The two men strode up the steps to a nondescript townhome in Lawrence City on Canaan. Near the outskirts of the vast downtown area, it was done in the brownstone style from centuries before—something to do with the neo-classical architecture style that was seemingly in vogue again. Sinclair pressed the buzzer.
A moment later, a woman’s voice issued from the speaker. “Yes?”
“Ahem. This is Robert Sinclair,” he began in his rich British accent. “Congratulations on your promotion. We need to talk, Captain Goldberg.”
There was no response except for the gate opening. Tamir walked in first and tried the front door. The handle turned, and it swung open. He disappeared inside the home.
Sinclair thought briefly about drawing his sidearm but decided against it. It was unlikely the asset was compromised, and if she wasn’t, flashing a gun might wreck the operation. He slipped in the same way and closed the door behind him, to find Ruth, Taylor, and Tamir standing there in the foyer. “Ah. I wasn’t expecting you, Lieutenant,” he said toward Taylor.
“We’re in a relationship,” Ruth ground out, “as I was just telling your junior spy here. Now what’s this all about? The last thing we need is for word to get out we’re hanging out with spooks. My career’s almost down the toilet as it is.”
“You seem to have been promoted since we last spoke, so it must not be that bad.”
“General Cohen pushed it through on his way out.” Ruth stared at him, and anger flashed in her eyes. “Aside from that, I might as well have the plague.”
“Well, they just got rid of my boss and made it clear I’m no longer welcome. I suppose that makes us peas in the same pod,” Sinclair replied, his tone ever chipper. “We need your help.”
“Who’s we?” Taylor asked. He wore a frown, and his arms were crossed in front of him.
“The Terran Coalition.”
Ruth laughed bitterly. “Colonel, you were respected by the General, and he thought you were a decent man. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you, but really… the Terran Coalition has gone to hell in a handbasket. I don’t know see the point anymore.”
She’s not entirely wrong. Sinclair found it difficult to summon the will at times to keep going, especially when he knew what he was planning would ruin his career, no, his entire life. “The point,” he began quietly, “was we all swore an oath. Yes, circumstances are challenging, yes, our politicians have made grievous errors. But it’s our job to fix the mess. As I said, I need your help to do it.”
“I’ll bite,” Ruth replied. “What exactly are you up to?”
Sinclair grinned broadly. “Could we retire to a more comfortable location? Perhaps your living room?”
“Is it time for tea and crumpets?” Ruth barely concealed an eye roll. “I’ll get my maid right on it.”
“Was that a British joke, Captain?”
“Quite.”
“I’m not the Queen, so I don’t typically do crumpets. But if you have a scone, I’ll happily indulge.” Sinclair smiled broadly. “They’re perfect right out of the oven.”
Ruth turned on her heel and walked out of the foyer, deeper into the townhouse. The rest of them followed her; Taylor first, then Sinclair and Tamir. By the time the men got there, she’d already sat on a loveseat that sat at a ninety-degree angle to a long couch, forming a rough L shape. “Please, sit, put your feet up, enjoy yourselves.”
“I understand your anger, Captain.” Sinclair gently eased himself onto the sofa. “Most days, I have it too. But I also know the danger. The League is up to something at Freedom Station. The terms of the treaty forbade them from having military resources there, yet we get whispers through recon drones of military-grade Lawrence drive usage.”
“Uh, Colonel,” Taylor began. “Why not send in some drones?”
“I already tried. The Leaguers set up enough jammers that anything we send loses telemetry almost immediately.”
“What do you want from us, then? I’m a tactical action officer—you know, the person that blows up the enemy ships.” Ruth adopted a smug smirk. “In other words, I’m not much use for spy work.”
“Well,” Sinclair glanced down at his umbrella and ensured the ECM was still fully functional, “I’m going to get a ship and recon the area. I need a crew because my talents extend to, as you put it, spy work.”
Ruth and Taylor both stared at him. Her eyes opened wide as saucers. “Where are you going to get a ship from?”
