Chapter 1 - THE WAKE
The line clicked twice before the secure proxy cleared the encryption handshake.
"Master Chief Logan Vance?" The voice on the other end was Commander Paul Reynolds. We had pulled three tours together out of Dam Neck before Paul transferred to the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, trading salt water for desk reviews and court-martial dockets.
"Reynolds," I said, my voice flat, tasting the lingering sugar of strawberry syrup in the back of my throat. "I need an active-duty investigation file opened immediately. Jurisdiction: Richland County, Montana. Local Law Enforcement."
"Logan? You sound like you're on a burner. Where are you?"
"I’m standing in a parking lot looking at my wife sitting in a Ford Explorer, Paul. Sheriff Dominic Vance just assaulted a retired service member in a public establishment. badge number 408. And that's just the misdemeanor introductory package. Run his profile."
A rustle of paper and the distinct click-clack of a mechanical keyboard echoed through the encrypted channel. Paul didn't ask questions. When a Tier-1 operator calls JAG outside of normal protocols, you don't waste time asking for weather reports. You open the file.
"Vance... Dominic," Paul muttered, his typing speeding up. "Local sheriff elected four years ago. Wait. Hang on. Why is his file flagged under Department of Defense logistics?"
"Because," I said, leaning my hip against the fender of the truck while Amelia refused to look at me through the window, "the county storage facility where he keeps his seized property is built on federal land leased from Malmstrom Air Force Base. And two weeks ago, three containers of sensitive communications gear intended for base modernization vanished from a regional freight depot. The local sheriff’s department signed off on the transport receipts."
Silence stretched over the line, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on Route 12.
May you like
"Logan," Paul whispered, his professional detachment slipping away. "Are you telling me we’re looking at a corrupt local badge running stolen military hardware through a domestic civilian syndicate?"
"I'm telling you he just poured a milkshake on the wrong man's head," I said, locking eyes with Amelia's reflection in the passenger window. "And my wife just held the door for him. Send the transport. I want an entire military magistrate panel down here by sundown. We're going to audit the county."
