The Last Strike: Book 5 of The Last War Series

by Peter Bostrom

  “Fair enough,” said Blair. “But you haven’t taken your post aboard Goalkeeper yet, have you?”

  “No. Not yet. I had a lot of leave saved up over the years. Long service leave, too. Still have… oh, a few months left to go, I think. Maybe more.”

  “That’s fine, I suppose. So what does all of this have to do with the President?”

  Mattis blew out a long, low sigh. “Well, the thing is… we had a serious incident on our last engagement. For reasons that remain unknown to us, one of our pilots—Lieutenant Corrick—found herself under the control of a man named Spectre. The exact mechanism of how he accomplished this is currently under investigation.” She had taken his grandson straight to Spectre…leading to the death of his son, trying to save him. As much as he wanted to not be angry at her, grief made it simply impossible.

  Even when all the evidence suggested it wasn’t really her in control. There was no room for logic in his mind on this matter.

  “Mind control?” Blair frowned skeptically. “I really, really hope that you’re not going to suggest to me that could be at play here.”

  Mattis tried very hard not to frown in return. “I can’t say it’s impossible, but without any evidence to suggest that it might be, I can’t say it’s not. But Edita—sorry, I mean, President Schuyler—was obviously quite concerned about this, as anyone in her position might be. What if the same technology could be used to affect nuclear warheads? Or power plants? Or, more importantly, weapons systems like Goalkeeper?”

  Blair nodded in agreement, visibly putting the pieces together in her head. “She wanted to know if you could investigate whether Goalkeeper was compromised and wanted to set that up before your leave was up. She didn’t trust that you wouldn’t be compromised before you arrived.”

  Compromised or worse. They hadn’t really gone into the details of their meeting—that was, after all, what the meeting was for—but he knew it was important. “That’s right. We were going to have a chat about the best way to secure Goalkeeper and ensure that Earth’s premier defense system—apart from the Earth Defense Fleet of course—is safe. It’s a lot easier to do that if you’re working directly for the President of the United States. She…she didn’t trust the EDF.”

  “The Earth Defense Fleet.” Blair rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Even I know that decades of budget cuts have seriously undermined it. Ever since the end of the Sino-American war, there’s been no need for massive fleets of ships.”

  It was hard to disagree. “Everyone says they want security, but are unwilling to pay for it when the time comes. It’s like they say: bullshit talks, money walks.”

  “I like that,” said Blair, the corners of her mouth turning up with a smile. “I’m stealing it and pretending I came up with it.”

  Mattis smiled. “Sure. Go for it.”

  The moment of levity hung in the air before slowly vanishing.

  “Anyway,” said Blair, resuming her formal posture. “So.”

  “So,” said Mattis. “I’m guessing by now your guys have checked the logs in the car, showing conclusively that Elroy and I were nowhere near where President Schuyler was shot. I’ve shown I’m willing to cooperate. How about letting us go, hm?”

  Blair checked her device for some time. Mattis waited patiently as she read.

  Then, finally, with palpable hesitance, she gestured to his wrists. “Looks like the ballistics lab were unable to match the pistol in your car to the one that killed the President, and the autopilot in your car broke because the radio went out… it only turned back on when we pulled you in, because the emergency system has a backup only law enforcement can access. Further, satellite imagery shows you weren’t near the President when she was shot, so I suppose you’re free to go.” She locked eyes with him. “Is that what you want?”

  Mattis stared her down, then slowly shook his head. “Not yet. I want to work with you and find who killed the President.”

  “Very well,” said Blair, pushing back her chair and standing. She stuck her hand out. “Let’s get started.”

  Mattis took her hand in his, shaking it firmly. “Right. Where to from here?”

  Blair let her hand fall by her side and, with a low sigh, shook her head. “No idea. I’m not the only agent working on this case, but I was assigned to interview you on the off chance you had something to give us. Now that we’re done I’m free to go looking, I guess, along with every other agent who isn’t actively assigned to some other case. We already have the spaceports on Earth on lockdown, just in case, and we’re monitoring international flights. Logging everything. Facial recognition is hard at work trying to catch a glimpse of the shooter, but we’re having a lot of trouble identifying them.”

