| |
––––––––
“This better be urgent, Blayne.” Sara Lauzier swept into his office like a battleship of yore under a full press of sails and took the chair facing his desk. “I can’t visit SSB headquarters too often. Otherwise, people will wonder, and that only creates problems.”
He gave her a bitter smile.
“You’ll love this. Siobhan Dunmoore made the Confederacy of the Howling Stars hand over the people they took off Athena. She apparently threatened a kinetic strike on Abaddon — that’s where the Confederacy has one of its hubs and was holding the thirty-six — if they didn’t cooperate. Jamy Daver, their top man in Rakka, didn’t think Dunmoore was bluffing. She had enough ships in geosynchronous orbit to wipe out the city and its surroundings with a single salvo of penetrators.”
Lauzier visibly blanched.
“Damn.”
“I hope you didn’t do or say anything to those thirty-six which might raise suspicions. So far, no one knows where Dunmoore and her battle group are. The squadron that took Athena left before Dunmoore made her presence overtly known, though they suspected she was there, hiding in plain sight. Dunmoore shouldn’t figure out where it went, and apparently, her ships departed on a different vector anyway.”
“The only one who knows anything is this Commodore person, and you said she fled. Considering how vast the Zone is, we should be okay.”
A chuckle.
“I shall be okay either way, Sara. It’s you I’m worried about.”
She gave him a hard stare.
“If I go down, you go down, Blayne. It’s as simple as that. Let’s hope Dunmoore doesn’t find the Commodore. We can deal with the thirty-six later.”
“You mean you can deal with them. I’m not doing anything more at this point. Disposing of your potential opponents and of unwanted family members in return for political favors was risky, to begin with. Now that it backfired, bide your time and wait. That’s the best I can recommend because the SecGen’s chair probably won’t be yours in six years at this point. If you can find a fresh source of patience, so much the better because impatience causes errors, some of them fatal. The next twelve years will pass and faster than you might expect.”
Her stare turned into a glare.
“I don’t need a lecture from you. I need solutions to prevent this from becoming a disaster.”
“What is it I should do, other than pretend we’re pleased with the outcome and a hearty Bravo Zulu for the Navy?”
“Make sure Dunmoore and her two friends at Fleet HQ, Kowalski and Holt, don’t dig any further. Let this become an investigation into sovereignists turned criminals and only that.”
Hersom sat back and contemplated her for a few seconds.
“Here’s the thing, Sara. Your father made the Grand Admiral give Dunmoore her due. I crossed swords with her during the war, and I’ll be among the first to recognize that she’s smarter and more ruthless than most flag officers. Holt? He’s enjoyed an interesting career so far. But at this moment, he’s the flag officer in Naval Intelligence who worries me the most because his division is the one charged with looking inward, investigating misdeeds by the likes of you and me, and prosecuting any sign of official corruption. And he’s good at what he does.”
“See that he’s run over by a truck or something.” Lauzier made a dismissive hand gesture. “Accidents happen, even in this town.”
“Perhaps, but Holt killed in a traffic accident would seem overly convenient in the eyes of his subordinates, who are frighteningly capable, and especially his friend, Kathryn Kowalski. She’s easily the most dangerous of the three because she’s navigating the currents and eddies of power not only in Fleet HQ but in Geneva at large as if she were born to it. And she’s the CNO’s rising star, possibly even a future Grand Admiral. Her dying of an accident at the same time as Holt? Let’s just say any fail-safes you and I put in place would pale compared to what those two likely have. As I said, let it be. Allow the Athena incident to become a minor footnote in the history of Rim Sector piracy and move on, Sara. Striving for retribution can turn into a deadly vendetta.”
“Don’t you see how they might become a major impediment, especially if this Kowalski is a potential Grand Admiral?”
“I do, but now is not the time to strike. Go home, let the Fleet do as it will because neither of us can change its course. Welcome the thirty-six as if they were your dearest blood relations, make a big show if you can stomach it, and move on. There will be other opportunities, and even if Holt’s counterintelligence specialists build a dossier on the Athena incident, nothing can touch you.”
When a disturbed and far from reassured Sara Lauzier left SSB headquarters, Hersom called in his operations chief.
“I’m proceeding on the assumption naval counterintelligence traced the communication chain between the Confederacy of the Howling Stars and us at this point. Issue orders to terminate everyone upstream of our people with extreme prejudice. I want existing links between the Confederacy and the SSB eliminated.”
“Aren’t they too useful for a complete break, sir?”
“They’ve become a liability for reasons I can’t discuss even with you, Dan. Sorry. If we need them again, we’ll do so via new channels which can’t be linked to the current ones.”
Dan bowed his head. “Very well, sir. I’ll send out the orders right away.”
“And while you’re at it, ask your contacts at Fleet HQ if they know the whereabouts of the 101st Battle Group. It seems to have vanished. No one I spoke with knew anything.”
