Current limited advisory relationship with the Department of Defense.
Langley leaned closer.
His face drained.
“That’s him.”
Sloan did not answer.
Another page appeared.
A presidential photograph.
Terrence standing beside the Secretary of Defense and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs at a ceremony.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
No ambiguity.
Langley whispered:
“Oh, God.”
Carver came into the office.
“What?”
Sloan turned the monitor.
Carver read.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
Doyle stood behind him.
Her face changed.
She looked down at her phone.
The recording.
Without thinking, she opened the video and deleted it.
Her hand shook.
The file disappeared.
For three seconds she felt relief.
Then Gavin Stroud’s voice came from behind her.
“Don’t.”
She turned.
He had seen.
“What?”
Gavin looked horrified.
“Tell me you didn’t just delete evidence.”
“I was cleaning storage.”
“Marissa.”
“It was my personal phone.”
Sloan stood.
“What did you delete?”
Doyle looked at him.
No answer.
“What did you delete?”
“The interrogation video.”
Sloan closed his eyes.
“Why?”
“I panicked.”
Gavin held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
“It’s mine.”
“Then don’t touch it again.”
Doyle’s breathing quickened.
“I uploaded automatically.”
Gavin looked at her.
“To where?”
She swallowed.
“Department media backup.”
The room fell silent.
The file still existed.
That would save her from one kind of accusation.
Not the consequences of trying to erase it.
Langley walked away from the office.
He sat at his desk.
His hands were trembling.
The joke replayed in his head.
If you’re a general, I’m the President.
He remembered tightening the cuffs.
You’ll survive.
The words sounded different now.
He stared toward the hallway.
Terrence was still sitting in the cell.
Same old jacket.
Same boots.
Nothing about him had changed.
Only their knowledge had.
That realization became the first truly painful thing Langley understood all afternoon.
Across the station, whispers spread.
“He’s real.”
“Who?”
“The guy in holding.”
“What do you mean real?”
“General.”
“No way.”
“Four-star.”
“Stop.”
“Pentagon called.”
“Pentagon?”
The elderly woman from the waiting area had not left.
She heard the whispers.
She looked toward Langley.
Then said softly:
“He told you.”
Langley looked at her.
She shook her head.
“He told you exactly who he was.”
No one answered.
The red phone rang again.
Sloan answered immediately.
This time the voice was older.
Colder.
“Captain Sloan?”
“Yes.”
“This is General Marcus Halden, Chief of Staff of the Army.”
Sloan stood.
Every officer who could hear the title became still.
“General.”
“I have reviewed the preliminary report concerning retired General Terrence Whitmore.”
Sloan swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
“General Whitmore is to be released from detention immediately.”