I dialed the direct secure extension for Fort Belvoir tactical operations, turning the wedding ring on my left hand while the line chimed four times.

“Duty desk, Captain Keller,” a low, even voice answered on the fourth chime.

“Officer seven four nine,” I said into the mouthpiece.

“Requesting status verification on sealed envelope authorization.”

Thirty miles away a wooden chair scraped across a tile floor, followed by the crisp snap of a thick manila folder being opened.

“Major Vance,” Captain Robert Keller said, his tone switching at once to formal military precision.

“Official orders under Directive four zero nine B are active and fully authorized by command.”