“Do you know why you’re here today?”
“Because you made a really big mistake,” Mattis said, shaking his head. “I’m Captain Jack Mattis, US Navy. I didn’t shoot the president. I’ve been driving across the country for the past two days and didn’t even know she was dead until my rights were being read to me.”
Blair’s lips curled into a small smile. “I don’t believe the cause of death has been made public yet,” she said, letting her badge fall back to her chest, the gesture carrying with it an edge of triumph.
It was a logical deduction. “Presidents are always shot,” Mattis shrugged. “It’s basically the only way anyone can get past the Secret Service. Which I didn’t do.”
“You sure seem to know a lot about how to kill the president,” Blair said.
Mattis sensed more than anything else that Blair really had nothing to go on. If she had evidence, she would present it. “You know it’s a glaring logical fallacy to suggest that just because I had an appointment to discuss—”
“I don’t know what you were going to discuss.” Blair’s tone was even, almost too even. Forced, perhaps. “I’m just trying to figure out what you were doing there.”
This was getting him nowhere. Mattis leaned forward. “Check the logs on Elroy’s rental,” he said. “The systems will show that our car was traveling from Baltimore to San Diego immediately before I was arrested, and that I was inside the car for the entire duration—right up to the point when those fine officers dragged me out. As was Elroy. The stink of two days worth of travel on us is more than testament to that, as is the food and drink in our vehicle—which I’m sure you’ve inspected by now. Furthermore, neither of us have guns and neither of us were anywhere near where she was killed. Yes, we had a meeting with her, but if you don’t have any witnesses, anything tangible with which to hold us, I am asking to be released.”
Blair considered, seemingly unmoved by his explanation. “The President of the United States is dead. I’m not about to let you go because you’re smelly.” She sighed. “Come on. The president of the United States is shot dead by an unknown gunman in San Diego the same day you’re scheduled to have a nice long chat with her in a back-channel meeting. We did check the logs on your vehicle—the autopilot was disabled for most of the trip, until after the shooting, meaning we have no logs of where exactly you went. You were also traveling with a firearm, which forensics is working to match with the gun that killed the President… you, a Captain in the US Navy, recently dragged through a court-martial. Someone who went on TV and rambled about future-people to the galaxy. That’s a motive. You can’t tell me it’s a coincidence.”
“I have no idea if it’s a coincidence or not,” said Mattis, simply. “The autopilot was disabled because it was malfunctioning. A cursory look at the car will tell you that. The firearm is standard—don’t you believe in the second amendment?—and the President didn’t court-martial me. She had absolutely nothing to do with it. To be perfectly candid, I think the odds of it being a coincidence are… extremely remote. But that’s not the issue here. The question you should be asking yourself is: did Elroy kill her? Did I? And clearly, obviously, no. We’re not suspects, we’re persons of interest. We’re here to help you in any way we can.”
“And how is that?” asked Blair, shifting slightly in her seat. “How can you help me?”
Mattis tried to raise up his hands in a shrug, but the handcuffs around his wrists stopped him with a clatter. “You tell me. But unless you can come up with a concrete motive, something more than speculation, and means as to why I might have killed the President, you should treat me as an ally, not a suspect.”
She paused, obviously mulling it over. Weighing it up. Letting it turn over in her head.
“Where did you get the stealth gun?” she asked.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” said Mattis. “Stealth gun?”
“A pistol that doesn’t show up on metal detectors. Suspected to be of Chinese manufacture.”
“Never seen one of those in my life.” Mattis raised an eyebrow. “The firearm you found in the back seat of the car… was that a Chinese stealth gun?”
“No.” Blair went back to thinking. “No, it wasn’t, but you could have easily ditched the real weapon.”
He could have, but why? “If that was so, why wouldn’t I ditch the other gun, too?”
Silence. More consideration from Blair.
Mattis pushed a bit. “I think it’s obvious you’re grasping at straws here, so lemme lay it out for you; if you push this, I’ll demand a lawyer. You have to give me due process. The case gets turned over to the military court, with all the resultant paperwork shuffling and delays. Back and forth, back and forth, and we waste days and weeks and months sitting here in this very room as my lawyer constantly says things like you don’t have to answer that question, and things like I’d like to request a three day recess to investigate this claim. Your boss and coworkers find out you detained a world hero, a veteran, hoping on some level they will immediately confess, but their stories check out, and Elroy’s statement will match mine, because we’re telling the truth. My lawyer will file a wrongful arrest lawsuit because you had armed men pull me out of a car without probable cause; which will be easy to win, given we can cross-reference satellite data and toll information. You know how it goes. And all the while, Edita’s real killer goes to ground, burns their trail, and maybe even gets off-world… or even out of the system.”
“Why do you think they’d do that?”
He shrugged. “Because I don’t need to be FBI to realize that’s the smart play here. That’s what I’d do. Plenty of places for a wanted assassin to disappear into in the world… Chrysalis, Tiberius, anywhere. And every second we spend here talking makes that much more likely.”
“Mmm.” Blair picked at her teeth, feigning disinterest. But Mattis knew she had nothing.
