I didn't take the turnoff for the interstate. I flipped the wheel hard to the left, taking the unpaved logging bypass that cut through the state forest along the northern perimeter of the base.
There was only one place where Vance’s base authority collided with an agency he couldn't control with a local security detail: Building 101, the joint administrative annex adjacent to the airfield's main gate. Inside that brick structure sat the permanent field office of the Division Inspector General, alongside Major Helen Ruiz, the regional military liaison for the National Transportation Safety Board. Ellis had mentioned her name before the deployment scramble. She was an independent investigator with direct reporting lines to the Department of the Army and the federal aviation oversight board. Her clearance superseded division flight operations, and she was stationed inside the federal perimeter.
Getting past the main gate as a discharged trespasser was impossible. But the administrative annex sat on the civilian-facing side of the exterior security fence, specifically positioned so civilian contractors, government inspectors, and commercial logistics reps could access the hearing rooms without passing through the primary vehicle barricades.
I pulled into the gravel drainage easement behind the annex twenty minutes later, killing the engine beneath the dripping boughs of a row of hemlocks. The building was lit up like a command post. Two county patrol cruisers were parked near the front flagpoles, their red and blue strobe lights painting the wet asphalt in frantic flashes. Beside them sat Colonel Vance’s dark staff car, its engine idling, exhaust pluming white into the freezing air.
Vance was already inside.
I dried the jump drive against the clean flannel lining of my inner pocket, stepped out into the rain, and walked straight through the annex's double glass doors.
Warm air and the harsh hum of fluorescent tubes hit me at once. The floor was gray industrial linoleum, tracking with wet footprints. Two military police officers stood by the magnetometer station, their sidearms holstered but their thumbs resting near the snaps. Behind the reception desk, Major Ruiz sat with an open crash incident binder, her hair pulled back into a severe military bun, her uniform displaying the gold investigative insignia of the Inspector General's office.
Standing directly in front of her desk, his back to me, was Colonel Vance. He had changed into a dry garrison jacket, though the cuffs of his trousers were still splattered with black creosote from the rail yard.
"He's operating as a rogue individual, Major," Vance was saying, his tone measured, calm, and steeped in practiced command authority. "Specialist Miller was dismissed under conditions other than honorable this afternoon for gross negligence. When we attempted to inventory the scrap materials from the Bay Three maintenance fire, he broke into the contractor's staging warehouse, assaulted two civilian handlers, and ignited a flare inside the sorting bay. He is unstable, and he is attempting to obstruct the routine disposal of unclassified debris."
"Colonel Vance," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the quiet room.
Both MPs shifted immediately, stepping between me and the reception counter, their hands dropping to their duty belts. Vance turned slowly on his heel, his eyes narrowing to slits as he registered my soaked jacket, my bare collar, and the streak of soot across my forehead. A thin, cold smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"Step forward and place your hands on the counter, Miller," Vance said, not raising his voice. "Major Ruiz, this is the individual. Officers, take him into custody under the emergency base detention order I just signed."
The taller MP took half a step toward me.
"Hold your position, Sergeant," Major Ruiz commanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a razor. She stood up from the desk, her sharp gaze sweeping from Vance's rigid posture to the bruise darkening across my left temple. "This is an open Inspector General annex, Colonel. Until I establish jurisdiction over the incident at the rail siding, nobody gets cuffed in this room."
"He is a dismissed serviceman trespassing on federal property," Vance said, taking an aggressive step toward her desk. "He has an active warrant out of the county sheriff's office for criminal mischief."
"I didn't commit criminal mischief, Major," I said, keeping my hands visible, open, and resting flat against the security rail. "I preserved federal evidence from intentional spoliation. Colonel Vance didn't take that crate to Northline Logistics for scrap reduction. He took it there to destroy the primary guidance flight recorder from the reconnaissance platform that crashed along the valley ridge yesterday morning."
Vance gave a short, dismissive laugh, shaking his head with an air of weary paternal patience. "Major, the sensor platform suffered a catastrophic battery failure and burned on the test stand at 0400. Specialist Miller signed the primary failure log himself. The core was declared total thermal slag."