The Red Admiral

by C. R. Daems

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Star System: Eastar - Chasing Ghosts

  "Well, David, are you sorry you decided to be my aide-de-camp yet?" I asked as he placed a cup of coffee on my desk. Banner, Stamm, and I were having our early morning preview of the coming workday.

  "Ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, you have an interesting style of management. I've never had an opportunity to observe a flag officer in action, but the commanders I've known are more…decisive…aggressive. Do this, do that, get your head out of your ass, ensign…" he paused with an embarrassed grimace but continued when I gave a small smile and nodded. "You're more…conversational, inquisitive. I would have expected something like: Don't question me, or just do it, or I want it on my desk tomorrow, not Because it will please your boss.

  While I sat thinking about the difference, Carl snickered. "You don't do things for our boss because she ordered you to. You do it because you don't want to disappoint her and because you know there's a lesson in what she's asking and it will be worth doing. And if you think the admiral is a pushover, Banner, you never want to upset her." Carl looked far off, like he was recalling something before his expression turned serious. "Not much scares a grizzly old master chief like me, but Admiral Paulus can and has." Carl smiled at me then added. "Newman."

  "It probably comes down to who you admire and want to emulate," I said, uncertain whether Carl was right or not. "The people I admire and who are my mentors do what they do because they love their work. They aren't driven by glory, recognition, or promotion and therefore have nothing to prove."

  "Then to answer your question, ma'am, I'm glad I decided to be your aide-de-camp. I think you have a lot to teach me."

  * * *

  "Ma'am, Admiral Lulltrel," Stamm said, holding the door open as she strode by him, looking worried. I rocketed to my feet, causing my chair to spin backward. She looked distraught. But before I could worry about the reason, she spoke.

  "Sorry, Anna. But Admiral Webb wants you to brief him and General Guzman on what you discovered about the general's daughter. That's very unfair, as you will be the bearer of very bad news and will take the blunt of Guzman's anger and grief. If you don't mind, I'd like to go along."

  "Thank you, ma'am. That's very considerate," I said, appreciating her concern and the effort to protect me. She waved for me to follow her and turned right toward the elevators. "I'm not as young as you, Anna, and prefer the elevator to the stairs. When I was younger, I used to use the stairs when Webb called." She gave a quiet laugh at the memory.

  The door was open when we reached Webb's office. As we entered, Webb and a man in a marine uniform with four stars stood looking angry. Although not tall—he and Webb were about the same height—he was broader in the shoulders with a weightlifter's build. His hair was cut close to the scalp and his face square and craggy. I felt like a matador facing a raging bull, preparing for the final do-or-die clash. But worse than that, I could feel Guzman's crippling pain over the loss of his daughter like banderillas protruding from his back, draining his strength, and making him rage with anger and straining to lash out and kill. Everyone could sense it, but my connection with Red—who was currently wrapped around my neck with his head on my shoulder, looking at the general—made the feeling overwhelming and I felt dizzy. It took all my strength to stand at attention and salute.

  "Well, what did you find?" Guzman shouted. To my surprise and embarrassment, Red hissed as he rose several centimeters off my shoulder.

  "Gordon, I know you're worried about Susan, but Admiral Paulus is not the enemy. Besides, the antivenin if that krait bites you is apparently a painful two-day experience," Webb said, taking Guzman's arm and leading him to one of the four chairs arranged in a circle around a glass-topped wooden coffee table. The glass was engraved with the Navy insignia: a gray-haired man, Jupiter, holding a trident shooting lightning bolts in one hand and a shield with the UAS colors in the other. Behind Jupiter were storm clouds, and around the edge were the words The United Alliance of Stars Navy. "I sent Admiral Paulus to see what she could find about the status of the investigation into your missing daughter. Sit and she'll tell us what she discovered," Webb said as he guided the man to one of the padded chairs.

  "That they don't give a shit that my daughter's missing. Just another runaway in their feeble minds, and therefore not worth their precious time. It would cut into their lunch break," he shouted. Everyone tried to calm him down, which I thought unnecessary. If the rampage released some of his pent-up frustration, I thought it beneficial.

  "Well?" He glared at me.

  "You're right in a way—"

  "Told you," he shouted at Webb. I ignored his outburst and continued.

  "They have over fifty missing persons a year. Each human being precious to someone." I paused for that to sink in. "The police cannot commit their entire force or even half investigating one without neglecting the others. Given that, they do the best they can, giving more attention to those where there is information they can follow up on. They are reluctant to open their files to relatives because it wastes their limited resources." I held up my hand to stop comments. "The relatives would rightly question everything the police have done and suggest all sorts of things they should be doing. They would ignore the fact that the police are also working on other cases and that they don't have the time or resources to pursue every conceivable possibility no matter how unlikely. Although they didn't have to, the police commissioner not only allowed me access to the case file on your daughter but also had the detective who investigated the case available to answer my questions. In my opinion, the police spent more time on your daughter's case than normal even though they had nothing to go on."

  "So that's it? Case closed?" he asked, although with less venom.

  "No. It will remain an active case and they will follow up on any leads that develop. The commissioner also agreed I could continue looking into the unique circumstances of your daughter's disappearance."

