Lt. Col. Jack Lapsford, a decisive retired military officer, moves through the Phoenix’s narrow, deserted corridors toward the first-class lounge, intent on confronting whoever summoned him. He notes the abnormal emptiness of the train—no passengers or staff beyond the conductor—and even the dining car is fully set but unattended, which unsettles him.

Lapsford fixates on the threatening message scrawled on his invitation—"How does it feel to have blood on your hands?"—and concludes the summons concerns events from twelve years earlier. He weighs logistics and motives, assuming money may be sought, but is certain about the underlying incident.

He remembers his Washington posting handling wartime logistics and a steak-and-scotch meeting with a man tied to a railroad. The man lobbied not for his own contract but for Lapsford to steer one elsewhere to enable a deliberate failure—effectively sabotage—arguing that a shocking loss, like a smaller Pearl Harbor, would galvanize the nation, speed mobilization, and ultimately save the war effort.

Lapsford challenged the ethics and the foreseen deaths of innocent men, but the man’s blunt, utilitarian logic—and the prospect of financial gain for both—prevailed. The man also implied Lapsford had profited before. Resolute and self-justifying, Lapsford executed the plan and claims no regret, viewing regret as weakness.

Entering the lounge, Lapsford finds Judd Dodge, Herb Pulaski, Sally Lawrence, and Edith Gerhardt already there. Recognition drains his bravado; he recalls at least crossing paths with the younger woman during testimony that maligned a dead man. None of the four admits to organizing the gathering.

The chapter closes with Lapsford pressing the group for answers about why they are there and who orchestrated the situation, underscoring their shared, compromising past and the coordinated summons.