Location confirmed, Commander. Are you injured? Negative, but I am in a hostile environment, Melina said, keeping her eyes locked on Fowler, who was snickering with Brody. Copy that. Admiral Kavanaugh happens to be on base tonight for the joint force summit.
He knows you personally, Commander. I am waking him now. Sit tight. The cavalry is coming. Understood.
Linwood out. Melina hung up the phone. She folded her hands in front of her. "Well," Fowler mocked, "is the president coming to bail you out? No.
Melina said softly, a dangerous calm settling over her features. Just an admiral. Brody burst into laughter, shaking his head as he came around the desk to grab Melina's arm. All right, admiral's pet. Into the holding cell you go.
You can play navy in there until the judge sees you on Monday. They led her down a short hallway and locked her in a holding cell with a barred door and a concrete bench. The metal lock clicked into place with a heavy, final thud. Melina sat down on the bench, crossing her legs, perfectly composed. Outside the cell, she could hear Fowler and Brody joking about her.
They thought they had broken her spirit. They thought she was just another marginalized victim they could bully into submission, sweeping their abuse of power under the rug of the justice system. But Melina knew something they didn't. Vice Admiral Thorin Cavanaugh was not just a commanding officer. He was a three-star admiral who had mentored Melina for seven years.
He was a man who considered the personnel under his command to be his family. And he was a man known throughout the Pentagon for his absolute terrifying ruthlessness when it came to defending his sailors. Melina leaned her head back against the cold concrete wall and watched the clock ticking above the hallway door. Tick. Tock.
It was only a matter of time. 45 minutes had passed since the heavy iron door clanged shut, locking Lieutenant Commander Melina Linwood inside the holding cell. The cinder-block walls of the Oak Haven Police Department offered nothing but a damp chill and the muffled sounds of arrogant laughter drifting down the hallway. At the front desk, Officer Darren Fowler was currently leaning back in a squeaky swivel chair, his boots propped up on the edge of a filing cabinet. He tossed a crumpled paper ball into a nearby trash can grinning at Sergeant Brody who was busy dusting powdered sugar off his uniform shirt.
"I'm telling you, Sarge, she didn't even flinch when I snapped that piece of plastic. " Fowler bragged taking a sip from a Styrofoam cup of bitter coffee. "These sovereign citizen types or whatever she is, they really commit to the bit. " "Lieutenant Commander. " "Give me a break. " "I bet she works at a dry cleaner in Atlanta. " Officer Miller, the youngest cop on the night shift sat rigidly at his computer terminal. He hadn't laughed once. His fingers hovered nervously over the keyboard. "Fowler. " "I looked up the formatting for a Department of Defense common access card. " "If you destroyed a real one that's title 18 US Code section 1361. " "Willful depredation of United States property.
It's a federal felony. " Fowler rolled his eyes dropping his boots to the floor with a heavy thud. "Miller. " "You need to stop reading the internet and start learning how the real world works. " "We run this county. " "No one is coming out here to check on a busted fake ID from some nobody. " The words had barely left Fowler's mouth when a low vibrating hum began to rattle the thin glass of the precinct's front windows. It didn't sound like a standard civilian vehicle. It was a deep, guttural diesel rumble that resonated in the chest. Then came another.
And another. Brody frowned, pausing with a donut halfway to his mouth. What in the hell is that racket? Did a convoy take a wrong turn off the interstate? Before Brody could push himself out of his chair to look, the precinct's front doors did not just open.
They were violently thrust apart. Four heavily armed men in dark tactical gear flooded the small lobby, moving with terrifying, synchronized precision. They weren't local SWAT. They wore olive drab utility uniforms, reinforced tactical vests, and drop leg holsters. Across their backs, bold white lettering spelled out Navy Master-at-Arms.
They immediately flanked the entrance, their hands resting securely on their weapons, their eyes scanning the room with cold, clinical detachment. "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? " Brody shouted, his hand instinctively dropping to his service belt. "This is a restricted area. Remove your hand from your weapon, sergeant. " A sharp, booming voice commanded from the doorway. The authority in the tone was absolute, hitting the room like a physical shockwave.
Stepping through the threshold was Vice Admiral Thorin Cavanaugh. Even in the sterile, yellow light of the precinct, the three-star admiral was an imposing figure. He stood 6'3", wearing his pristine service dress blue uniform, three thick gold stripes and a thinner gold stripe wrapped around his cuffs, gleaming alongside a chest adorned with rows of combat ribbons and a command at sea pin. His jaw was set in granite. His silver hair cropped tight.
And his eyes, a piercing icy blue, locked onto Brody with the intensity of a predator assessing a vastly inferior threat. Behind the admiral stepped two federal agents wearing dark suits and earpieces, their credentials clearly visible on lanyards swinging around their necks. Naval Criminal Investigative Service NCIS The air in the station evaporated. The suffocating weight of federal military authority instantly crushed the arrogant atmosphere Fowler and Brody had been enjoying. Officer Miller immediately stood up, his face draining of all color.
He raised his hand slightly, backing away from his desk. "I am Vice Admiral Thorin Cavanaugh, commander of the Joint Forces Maritime Component. " He stated, his voice a lethal, controlled baritone. "I'm looking for the watch commander of this facility. " Brody swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. He slowly raised his hands away from his belt. "I'm I'm Sergeant Brody, sir.
I'm the desk sergeant on duty. What How can we help the Navy tonight? " "You can start, Sergeant Brody, by explaining why my intelligence officer is currently locked in a cage in your back hallway," Kavanaugh said, stepping directly up to the booking counter. He didn't yell. He didn't need to. The quiet menace in his voice was far more terrifying.