  "What do you mean by unique? She's a missing person like all the others," Guzman said defensively.

  "The majority of missing young women generally fall into one of three categories: due to problems at home, involvement with a boy, or drug related." I held up my hand to stop Guzman from saying the obvious. "Their investigation concluded that none of those scenarios applied to your daughter's case."

  "But you're continuing to look at my daughter's case?' He looked to Webb, his face showing relief. Webb looked to me.

  "I'm looking to see if your daughter's case is an anomaly. If so, there is nothing I can do that the police haven't already done."

  "Anomaly?"

  "A rare or unusual event."

  "And what have you found?" he asked.

  "I'd be guessing, as I have too little information at this point in my investigation."

  "Tell me—that's an order!" Guzman rose out of his chair, his face hard and his eyes lasers aimed at me.

  "Do you order your officers to guess when they don't know an answer to one of your questions?" I asked, curious to know whether he would condone that kind of behavior. He glared at me but said nothing.

  "Gordon, Paulus will keep me advised on her progress, and I will keep you up to date, Webb said, which ended the confrontation. Webb saw Guzman out but asked Lulltrel and me to stay.

  "Care to share?" Webb asked, staring at me. He felt concerned and a bit amused. "Your new rear admiral is a bit of a pit bull, Lulltrel. It's not easy to back down the chief of the army and marines."

  "She had a lot of trouble with adult-speak," Lulltrel said and gave a small chuckle. "But she's learned admiral-speak really fast." They both laughed then turned their expectant gazes on me.

  "Guzman's daughter's disappearance doesn't appear to be an anomaly," I said. "It looks like a pattern of some kind but it's too early to speculate. I have Commander Damon gathering more information for me."

  * * *

  "Well, Daughter, how did your meeting with Webb go?" Alexa asked a
s we sat relaxing in the front room after a spicy chicken dinner and a strawberry crème brûlée dessert.

  "Interesting. General Guzman was there," I said, thinking back to the incident.

  Alexa snorted. "I've never met the man, but he has a reputation for being hot-tempered and short on patience."

  "That's an accurate assessment, but to be fair, his daughter is missing and he's in a lot of pain."

  "I'd be frantic if… I was frantic when you went missing. I wanted to get on the next spaceship to Westar and join the search."

  "But you didn't."

  "No. I knew everyone was doing everything they could and they would let me know as soon as they knew something." She reached out and grabbed me in a bear hug. "I was scared out of my mind."

  I grinned. "He ordered me to tell him…no, to guess at what happened to his daughter."

  "You aren't in his chain of command." She frowned. "What did Webb say?"

  "Before Webb could respond, I asked Guzman if he asks his officers to guess." I gave Alexa a wry smile. "That sort of ended the discussion. After he left, Lulltrel said I had trouble learning adult-speak but had learned admiral-speak fast."

  Alexa sat chuckling off and on all evening.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Star System: Eastar - A Disturbing Pattern

  "At ease," I said as Damon finished saluting, "and take a seat." I had decided to hold my staff meetings in my office since there were only four of us, and I had Banner arrange for drinks and snacks to be available. I preferred informal meetings, as I thought people were more likely to be thinking clearer if they were relaxed.

  "Ma'am, I enlisted two of my group to help me. I hope you don't mind. I thought it would expedite the process," Damon began hesitantly.

  "Good thinking. Just make sure they understand they aren't to discuss what they are doing with anyone not involved," I said.

  "Why, ma'am?"

  "Paranoia," I said. "Just in case it involves organized criminal activity. In that case, we don't want to alert them that we are investigating the incident."

  "Do you think it does?" Damon asked.

  I put my fingers to my mouth and pinched my lips. "How would I know? You're doing the investigating." I heard a quiet snort from either Banner or Stamm. Damon gave a sheepish nod and tapped on her tablet. A moment later a table appeared on my tablet, which I forwarded to Banner and Stamm.

  "As you can see, ma'am, there doesn't seem to be any connection between the women. Two of the women attended Eastar University. They may have known each other but they weren't friends and didn't run in the same circles. Three had compulsory schooling and full-time jobs, but the jobs were at different companies. The sixth woman was attending a different college than the other two," Damon said, summarizing the lack of commonality between the women.

  "I agree there doesn't appear to be a connection between the six women, but I asked for a profile that someone could use to identify the most likely next missing person. If you can create a profile that fits all the women, then it isn't random—otherwise it is," I said, trying to maintain a bland expression. "Let's make that next week's assignment. In other words, if I gave you comprehensive information on a hundred people, the profile should allow you to pick out the ones most likely to be kidnapped."

  "Yes, ma'am," Damon said, deep in thought.

  * * *

  During the week, the monthly reports began coming in. They looked like the ones Lulltrel used to get—a summary that looked like items they would like in their yearly reviews and general information on the working or closed cases. Byrnes was right. They were each sending me a monthly report. And Leyva was right that I needed to read between the lines. That worked for Shrader and Sinclair, since I had worked cases with them and for Newman, Cooper, and Atkins, who had been my section chiefs. Ironically, their reports were complete, clear, and to the point and didn't require me to read between the lines. The others I didn't know, but I felt certain there were a couple of commanders who resented me being in charge and were playing some kind of a childish game that could interfere with them doing their jobs.

