“I read the maintenance logs.” It was a lie, and somehow Jake knew it. Maintenance logs didn't contain that level of detail. But before he could press further, Morrison stepped between them.
“I've had enough of this nonsense,” the commander growled. “Tank, escort Miss Know-It-All out of my armory now.” But as Tank reached for Madison's arm again, Master Chief Kelly spoke up for the first time.
“Belay that order.” The armory went dead quiet. In the SEAL teams, Master Chiefs were gods, and even commanders thought twice before overriding them. Kelly had served in every major conflict of the past two decades. And his reputation for tactical brilliance was matched only by his ability to spot potential in the most unlikely places.
“With respect, Master Chief,” Morrison said carefully. “This is a security issue. Civilian personnel don't have the clearance to handle our weapons.” Kelly nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off Madison.
“You're absolutely right, Commander. Which makes me wonder how she knew about the trigger modification that was done 3 months ago by our gunsmith, or why she can identify round count by looking at wear patterns that most of our own people would miss.” Madison carefully applied specialized joint support equipment around her wrists. Advanced biomechanical stabilizers originally developed for NASA astronauts, but now adapted for precision marksmen dealing with repetitive stress injuries. The prescription anti-inflammatory medication she took each morning cost more per dose than most people's weekly salary, but it was essential for maintaining the fine motor control required for detailed weapons maintenance in high stress military environments.
The devices looked like simple wrist braces to the casual observer, but Kelly noticed the carbon fiber construction and the almost imperceptible servo mechanisms that provided micro adjustments to hand positioning. Equipment like that didn't come from the base medical facility.
“Maybe we should test this knowledge,” Kelly suggested, his voice deceptively casual. “If Miss Parker here knows so much about our weapons, let's see if she can put her money where her mouth is.” Morrison's face flushed red. He clearly didn't like being challenged in front of his team, but he also couldn't directly contradict the Master Chief without causing a bigger scene.
“What did you have in mind?” “Simple weapons knowledge test,” Kelly said, walking over to a locked cabinet and withdrawing an M4A1 carbine.
“Standard SEAL qualification, field strip, clean, and reassemble blindfolded.” The suggestion drew excited murmurs from the crowd. Even for experienced operators, performing a complete weapons breakdown without sight was challenging. For a civilian maintenance worker, it should be impossible. Madison stood slowly, looking from Kelly to Morrison and back again.
“Sir, I'm not sure that's necessary. I was just trying to do my job.”
“Scared,” Rodriguez called out. “Don't worry, honey. We won't laugh too hard when you fail.” Something flickered across Madison's face. Not fear, but something else.
Something that made Jake Torres take an involuntary step backward. For just an instant, the maintenance worker facade had dropped, revealing someone else entirely. Someone dangerous.
“Fine,” Madison said quietly. “But let's make it interesting.” Morrison grinned triumphantly.