It gave Harry and Ferghal a very strange feeling to see themselves surrounded by heavily armed and armoured Marines. The crowd exploded as the decoy Harry and Ferghal and their security escorts walked past the gaggle of reporters. The real Harry and Ferghal followed the armoured group escorting their doubles. Watching the behaviour of the news reporters, Harry found himself torn between amusement and disgust.
“This way, gents.” Their escort turned them down a broad passage. “With a bit of luck that’ll keep their attention focused on what we want them to see. Don’t relax yet. We aren’t in the clear. The fat lady hasn’t sung.”
Ferghal wanted to ask what this expression meant, but stifled the desire along with a grin at the humorous image it conjured as they joined a second group of security personnel.
“All set, gents?” Captain Brandeis said, and he acknowledged their nods of affirmation. To the security team, he said, “Good, the package is set up. You know your tasks, and you know the signal. Take your positions as we arranged. Alpha Squad, passenger transfer. Delta, arrivals. Golf to departures. Bravo, the College party will be assembling at Departure Gate Six. Let’s go.”
Chapter 15 – Death on Camera
It felt extremely strange for Harry and Ferghal to be among their classmates unrecognised and forbidden to speak to them. Seated in the transport with the security detail, they listened to the conversations around them, sorely tempted to intervene, Harry especially so when Elize spoke up in his defence when a few others said they’d doubted his integrity all along.
That made her blood boil, but she remained cool as ever. “I don’t believe Harry or Ferghal fitted those devices. They couldn’t have. They are honourable men, unlike some of you.” She stared pointedly at Barclay.
“I agree,” said Howie, “but we’ll just have to hope the security people know what they’re doing.” He glowered at Harry and Ferghal, convinced he was looking at a pair of security officers.
Barclay got up to change seats, uncomfortable with Elize’s glare, and sat directly across from Harry. “That’s the last we’ll see of Heron,” he said to Laschelles. “Told you they’d be dealt with.” He smirked.
When Harry tensed at that, pressure from the Captain’s elbow reminded him that he was in disguise, and not to respond to the insult.
The loadmaster announced, “Seats, please, gentlemen. We’re good to go as soon as you’re seated.”
Speaking directly into Harry’s ear, the Captain said, “The other side have made their move. In a moment, all hell will break loose. No matter what you see or hear, do what I tell you, and don’t react.” He paused. “An assassin shot you both in front of the media crews. They’ve taken our bait. Now we close the trap.”
Rigid with shock, Harry felt the blood drain from his face beneath the make-up and mask.
The shuttle pilot announced that their departure was on hold due to an incident in the adjacent dock.
The loadmaster approached. “Captain Brandeis, sir, the pilot’s compliments, sir. He’d appreciate your joining him in Control.”
The Captain stood and nodded to a Lieutenant the other side of Ferghal, and then he followed the loadmaster. The Lieutenant leaned close to them. “I’ll order you two to secure the entry door in a moment. Stand each side of it as if you’re guards.”
THE BURST OF WEAPONS FIRE BROUGHT A MOMENT of shocked silence then screams as the security team responded. Directing their fire at two men on the edge of the press of reporters, the guards’ bolts struck home. As soon as the men fell, the weapons were trained on the crowd, causing them to draw back, some alarmed, some angry. Huddling in clusters, some turned their cameras on the security troops pouring into the space, others focussed on the casualties. The haze of smoke thinned, but the stench of burned flesh wafted across the dock, and many looked decidedly unwell.
The tension was palpable. The body doubles lay sprawled on the deck partially obscured by the medics and security guards who surrounded them. The bodies of the supposed assassins sprawled against a bulkhead, one with a weapon next to his hand.
“In a horrific act, the two midshipmen suspected of sabotage have been killed by attackers.” The news reporter dramatically directed his companion to the bodies of the fallen assassins surrounded by medics and armoured security personnel. His gesture brought a response from the security detail, and he made sure his gesture could not be deemed threatening by spreading his arms wide palms open. “The motive of the killers is unclear, but we will attempt to bring you more information as soon as possible.”
