Op File Sanction

by J. Clifton Slater

  With little headroom, she low crawled along the tops looking for opened lids or loose flaps. At the wall, she followed the boxes along the bulkhead. It was taking too long and didn’t feel right. Rolling over on her back, she lifted the PID and typed.

  ‘Poet. How long until you send the second message from the Admiral?’

  ‘One hour,’ he replied. ‘Himari is here looking at photos.’

  ‘Let me know when you have something and when you start broadcasting.’

  ‘Himari keeps asking to speak with an experienced Striker.’

  ‘Let him, after he identifies the pharmacist mate. It’ll give him an incentive.’

  ‘I don’t remember being that young.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He wants food.’

  ‘Shove energy bars into his face and tell him it’s all Strikers get while on a mission.’

  ‘Those are nasty.’

  ‘It’s one of the secrets to why Strikers are so mean.’

  ‘Is that true?”

  ‘Warlock, out.’

  Diosa began to question if the pharmacy mate was the linchpin of a spy ring or just a drug thief. Deciding to test the theory, she scurried down the containers and pulled up the ID numbers for controlled substances. According to Yoshio, these were emergency medical supplies and the boxes should contain everything from gauze dressings to narcotics for pain.

  On her PID, Diosa pulled up the RDC, Realm Drug Code: Generic name Roxicodone, 15 MG tablets, Brand name oxycodone, HCl. The Realm Drug Code number was 23635058110. Armed with the code, she began looking for containers marked with the number.

  It didn’t take long to locate boxes destined for a combat pharmacy. Whether a field hospital or an area set up as a temporary medical deck, the doctors would need a pharmacy. And those supplies were grouped with each container clearly marked. Security tape sealed the containers and the code was stamped on the tape. To further identify the category of drugs, the narcotics had blue lines around the black numbers. The system made it easier for handlers to properly disperse the containers in times of crisis. And, the unbroken security tape made it simple to inspect and assure no one had tampered with the boxes.

  At first glance, it appeared the containers were intact. Warlock lifted her goggle and rested it on her forehead. Then she untucked her utility blouse and pulled the tail over her head. In the shadow created by the fabric, she attempted to scan the boxes with her UV beam.

  Shades of light brown and smudged blue flowed across her mind. As always, her color sensor gave undefined hues with no gray or black outline to mark the edges and separate the boxes and security tape. Diosa concentrated and after a few attempts, her ultraviolet beam activated.

  Nothing fluoresced on the first two 23635058110 boxes. As she shifted the UV beam to the third, a smudge glowed on the corner. Following the pristine security tape, Diosa located more smears on the other edge. Reaching out, she gripped the container of oxycodone and pulled. After a hard tug, the box slid out as if it was a drawer in a cabinet.

  Even with a box missing the stack remained intact. Leaning down, she noticed metal plates had been placed to bridge the gap and support the boxes above the opening. Diosa rotated the box and saw where the security tape had been replaced. Someone had absolutely opened and resealed the box of oxycodone.

  A drug dealer or user, she figured. The hope of finding the relay spy from a blind tip began to fade as she reinserted the box. While tempting, bringing a thief to justice wasn’t part of her mission. Diosa tucked her blouse into her trousers and began smoothing the material. That’s when the hatch clanged as someone opened it.

  Chapter 16 – Useless Confessions

  Warlock slipped to the rear stack and squatted down. At the sound of feet scraping, she peered around and watched as a sailor tugged the hatch closed. Before he turned, she pulled back. It appeared she would have to take the drug dealer into custody then get on with finding the spy.

  He walked heavily making it easy for the Striker to track his movements. She expected him to go to the drug stack but the steps went to the aisle on the other side. The sounds of a box sliding out and being placed on the floor, she understood. Next it sounded as if plastic pieces were being rubbed together. Rounding the stack, Warlock crept to the aisle. After a glance in, she smiled and pulled the baton from her belt. Based on the sliding box trick, she had located a drug thief as well as the cut-out man.

