I opened the folder and read the document.

*Assignment: Joint Chiefs of Staff, Pentagon. Role: Director of Special Operations Oversight.*

“You start Monday,” Drummond said.

“I will be ready, sir,” I said.

“I know you will,” Drummond said, smiling slightly. “Get some rest first.”

I closed the folder and held it tucked under my arm.

I walked out of the ballroom, leaving the noise of the party behind.

I went to the cloakroom and retrieved my wool overcoat.

The night air outside the officers’ club was cold and damp.

A light fog was rolling in from the Elizabeth River.

The smell of salt water and diesel fuel hung heavy in the air.

I walked down the concrete steps toward the parking lot.

A black government sedan was waiting at the curb, its exhaust pluming in the cold night.

The driver, a young Marine corporal, stood by the rear door.

He snapped a sharp salute as I approached.

“Good evening, Colonel,” the driver said.

“Good evening, Corporal,” I replied, returning the salute.

He opened the door for me.

I stepped into the back seat, the leather cold against my legs.