by C. R. Daems
“The vote was twelve thousand Conservative and forty-four thousand Expansionist. If we eliminate the extra thirty-three thousand Expansionist votes, Mr. Freeman, a Conservative, would be the winner.”
After verifying that all the other polling places were within three or four of the registered voters, I certified Mr. Freeman the winner.
“Commander Morrison, I want NIA to investigate the Sandy Cove voting officials and determine how the extra votes were produced. Send a confidential report to Commander Weaver and to the Director of Committee Security,” I said and Morrison nodded. “You did an excellent investigation on Gardner, and I expect the same this time.”
“Yes, ma’am. And if we identify the person or persons responsible?”
“Hold them until I say otherwise.” I looked at my Comm device and found it was several hours past dinner. “Commander, is there someplace we can get something to eat? Someplace nice where we can relax?”
“Yes.” He took out his Comm and spoke for several minutes. “I have reservations at the Yin Palace. It’s comfortable and has private seating.”
“Mrs. Scherer, is that all right?”
“Lead on, Anna, I’m not as young and driven as you. I was exhausted and starving hours ago.” She laughed.
“Mr. Jackson, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, I’d like that.” He led us up to the ground level and out the main entrance. Halfway down the stairs, an old crippled lady sat with a bowl on the ground and a sign reading: Homeless. Hungry. Please Help.
Her clothes were ragged and her skin looked old and patchy in the dim light from the buildings and street. I walked over and as I began to bend to talk, Red rose off my shoulder and hissed. At the same time, I saw a flash of metal and reflexively threw up my left arm. The knife struck, slicing through my jacket and into my forearm. Simultaneously, Red struck at the arm with the knife but missed as I stumbled backward. Ballard grabbed me. The old lady fired as she vaulted over the cement railing and was gone. Only the sign and the bowl remained where the crimpled old lady had sat. Several of my security raced to the rail and stood looking but didn’t fire.
“She’s gone,” Corporal Sims shouted.
“You’re bleeding,” Ballard said, ignoring Red as he stripped off my jacket. My blouse was soaked red. Someone handed him a belt and he tightened it around my upper arm until the bleeding slowed to a trickle.
The next thing I remembered was being in a shuttle accelerating toward the space station.
* * *
I woke in a white room smelling of antiseptic and a good-looking man in a white coat standing over me.
“Good morning, Director Paulus. I’m Doctor Jenkins. The cut to your arm was deep and required ten stitches. You’ve lost a great deal of blood but other than another scar you should be fine in a week or so.”
“How’s Red?” I asked, thinking that knife was intended for either Red or my throat.
“I didn’t examine the krait. Thankfully, it has been hiding in your hair but he looks fine from the brief glimpse I got.”
I reached up and pulled him down to eye level and scanned him.
“Colonel Ballard thinks she intended to shoot you after we passed where she sat,” Maxine said, standing on the other side of the bed. “You forced her to change her plans when you approached her. He said that knife looked to be aimed at Red and your throat. She got off two shots at you as she went over the rail. Fortunately, Sergeant George managed to move in front of you and took both in his vest. He’s sore but all right.”
“Maxine, call Commander Morrison and tell him to watch the passengers on departing flights today and tomorrow. I think that may have been our mystery woman on Black Water,” I said, thinking her a professional operative based on her disguise, athletic ability, and shooting accuracy while jumping the railing. The woman had everything planned, including an alternative assassination and her escape route. Maxine nodded and hurried off.
“Why do you think that’s the woman who bribed Marsh on Black Water?” Scherer asked from a chair in the corner.
“Who would you send to bribe a lawyer?” I asked.
“But she’s obviously an assassin,” Scherer said, ignoring the question.
