CHAPTER 11: THE FIFTH MAN
CHAPTER 11: THE FIFTH MAN
The peace of the lakeside house did not last.
Not because our resolve broke, but because the shadows of Vietnam ran deeper than a single rogue general.
Six months after the arrest of Marcus Vance.
The leaves had fallen, leaving the pine trees bare against the grey mountain sky. Ethan was taking his first unassisted steps across the living room rug, his small hands reaching for Claire, who laughed with a lightness she hadn't possessed in years.
Then, the old military photograph caught the fading afternoon light.
Five young soldiers.
My grandfather.
Marcus Vance.
Richard Lawson.
My father.
And the fifth man. The one whose face had been partially obscured by a shadow in the jungle. The one whose name wasn't written on the back.
The landline phone on the kitchen wall—the same analog model—began to ring with a sharp, rhythmic tone.
I walked over, an immediate cold weight dropping into my chest. I lifted the receiver.
"Captain Brooks," a raspy, weathered voice whispered through the static.
"Vance is in a maximum-security block, old man," I said, my voice turning to ice. "The network is dead."
A dry, whistling laugh came through the speaker.
"Marcus was a bureaucrat who stole spreadsheets, Daniel," the voice replied.
"He didn't tell you about the fifth soldier, did he?"
"Who is this?" I demanded, my knuckles turning entirely white.
May you like
"The man who actually owned the logistics network," he whispered.
"The man your grandfather spent forty years trying to kill."