“Release me, and do the same to my son-in-law.” Mattis twisted his wrists, raising up his hands as close to a shrug as he could manage. “Or I’m done.”
“You’re done,” said Blair, ominously, “when I say you’re done.”
“Up to you,” said Mattis, sitting back in his uncomfortable chair. “Unlock the cuffs, or I start demanding my constitutional rights, and we’re going to be in this room for a very long time.”
Blair considered, then sighed, leaning over the table and unlocking his handcuffs. “Okay,” she said. “Start talking. And you better make it good.”
Chapter Six
Naval Consolidated Brig, Miramar
California
Earth
Guano, alone once more in the timeless, empty void that was her cell, patiently waited for her environment to change.
Another inspection would come pretty soon. Or yard time. Yard time! Her heart picked up at the notion of breathing a little air outside of four walls. A little exercise and the small shot of endorphins it would bring… and the sun. Seeing the sun would be nice.
But until then, she had to wait. Guano closed her eyes, willing time to pass, falling into the only way she’d been able to let the moments slip by. She’d tried a lot of things—yelling, doing pushups, writing a book… but nothing seemed to work except the daydream. A rehearsed script, almost. Like a consciously imagined fantasy.
A fantasy about flying.
Guano’s cold, steel prison seat became a pilot’s chair; she held her fingers where the instruments would be. She could practically hear the whine of engines as she opened the throttle. She had taken off from the Midway so many times that she could construct it perfectly in her mind. The gap between the hangar doors, the landing lights, the takeoff procedure. She pressed the buttons, whispered the radio calls to herself, and her imaginary fighter tore out of the hangar and into open space.
A normal spaceship was constrained by limitations—the restrictions of the laws of physics and of operating government property. Fuel, flight plans, rules of engagement… but in her mind, none of those things applied. I
n the vast, unending space field she imagined, her ship could make any maneuver, could travel at any speed, could visit any stellar phenomenon.
She flew out to the rings of Saturn, letting the ship cruise above the thin belt of ice, rock, and dust. Such a maneuver would be highly dangerous in real life—the front of the vessel would be shredded in minutes, and one slightly-too-large rock could easily smash through the canopy before she would even have time to see it. But in her mind’s eye, everything was safe and wonderful and—
“Hey, Corrick!”
A guard’s voice snapped her out of her daydream. He was standing by the open door of her cell, communicator in hand, glaring at her. He’d probably called a few times.
“Sorry,” she said, mumbling slightly, her mood dampening instantly as the reality of prison rushed back to her.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Thought you might be having a stroke or something.”
Some part of her figured he might not actually enjoy that outcome—as though his concern was somehow genuine, only lathered over with ‘tough-guy guard’ attitude. “No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. Just daydreaming to pass the time.” Her eyes flicked to the small device in his hand. “What’s that?”
“You got a call,” the guard said. He gently extended the device through the bars. “Real important one.”
They were going to give her a phone? In her cell? Surely not permanently. Skeptically, Guano reached out and took it. “My, uhh…lawyer was just here.” Why would he call right away? How long had she been daydreaming?
“Not a lawyer,” said the guy.
“Who is it, then?”
He only pointed to the phone.
Okay. She put the communicator to her ear. “Hello? This is Lieutenant Corrick.”
“Hello, Lieutenant Corrick,” said a woman—a voice stiff with a crisp efficiency, but twinkling in just a glint of humor. “I imagine you’re happy to hear from me.”
British. For just a moment she feared it was him, but it couldn’t possibly be. Guano wracked her brain to place the voice, but was finally forced to give up. “Sorry, who is this?”
“This is Captain Spears of the Royal Navy. Commanding Officer of the Caernarvon.” A ship she had fought alongside. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. “How are you faring?”
It felt so strange to suddenly receive a call from a British naval Captain that honesty poured, unbidden, out of her. “Shit, Ma’am,” she said, flatly. “Military prison is no joke.”
“Of that I am certain.” She paused, obviously considering her next words, a faint hiss the only noise on the line. “You know I did everything I could.”
Of course. Spears was the one who had sent a statement, surprisingly gracious on her behalf, to her trial. And probably one to Mattis as well. Suddenly, all the memories rushed back into her head; yes, Spears had tried to help her. Still… “A helpful piece of paper doesn’t really do much when you plead guilty.”
“No,” said Spears frankly. “It doesn’t. And especially not when you choose to have no lawyer, and especially not when you plead guilty and practically beg to be locked up. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanted you to know that I tried.”
Guano lifted the device away from her ear, stared at it, then put it back. “Is—is that why you called?”
“Oh, goodness no,” said Spears. “I’m returning your lawyer’s call.”
For a moment, Guano couldn’t process what she was hearing. It made no sense. Maybe she was dreaming. It had happened before… she had fallen into her flying daydream and nodded off. But this felt very real. “I didn’t call you,” said Guano.
“No,” said Spears, patiently. “You didn’t. Your lawyer, Mister Turvey did. The man owes me a huge favor and now, I’m cashing in. He’s arranged for your release. He has a very extensive case file which makes some compelling arguments for an early release, and it looks like the US Navy is going to oblige his request.”
