Campbell- The Problem With Bliss

by Richard F. Weyand

  “And I assume there are individuals involved within the diplomatic community?”

  “I will take care of any non-CSF individuals. That’s not your concern.”

  Karim nodded.

  “What do you need from us?” she asked.

  “First, I need you to modify the response to my screamer. Can we add Senior Chief Phil Samples to the protectee list, and distribute his picture?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Can we also get a non-emergency response?” Campbell asked. “An arrest detail response?”

  “Yes. The screamer only has one button. Pop the cap and push it. That makes it simple, and not something you have to fumble around with in an emergency. But we can program the response at this end so if you push it once, quick, you get the full armed response. If you push and hold it for two seconds, you get the arrest detail.”

  “Perfect. Let’s do that.”

  “We’ll reprogram it and circulate the new protectee information as soon as I get back to my office.”

  “All right,” Campbell said. “Now let me tell you how this is likely to go down and your role in it.”

  Red Navy

  As Patryk Mazur and her division mates spaced out from Bliss, Admiral Childers sent word ahead that Captain Jessen’s destroyer division would be joining her heavy cruiser division to form Red Navy for the upcoming exercises. ‘Red Navy’ was the term applied to the enemy force during CSF exercises, while the defenders were ‘Blue Navy.’

  Jessen’s role got a groan from some of the other division and squadron commanders. The two most devious people in the system – maybe in the CSF – on the same Red Navy? This was going to hurt.

  Childers and Jessen devised their attacks while Patryk Mazur was in transit to the exercise location, which was outside the inner envelope in case Duval came calling early. Jessen was devious as hell, and Childers found it to be much more of a collaboration than a superior-subordinate relationship. He was particularly good at finding ways to fool the enemy commander into thinking he saw through the surface appearance to what was really going on, only to have what was actually going on be one level deeper still.

  They made the exercises the most difficult they could, and the end product was the best set of Red Navy attacks on the Grand Tour yet.

  In the end, though, the other divisional and squadron commanders need not have worried. Following the Fleet Book of Maneuvers and having the inside line due to their hyperspace capabilities within the inner and outer system envelopes, Blue Navy was able to outmaneuver the Red Navy attacks in every case. Red Navy was restricted to the published system periphery, and, despite Childers’ and Jessen’s best efforts, was unable to penetrate Blue Navy’s defenses.

  At the end of the last exercise, with the crew shouting “We beat Admiral Childers! We beat Admiral Childers!” Vice Admiral Vina Novotny turned to her chief of staff.

  “Everybody’s celebrating, but they almost got us on that last one. All those restrictions, and they still almost got us,” she said.

  “Yes, Ma’am, but it was Admiral Childers and Captain Jessen after all.”

  “I’m just glad they’re on our side.”

  “Amen to that, Ma’am.”

  The Patience Of A Cat

  Every day for the next two weeks, Campbell followed the same routine. He got up late, had a brunch of breakfast steak and eggs in the chief’s mess, spent the afternoon in the Planetary Operations Center basement, and then went into town to monitor the Duval consulate until late in the evening.

  One night, walking across the park late at night, Campbell was accosted by a pair of young toughs brandishing knives.

  “Whaddya want with me, lads? I got nothin’ to steal.”

  “We’re not after your money, old man. We’re gonna have some fun with ya.”

  Ah. Sadists. Shit.

  Campbell didn’t want to kill them, even though that would clearly be a net benefit to society. It could make news, even get stepped-up police patrols in the park, which would make it impossible to achieve his larger goal.

  “You don’t want to do this, lads. You could get hurt.”

  They laughed and moved in on him, the leader slashing at him with his knife. Campbell deflected the knife, locked his arm, and took the knife away and tossed it to the side. He used the first fellow as a shield against the second’s knife hand until he could get a hold of the other fellow’s shirt at the neck. He cracked their heads together hard and they both went down.

  Damn. That was harder than just killing them. Well, he had them both down now. What did he do to get them to think twice about their choice of recreational activities, and to leave him alone for the next couple of weeks?

  Young fellows. Embarrassment works well on young fellows. What would really embarrass a couple of macho young toughs like this? Hmm. Got it.

  Campbell stripped the two young men down, and put their clothes, wallets, knives, shoes – everything – into his canvas bag. He left them lying unconscious, completely naked, in the park.

  As an afterthought, he arranged them with one on top of the other and between his legs, as if they were having a go. That ought to do it, no matter which one woke up first.

  He wasn’t bothered in the park anymore after that night.

  There were two consulate parties at other consulates while Campbell had the Duval consulate under surveillance. The driver brought the car up front under the entrance portico fifteen minutes before the party time specified. The consul and his wife, resplendent in their evening wear, came out with John Schmitt and three security men. Two of the security men opened the rear doors on either side of the big ground car for the consul and his wife, while one stood at the door of the consulate and kept an eye on the proceedings. Once the consul and his wife were in the car, John Schmitt got in the front seat on the passenger side, which was the side toward the street.

  This was repeated exactly on the second occasion of a consulate party. That was bad tradecraft. They ought to be mixing it up, but it was OK with Campbell if they were sloppy. There was another consulate party next week.

