“Remove your uniform,” the Admiral commanded. She smiled calmly and replied, “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

I had spent weeks living in the shadows. Three shipments. Javelin missiles, classified targeting systems, prototype naval mines. They disappeared. No, worse than that: they were exchanged for forged documents so perfect they would fool anyone who wasn’t looking for patterns. But I do look for patterns. It’s my job. It’s my obsession. And the evidence, cold and mathematical, had led me to a terrifying conclusion.

My secure tablet vibrated. Third diversion confirmed. I sent my contingency protocol’s encrypted message, a digital lifeline, to the only person I trust outside my bubble of terror: Colonel Dana Mitchell.

“Package ready for delivery. Contingency Alpha may be necessary.”