Chapter 3 - The General's Salutation
As the military police marched a pale, stumbling Captain Voss out of the double doors of the dining hall, the silence lingered. The two young lieutenants who had accompanied Voss remained rooted to the spot, trembling, not daring to inhale without permission.
General Vance turned back to Tessa. He unbuttoned his own heavy field jacket and handed it across the table to her.
"Put this on, Commander," the general said, his tone softening with genuine respect. "You're freezing."
"Thank you, sir," Tessa said. She accepted the heavy jacket, draping the four-star coat over her shoulders. The warmth was immediate, cutting through the damp chill of her uniform blouse.
General Vance looked around the wide expanse of the cafeteria. Every soldier in the room was still standing at rigid attention, waiting for their commander's cue.
"Carry on with breakfast, soldiers," Vance announced in his carrying voice. "And remember what you saw here today. Rank in this military is a shield to protect your subordinates, not a club to bludgeon them with. Anyone who forgets that lesson will answer to me personally."
"HOOAH!" the dining facility roared in return, the collective shout shaking the metal rafters of the building before the men and women slowly resumed their seats, their hushed whispers instantly exploding into furious conversation.
Tessa followed the general out of the side exit, away from the prying eyes of the garrison. The brisk morning air of Fort Hawthorne hit her face, crisp and sharp. Down the paved walkway, two black unmarked tactical SUVs were idling near the curb, their tinted windows reflecting the grey autumn sky.
"You didn't have to let him pour the whole cup, Tessa," Vance muttered as they walked, his hands clasped behind his broad back. "You could have broken his wrist before he tilted the plastic."
Tessa permitted herself a faint, dry smirk. "If I had broken his wrist, sir, Senator Voss's legal defense team would have called it an unprovoked escalation by an overzealous investigator. Now? He committed an unprovoked assault on an unidentifiable officer in front of two hundred and twelve sworn witnesses, three security cameras, and the theater commander."
Vance let out a low, appreciative chuckle. "Always calculating the tactical angle. Just like your father."
Tessa's expression tightened slightly at the mention of her father, Colonel Robert Marlow. Five years ago, her father had retired in disgrace after being scapegoated for a massive logistical failure in the European theater—a failure that had conveniently covered up millions of dollars in missing military equipment while Senator Harrison Voss spearheaded the subsequent congressional cover-up. Robert Marlow had died of a heart attack six months later, his name tarnished, while the Voss family consolidated their grip on defense supply chains.
"My father taught me that arrogant men always overplay their hand when they think nobody is watching," Tessa said quietly. "Captain Voss thought I was an unassigned visitor with no teeth. He gave us the opening we needed to pull his clearances."
"The timing couldn't be better," Vance said, opening the door of the lead SUV for her. "Senator Voss's Gulfstream lands at the airfield at 1400 hours. He thinks he's coming to announce his son's promotion to major and finalize the privatization contract for the Eastern Depot."
Tessa climbed into the back seat, shaking the water from her hair. "Then he’s going to be very disappointed when he finds out his son is sitting in an interrogation cell under suspicion of treason."
Vance settled into the seat beside her and slammed the heavy door shut. "What did your team find in the depot accounts last night, Tessa?"
Tessa reached into her waterproof tactical bag, pulling out an encrypted tablet. She unlocked the screen with her thumbprint, revealing lines of forensic accounting data glowing blue against the display.
"It wasn't just small-time skimming, General," Tessa said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp clinical tone. "Captain Nolan Voss hasn't been guarding that depot. He’s been running an illegal clearinghouse for military-grade optical sensors and night-vision gear, funneling millions through a dummy shell company registered in Panama."
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Vance’s jaw hardened into stone. "And the senator?"
"The senator’s campaign fund received two million dollars in foreign wire transfers from that exact Panamanian account last Tuesday," Tessa said, looking Vance dead in the eye. "We don't just have the captain, General. We have the whole family."
