Against All Enemies ps-4

by John G. Hemry

  Kramer's audience chuckled a bit at Paul's reply. Kramer himself kept his wide smile, though his eyes hardened. "None like yours, pal. Come on! Tell us how it feels!"

  Paul just gazed back at Kramer, trying to keep his expression totally bland, as if nothing the other officer was saying mattered. "Go away. I'm not interested in talking to you."

  "Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings. What're you gonna do next? Everybody knows you're gonna screw up again."

  Paul smiled humorlessly. "I won't bother telling you what everyone knows about you."

  Kramer stopped smiling. "You'd better hope we're never on the same ship."

  "I've been hoping that since the first minute I met you at the Academy."

  The audience laughed a bit again and Kramer curled his lip. "I hear that girl of yours has finally left the Maury. They get tired of trying to keep her from getting anywhere near the engineering plant again?"

  Paul's left hand, safely under the table, clenched into a fist and made an abortive jerk upward, but Paul managed to kill the urge to slug Kramer before the move was visible. Before he could say anything, one of the other officers with Kramer stepped forward and pulled on Kramer's arm. "Hey, that's enough. Not funny."

  "It's true!" Kramer insisted. "Would any of you want her on your ship?"

  An uncomfortable silence fell, while Paul sought for something he could say that wouldn't sound like he was defending Jen against something she never should've been accused of doing.

  Finally, one of the officers with Kramer poked her finger at him. "Yeah. I would."

  "Me, too," another muttered defiantly.

  The officer who'd poked Kramer turned to Paul. "Sorry. He's a jerk." Kramer reddened.

  Paul nodded, letting his gratitude show. "I know. Thanks."

  Kramer raised his arm and started to speak but two of his comrades started guiding him out of the bar. The officer speaking to Paul shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. I had a friend on the Maury." Paul stiffened again. "I followed the court-martial real close, so I know what happened. Most people don't. They just remember the news of your girl being charged and stuff. Sorry," she repeated.

  Paul rose and reached to shake her hand. "No. You don't have anything to be sorry about. Thanks. I mean that."

  "S'okay." The officer followed her friends out of the bar, leaving Paul alone again. Very alone.

  His data pad chirped, announcing an incoming call. "Captain Herdez? Ma'am, I need your help…"

  Jen came in half an hour later, her face still flushed. "My father claims to be utterly shocked, shocked that I would think he had anything to do with this. Naturally, he says there's not a thing that can be done and he really thinks you should be happy at the opportunity to serve in such a cutting edge assignment."

  "Happy. That's one emotion that hasn't come up yet." Paul hesitated. "I just talked with Herdez. Turns out she got my message earlier and has been discreetly checking out options."

  "Huh." Jen took a big drink from Paul's glass. "Do you mind?" she asked as she sat it down again.

  "No, dear. Of course not."

  "Very funny. So what'd Herdez say?"

  "It's hopeless." Paul held up a hand to keep Jen from exploding again. "She didn't put it quite that bluntly, but that's what it comes down to. The orders are set in stone and nobody with the power to change them is going to change them." He paused, knowing Jen wouldn't like the rest. "But there is one possible option."

  Jen gave him a suspicious look. "What?"

  "You know Herdez is going to command of a newly commissioned ship after her current tour is up. They always let captains of newly commissioned ships get their pick of any officers they want-"

  "No!" Jen slammed her palm onto the table, drawing looks from others in Fogarty's. "Back to ship duty?"

  "Jen. She can get me off Mars after only two years. She's sure of it. She can slip the orders in without anybody noticing. Yeah, it'll mean coming back here to another ship, but I'll be coming back here."

  Jen hid her face in her hands. "Two years gone and then back here on ship duty where I may see you four months out of the year if I'm lucky."

  "That's worst case, Jen. New ships need a lot of break-in. It should be spending a lot of time around Franklin."

  "I hate this option, Paul Sinclair." She reached over and finished his drink. "But I hate the alternatives even worse. God! You're selling your soul to Herdez! And I'm agreeing to it! I'm letting that woman who hates me Shanghai my husband for her ship!"