“I have a line on something.” Sinclair kept an utterly straight poker face. While he knew the risk was high, it wouldn’t do to betray any hint of doubt in the operation. “I know the location of stealth raider under refit. It has a skeleton crew, and best of all, it’s almost finished. Shakeout cruise is scheduled for next week.”
“I’m not sure about this,” Taylor said. “You’re talking about multiple felonies, Colonel. God, we could be charged with treason. CDF officers don’t do this sort of thing.”
“This won’t succeed without trained bridge personnel. I hate to say it, but I need you. There are others on my list, but, Captain, if you won’t do it, I doubt anyone else would.” Sinclair calibrated his words carefully, hoping to emphasize the dire threat they faced. Truthfully, if she won’t join up, I probably can’t convince anyone else on my list.
“What are the odds if we succeed that you can publicly shame Fuentes and Rhodes?” Ruth stared at him with a hawk-like expression. “Because I want payback for what they did to General Cohen. He didn’t deserve getting summarily tossed off the Lion of Judah like a piece of garbage.”
Sinclair allowed his lips to curl up in a smile. There we have it. Everyone has a trigger or a price. “You can be assured if we can prove the League has a military force at Freedom station, the entire galaxy will know.”
Ruth glanced at Taylor. “I’m in.”
“Dear—”
“Don’t dear me,” Ruth quickly replied. “I want some payback.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
“Good, because I needed a top-notch comms officer with a cryptology background.” Sinclair stood. “Pack a uniform, anything else you need that will fit in a small bag, and be ready to move in five minutes.”
“We’re leaving now?” Ruth asked, shocked.
“No time like the present, Captain. I don’t know how long that ship will be waiting for us. We must act as if our very lives depend on it.”
As the two of them quickly got ready to leave, Sinclair found himself thinking ahead. He’d had a contingency operation on the table for months, but never thought it would come to this. I suppose I was naive to think the office would change Fuentes. Their next stop would determine if the op was viable or not.
* * *
Halfway across Lawrence City, David was busy fixing dinner at Angie’s apartment. He’d installed a couple of cooking devices specifically designed to enable Orthodox Jews to prepare food in a fully kosher manner. For one thing, there were two of them: one for dairy, the other for meat. Each appliance was an alloy box with individual preparation trays. To allow kosher preparation in a non-Jewish household, the company that made them also supplied vacuum-sealed meal packs, so all he had to do was drop them into the machines and cue up the computer. Somewhere, a rabbi is spinning in his grave over these contraptions. With a grin, he went back to the book he had out, a commentary on the Torah by Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki. An actual bound hardback, its paper pages were inviting as he thumbed through a section on the book of Deuteronomy.
The buzzing of the home’s access control system interrupted David’s reading. “Mr. Cohen, there is a visitor at the front door,” the disembodied computer voice announced. “Three males, one female.”
David stood and walked to the front door, wondering who it might be. He swung the door open to find Robert Sinclair and his protegee, Tamir Alon, along with Ruth and Taylor. “Uh, hi,” he began, somewhat startled. What’s going on here? Something in the back of his mind immediately screamed they weren’t here on a social
call. I’m done with the CDF, so I hope they’re not here on some mission. They’ll be disappointed if they are.
“We need to come in, sir,” Ruth said as she pursed her lips together. “Now.”
“By all means,” David replied, and stood aside. He gestured inward.
With Sinclair in the lead, the four of them tromped in. “Thank you, General,” he began. “Kind of you.”
“Now, what’s this all—”
Sinclair held up his hand and shook his head. “One moment, please.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket and turned it on, holding it in his hand. “Bug jammer. Just in case you have unwanted listening devices in here.”
It was all David could do not to roll his eyes or throw them out. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m retired. I’m done with the CDF, Fuentes, the war, all of it.” He gestured to the beard and curled sidelocks his face sported. “In case you can’t tell, I’m pursuing religious studies now. Whatever you’re up to, I’m not the guy.”
