Chapter 4 - The Third Man
“The third man was Luis Beltran,” Marcus said. “Private first class then. Twenty years old. Barely out of training.”
Nia had seen the name in the after-action summary. Beltran had been transported with smoke inhalation, then transferred out of the unit. There was no contact information attached to the public report.
“Luis drove the maintenance truck back toward the fire when everybody else was turning around,” Marcus continued. “He saw two men on the ground by the drainage cut. I went down to them. Luis brought the hose and pulled us over the edge. Harlan showed up after the medics.”
“What did he tell Luis?”
“He said the command needed a clear hero for the press. Too many names would confuse the story. Luis was supposed to say Harlan entered the smoke.”
“Why would Luis agree?”
Marcus stared at his hand. “The night before the fire, he'd written up an equipment defect and forgotten to route it through the right supervisor. They threatened to blame him for a vehicle fault. Harlan promised to keep that out of the investigation if he cooperated.”
Nia felt anger rise so quickly she had to press both palms against her knees. It was easier to be furious with Harlan than to understand the fear that had kept a twenty-year-old quiet.
“Did you say anything?” she asked.
“I said I didn't want a medal. I wanted everybody to get medical care and go home.” Marcus paused. “Harlan told me he'd make sure that happened. When I questioned the story again, a senior officer told me this wasn't a fight worth having while my medical separation was being reviewed.”
“Did he say that was an official condition?”
“No. He made sure he never said it that way.”
Nia was quiet for a long moment. Then she opened her phone and showed Marcus the short clip Eli had secured through an approved evidence intake, not a copy circulating in group chats. Harlan's voice was clear in the video. Marcus watched his sister go down onto one knee.
“Pause it,” he said.
He shook, and Nia reached toward him. He stopped her.
“Don't put my story online,” he said. “I mean it. Not to defend you. Not to get even. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He took the foundation packet from her and turned to the last page. There was a photocopy of an enrollment authorization. In the corner, partly covered by a barcode, was the name of a woman who had witnessed his signature.
Nia read it twice.
May you like
“Renee Holt,” she said.
The gunnery sergeant who had just advised her to preserve the video had witnessed a document Marcus swore he hadn't signed.