  Identifying them… Mattis tilted his head. “Wait, you have a picture of the shooter?”

  “Yeah.”

  He scowled. “Then why the hell were you detaining Elroy and me?”

  “He’s still being interviewed. We figured you might have been working with someone—either a co-conspirator or a hitman. A hired gun. We wanted to pressure you into confessing to that… figured we’d start with you, see what Elroy knows, tell him you confessed and see what he said. Honestly, we were spitballing, but you were far from our only persons of interest so far. Basically anyone who had contact with President Schuyler in the last month is getting grilled today, just like you.”

  Wow. Great. Mattis bit back his retort. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, sarcastically. “I guess it’s good to be wanted.”

  Blair smiled slightly. “We’re on the same page now, Mattis. Thought you should know.”

  “Okay,” said Mattis, forcing down his annoyance. “I’d… probably do the same.”

  “Good.”

  He stuck out his hand. “So let’s see this picture,” he said. “I can go over it with a fine-toothed comb, see if I can spot something your guys missed.”

  “My guys are highly trained forensics agents,” cautioned Blair. “I doubt there’s much there that you can find that they aren’t already spinning through the facial recognition engine. It just takes a long time to go through, you know, a planet worth of people—let alone all the settled colonies out there.” Still, she seemed to relent, reaching into her pocket. “Based on their dress and style of clothes, we suspect they’re from an off-world colony, so we started with that.” She pulled out a tablet, turned it on and handed it to him. “Here.”

  That was smart, Mattis had to concede. He squinted at the image. A grainy still of a man standing in the crowd, wearing a thin jacket despite the sweltering California sun. He wore a low hoodie and a bandanna pulled around his face, masking his features almost completely. Poor bastard must have been sweating like a pig… why had the Secret Service let him through? The guy looked suspicious as hell. Maybe the Secret Service were in on it. Paranoid, paranoid…

  Realization and recognition came to him in a sudden flash. The eyes… Mattis knew those eyes.

  “Oh shit,” he said.

  Chapter Eight

  Interrogation Room

  San Diego Police Department

  California

  Earth

  Mattis stared in bewilderment at the picture of Admiral Yim. Judging by the shape of the bandanna, he had grown a beard since Mattis had last seen him. His hair further obscured his true features—a fairly modest effort, black hair speckled with grey. He seemed grim. Nervous. Mattis flicked through the various still images. There he was, holding a pistol at his waist. Pulling the pistol up. Emptying three quick shots into President Schuyler, then disappearing into the crowd, pulling a hoodie up over his head to hide his face. Then he was gone.

  Holy shit. It barely seemed possible, like he was a ghost drifting out of Mattis’s past. For a moment, he couldn’t process it. It seemed staged or forged or fabricated in some way. But the more Mattis took in his face, the more he had to concede that it was Yim.

  “I know this man,” said Mattis, unable to shake the eerie feeling in his gut, almost
as though he were looking at someone else entirely.

  “You do?” Blair leaned over the table. “What do you mean?”

  Mattis turned the tablet around, showing her. “This is Admiral Yim of the People’s Republic of China Army Navy. And before you ask, yes, that’s just how they write it.”

  “No way. You personally know the shooter?” Blair frowned slightly, and he could tell—could just tell—that she doubted this was a coincidence. Was probably regretting letting him out of those cuffs.

  “He killed my brother,” said Mattis, bitterness creeping into his voice. Something he hadn’t been able to get over, even though it felt like a lifetime ago. “During the Sino-American war. I’ve since come to know him. And even call him a friend.” He stared down at the picture of Yim, pistol in hand, a lick of flame dancing from the tip as it shot the President of the United States. “At least, I thought so.”

  “That must be difficult for you,” said Blair, sincerely.

  He managed a little smile. “Sorry I beat your computers.”

  “Eh. Honestly, facial recognition software sucks with partially obscured images. Humans are much better.” Again, Blair’s professionalism slipped, but returned almost instantly. “But I have to ask: what do you know? How can we find him?”