The group took seats around the modernistically decorated living room that was just off the short hallway the exterior door led in from. The entire apartment was less than a hundred and twenty square meters, and Angie was a minimalist. Sinclair leaned forward and addressed David. “General, I understand your reluctance. I’m here because the Terran Coalition needs your help.”
The base appeal to David’s patriotism was almost too much to bear. It had taken months to finally set aside the anger, no, the rage he felt at Fuentes and the government for throwing away decades’ worth of sacrifice by the military, along with millions of lives lost or forever touched by physical and mental trauma. I don’t have much patriotism left. To heck with the Terran Coalition. Someone else can deal with this mess. He held up a hand and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Sinclair, I’m sure whatever you’re up to, you think is right. That’s evidenced by those with you. But… I don’t think one tired old Jew is going to make the difference.”
“Ah, and there you’re wrong. I need a ship driver for what I have in mind.”
“There are tens of thousands of those to choose from,” David deadpanned.
“He’s planning to steal a CDF ship, sir,” Ruth blurted out. “This op is unsanctioned.”
“What op?” David demanded. His eyes focused on Sinclair, lips pursed together in a frown. Spooks.
“Recon of Freedom Station. I won’t say more until we’re underway, and in space.” Sinclair crossed his arms in front of him. “Let’s say that this option has been in my pocket for months, and recent events have forced my hand. If intelligence is right, the League has stationed a sizable military force there, in violation of the peace treaty. Our objective is to bring it to light and make the current government take action.”
David sat back on the couch. The desire for revenge reared its head as he considered how making a fool out of Fuentes and Rhodes would make him feel better. At the same time, he pondered the pettiness of his feelings. If I’m going to do this, the only reason I should embark on this mission is to defend my home and those I love. With a start, he realized he’d already come mentally close to committing to join Sinclair and his merry band. The realization slapped him in the proverbial face. What’s going on here? I’m retired… I’m done. After a few more seconds ticked by, he spoke. “Why now?”
“Because the League’s already broken the treaty by frying our surveillance assets around Freedom station. We were supposed to be able to keep tabs on them. Instead, we can’t get eyes on the thing. The President is unwilling to do anything to jeopardize the peace. I don’t need to tell you what’s happened in the top ranks of intelligence and the military. Rhodes has led a purge the likes of which we’ve never seen before. Anyone O-7 or higher with a pair is gone.”
“I’m aware.” David glanced at Taylor. “How in the blazes did he get you to go along with this?”
“Ruth, er, Captain Goldberg signed on, sir. I go where she goes.”
With a chuckle, David shook his head. “I was aware for months you two were seeing each other. Don’t worry about it now.” He turned his glare back to Sinclair. “What ship are you planning to,” he paused and smirked, “requisition?”
“A stealth raider at Churchill’s primary shipyard.”
“You realize I’m a capital ship driver, right? I’ve set foot on a raider maybe twice in my career. It's not the same thing… the folks with gold nebulas on their uniform operate far differently than space warfare officers.”
Sinclair stood. “With respect, sir. It’s the best play we have. Sneak in, sneak out. Stealth is paramount, and the only way we can accomplish our objectives. Please, we need you. But if you’re not interested, tell me now, because this mission is on a strict timetable, and I’ll move to the second option.”
For a few moments, David’s brain and heart fought each other. The memories of all those who’d perished, the sacrifices made—if the League could be exposed one more time, maybe it would be enough to make them matter again. His heart won. “When do we leave?”
“Now, sir.” Sinclair gestured to the hallway leading to the exterior of the building. “I can permit you five minutes to gather some personal effects and a change of clothes.”
“Okay.” David stood up and gathered a few things together in a small space bag. This is a one-time deal, he repeated to himself. He didn’t believe it. It dawned on him that he’d never really left the CDF. It might’ve left him, but he was a soldier through and through.
