Against All Enemies ps-4

by John G. Hemry

  "So what's unusual?"

  Connally looked thoughtful. "Secretive activities. You know, if it becomes apparent they're trying to hide something from the rest of the people on the ship."

  "Isn't that going to describe me?" Paul couldn't help asking.

  "In a way. Also watch for signs of interest in things they shouldn't be pursuing. Things unrelated to their jobs. Messages they shouldn't have access to. That sort of thing."

  Paul rubbed his neck, grimacing. "Brad Pullman's the communications officer now. He could see any message on the ship. And since Commander Moraine is the Operations officer, there's not a lot she couldn't see."

  "I understand. That aspect of things is going to be hard. That's why we're asking you to do this other thing." Special Agent Connally held up a small, paper-thin disc. "This, believe it or not, is a wire."

  Paul stared at it. "That's it? The entire thing?"

  "Yeah. Beautiful, isn't it? Power source, microphone, storage media all in one." She leaned forward and reached inside his uniform to press it against the fabric. "See? It affixes here, under the collar. That's all you have to do. It'll monitor everything you hear for the next twenty four hours."

  "Everything?"

  Connally laughed. "You don't have to wear it while you're with your girlfriend."

  "I've got duty tonight, so I'm stuck on the ship. But that was just one of my areas of concern."

  "I can imagine the others. Trust me, there's not a lot we haven't heard. We actually have a very good reason for having you wear it all day on the ship. We want you to forget, as much as you can, that you're wearing it."

  Paul brushed his collar near where the wire rested. "I don't see how I could do that."

  "Trust me. You'll forget it's there." The NCIS agent brought out a large data pad. "This can't leave our office, so I'll have to ask you to memorize it as much as possible. We'd like you to somehow bring up the following topics while talking to Pullman and Moraine."

  Paul took the pad, reading slowly. The topics were fairly predictable, once he thought about it. Money troubles. Recent purchases. Investments and investment advice. Opinions on foreign policy. Opinions on the current political leadership. "I have a little trouble with some of this. It's not illegal to dislike whoever's in the White House and I don't want to entrap someone into violating Article 88 of the Uniform Code."

  Connally looked at him in surprise. "Contempt toward Officials? Not a lot of people even know about that one, let alone the right article number."

  "I'm my ship's legal officer."

  "Oh. In any event, nobody's going to get convicted of that charge nowadays unless they're standing on a mountaintop screaming obscenities and threats. You know that. All we're looking for is motivation."

  Paul read the data pad again. "You think somebody would dislike the president enough to spy on their own country?"

  "Stranger things have happened," Connally noted dryly. "How well do you know Pullman and Moraine?"

  "Do you mean personally?" Paul made a dismissive gesture. "Neither all that well. Both of them just came aboard a little while ago. I knew Brad in school a little, but just sort of in passing."

  "Then it might be a little hard to start discussing personal opinions and finances with them. Just do your best."

  Paul shook his head. "I'm not a brilliant conversationalist. If I could get someone else to help-"

  "No. I'm sorry."

  "I'm sure Captain Hayes-"

  "That reminds me." Connally leaned forward again, her eyes fixed on Paul. "Don't talk to your captain about this."

  Rebellion rose immediately. "I can't do this and not inform my commanding officer!"

  "We'll tell him." She must have read Paul's skepticism. "I swear. He'll know this evening. But you can't talk to him about it. Where could you get enough privacy?"

  "The captain's cabin. We shut the hatch-."

  "There might be a tap in there."

  That startled Paul into momentary silence. "Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely. There's any number of devices that could be concealed in there and be effectively invisible. We don't know whether or not our target has planted one, and there's no way to sweep the cabin for it without tipping off our target." Connally pointed to Paul's data pad. "Not to belabor the point, but just a reminder to make sure nothing's put in your data pad about this either."

  Paul couldn't decide if was unhappier about being asked to spy on his fellow officers or unhappier about the real possibility that one of them was spying on him. "Understood. I guess I just come back here tomorrow and you take the tap off me?"

