The call went through after three long rings.

“Post Headquarters, Staff Sergeant Miller,” a voice said on the line.

“Sergeant, this is Lieutenant Colonel Miller,” I said, leaning my left shoulder against the cold tiled pillar.

“Who pulled page two of my travel authorization for Flight 1482?”

The line went dead quiet for five seconds.

I could hear papers rustling on a metal desk three hundred miles away.

“Ma’am, those orders never came through our local desk,” Sergeant Miller said, dropping his voice to a low murmur.