Chapter 1
At 6:30 a.m., Camp Lejeune smelled like burnt coffee, industrial eggs, floor wax, and testosterone.
The mess hall was packed wall to wall. Marines. Sailors. Army observers. Contractors in polo shirts trying to look useful. A few officers pretending they weren't watching everybody.
And me.
I sat alone in the far corner with a black coffee, a tray of eggs I had no intention of finishing, and a technical manual open in front of me. The manual was camouflage. So were the civilian clothes — dark jeans, cream sweater, black blazer. Cheap enough to look ordinary. Tailored enough to hide the fact that I could break a wrist before its owner understood he had lost it.
My name was Sarah Chen. On paper, a civilian consultant visiting a joint training program. In reality, I worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency's Internal Affairs Division. I investigated men who confused medals with immunity.
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That morning, I had one name highlighted in my file.
Staff Sergeant Marcus "Tank" Rodriguez. Navy SEAL. Three tours. Two Bronze Stars. Three Purple Hearts. A recruitment poster with a jawline. Also eighteen months of buried complaints — sexual harassment, threats, illegal intimidation of junior personnel. A female logistics officer transferred after filing a report that mysteriously disappeared. A corpsman who resigned after Rodriguez made his life hell for refusing to falsify supply records. A contractor paid through a shell LLC connected to his brother-in-law. A base commander who had "heard rumors," which in military language meant everyone knew and nobody wanted the paperwork.