  “This can go one of two ways,” offered Warlock while stepping into view. She tapped the baton on her thigh so the man on his knees with an earphone held against the side of his head could see the weapon. He dropped his arm and she added. “We talk and you walk out of here.”

  When she didn’t continue, he asked. “What’s the second way?”

  “I ask questions and you answer. You get carried out of here later,” Warlock informed him. “Much later. One could say painfully later.”

  He looked down at the data pad in front of him and moved a hand towards it. Warlock leaped forward and struck him across the ear. Hard enough to rock him sideways, off his knees, and onto the deck.

  “There will be no tampering with evidence, Petty Officer,” Warlock warned.

  Holding his ear, the Navy NCO scooted away until his back was against the containers.

  “I confess. I’ve been stealing and selling drugs,” he offered. “Call security.”

  “That was easy. Crawl over here and spread out on the deck,” Warlock instructed by pointing at a spot with the baton. “Then we’ll discuss security.”

  Once he was face down in the center aisle, Warlock removed his belt and used it to tie his hands. Then she took his PID and pulled him to a sitting position.

  “Security. Security. Security,” she repeated while gently rapping his shoulder with the baton.

  “What?” the Petty Officer asked.

  “We’ve just talked about security, as promised,” Warlock replied. “Now let’s discuss your other transgressions. And your partners.”

  ***

  ‘I have a customer,’ Diosa sent to Walden. ‘One Petty Officer Mareli. He deals in drugs and hidden receivers.’

  ‘Miguel Mareli is an interesting man,’ came back the reply a few seconds later. ‘He buys and sells things on the net as a side business.’

  ‘A lot of people have part-time jobs.’

  ‘Mareli only has one buyer, and he paid Mareli far more than market value for the goods.’

  ‘You think he is laundering money through the net business?’

  ‘He was. But nine months ago, the profits took a dive,’ sent Walden. ‘I wonder what happened nine months ago?’

  ‘Let me know if you find anything else,’ Diosa typed, confident that Poet’s curiosity would keep him investigating. ‘I’ll see what he has to say.’

  ‘Depending on the manner of communications between the cut-out and the operator, you may not have a lot of time.’

  ‘I’ll work my girlish charms on him.’

  ‘Having seen prior results of your charms, I feel for the petty officer.’

  ‘Don’t. He is a spy and a traitor. He’ll only get what he deserves.’

  ‘See, right there is what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Warlock out.’

  ***

  Diosa shifted from her PID to see a smug look on Miguel Mareli’s face.

  “You seem pretty content,” she commented while lifting the goggle. “Even pleased with the situation.”

  “I’ll spend a few months in the brig and take my dishonorable discharge,” Miguel responded. “No sweat. I’ll be back on Dos and out of this war. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “A few months? That may not be true for a drug thief and user.”

  “I am not a drug user,” he stated. “Plus, I’ll get a reduced sentence for naming the people in my distribution network.”

  His ammonia and carbon dioxide levels remained constant as did his blood pressure.

  “You’re an Empress sympat
hizer and a spy,” Warlock accused, hoping to get a rise out of him.

  “I’m just a businessman,” Mareli declared.

  His levels rose slightly but not enough to identify him as a liar. Diosa was missing something. Lifting her PID, she sent a message to Walden.

  ‘He confessed to the drugs but doesn’t consider himself a spy. Find me something to pry the truth out of him, before I do.’

  ‘Keep it sheathed, Warlock. I’m working on it.’

  If Mareli had changed expressions while Warlock was texting, she might not have had the idea. But the constant smirk caused her to view the expression differently. It wasn’t confidence the drug dealer was displaying on his face.

  “I have the receiver and my analyst can easily trace the download of the Constabulary’s messages to it,” Diosa said while pointing at the data pad. “And I have the operator. What makes you think I wouldn’t summarily execute you?”

  “You, you wouldn’t. You need my testimony to take down the drug network,” he blurted out.