The officer in charge of the security squad glared at the mayhem. “Sergeant, secure the area. No one leaves. No one is to approach the bodies!”
“Yes, sir.”
The security officer noted who stood where. The assassins lay where they had fallen. Several more reporters and their assistants huddled against a bulkhead. Somewhat apart from the crowd stood a woman he recognised as the new anchor for a popular network, her assistants gathered around her, and a little to her right stood another familiar reporter, his tousled appearance his trademark, and his cameraman.
“Attention!” the sergeant bellowed. He waited until the noise subsided and his men moved into position. “This dock is now under total lockdown.
Stepping forward, the officer said, “Thank you, Sergeant.” His gaze swept the reporters. “I will take no questions until I am satisfied there is no further threat.” He glanced at the sprawled bodies of the two midshipmen, now being placed in containers. “Midshipmen Heron and O’Connor were not under arrest. They were being escorted to a secure facility pending their appearance at the Pangaea enquiry.” He paused, allowing that to sink in. “My investigators will check everyone’s credentials. Please cooperate. Refusal to do so will be taken as complicity in this murder.”
A scuffle near one of the exits drew gasps and then screams.
“Everyone freeze, or I will detonate this!” The speaker was the thickset man with the tousled white-blonde hair. He seized the attractive news anchor and held her close to him. “This bomb is big enough to blow out this dock and everyone on it. Here’s what’s going to happen next, if you value your life. Security, put your weapons down slowly. Medics, load the bodies into the shuttle.” He watched the security commander as two more reporters shed their pose and joined him. “And before you think of trying anything clever, they’ve also got triggers for this baby,” he said, caressing the bomb.
ABOARD THE SHUTTLE, CAPTAIN BRANDEIS SURVEYED the seated midshipmen. “We have a serious situation in Dock Five. There has been an attempt to seize two of your comrades. As a precaution, we are going to do a full security check on all of you.” He held up a hand. “That includes the instructional staff. Do not attempt to leave your seats, and comply immediately with my people’s orders.” Over their heads, he nodded in the direction of the Lieutenant. “Max, carry on, please.”
The Lieutenant stood and delivered his orders. “You two. Take post at the entry port. No one boards or leaves. Move.”
Harry took up the indicated position trying to look as if he knew what he was doing. Suppressing a grin, he thought of how often he’d mimicked his officers on the Spartan in the same effort to appear in control.
On the other side of the door, Ferghal took a similar stance, conscious of the stares of some of his friends and the glowers of others, particularly Eon Barclay and his friends. He wondered why Laschelles looked pale and Miles seemed frightened as the security men moved up the aisles, checking ID chips and running background checks through the AI.
Harry noticed the security team hesitate when checking a Lieutenant Commander’s details. Then, apparently satisfied, they moved on.
“All clear, sir.”
“Good.” Captain Brandeis paused. “We’ll be cleared to leave as soon as Dock Five is secured. There’s been a further development there, but it is reported to be under control.”
Ferghal watched as Barclay shot a furtive glance at him and Har
ry and whispered something to his companions.
THE SECURITY COMMANDER SIGNALLED HIS MEN. “We’ll do it your way, mister.” He unbuckled his weapons belt and lowered the lift to the deck while running an ID check on the blonde man. Reluctantly, his men removed their weapons as well. Moments later, the confirmation displayed in the commander’s visor. Calmly he ordered, “Medics, load the bodies, please. They may as well have them. Dead is dead.”
“The rest of you, on the floor. No one move.” Staying close to the bulkhead, the three assassins and their hostage moved toward the shuttle. As the medics disembarked, the blonde man signalled his companions. “Check there’s no one aboard.”
