Chapter 3
“What did you say?” Cole asked.
I did not repeat myself.
I didn’t need to.
The wide double doors at the far end of the mess hall opened.
Two military police officers stepped inside.
Behind them walked Colonel James Hartwell, commander of the base’s training oversight office.
His face was calm.
But his eyes were colder than the tile under my boots.
Cole turned toward him.
“Sir, this soldier is being disruptive.”
Colonel Hartwell did not look at the spilled food.
He did not look at the watching soldiers.
He looked directly at Cole.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “put your hands behind your back.”
The cafeteria did not breathe.
Cole’s mouth opened.
No words came out.
For one long second, he looked like a man waiting for the world to correct itself.
It didn’t.
The MPs moved to his sides.
Cole took one step back.
“Sir, there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No,” Colonel Hartwell said. “There’s been a pattern.”
That word changed the temperature in the room.
Pattern.
Every soldier there knew what it meant.
Not one bad moment.
Not one bad mood.
A pattern.
Cole’s eyes snapped to me.
“You set me up.”
I looked down at the tray he had knocked from my hands.
“No,” I said. “You performed exactly as expected.”
His face went pale.
May you like
Three days earlier, I had arrived at Fort Redstone under temporary orders with a false assignment packet, an old uniform, and one instruction from Army Criminal Investigation Division:
Do not reveal yourself unless necessary.