“Yes, but more an undercover operative. Capable of assessing who would be vulnerable, cleaning things up if something goes wrong, and possibly in the UnCab’s inner circle.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sutan: A Real Pain in the Ass
The trip to Sutan took less than two full days, and we arrived there mid-morning, where Commander Britany Howard, the newly appointed NIA station chief, met us. She had replaced Lieutenant Commander Alston, who was the acting station chief after I forced Commander Steward to retire. He had attempted to embarrass me in front of his staff and sabotage my mission on Sutan. He had also been doing a poor job at running the NIA station.
“Good morning, Director Paulus, I’m Commander Howard, the Sutan NIA station chief. I’ve set up a meeting with Sutan’s Director of Elections, Mr. Dooley.”
“It's nice to meet you, Commander Howard. I’d like you to come along as I may want you to do some additional investigating when we are through.”
“I be delighted to help if I can, ma’am. Commander Sinclair spoke very highly of you…and told me to carry a weapon if I accompanied you anywhere. She said she earned every one of her impressive array of Purple Heart medals with you.”
“That’s good advice, Commander, but don’t shoot at anything unless your life is in imminent danger. Everyone here is carrying a weapon and they can hit what they aim at so you are well protected.”
Howard laughed. “Commander Sinclair goes to the firing range every two weeks and most of the station personnel do the same. Once a month, we make it a station night out with dinner afterward. Therefore, I’m reasonably competent with a weapon.”
I made introductions before Howard led us to the three vehicles she had provided per Ballard’s request. It was a short drive to the government complex to the south of the city. We cleared security easily thanks to Howard’s earlier preparations. Mr. Dooley’s office was on the fifth floor and his young receptionist waved us in after buzzing him.
“Good morning, Director Paulus,” Dooley said, sticking out his hand toward Scherer. I guessed I looked too young or just not like director material.
Scherer shook his hand as she nodded in my direction. “That’s Director Paulus. You couldn’t pay me enough to take her job.”
Dooley blushed, then stepped toward me. “Sorry, Miss Paulus—” Dooley began but jumped back when Red decided to make an entrance. “My God, a snake! Somebody kill it!” he said, running toward his desk. Immediately two agents were beside him, stopping him from reaching into his desk drawer.
“Relax, Mr. Dooley. The krait is my medical dispenser. I have the Coaca Virus and Red’s poison keeps it dormant. He never leaves my person so he isn’t dangerous. I’m here to investigate the death of Mr. Butler,” I said, trying to change the subject and calm Dooley.
“His death was an accident…and why visit me? I had nothing to do with his drowning.” Dooley wasn’t calm, his voice half a shout.
“True, Mr. Dooley. I’m concerned that the drowning wasn’t an accident and the possibility that the subsequent election was rigged.”
“Impossible, our elections are closely monitored by my office.” His voice was loud and now indignant.
“Good, then we shouldn’t be long—”
“You aren’t authorized to audit Sutan’s government records. You’d need—”
“This?” I asked, holding up my P1A placard. “I’m not accusing anyone of misconduct, but Butler’s premature death requires me to verify the election results. So, I’d appreciate you showing me the files and explaining the procedure you follow when a delegate dies before his term is up.”
“I believe it’s consistent across the various systems. I announce a special election, develop an election form, announce a two-day window to vote
, and afterward the votes are recorded by each machine and sent to me along with the audit sheets,” Dooley said as we took the elevators to the basement and down a low, damp hallway to a room secured with a key pad and hand print security. Inside were steel cages, each with an election date and the results. At my urging, Dooley unlocked the most recent special election and swung it wide open in an exaggerated gesture. “There! This is a waste of time and an insult to our system.”
“Maxine, Howard, grab some boxes and first let’s verify the election machine results match the number of audit sheets,” I said, and for the next two hours we verified the machine and audit sheets matched.
“I told you they would,” Dooley said when the results were confirmed.
“You were right, Mr. Dooley,” I said, thinking Dooley felt too happy about the count agreeing. “Commander Howard, can you get a team of NIA folks here? The next task will require more eyes and hands.”
