Chapter 9 Someone Wants the Truth Buried
Missing Files
The morning after Damien’s isolation ended, Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about the envelope of military documents spread across the dining table.
Some of the pages had been deliberately blacked out before Damien ever received them. Others referred to medical procedures that Damien couldn’t remember. The missing weeks in his memory no longer looked like a coincidence. They looked like evidence.
The question was no longer whether something had happened during Damien’s final months in the military.
The question was who had gone to such extraordinary lengths to make sure nobody ever discovered the truth.
Ethan had promised Damien he would keep investigating.
Now he intended to keep that promise.
Instead of reporting directly to Wolfe Industries, he traveled first to the National Bond Research Council. The building remained unusually quiet that early in the morning, allowing him to enter the secure archives without attracting attention.
The elderly archivist looked up from his desk.
“Back again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I had a feeling your search wasn’t finished.”
“It isn’t.”
The old man unlocked the restricted records terminal before lowering his voice.
“I shouldn’t tell you this.”
Ethan looked at him curiously.
“Tell me what?”
“Twice this week someone requested access logs for the same military files you’ve been reviewing.”
Ethan frowned.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“They weren’t council employees.”
“They carried government authorization.”
A quiet unease settled over Ethan.
“Did they ask about me?”
“They asked whether anyone had shown unusual interest in Project Aegis.”
Ethan’s heartbeat quickened.
“And what did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
The archivist smiled.
“I told them I don’t discuss researchers with strangers.”
Relief crossed Ethan’s face.
“Thank you.”
“Just be careful.”
The warning stayed with him as he entered the secure archive room.
Rows of encrypted servers lined the walls, preserving military medical records dating back several decades. Most researchers never ventured this deep into the database because the authorization process alone discouraged casual curiosity.
Ethan logged into the restricted network and entered the same search terms he had used the previous day.
Project Aegis.
Again, almost nothing appeared.
Most references had already been erased.
He changed his approach.
Instead of searching for the project itself, he searched the names of physicians who had signed Damien’s discharge paperwork.
One profile opened immediately.
Colonel Adrian Mercer
Military Medical Research Division.
Status: Retired.
Associated Programs…
The screen paused.
Then another partially redacted file appeared.
Project Aegis.
Ethan quickly opened it before the database could time out.
The first pages contained ordinary administrative material.
Budgets.
Equipment inventories.
Personnel transfers.
Nothing remarkable.
Then the language changed.
Objective: Evaluate long-term neurological suppression of instinctive Alpha responses.
Ethan stopped breathing for a moment.
He reread the sentence carefully.
Neurological suppression.
Not observation.
Not treatment.
Suppression.
His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard as he opened the following pages.
Each document revealed another disturbing detail.
Experimental pharmaceutical compounds.
Behavioral conditioning.
Hormonal inhibitors.
Subjects selected from elite military Alpha units.
None of the names remained visible.
Every participant identification number had been removed.
Only procedure summaries survived.
One report described the intended outcome.
Goal: Create highly disciplined Alphas capable of resisting instinctive biological responses during extended combat operations.
Another page listed potential side effects.
Permanent suppression of rut cycles.
Reduced scent recognition.
Delayed or absent bonding responses.
Memory irregularities following neurological treatment.
Ethan stared at the screen in disbelief.
Every listed side effect matched Damien.
Every one.
His thoughts raced.
The military hadn’t been treating an illness.
They had been attempting to create soldiers who could ignore the strongest biological instincts known to Alpha physiology.
And something had gone terribly wrong.
He continued searching.
Another file appeared.
This one included handwritten physician notes scanned into the archive decades earlier.
Subject 14 displays unusually stable suppression. Continued observation recommended following discharge.
Subject 14.
No name.
Only a number.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
He couldn’t prove Subject 14 was Damien.
Not yet.
But the timeline matched.
The symptoms matched.
The erased medical records matched.
He reached for the portable encrypted drive in his bag.
If these files disappeared tomorrow, he needed evidence today.
The copying process began.
Progress slowly climbed across the screen.
Five percent.
Nine percent.
Twelve percent.
Suddenly every monitor in the archive flashed red.
Unauthorized Access Detected
The message appeared simultaneously across every screen.
“What?”
Ethan looked around the empty archive room.
