“It contains the matching digital signatures for every shipment that went missing from Amman.”

Albright took the drive and handed it to a civilian technician sitting at a computer terminal.

“Insert it,” Albright said. “Let’s see if the signatures match.”

The technician’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

A progress bar appeared on the large monitor on the wall.

The green bar reached one hundred percent, and columns of names and numbers filled the screen.

The names were familiar to me.

They were Cole’s shell companies, registered in Delaware and Cyprus.

“It’s all here,” the technician said, looking up.

“Every transaction matches the dates of the falsified battlefield reports.”

Albright nodded slowly, his expression grim.

“Bring them in,” he said to the guard at the door.

A door at the back of the room opened.

Cole walked in first, followed by Vanessa Cross.

Cole was wearing his service dress uniform, but his collar was unbuttoned at the throat.

His face was pale, his eyes sunken.

Vanessa looked composed, but her knuckles were white where she gripped her leather folder.

They were escorted by two military police officers.