“Yes, ma’am. I guess this is one of those I’d never wager against Anna moments Commander Sinclair always talked about.” She smiled and picked up her Comm device. An hour later, eight NIA agents arrived.
“Each person grab a box of audit pages, look at each one and mark down the result, and note any obvious changes. When you finish a box give your results to Majority Leader Scherer and grab another box,” I said. I picked up a box, opened it, and began. Twenty hours later, we finished, and I had Howard reserve a couple of tables at a good restaurant before walking over to Scherer.
“Well, Majority Leader, how did we do?” I asked as Howard, Ballard, and Maxine joined me. Scherer handed me a sheet of paper where she had consolidated the results.
“I think Commander Howard has another example of not wagering against Anna. The results for three of the machines were reversed. So according to the machine records Mr. Dick Barton, an Expansionist, has eight thousand votes but according to the audit sheets Mr. Joe Wagner, a Conservative, had eight thousand votes whereas Barton had only two thousand. That change gave Wagner the overall lead by over a thousand votes.” Scherer gave me a hard look. “Does Red do that often?”
“What?” I asked and she pointed to the top of my head. When I reached up Red was in my hair with his head on my forehead.
“It makes it easier for him to read,” I said almost absentmindedly, which produced laughs from everyone. I didn’t tell them I was serious.
* * *
The Islander was a large restaurant with a tropical ambience, from the sand on the floor to the nautical paraphernalia hanging on the walls, to the fish in three-meter-high glass tanks, and its toasty temperature. To complete the theme the tables had benches and were covered with beach towels, and the sound of waves were created by several wall fountains.
Since we had twenty people in our party they put us in a separate room which had no doors, but looked like a large cabana-like tent and gave us some privacy.
“Commander Howard, I’d like you to work with the police to determine if Dooley acted alone or had help. I imagine you will find a separate bank account somewhere where he stashed his bribe. If he cooperates, you can prosecute him locally, otherwise I will have him sent to Stonewall. I believe the Core Committee will authorize it,” I said and looked to Scherer, who nodded.
“Does he eat table food?” Howard asked, looking at Red, who was wrapped around my neck with his head on my shoulder.
“No, he doesn’t seem to be interested in our food.”
“What do you feed him?”
“I don’t. When he’s hungry, he dips into one of my arteries and takes what he wants.” I grinned.
“Ouch, that must hurt.” She shuddered. “But the krait is venomous!”
“Yes, that’s his payment for the food. He leaves poison that keeps the Coaca Virus dormant. And the bite isn’t any more painful than a normal injection.”
Just then several waiters delivered bowls of soup. It smelled delicious and I picked up a spoon, dipped it into the soup, and had it halfway to my mouth when Red struck my hand, knocking the spoon loose. Everyone stared at me in shock and a few leaned away from me. I sat paralyzed, not in shock but in thought. Why? One thing for sure, I trusted Red. He didn’t do anything without a reason. I activated my ear mic.
“Ballard, quietly have half our security cover the rear exit from the kitchen. No one leaves. When they are in place you, I, and the other half are going to rush the kitchen. Our assassin is in there,” I said, trying to act normal, then added, “I guess he’s taken a liking to soup.”
The comment had the desired effect, as everyone resume talking and eating. I leaned toward Scherer. “Stay here, there is an assassin in the kitchen.” When she nodded, I looked toward Ballard, who nodded. “Keep the weapons out of sight. We don’t want to panic the people in the restaurant. That would just help our lady escape. George, Sims, stay with Mrs. Scherer,” I said and waited for acknowledgments. “Ballard, now,” I said and rose.
With two c-agents leading and Ballard and Maxine close behind but in front of me, we moved across the dining area toward the hallway to the kitchen, walking normally like we were going to the restroom or leaving the restaurant. As we entered the short hallway, weapons were drawn and readied.
