by Daniel Gibbs
“For which Colonel Sinclair and his team are grateful. Trust me,” Spencer said.
Nalax nodded. “I will convey that thanks to my superiors. But the report you shared does raise continued concerns—the League’s ability to protect themselves from your interference and even endanger your operatives.”
Spencer’s smile faded. “The breach in communications is a problem. I agree, but Andrew and Celinda assure me our techs are working on a solution. This is the game, Colonel Nalax—we advance, then the enemy catches up and surpasses us, then we get a leg up on them in order to stay a step ahead.”
“It does seem, Mr. President,” Snow interjected, “that this operation wasn’t just about securing a potential weapon of mass destruction for the League while simultaneously finding a way to inject new funds to their covert operations that cannot be traced back to the government proper. We believe it was also meant to draw us out and deal CDF Intelligence a devastating blow—beginning with the death of Captain Garza. They did come close to debilitating two of our newly established covert action unit.”
“I’m well aware, Celinda.” Spencer scratched at his jaw. “Which is why I think it’s time we returned the favor.”
“You want to draw them out?” Fuentes looked astonished. “Actually invite League ESS to show up?”
“Colonel Sinclair is discussing the idea of such an operation with Captain Adams and his team,” Snow noted. “He informs me the captain is most enthusiastic, given he may have seen this Vasiliy contact—potentially the one and same as the elusive ‘benefactor’—during the shootout at Nosamo’s docks. Adams’s team was able to positively identify a man referred to by Ramsey Moss as Fernand in Aphendrika archival footage, and we are researching the true identity of Ciara Bui. She has since vanished from Bellwether and the Alvarsson Wedge. It’s reasonable to believe she was extracted with other League assets like Fernand.”
“We’re getting names because our teams are crossing paths with the League’s. I understand.” Fuentes raised a finger. “But keep in mind, we’re exposing our people too.”
“That’s a given, Mr. Vice President,” MacIntosh said. “But if intelligence officers didn’t take risks, we wouldn’t know a damned thing the League’s up to.”
“I don’t deny their bravery, General, but I want us all to be clear we would be increasing such risk for the chance to invite the League to strike at—what sort of target?”
“Preferably one located on our home turf,” MacIntosh commented. “Give them a tempting mark, reel them in, make sure the hook’s set, and—” He slapped his tablet with an open palm.
“Reel them in.” Nalax tilted his head, seemingly puzzled. “A reel of cable?”
“Fishing line,” Spencer explained. “Aquatic animals on Canaan are drawn to wriggling bait disguising a hook, and once they bite, the hook gets caught in their mouths, and the human reels them onto shore.”
“And once these animals are captured?”
“We eat them,” MacIntosh murmured.
Nalax’s fang-filled sneer widened. “Excellent.”
Fleet Yards
In Orbit of Canaan—Terran Coalition
3 December 2464
* * *
Jackson stood and braced to attention as Sinclair entered the room. “Colonel.”
“As you were, Captain. Have a seat.”
He did so, taking the opportunity to swipe his sweaty palms on his uniform trousers as soon as his hands were hidden under the table. It was just Jackson and Sinclair in the expanse of the briefing room, seated opposite each other.
Sinclair routed the mission report through the holographic project. Jackson recognized the details as his own, with supporting information from every member of his team. Brant’s data played the most important role since, in handling communications and scans for almost every aspect, he was the de facto recorder.
“This man.” Sinclair enlarged the fuzzy image of a person dressed in emergency-tech orange. Jackson recognized it from the final showdown in Nosamo’s private hangar. “You saw him conferring with the possible League asset Fernand, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In your report, you make the assertation this is Vasiliy, a suspected League operative who made direct contact with you in the wake of the Cypriot Crisis.”
Jackson nodded and repeated, “Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Why—sir?”