  Connally shook her head. "No. We don't want you coming here too often. That might tip off someone, too. Is there someplace we could meet tomorrow?"

  "Sure. A private place?"

  "No. Someplace public." Connally smiled. "I'm new up here so I won't be recognized easily as an NCIS agent. And we're old friends! Did I tell you?"

  Paul couldn't help smiling back. "Really?"

  "Oh, yeah. We go way back. When I see you I'll be sure to stop by and say hi. Might even give you a hug."

  "Um… I'm engaged."

  Connally's eyebrows rose. "Just a hug, Paul. I'm not that kind of friend. Or agent. You haven't been watching too many spy movies, have you?"

  Paul laughed. "I didn't mean… That is, it might attract attention. People might talk about seeing us if you hug me because everyone knows I'm engaged and you're, well, pretty good looking."

  "You silver-tongued devil you. And you said you weren't a good conversationalist. Don't worry. Bring your fiance. It'll be good cover. As far as she's concerned, I'm an old friend, too. She's not obsessively jealous, is she?"

  Paul thought about that. "Do comments about ripping my lungs out if I ever cheat on her count?"

  "Uh, yeah, but we'll keep this friendly. That's all. Your lungs should be safe."

  "One other thing." Paul pointed to where he'd seen her shoulder holster on his earlier visit. "Are you going to have, uh…"

  Connally frowned, following the line of Paul's finger toward her underarm. Then her expression cleared. "Oh. Am I going to be carrying, do you mean?"

  "Carrying?"

  "That's what we call it when we've got a sidearm. Yes. I'll be on duty. Don't worry. With my jacket on no one will be able to see I've got a weapon in a shoulder holster."

  "I just wanted to sure I didn't react if I felt it."

  "Don't worry," Connally repeated. "I'm the best shot on the station. Ask anybody. Carrying the weapon's just a requirement. I don't intend using it."

  The idea of Connally using her weapon hadn't occurred to Paul at all. He spent a moment wishing he could discuss this with Sheriff Sharpe, then bade farewell to the special agent.

  Paul returned to the ship, trying to forget about the little disc concealed under his collar, and therefore unable to stop thinking about it.

  It was early afternoon before he saw Captain Hayes again. Hayes was standing in a passageway talking to the chief engineer. Paul flattened himself to the maximum extent possible to squeeze by without inconveniencing the senior officers, but Hayes stopped him at mid-point with a quick gesture. "Did you take care of that thing for me?"

  "The legal thing, sir?"

  Hayes cupped his hand to his ear as if he hadn't been able to hear, then nodded. "Yes."

  "I'm on it, Captain."

  "Good." Hayes waved him on.

  About ten minutes later Paul realized that Hayes' gesture to his ear had very likely been a tip-off that Hayes knew Paul had a listening device planted on him. If so, at least the NCIS agents had proven true to their word on that matter.

  It was getting on in the day before Paul realized something else. He'd been avoiding talking to Pullman or Moraine. He'd been evading the job he'd agreed to do. Not that the extra time had helped him plan any conversational gambits. His mind stayed so stubbornly blank on ways to steer any conversation around to the right topics that Paul realized he'd have no choice but the
wing it and hope he could improvise.

  He went to his stateroom, the fabled "ensign locker" which he shared with Brad Pullman and two ensigns but which was nonetheless the closest thing to an oasis of quiet and privacy for him on the ship, and concentrated on remembering all of the possible topics that Special Agent Connally had shown him.

  He'd only been at it a couple of minutes when Brad Pullman entered, sat down heavily in front of his small desk and yawned. "I had the mid-watch inport last night. I think if you look up 'terminal boredom' in the dictionary it'll refer you to a mid-watch inport on Franklin."

  Paul smiled ruefully, thinking that was how he would've reacted to Pullman's comment normally. That is, if he wasn't hyper over the need to steer the conversation and record whatever his room-mate said. "You got that right. Uh, how's your turnover with Kris Denaldo going?"

  Pullman waved one hand. "Piece of cake."

