Chapter 4 - THE STATION AT BLACKWATER POINT
Z
Blackwater Point had once been an emergency communications station.
It sat on a rocky peninsula beyond Pine Harbor, surrounded by spruce forest and narrow roads that vanished beneath winter snow.
I knew the place.
Not because I'd ever worked there.
Because Daniel had taken me fishing nearby when I was sixteen.
We had spent six hours catching nothing.
He'd insisted we were practicing patience.
I'd accused him of being terrible at fishing.
He'd laughed until he nearly fell out of the boat.
Now the station was being mentioned in a distress transmission from missing military personnel.
And somebody had used my old call sign.
Holloway wanted me to accompany the rescue coordination team.
I refused.
Not immediately.
I listened to the explanation first.
A search operation was being organized through the responsible military and civilian agencies. Weather conditions remained hazardous. Communications from the missing group were intermittent.
Holloway believed I could help interpret references to old Kestrel evacuation procedures.
But I was a nurse.
Not an investigator.
Not a rescue commander.
And my brother's death didn't make me uniquely qualified to solve a maritime incident.
“Ray, I can review the transmissions here.”
He nodded.
“That would help.”
“I can explain any medical terminology or old call signs.”
“Good.”
“But I'm not going out into the storm because somebody wrote my name on a radio message.”
Holloway looked at me.
Then smiled faintly.
“Daniel would've said exactly that.”
I looked away.
“Daniel would've gone anyway.”
Ray's smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
And we both understood why that wasn't necessarily a compliment.
By noon, Commander Hail had established a coordination space inside the hospital.
The search team shared information through authorized channels.
Coast Guard personnel managed maritime rescue operations.
Naval command coordinated military assets.
The hospital prepared for additional casualties.
And I was asked to assist with medical readiness and historical context.
For the first time since arriving at Pine Harbor, people introduced me by my actual name.
Not Mouse.
Annie Keller.
Registered nurse.
Former operational trauma nurse.
A person whose experience had value.
It should have felt wonderful.
Instead, I felt exposed.
At two that afternoon, a Coast Guard officer entered the coordination room.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and perhaps thirty-nine, with dark hair cut close at the sides and a calm expression that suggested he rarely wasted words.
His name was Commander Jonah Vale.
He was leading part of the coastal search coordination effort.
Holloway introduced us.
“Jonah, this is Annie Keller.”
Jonah looked at me.
“Angel Six?”
I flinched before I could stop myself.
His expression changed.
“I'm sorry. Nurse Keller.”
“Annie is fine.”
He nodded.
“Annie.”
Something about the way he said my name made me look up.
No amusement.
No suspicion.
Just acknowledgment.
Jonah unfolded a map.
“We've got a weak signal originating near the old station. The surrounding roads are flooded, and direct access isn't safe at the moment.”
I studied the location.
“There's an old maintenance building south of the main station.”
He looked at me.
“How do you know?”
“My brother used to fish nearby. He showed me the service roads.”
Jonah leaned closer.
“Is that building still standing?”
“I don't know.”
He marked the map.
“Worth checking against current imagery.”
Holloway watched us.
Then asked, “What about the transmission?”
Jonah looked toward me.
“Can you recognize the wording?”
I read the transcript.
Angel Six knows the way.
My stomach tightened.
“It's not a standard distress message.”
“Then what is it?”
“A reference.”
“To what?”
I closed my eyes.
During the Kestrel evacuation, our team had developed a simple rule for handling confused patients who woke during transport.
If a patient couldn't remember where they were, the person assisting them would say, Angel Six knows the way.
It had been Daniel's joke.
He'd invented it after a wounded young Marine accused me of being a terrible navigator.
I had never included the phrase in any official report.
Only our team knew it.
I opened my eyes.
“Whoever transmitted that either worked with us or heard it from someone who did.”
Jonah studied me.
“Could Owen have known it?”
“Yes.”
“Could another member of the missing team?”
“Possibly.”
He nodded.
“Then we'll treat it as potentially useful identification information, not proof of location or identity.”
I appreciated the precision.
No dramatic assumptions.
No reckless confidence.
Just careful thinking.
That evening, the search team located two survivors near a damaged service building.
Both were cold, exhausted, and injured.
They had sheltered while waiting for rescue.
The remaining five members of the recovery group were still missing.
The survivors reported that an equipment failure had occurred shortly before the explosion aboard the research vessel.
They also described seeing an unidentified small craft nearby.
Investigators documented the account.
Nobody declared sabotage.
Not yet.
At the hospital, we prepared for their arrival.
Teague was on duty.
He looked at me.
Then quietly said, “Keller, can you coordinate the nursing side of the reception?”
I stared.
For seven months, he had barely trusted me with a tray.
Now he was asking.
Not ordering.
Asking.
“Yes, Doctor.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
It wasn't an apology.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.
The survivors arrived shortly after midnight.
One required transfer to a larger facility after stabilization.
The other, a communications specialist named Petty Officer Samuel Reed, remained conscious.
He requested to speak with Holloway.
I was nearby when Ray entered.
Samuel's voice was weak.
“Master Chief, they were waiting for us.”
Holloway leaned closer.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened?”
Samuel swallowed.
“We found the equipment. Then our radio started receiving Kestrel traffic.”
I felt cold.
“What traffic?”
Samuel looked toward me.
His eyes widened.
“Angel Six.”
I stepped closer.
He reached for my hand.
“The transmission wasn't coming from the old archive.”
My pulse hammered.
“Then where?”
May you like
Samuel's eyes filled with fear.
“Somebody was broadcasting it live.”
