Chapter 8 - Norah RememberedThe secret wasn't hidden in the teddy bear. It was hidden in a child's memory that nobody thought to question.
I moved toward Norah.
“Tell me exactly what Mom said.”
She hugged the teddy bear against her chest.
“I don't remember everything.”
“That's okay.”
“I remember the kitchen.”
“Which kitchen?”
“Our old house.”
I crouched in front of her.
“Was it daytime?”
“Yes.”
“Was Mom scared?”
Norah nodded.
“She kept looking outside.”
I felt my pulse rise.
“Who was there?”
“No one.”
“Are you sure?”
She thought.
Then whispered:
“There was a man.”
My body went still.
“What man?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he look like?”
She frowned.
“He had a scar.”
“Where?”
“Under his chin.”
Everything stopped.
Red scar beneath the chin.
The same feature I had seen in old intelligence files.
The scar of General Nathaniel Crowe.
But there was more.
Norah continued.
“Mom called him Uncle Nate.”
I stared at her.
Crowe had never been my uncle.
Never family.
Yet my wife knew him.
She had known him for years.
I stood.
“Victor.”
He was already looking at me.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew.”
Victor nodded.
“She met Crowe before she met you.”
My hands curled.
“How?”
“She worked for him.”
I closed my eyes.
Nine years.
Nine years of believing my wife had been innocent.
Nine years of believing someone had stolen her from me.
But maybe she had been fighting from the beginning.
Maybe every secret dinner.
Every late-night phone call.
Every unexplained trip.
Every time she told me not to ask questions…
She had been protecting me.
I opened my eyes.
“Crowe didn't kill her.”
Victor shook his head.
“Adrian's father did.”
“Then why is Crowe involved?”
“Because Black Meridian was bigger than Elias.”
“Who runs it now?”
Victor looked at me.
“No one.”
“What?”
“That's the problem.”
He pulled out a file from the emergency cabinet.
Inside were photographs.
Bank accounts.
Airfield schematics.
Names.
I scanned them.
Then I saw the final page.
Three initials.
N.H.
I felt the world tilt.
“Nathaniel Hayes.”
Victor's face changed.
“Yes.”
I stared at the name.
My father.
Dead for fifteen years.
A man I barely remembered.
A man who had supposedly died bankrupt.
Victor whispered:
“Your father founded Black Meridian.”
I almost laughed.
It was too absurd.
Too perfect.
“My father was a mechanic.”
“No.”
Victor handed me a photograph.
There he was.
My father.
Standing beside Crowe.
Beside Elias Vane.
And beside my future wife.
All four of them younger.
All four smiling.
My knees almost gave out.
I looked at Norah.
She was still holding the bear.
“Dad?”
I swallowed.
“I'm here.”
“Are we going home?”
I looked at the bomb.
At the storm.
At the route.
At the photograph.
Then I made a decision.
“Yes.”
Norah smiled faintly.
I kissed her forehead.
Then I turned to the cockpit.
“Captain.”
“What?”
“Give me every working system.”
The captain stared.
“Why?”
“Because we're changing the flight plan.”
“To where?”
I looked at the Atlantic.
“Chicago.”
Douglas stared.
“That's west.”
“I know.”
“There's no way we have enough fuel.”
“We don't need enough fuel.”
He frowned.
“What are you planning?”
I looked at the timer.
Eighteen minutes.
“I need the plane above an air corridor controlled by the United States.”
Victor stepped forward.
“You'll have to cross the storm.”
“I know.”
“That's suicide.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe.”
Then I pointed toward Norah.
“But I'm not landing in a graveyard built by men who think they own my life.”
I turned the aircraft.
The storm filled the windshield.
May you like
Lightning flashed in the distance.
And somewhere inside that storm was the only route home.
Related Stories
