"So what happened?" Vaughn asked, now that Tai was present.

"I just received a letter from a dead man," Royce said, holding up the briefcase. "Actually a letter from a man who was murdered by the Organization. The letter directed me to a package. And there was more than just a letter in the package." Royce nodded toward the cottage. "Come inside. I'll explain and show you."

They followed him in. Royce placed the briefcase on the small kitchen table. Through the surrounding trees, one could catch glimpses of the ocean and the surf pounding the north shore. "The man who sent me the letter-he used to live here," Royce said. "For many, many years. Although he was traveling most of the time. Doing Organization business."

"He was your Hawaiian cutout," Tai said. A statement, not a question.

Royce nodded. "His name was David Lansale. He'd been in the OSS in World War II. He recruited me into the Organization. I worked for him along the Pacific Rim for many, many years. Then he decided it was time to retire."

Vaughn glanced at Tai. He sensed what was coming. He could tell by her face that she could too. And Royce noted the exchange. He smiled wanly "Yes, I know. A bit foolish to think one could retire from this life. But you do it long enough, get burnt-out enough, when someone dangles a carrot in front of you, you just might jump for it, even though you know better."

"Lansale jumped?" Vaughn asked.

Royce shrugged. "Jumped might be a bit strong of a word. I think he knew his time was up and he took the chance that maybe, just maybe, what the Organization was offering was real." Royce reached out and tapped the briefcase. "But obviously he also had strong doubts or he wouldn't have led me to this."

"Tell us what happened to him," Tai said as she wiped the sweat off her face with a towel.

"Short version," Royce said. "Three months ago-while we were in the midst of our little operation against the Abu Sayif-David 'retired.' He got on a private, unmarked jet with a group of other 'retirees' out at Kaneohe Marine Air Station. The jet took off heading west, for their island paradise retirement. It went down in the ocean, no survivors. No one was supposed to know about it, but I managed to track it through Space Command's eyes in the sky."

"Some retirement your group has," Vaughn said. He stared at Royce. "No wonder you got us on your side. You don't have much to look forward to, do you?"

"I suspected as much," Royce said. "Neither of you have much to look forward to either, especially considering you should be dead."

"Was he your friend?" Tai asked, which earned her a surprised look from both Royce and Vaughn.

After a moment's reflection, Royce nodded. "Yes."

Tai continued. "And his death was part of the reason you kept us alive and want to use us to find out what the Organization really is."

Royce nodded once. "Yes. That's partly it. It was probably the thing that pushed me over the edge. But there have been many things over the years that just haven't added up. And even David was suspicious of it all. Most of the time we seemed to be doing the right thing, but once in a while…" Royce's voice trailed off.

Vaughn had been recruited by Royce right after he led a disastrous hostage rescue mission with his Delta Force team in the Philippines. A mission where his brother-in-law was killed under his command. Tai had also been recruited in a similar manner-except she'd been sent undercover by the Defense Intelligence Agency to try to infiltrate the Organization to learn more about it, a move that had almost cost Tai her life when she was uncovered. Both of them now existed in a void. Thought to be dead by all except Royce.

"The letter?" Vaughn asked, trying to get him back on task.

"It was sent FedEx, but apparently held by a bank until yesterday to be delivered today," Royce said.

"Why the delay?" Tai asked.

Royce sighed. "I think David had it delayed in case he really did end up on that island. To give him time to cancel it being sent and cover his ass." He tapped the briefcase. "The letter directed me to a safety deposit box at the same bank where I found this." He opened the top of the case and pulled out several folders. Royce shook his head as he placed them on the table. "The funny thing is, I got most of this material for him. He sent me to St. Louis, to the National Personnel Records Center, a couple of years ago to do some digging. He didn't tell me what he was really looking for, just the bits and pieces." He indicated the table. "Which we now have here. A puzzle that I think we should solve to get a better idea of who and what the Organization is."

Vaughn sat on the open windowsill, feeling the slight ocean breeze stir.

"It's a strange place," Royce said absently as he stared at the material on the tabletop.

"What is?" Tai asked, confused by the sudden shift.

"The Records Center," Royce said. "Did you know they had a fire there in 1973 that destroyed the top two floors of the old Records Center? Which also conveniently destroyed the personnel records for those men involved in the government's nuclear testing in the late forties and the fifties, and also the records for those troops that had been exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam.

"Sort of put the crimp in all those lawsuits the government faced from all those same personnel who had come down with various ailments they claimed were a result of those two government actions."

"Convenient indeed," Tai said.

"I got a crash course in the place when I went," Royce said. "I naturally had the highest clearance, and they assigned me a full-time research archivist. In the new archives, you have seventeen acres of paper hidden underground with an eight-story office building housing other federal agencies above it. Papers tucked away in the building run from old social security records to the original plans for Fat Man, the first nuclear bomb. As both of you know, the U.S. government runs on paper, and the National Personnel Records Center is the temporary storage place and clearinghouse for every imaginable type of government record. Even the Organization can't keep a lid on everything."

Vaughn was growing a bit impatient with Royce's recollections, but Tai gave him a look that indicated he needed to listen, so he forced himself to say nothing.

Royce continued. "Unclassified records are in folders placed inside cardboard boxes, which are stacked on rows and rows of shelves. The secure 'vault' contains all the classified records. Every scrap of paper produced by the numerous organizations, and every piece of paper relating to any person that ever worked for the government, are all kept in the Records Center."

"So there's a lot stuff there," Vaughn said, unable to hold back.

"Yeah," Royce agreed, "a lot of stuff, including this." He indicated the desk.

"And that stuff is?"

Royce picked up a folder on top. "Organizational record. Every Army unit keeps them. Regulation. Most are just boring recitations of facts filled out by some second lieutenant as an extra duty." He held up the folder. "But this one-Lansale sent me looking for a specific type of unit. Engineer units, 1949. That served in a cold weather climate. And this one fit the bill: it had photos in it."

He opened it and spread out twelve photos showing a desolate winter landscape and bundled-up men working on some sort of structure dug deep into the snow. Several of the photos were obviously posed, the men aware of the camera, but others showed them hard at work. One photo caught Vaughn's attention and he picked it up. About fifty men were gathered around a crude, hand-lettered sign that read: A COMPANY: THE CITADEL.

"That's doesn't make sense," Vaughn said.

Tai looked at the photo. "What?"

"The Citadel is the military college of South Carolina in Charleston. That sure isn't Charleston."