She nodded smartly. “Of course, sir.”
As she exited the space, Shawn watched in her direction until the doors had closed. Meanwhile, Shawn was the subject of Krif’s scrutiny.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you, Kestrel?”
Shawn gave him a look of innocence. “What do you mean, Dick?”
“Brunel’s a fine officer and one hell of a pilot. I don’t want you clouding her objectivity. Do you get me?”
“I’m afraid I’ve been out of the loop for a while, Krif, so why don’t you explain it to me.”
“Back off Brunel, Kestrel, and any other crewman on this ship you might think of getting involved with. Is that clear enough?”
“Relax, Dick. She’s just got a mild case of hero worship. It’s nothing to get your knickers in a bunch.”
“Listen, asshole, I didn’t come all the way here just so you could play footsies with my officers.”
“You know something? Your right, Dick” Shawn added defiantly. “You didn’t. So let’s talk about that, shall we? What am I doing here, Krif?”
“Believe me, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time recounting all the ways you could have been a better officer.”
“Then fix my ship and let me go,” Shawn replied, putting do emphasis on the final words.
“Out of the question.” The reply was sharp, and its underlying meaning left little room for debate.
Still, that’d never stopped Shawn before.
“You can’t keep me here, Dick, and you know it. I’m a certified free trader in good standing with the Unified Trade Guild and I’ve done nothing wrong—lately.”
“Semantics,” the stout officer scoffed. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have to look far into your merchant record to find something to hold you on. Besides, we just apprehended you transporting a rogue OSI agent. That alone is reason enough to hold you.”
Shawn quickly realized that the only way he was going to get anywhere was if he stopped bucking a played along with Krif, if only for a little while. “Well, you did it. Congratulations. You got me, my ship, my crewman, and the only paying passenger I’ve had in weeks. We’re not going anywhere, okay, so now can you tell me why in the hell you have me here?”
“For starters, as I said, your being here was, and still is, against my better judgment. Aside from that, I had nothing to do with it. I’m just an officer following orders. That has a familiar sort of ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play the naïve rookie, Kestrel. You know damn well what it means.”
“I’m a little rusty with standard fleet procedures.”
“You always were.”
Shawn drew his hands to his hips. “We can always put on a pair of gloves… settle it like we did back in the day.”
Krif shook his head, then leaned against the conference table in the same position that Roslyn had occupied earlier. “I don’t play those games anymore.”
“What’s the matter? Worried about what’d happen to that command pin on your lapel if you broke regulations?
Krif snorted. “While I know you won’t understand this, I have a respectable place on this ship… and in this fleet.”
“And a responsibility to safeguard the property, personnel, and civilian lives that are under that command, right?”
“That’s right.”
Shawn folded his arms across his chest. “I seem to remember that same tired line coming out of your mouth that night on Delta VII.”
“I don’t need to rehash this with you. Aside from it now being officially a classified matter, Delta VII was out of my control.”
“So you said back then.”
“And I’m saying it again now, for the record, and for the last time.”
“There’s never going to be a last time,” Shawn replied heatedly. “You made very sure of that.”
“The court of inquiry made their decision. They saw no negligence on my part of the operation. However, I do recall they had something different to say concerning your own role.”
“I remember, too. And you of all people know why I did what I did.”
Krif shook his head in disappointment. “You disobeyed the Admiral’s orders.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Then you disobeyed the Captain’s orders.”
“I had to try and save them.”
“Then you went and disobeyed my orders!”
“It was a shitty order!”
“You weren’t in a position to make that call, Kestrel!” Krif shouted loud enough for anyone in the passageway to easily overhear. Richard let out a heavy sigh, then ran his hands through the short blonde hair as he attempted to quell his frustrations. “Besides, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, and you know it. There was nothing you could’ve done to save her.” He slowly stood from the table and moved to the view port Shawn had uncovered. Shawn watched as Krif wiped his hand tiredly down the side of his face before he continued speaking. “There wasn’t anything any of us could have done.”
Shawn didn’t answer, but it wasn’t because he didn’t have something to say. It was because a part of him knew Krif was right. It was because a part of him had always known Krif was right, and it made him sick to finally, after all this time, admit it to himself.
Chapter 12
At the same moment Krif had interrupted the conversation between Shawn and Roslyn Brunel, Melissa had apprehensively entered the briefing room containing the Director of the Office of Special Intelligence.
The conference room was noticeably different than the one she’d last seen Shawn in. This room was much longer, with a lengthy table covered with a dull cloth dominating the center of the space. Around the table were over a dozen chairs, all of them empty, save for the one at the far end of the room. Melissa assumed that it was the Director who was seated in it, but it was difficult to tell.