The pair moved cautiously, their military training evident as they advanced, darting into the shuttle, then one reappeared. “All clear. Ready to go.”
“Not quite.” The leader indicated three reporters. “You three. Gather all the weapons and bring them to the shuttle.”
The security commander noticed this with interest. Why summon reporters to gather the weapons? He recorded their faces and requested background checks. The woman “hostage” didn’t appear to be making any effort to resist her captor. It struck him she appeared far too relaxed. He made a request to the AI, and an image appeared in his visor. Carefully he aligned it to the woman’s face. The image flashed, and he recognised the match. Casually, he touched a concealed link on his belt as he remarked, “I hope you have a strong stomach, Ms Roach. Don’t worry though, our people will have you back in no time at all.”
A sharp intake of breath among the journalists was followed by screams as two Lacertians came into view seemingly from nowhere. Several of the reporters realised they’d been there all along; some would later acknowledge they’d actually been looking right at them but hadn’t known it. One seized the woman, the other the man. There was a snap and a scream as his arm broke.
Ms Roach struggled in the iron grip of the alien holding her, trying desperately to reach into a pocket. With a ripping sound, the cloth tore and a small device spun out of reach.
Stepping forward, the security commander nodded. “Sergeant, secure the prisoners.” Turning to the shuttle he said, “Sci’Anatha? Are your prisoners able to walk, or shall I send the medics?”
Two more Lacertians emerged from the shuttle, one carrying and one dragging the two remaining assassins. The leader said, “No need, Commander. This one they may deal with. The other is no longer in need of their services.”
“Pity. Still, we have three on murder charges, and three more on complicity at least.” Addressing the stunned reporters, he said, “I will require all the data files from your cameras as part of my investigation into the murders of Midshipmen Heron and O’Connor. We will return the files once the Public Prosecutor’s office has verified the records.” Moving closer to the furious woman, he added, “Ms Roach, or perhaps I should say, Ms Schmidt, or was it Ms Ranford, or Ms Dunning? Never mind, I’m sure you’ll be able to sort out who you are by the time we have put all the outstanding charges against you before the prosecutor.”
Chapter 16 – Enquiry
Harry thought back on the week following the events that day with the assassins. The strangest week I’ve ever experienced, he mused, and then he remembered — well, with the exception of the day we were catapulted four hundred years into the future.
This was a strange new world indeed.
Accommodated in an apartment normally reserved for senior officers while they awaited the enquiry, he and Ferghal were well catered for by the android service units, but cut off from almost everyone except the security team guarding them. Pacing the luxurious quarters, he tried to make sense of the news broadcasts. Finally, he blurted to Ferghal, “I understand in part why the news of our deaths is being perpetuated, but why may we not see Aunt Niamh? I know she is here, and she is terribly distressed. So is Danny.”
“Aye, the divil is in it now.” Ferghal watched Harry and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Can you not stop pacing? ’Tis making me nervous just watching you.”
About to snap an angry response, Harry stopped. “My apologies.” He flung himself into a chair. “I can’t stand this waiting.”
“It is no easy thing for me either.” Ferghal cast his eyes about, hating their confinement. This was becoming all too regular for his liking. “I know the Captain said our doubles were not killed, but I did not like having to watch them fall to the ground in an attack meant for us, and I cannot understand why this . . . this thing keeps showing that scene over and over again!” He gestured toward the news hologram.
The door opened, and the boys leapt to their feet. “Captain,” they said in unison, straightening their uniforms and squaring their shoulders.
“Good morning, gentlemen. At ease.” Ushering in two men, the Captain smiled. “I thought you might like to meet the men you were impersonating while they impersonated you.”
Harry stared, speechless. Ferghal broke the tension with a laugh. “Begorrah, now that takes the pot o’ gold.” Striding forward, he held out his hand to the man whose face he’d worn long enough to begin to think it his own. “I admire a man who stands in to be shot for another he doesn’t even know. And thank ye that ye let me have my own face back.”