  Mattis shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t seen him in a long time,” he said, truthfully. “Last time I heard from him was after the destruction of the Midway at the battle of Chrysalis, and before that the only other contact I had with him was…” His voice trailed away.

  Was when he had given the schematic for the Chinese-made gravity-wave engine to Chuck.

  Chuck.

  Damn. Why had he gotten himself messed up in this? Why had Chuck dragged himself into his father’s messes? Mattis was a career Navy man and a veteran—he had long ago accepted that he might well fall in the line of duty. That was one thing.

  But to see his son dragged into his business, and then killed, had been something that he could not tolerate. He’d been putting it out of his mind, trying to get past it, and yet—

  “Captain?” Blair waved her hand in front of his face. “Captain Mattis?”

  “Sorry,” said Mattis, yanked out of his thoughts. “I… I was just thinking about my son.”

  “You have kids?” Blair chuckled. “Yeah, me too. Two and four. Damn little bastards, you know? Always getting into things. Breaking stuff. At least they’re in school now… well, the oldest, anyway. Youngest is still with the sitter. Either way, such a relief to be able to actually come into work and not have to worry about ‘em so much, you know?”

  He wasn’t sure if she was trying to bond with him or if it was a genuine moment, but Mattis couldn’t tolerate it anymore. “My son’s dead,” he said, simply. “He died a few… oh shit, nearly three months ago now.”

  Blair said nothing, but the slowly growing concern on her face told him more than words could.

  “Feels like yesterday,” muttered Mattis, trying to refocus. Trying to get his mind into the game, on Yim, and on the President. Thinking about Chuck wouldn’t bring him back. Thinking about anyone else wouldn’t help. He just had to… had to keep focused.

  “Sorry,” said Blair. “That… must be very difficult for you, again.”

  “Yeah. Lots of things have been difficult. But you get past it.”

  Blair nodded quietly. “Right. Well…” she obviously wanted to say something else, but her watch flashed and a message appeared on it. “Hey,” she said, eyes widening. “Do you, uhh… know someone called Captain Pippa Spears?”

  The Royal Navy’s finest CO? The most quintessentially British naval captain he’d ever known? “I do.”

  “Well,” said Blair, curiously scrolling through the message. “Apparently she’s arranged for the release of one Lieutenant Corrick, who will be joining us soon, and she sends instruction to put on a fresh kettle.” Blair blinked. “Well, all the station has is instant.”

  “Offering an Englishwoman coffee?” Mattis snorted wryly. “Might as well be offering her cyanide. Tell me you have tea somewhere in this building.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Blair, smiling a little. “Guess you’ll be leaving with her, huh.”

  “Right. If Spears is coming here, then I’m going with her.”

  “And don’t worry. I’ll be coming too. Agent Dowling is going to steal everything related to this case that’s not nailed down, and you’re the only lead I have, so… I’d like to come with you and Captain Spears. As a consultant if nothing else.” Frustration crept into her voice. “There really won’t be anything for me to do down here, and if I stay on Earth doing paperwork for the rest of my life… well, let’s just say I’d rather take the chance that there’s something out there. Some lead I can use to… bust this case wide open.”

  Now it was Mattis’s turn to pause and consider. He didn’t know Blair, and not so long ago she’d had him in handcuffs. But he sensed that she genuinely wanted to help, and was obviously desperate to solve this case, even if it was only for career reasons. “It’s up to Captain Spears,” he said, finally. “But if it’s okay with her, it’s okay with me.”

  “Great!” Blair, with obvious awkwardness, took on a faux-English accent. “You and Spears and me better believe we got a lot o’ jolly good work to do, eh wot?

  It was a fairly decent impersonation, but this was the second time she had tried to make a joke. Was it her way of making up for detaining him? Mattis suppressed a smile. “She’s British, yes. But she is also very much a woman who doesn’t take kindly to mockery.” He took in a breath. “I’ll make sure she knows you’re coming.”