  Every afternoon, Campbell pulled up the new information from his taps on the conspirators’ mail and input/output streams. There were two interesting developments there.

  Ten days or so after they had communicated the plans for the exercises, on the Tuesday of his first week on the planet as Samples, there was an exchange between Schmitt and Singh:

  (Schmitt): Any change in status on the upcoming exercises?

  (Singh): No. Everything moving ahead per previous plan.

  The other thing Campbell noticed is there were no ‘keep-alive’ messages, no periodic check-ins from the conspirators on base to each other or to Schmitt. Days often went by between messages, and a response might take a day or more, especially on weekends. That was sloppy. It meant the MPs could round up the conspirators within Bliss Fleet HQ at their leisure without Schmitt knowing anything was up.

  On Monday of his second week on the planet as Samples, he received a reply via fast courier mail from Sigurdsen to his original mail about the espionage ring. It was short.

  FROM: 22C5654753D58B8EE0591CD60BAE489B

  TO: 2C68B1AB7218890C0483C993C600FDF4

  SUBJECT: (none)

  Round up CSF personnel involved.

  Send ppl, evidence to SIG for trial.

  For non-CSF, send a message.

  Use extreme prejudice.

  It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. The 128-bit secure terminal designator was his alone, generated when he logged into the secure workspace the first time. The only way to get that designator was to have received a mail from this terminal in the first place. Durand had similarly used a Class 2 secure terminal to send his orders, rather than the Class 3 secure terminal in his office.

  Campbell sent a short response in return.

  FROM: 2C68B1AB7218890C0483C993C600FDF4

  TO: 22C5654753D58B8EE0591CD60BAE489B

  SUBJECT: (none)


  In process.

  Campbell had been going to act anyway, on his general authority and anticipating Durand’s likely response. Now he didn’t have to act without specific authority. He had it.

  After ten days of surveillance, on the Wednesday afternoon of his second week on the planet as Samples, ten days after he had last met with Captain Ramona Karim, he messaged her for another meeting in the Class 2 secure workspace.

  “Good afternoon, Captain,” Campbell said to her when she arrived.

  “Good afternoon, Senior Chief. What is your status? Are we getting close?” Karim asked.

  “Yes. We should round up the conspirators in their offices on Friday. We can pick up the two on third shift at their apartments on base. If that goes well, there is a consulate party on Saturday that will be my opportunity to rectify the problem at that end.”

  “Do we have any part in that last bit?”

  “No,” Campbell said. “That is not a police matter.”

  Campbell also asked for a meeting with Admiral Rao in the Class 2 secure workspace that afternoon.

  “Good afternoon, Admiral Rao,” Campbell said to her when she arrived.

  “Good afternoon, Senior Chief Samples. It’s good to see you again. I take it this is about that little assignment we discussed a while back.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Captain Karim’s people are going to round up the entire espionage ring inside the CSF on Friday afternoon. That includes one person in your office.”

  “Have you gotten all the evidence you need to secure convictions, Senior Chief?”

  “Oh, yes,” Campbell said. “Caught them red-handed, transmitting the plans for your upcoming exercises to personnel at the Duval consulate, and then confirming just a week ago that those had not changed.”

  “Excellent. And then what happens?”

  “They will be transported to Sigurdsen Fleet HQ for trial and sentencing. That will be your responsibility, Ma’am.”

  “I can take care of that, Senior Chief,” Rao said. “What about the Duval consulate? Will you be taking care of that matter as well?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Do you have specific authority there, Senior Chief, or are you acting on general orders?”

  “I’ve received specific authority, Ma’am,” Campbell said.

  “That’s going to get messy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Well, be careful, Senior Chief. The lot of them aren’t worth one of you.”

  “I’ll try, Ma’am.”

  Of course, that wasn’t the way Intelligence Division thought of it. The message needed to be sent, the way the CSF always sent messages to Outer Colony governments that sought to damage the Commonwealth of Free Planets or its citizens. If CSF personnel were lost in the sending of that message, well, sometimes those things happened.

  But, one way or the other, they would get the message.

  Extreme Prejudice

  On Friday afternoon at 14:00, nine arrest details fanned out across Bliss Fleet HQ from Bliss Military Police Headquarters. Each arrest detail was composed of one officer, usually a lieutenant, and four enlisted men, one of which was at least a petty officer first class.

  The MPs overrode the door lock on the apartment of Lieutenant Christopher Sobol, the third-shift supervisor in the Communications Center, and rousted him out of bed.

  “Wha’? What’s going on?”

  “Lieutenant Sobol. You are under arrest. If you would dress, and then come with me, please.”

  Similarly, the MPs overrode the door lock on Petty Officer First Class Susan Todaro’s apartment, the one she shared with Lieutenant Andon Kuang. Todaro, another third-shifter in the Communications Center, was awake, having breakfast.

  “Petty Officer Todaro. You are under arrest. If you would come with me, please.”

  “Shit.”

  Three arrest details arrived at the Planetary Intelligence Headquarters, and independently headed to different floors within the building.

  The first squad of MPs arrested Lieutenant Andon Kuang at his office in the computer section.

