Chapter 6
Federal agents blocked the road a quarter mile from the crash site.
I was not allowed through.
For once, rank meant nothing.
It was an active operation.
Marcus stood beside me as floodlights illuminated the tree line.
Eighteen years earlier, my brother’s truck had gone through the guardrail and down the slope.
The road had been repaired since then.
Trees had grown.
But I recognized the curve.
I had visited it once after Thomas died.
Never again.
Now armed agents moved through the darkness.
I could hear radios.
Then shouting.
“Hands!”
“Step away!”
“Show me your hands!”
My heart hammered.
Marcus touched my elbow.
“Stay here.”
I hated those words.
But I did.
Minutes later, Rebecca appeared between two agents.
Her wrists were cuffed.
Her hair was loose.
Mud covered one knee.
She looked toward me.
Even from fifty yards away, I saw her face collapse.
Mercer came next.
He was not wearing his sheriff’s jacket.
Just a white shirt and dark pants.
An agent held his arm.
Another carried a handgun inside an evidence bag.
Derek had been telling the truth.
Mercer was involved.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
Agents searched the area until nearly midnight.
Then Shaw walked toward me holding a small plastic evidence pouch.
Inside was a rusted metal key.
“Found under a marker stone near the guardrail.”
“A key to what?”
“We think Thomas left us directions.”
He showed me another item.
A tiny stainless-steel plate.
Numbers were etched into the surface.
3-18-27.
I stared.
March 18, 2027?
No.
Thomas died eighteen years ago.
Marcus leaned closer.
“Coordinates?”
Shaw shook his head.
“Not enough numbers.”
I looked again.
3-18-27.
Three.
Eighteen.
Twenty-seven.
Then I remembered childhood.
Thomas loved scavenger hunts.
On my twelfth birthday, he created clues around our house using chapter-page-line codes from books.
Three numbers.
Book.
Page.
Line.
“He used books.”
Shaw looked at me.
“What?”
“When we were kids, Thomas hid messages using book-page-line references.”
“What book?”
I closed my eyes.
Thomas’s favorite novel had been The Count of Monte Cristo.
Too obvious.
Then another memory hit me.
May you like
Our father kept an old Army field manual in his workshop.
Thomas used to call it “Dad’s Bible.”
