Because of the time difference, they’d been able to liaise with the Chief of Police in San Diego, who’d gone to speak to the Governor. Who’d got through to the Department of the Navy, who’d notified the JAG’s department, who’d contacted the Base Commander at Bagram, who’d passed the order to the Commander of the Military Police Unit. The MPs had been waiting for him as he stepped off the helo. “Chief Petty Officer Kyle Nolan?” He’d nodded, tired and weary, and knowing in his gut what was coming. “You’re to come with us. Please remove all your weapons and equipment.” “What the fuck’s going on here?” Boswell stormed, angry that they were once again trying again to undermine his platoon. “Keep out of it, Lieutenant,” the cop warned. He was a redcap captain, and Boswell would know that a Seal lieutenant couldn’t trump even the lowest enlisted man, when that man carried the authority of the MPs in his pocket. Reluctantly, he stood back. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Chief, don’t worry.
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