Chapter 11 - A Reckoning at Dawn
By 0530 the following morning, the fog over Camp Pendleton had rolled in thick and white, blanketing the motor pools in a cold, ghostly shroud.
Inside the Battalion Armory maintenance bay, the scent of heavy cleaning solvent and gun oil hung thick in the damp air. Staff Sergeant Brian Miller stood beside a metal workbench, tossing a roll of heavy packing tape from hand to hand. He was thirty-two, heavily muscled, with a scarred cheek and cold, predatory eyes that had intimidated dozens of young recruits.
Beside him, two junior corporals were loading wooden crates into the back of an unmarked commercial van.
The heavy roll-up metal door of the bay suddenly rattled open.
Miller didn't even look up. "Told you guys to keep that door shut until the truck leaves. Dylan, is that you? Get your ass over here and finish the manifest before the duty officer does rounds."
"Lance Corporal Carter is currently occupied," a calm, feminine voice cut through the cavernous room.
Miller froze. He spun around, scowling as he saw Mia walking into the maintenance bay. She wore a dark windbreaker over civilian clothes, her hands casually resting in her pockets.
Miller scoffed, leaning back against the workbench. "Who the hell are you? This is a restricted military access zone. Civilians aren't allowed inside the wire. Get out before I have the MPs haul you off in cuffs."
"You won't be calling the MPs, Staff Sergeant," Mia said, stopping ten paces away. "Because if you dial their dispatch, they’ll connect you directly to the CID unit currently monitoring your San Clemente storage locker."
Miller’s face instantly hardened. The casual arrogance disappeared, replaced by the dangerous posture of a cornered animal. His hand drifted casually toward the tactical knife sheathed at his belt. "I don't know who you think you are, lady, but you just made the biggest mistake of your life."
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From the shadows behind the stacked weapon racks, Master Gunnery Sergeant Caleb Hollis stepped forward, accompanied by four armed NCIS special agents with weapons drawn.
"Step away from the workbench, Miller," Hollis growled, his shotgun leveled directly at Miller's chest. "Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will paint this back wall with whatever passes for your brains."