“Why is this Vasiliy?” Sinclair interlaced his fingers and regarded Jackson with a calm, measured look. It didn’t help to relax Jackson—far from it. If anything, he felt like Sinclair’s gaze penetrated to his cellular structure.
“Sir, it was a reasonable conjecture to make at the time,” Jackson explained. “I based it on the way in which Vasiliy spoke with Fernand and the latter’s reaction—one of deference. He was taking orders.”
“You didn’t throw a ‘seemed to be’ in there, Captain.”
“No, sir. I didn’t need one.”
“Defend your hypothesis further.”
Jackson frowned. “Permission to speak freely, Colonel?”
“By all means.”
“My job is to pretend to be someone I’m not. It’s a skill set Intelligence values. When I go into an operation, I have to live a life that’s not mine while still carrying out my duties. Consequently, I’ve worked hard to make sure I can read people—by their words, their facial expressions, even their postures at a distance. When I saw those two speaking, my gut reaction was, ‘Fernand is taking orders from this guy.’ Given what I learned about Fernand from Lieutenant Guinto, it was a reasonable assumption to make.”
“Very convincing. But your gut, it seems, may not always be trustworthy.”
An icy sensation trickled through Jackson’s insides. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“Your decisions made at the time of Lieutenant Garza’s retrieval border on impaired, Captain Adams.” Sinclair’s tone wasn’t accusatory but did remind Jackson of an instructor disappointed in his trainee. The new image that appeared in the holographic display didn’t console Jackson either—it was Fernand from the back as he melted among the crowds in Bellwether’s busy corridors, taken when Jackson had followed him.
“I haven’t formally dinged your record because the retrieval was a success, but let us be frank—it almost bloody well wasn’t.” Sinclair shook his head. “Your focus on this Vasiliy person, Captain—it may well have clouded your judgement. Given the secretary of defense and chairman of the joint chiefs are considering our proposal to draw ESS into Coalition space with an operation of our design, I cannot afford the luxury of Unit 171 being led by a man who forgets where his focus should be.”
Jackson stiffened. “Colonel, my only goals are to stop the League’s interference and keep my people safe.”
“You would do well to remember the balance of those.” Sinclair sighed. “This is not an easy line of work. We operate in the gray. Our decisions carry the same ambiguity from time to time. But given what we know about these particular Leaguers, I urge you to be doubly cautious. You cannot afford recklessness when that is the very thing they wish you to exhibit.”
Jackson’s face burned. Sinclair was right, of course. It galled him just as much to hear the critique from his commanding officer as it had from Brant and Gina. “I understand, sir. My intention was only to serve to the best of my ability.”
“I know.” Sinclair flicked through the hologram to the profiles of Lieutenant Garza and Warrant Sakuri. “You’ll be granted leave whilst we plan our next moves, but during such, I’d like your input on how to reassemble Covert Action Unit 22. No doubt you’ve made contacts over the years who would be invaluable, both among the armed services and the, uh, more suspect civilian pools of talent.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d relish the opportunity. Could I request permission to bring in my teammates on the suggestion process?”
“You can and may.” Sinclair smirked. “One would hope Ms. Wilkes in particular could
augment your decision-making. She and Lieutenant Guinto were the most… vocal about your lapse in focus.”
“Yes, sir, they were, and for good reason, which is why I encouraged them to file their own reports on the matter while also providing the recording of our interactions regarding that subject.”
The intercom buzzed. “Excuse me.” Sinclair tapped a control. “Go ahead.”
“Colonel, flash traffic of a personal nature for Captain Adams,” Eldred said. “Comes through with a medical emergency rider.”
Sinclair raised an eyebrow. Jackson’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Mind if I take it on my tablet here, Colonel?”
“Go ahead, Captain. Warrant, pipe it to the captain’s device.”
“Roger that.”
The message overrode Jackson’s screens—and even as it did, he’d anticipated the possibility. That didn’t make it any easier to read when the glowing words finally appeared.
