“Do you think Gregory knows we found the letter?” Eleanor asked.

“He knows my father kept records,” I said. “That is why he spent thirty years trying to erase him.”

We drove in silence for the next hour.

The temperature inside the car dropped as we went deeper into the high desert.

The heater blew dry, hot air against my face, but my hands remained cold on the leather wheel.

I watched the navigation screen as the blue triangle of our vehicle crept closer to the coordinate pin.

The surrounding area was completely blank on the map.

No towns, no secondary roads, no services.

Only a thin grey line representing a private spur.

I turned the headlights off and switched to my night-vision display.

The road ahead appeared in shades of bright green and black on the dashboard screen.

I slowed the SUV to a crawl as we approached a chain-link fence.

The fence was ten feet high, topped with coiled razor wire that glinted in the moonlight.

A faded sign hung from the metal mesh.

“Private Property. Authorized Access Only.”