  "She doesn't hate you."

  "I notice you're not disagreeing with the rest of what I said."

  Paul ordered more drinks. Did I ever think I'd get to a point where two years of hell on Mars followed by two more years of hell on a ship commanded by Herdez was the best option available to me?

  The next morning, Commander Moraine gave another little speech. She kept fumbling with her data pad and several other items as she spoke, and Paul found himself paying more attention to that than to her words. Then Moraine singled out Paul. "I need to see all of your training records."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "I want them on file to me, with a dynamic link to any updates."

  "Ma'am?" Paul tried not let his disbelief show. Was Moraine actually planning on constantly checking the progress of his division's training?

  "You heard me. The same applies to you two," she ordered Taylor and Denaldo. "Maintenance records, too. For all equipment. I want continuous updates."

  Taylor held out her data pad. "Maybe you just oughta take this, ma'am."

  Moraine glared at Taylor. "You do your jobs right and there won't be any problems."

  After she left, Paul slapped his forehead. "Where does she think she's going to get the time to continuously monitor every detail in our divisions? That's our job."

  Taylor popped a wad of a synthetic substance the sailors called "chew" into her mouth. "Haven't you figured out Commander Migraine, yet, college boy?"

  "No. You tell me."

  "She's nervous. Real nervous. Nervous she'll miss something. Because if she misses something she'll get in trouble."

  "If she tries to track everything," Kris noted, "she's not going to be able to do it. She'll be overwhelmed."

  "Bingo to the college girl! Tell me who's fault it'll be if Migraine tries to do our jobs in addition to her own and gets overwhelmed."

  Paul rubbed his forehead. "Ours."

  "Bingo again! Kids these days sure know a lot."

  "Fine," Paul agreed. "What can we do?"

  Taylor shrugged. "Our jobs. That's all."

  "Why does Moraine look at me different from the way she looks at you guys?"

  "You noticed that, too, Paul?" Taylor grinned. "I could say it's because she likes your hot bod."

  "But you won't."

  "Hell, no. That'd be crude and unsophisticated and I'm an officer now." Taylor sobered. "She's scared of you, Paul."

  "Scared of me?"

  "Yup. Think about it. You're the guy who nailed that little jerk Silver. You're the guy who speaks up when he sees something's wrong. Now, imagine you're Ms. Migraine, scared to death of getting caught with your pants down. How'd you like to have you working for you?"

  Paul made a fist and rapped his forehead this time. "I don't go looking for reasons to turn people in! How could she-"

  "I ain't saying she's right." Taylor shrugged again. "Just do your best and try to avoid taking lots of notes when she's talking or doing something. Hey, on second thought, maybe if you did that when she gives her morning speeches she'd clam up real quick. Do that for me and I'll teach you some tricks next time we're on liberty together."

  "Would you?" Paul asked with mock sincerity. "I bet Jen would be really grateful."

  "That she would! Heck, it's no fun yanking your chain anymore. Any other wisdom you need from me?"

  "Yeah. Why do you chew that awful stuff?"

  Taylor spat the chew into her palm and frowned down at it for a moment. "Hell if I know." Then she popped
it back into her mouth and waved. "Later, kids."

  Kris clapped Paul on the shoulder. "Just a few more months, Paul. Keep telling yourself that."

  "Speaking of time left onboard, where's your relief?"

  "Pullman?" At the last instant, Pullman had been shifted from taking over as weapons officer to relieving Kris Denaldo. "He's got the quarterdeck watch."

  Paul met with his division, giving them assignments for the day, then headed back for his stateroom. He hadn't made it there when he was paged to see the captain.

  For once, there wasn't a line outside the captain's cabin. Paul knocked, announcing himself.

  "Come on in, Paul."

  Captain Hayes looked slightly uncomfortable, Paul realized. Bad news? For me? Why else would he look like that?

  But Hayes just passed Paul a note slip with a compartment address on it. "I need you to go there and see the people who'll be waiting for you. Just tell the front desk who you are."