She’d known for some time that the Director had a dislike of bright lights, and for highly polished surfaces that allowed for reflections. There was an unsubstantiated rumor that he’d been the victim an unfortunate accident some years ago, one that’d damaged his ability to process any form of direct light. Melissa, always one to believe in facts over fiction, never paid the rumors much attention. It surprised her very little that the compartment was dark, far darker than Melissa would have preferred for a meeting of this magnitude, and it was inhumanly cold. Only half of the overhead pot lights were on, and those that were had been set to half their normal luminance. It gave every piece of furniture in the room a faint aura without highlighting any of their other features. In the end, it didn’t matter to her why he chose to linger in the shadows during their visit. It only mattered that the visit remained brief.
Her infrequent encounters with the Director had always been cordial and professional, but the lack of light and ambient heat in whatever venue they’d found themselves in always left her with the feeling that she was meeting with a mythical creature of the night instead of the most influential intelligence officer in the Unified Collaboration of Systems. It was even speculated by some—mostly in the Unified Council—that the Director’s absolute authority gave him even more power than the UCS President himself.
For her part, Melissa always considered the Director to be the power behind the scenes, manipulating people and events to better suit the needs of the majority. As such, the weight of the entire Unified Collaboration of Systems was said to rest on his lithe shoulders, but he appeared to carry it smoothly, as if he were born for it. In fact, an offhanded joke amongst junior agents fresh out of the academy suggested that he was made for it—genetically engineered to be the perfect intelligence officer—which would’ve certainly explained his appearance. The man who sat there in the briefing room looked by all accounts to be in his mid-forties. However, Melissa knew of no one in the service who could remember another person occupying the Director’s position. That meant that the Director was at lea
st in his seventies—if not considerably older.
Also quite legendary was his fast switching temperament. It was said that he could be entirely rational one moment, only to become animated and enraged the next. She’d never witnessed it herself and—always conscious of the problems associated with making waves in the upper echelons of command—she’d continually strived to stay in his good graces. In fact, it wasn’t until the disappearance of her father that she’d experienced a falling out with the agency and, by default, the Director himself. She knew it’d been a career ending mistake the moment she’d done so, and knew with equal certainty that she’d eventually be apprehended. She’d hoped that, by the time that happened, she would have discovered more about her father’s mission. However, it was not to be. Too much time had been wasted, time enough for Sector Command and the OSI to catch up with her and Shawn.
Yes, she thought forlornly. Shawn. What was going to happen to him? She’d fully accepted the consequences of her actions the moment she’d ignited her own private search for her father—a search unsanctioned and even forbidden by the OSI She’d risked everything she had to save the one person in her life that she loved. Did she have a right to ask Shawn to do the same? Did he even understand what was happening? Back in the briefing room, the look of betrayal on his face had hurt her to the very core, and Shawn still didn’t even know half of the truths about why they were looking for Admiral Graves in the first place. She’d never had the time to explain it all to him, and now it looked as if that, too, would never come to pass. For the first time in her professional life, she felt wretched for having lied to a truly innocent person to get what she wanted, and something inside her hoped that it would be the last time she did so.
With a single, cautious step, Melissa neared the waist-high seatback of the dark chair opposite of the Director’s still form. Mindful of the dim spotlight casting a soft glow directly over her chair, she carefully remained in the shadows and out of the glaring scrutiny of the Director.
From her vantage point, separated by twenty feet of dull gray tablecloth, she could barely make out the form of the man in the dim light. There was, however, little doubt she was staring at the person whose image had come to symbolize the intelligence community for decades. Like all agents, the Director wore a uniform of dull grey, sharp creases all around, and accented with black stripes running the length of his arms and legs. The golden badge attached to the left breast of his coat, unlike all the others in the OSI, lacked its usual polished surface, and was instead covered in a satin-like veneer. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, completely out of uniform for an agent, and altogether unnecessary in the dark space of the Rhea’s briefing room. Yet, while she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses, she surmised from the direction and inclination of his head that he was staring intently at her. His hands, covered in skintight black gloves, were folded neatly on the tabletop before him.
Despite the murkiness of the room, she could quite clearly see the two uniformed OSI agents standing at attention on either side of the Director, each positioned under their own respective spotlight. To the Directors left was a human male, perhaps in his mid-twenties. The other was a female, but Melissa could only base that assumption on her body shape. Her face seemed anything but feminine, with an angular jaw line and protruding, heavy set eyebrows. Her pug-like nose caught the overhead light in all the wrong places. Both of them, dressed in the same black and gray high collared uniforms, stared past Melissa as they stood motionless like stone monoliths. Nevertheless, Melissa knew that they were watching her closely in their periphery with marked apprehension. If she made even the slightest of unplanned or uncoordinated moves, they wouldn’t hesitate to neutralize her with anything at their disposal. Melissa could see their respective sidearm’s slung tightly to their waists, an unusual accoutrement for an OSI agent to display in the open. She deduced that it was likely one the Director had insisted on personally.
There was a drawn out silence in the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of the Rhea’s air recirculation system piping clean oxygen into the space. Melissa shivered as a waft of cool air brushed past her face, and fought the urge to rub her hands briskly together to induce a fresh bout of much needed circulation. It was at that moment the Director slowly turned his head to the right and simultaneously addressed the two agents behind him.