  “I see. You think I’m with NIS and my career depends on making arrests,” Warlock offered as she folded the baton. “Nope, wrong on both counts. Let’s just say, my bosses don’t care about the justice system or how I get results. If you are a dead end, then so be it.”

  In three smooth motions, Warlock stuffed the baton in her pocket, lifted her left leg, and drew a knife from an ankle sheath.

  “That’s not how this works,” pleaded Mareli. “The last time…”

  He stopped in mid-sentence and his facial expression changed to one of horror.

  “Well, I guess if you gave me something,” Warlock said leaving an opening for the petty officer.

  The smirk returned and Diosa identified the emotion. It wasn’t confidence. For some reason, Miguel Mareli was relieved at being discovered.

  ‘Poet. Give me something,’ she typed.

  ‘Mareli is a good pharmacist mate but trouble while off duty. His job performance and the war were the only reasons he was permitted to reenlist. That was eight months ago,’ Walden sent back. ‘I’m still looking.’

  Warlock twirled the knife to be sure Mareli was focused on the sharp weapon while she thought. The petty officer had mentioned getting out of the war and going home. Yet, he reenlisted.

  “You are obviously a shrewd operator and too smart to be in the service,” Warlock complimented Mareli. “Why did you re-up?”

  “To serve the Realm,” he replied.

  His vitals rose to recognizable levels at the lie.

  “Until nine months ago you were banking pesetas and nearing the end of your enlistment. Then your earnings dropped and you extended,” Warlock described. “What happened Mareli? And don’t lie to me again.”

  “What if I do?” he demanded. “You can’t just kill me no matter what you say.”

  Diosa typed on her PID, waited for an answer, then held the device so the petty officer could read it.

  ‘Poet. If Miguel Mareli dies accidentally under interrogation, what punishment or charges will I face?’

  ‘None, Warlock. Your mission is sanctioned. Should I send a body bag?’

  Mareli’s face became devoid of expression and one of his eyes twitched.

  “I need protection,” he exclaimed.

  The increased ammonia and carbon dioxide didn’t peak. They held steady at the elevated levels. He was nervous; not fabricating a story.

  “I told you, I’m not law enforcement,” Warlock informed the drug dealer. Mareli deflated and slumped forward. The defeated man lifted his eyes as if pleading with her for understanding. She let him suffer for several seconds before continuing. “That being said, I am not without resources. Give me reasons to expose myself and call in help to protect a spy.”

  “I am not a spy,” he insisted. “They just have me listen to broadcasts, write down a group of phrases, and pass them on.”

  “Back up. How did this start?”

  “Up till nine months ago, I had the An Tiodhlac Òir dialed in,” explained Mareli. “It started with taking a few pills from the pharmacy for some friends. They insisted I take payment. That started me lifting additional narcotics and making more pesetas. Demand grew and I hired a few sailors for distribution. When an inventory of the pharmacy discovered the missing pills, I started slipping into storage decks and lifting product from there.”

  Warlock clenched her fists. His product as he called it, would mean pain and suffering for injured Marines, sailors, and Strikers when the emergency supplies were used. She only let him talk unharmed as everything he said was true.

  “With two months left, I thought about selling the business. Pesetas were flowing in and I figured I could cash out before I went home. I even vetted a couple of prospective buyers. Everything was going great until one night,” he informed her. “I returned to my quarters and found an envelope. Inside were photos of me in the storage compartments taking the narcotics. Incriminating, but I didn’t worry. If it was security, I’d already been busted. I ignored the pictures. The next night, there was another envelope. In that one was pictures of my back. Taken throughout the day, when I was exposed and someone could easily stab me. To highlight the thought, that night there was a knife in an envelope along with pictures of all my distributors.”

  “Someone was trying hard to get your attention,” offered Diosa. “What did you do?”

