Chapter 4 - The Files That Should Not ExistWe reached the operations center in under four minutes.
Reeves moved quickly through the corridor, issuing quiet orders over his radio. Jackson stayed close behind me, his ceremonial uniform now forgotten beneath a dark waterproof jacket borrowed from a sailor.
Inside the operations center, half a dozen technicians worked at their consoles. A large display showed the ship's internal systems, with warning indicators appearing and disappearing across the screen.
The officer in charge, Lieutenant Commander Mercer, stood beside a workstation.
He was in his early forties, impeccably groomed, and visibly irritated by our arrival.
"Who authorized this access?" he demanded.
I stopped beside the main console.
"I did."
Mercer glanced at my civilian clothes, then at my prosthetic.
For half a second, I saw the same calculation I had seen in Miller's eyes.
Another person deciding how much authority a woman in a gray blazer could possibly possess.
Then he noticed Reeves.
His posture changed.
"Commander."
"Chief Engineer Mercer," Reeves replied. "Explain the archive breach."
Mercer gestured toward the screen.
"The system detected unauthorized access to a restricted maintenance directory. We contained it."
"Did you?" I asked.
He turned toward me.
"The situation is under control, Admiral."
"Then tell me why those files are disappearing."
His expression tightened.
"The archive is being reorganized."
"That's a peculiar description for a remote deletion event."
I stepped closer to the console.
One of the technicians looked up.
"Ma'am, the deletion process is targeting maintenance reports dated within the last six months."
"Can you stop it?"
"We've isolated the affected system, but the process is running through an authorized administrative account."
"Whose account?"
The technician hesitated.
Mercer answered for him.
"Mine."
The room fell silent.
Mercer spread his hands.
"That doesn't mean I initiated the deletion. Administrative credentials can be compromised."
"Of course," I said. "Which is why we will preserve the access logs before doing anything else."
His shoulders stiffened.
"I should remind you that I am responsible for the engineering department."
"And I should remind you that a ship's engineering records do not belong to a captain, an engineer, or an admiral. They exist to protect the people serving aboard the vessel."
I turned to the technician.
"Create a forensic copy of the relevant logs. No further modifications without two-person authorization."
"Yes, ma'am."
Mercer took a step forward.
"That could interfere with scheduled maintenance."
"Then I suggest you explain why scheduled maintenance requires the destruction of historical records."
He fell silent.
Within fifteen minutes, the technical team managed to isolate the deletion process.
They recovered fragments of several files, including the original inspection report for the canopy assembly.
The report was worse than Hale had described.
It documented stress fractures in multiple support brackets, corrosion around several mounting points, and a recommendation to suspend use of the affected canopy until replacement components arrived.
The report carried Mercer's signature.
Beneath it was an approval stamp bearing Captain Miller's authorization.
But something else caught my eye.
The replacement components listed in the procurement system had been purchased under an emergency contract.
The vendor was a company called Northstar Maritime Solutions.
I recognized the name.
Three years earlier, Northstar had been investigated for inflated invoices on a naval supply contract. The inquiry had ended without charges after the company's records showed that the disputed equipment had been delivered.
At least, that was what the final report claimed.
I opened the details of the contract.
Then I saw the amount.
The Navy had paid $4.8 million for structural components that independent engineers valued at less than half that figure.
Jackson leaned toward the screen.
"Mom, look at this."
He pointed to the procurement number.
"The invoice date is two weeks before the delivery date."
"That's not necessarily unusual," Mercer said quickly. "Prepayment arrangements are common in emergency procurement."
Jackson frowned.
"Then why does the delivery receipt show the parts arrived three days before they were manufactured?"
Mercer froze.
The technician checked the entry.
Jackson was right.
For a brief moment, pride rose within me. Then I remembered the seriousness of the discovery.
"Preserve the complete procurement chain," I ordered. "Every invoice, delivery receipt, authorization, and account login."
Mercer looked increasingly uncomfortable.
"Admiral, I can explain the discrepancies."
"Then you will have the opportunity to do so in a formal interview."
Before he could respond, Reeves received another message.
He listened carefully.
Then his expression hardened.
"Ma'am, Captain Miller has ordered an emergency departure."
I looked at him.
"Departure? In this weather?"
"He's claiming the ship must maintain its operational schedule."
I turned toward the main display.
The storm was still intense enough to make the ship's exposed surfaces dangerous.
"Can the Vanguard safely depart?"
The operations officer answered.
"Not until the flight deck is secured and the forward canopy inspection is complete."
"Then she will not depart."
Mercer shook his head.
"The captain has operational authority."
"And I have the authority to suspend a movement that presents an immediate safety risk."
I looked at Reeves.
"Notify Miller that the departure is delayed pending an emergency safety review."
He nodded and moved away.
Mercer remained beside the console, his face unreadable.
I leaned closer.
"Chief Engineer, did you authorize the installation of the components listed in that contract?"
He swallowed.
"I signed the paperwork."
"Did you physically inspect the delivered components?"
His eyes shifted.
"No, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"The delivery was handled by the logistics department."
"Who in logistics?"
He hesitated just long enough to tell me he already knew the answer.
"Commander Thomas Voss."
The name meant nothing to me.
Yet when I asked the technician to open Voss's personnel record, I noticed something buried in his recent assignments.
Before joining the Vanguard, Thomas Voss had worked as a procurement liaison for a military contractor.
Northstar Maritime Solutions.
I stared at the screen.
The company, the suspicious payments, the falsified delivery records, the missing maintenance reports.
It was beginning to form a pattern.
Then a technician spoke from the far side of the room.
"Admiral, we've recovered the last file that was deleted."
"What's in it?"
The technician looked at me.
"It's an internal message from Captain Miller to Commander Voss."
He opened the document.
The message contained only one sentence.
Make sure Ward never sees the original inspection report.
Jackson read it over my shoulder.
He looked at me, his face stripped of all color.
"They knew you were coming."
I nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Then the technician scrolled down.
There was a timestamp beneath the message.
It had been sent nine days earlier.
May you like
And attached to it was a photograph of me leaving my house.
Someone had been watching my family long before I ever stepped aboard the Vanguard.
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