The young man laughed and shook Ferghal’s hand, wincing at the firmness of the grip, which Ferghal did not do intentionally. He was never aware of his own strength. “Next time you can take a hit from a neural disruption bolt. I’m just glad they didn’t use a plasma burst. It wasn’t a lot of fun, but if it brings these bastards down, I hope it was worth it, and you fellows will give them hell when you testify.”
Harry shook hands with his body double. “Thank you for keeping us safe. Was it very bad—? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Peter. It’s good to meet you finally. As Armand said, not a lot of fun, but we knew what to expect, and we had some help to take the worst of it. Still, I want to see those bastards squirm.”
Harry laughed. “To be sure, we will do our best. I’ve a notion of what they’re afraid we might reveal.”
The Captain cut him off. “Don’t tell us. Save it for the stand.” Motioning them all to seats, he took one himself. “Now, the charade isn’t quite done yet. As you know, the enquiry reopened yesterday. The Consortium people have challenged just about everything from the Fleet records of what was going on when the squadron arrived at Pangaea, but they haven’t yet managed to invalidate the questionable activities you fellows exposed when you escaped from Johnstone’s secret facility. What they have done is cast a lot of doubt.”
Harry pondered this. “I see, sir.” He paused. “When will we be allowed to see our family?”
“That might be tricky. You’re due in court shortly, and you’ll see them shortly.” The Captain looked guilty. “Your guardian, Commodore Heron, knows the situation, but his sister Niamh L’Estrange . . . well, let’s just say that I don’t plan to be within earshot when she finds out.”
The boys chuckled and exchanged glances. They knew all too well their aunt’s fierce temper. Harry felt conflicted; he was angry that Aunt Niamh — in reality his twelve times great niece — had suffered this distress needlessly, and he was amused at the Captain’s wariness of her expected reaction.
The Captain continued. “Unfortunately, we needed her unaware of the truth so that we could maintain the deception. That’s also why you’ve been kept in isolation.”
“So when do we appear before the enquiry, sir?” Harry asked.
“In a couple of hours. I’ve come to collect you. Peter and Armand are Special Ops, and they’ll accompany you just in case.” He paused. “But before that, we thought it best for you to see Mrs L’Estrange. She’s with Commodore Heron in the adjoining suite.”
THE WAIT TO BE CALLED TO ENTER THE COURT and take the stand made Harry fretful. Their presence was still being kept secret, but the three judges presiding knew of the subterfuge.
“Just remember, la
ds, this is not a trial,” said Captain Brandeis. “It is an enquiry to establish and confirm certain facts. They want to hear your story because your escape effort exposed a lot of things we never would have known had you not salvaged the core memories you brought out of the Johnstone facility.” Captain Brandeis hesitated. “And there’s something else. They seem to think you learned something that the Johnstone Group is desperate to keep secret.”
Harry nodded. “So everyone says. I think I know what it is, but I will need to have those memory units connected to an AI to be able to show the court.”
A look of surprise crossed the Captain’s face. “I’ll arrange it.” Taking a deep breath, he sat back in his chair. “Now, I better tell you what to expect when you enter the court. It is like an auditorium. The judges will be on a dais in front of you. The three judges are at the centre, and they have writers and technical advisers on each side of them. In this case, some are senior officers from the Fleet. On either side of the dais are the legal teams representing various interested parties. The judges will ask the questions, but the lawyers may ask supplementary questions to clarify anything you tell the judges. You will be sitting facing the judges with the legal teams to your left and right. There will be large screens behind you so the public — in this case mostly reporters and people with a personal connection to these events — will be able to see everything you say, show or do.”
“It sounds very crowded, sir.” Ferghal’s nerves made him fidget. His only experience of courts — four hundred years earlier — suggested oppression, injustice for the poor and judges who handed out harsh sentences for the least offence.
Harry Heron: No Quarter Page 13
