Among the security monitors and computer towers sat a black metal box.

It was a Harris RF-300T tactical radio transceiver.

My father had bought it surplus years ago for estate security, but I knew it had been modified to connect to the military band.

The power light was off, but the thick black toggle switch was right at my hip level.

If I could flip that switch and dial the frequency to the base dispatch, they would hear everything.

But Hayes was watching my every move.

“You’re not going to get that shipment out,” I said, trying to keep his attention on my face.

“The cargo is already loaded,” Hayes said, checking his watch. “The manifest has my signature on it. It will pass through customs without a single inspection.”

“Because you forged the Colonel’s stamp on the final clearance,” I said.

“I didn’t need to forge it,” Hayes smiled. “I am the authority. I wrote the orders myself, and your father’s logistics company handled the land transport.”

“And the missing munitions from Fort Meade?” I asked.