "They know I was captured. They know I'm on this ship. If you put me ashore at some fishing village, they'll find me. They have resources you can't imagine. Satellites. Surveillance networks. Informants in every port on this coast."
"The helicopter disappeared from radar. It's gone."
"The helicopter is one asset. They have others. They'll track this ship. They'll see the lifeboat launch. They'll follow you to Stannard's Point and they'll be waiting when you arrive."
Evelyn studied him, searching for the lie beneath his words. But Reyes's expression was not smug. It was not calculating. It was the expression of a man who genuinely believed what he was saying.
"Why are you telling me this? If you're right, your friends will rescue you. You'll be free."
"My friends," Reyes said, "are the reason I'm in this brig. I told you before—I'm expendable. The containment team isn't coming to rescue me. They're coming to silence me. The moment they have a clear shot, I'm dead. And if I'm dead, you have no witness. No testimony. No case against Delacroix or Draven or anyone else."
"So what do you propose?"
Reyes was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Take me to the OIIA office yourself. Just you and me. Leave the others behind. They'll slow you down, and they'll draw attention. You and I can move faster alone."
"You want me to separate you from the only people who can protect you?"
"I want you to keep me alive. And right now, the best way to do that is to make sure the containment team doesn't know where I am. A group of five people is conspicuous. Two people can disappear."
Evelyn shook her head. "I'm not leaving the others. They've risked too much. They deserve to see this through."
"Then at least change the plan. Don't go to Stannard's Point. Go somewhere else. Somewhere unexpected. Somewhere the containment team won't think to look."
"Where?"
Reyes leaned back against the wall, his eyes closing. "There's a safe house. A place the program used for debriefings and temporary holds. It's in a town called Kendrick, about thirty miles inland from the coast. It's been abandoned for years. No one will think to look for me there."
"And why should I trust you? How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"You don't. But I'm giving you the information because I want to live. If the containment team finds me, I'm dead. If I'm dead, your case collapses. Our interests are aligned, Ms. Cole. For the first time since this began, our interests are aligned."
Evelyn stared at him through the bars, trying to read the truth behind his words. Reyes had lied to her before—had lied to everyone, had built an entire persona on a foundation of deception. But there was something different in his voice now. Something that sounded like genuine fear.
"I'll consider it," she said. "But if this is a trap, if there are people waiting for us in Kendrick, I'll make sure you're the first one they shoot."
Reyes smiled, but it was a hollow expression, the smile of a man who had already accepted that his options had narrowed to a single, desperate gamble. "I would expect nothing less."
On the deck of the Resolute, the lifeboat was being lowered into the water. It was a sturdy vessel, enclosed against the weather, its motor already idling with a steady, reassuring hum. Calloway was at the helm, checking the fuel gauge and the navigation equipment. Hannah was helping Thorne down the ladder, his good arm draped over her shoulder, his face pale but determined.
Evelyn stood at the railing, watching the preparations. Captain Demarest appeared beside her, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression unreadable.
"The harbormaster at Stannard's Point has been notified," Demarest said. "He'll have a vehicle waiting for you. From there, it's a two-hour drive to the OIIA office in Port Laramie."
"Change of plans," Evelyn said. "We're not going to Stannard's Point."
Demarest turned to look at her. "Explain."
Evelyn told her about Reyes's warning, about the containment team, about the safe house in Kendrick. Demarest listened without interrupting, her weathered face betraying nothing.
"You trust him?" Demarest asked when Evelyn had finished.
"I trust his fear. He's more afraid of his former employers than he is of us. That gives us leverage."
"It also gives you a destination that no one else knows about. A destination that only Reyes can lead you to. If this is a trap, you'll be walking into it blind."
"I know." Evelyn turned from the railing and looked at the captain. "But if we go to Stannard's Point, and the containment team is waiting, we're dead. If we go to the OIIA office, and Homeland Security intercepts us, we're dead. At least this way, we have a chance. Reyes doesn't want to die. He'll lead us to the safe house because it's the only place he thinks he'll be safe."
"And when you get there? What then?"
"Then I make copies of every document in my pack. I record Reyes's testimony. I send those copies to every journalist, every prosecutor, every oversight committee I can think of. I make the story so big that even Augustus Draven can't kill it."
Demarest was silent for a long moment. Then she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small, flat device that Evelyn recognized as a satellite phone.
"Take this," Demarest said. "It's encrypted. It connects directly to the Resolute's communications array. If you get into trouble, if the containment team finds you, if anything goes wrong—call me. I'll come."
"You'd risk your command for us?"
"I'd risk my command for the truth." Demarest pressed the phone into Evelyn's hand. "I've spent thirty years in the Maritime Protection and Rescue Service. I've saved hundreds of lives. But I've also looked the other way when I shouldn't have. I've followed orders I knew were wrong. I've told myself it wasn't my place to question. This is my chance to make up for some of that."
Evelyn closed her fingers around the phone. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just survive. And when this is over, make sure the people who did this are held accountable. All of them."
Evelyn climbed down the ladder to the lifeboat, where Calloway was waiting with an outstretched hand. She took her seat beside Thorne, who was propped against the stern with his injured arm cradled against his chest. Reyes was in the bow, his hands still cuffed, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"Where to?" Calloway asked.
"Kendrick," Evelyn said. "Thirty miles inland. Reyes says there's a safe house there."
Calloway glanced at Reyes, his expression skeptical. "And we trust him?"
"We trust his survival instinct. It's the only thing he's been honest about."
The lifeboat pulled away from the Resolute, its motor humming a low, steady note. The gray bulk of the cutter receded into the mist, and soon they were alone on the open water, a small craft in a vast sea.
Behind them, somewhere on the horizon, Cormack Island was a dark smudge that grew smaller with every passing minute. Somewhere on that island, the containment team was still searching. Somewhere on the mainland, Augustus Draven was still planning. And somewhere in the water between, a black helicopter was still hunting.
But Evelyn did not look back. She looked forward, toward the shore, toward the road, toward the safe house in Kendrick where the truth would either be preserved or destroyed.
"Calloway," she said. "Get us to land. Fast."
He opened the throttle, and the lifeboat leaped forward, cutting through the waves toward the distant smudge of the mainland.
Above them, unseen, a satellite turned slowly in its orbit, its camera trained on the gray water, its images streaming to a secure terminal in an office in the capital. And in that office, a man with a long career and a short conscience watched the small craft moving toward the shore and picked up his phone.
"They're heading for the mainland," Augustus Draven said into the receiver. "Activate the secondary team."
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