The soldiers moved forward, stripping the pistol from Hayes’s hand and ratcheting plastic zip-ties around his wrists.

Hayes did not say a word as they led him out.

General Vance looked at me, then at Madison.

“You did good, Captain,” Vance said. “But this isn’t over.”

“My father,” I said. “Where is he?”

“We intercepted his transport,” Vance said. “He’s in custody. He’s going to talk.”

Three weeks later, the rain had finally stopped.

The military courtroom in Fort Meade was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning.

I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing my class-A uniform, my medals polished and straight.

Madison sat next to me, holding my hand tightly.

Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm.

Across the room, Colonel Hayes sat at the defense table, his head bowed.

His uniform was stripped of his unit patches and his rank insignia.

The prosecuting officer stood at the podium, reading the charges.

“Arthur Hayes, you are found guilty of conspiracy to commit treason, theft of government property, and wire fraud.”