Chapter 11 - The Camera Above the Coffee Machine

Cora had spent twenty years reminding young soldiers not to leave plates on tables. That morning she reminded three investigators that a dining hall has more cameras than the ones soldiers can see.

"Health inspectors made us install a camera above the coffee machine," she explained. "It runs to a separate recorder so management can check spills and equipment accidents. Nobody thought to wipe it."

Grant watched the recording without speaking. At 11:42, Owen entered wearing a civilian maintenance jacket and a visitor pass. He approached Voss from behind, slipped something into his breast pocket, and whispered a few words. Voss spun around, startled.

At 11:43, a woman in a Northline jacket walked into view. She photographed Owen, then left without buying anything.

"Recognize her?" Grant asked.

Cora nodded. "She came through last month, asking which soldiers had served on the Darrah convoy. Said it was for an alumni newsletter."

The woman was identified as Mara Quinn, Northline's former compliance manager. Her access badge had been deactivated the morning after she visited the dining hall.

Grant found her most recent address in a public records search. Nobody answered the door. Her car was still parked outside, but her apartment was empty, the bed made and the fridge full.

"Could she have run?" I asked.

"Could have," Grant said. "Could also be waiting for somebody to notice she's gone. We don't guess. We check."

Voss watched the video beside me. Owen had chosen him because he believed guilt might finally outweigh fear.

"I didn't mean for you to find it on the floor," Voss said. "I was going to hand it over after lunch. Then you mentioned Liam and I panicked."

"You had two years."

"I know."

I looked at the frame where Owen placed the paper in Voss's pocket. One terrified man trying to force another terrified man to do the right thing. My brother's life reduced to a handoff beside a coffee machine.

Grant returned with a new lead. Quinn had scheduled a meeting with a federal contracting auditor for that afternoon. She'd never arrived.

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On the auditor's desk was an envelope marked IF I MISS MY APPOINTMENT. Inside, Quinn had written three words in red marker:

ASK ABOUT SUNRISE.