When he was once more alone, Hersom turned to face the window, settled back, elbows on the arms of his high-backed executive chair, fingertips touching, and stared out at Lake Geneva shimmering under the bright morning sun. Helping Sara Lauzier with her insane scheme was looking more and more like a tactical mistake. Building new linkages with the Confederacy of the Howling Stars, while annoying, wouldn’t be a big deal. No one in that organization knew they were often hired by the Commonwealth’s security police via anonymous agents to carry out black ops.
No. What worried Hersom was whether or not Dunmoore found evidence in the Zone that the likes of Holt could use to undermine the SSB either directly or via Sara Lauzier. He shook his head. Dunmoore. If it wasn’t for her, the scheme might have worked perfectly, and his hirelings would have ‘rescued’ Athena, giving him complete control over how the rest of the story unfolded. And over dear Sara.
But no. Fate intervened — again. It was enough to make him wonder about the wisdom of terminating Dunmoore with extreme prejudice. Her death wouldn’t create quite the same ripples as those of Kowalski and Holt. After all, she was out on the frontier, far from the seat of power, and many in the Fleet weren’t pleased with her belated promotion. A least based on what his acquaintances in uniform told him.
Perhaps a warning might be appropriate as a first step. Pity Holt, like every other senior intelligence officer, lived in a residential housing unit on the base, where casual visitors weren’t admitted without permission. A laudable precaution in a city teeming with political backstabbers, blackmailers, and other assorted coercion artists, including those who didn’t shy from more forceful methods. But it made a subtle approach difficult. So be it.
Several minutes later, Commodore Ezekiel Holt’s face appeared on Hersom’s office display. Though he showed no reaction at a call from the SSB’s director general, he could almost sense curiosity oozing from every pore, even through a secure comlink.
“What can I do for you, Mister Hersom?”
“Join me for a cup of coffee or tea in the Palace of the Stars’ Commonwealth Café. How does fifteen hundred hours this afternoon sound?”
Holt nodded.
“I can do that. Fifteen hundred hours it is.”
“See you then.”
Hersom cut the link and turned his chair to face the lake again.
When he entered the almost empty café a few minutes before three, Hersom found Commodore Holt already seated in one of the private booths by the east-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows, nursing a cup of green tea. Hersom grabbed a coffee at the bar and joined him moments later.
“Thank you for coming, Commodore.”
Both men studied each other for a few seconds.
“I’ll confess to overwhelming curiosity, Mister Hersom. You’re not in the habit of meeting flag officers informally on neutral ground.”
“Seeing as how we both serve the Commonwealth, isn’t the term neutral ground a bit overwrought? Aren’t we on the same side?” Hersom took a sip of coffee. “They do it better here than anywhere else. At least in my opinion.”
“Probably, but I’ve reached my daily caffeine intake limit. So, why am I here?” Holt asked, pointedly ignoring Hersom’s questions.
“Did you know this was once called the Serpent Bar, back in the days before the Palace became the seat of humanity’s interstellar government? It’s a shame the first SecGen changed it. The original name was not only amusing but on point, considering the business transacted in this complex by our honorable elected officials.”
Holt raised his tea mug and, before taking a sip, said, “I’ve studied the Palace’s history, among others.”
“Good for you. History is a fascinating subject, one whose importance few people understand. Which is why it has a habit of repeating itself, to humanity’s detriment. And isn’t that the essence of our jobs, yours and mine? Trying to prevent the worst parts of history repeating?”
Another sip.
“Take the growing unrest in the colonies and outer sectors these days, for example. Doesn’t that remind you of another dark era, one which saw hundreds of millions dead, whole cities razed, and marginal settlements made uninhabitable? Part of it, of course, is human nature, civilization being merely a thin veneer hiding the primitive beast. But what shatters that veneer is often loss of trust in the institutions that bind our societies. Sometimes, they no longer deserve said trust, or as certain civilizations put it long ago, they lose the mandate of heaven. Sometimes, the people are seized by the madness of a cause and turn on the one thing keeping the beast at bay — our venerable institutions. Yet too often, no matter who’s at fault, the end results are disastrous, and that is something you and I, and those alongside whom we serve must prevent.”
“Indeed, Mister Hersom. However, we, the protectors of the state, also frequently disagree on what should and shouldn’t be done. What’s moral or immoral, democratic or tyrannical, right or wrong.”
“Oh, absolutely, Commodore. That’s why we must find common ground to build a joint vision, one aimed at preserving our institutions and the peace that depends on their smooth functioning. And while doing so, we cannot let the failings and foibles of individuals, perhaps even their misdeeds, stand in our way. On the contrary, we should always take the long view, no matter what obstacles or hiccups occur in the short term. It accrues not only to our advantage but that of society as a whole.” He flashed a smile at Holt. “Who indeed wants to be known as the one guilty of needlessly precipitating a crisis?”
Hersom finished his coffee, placed the cup on the table, and stood.
“Thank you for joining me. Enjoy the rest of your day.”