"M4 carbine with ACOG optic. M16A4 with standard iron sights. HK416 with EOTech holographic sight." Park's smirk faltered. Those weren't the civilian names.
Those were proper military designations. "Lucky guess." Rodriguez sneered, stepping forward. He was a thick man used to using his size to intimidate.
"Probably heard some jarhead use those words." As if to punctuate his dismissal, he deliberately kicked over her mop bucket. Gray water spread across the polished floor. What happened next occurred so fast that several witnesses would later argue about the exact sequence. The bucket tipped.
A metal clipboard fell from a nearby desk headed for the spreading water. The woman moved. Her hand shot out and caught the clipboard 6 in from the water. Not grabbed at it, caught it. Clean pluck from the air with the kind of hand eye coordination that required thousands of hours of training.
The kind of reflexes that meant the difference between life and death when a grenade rolled into your fighting position. The corridor went quiet for three full seconds. Then Hendrickx laughed again, but it sounded forced. "Good catch. Maybe you should try out for the softball team."
Young Corporal Anderson, part of the maintenance crew, and the only one who'd tried to befriend the quiet woman in the six months she'd worked there, stepped forward. "Admiral, sir, with respect, maybe we should—" "Corporal." Hendrickx didn't even look at him. "Did someone ask for your input?"
"No, sir." "Then keep your mouth shut." Hendrickx turned back to the woman who had already retrieved a second mop and was cleaning up the spilled water with the same methodical efficiency she brought to everything. "You know what? I'm curious about something."
"You've got all-access clearance. That's unusual for maintenance." She reached into her pocket without pausing in her work and produced her badge. The magnetic strip gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Level-five clearance.
Full base access including restricted training areas. Park snatched it from her hand and examined it closely. "How does a cleaner get level five?" "Background check cleared 6 months ago." Her voice remained level.
"You can verify with security." From the second floor medical office, Dr. Emily Bradford watched the scene unfold with growing unease. She'd treated this woman twice. Once for a scraped knuckle, once for what appeared to be an old shoulder injury acting up. Both times the woman had demonstrated an unusually high pain tolerance and an encyclopedic knowledge of field medicine.
Bradford had noted it in her personal log, but hadn't thought much of it. Now watching the predatory circle of senior officers, she felt her instinct screaming that something was very wrong with this picture. Hendrickx was warming to his game now. He could feel the crowd's attention, feel the weight of his recent promotion. He'd spent 20 years clawing his way up the SEAL command structure.
And now he finally had the respect he deserved. This was his base, his command, his moment. "Tell you what, sweetheart. Since you seem to know so much about our weapons, why don't you explain proper maintenance procedure for that M4 you identified? Shouldn't be too hard for someone with all-access clearance, right?"