“That was a joint special operations assignment, Master Chief,” Wyler said, his clipped voice climbing half an octave.

“The school district’s administrative forms specifically called for precise occupational designators.”

The heavy double doors at the south end of the gym swung open and thumped dully against the rubber wall bumpers.

Kenneth Oakes came down the main center aisle in his salt-stained work uniform, carrying a sealed steel transport case and a damp stack of yellow carbon work orders.

“She got to this building ten minutes late because she was kneeling in wet ocean sand at Sandbridge Beach,” Kenneth said, laying the stack of paper on Wyler’s wooden display table.