  "Really?" Paul thought about the long hours of work Kris had put in as communications officer, even when she'd had the help of Senior Chief Kowalksi before he'd transferred off the ship. "No worries?"

  "No worries." Pullman leaned back. "No problems. I can handle the job in my sleep."

  "Brad, there's a lot of things about being in charge of communications that can trip you up."

  "Sure. I know that." But Pullman's dismissive tone didn't match the words. "Really, Paul, I can handle it. Don't sweat it."

  "Okay." Brad is sharp. I know that about him. Everybody says he's really smart. And Kris hasn't complained to me that he's slacking off at all. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen Brad slacking off at anything. He's a hard worker from all I've seen. So relax about that and do the unpleasant job you said you'd do, Paul Sinclair. "Hey, Brad, mind if I ask you something?"

  "Shoot."

  "Have you ever looked into investments or anything? I'm building up a pretty good nest egg." Paul hoped he still sounded casual.

  Pullman scratched his ear and appeared to contemplate the question. "A little bit. It's kind of cool watching the pay pile up while we can't spend it on much, isn't it?"

  "Yeah. So, any advice?"

  "Not really." Pullman looked mildly apologetic. "I've just sort of skimmed a few things. My money's picking up interest in my savings account and that's all. Investment stuff just isn't my thing. I've got enough money to get what I need, and if I can stick out the Navy long enough, I'll have the retirement package, so I'm cool."

  "Oh. Okay. Just thought I'd ask." Paul let disappointment show, though he actually felt relief. Pullman obviously wasn't concerned with having too little money and certainly wasn't acting like he had more than he should.

  "Why'd you bring it up?" Pullman asked. "Because you're getting married?"

  "Yeah." Did that sound sincere? "Jen and I'll be both pulling in income, and with my orders to Mars I won't be spending much for the next couple of years, either."

  Pullman shook his head. "They really screwed you, man."

  "Tell me about it." Paul hesitated, then deliberately brought up another one of the NCIS agents' topics. "How could they do that? I'm plenty unhappy."

  "With the Navy?"

  "Yeah." Paul waited, certain that Pullman wouldn't take the bait but still trying not to show tension over simply dangling the bait before him.

  As Paul had expected, Pullman just spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "You're not the first guy. Remember that joke about how being in the Navy guarantees regular sex, because you get screwed every day? Sorry I can't help. You can always punch out after Mars. By the time that's over your obligated service will have been completed and then some."

  Paul pretended to agree, since he was keeping Herdez' offer secret to everyone except Jen. "Maybe I will. It's not like I'm getting major rewards for what I do." He hadn't meant to say the last, but it slipped out in what he knew must have been a slightly bitter tone.

  Pullman just nodded again. "You've got to be smart, Paul. Smarter than the people calling out the orders."

  "Like you?" Paul asked sarcastically.

  "Yup." Pullman grinned. "Like me."

  Paul couldn't help grinning back.

  Commander Moraine scowled at Paul as he stood in the entry to her stateroom. It was getting late, and Paul simply couldn't afford to put off talking to her any longer. "You should have all the files from my division that you've asked for, ma'am," Paul reported.

  Instead of replying directly, she picked up her data pad and began punching keys to check. Paul waited with outward patience as the minutes dragged. Finally, Moraine put down the data pad and nodded several times quickly. "It looks like it. Why is that new tracking software labeled as being in degraded status?"

  Paul knew Moraine had already been told the answer because he'd been present when Senior Chief Imari explained it to her. But Moraine had looked distracted and had kept fiddling with her data pad and other objects, so Paul had been pretty sure his new department head had been so busy concentrating on other details that she'd missed the one being explained to her. "It's not handling all tracking functions up to specifications, ma'am. It occasionally drops an object, which we have to manually reacquire to restart tracking, and sometimes creates false echo tracks of real objects that we have to delete to keep the system from confusing itself."

  Moraine stared at Paul, one eyelid twitching slightly. "Why is it doing those things? How can we fix it?"

