CHAPTER 6: THE COLONEL'S COMMANDER
For the first time in my military career, I didn't know what to say.
My husband was alive.
My daughter was standing ten feet away from him.
Ethan Prescott was apparently working for my husband.
And every phone in the room had just displayed the same message.
BLACK LANTERN HAS BEEN REACTIVATED.
But there was one sentence I couldn't get past.
PRIMARY TARGET: COLONEL VICTORIA HART.
I looked at my husband.
“Who gave the order?”
He didn't answer.
I raised my weapon again.
“Who?”
He slowly lifted his eyes.
“General Nathaniel Ward.”
The name struck me like a physical blow.
My commanding officer.
The man who had signed my promotion.
The man who had stood beside me when I received my Silver Star.
The man I had trusted for almost twenty years.
“No.”
My husband shook his head.
“Yes.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
I stared at him.
“Ward commanded Black Lantern?”
“He designed it.”
My mind raced.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Ward wasn't there.”
“He didn't need to be.”
My husband walked toward the desk.
He picked up a folder.
“Black Lantern had three layers.”
He opened it.
“Field operations.”
“Intelligence.”
“And command.”
He pointed to the final page.
“Ward controlled all three.”
I looked down.
His signature appeared on every page.
Authorization.
Logistics.
Extraction.
Everything.
I felt sick.
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because you weren't supposed to.”
He handed me another document.
I read it.
My own name.
COLONEL VICTORIA HART: FIELD ASSET.
My blood ran cold.
“Asset?”
“You were never the target of Black Lantern.”
I looked at him.
“You were the weapon.”
I stared at the words.
Then remembered that night.
The convoy.
The desert.
The explosion.
The man I had been ordered to extract.
A prisoner.
Someone I had never seen clearly.
Someone whose identity had been classified even from me.
I looked at my husband.
“Who was the prisoner?”
He didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
He looked at Emily.
“Her father.”
Emily gasped.
“You?”
He nodded.
“I wasn't a prisoner because I had committed a crime.”
“Then why?”
“Because I found out what Ward was doing.”
I stepped closer.
“What did he do?”
My husband looked toward the door.
“Before I tell you, you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Ward didn't want money.”
“Then what did he want?”
“Control.”
I waited.
He continued.
“Black Lantern was created to identify military officers who could be manipulated.”
My face hardened.
“Manipulated for what?”
“Political operations.”
“That's insane.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“It's real.”
He opened another file.
Inside were photographs.
Generals.
Senators.
Defense contractors.
Judges.
Journalists.
People I recognized.
People I had seen on television.
People who had appeared at military ceremonies.
All connected by thin red lines.
“This network has been operating for years.”
“And the Prescott family?”
“Financial support.”
“Charles?”
“An intermediary.”
“Margaret?”
“A handler.”
“Ethan?”
“A courier.”
“And Brandon?”
My husband paused.
“An enforcer.”
I looked down.
“And Michael?”
He said nothing.
I understood.
“Michael was the whistleblower.”
“Yes.”
“He discovered everything.”
“Yes.”
“And Charles tried to protect him.”
“Yes.”
“That's why they faked his death.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Emily.
“Then why did they come after her?”
My husband closed the file.
“Because they believed she inherited something from you.”
“What?”
“Your memory.”
I almost laughed.
“My memory?”
“During Black Lantern, you were exposed to something.”
“What?”
“A classified psychological conditioning program.”
The room went silent.
Emily stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
My husband answered.
“They implanted information into your memory.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“That's impossible.”
“You experienced it.”
“No.”
“You forgot it.”
I stepped backward.
Images flashed through my mind.
A red door.
A voice.
Numbers.
A black room.
Someone saying my name.
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
“What did they put in my head?”
“A sequence.”
“What sequence?”
“The names of everyone involved.”
I froze.
My husband nodded.
“You were the only surviving field officer.”
“And Ward erased my memory.”
“He tried.”
I stared at him.
“Then why can I remember pieces now?”
“Because someone has been trying to unlock them.”
“Who?”
He looked at Emily.
“Her.”
I stared at my daughter.
“What?”
My husband walked to the desk.
He picked up a small photograph.
It showed Emily as a child.
Beside her was a woman wearing a white laboratory coat.
I recognized her.
Dr. Rebecca Sloan.
A psychologist who had worked with military families.
I remembered her visiting our home when Emily was six.
I had assumed she was helping Emily cope with my deployments.
She wasn't.
She had been monitoring her.
“Why?”
My husband looked at me.
“Because Emily inherited something from you.”
“What?”
“Your neurological imprint.”
I stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you understand what Black Lantern was testing.”
“What were they testing?”
“Whether memories could be transferred.”
I felt cold.
“You're telling me they transferred my memories to my daughter?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Then how?”
