Sterling stepped toward me.
“Whatever game you're playing—”
The dining hall doors opened.
Four military police officers entered.
Too fast.
I looked at my watch.
Less than four minutes had passed since I revealed myself.
No call had been placed from the dining hall.
Not one I had seen.
Sterling's expression relaxed.
Only slightly.
There it was again.
Relief.
The MPs spread out.
Their lieutenant approached.
“Colonel Vance?”
“Yes.”
“Ma'am, we've been instructed to secure the scene.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
“Command.”
“Which command?”
Before he could answer, a new voice came from behind them.
“Mine.”
Everyone turned.
Brigadier General Arthur Thorne entered the dining hall.
The room came to attention almost automatically.
Chairs scraped.
Soldiers stood.
Even Sterling straightened.
I did not.
According to the travel schedule I had reviewed that morning, Arthur Thorne was supposed to be in Washington until tomorrow night.
Yet here he was.
No travel delay.
No luggage.
No surprise.
He looked as though he had been waiting nearby.
“Colonel Vance.”
“General Thorne.”
His eyes moved to the swelling near my forehead.
“Unfortunate.”
That word interested me.
Not shocking.
Not unacceptable.
Unfortunate.
“Major Sterling made an unfortunate error.”
Sterling looked toward him.
There was something almost desperate in his expression.
“Sir—”
Thorne raised one hand.
Sterling stopped speaking.
I filed that away.
Thorne stepped closer.
“I understand you've been operating on my installation without notifying local command.”
“That was deliberate.”
“Yes.”
His smile was controlled.
“I'm aware how inspector-general activity works.”
“Then you understand why.”
“Sometimes.”
He looked around the dining hall.
“But this has now become disruptive.”
“Major Sterling assaulted me.”
“We'll address it.”
“How?”
“Privately.”
“No.”
The word landed hard.
Thorne's expression barely changed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“This happened publicly.”
“I don't conduct disciplinary matters in front of troops.”
“Neither do I.”
I paused.
“I'm preserving witnesses.”
Thorne looked at Hayes.
“Sergeant, dismiss the room.”
Hayes froze.
I said immediately:
“No one leaves.”
Two orders.
One room.
One sergeant caught between a brigadier general and a colonel he had learned five minutes earlier was an investigator.
Hayes looked sick.
Thorne's voice hardened.
“Sergeant.”
I watched Hayes carefully.
He swallowed.
Then said:
“Sir, with respect, Colonel Vance has identified the room as a federal investigative scene.”
Thorne stared at him.
That single sentence may have been the bravest thing Daniel Hayes had done in years.
Thorne's eyes returned to me.
“You've made your point.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I haven't even asked my first question.”
His jaw tightened.
“What question?”
“Why are you here?”
Silence.
Thorne smiled.
“My installation.”
“Your travel schedule places you at the Pentagon.”
“Schedules change.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Who changed it?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
He stared at me.
“Operational reasons.”
“What operational reasons?”
“That is not your concern.”
“It became my concern when you arrived four minutes after Sterling assaulted me.”
The room went still again.
Sterling looked at Thorne.
Thorne did not look back.
That told me more than an argument would have.
I took one step closer.
“Were you already on Camp Vora?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
Thorne hesitated.
“Last night.”
“Why does the official system say Washington?”
“Security.”
“What kind?”
He gave me a cold smile.
“Colonel, you are drifting outside your lane.”
I almost laughed.
Rebecca Hale had told me that line herself during training years earlier.
Whenever someone says you're outside your lane, ask why they care where the lane is.
I reached into my pocket for my phone.
Thorne's voice sharpened.
“Who are you calling?”
“My office.”
“Not necessary.”
That was the second mistake.
“Why wouldn't it be necessary?”
“I have already spoken to Deputy Inspector General Rebecca Hale.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I lowered the phone.
“When?”
“Minutes ago.”
“That isn't possible.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
Because Rebecca Hale had told me that if my cover broke, I was to contact her directly using a secure number known only to three people.
I had not called.
No one in the dining hall knew her role in the operation.
At least, no one was supposed to.
“How did you know to contact her?”
Thorne smiled.
“Colonel Vance, you are not the only person in the Department of Defense with relationships.”
That was not an answer.
Sterling shifted behind him.
Thorne finally glanced at him.
A brief look.
Sterling immediately stopped moving.
Again.
Control.
I asked:
“What did Hale say?”
“That you are to disengage from local command matters until this situation is clarified.”
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca would never phrase it that way.
Or maybe she would.
That possibility disturbed me more.
“Put her on the phone.”
Thorne's smile vanished.
“Excuse me?”
“If you spoke to Rebecca Hale, call her.”
“This isn't a courtroom.”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“It's worse.”
He stared at me.
Then his phone rang.
We both looked down.
Thorne checked the screen.
His face remained controlled.
But he did not answer.
“Who is it?”
“No concern of yours.”
I smiled.
“Then answer.”
He declined the call.
Seconds later, my own secure phone vibrated.
One message.
From Rebecca Hale.
DO NOT DISCUSS THE OPERATION IN FRONT OF THORNE. LEAVE THE MESS HALL. CALL ME ALONE.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Thorne watched my face.
“Problem?”
“No.”
I slipped the phone away.
Then turned to Marcus Shaw, the senior federal agent now entering with a second team from the side doors.
His timing was better.
He looked at the scene.
Me.
Sterling.
Thorne.
Then the blood on my forehead.
“Colonel.”
“Agent Shaw.”
Marcus had spent sixteen years investigating procurement fraud, contractor kickbacks, and missing military property.