  "Uh, ma'am, Ensign Taylor believes the dropped objects are being caused by the anti-countermeasures subroutines being too sensitive and misreading real detections as fakes. She thinks the false echoes are being caused because the tracking subroutines are hyped up to be so sensitive that it's generating false targets from scattered indications off of real ones."

  "I don't want our tracking system software degraded! How can we fix it?"

  He decided to try to defuse things, because he would have to work with Moraine for some months, unless she was led off the ship under arrest for espionage, which event Paul was looking forward to seeing more and more with every minute. "Ma'am, Taylor suggested we target the anti-countermeasures subroutines against the detection subroutines and let the software fight it out." Instead of smiling, Moraine just stared at Paul. Well, that didn't work. "Commander, we're not allowed to modify the software in any way. The contractor has to make changes. We've been told the changes are being worked on."

  "How long?" Moraine raised her data pad as if that held the offending tracking software. "How long until it's fixed?"

  "We don't have an estimated time to repair, ma'am. The company says it can't provide one."

  "That's not acceptable! I don't want a major capability in my department to be in degraded status!"

  "Ma'am, Ensign Taylor has helped us with some work-arounds and my people can identify problem detections-"

  "I want it fixed right now, Mr. Sinclair!"

  Paul tried to keep his face expressionless. I want another new department head right now. But neither one of us is going to get what we want, are we? Unfortunately, I appear to be the only one here who understands that. Since every attempt to explain reality had failed, he fell back on the only possible reply. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Maybe I should take a look at it. Personally. Yes. Tell Taylor I want to see that software."

  "The… software?"

  "Yes! The source-code! I've handled software acquisition and I'm sure I can evaluate the source-code for anything that looks odd."

  Oh, boy. I wonder how many millions of lines long that source-code is? I can just imagine Taylor's reaction when I tell her that Moraine wants to see it. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Are the tracking consoles active? Can we go up to Combat right now? I want to personally look at this and find a fix."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but the consoles are down for system maintenance and upgrades. We can't even run any simulations," Paul stated carefully, trying not to let his relief show at the fact that Moraine couldn't personally go up and try to do his sailors' jobs right now. "It's in my division's status report,"
he added with apparent helpfulness. Which means you'd know that if you weren't so focused on details that the big picture is lost to you.

  "Combat doesn't seem very capable, Mr. Sinclair. Perhaps you haven't been focusing enough on your primary duty."

  Uh oh. Here it comes.

  "You've been off the ship several times in the last couple of days supposedly dealing with legal issues. That's unacceptable."

  Paul knew he'd never win this battle. He'd never won it with Garcia, and Moraine obviously wasn't any more inclined to be reasonable. But, still… "Ma'am, I've only left the ship twice in the last two days to deal with ship's legal officer responsibilities."

  Moraine didn't seem mollified. "That's not what I recall. You haven't been around when I needed to contact you regarding your primary duty as Combat Information Center Officer! One time I couldn't even contact your data pad! Was it off in violation of regulations?"

  Paul hoped his reaction didn't show on his face. She must've tried to contact me while I was in that NCIS isolation room. How do I explain that? "It was not off, ma'am. I haven't turned off my data pad." No lie, there. But how do I explain why she couldn't contact me? "Some of the rooms down in the staff sections of the station are sealed against transmissions. It could be one of them blocked my signal temporarily." Could be, hell. I was inside one of them. How many lies am I going to have to tell to get through this assignment?

  Moraine glared at him, then looked down at her data pad again, apparently seeking some new item on which to grill Paul. Given the break, Paul decided to go on the offensive. "Ma'am, we do need your sworn statement regarding the engagement at the asteroid."

  Her head jerked up. "We? Who's been asking?"

  "The XO asked me the status of that this afternoon, ma'am."

  "I wasn't even the department head then! Why do they need my input, anyway?" Moraine grumbled. "All right. The sooner I can put that incident behind me, the better."

  Perhaps that finally offered an opening for Paul. "A lot of things went wrong, ma'am." Maybe Moraine would express some opinions that he could guide toward seeing if any motivation existed to commit espionage.