The screens changed to a camera view of Main Street.

It was a grainy, night-vision shot, but Ethan could just make out the shadow of Pam walking quickly down the sidewalk.

She passed out of view.

The feed went black.

The screens returned to the aerial map.

“What was she doing in town?” Ted asked.

“At 1:59, Alyssa and Kate Ballinger part ways at the corner of Main and Eighth. Neither woman is chipped, so there’s no footage. I’m told that Alyssa headed south, presumably toward the superstructure. Pam follows Alyssa. Keep in mind that several hours later, near the pastures south of town, I’ll discover Alyssa. Naked in the middle of the road. Tortured to death.”

“The Wanderers killed Alyssa.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Check our three surveillance cams, Ted.”

Ted switched back.

Marcus had vanished from the tunnel door cam.

Pam had left the gym.

The Level 2 corridor stood empty.

“Go back to where we were,” Ethan said. “Let’s see where she goes.”

Ted switched to the aerial view of Wayward Pines.

Pam continued south out of town. Where the road curved back, her blip moved into the forest and went all the way to the fence.

Ethan asked, “Can you add my microchip to these screens?”

“You mean for the same moment in time?”

“Exactly.”

Ethan’s blip appeared.

“So you were there with Pam?” Ted said. “I don’t understand.”

“I was. Three nights ago at the fence. Peter McCall had just died.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

“Now run Pam’s trajectory again, from 1:59 a.m. until she reaches me and the fence.”

Ted replayed Pam’s movement.

“I’m not following,” Ted said.

“Then run it again.”

He ran it three more times, and at the end of the third, said, “What the hell?”

Ted leaned forward in his seat.

His demeanor had changed.

Less fear, more intensity.

More focus.

Ethan said, “Am I wrong, or are there two and a half hours missing from Pam’s surveillance on the night Alyssa was murdered?”

Ted rewound the footage.

He pushed in until the blip itself took up four screens.

Then played it over and over and over.

“The time jump is seamless,” Ted said. “The only tell is the running clock.”

He typed furiously across three keyboards.

An error code flashed on the screens.

Ted stared at it, his head cocked, like it didn’t compute.

“What does that mean?” Ethan asked.

“There’s a missing data field. From 2:04 a.m. until 4:33 a.m.”

“How is that possible?”

“Someone deleted it. Let me try one other thing.”

Now the screens showed what Ted was typing—a long, incomprehensible line of code.

It only returned a different error message.

Ted said, “I just ran a system restore, back to sixty seconds before the time jumped ahead.”

“And?”

“The surveillance we’re looking for has been deep-sixed.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“It’s been erased.”

“Could Pilcher or Pam have done this?”

“Definitely not. I mean not by themselves. The deletion itself would be practically impossible, but to patch Pam’s surveillance history back together with a missing data field and make it look so flawless? No way. That took a high level of expertise.”

“So who would have helped them? One of your surveillance techs?”

“Only if they were ordered to.”

“You weren’t asked to do this?”

“No. I swear to you.”

“How many on your team are capable of something like this?”

“Two.”

Ethan pointed his knife at the door at the end of the massive control panel. “Are they in there now?”

Ted hesitated.

“Ted.”

“One of them is.”

Ethan started toward the door.

Ted said, “Wait.” He pointed at the bank of screens, which had reverted to the live surveillance cameras inside the superstructure.

Pam and Pilcher were coming down the Level 2 corridor, two guards in tow.

Ethan glared at Ted. “You alerted them?”

“Of course not. Sit down.”

“Why?”

Ted attacked the touchscreens.

The surveillance cam feeds disappeared.

“Get them back,” Ethan said.

“If this means what I think it means, we don’t need that on the screen when they walk in here.”

Ted pulled an aerial map of Wayward Pines, zoomed down onto Kate Ballinger’s house, and exploded the interactive blueprint.

He pushed down into the camera over her bed.

Kate and Harold filled the screens—dawn light coming through their windows as they dressed.

Ethan took a seat. “You’re actually helping me?”

“Maybe.”

Voices came into range just outside the door.

Then the sound of a lock clicking back.

“You better think of something quick, Sheriff.”

Ethan said, “One last thing. If I needed to speak to someone in a pinch in the middle of the day in the middle of town—”

“The bench on the corner of Main and Ninth. Blind spot. Deaf spot.”

The door opened.

Pilcher entered first, Pam right on his heels.

He said over his shoulder, presumably to the guards, “Just hang back a moment. I’ll let you know.”

Pilcher strode into the middle of the room and stared down at Ethan with a bright, focused anger.

“Marcus is in the infirmary with a concussion and a cracked skull.”

Ethan said, “Little shit pointed a gun at me. Lucky he’s not in the morgue. You give him that authority?”

“I told him to drive into town, find you, and bring you back to me by whatever means necessary.”

“Well, then I guess he has you to thank for the cracked skull.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?”

Pilcher looked at Ted.

Ted volunteered, “He wanted to see some live footage of the Ballinger residence.”