“Agents, you are excused,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone.
The two briskly snapped to attention, then strode forward in perfect time with one another on either side of the long table. They exited the room without giving Melissa the slightest indication that they’d acknowledged her presence. The room became deathly silent once more. Melissa’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears, and she wished the Director would say something to break the tension in the space. He didn’t move, nor did he speak, but she knew he was waiting for the perfect moment to do so. She surmised that, if this was to be the end of her career in the OSI, she would face it like a professional. Taking charge of the situation, she slid aside the tall chair and placed herself fully under the overhead light, revealing herself fully to the Director in the process.
“That’s better,” he began. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you.” The tone of his voice was low and soothing, almost hypnotic as it echoed off the barren walls of the conference room. “It’s been a long time, Miss Graves.”
“Yes sir,” she replied meekly. If there was one thing she detested, it was drawn out speeches. Come on, her mind screamed. Get it over with.
The Director’s lips, hardly parting enough to construct his words, were the only part of his body showing movement. “You know, I’ve always thought highly of your performance in this agency.”
“Thank you, sir.” She tried not to sound too anxious.
He nodded once, slowly, as if a brick were tied to his chin. “You’ve been a very valuable asset, not only to the OSI, but to myself as well. Your performance, in short, has been stellar.”
She nodded sharply. “Thank you.”
The Director suddenly shifted his body, and the movement took Melissa by surprise. He unfolded his hands and leaned back into his chair almost casually. The leather surface chafed slightly against his uniform in a series of soft pops that assaulted her ears. “What always impressed me the most was your ability to put aside any difficulties that less experienced agents would have easily succumbed to in the line of your duties. You’ve been very methodical… exacting. You never left a mess for someone else to clean up, and you always obeyed orders without question. I would even go so far as to say that you’ve earned my personal… admiration.”
True, she’d always prided herself on those same abilities, even the times when she felt her grip on her own humanity had suffered for it. It hadn’t been until recently, in fact, that she had begun to question her role in a number of the things she’d been directly responsible for. Her service record was littered with awards and accolades, most of which would never be publicly heralded due to the secrecy of the individual operations. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single one of those honors that hadn’t come at the cost of someone else. If her father hadn’t disappeared those months ago, she had no idea where she’d be right now—she only knew she would be a very different person. Her acknowledgement to the Director required no words, only a simple nod.
His long fingers slowly laced themselves together as he placed his hands in his lap. “However, I have to say, Miss Graves, that I’m sorely disappointed with you over your actions in this current situation.” His tone was unchanged. It was all but impossible to tell if he was angry or not, although there was no mistaking that he was dissatisfied.
Here it comes. Be strong.
“I understand, sir.” Where most agents would have started blathering, trying to use words to explain away their own actions, Melissa knew better. Words, no matter how eloquent or well spoken, wouldn’t get her out of this menagerie. The cage she occupied was constructed of bars she
forged herself over her years of service. It was her lot to accept her punishment, and she wanted to do so with dignity.
The Director leaned forward in his chair, bringing his laced hands up to the tabletop. His head leaned slightly forward before he shook it slowly, almost as if he were submersed in water. The very tip of his pointed nose glowed under the scrutiny of the overhear light. “No, Miss Graves. I don’t believe that you do. In fact, I’m quite sure that you don’t.” His tone was different now. The pitch was higher, but no less ominous. “You see, you’ve gotten yourself in way over your head—not to mention your pay grade on this—to say nothing about the security breach you’ve committed by bringing civilians into a classified operation. This is all very serious, Miss Graves, and could carry a very substantial sentence.”
When there was a marked silence after his words, Melissa deduced the Director was waiting for some kind of response. She sucked in her breath slowly, trying not to betray her nervousness at the situation. She had to choose her words carefully, remembering not to use twelve of them when six would suffice. “Most of the files were sealed, sir. I don’t know any more than I did when I left the Core Worlds.”
He smirked, the first Melissa had ever heard of him doing so. Even through the gloom, she could see the contours of his face crack and split in unusual places, and she resisted the urge to cringe. “Remember who you’re speaking to, Miss Graves. Deception is… unbecoming of you in this conversation. You see, I am aware that you do know something.”
“Sir?” Did he know? How could he know? Oh, don’t be naïve, woman! Of course he knew. You don’t get to be the Director of the OSI by having a lack of knowledge.
“Aside from what Mister Kestrel may have already told you, I also know that you spoke to Toyotomi Katashi.”
Damn. Is Toyo playing both sides? How else would the OSI already know about their conversation? Perhaps Toyo’s information organization had been compromised. If that’s true, he could be in more danger than even he realizes. It’s all water under the bridge for now. In the meantime, remember your training: evade and dissuade as long as possible; get as much information as you can without looking like you’re trying to get as much information as you can. “Mister Kestrel has told me nothing, save for some anecdotal war stories about my father.”
The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) Page 22