  * * *

  "Well, Damon, having fun yet?" I asked as I sat for my weekly staff meeting. I had been told she was working late and arriving early.

  "Yes, ma'am. I was looking for excitement and found it. But I didn't realize how much hard work it involves." She grinned her pixy smile. "I went back and reexamined the women looking for what they had in common: places they visited, their activities, and overall attributes. None of the women were found to have visited similar places or participated in activities together, nor did they appear to have common physical characteristics like hair color, height, etc. But I believe I was being too specific. When I stepped back and looked, they had all reached the age of majority, were educated with a compulsory education or higher, were attractive, dated, attended parties but did not exhibit reckless behavior, went missing without a trace, and are still missing." She looked at me, seeking feedback. "Is that what you wanted?"

  I nodded. "To qualify for the magic act, you must be:

  - a woman, and attractive

  - at least eighteen years old but not more than twenty

  - graduated compulsory school

  - working or attending college

  - unattached

  - active in parties, sex, and drugs but not reckless," I said while considering how that uniquely qualified the women.

  "But how does that help?" Damon asked the question everyone had on their mind.

  "That's a list of qualifications. The real question is whether that list is complete or partial—and what does that qualify a woman for?" I asked. "When we know that, we will know why the women disappeared."

  * * *

  "You've been in your new position for over a month now. So what do you think, Daughter?" Alexa asked as we settled down on our oversized curved couch, Alexa curled up at one end and me at the other. On occasion we sat with our legs stretched out and feet touching, like tonight, in affirmation of our strong mother-daughter bond.

  "I think admirals are overpaid—"

  Alexa choked out a laugh. "Overpaid?"

  "Yes, Mother, grossly. They have extra-large offices, secretaries, and aides, and sit around waiting for some critical decision that may occur once in a year or two," I said. "Even Lulltrel said that any lieutenant commander could handle ninety-five percent of our responsibilities. We are paid to make critical decisions, which she said constituted less than five percent of the job."

  "I gather that means my poor daughter is still bored." Alexa grinned.

  "I would be, except for Admiral Webb's special request to look into Susan Guzman's disappearance."

  "I thought you were finished with that. You told me the police let you examine the case file and you were satisfied they had been very thorough."

  "That's the problem with Susan Guzman's disappearance and my absent staff. How do I figure out that five percent I'm being overpaid to do?"

  "You get monthly reports."

  "If their reports were like Adrian and Chris's, that would be adequate," I said referring to my old teammates, Commanders Shrader and Sinclair. "But I have the uneasy feeling that several of my commanders are either playing games or aren't qualified to manage an NIA station," I said, sounding as frustrated as I felt.

  "What do you mean?" Alexa asked, leaning forward.

  "The police did a thorough investigation but were unaware they’d had six similar cases over the past eighteen months. To me, that should require special attention. Commissioner Kinard agrees now that I've identified the problem."

  "You're concerned that similar problems could exist at one or more of the NIA stations but you will never know." Alexa nodded in agreement. "But that's a police matter."

  "Only if it’s a local matter…" I paused, wondering if that was what was bothering me. "Mother, what job would require an eighteen-year-old, attractive woman who had at minimum a compulsory education, who like parties, sex, and drugs but who di
dn't participate in reckless behavior?" While Alexa sat frowning, deep in thought, I continued. "And required that she leave home without telling anyone why or where she was going?"

  "You already know, don't you?" Alexa's foot touched mine, acknowledging she understood it was what Red and I did—chase evil people.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Star System: Eastar - Seeking Answers

  Lulltrel went around the room in her normal order—Byrnes, Leyva, Hadley, and then me. Nothing of interest had been raised during their weekly summaries.

  "Well, Paulus, are you still bored and have you made any progress on figuring out your responsibilities?" she asked with obvious amusement. The others also looked interested in my answer.

  "I'm not bored at the moment, ma'am, but only because I have two problems I'm not sure I know how to solve," I said, being honest. I may have learned admiral-speak, but I was still struggling with adult-speak—I was too honest and just said what I thought.

  "Want help? I have three rear admirals. I'd imagine they wouldn't mind sharing their years of experience." Lulltrel nodded at the three and smiled.

  "Byrnes is right that I have monthly reports, which could somewhat compensate for the individuals not being present. But that assumes the reports are complete, unbiased, and truthful—"

  "You think they aren't…complete or truthful?" Byrnes asked, then added. "You have to accept that all reports are biased to one degree or another."

  "True. If the reports were from Commanders Shrader or Sinclair, I could read between the lines, as I know each of them personally. But they have nothing to prove, so their reports tend to be complete and accurate. And they would be happy to answer any questions I had."

  Lulltrel interrupted before I could continue. "Any of your reports would be stupid to refuse to respond to your queries. And even if they didn't like it, they would keep it to themselves. The system doesn't permit lessor ranks to argue with admirals."