Chapter 36: Sniffing out the Traitor
Senior Chief Petty Officer Morgan Belfort had always been a careful, if not always a cautious, man. Which was why when a strange-looking team of Fleet Security with Armory patches on their shoulders started moving into and through Fleet Personnel Department headquarters on Tracto’s Alpha Station, he decided it was past time to take his lunch break.
Throwing his Confederation style jacket on, he proceeded out of his cubicle and toward the nearest lift.
“I’m off to catch a meal at the Tea Pot and Battle-Armor, Jenny,” he informed his fellow chief, giving a two finger salute to indicate he was passing along the torch of responsibility for the department’s enlisted while he was gone.
“Bring me back some noodles if you think about it,” the woman grunted her head still down as she wrestled with the constant flow of electronic paperwork that kept their department busy and this Fleet staffed with competent or at least semi-competent crew.
“Will do,” the Senior Chief tossed her a smile before turning and walking out of the room.
Behind him, he could hear a young but very official-sounding voice reading out an arrest warrant Senior Lieutenant Chang, the man nominally his superior.
Whistling tunelessly as he left the office, he decided that Chang’s misfortune was his gain and it was a good thing he was always so careful to cover his tracks.
Poor Chang was guilty of nothing more than a little favor trading with the various ship captains that came to Tracto, but then again any Personnel Officer that wasn’t able to do a little horse-trading now and again wasn’t doing his job properly.
Unfortunately for the Senior Lieutenant when Confed Security searched his office computer they were going to find the personnel officer had an encrypted bank account and had been accepting money for favors for the better part of a year.
Oh, the poor Lieutenant hadn’t actually been on the take, but with his authorization code over a number of questionable transfer orders and a bank accounts with the credits for these dirty deeds sitting there on his computer the Lieutenant was going to have one heck of a time clearing his name.
The best result for Chang, Morgan figured, would be a one-way trip to a Tracto-an penal colony and that was the best case solution. Worst case, they spaced him outright. Sad but true; the blighter had at least been mostly competent, unlike whoever they got to replace him, but then that was the price one paid for not properly managing a fleet department. Really, it was Chang’s own fault for not doing his job better. If Chang had managed his people better, or had better computer security in his office, none of this would have happened…well, probably.
After all, one Morgan Belfort was a driven man he was driven to succeed where others failed.
The Senior Chief smoothly made his way past several fast-moving security spacers, was out of the office and finally on his way to the turbo-lift when he hit a snag. Whoever was running this operation had set up a check point right in the middle of the corridor leading to the lift system.
Someone on the other side of this fiasco was either competent or paranoid to a fault. Either of which was bad for Mama Belfort’s second son.
He paused mid-stride, as if he’d forgotten something, and started to turn on his heel when the security spacer on the left side of the corridor decided to throw a wrench into things.
“Halt,” Ordered one of the Security guards stepping into the middle of the light weight barrier, the same as you would encounter entering any sub-way access terminal back on his home world, and placing a hand on the butt of the sidearm strapped to his left hip.
Chief Belfort immediately stopped. It was never wise to aggravate a constable in the middle of his rounds, so he turned back around with wide smile pasted on his face.
“What’s the holdup, spacer? Is there a security threat I don’t know about? I was just on my way out for some noodles when I realized I forgot to backup my slate back at my desk. It’s nothing major; I’ve heard lately there’s a gang of Belter youth haunting the promenade with high-powered magnets that think it’s a sweet trick to bring them as close as they can to a data-slate and then watch as people melt down when their tablets go on the fritz,” Chief Belfort explained, trying for an easy tone of voice but, after realizing that he was having a mild case of verbal diarrhea from too much nervous excitement, he cut himself short.
“Approach the checkpoint and present your ID, Senior Chief,” instructed the Security Guard.
“Is that really necessary, Spacer?” the Senior Chief put a slight edge into his voice.
The Armory Guard’s face closed. “I’m going to have to insist, Chief,” he said, the palm of his hand riding the pommel of his weapon to a better position for a fast draw, fingers splaying out wide except for the one alongside the trigger. His chin jerked to the other guard standing beside him and his partner pulled out a stun baton. Although he left it angled to lay alongside his leg.
The Senior Chief's smile froze while on the inside he swore silently. He was used to seeing this sort of behavior back home not here in the local capitol of the Confederation’s Sector Fleet and, while normally he might have dismissed the guards action as those of a hot-blooded young man wanting to play cowboy, something about the sureness of the other’s grip and steadiness in expression said otherwise.
“Hey now, pilgrims, you’ve got me all wrong here,” he said, raising his hands into the air.
“I’m no pilgrim—and I’m not asking again, Chief,” the Armory Guard said gesturing brusquely toward the portable checkpoint and its built-in sensor suite.
“Hey now, just take it easy Spacer. I’m coming,” Morgan Belfort said making sure to keep his hands well away from his sides.
The Armory Guard cocked his head and pressed a hand to his ear. “LeDuc here,” the guard said, face turned to speak into his collar, “I’ve got a fast-talking Senior Chief on his way out for some ‘noodles’,” the Guard said that last with mockery in his voice, obviously trying to provoke him.