“During pregnancy.”
I looked at Emily.
She was crying silently.
My husband continued.
“Some of the information embedded in your memory was passed to her.”
“That's impossible.”
“Then explain why she has been having the same nightmares you had.”
I looked at Emily.
She nodded.
“The red door.”
My heart stopped.
“What did you say?”
“The red door.”
I stared at her.
“I've dreamed about it since I was little.”
My husband's face changed.
“So have I.”
The room went silent.
Then Emily whispered:
“There's a man behind the door.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What does he say?”
She closed her eyes.
“He says…”
Her breathing became uneven.
“He says, ‘Victoria, you promised.’”
My heart stopped.
The same words Charles had written on the photograph.
YOU PROMISED TO PROTECT MY SON.
I suddenly remembered.
Not a dream.
A real memory.
I was standing in a dark room.
Charles Prescott was bleeding.
A teenage boy was hiding behind him.
Michael.
Charles grabbed my arm.
“Protect my son.”
Then another voice came from behind me.
General Ward.
“Colonel Hart.”
I turned.
He was holding a gun.
And Charles whispered:
“Don't trust him.”
I opened my eyes.
The room spun.
My husband caught my shoulder.
“Victoria?”
“I remember.”
“What?”
“Charles.”
“What about him?”
“He wasn't asking me to protect Michael.”
My husband stared.
“Then who?”
I looked at Emily.
“The boy behind him wasn't Michael.”
Everyone froze.
“What are you saying?” my husband asked.
I looked at the old photograph again.
The boy beside Charles.
Then at the man standing in front of us.
Michael Prescott.
And suddenly I noticed something.
The boy in the photograph had a small scar above his left eyebrow.
Michael didn't.
I looked at Michael's photograph.
Then at my husband.
“There were two boys.”
My husband nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“Twins.”
“Yes.”
My heart hammered.
“Where is the other one?”
Nobody answered.
Then Ethan whispered:
“Dead.”
I looked at him.
“You're wrong.”
He shook his head.
“Michael's twin died when they were twelve.”
“No.”
I pointed at the photograph.
“Look at his face.”
Ethan stepped closer.
His expression changed.
“That…”
“What?”
“That isn't Michael.”
Michael Prescott suddenly appeared in the doorway.
He had been listening.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
His face went white.
“That's my brother.”
I turned.
“What's his name?”
Michael's voice barely escaped his throat.
“Gabriel.”
I waited.
“Gabriel Prescott.”
My husband looked at me.
“Victoria…”
“What?”
“Gabriel didn't die.”
Silence.
Michael stared at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
Michael stepped forward.
“Where is he?”
My husband didn't answer.
Then Emily spoke.
“I know.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She was staring at the red door in the photograph.
“I've seen him too.”
“Where?”
“In the Prescott estate.”
“When?”
“Every time I went into the west wing.”
My heart began pounding.
“Emily, what did you see?”
She looked at me.
“A man behind the red door.”
I stared at her.
“What did he say?”
Her lips trembled.
“He told me…”
She swallowed.
“He said, ‘Tell your mother the war isn't over.’”
Before anyone could respond, the lights went out.
Again.
A single emergency light flickered on.
And the red door from Emily's dreams appeared at the end of the corridor.
Except it wasn't a photograph.
It was real.
An actual red door.
None of us had seen it before.
Michael raised his weapon.
“That's impossible.”
My husband whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
He stared at the door.
“That door wasn't here.”
Then the handle slowly turned.
Everyone raised their weapons.
The door opened.
A young man stepped through.
Same face as Michael.
Same eyes.
Same scar from the photograph.
He looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Colonel Hart.”
Michael whispered:
“Gabriel…”
Gabriel ignored him.
His eyes remained fixed on me.
“I've been waiting for you.”
I raised my weapon.
“Who are you working for?”
He smiled.
“That's the wrong question.”
“Then give me the right one.”
Gabriel's expression changed.
“You should be asking why General Ward is so afraid of you.”
My finger tightened around the trigger.
Gabriel continued:
“Because he knows what you remembered.”
“What?”
“The truth about Black Lantern.”
He stepped forward.
“And the truth about your husband.”
My husband stiffened.
Gabriel smiled.
“Ask him who actually killed your father.”
I turned toward my husband.
He looked away.
My blood ran cold.
“Answer me.”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Who killed my father?”
Finally, he looked at me.
And the words that came from his mouth destroyed the last piece of my old life.
“General Ward.”
Silence.
Then Gabriel laughed softly.
“No, Victoria.”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“That's only half the truth.”
He pointed at my husband.
“He didn't kill your father alone.”
My husband closed his eyes.
May you like
Gabriel whispered:
“Your husband helped him.”