“I say, Captain.” Sinclair sounded worried. “Do you need a moment?”
Jackson hadn’t realized the tablet was shaking because his hands were. Whatever enthusiasm he’d felt for the upcoming project to ensnare Vasiliy and his League spies dissipated under the weight of the news. “I—no, sir. My brother—it’s from him.” He closed his eyes as regret swamped all other emotions. “My father is dead.”
26
Western Steppes
Canaan—Terran Coalition
3 December 2464
* * *
The rocky outcropping overlooked the pass leading to the Castillo property from the Adams ranch. Jackson let his legs dangle over the red stone as the westerly breezes sent waves across the sprawling prairie.
Brant cinched up the neck of his jacket. “Chilly up here.”
“It’s not much better down below.” Jackson squinted at the blue sky studded with cottony clouds. “Give it a couple of seconds. The sun’s just taking a break.”
No sooner had he made the pronouncement than Canaan’s sun reappeared from behind the biggest of the clouds. Warmth washed over Jackson’s face, ameliorating the autumn winds.
“Much better.” Brant gazed out at the herd moving parallel to where they sat, like troops on review, albeit at a lazier pace. “Did the attorney’s summation come through?”
Jackson nodded. “Dad left me his share of the property and the businesses.”
Brant whistled. “I can’t imagine Harry being overjoyed.”
“I haven’t heard from him yet. He and Mom have been in Port Nomad, settling affairs, seeing to Dad’s burial.” Saying it aloud didn’t make it more real. Jackson had known for a few years that Dad’s treatments were holding off the inevitable rather than offering hope of a cure. Still, realizing he’s gone… “This isn’t what I’m used to. I can’t make anything happen. All I can do is sit here and wait until they’re ready to talk.”
“Well, I’m here if you do need to talk.”
“Sorry, Brant, but you don’t have any legal authority when it comes to the estate, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to get roped into my family business.”
“It’s not like I haven’t see you and Harry spar.” Brant snorted. “No, I meant, did you want to talk about your dad?”
“He’s dead, Brant. Add that reality to the list of things I can’t fix. And I’m not in the mood for a sermon.”
“Let’s call it advice, then. I charge less for advice than sermons.”
Jackson chuckled. “Okay, fine. Advise away.”
Brant sat forward, his legs safely tucked underneath him rather than swinging free in the wind. “We’re worried about you, friends to friend, me and Gina. The way things went on Bellwether—plus knowing that we were up against the same ESS operatives who caused such a nightmare at Aphendrika—it’s pushing you to make questionable decisions.”
“We’ve been over this, I think. I know what I did and how not to repeat it.”
“Gina gets that, and so do I. But my concern’s more of a spiritual nature. You need a compass, Jack, something more than duty to get you through what we’re facing. For a lot of people, it’s faith in God combined with family. Since you lack both, and I can’t help with the latter, I figure I should offer assistance with the former.”
“I’ve already got a Bible.”
“That’s always good. Try reading it.” Brant blew out a breath. “If it weren’t for God, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do—hanging onto the comms, checking on all four of you to make sure you’re not in danger, fighting with computer systems and security networks to keep you that way. It runs me ragged.”
“I know it does.” Jackson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Which is why you’re the most valuable member of our team. I can’t thank you enough for pulling us out of the fire, repeatedly.”
Brant blushed. “Hey, I wasn’t bragging on myself. I just meant I think this must be how the Father in Heaven feels about his mortal children. His responsibility, his love, extends to all of us. You know the comparisons to His being a shepherd, right?”
Jackson pointed north. “Sheep are ninety klicks that way.”
“I’m serious. He wants you to come to him for rest and shelter. Take the time to receive His gift. It’s good for your soul, Jack, and I don’t use the expression lightly. If you’re going to make it through these upcoming operations whole, you’ll need Him—and more than that, you’ll gain the handy side benefit of eternal salvation of the same soul.”
“What’s the advice, then?”
