Chapter 8 – The Voice of a Dead Man
The radio fell silent.
No static.
No interference.
Just silence.
Every FBI agent in the vault stared at the handheld radio as though it had become a ghost.
Nathan Cole slowly reached for it.
His fingers tightened around the device.
He pressed the transmit button.
"This is Special Agent Nathan Cole."
No response.
"Identify yourself."
Nothing.
Only the faint hiss of an open channel.
Nathan tried again.
"Director Hayes is dead."
A voice came from behind him.
"That's exactly what they wanted us to believe."
Everyone turned.
The young communications agent lowered his headset.
"I verified the encryption."
Nathan frowned.
"What did you find?"
"The transmission used Director Hayes' personal encryption key."
Nathan's jaw clenched.
"That key was destroyed after his funeral."
"So we thought."
Grace looked from one face to another.
"Can somebody tell me what's going on?"
Nathan took a slow breath.
"Richard Hayes was the Director of the FBI's Counterintelligence Division."
"He led the investigation into the Blackwood case."
Grace whispered,
"So he knew my parents?"
Nathan nodded.
"He knew everyone."
Emily folded her arms.
"And then he conveniently died."
Nathan's expression darkened.
"His helicopter exploded over Chesapeake Bay."
Daniel asked quietly,
"Did anyone ever recover the body?"
Nathan didn't answer immediately.
After a long pause, he admitted,
"No."
Grace looked at Daniel.
"You were right."
Daniel frowned.
"About what?"
"They keep telling people someone is dead..."
"...without ever showing a body."
The room fell silent.
Arthur, still weak from the explosion, slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.
"I warned them."
Nathan turned toward him.
"You knew Director Hayes?"
Arthur gave a tired smile.
"Long before he joined the Bureau."
Nathan looked surprised.
"I've read your name in classified files."
Arthur chuckled weakly.
"I wish I hadn't written most of them."
Grace knelt beside the old lawyer.
"Arthur..."
"You said my father has the second DNA report."
Arthur nodded.
"He does."
"Then where is he?"
Arthur hesitated.
Before he could answer—
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the emergency generators shut off completely.
Darkness swallowed the vault.
Someone cursed.
Several FBI agents immediately switched on tactical flashlights.
Thin white beams cut through the darkness.
The shadows suddenly felt much deeper.
Much closer.
Nathan's instincts took over.
"Perimeter!"
Within seconds, agents formed a defensive circle around Grace.
Daniel noticed something immediately.
"There are too many shadows."
Nathan looked around.
"What?"
Daniel slowly pointed toward the far end of the vault.
"The shelves."
Everyone followed his flashlight.
The rows of filing cabinets seemed...
Different.
Grace frowned.
"Weren't there six rows?"
Emily counted quietly.
"There are seven now."
Silence.
Nathan's pulse quickened.
"Everybody stay alert."
One of the agents stepped cautiously toward the extra row of cabinets.
"Probably the explosion."
"No."
Daniel's voice stopped him.
"It wasn't there before."
The agent lifted his flashlight.
The beam landed on the metal cabinet.
Fresh footprints.
Still wet from the rain.
Nathan whispered,
"We're not alone."
Suddenly—
A filing cabinet door slammed shut somewhere in the darkness.
BANG!
Several agents spun around.
Weapons raised.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Walking between the shelves.
Grace instinctively grabbed Daniel's hand.
"Can you see them?"
Daniel slowly shook his head.
"No."
Emily drew a second pistol from an ankle holster.
"I count at least two."
Nathan frowned.
"I don't hear anyone."
"You won't."
Emily's voice was calm.
"They're professionals."
Another cabinet slammed.
Then another.
One after another.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
The sounds echoed through the vault from different directions.
Nathan realized what was happening.
"They're herding us."
Daniel nodded.
"Toward the center."
Grace whispered,
"Why?"
"So we have nowhere to run."
A faint whistle drifted through the darkness.
One short note.
Then another.
Emily's expression changed instantly.
"No..."
Daniel looked at her.
"You recognize it."
Emily nodded.
"It's their signal."
Nathan frowned.
"Whose signal?"
Emily answered in a voice barely above a whisper.
"The Hunters."
Arthur's face turned white.
"They're here?"
Grace looked confused.
"Who are the Hunters?"
Arthur closed his eyes.
"They're the Circle's execution unit."
"They don't arrest."
"They don't negotiate."
"They don't leave witnesses."
Another whistle echoed.
Closer this time.
One of the FBI agents suddenly gasped.
"What..."
Everyone turned.
He was staring at something behind the shelves.
Nathan raised his flashlight.
The beam revealed a body.
An FBI agent.
Pinned upright against a filing cabinet by a combat knife driven through his chest.
Blood still dripped onto the concrete floor.
Grace covered her mouth.
"He was alive a minute ago..."
Nathan recognized him instantly.
"Evans..."
One of his best agents.
Dead without anyone hearing a struggle.
Daniel's voice became deadly calm.
"They're inside the circle."
Nathan looked around.
"Fall back!"
The remaining agents tightened their formation.
Grace's breathing became shallow.
She could feel her babies moving, as if they sensed her fear.
Daniel noticed.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded, though she wasn't sure it was true.
Then—
A slow clap echoed from somewhere in the darkness.
Not the masked man.
Someone else.
A deep voice spoke calmly.
"Impressive."
"You survived longer than expected."
Nathan aimed his weapon toward the sound.
"Show yourself!"
The voice laughed.
"No."
"I've spent twenty years avoiding cameras."
Grace felt a chill run down her spine.
The voice sounded...
Familiar.
She frowned.
"I know that voice."
Daniel looked at her.
"From where?"
"I don't know."
"I've heard it before."
The man spoke again.
"Of course you have, Grace."
"You were only five years old..."
"...the last time you called me..."
He paused.
"...Dad."
Grace's heart stopped.
"No..."
The voice continued.
"You've grown up beautifully."
Tears filled Grace's eyes.
"My father?"
Daniel grabbed her arm.
"No."
"It could be another trick."
Grace wanted to believe him.
She really did.
But something inside her...
Something buried deep beneath years of forgotten memories...
Recognized the voice.
Then a small music box melody echoed through the darkness.
A lullaby.
Simple.
Gentle.
Grace suddenly froze.
The melody.
She knew it.
She had dreamed about it since childhood.
Every birthday.
Every nightmare.
Every unexplained memory.
She whispered through trembling lips,
"He used to sing that to me..."
Arthur looked horrified.
"Oh, God..."
Grace slowly turned toward him.
"You know that song?"
Arthur nodded, tears filling his eyes.
"I wrote it..."
"...for your father."
Before Grace could ask another question, a figure stepped out of the darkness.
Not masked.
Not armed.
A man in his late fifties with graying hair, tired blue eyes, and a long scar running across his left cheek.
He looked directly at Grace.
His own eyes filled with tears.
He smiled.
"Hello, Pumpkin."
Grace felt the world stop.
Only one person had ever called her that.
She took one trembling step forward.
"Dad...?"
The man opened his arms.
May you like
"I've been trying to find you..."
"...for twenty-eight years."
