by Dan Moren
“It’s a little harder to be sympathetic about that when it decided to channel its inferiority complex into a surprise invasion.”
The general tipped his head. “Just so. But as the director of IIS, it was important for me to make sure that resentment stayed at a simmer – and that it stayed directed outwards. And while I did give up a few of the personal domestic assets that I thought might be of some use to the Commonwealth, there were a few that I, well, didn’t.”
“What exactly are you telling me here?” said Kovalic, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked back at the old man. “You still have active intelligence assets inside the Imperium?”
“Mostly dormant,” said the general blithely. “There are a few people with whom I correspond – discreetly, of course – in order to… keep my ear to the ground, if you will.” The general hesitated. “Simon, I meant no disrespect by keeping this from you.”
Kovalic didn’t even want to consider how many laws that probably violated, or, for that matter, how the hell the old man had gotten messages back and forth across the border. Instead, he just rubbed his forehead. “OK. So you still have contacts in the Imperium. Why tell me this now?”
“Because I got a message from one of them this morning. A source codenamed CARDINAL. Highly placed, and very reliable.”
“And?”
“The information involves Bayern and could potentially jeopardize SPT’s mission.”
As if to punctuate the point, the car came to a stop, and the general nodded at the door. “If you please, captain?”
With a frown, Kovalic opened the door and stepped out.
They’d stopped in front of a mid-rise office building in the commercial district of Salaam, an area mainly occupied by banks, white collar business, and law firms. The structure itself was utterly nondescript, an edifice of gray concrete and glass with no signs or other markings. Kovalic was already sweating in the Novan humidity.
“Sorry to drag you to the shady part of town on your day off,” said the general as he levered himself out of the car and limped towards the building’s entrance.
“I should have told you earlier, Simon.” The doors whispered open and they stepped into the lobby. The security guard looked up at them, blinked at Kovalic’s uniform, then apparently decided it would be wiser not to ask any questions, and looked back down at his screen.
The general led them to a lift and pressed a button for the top floor. They sped quietly upwards.
“As I said,” the old man continued, as though their conversation had not paused, “most of my contacts were inactive. This one I have had regular correspondence with over the years, and while the reports were often trivial in nature, they did help paint a fuller – and, I must admit, at times more disturbing – picture of the scene on the other side of the bottleneck.”
The lift let them out into a bland, carpeted corridor lined with frosted-glass doors. Kovalic followed the old man to the left; at the end of the corridor they swung a right. That led to an unmarked door; the general tapped a keycode into the panel beside it, then let himself in and gestured for Kovalic to follow him.
A small desk occupied the room, flanked on either wall by a pair of bookcases. A green upholstered chair sat across from the desk, and the walls were lined with diplomas for a “Doctor Tabitha Lestrade, Clinical Psychologist.” Kovalic eyed one, then glanced back at the general.
“Who the hell is Dr Lestrade?”
“Hm?” said the general, looking up from where he was standing next to the right-hand bookcase. “Oh, a lovely woman. Works with delinquent youth, you know.”
“She’s real, then?”
“Oh, very real,” said the general, with a smile. “She just happens to not be in on Saturdays.”
“And she lets you use her office?”
“What? Oh. Well, she doesn’t strictly speaking know,” said the general, reaching behind the bookcase. With a click, the entire case swung slightly outwards, revealing a door with a fingerprint scanner.
“Really?” said Kovalic. “Behind the bookshelf? A bit cliché, isn’t it?”
“She’s hardly likely to try and move it, now, is she?” said the general. “Besides, sometimes the old tropes are the best.”
He pressed his forefinger to the glowing scanner, and the door swung open, letting in a stream of light from the adjoining room. They passed through into what Kovalic immediately recognized as one of the general’s many offices.
The number of offices that the man had sometimes astounded Kovalic; he wondered if there was one for every day of the week, if not perhaps every day of the month. The man certainly valued his privacy.
Then again, when people were actively trying to track you down and kill you, it often paid to be a little bit paranoid.
“As I was saying,” the general continued, closing the concealed side door behind him, “I do know that CARDINAL is absolutely reliable, in particular on this sort of information.”
This room was somewhat smaller than the doctor’s office next door, with just enough space for a simple desk and two chairs flanking it. A window looked out into the forest of skyscrapers; opposite it was another door.
“This CARDINAL,” said Kovalic slowly. “It wouldn’t happen to be the same ‘highly-placed and very trusted source’ that tipped you to Bleiden’s defection, would it?”
The old man gave Kovalic a rueful smile as he seated himself behind the desk. “I suppose there’s no point in trying to deny it.”
“But you’re not going to tell me who it is.”
The general hesitated. “Not at the present time, no.” He raised his hands. “I trust you implicitly, Simon. But this is a… special case. I can’t risk compromising CARDINAL’s security.” A quiet ferocity had colored his voice, and Kovalic frowned. There was something protective about the general’s tone that went beyond just the professional courtesy you gave to an asset. Something personal.