  The second squad of MPs arrested Commander Veronica Kinley at her office in the counter-intelligence section.

  The third squad of MPs arrested Lieutenant Commander Kyle Acheson at his desk outside the office of Senior Captain William Campbell.

  Three arrest details arrived at the Housekeeping building, and independently headed to different areas of the building.

  The first squad of MPs arrested Petty Officer Third Class Brian Rhee at the furniture inventory counter. He refused to go quietly and had to be subdued.

  The second squad of MPs went to Seaman First Class Eduardo Novak’s workstation in the security scanning group. Novak wasn’t there.

  The third squad of MPs arrived at Commander Vilis Schenk’s office and let themselves in without knocking.

  “Commander Vilis Schenk. You are under arrest. If you would come with me, please, Sir.”

  Schenk opened his top desk drawer, at which the arresting officer stepped aside and the Seaman First Class behind him brought a machine pistol up onto target.

  “Don’t even think about it, Sir,” the arresting officer said.

  At that, Schenk went quietly.

  An arrest detail arrived at the Planetary Operations Headquarters and headed directly to the offices of the base commander, Admiral Mary Rao. In the outer office pool, they arrested Lieutenant Mona Singh.

  “Lieutenant Mona Singh. You are under arrest. If you would come with me, please.”

  Admiral Rao came out of her office and watched as Singh was led away. Campbell had not told her who the spy was in her office, lest she somehow let on over the weeks that something was up. That it was Singh shocked her, as the pretty lieutenant had been popular in the office.

  The arrestees were held incommunicado from each other and from JAG in the basement detention center of the Military Police Headquarters. Under CSF military justice, with pending espionage charges, they could be held incommunicado for up to a week. They couldn’t be questioned without their JAG attorney present, but there was plenty of time for that.

  And Campbell didn’t need a week.

  The failure to apprehend Novak was a problem. By chance, he had been out on a work assignment when the round-up went down, and may have seen the MP vehicles parked in front of Housekeeping when he returned. In any case, he did not return to his workstation that afternoon or to his apartment that evening. The MPs put a bulletin out to all MPs and security personnel at Bliss Fleet HQ to be on the lookout for him, and to apprehend him if seen.

  Campbell went into the Planetary Operations Headquarters. Logged into the Class 2 secure terminal in his workspace. He tried to shut down Novak’s ability to communicate. He disabled Novak’s BCBS account, which Novak could use to contact Schmitt directly, by the simple expedient of blocking login requests to Novak’s account at the input/output streams off the base. He also blocked all messages and calls to or from the Duval consulate, and blocked Novak’s personal comm. That should block all his means of contact with Schmitt.

  The question remained whether Novak had been able to contact Schmitt before Campbell blocked him.

  Campbell went into the Planetary Operations Center on Saturday afternoon. He checked his taps on the mail and input/output streams, and found a message from John Schmitt. It was from about an hour before. He logged into BCBS with Schenk’s user login name, and sent a reply. Schmitt responded, and Campbell, as Schenk, replied again.

  (Schmitt): I heard there was some excitement yesterday. You guys OK?

  (Schenk): Yeah. MPs busted a drug ring. Nothing to do with us.

  (Schmitt): OK, good. Keep your heads down.

  (Schenk): Will do.

  There was no other message traffic, and no further replies from Schmitt.

  Saturday evening, an hour and fifteen minutes before the official start time of tonight’s consulate party, Campbell was fixing a small device to the side of a tree i
n the park a couple of hundred yards from the Duval consulate. The tree was slightly to one side of a line from the consulate front door to one of the refuse cans along the street.

  Forty-five minutes before the official start time of the consulate party, Campbell was working his way down the refuse cans along the street in front of the Duval consulate, as he had every night for two weeks. He got to the can just west of the consulate at about twenty minutes before the party’s official start time. He rummaged in the can, and rummaged in his canvas bag.

  While rummaging in his canvas bag, he fitted the barrel to the 50-caliber air rifle and spun the B-nut down tight to hold it in place. He chambered one of the special expanding rounds, ensured the safety was off and the gun fully charged from the high-pressure air cylinder. He also turned on the transmitter connected to the trigger. He pretended to rummage in the refuse can again, in the process laying the rifle across the top of the inner can between the decorative staves.

  He watched as the car pulled up. When the consul and his wife appeared at the door of the consulate and all eyes were on the local action under the portico, he sank back down behind the barrel as if to rummage in his canvas bag again. He pulled the stock back into his shoulder and lined up the telescopic sight on the scene.

  The consul and his wife, dressed in their finest for the night out, got in the car by the rear doors. The two security men closed the doors behind them. They seemed unusually anxious tonight, and scanned the area constantly. Schmitt got in the front passenger seat and reached out to grab the door handle and close the door.

  As Schmitt turned to his right to look for the door handle, his eyes scanned across the part of the park in front of him. His gaze locked on Campbell, and Campbell, watching Schmitt’s face through the telescopic sight, saw realization come into his eyes, saw him put it all together. Schmitt started to open his mouth to shout a warning. Between breaths, between heartbeats, Campbell squeezed the trigger.