“People get reassigned. Friends move on. Families grow, and people die.” Brant put his hands behind him on the rock and leaned back so he could stare up into the sky. “But God never leaves. He will always be there for you. Anytime you want the introduction, I’ll make it.”
Always there. Jackson watched the last of the herd saunter by. Since when has anything—anyone—been constant in my life? CDF was the current anchor, but Brant was right. Even their team wouldn’t be forever, especially if Jackson or Brant or Dwyer got promotions, new assignments.
A hum grew in the distance. Two skimmers, one of which looked like it was pursuing the other, closed on the outcropping. Jackson punched Brant’s shoulder, earning a yelp and a cross look. “Gina.”
“She’s, uh, tailing your brother, I think.”
Brant was right. Harry rode the front skimmer. They were distant enough Jackson and Brant had time to clamber down to their respective skimmers before Harry dismounted.
“When did you call Dad?” The first words out of Harry’s mouth were caustic and laden with grief. It wouldn’t take a trained operative to tell. “He told me he’d taken you out of the will.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Harry.” Jackson’s chest tightened. All he wanted to do was hug his brother and put the years of strife behind them, to be united in their mourning. But Harry’s stance was combative, hands on his hips, fingers curled into fists. “I didn’t know he’d reversed his decision until the attorney signaled.”
“Well, tell me your price.”
“Want… for what? My share?” Jackson’s heart ached. “I’m not selling, Harry. This is my home too.”
Gina lounged on her skimmer, a booted foot propped on the controls. She twirled a knife between her fingers—the same one, Jackson knew, she’d used to stab Ciara during their escape.
“The hell it is.” Harry poked Jackson square in the chest. “You were gone, again. Dad got worse, and Mom needed me—needed us both. I tried sending messages, but they restrict contact, don’t they? Peacetime and they still take taxes from me to pay leeches like you.”
Jackson balled up his fists, ready to strike, but found Brant gripping his forearm. Beyond Harry’s shoulder, Gina shook her head, her gaze locking with Jackson’s.
“Harry, it’s better if you go cool down.” Brant’s tone was as calm and direct as when he relayed intel to the team. “If you want to discuss it further, Jack will be along in a minute.”
Harry swore and stalked back to his ride. “If you think I wo
n’t fight this, you’re wrong! It’s what you should have been fighting for your whole life.” He tore off, the skimmer dipping so low to the ground its hover units kicked up dirt clods.
Jackson watched him go. He sagged and shook his head yet again.
Gina slid from her skimmer. She gestured with the knife, not sparing a second glance at Harry. “He’s charming, did I mention? Nice of him to skim all the way out here to insult you.”
“He wasn’t entirely wrong,” Jackson muttered.
“Don’t start down that road again.” Brant’s wrist unit beeped. “I’ve got to go catch the tram. Gina, are you riding back with me?”
“No thanks. I’ll hop the next one.” She responded to Brant but hadn’t stopped watching Jackson.
If they weren’t operatives on the same team, he would be worried about the calculating look she was giving him.
“You’ve had your counseling session, right, Lieutenant? It’s my turn.”
“Angels and ministers of grace, defend us.” Brant made the sign of the cross.
Gina gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I’ll miss you too.”
Murmuring in Tagalog, Brant mounted his skimmer and sped away.
Jackson chuckled, glad for the chance at the good humor his friends provided. He turned to Gina. “So, we were hanging off the edge of this vantage point. Care for a climb?”
Gina looked to the top and made a face. “Are you kidding? The grass is lovely down here.”
They sat side by side, elbows touching, as the breeze rustled the distant aspens. Cattle mooed off to their left.
Gina sighed. “It’s not a spaceport, but it does the trick nicely, doesn’t it?”
Jackson nodded. “I try to get back here after every deployment. Really I do.”
“No need to convince me. I’ve seen your flight records.” Gina snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. Hold out your hand.”
