Chapter 13 - The Officer at My Bedside
Gage arrived for questioning with an attorney and a service record thick enough to look impressive from across a room.
“I coordinated medical evacuation,” he said. “I wasn't part of any convoy.”
Tess set Owen's image on the table. “Then tell us why you appear in this vehicle.”
Gage studied it too long. “That could be anyone.”
“Maybe,” Tess replied. “We're checking travel records, not guessing from photographs.”
A border transit log put Gage at the nearest airfield that night. A fuel receipt carried his signature. The records were independently sourced from routine supply archives that no one had bothered to erase.
He asked for a break. After speaking privately with his attorney, he returned looking ten years older.
“Rusk said the convoy carried sensitive communications equipment,” Gage admitted. “He said exposure could compromise ongoing operations. Thorne told me extraction had to prioritize the case.”
“Even over three Americans?” I asked.
Gage stared at the table. “He said the three were already dead.”
“They were talking on the radio when he took off.”
“I didn't hear their channel.”
He wasn't offering innocence. He was offering the smaller portion of blame he hoped he could survive.
Gage confessed that Thorne had drafted the casualty summary in advance and ordered him to obtain my signature. Gage knew I was heavily medicated and didn't question why a report had been finalized before the search ended.
“Did you know Owen was alive?” Tess asked.
“Not then.”
“And later?”
Gage shut his eyes. “A recovery notice crossed my desk sixteen months ago. It was canceled two hours later. I was told it was a false match.”
“Who canceled it?”
He didn't answer. Instead, he wrote a name on a pad, tore off the page, and pushed it across the table.
May you like
It was Daniel Rusk.
Under the name were three words: ASK ABOUT HARBORLIGHT.