  Paul frowned down at the compartment designation. The numbers and letters were only vaguely familiar, telling him the compartment was located somewhere well inside Franklin's administrative decks. "Can I ask what this is about, sir?"

  "No." Hayes grinned briefly to take any sting from the reply. "Just go there and do what you can."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Do what I can about what? I guess I'll find out. Paul turned to go but was halted by a sharp command from Captain Hayes.

  "I'll let your department head know you left the ship. Don't check out with her, or anybody else."

  "Aye, aye, sir." It all made Paul very uneasy inside. A personal direction from the captain to do something off-ship and not to tell anyone else. He found himself checking his conscience for any actions which might conceivably have merited the sort of treatment he thought Jen might have experienced when she was arrested for the incident on the Maury. But that was ridiculous. Hayes wouldn't do that.

  Still, Paul's unease grew as he drew nearer to the compartment, and settled into a hard, cold lump in his stomach as he stared at the sign on the compartment. Navy Criminal Investigative Service. Why did the Captain send me to the NCIS offices on Franklin? Why am I seeing the fleet cops?

  A harassed-looking petty officer looked up as Paul entered. "Yes, sir?"

  Paul swallowed to ensure his voice wouldn't betray any nervousness. "Lieutenant Paul Sinclair."

  The petty officer waited a moment as if expecting something more. "Yes, sir?"

  "From the USS Michaelson. My CO sent me here. He said there'd be someone waiting."

  " Michaelson…" The petty officer's eyes fastened on something on her desk. "Oh. Okay, sir. Wait one, please." She stood and hustled back into the NCIS offices, leaving Paul alone with her desk and a few battered standard issue office waiting chairs. Paul measured the discomfort of standing against the discomfort of sitting in the chairs and decided to keep standing.

  A moment later the petty officer returned with two individuals in civilian jumpsuits in tow, one a middle-aged man and the other a younger woman. The petty officer indicated Paul, then sat back down as if he and the two civilians had ceased to exist.

  The male civilian gestured Paul to follow, his face solemn. Paul considered asking for an explanation then and there, but decided against it. He followed the man, the woman taking up the rear, as they wound their way through a small maze of offices until they reached one with a fairly substantial door. The man fumbled out a key card, opened the door, and waved Paul in.

  Fighting down images of himself being sealed away in a secret confinement facility, Paul went inside. As the two civilians entered behind him and swung the door shut, Paul's data pad chirped. He checked it, seeing it was informing him that he'd lost contact with Franklin's internal comm net. "A sealed room?" he said aloud.

  The man nodded, his face now slightly apologetic. "Yes. This room's secured against electronic signals. And anything else that might allow someone to hear what's going on inside." He gestured to one of the chairs at the table which dominated the small room. "Have a seat, please."

  Paul sat carefully, keeping his back erect and not relaxing in the least. "What's this about?"

  Instead of answering directly, the man pulled out an ID wallet and proffered it to Paul. "Special Agent Bob Gonzales. This is Special Agent Pam Connally."

  Paul looked the badges and cards over carefully, even though he knew he wouldn't have recognized fakes. "Okay."

  Gonzales and Connally sat, watching Paul. Paul watched them. Finally, Gonzales sighed. "Sorry. Can I get you anything? Water?"

  "I'm okay, thanks."

  "You're not suspected or accused of anything. Nada. Period. That's not why you're here."

  "That's a relief."

  Connally grinned. As she shifted her seat, Paul noticed a slight bulge under one arm and realized she was carrying a weapon in a shoulder holster.

  Gonzales quirked a brief smile, then went completely solemn again. "We need to ask you some things about your fellow officers. On the, uh, Michaelson."

  Paul felt barriers going up in his mind. Is this how they tried to railroad Jen? What do they want me to say about any of the other officers? "I can't imagine what I could tell you."

  Perhaps sensing Paul's reflexive suspicion, Connally leaned forward. "This is important. We'd appreciate your cooperation. Your captain said you were the best person to contact."

  Captain Hayes. Great. No wonder he looked uncomfortable. But he wouldn't aid or abet anything wrong against me or anyone else. I'm sure of that. "Alright, ma'am."

