“My official service record folder is in the truck, Matty,” I said.

“Go set up your desk.”

He nodded once, turned, and walked in through the courtyard doors, where the yellow hallway lights were just blinking on for the day.

At the far end of the brick walkway, a dark green station wagon backed up to the curb by the flagpole.

Retired SEAL Master Chief Harlan Vance climbed out of the driver’s side in a neat navy blazer over an open-collar work shirt.

He reached into the back and pulled out a heavy oak folding table and two canvas gear bags.