Kovalic might have pushed more, but the general clearly viewed the discussion at an end as he touched the glass display embedded into the wood. A holographic screen flickered into place hovering above the desk and a moment later, an amber light blinked on the console.
Frowning, the general tapped a control. “Good morning, Rance.” The general’s aide and bodyguard – she was never far from his side. “Messages?”
“None this morning, sir,” her voice came over the speaker. “But… Deputy Director Kester would like to see you.”
The general sighed, and leaned back. “I don’t suppose you can put him off until after lunch?”
Rance’s voice lowered. “I mean, he’s here now. Waiting.”
“Here? How the devil did he find this place?”
“I don’t quite know, sir. But he says it’s urgent.”
With a raise of his eyebrows, the general sent a significant look at Kovalic. “Very well, send him in.” He keyed the intercom off.
Kovalic glanced at the door and then back at the side entrance they’d come in through. “Maybe I should be going.”
The general waved a hand. “No, stay. I want you in the loop on this. Besides,” he said, making a sour face, “I’d rather not face Kester alone.”
The office’s main door shot open – any more force and it would have been slammed – admitting a man several years Kovalic’s junior. He was dressed in a sharp, fashionable suit and his hair looked like it had been attended to by a staff of professionals. Clear blue eyes set in a brown face that had never quite lost the last of its baby fat went quickly to Kovalic, then dismissed him just as rapidly and focused instead on the general. Striding forward, he placed both of his hands on the edge of the desk.
“Now see here,” he began. “Why wasn’t I informed that you sent your team to Bayern?”
The general blinked, tilting his head to one side, and Kovalic felt his muscles tense.
“A pleasure to see you again, Deputy Director Kester. May I ask how you came by that particular piece of information?” The general’s voice ha
d taken on the mild tones that Kovalic had come to recognize as his most dangerous.
“Never mind how I came by it,” said Kester. “As CID’s deputy director of operations, I am your liaison for all operational matters, so why wasn’t I briefed on this mission?”
The general steepled his hands. “There was no reason for you to be. This is an SPT matter.”
Kester’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief. “No reason? No reason? I have assets on Bayern – assets that your little crew of cowboys might put in danger.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help but think you’re laboring under some sort of misapprehension here.” Kester opened his mouth to speak, but the general continued as though he hadn’t even noticed it. “I don’t report to you. As the Special Adviser on Strategic Intelligence, any information I choose to share with you and the Commonwealth Intelligence Directorate is at my discretion, and should be viewed a courtesy – not an obligation.”
“Operational control is my jurisdiction. That means all intelligence-gathering and special operations in foreign theaters are subject to my supervision.”
The old man’s white brows knit, not in anger, but in consternation, as though he couldn’t comprehend why Kester wasn’t understanding him. “As you may recall, Deputy Director Kester, I’m responsible directly to the Commonwealth Executive,” he said. “Not to CID. If you’d like to check, I’m sure I could get the secretary-general on the line.” He gestured to his console.
Kester looked briefly stricken, but Kovalic had to give him a hand – he covered well. Straightening up, he smoothed out his suit and gave the general a curt nod. “We shall see. I will be lodging a formal complaint about this matter with the director – who, in case you’ve forgotten, also reports directly to the Executive. I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased, especially after your little debacle on Sevastapol – the worst of times indeed. And I’m going to request an immediate recall of your team. Good day, general.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, this time doing his level best to slam the door in his wake.
Shaking his head, Kovalic leaned back against the wall and massaged his stiff right shoulder. “Nice guy.”
The general was still eyeing the door, as though Kester might burst back through. “He’s quite intelligent, I’m told – when his temper doesn’t get the best of him. Ambitious, too.” He shook his head. “But, right now I’m more concerned with how exactly he knew about the Bayern operation. That information should have been compartmentalized at the highest levels.”
“You think we have a leak,” said Kovalic.
The general frowned. “After the incident on Sevastapol, I had to consider the possibility. But my investigations – limited, though they were – turned up no evidence.” He stroked his beard. “Granted, if someone’s leaking information to the Imperium, it seems unlikely to be the same person talking out of class to our friends in CID.”
“So the good news here is that we have two leaks?”
“‘Good’ being a relative term.”
The general harrumphed, then tapped a few commands on his console. “Indeed. It’s already cost me this office, it seems. If Mr Kester knows of its location, I’m afraid we’ll have to abandon it.”
“Dr Lestrade will be pleased to have her bookcase back.”
At that, the general gave a snort, but continued to scan the information on the display in front of him. “Ah. It seems the Commonwealth Executive read in the Office of the Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs on the Bayern operation.”
“So?”
“Deputy Director Kester happens to be married to the undersecretary’s son.”
“I see.”
“As I said, he’s ambitious. At least we have an idea of the chain that led to the deputy director’s rather abrupt appearance, I’m inclined not to worry about it further at present – again, it seems unlikely that a Commonwealth official of that high a rank is also leaking secrets to the Imperium, so I doubt the Bleiden fiasco can be laid at his feet. I’ll deal with the Undersecretary myself in due time. But,” and he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands, “CARDINAL’s intelligence is far more pressing, especially with SPT in the field. I can’t help thinking it’s no coincidence.”