  Connally grinned again. "Don't make me feel old. Pam is fine."

  "And I'm Bob," Gonzales added. "Like I said, you're not a person of interest. You're someone we're asking for help. Could you just tell us if you've noticed any of your fellow officers acting at all unusual?"

  "Unusual?" Paul frowned and spread his hands. "How do you mean?"

  "Uh, working extra long hours, say. After the normal work day is over."

  Paul stared at Gonzales and then Connally, trying to judge if the question was serious. "We all work extra hours."

  "I mean, consistently. Not underway, but inport."

  "So do I. We all work extra hours. Inport, too."

  Connally gave Paul a searching look. "None of the officers works longer than the others? At times when no one else is around?"

  "Somebody's always around. And as for longer… look. Our typical work day is maybe twelve hours. Inport. Every four days inport is a duty day for junior officers. We spend twenty-four hours straight at work on those days. Maybe you get one of the night quarterdeck watches on your duty day and it's pretty much just you and the petty officer of the watch awake. But that's normal for us."

  Gonzales leaned back and laughed. "Your work patterns are consistently after normal working hours and on weekends? All of you?"

  "Yes. Pretty much. That's right. Even if it's not a duty day. There's always some emergency popping up, something that has to get done and get done right now."

  "How about money? Does anyone seem to have a lot on hand?"

  Paul let his puzzlement show. "How would I know?"

  "Uh, spending, uh…"

  "Yeah. On what? There's nothing much you can buy and take on the ship, no cars up here, no private housing, a couple of fancy restaurants maybe." Paul shrugged. "Somebody could be a billionaire and I wouldn't be able to tell. There's nothing they could be spending it on in front of me."

  Connally looked at Gonzales. "I told you we'd have to bring him in on this. He can't help us otherwise."

  Gonzales nodded heavily. "You're right. Lieutenant Sinclair, I have to ask that you swear to secrecy what we're about to discuss."

  Paul felt his internal barriers rising again. "I don't understand. But whatever it is, of course I won't reveal classified information."

  Gonzales waved to Connally, who gave Paul a level look. "I'll be blunt," she stated. "We have very good reason to believe one of the officers currently assigned to your ship is engaged in espionage ag
ainst the United States."

  Paul simply stared at her for a long moment before he could speak. "Espionage? You think one of the officers in the wardroom of the Michaelson is a spy?"

  Both special agents nodded. Connally spread her hands, palm down, on the table before her. "Yes, but it's a lot more solid than 'thinking' that's the case. We have confirmed information of ongoing espionage. We've been tracking it for some time, with assistance when appropriate from the FBI and other government agencies. Just to let you know NCIS isn't alone in this. I can sum up what we know by saying the espionage operation has been ongoing for several years. We know, from sources we will not divulge to you, that one of the primary players is a Navy officer. I know," she agreed, seeing the look of shock on Paul's face, "that's hard to accept. But we know it."

  Gonzales leaned back, rubbing his jaw line with one thumb. "Recently, there was a disruption in the deliveries by this officer. Then one delivery. Then another disruption, lasting from June 16th to the second of August."

  Paul looked blankly back at the special agent for a moment, until the information clicked. "That brackets the period the Michaelson was just underway."

  "Exactly. The officer transferred from the assignment they'd held before. We know he or she transferred up here. We know they couldn't pass materiel to their foreign contacts while your ship was underway. Within a few days of your ship getting back, there was a drop to their foreign contacts. Pretty clear cut, isn't it?"

  "But most of our officers have been onboard for a long time," Paul protested.

  "Right. But you had two new ones transferred to you recently."

  "Yes-" Paul had to break his gaze on Gonzales to shake his head in disbelief. "Two of them." Commander Moraine, a spy? Is that why she's so nervous all the time?

  Connally nodded, picking up the conversation. "A Lieutenant Pullman and a Commander Moraine."

  "Yes, but Brad Pullman-"

  "We can't rule out either of them. They both came from the area the spy was operating out of, and they both arrived on your ship at the same time."

  "That's why you wanted to know if anybody was acting strange."

  "But you say they're not."