"You don't have the authority to relieve a battalion commander on the floor of his own depot, Captain," Vance growled, his voice dropping into a low, vicious whisper that only Claire could hear. "I have friends in the Senate Armed Services Committee. I have thirty years in this uniform—"
"You have twenty seconds before my agents place you in leg irons in front of your entire unit, Robert," Claire interrupted. Her voice did not rise in volume, but it carried an ancient, icy weight that made the colonel’s breath freeze in his chest.
She leaned down slightly, her dark eyes locking onto his.
"You thought because this base was tucked away in the Colorado hills, because your brother was a deputy director at the regional depot, that no one was tracking the serial numbers," Claire whispered. "You thought the Joint Chiefs didn't notice when an entire brigade's worth of night-vision equipment vanished off the digital ledgers. You thought you were fighting a war of paperwork."
She reached out her right hand, pointing directly at the gold four-star patch on her sleeve.
"This seal wasn't issued by Division, Colonel," she said. "It was issued by the White House. Unbuckle the belt."
Colonel Vance looked at her eyes. He looked at the four gold stars shining softly under the bright yellow bay lights.
Slowly, his hands reached down to his waist.
His fingers worked the heavy brass buckle of his officer's belt. The metal latch gave a dull, hollow CLINK. He pulled the leather strap from his belt loops, folded it once, and laid it flat on the steel platform at Claire’s feet.
Behind them, from the dark interior of Bay 2, came the sharp, metallic sound of a crowbar forcing open a heavy wooden shipping crate.
CRACK. RRRRRIP.
Agent Harris stepped back out into the light, holding a brand-new, olive-drab AN/PVS-14 night-vision monocular unit. He held it up toward the light, checking the white barcode serial number printed along the aluminum housing.
"Match, Captain," Harris called out, his voice echoing through the high rafters of the depot. "Crate 41B. Serial number sequence 88-Alpha-902. It's the missing Fort Meade shipment."
A low, collective murmur rippled through the ranks of the soldiers.
Claire did not look at the crate. She reached down, picked up Colonel Vance’s duty belt, and handed it to the second federal agent standing beside the platform.
"Secure Colonel Vance in the lead vehicle," Claire ordered smoothly. "Take Lieutenant Travis and Sergeant Miller to the provost marshal's holding facility in Sector 1. No phone calls. No visitor access until the federal grand jury indictments are unsealed at noon tomorrow."
"Understood, Captain," the agent said, stepping forward to take Colonel Vance by the elbow.
The decorated colonel did not say a word. He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the oil-stained concrete floor, as he was led past the long line of his former soldiers out into the bright, freezing mountain sun.
By 3:30 PM, the wind off the mountains had dropped, leaving a cold, heavy silence hanging over Forward Support Base Blackhawk.
The crime scene tape had been cleared from Maintenance Depot 3, but the atmosphere inside the 412th Transportation Company office was entirely transformed.
The three empty pizza boxes had been removed from the steel desk. The broken pen caps and scrap papers were gone. Sitting behind the desk now was Claire Vance, her black Pelican case open beside her, her leather dossier replaced by a sleek, military-grade encrypted laptop connected to a satellite uplink antenna mounted on the windowsill.
Standing in a rigid line on the other side of the desk were the remaining five junior officers and senior non-commissioned officers of the company.
At the head of the line stood First Sergeant Thomas Ramirez—a forty-two-year-old combat engineer with a scarred jaw and three tour patches on his right sleeve.
"First Sergeant," Claire said, looking up from her screen.
"MA'AM!" Ramirez barked, his voice clear, crisp, and respectful.
"As of zero-nine-hundred hours tomorrow, you are appointed as the temporary acting commander of the 412th Transportation Company," Claire said, turning her screen so he could see the digital authorization document. "You will oversee the complete inventory reconciliation of all Class II, Class IV, and Class IX supply yards in Sectors 3 and 4. You will report directly to the Joint Directorate field team until a permanent company commander is assigned by Division."