  “I closed down the business,” he assured her. “What else could I do? I was a marked man. But it wasn’t enough. During mid-watch, someone came into my quarters, put a razor against my throat and asked how badly did I want to stay out of prison and remain alive. That’s when I got my first order to monitor a broadcast, pick out phrases, and relay the notes. From there, I began to do it weekly. After every delivery, a small number of pesetas were deposited in my account. When my release date came up, again I was asked about prison and death. I re-upped and here we are.”

  “And you thought I was security and would arrest you,” suggested Warlock.

  “Yes. It was a way off this ship and out from under a death sentence,” he admitted. “But you aren’t. Where does that leave me?”

  “And you really don’t know who threatened you and made you work for them?”

  “Not a clue master sergeant. I swear.”

  From his vitals, Diosa knew he was telling the truth. Miguel Mareli wasn’t a good guy by any stretch but he wasn’t a spymaster either.

  “I have one more question before I decide what to do with you,” Diosa said.

  ***

  ‘Walden. I need three Strikers and a body bag,’ Warlock sent.

  ‘I assume you extracted information before he expired.’

  ‘Mareli is not dead. But he is going to be more trouble than a corpse.’

  ‘What could be worse than disposing of a carcass?’

  ‘Sneaking a living being off a warship.’

  ‘One body bag, a laundry cart, and three Strikers are on the way.’

  Chapter 17 – Dead Meat and Dead Drops

  Warlock sat in a chair watching Poet. At a workbench, her researcher peered through a magnifying glass at a black dot he placed on the bottom of a pill bottle. Then, Walden glued a tiny piece of cobalt blue plastic over the marker that matched the color of the bottle. Turning, he held up the seven-centimeter container.

  “You’ll need to stay close for your tracker to read the radiation signature,” Walden explained. “I still don’t understand why you don’t just grab him when he takes the bottle.”

  “If the operator used a cut-out for the messages, it’s a good bet he’ll use the same procedure for the dead drop,” Diosa replied. “I want to follow and see if there’s a handoff.”

  “If he opens it, pulls out the message, and disposes of the bottle?”

  “Then I’ll collect his unconscious body and take him somewhere for questioning,” Warlock assured him.

  Poet didn’t question her description. He knew his unrestricted agent’s methods.

  “Bes
ides we know the general direction where he’ll be heading,” Warlock continued.

  “My profile is very general,” Poet warned. “It may not be a man or a Navy pilot.”

  “Pilots go to the medical deck regularly for checkups. And, they have the opportunity to send a narrow beam message while flying the screen,” Warlock listed. “Plus, they wouldn’t attract attention wandering around the ship.”

  “There is still the question of how an officer wasn’t seen in the petty officers berthing section,” Poet reminded her.

  “It confirms he’s Navy and probably a pilot. Pull the rank and name tabs off a flight suit and he could pass as a member of a flight crew,” responded Diosa. “I’m going to assume, he’ll head for the pilot’s quarters to decode the Admiral’s message. By the way, what does it say?”

  While they talked, Walden had placed a blank label around the pill bottle. In response to her question, he held up several pieces of hygienic tissue paper typically used by the medical staff to wipe off overflow from eye and ear drops.

  “Admiral Nesta 4th Deallus is requesting a count of ship to ship rockets. If we miss the spy on this round, we’ll catch him at the munition’s bunkers,” suggested Walden. Then he paused and studied the writing on the tissue paper. “Mareli has a nice, light hand. Let me add something to the profile. The Constabulary spy will practice calligraphy or ink drawing.”

  “Do you have a reason or are you just admiring Mareli’s block lettering?”

  “After decoding the message, the infiltrator will need to dispose of the tissues and his notes,” explained Walden. “Burning them might set off fire alarms. Soak both in water and the writing will smear. But it leaves the messy papers and, if the operator does it once a week, someone might notice the regularity of damp and stained papers in the recycling bin.”

  “He has gone through considerable trouble to hide,” ventured Diosa. “Using a hobby that generates damp paper with smeared ink to mask the disposal of the messages makes sense.”