Twenty-two years earlier, when Ethan realized Deep Lantern had been sabotaged, he copied internal authentication records into Meridian's protected archive.
Names.
Authorizations.
Financial transfers.
Command signatures.
People who attempted to steal the Core.
People who approved his disappearance.
People who profited from keeping him dead.
Ethan had forgotten something critical.
He created the archive with one condition.
It could only be opened if Commander Ethan Blackwood was officially restored to living status.
A dead man's evidence remained buried.
A living man's evidence became discoverable.
Mercer had spent twenty-two years unable to access it.
Until today.
Noah stared at his father.
"You made this?"
"I made the lock."
Mercer completed the trap.
Whitmore looked at the screen.
"Can we close it?"
Sloane tried.
"No."
Archive extraction had begun.
Destination unknown.
Mercer had what he wanted.
Names.
Evidence.
Twenty-two years of secrets.
Ethan shouted:
"Adrian!"
Mercer answered.
"Thank you."
Then the connection died.
The device went dark.
Noah looked around.
"So we stopped the attack."
"Yes."
"But gave him something worse."
Ethan stared at the blank screen.
"Maybe."
Whitmore frowned.
"Maybe?"
Ethan looked at Sloane.
"The archive wasn't only a list of conspirators."
"What else?"
Ethan's expression changed.
"A tracker."
Sloane stared.
He had designed the archive so any complete extraction embedded a hidden beacon into the receiving system.
Not physical location.
Network path.
Infrastructure.
Enough to trace Mercer.
Whitmore almost smiled.
"You planned this twenty-two years ago?"
"No."
Ethan looked toward Noah.
"I was paranoid."
Noah finally gave a faint smile.
"Apparently genetic."
For the first time, father and son shared something resembling humor.
Then Sloane's secure phone came back online.
One signal.
She looked.
"Got him."
Location.
Not overseas.
Not underground.
Not some hidden bunker.
Harbor Point Naval Academy.
Building Seven.
Less than half a mile away.
Mercer had been on campus the entire time.
Whitmore stared.
"Why stay?"
Ethan answered:
"Because he never expected us to survive the final step."
They moved.
Noah started after them.
Ethan stopped.
"No."
Noah's face hardened.
"Absolutely not."
"You're not coming."
"I'm a commissioned officer."
"For forty minutes."
"Still counts."
Ethan looked at Whitmore.
The admiral almost smiled.
"He's yours."
Ethan muttered:
"Unfortunately."
Noah heard.
"Twenty-two years and you're already annoying."
Ethan stopped.
The line hit differently.
Twenty-two years.
There was grief inside the joke.
He looked at his son.
"Stay behind me."
Noah answered:
"No promises."
They crossed the academy grounds toward Building Seven.
Security teams converged.
Hardline communications only.
No network.
No digital keys.
Building Seven had once been a navigation laboratory.
Now mostly storage.
The front door stood open.
Inside, lights were off.
Ethan entered first.
He knew Mercer.
Or used to.
Men changed over twenty-two years.
Obsessions rarely did.
They climbed to the third floor.
A single room showed light beneath the door.
Whitmore reached for the handle.
Ethan stopped him.
"Trap."
"How do you know?"
"Because Adrian never closes doors unless he wants you to open them."
Noah looked at the ceiling.
Ventilation grille.
Loose screws.
He pointed.
Ethan saw.
They entered through the adjacent room.
Broke through a maintenance partition.
Mercer sat alone.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
No weapon in his hands.
Multiple monitors displayed extracted archive data.
He looked up.
"Commander."