Chapter 3 - Inside the Commander's Office
Colonel Hayes stood up so abruptly his heavy leather chair rolled backward and slammed against the wood-paneled wall. He didn't blink. His gaze remained locked onto the small silver insignia carved with microscopic precision into the lid of the mahogany box Fiona was holding.
“Where…” Hayes started, his voice dropping to a tense, gravelly whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again, speaking much more quietly. “Where did you get that box, Captain?”
Fiona clutched the base of the box a little tighter. “It was left to me by my grandfather. Colonel Walter Palmer.”
Hayes stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face as if looking for resemblance, or perhaps a warning sign. He walked slowly around his desk, his boots making no sound on the thick carpeting.
“Colonel Walter Palmer,” Hayes repeated, testing the name like a password. He looked toward the heavy oak door, then back at Fiona. “Does anyone else know you brought this box onto this installation?”
“My family saw the box at our house this morning,” Fiona answered honestly. “They watched me pack it into my car. But they have no idea what’s inside, or what it represents.”
Hayes let out a slow, heavy breath, running a calloused hand over his short gray hair. “And you? Do you know what’s inside?”
“No, sir,” Fiona replied. “My grandfather left strict instructions that I was only to open it when my family showed me who they really were. That happened this morning.”
Instead of asking for details about her family, Hayes turned sharply on his heel. He walked briskly to the large windows overlooking the snowy courtyard, pulled down the heavy blackout blinds one by one, and engaged the locking mechanisms. Then, he crossed the room to the heavy oak door, turned the deadbolt, and flipped a small toggle switch on the wall panel.
Fiona heard the distinct electronic hum of an acoustic dampening field engaging—a classified measure designed to prevent any audio surveillance from penetrating the room.
Colonel Hayes turned back to face her. The lines on his face seemed deeper now, etched with the immense weight of command.
“Captain Palmer,” Hayes said, his tone entirely transformed. The brisk, impatient commander was gone, replaced by a man addressing a superior officer in a high-stakes operational briefing. “You need to sit down.”
Fiona remained standing, her boots planted firmly on the carpet. “With all due respect, Colonel, I’d rather stand. What exactly did my grandfather leave me in this box?”
Hayes walked over to two leather armchairs situated near a low coffee table. He gestured for her to take a seat, and this time, Fiona complied, setting the mahogany box gently on the glass table between them. Hayes sat opposite her, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“It’s not medals, Captain,” Hayes said softly. “Your grandfather had plenty of those locked away in official archives. And it certainly isn't money.”
“Then what is it?” Fiona asked, her pulse beginning to hammer against her ribs.
Hayes looked directly into her eyes, his expression dead serious. “Your grandfather didn’t just serve at Fort Blackwood, Fiona. During the height of the Cold War and the decades that followed, Walter Palmer was the architect of something far larger than the standard chain of command. He wasn't just a retired colonel.”
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Hayes paused, letting the silence build before delivering the sentence that shattered her understanding of her family's history.
“Your grandfather left you control.”
