Betrayal and Retribution
Part Two of the Story… 👇
Military Intelligence Tactics
The hospital corridor grew quiet after security led Naomi and Derrick toward the elevators. I didn’t waste a second. I stepped back into Lisa’s room, pulling a small notebook and a pen from my jacket pocket. Lisa’s breathing had stabilized, but the terror in her eyes remained raw and piercing. She couldn’t speak, but her mind was entirely present. I held her uninjured hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers.
“Lisa, I need you to blink once for yes, twice for no,” I said softly, keeping my voice calm and steady, the exact tone I used when debriefing traumatized assets in the field. “Did Naomi and Derrick do this to you?”
She blinked once. A single, heavy tear rolled down her bruised cheek.
“Was it about whatever is inside the safe?”
Another single blink.
“Is the safe at your mother’s old house?”
Two rapid blinks. No.
I thought for a moment, analyzing the square she had drawn in my palm. If it wasn’t at the house, it had to be somewhere secure, somewhere she had access to as a student. “Is it on campus? In your dorm?”
She blinked once. Yes.
“I’m going to get it,” I promised her, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ve ordered the hospital guards to post a man right outside your door. No one enters this room except the primary surgeon. I love you, sweetheart. Rest now.”
I left the room and walked straight to the security desk. I showed the head of security my old military credentials—sometimes the retired investigator badge carried more weight than a standard civilian ID when time was of the essence. I ensured the guard was placed at her door, then I walked out into the cool night air.
My truck engine roared to life. The campus was only a ten-minute drive from the medical center. As I drove, my mind pieced together the fragments of the puzzle. Derrick Fox had always been a gambler, a man who lived on the margins of legitimate business, constantly looking for a shortcut. Naomi had married me while I was deployed, but over the last two years, her behavior had shifted. She spent more time ‘helping’ Derrick manage the estate left behind by Lisa’s late mother than she did at home. They thought I was oblivious, blinded by the distance of my deployments. They underestimated what a trained investigator sees even from thousands of miles away.
I parked my truck two blocks away from Lisa’s dormitory to avoid being spotted if they had posted a lookout. The campus was quiet, the midnight air heavy with fog. I slipped through the side entrance of the residence hall, utilizing the keycard Lisa had given me a month ago for emergencies.
When I reached her floor, the hallway was empty. I walked quickly to room 214, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The room had been tossed. Drawers were pulled out, textbooks were scattered across the floor, and the mattress was partially flipped. Derrick had already been here looking for the safe. But Derrick was clumsy; he looked in the obvious places. He didn’t know how a girl raised by a military intelligence officer thought.
I walked past the overturned desk and knelt by the small refrigerator in the corner. Behind it, built into the wall ventilation shaft, was a loose grate. I removed the cover. Inside sat a heavy, fireproof lockbox.
I pulled it out. It required a four-digit code. I tried Lisa’s birth year. Incorrect. I tried the year her mother passed away. The mechanism clicked, and the heavy lid swung open.
