Morrison stepped even closer, his massive frame looming over Madison's smaller figure. “Are you questioning my judgment?”
“I'm questioning your assumptions,” Madison replied, not backing down despite the obvious size difference. “You assumed I couldn't handle weapons because I'm civilian maintenance. You assumed I was a security risk because I know more than you expected. Maybe you should consider what other assumptions you might be making.” The standoff stretched for several seconds with Morrison clearly trying to decide whether to escalate further or back down.
Around them, the SEALs watched in fascination as their commander was challenged by someone a third his size. Finally, Master Chief Kelly broke the tension.
“Commander, permission to make a suggestion?” Morrison turned to look at the Master Chief, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“What is it, Master Chief?” “Instead of calling security, why don't we settle this definitively? If Miss Parker here claims to know weapons, let's see her prove it where it counts, on the range.” The suggestion drew murmurs of approval from the crowd. A shooting test would settle questions about Madison's abilities once and for all.
“What kind of test?” Morrison asked, his tactical mind already working through the possibilities. Kelly smiled, and there was something predatory in the expression.
“Long-range precision shooting, standard SEAL sniper qualification. If she's really as good as she claims, she should be able to handle it. If not, we'll know she's been bluffing.” Madison stood very still as the implications of Kelly's suggestion sank in. A formal shooting test would require her to demonstrate skills that could reveal far more about her background than she was prepared to share.
But refusing would confirm Morrison's suspicions and likely result in the security investigation she was trying to avoid. “What are the parameters?” She asked quietly.
“Standard course of fire,” Kelly replied. “Five rounds at 800 m. Prone position. No wind calls. You need at least four hits in the target area to pass.” 800 meters was a challenging distance even for experienced snipers.
For someone claiming to be civilian maintenance, it should be impossible. Morrison grinned triumphantly.
“Perfect. And when she fails spectacularly, we'll know exactly what we're dealing with.” Madison looked from Morrison to Kelly, then out toward the range visible through the armory windows. 800 m. She had made shots at more than four times that distance. But these people didn't know that.
The question was whether she could afford to reveal the extent of her capabilities or whether she should deliberately fail to maintain her cover. “When?” she asked.
“Right now,” Morrison said immediately. “No time to prepare, no time to make excuses. If you're as good as you pretend to be, you shouldn't need preparation.” Madison nodded slowly, accepting the inevitable.
“I'll need the M24 I was working on and appropriate ammunition.” “M118 Special Ball,” Kelly said, producing a small box of cartridges from a locked cabinet.