“No,” Aria said. “He’s useful. There’s a difference.”

The MP on the right looked at the envelope, then at the recorder. “Ma’am,” he said carefully, “who else has access to this evidence?”

Aria looked past Mercer, toward the corridor. “Naval Intelligence received the first copy at 0603.”

Mercer’s head snapped back toward her.

There it was. Not fear. Worse than fear. Recognition — the kind a man feels when he realizes the door he locked from the inside has another key.

At 0603 hours, four minutes before Harlow shoved her, Aria had already transmitted the file.