7
Orbital habitats were typically dull places to work. Kenneth certainly thought so, though he avoided postings to less secure space stations like one would find on the edge of the frontier. I’m sure there’s lots of excitement to be had on a “freeport.” Every time he considered stretching his legs and trying something new, the idea of ending up dead at the hands of a mugger crossed his mind. For now, I’ll stick with my boring daily routine. At least until the government increases its taxes to the sixty percent levy Rhodes is continually blathering on about.
Officially, his team continued working on the refit of the mothballed reserve fleet that President Spencer had ordered six months prior while he was suspended. Unofficially, there was so much red tape, to accomplish anything, they might as well have been paddling in the mud. The only thing they’d been able to get done was upgrade the reactors. Anything regarding weaponry seemed to have a near indefinite government approval period.
The chime to his office hatch sounded. “Come in,” Kenneth called out.
To his surprise, David Cohen was the first person through it. His appearance wasn’t as Kenneth remembered. Gone was the smartly pressed CDF duty uniform, and in its place was a simple black suit with a white-collared shirt. A black-brimmed hat covered David’s hair, and his face sported a bushy beard and curled pieces of hair hanging down from around his ears. What happened to the General? He looks like a mountain man. Kenneth found himself more than shocked.
“General, I wasn’t expecting you.” Kenneth scrambled to his feet.
“I’m retired,” David replied with something of a grin. “As if you can’t tell from my appearance.”
Behind him, Ruth and Taylor stepped in, followed by two other men, one of whom Kenneth recognized as Robert Sinclair, a spy from the CSV Oxford. “So, what I can do for CIS?”
“I’m not CIS, Mr. Lowe. I’m military intelligence. There is a difference, I assure you.” Sinclair flashed a grin. “Now, we’re here on official business. You have a stealth raider under refit, the CSV Virginia, in docking port seventeen alpha, correct?”
“Yeah, she’s doing a shakedown cruise next week and returning to the fleet as soon as possible. We just completed a refit of her LIDAR arrays and sensor-deadening tiles.” Kenneth glanced between the five of them. “Why?”
“We’ll be taking her out for a few days.”
Kenneth’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the matter-of-fact pronouncement by Sinclair. Okay, something’s wrong here. He consi
dered his words carefully before he spoke. “Ummm. With respect, Colonel Sinclair, do you have the proper authorization?”
David took a step forward and leaned down. “Consider it a favor. For me. Repayment of dealing with one of those various problems you had with government civilians.”
Every alarm bell in Kenneth’s head clanged at maximum volume. He bit down on his lip. “Look, I want to help, but that’s not good enough. I can’t just give you a multi-billion-credit CDF warship. That’s nuts, sir.”
Sinclair’s hand darted into his coat pocket, and for a moment, Kenneth thought he was going to pull out a weapon. Instead, David reached over and put his hand on Sinclair’s. He shook his head before turning back to Kenneth. “I can’t tell you why we need it. Except that it's important to the continued wellbeing of the Terran Coalition. If I go further, it puts you in danger too.”
“I’ll take that risk, sir. Until I sign off on the Virginia heading back to the fleet, she’s my responsibility. One I take seriously.”
An unspoken conversation occurred, which consisted of David lifting his shoulder in question and Sinclair shrugging in reply. “Kenneth,” David began. “We’re going to perform a recon of Freedom Station. Try and figure out what the League is hiding. Colonel Sinclair believes it's of vital importance to the continued existence of the Terran Coalition. Now, will you give us the access codes?”
Silence came over the room. Kenneth leaned back and stared ahead. His mind ran wild, trying to determine what the right thing to do was. He owed David—that much was certain. At the same time, what they’d asked for was, at the very least, a series of felonies. One could argue it was treason to steal a military warship. He put his hands on the desk. “Okay, but I’m going with you. I’ve got to make sure government property comes back in the same condition it leaves in.” He wasn’t quite sure what voice was speaking—it sounded like his own, and it came from his mouth. But since when did a defense contractor volunteer for what might be a suicide mission? It dawned on him that many times throughout his career, he’d done the same thing. Probably because I’m still ashamed I didn’t stay in the service and do my part.
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 5
