"I don't know what you're—" "You wanted me to perform an invasive procedure on a healthy person so you could charge me with assault." Her voice remained calm, but there was something underneath it now. Something cold. Clever. Almost worked.
Bradford stepped forward. "Chief Rodriguez, if this young man isn't actually injured, we need to have a serious conversation about waste of medical resources." And the base commander's voice cut through on someone's radio. "All personnel be advised. We have incoming VIP."
"General Robert Thornton, Commanding General, Second Marine Division, arriving for surprise inspection. All section heads, report to main briefing room in 15 minutes. All section heads, main briefing room, 15 minutes." The crowd began to disperse, the drama interrupted by the sudden need to prepare for a general's inspection. But Hendrickx wasn't done.
"Miss Chen, this conversation isn't over. You'll report to my office at 1500 hours to provide a full accounting of your background and qualifications." She met his eyes. "With respect, Admiral, I don't report to you. I'm a civilian contractor, not active duty."
"Then consider it a request, one you'd be wise to honor if you want to keep your job." She nodded once. "1500 hours, your office." As the crowd dispersed, Walsh approached her cautiously.
"Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but you might want to have a JAG representative present for that meeting." She looked at him, really looked at him, and for just a moment, her expression softened. "Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the advice."
"Can I ask you something off the record?" "You can ask." "That tattoo on your shoulder. I saw it when your collar shifted. That's not a random design, is it?"
Her face went carefully blank. "I need to get back to work." She walked away, leaving Walsh standing in the corridor, more certain than ever that he'd just witnessed something significant. Something that was about to explode in ways none of them could predict.
In his office, Rodriguez was already making calls trying to verify Sarah's background through unofficial channels. He had friends in various units, people who owed him favors. If this woman was a fake, he'd expose her. And if she wasn't, well, that possibility was starting to seem more likely, and it terrified him more than he wanted to admit. Hayes sat in her office staring at footage of Sarah clearing the kill house.
She replayed the movement patterns over and over, the efficiency, the precision. This wasn't someone who dated an operator and learned a few tricks. This was someone who'd done this for real in situations where mistakes meant death. Hayes had spent her entire career fighting to be taken seriously as a female operator. She'd endured hell to earn her trident.
And now here was this quiet maintenance worker who moved like—like—she couldn't finish the thought. Park sat in the armory methodically cleaning his personal weapon, trying to process what he'd seen. That disassembly speed. He'd been teaching weapons handling for eight years. He knew the best of the best.