Chapter 6

Brennan didn't wait for Vernon to tell her what to do. She unbuckled her seatbelt, walked down the aisle, and stepped off the shuttle onto the empty concrete pad. The sun was high and white, and the folded paper lay on the ground, pinned by the rock, looking small and fragile in the middle of all that open space.

She looked back at Vernon. He was watching from the driver's seat, both hands on the wheel, no hurry in him.

"Go on," he said. "Pick it up."

She bent down, wrapped her fingers around the paper, and lifted it out from under the rock. It was a single sheet, same blue-ruled memo form as the one Odell had shown her on the shuttle. She unfolded it and read:

I made this copy this morning from the original note I found on Sergeant Park's desk. The note is in Colonel Reinhardt's own handwriting. It orders the shuttle loop kept running during the next evac drill, doors open, and directs that no written copy of the order be made. I am leaving this copy here because the original has been removed from my custody. Whoever finds this paper should keep it safe. It is the only remaining written evidence of what was ordered.

At the bottom, in a neat, careful hand: Sgt. Marcus Odell, 41 S.

No signature. No way to prove it was his handwriting. Just the message, which read like the confession of a man who had already decided what was coming next.

Brennan folded it and held it in her hand. It felt heavy out of all proportion to its weight.

"Sir," she said, walking back to the open door. "This is Odell's paper. He left it here for someone to find. Anyone. He didn't know who would pick it up."