“And we’ve got no way to get in touch with Natalie.”
The general shook his head. “All check-ins are strictly one way; it’s Commander Taylor’s show on the ground.”
Kovalic exhaled and found himself rolling his sore shoulder slowly and staring out the window. The Salaam morning had dawned hot and hazy, with the city’s usual humidity pressing down like a damp washcloth. The walk from his apartment to the subway and then from the subway to the Jens residence had wilted the collar of his uniform shirt.
“How’s the shoulder?” the general asked abruptly.
Kovalic’s heartbeat quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “A little sore,” he admitted, “but they packed it with antibiotic gel and a sealant, so it should keep as long as I don’t do too much to strain it. There wasn’t much they could do to speed up the muscle repair.” He gestured helplessly at the sling.
The general eyed him, but Kovalic could see that he was weighing the options in his mind. He held his breath; it was possible he could tip the general over the edge, but it would be better to let the old man come to the decision of his own accord.
At last, the old man sighed. “Truth is, I’d send someone else if I could; you’re not fully recovered – physically or mentally.” His eyes dug into Kovalic’s, as if probing them for weakness. Then he shook his head. “But with the risk of a leak I would rather not leave this information to a courier, or to our friends at CID.” He waved a hand. “So, pack a bag, captain. You’re on your bike.”
Kovalic stood, barely keeping from leaping up from the chair; he wasn’t prepared to give the general time to rethink the matter.
“But,” the general said, raising a warning finger, and Kovalic steeled himself. “This is still Commander Taylor’s operation, understand? You are there in a support and advisory capacity only. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir.” He turned for the door.
“And Simon?” the general called.
Kovalic looked back over his shoulder, but the general had picked up a tablet from his desk, and was studying it intently. “Try not to get shot again – I really can’t spare you.”
Chapter 9
Eli’s heart thumped a salsa rhythm as he met M’basa’s unwavering gaze. Blown already? What did I do? How did she know? His stomach sank into his shoes. His first mission and he’d already botched it. Color rose into his cheeks.
“Mr Adler is a–” began Taylor.
M’basa wasn’t having it. “Please, Ms Mulroney – I’ll humor your choice of names for now. You did a pretty good job with all of the Adler Corporation’s records; frankly, that was part of the problem: they were a little too perfect. So.” She folded her hands. “I know you’re not CID, because I would have been told.” Eli saw doubt flicker across her face, ever so briefly. “But I’m sure any of the Commonwealth’s alphabet soup of intelligence agencies would happily send operatives to Bayern without briefing the CID station chief.” Her gaze shifted slightly. “And then there’s you.”
To Eli’s surprise, her eyes had fixed on neither him nor Taylor, but on Tapper, who’d barely said a word in the exchange.
The sergeant looked equally as taken aback, though his own eyes were still hidden behind the dark glasses Taylor had given him.
“Uh, me, ma’am?”
“I’ve got a memory for faces,” said M’basa, her eyes narrowing. “And I’ve seen yours before.”
Eli blinked, once, slowly. So it wasn’t me after all? He felt the breath he’d been holding ease out of him.
With a sigh, Tapper pulled his glasses off, carefully folded them, and slid them into his jacket’s lapel pocket. “Can’t say I’m a big fan of disguises, anyhow. Somehow they never seem to work for me.”
M�
�basa glanced at Eli and Taylor, “I don’t remember either of these two from last time. What happened to your boss – Fielding, right?”
“Can’t say I know anybody by that name, ma’am.”
“Don’t be difficult,” M’basa snapped. “I don’t know who the hell you guys are, but this is my turf, understand? I won’t have you stomping all over it.”
Tapper cocked his head to one side. “Exactly how long have you been stationed on Bayern, deputy consul? Six months ago, you were the station number two on Caledonia; can’t have been here that long.”
The dark-skinned woman leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “Two months.” Eli wasn’t sure if it was possible for a person to fit more grudging admission into their voice. “My rotation on Caledonia was done, so I took the Bayern station number two job when it came up.”
Tapper raised his eyebrows. “And now you’re station chief? What happened to Karl?”
M’basa blinked. “You knew Rao?”
“We go back,” said Tapper, with a shrug.
“He retired,” said M’basa.
“No way. Karl was a spook through-and-through. He’d never quit the service.”
“Well,” said M’basa, leaning back in her chair, “the pictures of him with the daughter of a Bayern board member might have had something to do with it.”
Tapper sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Ah. Well. Yes. I suppose that would do it. When was this?”
“Two days ago. You probably passed his ship in transit.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Tapper. “Really had to hit the ground running, huh?”
M’basa didn’t say anything, but turned her attention back to Taylor. “Let’s not sidestep the prime issue here. Who sent you? Naval Intelligence? The Commonwealth Security Bureau?”
Taylor’s bubbly public relations personality slipped off her face. “I don’t know what your clearance level is, deputy consul, but I suspect it’s not nearly high enough.”