“My…” Guano could scarcely get the words out. “What? Release, Ma’am?”
Spears tittered down the line. “Technically, it’s a bail application pending the reexamination of your charges in the light of new evidence. Somewhat unusual, I know, but these are unusual times. And it was a highly unusual set of circumstances that lead to your… ahem. Alleged crime in the first place.”
Guano struggled to process what Spears was telling her. “I’m… getting out?”
“Correct.” Spears sounded like she was reading from some kind of document. “According to Mister Turvey, you will be released on your own recognizance without having to attend a bail hearing. Given the unusual nature of this arrangement, you will likely be required to sign a statement affirming that you will show up for all of your required court hearings, and that I, Captain Spears, will be personally responsible for making sure you attend them. If you fail to do so, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. Which means you’ll be coming with me on my ship.”
Incredible. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that happens. I’ve had my fill of violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”
“Mmm. Mister Turvey is of the opinion that you have yet to do such a thing.”
Guano sighed. “I understand, Captain. It’s just…”
“It’s just guilt,” said Spears.
It was true, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well, as a Brit, let me tell you something: we live and breath guilt. But it’s a useless emotion. You cannot change the past, Lieutenant Corrick. You can only take charge of your future. And I need you.”
That twigged something in her. “You… need me, Ma’am?”
“Yes. Lieutenant, there are two factors at work here. One, we need your help tracking down some ne’er-do-wells, and if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need as many people on my side as I can get. Secondly, it doesn’t take much creative energy to realize that what happened to you could happen to any of us. And the only way we can find out what happened and, more importantly, prevent it from happening in the future is if we have… ahem. A live specimen. So we’re going to take a look at those nanobots in your brain. Safely, on my ship, where I can guarantee your security personally.”
Guano lidded her eyes. “You want me to be part hunting dog, part lab rat?”
“Would you prefer to remain in Miramar?” asked Spears, as polite as ever.
“Not if there is any alternative.”
“Very well,” said Spears. “Then I look forward to speaking to you and your minder in person very soon.”
Minder? Guano almost hung up, but that was too weird, even for her. “What do you mean… minder?”
“I need someone to keep an eye on you,” said Spears. “As I am operating a Royal warship, I cannot devote the attention required to guarantee that I uphold my end of the bargain. So I have someone else in mind.”
“Okay,” said Guano, cautiously. “Who were you thinking?”
“I have someone in mind,” said Spears. “An old friend. He should just be getting out of interrogation now…”
She had no idea what that meant. “Okay, so I have a babysitter. So what? How can I possibly help you, even if I get out of here?”
“You have something I need,” said Spears.
“What’s that, Captain?”
“My trust. Something I give very rarely, Lieutenant. Commander Lynch is unavailable, as is Commander Modi, so I’m turning to you.”
Now she was sure she was asleep. “Why would you ever trust me?” Guano gave a loud, halting laugh. “You know what I’m in prison for. You haven’t forgotten?”
“No, but I trust Captain Mattis with my life. And he trusted you. Accordingly, I firmly believe you to be innocent. And I believe the answers to what happened to you—what has happened to others all around the galaxy—are locked up in your head. All I need now is your presence, and the presence of the Reardon brothers.”
“Okay, okay, so you’re going to cut my head open. Fine. Whatever. What do you
need these Reardons for, whoever the hell they are?”
“That’s not a conversation for an unsecured communications line,” said Spears, quickly. “All will be revealed in time, I promise you. But for now, all I can tell you is that they too have something I need, and if we don’t get it, everything will go pear-shaped.”
“Um,” she said. “Right.”
“So the choice is yours. Stay in your cell, or save the galaxy.”
That really wasn’t much of a choice, was it? “Okay,” she said. “I’m in. What do you need me to do?”
Chapter Seven
Interrogation Room
San Diego Police Department
California
Earth
“Okay,” said Mattis, rubbing his wrists ruefully. Damn cuffs had been tight. “You wanna hear why I was meeting with President Schuyler?”
“That’s right,” said Blair, settling back into her chair.
Acutely aware that interrogation rooms were always closely monitored, Mattis took a moment to get his thoughts in order. It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept properly, or showered properly, or eaten properly…
Focus.
“Okay.” Mattis folded his hands. “So, after the… loss of the USS Stennis, I was reassigned to Earth. To administer Goalkeeper.”
“That included a demotion, did it not? And a court-martial?”
The words stung as they came out. “Yes, it did. For reasons that were only tangentially related to the loss of that ship.” He sighed tiredly. “It’s a long and complicated story, Special Agent. Admiral Fischer lost half a damn fleet, but she got herself burned up, so they needed someone to blame.”
“Seems unfair,” said Blair. “You weren’t in charge, so why did you take the fall?”
“Life isn’t fair.” After Chuck, Mattis was so numb to it all that he didn’t really care. “Suffice it to say, getting posted to Goalkeeper was a pretty nice outcome. But they made it pretty clear that if I make one more mistake, I’ll be riding a desk so fast my dick will fall off.”
The Last Strike: Book 5 of The Last War Series Page 4