  Blair snorted. “If she really sounds like that, I’ll eat my hat,” she promised, folding her arms. “Nobody does.”

  The door to the interrogation room opened. Elroy’s head poked through the crack. “Looks like they’re turning me loose,” he said, seeming none the worse for wear. “Did you want me to wait around for you?”

  Mattis smiled tiredly. “No. Look, I got a lot of work to do still here, and… yeah. You’ve done your part, son. Take the car back to Baltimore, then take Jack and get off-world the moment you can. I think things are going to heat up around here, and I want the two of you safe. Tiberius is nice this time of year. Take a vacation.”

  “We’re too broke for that,” said Elroy.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull some money from somewhere.” Mattis made a shooing motion. “Go.”

  The notion of a free vacation with his kid obviously appealed, and Elroy’s head quickly disappeared.

  “That was nice,” said Blair.

  Mattis’s smile faded. “I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “I have a feeling that a presidential assassination is just the beginning of something much, much larger.”

  Chapter Nine

  Armored Transport

  Naval Consolidated Brig, Miramar

  San Diego

  California

  Earth

  Guano was a free woman for the first time in half a year.

  The days had passed slower than she had possibly imagined; the routine of military prison had been uncompromising, designed to punish rather than rehabilitate, but she’d been a model prisoner. Followed every rule. She felt old. And drained.

  But at least now she was getting out of here.

  “Riding in style, I see?” said Guano, eyeing off the armor-plated vehicle with a skeptical eye. It was a giant hulking beast—a metal box with treads—the kind typically reserved for ferrying troops into heavy combat zones.

  “Gotta be safe,” said the guard, extending his hand to help her into the rear. She was a fighter pilot, dammit. Strong and fit. She was used to hoisting herself into heavy machinery. But as she leveraged the guard’s support to clamber up the ramp, she could feel the slight atrophy in her shaky muscles.

  Wallowing in prison will do that to you, I guess. Was cyborg-head Hulk girl gone, then? Her memory was foggy, but she did recall the frenzied thrill of inhuman str
ength pulsing through her veins on the Stennis. She shuddered.

  “Why’s that?” Guano plopped heavily into her seat with a sigh. “Think someone’s going to shoot me?”

  “If it can happen to President Schuyler,” said the guard, as the steel door rose and sealed her off, “it can happen to anyone.”

  The president was dead. The thought consumed her as the armored vehicle trundled out of Miramar, toward destinations unknown. Well, at least they know I didn’t do that.

  The vehicle turned, turned, and then came to a halt. Guano frowned. Had they just driven around the block? Had the military pulled out an APC to transport her for all of five minutes?

  With a hiss, the rear hatch dropped open and she disembarked, squinting in the unforgiving California sun. She was outside a police station. They had blocked off the road, clearing a space big enough to land a shuttle on.

  Standing just in front of her were Admiral—no, Captain Mattis now—and a tall blonde woman with an air of determined self-importance, but no cop uniform. White button-up, expensive watch; definitely FBI.

  “Hey,” said Guano, attempting a smile for Mattis. “The band’s getting back together.”

  He didn’t smile back. “Yeah.”

  Well, this was awkward. She tried again: “Heard the President is—”

  “Dead?” said Mattis, nodding. “Yeah. That’s what you’re here for.”

  Guano stared at him. “To… kill the President?”

  “No. We’re going to find out who did it.” Mattis’s bearing was characteristically strong and direct, but he didn’t look at her once. He did blame her, then. Guano’s stomach plummeted, but she willed herself to answer in kind.

  “How is that our job? Doesn’t the FBI investigate when the president gets shot?”

  The federal agent spoke up. “Yes, this whole investigation is under the jurisdiction of the FBI. But they’re absolutely swamped with tips and leads and with departments volunteering their help… apparently their answer to all of this is to deputize as many volunteers as possible and see what they can turn up. Unfortunately, the Bureau is convinced the shooter hasn’t gotten off-world yet, so that’s their priority. That gives me an opportunity to spread my wings, so to speak. Tag along with you all. See what I can turn up.”