Damian Richards was watching the ATV leave the base. His work as a consultant from the Haynes Corporation had him helping them try and locate the missiles.
Not a soldier by any means, he was small, no taller than five feet eight inches with a thin weedy body that most described as wiry. His hair had retreated from a forehead lined with worry, which since he’d been there had only gotten worse.
As he watched the ATV leave through the gates, he felt his pulse rate quicken. He knew the driver of the vehicle was from the Ministry of Intelligence. News and rumours raced through the base almost like that of a wildfire through decades old brush.
He made sure he was alone and couldn’t be overheard, then he called an encrypted number.
“We just had a visit from someone from the Ministry. They’re