The Guard paused, listening to a voice that only he could hear. “Will do, Sir,” said the Armory Guard, “this way, Chief,” he instructed focusing back on Morgan Belfort.
Even though he had nothing incriminating on him, Chief Belfort felt a sense of unease as he stepped in between the scanners. He breathed a sigh of relief as the track lights on the inner sides of the scanners flashed green.
The Armory Guard gave him an inscrutable look and then nodded. “Sorry Chief,” he said clapping him on the back as he urged him out of the small sensor kiosk, “just following protocol. No one gets in or out of personnel without a sensor scan today. Make sure to enjoy your noodles.”
Morgan Belfort frowned at the other man’s hand and then nodded tersely. “I’ll be off then,” he said, starting toward the lift across the hall.
“Did you forget something, Chief?” the Armory Guard asked with a crooked smile. “Didn’t you want to back-up that data slate?”
“I think I’ll just have to take the risk,” Morgan Belfort said dryly, “because if I need to go through a checkpoint twice in a row I doubt I’ll have time to grab a bite to eat. Might as well just stay at work,” he shook his head, turning back to the lift.
Thankfully, the lift doors cycled open almost as soon as he activated the lift’s external sensors with a wave of his hand and he made sure not to turn back around until the doors had slid shut behind him.
“Bilge rats,” the Senior Chief muttered, his mind racing as he ran the angles. Was the smart play to hold everything close to the vest, assume Confed Security was as fat dumb and clueless as usual, and assume everything ended with Chang? Or was it better to hop a freighter and ride out of the system or, failing that, sign his own transfer order on the fastest MSP-flagged ship headed out system?
For a long moment he wavered and then shrugged. It hurt nothing to make sure his bolt hole on the station was primed and ready in case the heat was on.
Whistling another off-key tune, the Senior Chief sto
pped on the promenade long enough to buy two orders of noodles to go before heading down the concourse.
Another one of those irritating flash holo-ads started blinking in his face.
“Pah!” he scolded, waving his hands through the hologram forcing it to fritz out and the floating ad-bot to flare is anti-grav unit and drift back. “Who in the name of all the great gods wants to eat recycled food?” he demanded, throwing a kick toward the ad-bot, “Burn Styrofoam! Use Aerosol! Ya Dink!!! Do you know what they’re recycling to put inside that food??”
He turned away, shaking his head in frustration and kept walking until he found the bead-covered entry way to Madam Syburna House of Fortune and Palm Reading.
Pushing aside the covering, he stomped inside.
“Madam Syburna, where are you?” he demanded.
****************************************************
“Is the fish still on the loose?” Lieutenant Gants asked, moving up behind the portable console.
“He said he was going for food and picked up some noodles,” Spacer LeDuc reported helplessly, “right after that he went to a fortune teller. He’s inside right now. Maybe I misread him?”
“Doubtful,” Gants opined, “he was the senior enlisted in Lieutenant Chang’s department. If anyone was aware of what Chang was up to it had to be him, so either he knew and turned a blind eye to the situation without reporting anything up the chain of command or he didn’t want to know and deliberately closed eyes and ears. Either way we need to know—and we don’t need his sort in the Fleet.”
“Or he could just be incompetent,” Armory Spacer LeDuc suggested.
Gants shrugged. “Do we have audio?” asked the Armory Officer, who had been placed by the Little Admiral in charge of the investigation into just who thought they could manipulate the Admiral’s fleet without anyone being the wiser.
“I placed a standard tracking and audio bead on his back when he went through the scanners,” LeDuc replied.
“Bring up the audio,” ordered Gants. There was what sounded like voices and then nothing but static. “Clear up the resolution,” Gants instructed.
“I’m trying,” said LeDuc, adjusting the receiver. He frowned, “It’s not working. Something seems to be jamming the signal.”
Gants scowled at the screen and hesitated. “What could cause the signal to fail?” he asked.
“It’s only a standard model so…more than six inches of solid duralloy, certain high-powered sensors, or a jamming field,” the Armory Spacer reported.
Gants’s face hardened. “We could be blown. Send in the extraction team; I don’t want the Senior Chief getting away until after we’ve had a chance to grill him about his boss,” he ordered.
“Aye-aye, Lieutenant,” said the Armory Guard.
****************************************************
“Welcome to Madame Syburna’s House of Fortune, wise spacer. For only six credits I can read your palm and tell you the path to a better future,” said Madam Syburna.
“Enough with the penny ante plays for the rubes, Syburna,” barked Morgan Belfort. “I’ve got some major business going down today.”
“Madam Syburna deals with major business several times a day. What seems to be clouding your normally farseeing judgment?” asked the Madam, stepping behind her gauzy curtain and running a hand along the curtain, causing it to ripple mysteriously.
“I don’t have time for you to blow sunshine up my bum,” Belfort said, angrily stalking over to her gauzy curtain, “I need my walking bag, a set of clean papers, and a ticket on the next freighter out of the star system.”
There was a pregnant pause. “An expensive proposition,” said Syburna.