No alarms sounded.
No emergency lights activated.
Only the monitors continued flashing.
Then, one by one, the files began disappearing.
Entire folders vanished before his eyes.
Documents closed automatically.
Directories emptied themselves.
The copying process stopped.
Source File Removed
“No…”
Ethan desperately reopened the archive index.
Every reference to Project Aegis disappeared one after another.
Medical reports.
Personnel lists.
Laboratory records.
Gone.
As though they had never existed.
His encrypted drive contained only the portion copied before the deletion began.
Less than twenty percent.
Not enough.
Someone was wiping the database in real time.
The archive door opened behind him.
Ethan spun around.
The elderly archivist hurried inside, breathing heavily.
“You need to leave.”
“What happened?”
“They’re here.”
“Who?”
“The people asking questions yesterday.”
He looked genuinely frightened.
“They’ve brought military authorization.”
“They’re demanding access to the archive.”
Ethan immediately disconnected the encrypted drive.
“Can they see what I copied?”
“I don’t know.”
“But if they search your workstation…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
Ethan quickly logged out before following the archivist through a secondary exit leading into an older section of the building rarely used by visitors.
The narrow corridor eventually opened onto a quiet side street behind the council headquarters.
Rain had begun falling lightly.
The archivist stopped beside the service entrance.
“Go.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll tell them the system malfunctioned.”
“They won’t believe you.”
“I’ve been working here thirty-seven years.”
He managed a weary smile.
“I’ve become very convincing.”
Ethan thanked him before disappearing into the growing afternoon crowd.
Only after walking several blocks did he slow his pace.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Nothing.
Perhaps he had imagined the danger.
Then he crossed another intersection.
A black sedan rolled through the traffic behind him.
Nothing unusual.
Until it remained there after three more turns.
Ethan entered a crowded café.
Five minutes later, the same sedan stopped across the street.
A man wearing a dark overcoat remained inside, speaking quietly into an earpiece while watching the entrance.
Ethan’s pulse quickened.
He left through the rear exit.
Two blocks later, another unfamiliar man appeared at the corner ahead, pretending to study his phone while glancing repeatedly in Ethan’s direction.
Coincidence became certainty.
Someone was following him.
Someone knew he had found something.
And somewhere inside the encrypted drive hidden beneath his jacket rested the first surviving evidence that Project Aegis had never truly disappeared.
A Threat Returns
Damien had learned long ago that danger announced itself long before violence ever began.
Most people watched weapons.
Soldiers watched people.
The way someone stood.
The way they scanned a room.
The rhythm of their footsteps.
The silence between conversations.
Those details had kept him alive during years of military service, and despite leaving the battlefield behind, they had never stopped shaping the way he observed the world.
It was a habit he rarely noticed anymore.
Until that afternoon.
The board meeting had ended later than expected. Several directors remained behind discussing expansion plans while Damien gathered the documents scattered across the conference table.
Richard Hastings looked unusually pleased.
“The European contracts are finally complete.”
“They are.”
“You should celebrate.”
Damien offered the faintest smile.
“I’ll settle for finishing tomorrow’s workload.”
Richard laughed.
“I’ve known you fifteen years.”
“I still don’t know whether that was a joke.”
“It wasn’t.”
The older man shook his head with affectionate disbelief.
“You really don’t know how to slow down.”
Before Damien could answer, Claire entered the room carrying a tablet.
“Mr. Wolfe.”
Her calm expression failed to hide the concern in her eyes.
“Ethan hasn’t arrived.”
Damien looked at the wall clock.
He was almost an hour late.
“He didn’t contact you?”
“No.”
“That’s unusual.”
It was.
Ethan always called if a meeting needed to be postponed. Even during his scheduled day off, he had informed Claire several days in advance.
Damien reached for his phone.
The call connected immediately.
No answer.
He tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
“He usually answers.”
Claire nodded.
“I know.”
Damien slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“He’ll call when he’s available.”
The words sounded reasonable.
They did nothing to ease the unease slowly growing beneath his calm exterior.
Half an hour later, Damien stood beside the enormous windows overlooking the main entrance to Wolfe Industries.
Employees crossed the plaza below in steady streams.
Delivery trucks arrived.
Clients entered and left.
Everything appeared ordinary.
Then something caught his attention.