Virginia's nighttime is always like this, quiet enough to make one feel uneasy.
The AAFES headquarters building is nestled among a cluster of low-rise buildings near Fort Belvoir, looking quite unremarkable from the outside.
Gray concrete walls, dark glass windows, surrounded by neatly trimmed lawns and a few sparse rows of oak trees.
If not for the sign at the entrance that reads "Headquarters of the United States Army and Air Force Exchange Service," passersby would probably mistake this for an ordinary logistics company.
But at this moment, the lights in the third-floor conference room have been on for four hours.
Phillips sat at the head of the long table, his hands crossed over the document in front of him, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. On either side of the oval long table sat twelve individuals.
