Chapter 2 - Cold Steel and Shadows
The steel of the handcuffs bit cold into my wrists as the military police led me out of Hangar 4. Beside me, Sergeant Kyle Brody leaned against the towing tractor, arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk plastered across his face.
"Take your time processing this one, Captain," Brody called out to the lead MP officer. "She was tampering with the flight control panels on an active bird. Could have caused a catastrophic failure."
I didn't utter a word. I didn't wrestle, struggle, or glare. In combat aviation, panic gets you killed, but losing your temper gets your people killed. I maintained a rigid, upright posture, my chin parallel to the oil-stained concrete, eyes locked straight ahead.
Master Sergeant Thomas Reed stood near the hangar doors, his grease-stained cap held loosely in his hands. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. He saw the cold, unyielding silence in my expression, and his jaw tightened. He knew. An actual saboteur would be rambling excuses, pleading, or cursing. A seasoned officer going undercover to inspect her command remains dead silent while the trap springs closed.
"Watch her head," the MP officer grunted, pushing me into the back of the white humvee.
The heavy doors slammed shut, locking out the noise of the flight line. The interior smelled of floor cleaner and old canvas. The vehicle lurched forward, tires crunching over loose gravel as we headed toward the Base Security Detachment.
The lead MP officer, Captain Harrison, glanced at me through the wire mesh screen in the rearview mirror. "You're pretty calm for someone facing federal sabotage charges on a secure military installation, ma'am."
"Captain Harrison, correct?" I asked, my voice smooth, controlled, and echoing with the distinct resonance of nearly two decades of giving orders over cockpit radio frequencies.
Harrison blinked, caught slightly off-guard by my tone. "That's right."
"Before you book me, I suggest you call the Base Inspector General's office and state that Protocol Alpha-Nine has been initiated at Hangar 4. Request Major Danforth personally."
Harrison paused, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Protocol Alpha-Nine? That's a high-level operational security audit code. Who the hell are you?"
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"Right now, I am the prisoner in the back of your humvee," I replied softly, leaning my head back against the vinyl seat. "And in forty-eight hours, I am going to be the person who decides whether your career survives your failure to secure that aircraft's maintenance log."
Harrison stared at me through the mirror, the suspicion in his eyes slowly turning into a creeping thread of icy doubt.
