Chapter 9 - THE MISSING ARMORER
"Where is Staff Sergeant Vance?" Daniel suddenly asked, scanning the perimeter of Range 19. "He was the duty armorer assigned to sign off on these crates."
Nathan pointed toward the small, corrugated-metal armory shed positioned fifty yards behind the spectator bleachers. "He went inside to finalize the transfer logs ten minutes ago. Right before this lady arrived."
Margaret stowed her jeweler's loupe back in her jacket pocket. She didn't wait for the Military Police sirens that were now wailing in the distance. She turned her body toward the corrugated shed, her movements swift, balanced, and purposeful.
"Ma'am, wait!" Daniel called out, stepping briskly to match her pace. "We don't know what's inside that shed!"
"I know exactly what's inside that shed, Captain," Margaret replied, not slowing her stride for a fraction of a second. "And if we don't secure his logbook right now, the paper trail vanishes."
Nathan ran to catch up with them, his boots thudding heavily against the hot asphalt track. The condescending smirk he had worn twenty minutes ago was completely gone, replaced by the panicked realization that his career—and the lives of his men—hung by a thread woven by an old woman in a blue jacket.
They reached the heavy steel door of the armory shed. The padlock was hanging unlatched from the clasp.
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Margaret didn't knock. She didn't hesitate. She reached out with her gloved fingertip, pushing the heavy door open three inches.
The faint, unmistakable smell of metallic solvent and overturned coffee wafted out into the hot Carolina air.
