Balloch took a long drag on his cigarette, then exhaled calmly as he studied the envelope the intel NCO gave him.
I hate these conversations, he thought. Twenty-seven years in the Pakistani navy didn’t make such talks easier. When Islamabad assigned him command of this multilateral task force, CTF-151, he had mixed feelings. On paper he commanded a fleet of twenty-six ships, drawn from a dozen countries, but in reality the only thing he controlled was this Pakistani frigate. International politics dictated the rest.
Yet a command is a command, he thought as he stubbed out his cigarette. Like many multinational forces, the admiralship rotated among the participating countries. This year, it fell to Pakistan, and he was the next available Pakistani admiral. Not the command he hoped for, but the command he got.
The time had come. “Enter,” he said.
The XO walked in with his head down, like a sullen child, then stood at attention. It looked like the XO hadn’t slept since they received the mission to hunt down the Eleutheria. The admiral wasn’t surprised.
“You’re a good officer, Commander Jalbani. A good officer follows orders, even if he doesn’t understand them.”
“I am not so sure, Admiral.”
The admiral motioned to the table between them, which took up a large portion of his private quarters. “A crisis of confidence, then? Don’t worry. We all have them.” The younger man didn’t answer. “Join me in a cup of tea.”
The man sat. He was a good officer, a loyal follower of protocol. He would go far, if he could make it past this first test. “No thank you on the tea, sir,” he said. “I just want an explanation.”
“I don’t owe you that.”
“No sir. But I need it.”
Admiral Balloch poured his tea. “Orders are orders, Commander Jalbani,” he said as he stirred his cup. “I must follow them just like you. We are Pakistani taking orders from Washington, DC, as happens in international task forces. The Americans said to board the smuggler ship Eleutheria.”
The commander nodded agreement.
“But our secret orders,” Admiral Balloch pulled out the envelope from his uniform’s inner pocket, “in this envelope, are from Islamabad. They countermand the American orders. They say to let the ship pass. Now, which orders do you think have priority?”
“But why the contradictory orders?” Jalbani asked.
“For twenty-seven years,” Admiral Balloch said, “I have served my country proudly as a Pakistani naval officer. When this ship became part of CTF-151, I didn’t abandon that loyalty. We are one of thirteen nations in this task force. We work with them for the greater good. But our allegiance remains to our country. Always. That is why these multinational forces fail.”
“But why the contradictory orders?” Jalbani said again.
“Politics,” the admiral said. “That’s all men like us need to know.”
The admiral could sense the man was ill at ease. He needed Commander Jalbani’s full commitment; they would both be recalled and punished if any of this was ever spoken of again. “What’s on your mind, Commander? Speak freely.”
Jalbani hesitated. “I don’t like lying to our fellow naval officers in the task force. I respect them. They respect me. They are good allies and personal friends. This”—he knocked on the ship’s bulkhead—“is American made, a decommissioned U.S. Navy Oliver Hazard Perry–class frigate. This”—he gestured vaguely toward the Pakistani order—“is not why I joined the navy. It is unprofessional and immoral. We are not . . . spies.”
Balloch sighed. The man was upset. He is young, the admiral reminded himself.
“Just because Pakistan bought this frigate from the Americans,” he said slowly, “does not make us their slaves. We steer by our stars. They steer by theirs. Don’t think the Americans would do differently, if the situation was reversed.”
Jalbani hesitated. “I don’t know, sir.”
Yes, you do. You know the Americans work for themselves, first and foremost.
“Don’t forget that doubt,” the admiral said. “Don’t forget that nothing is clear in this command but one thing: we follow the orders of our superior officers. If you are going to wear stars one day, that knowledge will serve you well.”
The commander was still not convinced, and the admiral could see it. He didn’t have time for such insubordination. “We have done a difficult thing. We will be rewarded. Don’t let a poor attitude undermine the good we have done, for ourselves and for our country. High command would not have issued this secret order unless it was important.”
Jalbani looked like a beat boxer, clinging to the ropes. The admiral softened, realizing how hard this was for him. The real world was always a shock to the young.
“Your morality is a virtue,” the admiral said. “I am pleased you came to me with these concerns. You are a man of solid timber, Commander Jalbani. But I expect you to follow my orders. I won’t explain myself to you again.”
The XO nodded, then turned and left.
Lewis dumped the last of her personal items into a burn bag. They didn’t even give her a box to clear out her cubicle.
“You got a bum deal,” Hernandez said.
“Brooks is a dick,” she said.
“Affirmative.”
“I was so sure the Eleutheria was our ship. I still am. All the data points to it. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Hernandez let out a sigh. “But it wasn’t our ship.”
“I failed,” Lewis said, unaccustomed to the feeling. The admiral expended considerable political capital in Washington to reassign CTF-151 to their search mission, over the official protests of Pakistan. Then he ordered the task force to intercept the Eleutheria, on her hunch. When the ship was cleared, it proved too much for American-Pakistani relations, and the National Security Council decided to cut CTF-151 loose rather than risk a diplomatic incident. It didn’t look good for the admiral; it looked worse for her.
“Shit rolls downhill,” she said. “Brooks was just waiting for me to slip up, then he could fire me.”
“Fate of the contractor.”
She slumped into her chair, feet up on her desk, as she stared at the ceiling. Her exhaustion was palpable.
“What are you going to do now?” Hernandez asked.
“Go home. Have a glass of chardonnay. Break out a dance movie.”