“I have more than enough on retainer here with the house of fortune, as well as other assets I can lay hands on so cut the chatter and give me what we arranged,” Belfort snapped.
“The House of Fortune is just an interlocutor, a middleman if you will; we have none of what you ask for on hand. In fact...it all sounds highly illegal,” purred the Madam.
“You think I’m wearing a wire!?” Morgan Belfort yelled, reaching over and pulling back the curtain violently.
There was a snick and he froze as the Madam of Fortune shoved a snub-nosed holdout blaster pistol into the crotch of his pants.
“It never hurts to be careful or in your case courteous,” she whispered in a low, intense voice. With her other hand she pulled out a glowing blue wand and ran it over his body. The wand chimed and started flashing. Syburna’s face twisted with rage. “Are you trying to compromise me?” she hissed, shoving her pistol forward and causing him to back up.
“What are you talking about?” he gasped stepping back.
“You’re a fool and I’m not going down with you,” she snapped, backing him toward the door.
“Hey, what about my freighter ticket? We had a deal!” he cried.
“Locker 14-73z near the loading docks,” she said coldly, “and that’s only because the House always keeps its deals. But the next time you come into my place of business with a transmitter, you’ll leave through the waste disposal unit.”
“A transmitter? Blast! Are you sure?” he asked.
“Here’s a portable jammer; it’s clean,” she thrust an innocuous little square made out of metal and plastic into his chest, “but it won’t last long if they make you a high priority target.”
He reflexively caught it. She flicked it on with a touch of her gloved hands and then stepped back.
“It can’t be traced back to me so don’t even try,” she warned, waving a hand toward the door, “now remember what you want is in the locker near the loading docks. If security comes by here I’ve never heard of you before today. Take whatever trouble you’ve brought with you as far away from here as you can, and go.”
“Look, I got all of my jobs through here, so if you know something I need to know then—” he started.
“I’m nothing more than a drop site. The House puts people in touch with one another. What they do after they meet is none of my concern nor do I know what your agreement was or whatever it was that you did in case I’m questioned, so it's no use trying to implicate me in whatever is going on,” she said and then gave him a boot to the chest sending him reeling onto his rear end in the middle of the concourse.
“So get out and stay out, you blighter!” she shrieked, waving a fist at the Senior Chief. “This is not that kind of business. We read palms. not give palm jobs to depraved spacers!”
After saying that, she started throwing loose objects at the Senior Chief—including a paperweight,a handful of crystals, and a vase filled with water.
Moments later, Security showed up.
****************************************************
“I have a visual on target,” a terse voice reported over the com-channel.
“Apprehend and take in for questioning,” Gants instructed from his temporary command center in an unused corner of station security.
“Larry that, Lieutenant,” said the petty officer in charge of the Armory quad tasked with arresting Senior Chief Petty Officer Morgan Belfort.
Gants watched on the console as seen through the squad leader’s head cam as the team approached the suspect.
“Has Senior Lieutenant Chang started to cooperate?” he asked a technician.
“Nothing yet, Lieutenant. He still maintains he knows nothing and can’t help us,” reported the Tech.
“Senior Chief Belfort, I have a warrant for your arrest and am here to take you into custody,” shouted the Armory Quad Leader as he approached, his camera starting to go static and the resulting image of the Senior Chief became hazy.
“Some kind of jamming field,” said the technician attached to the quad.
Gants clapped a hand on his forehead in consternation as the senior chief scrambled to his feet and had plenty of time to start running away before the quad
could reach him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, just let me go!” shouted the Chief.
“Stop or I’ll fire,” the team leader said, a stun bolt strike going high and wide accompanying his words.
Gants shook his head unhappily. “We need more training,” he said shortly. There was no reason the quad should have announced themselves so soon before reaching the chief, or at least until the chief became aware of them himself.
On the screen the senior chief tripped an overweight female shopper, throwing her into the path of the armory team and then as the team bypassed her knocked over a fruit stand.
Another barrage of stunner fire lashed out, striking the senior chief in the back of his right leg as well as several civilians who unlike the senior chief who kept running promptly collapsed to the floor.
“You’ll never take me alive!” cried the Senior Chief.
“What is this, comedy hour?” Gants demanded of no on in particular.
“There’s nowhere to run!” shouted a member of the armory team as the chief hobbled over to a knee level crawl space, slapping in an override code and then rolling into the hatch which promptly began to cycle shut.
“Four!” screamed the quad’s tech as she spun her right arm in a while circle and hurled a round metal object into the access hatch right before it snapped shut.
“What is this, the girl’s fast pitch team, McCriker?” the team leader demanded as he ran up to the hatch and tried to open it.
“Stun grenade on a one second timer, PO!” Tech McCriker snapped her report as the team leader hammered on the hatch in frustration when the standard station security override code failed to open the hatch.
“We’ve got a non-standard hatch here, Tech. Open it for me—now!” he snapped at her.
“I’ll have it sprung in two shakes of lamb's tail, PO,” the Tech McCriker replied smartly and, bending down to access the hatch, pulled a device with multiple short wires out of her belt and attached it to the keypad on the knee high access door.
Admiral's Nemesis (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 11) Page 29