In the kitchen proper there were two waiters collecting their orders and three others standing around waiting. I could see at least eight cooks dressed in white with caps on their heads busily scurrying between preparation tables, stoves, and refrigerators, and one coming from another hallway where supplies or the freezer was located. We stood blocking the exit and surveying the area for our assassin. I looked toward the waiter who had served me, a young man in his late teens, clean shaven, and straight blond hair—unique enough to be recognizable. He was one of the waiters waiting to collect his order. As I suspected his, eyes couldn’t help going to our assassin, who was standing with an older man, probably the head chef, and another woman, who were no doubt hostages to keep the waiters cooperative. They were also the only people not busy, which was strange given the chaos in progress.
Our eyes locked. “You little witch,” she mouthed as her handgun appeared and fired a second after I had begun to seek the safety of the collection counter. Several customers’ orders exploded and shards of china, and green, yellow, and red food sprayed a waiter and the wall as multiple muffled shots from a suppressor rang out. My security held their fire as the woman was twenty meters away, standing behind two hostages, and people were running back and forth between her and us. She backed into the corridor which I thought probably led to the rear exit.
“The assassin is coming out with a hostage. She’s not to get away. If she fires, you are to return fire. Maybe the legs,” I said. I didn’t want to harm the hostages, but that woman could be critical to stopping the coup d’état. As we lost sight of her, I and the others moved into the kitchen, passing people rushing to get out. We had only stepped two meters into the room, when gunfire could be heard and a door slammed shut.
“She came back in,” Ballard said as we cautiously moved further into the room.
“Lady, you have a few options but none of them include escaping. As you have already discovered, your hostages are not a bargaining chip. So, option one, shoot yourself. Option two, surrender and hope your friends can rescue you eventually, or three, shoot it out with us.”
“Not very good options,” the woman said with no emotion I could detect.
“Some days are like that. You just have to work with the options provided… How about I give you a fourth option, a compromise.”
“What kind of a compromise? Prison is a death sentence.”
“A compromise as in, you tell me what I want to know and I pardon you,” I shouted. Heads with wide-eyed expressions snapped in my direction.
“You don’t have the authority!” she shouted.
“I’m the Director of Committee Security, have P1A authority, and you will be under my protection.”
“What about the UAS Committee? They could overturn it.”
“
I can give you assurances the UAS Committee will not overturn it. Besides, the agreement will be between you and me.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You’re a long-term professional. I’ll bet you know my history as well as I do. I wouldn’t promise you something I didn’t believe I could deliver,” I said and waited. Her other three options made this one a simple decision.
“I need time to think,” she said. “You’re dangerous.”
“Send the old man and the woman out and I’ll give you an hour and anything you want to drink while you consider my proposal.”
She choked out a laugh. “Woman, my friends have been right to fear you. All right, a good red wine and an hour to think.” A minute later the old man and the woman limped out of the corridor.
“Ballard, see if you can get our guest a very good red wine,” I said. Ballard just shook his head. “And a bottle opener.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned and exited the kitchen.
An hour later, the assassin exited the corridor with her hands in the air.
* * *
“Ma’am, I’m planning on leaving the Aeolus in a few hours. We’re rendezvousing with the cruiser Teutates and I’m taking a detour,” I said, not sure of the procedure on taking a vacation, and besides, I couldn’t leave without informing Scherer. I had found her in her office working.
“Where to?” she asked, looking up from her tablet.
“Stone Ring,” I said. I had made these arrangements with Admiral Webb before we left Eastar. “My unofficially adopted sister is getting married, and she wanted me for her maid of honor. I thought I could attend if I could manage to make everyone believe I was returning to Eastar. That would give me several days before they could organize another assassination attempt.”
“Do you mind if I come along, Anna?”
“No, ma’am. I’m positive Commander Sinclair would be honored to have the Majority Leader at her wedding.”
“Good, then I’m coming. You have managed to secure my position as Majority Leader so I’ll also take a vacation and maybe learn a little bit more about my Director of Committee Security.” She grinned. “I can just imagine the shock when the Aeolus returns empty.”
