by David Poyer
Teddy cringed. “Take a crap.” He pointed to his ass.
The guard’s eyes widened. “Manwei bowgow,” he shouted, face contorting. “Manwei bowgow!”
Teddy got it that time. He bowed again, lower this time. Murmured, humbly, “Manwei bowgow, you officious cat turd.”
“Zhe shi gang heshi de! Ni zhang yao shenme?”
Teddy pointed to his ass again, then off to behind the coal piles. The guard shook his head, scowling. He nodded to the bare dirt by the rail line, where, Teddy saw, other prisoners had left their meager droppings.
As he trudged up the embankment, the first stars were coming out, low in the west. He blinked up at them, mind empty.
He was squatting, pants down, when shouting erupted. The guards were aiming at a distant figure. Arms pumping, it was shrinking into the desert. At a word of command, four shots popped in the stillness. The figure jerked, then toppled.
As Teddy had hoped, when it was time to reshackle, the guards didn’t bother to match up names. They just counted a hundred heads into each car, and resecured them. He and Magpie drifted together and got locked into the same snaffle. They started a low conversation as the train jolted back into motion. Rolling north.
Away from the sea.
27
USS Savo Island
AISHA waited outside the unit commander’s stateroom. As the appointed time approached, they showed up, one by one: Toan, the master-at-arms. His burlier assistant. Cheryl Staurulakis, pasty and shell-shocked. The command master chief, leathery-faced Tausengelt. They filed inside, grim-faced and unspeaking.
The news had raced through the ship. Three people had told her at breakfast. Apparently she was one of the last to know, since she hadn’t been on watch, or in one of the berthing compartments, to be wakened and whispered to.
She’d tidied up the front room, and moved all her belongings into the smaller bunkoom. Leaving the coffee table cleared, and the chairs—including the one the intruder had clubbed her with two nights previous—ranged against the bulkhead. She shivered. It was so cold. Was something wrong with the heating? The engine noise seemed louder too, and the ship rolled from time to time, hard and long, as if something monstrous had it in its jaws and was tasting it before biting down in earnest.
Finally Lenson arrived. The CO murmured “Hello, Hal” to Toan, raising an eyebrow. The chief master-at-arms flashed shining metal cuffs from a jumpsuit pocket, then concealed them again. Aisha was wearing a loose flowered wrap over her jumpsuit, and under it, a shoulder holster. She reached in to check the loaded-and-locked 9mm. The baton was in the pocket of her cargo pants. She’d carried both ever since the attack.
A tap at the door. “Come in,” Tausengelt called.
Dr. William Noblos half ducked to enter, then halted, glaring around. His escort, one of the junior masters-at-arms, closed the door and went to parade rest, blocking the exit. Aisha tracked the scientist’s glance. It went around the room and dwelt on her. Then dropped—involuntarily, perhaps—to the knife-gouge in the tile.
“What the hell’s this?” he said angrily. “They’ve left you staked out here, Dan. Roosevelt’s gone. The Philippines are under attack. The only way we’re staying alive is if I can keep those radars going. Keep fighting until Washington gets the picture. We’ve lost, we’re defeated, we have to pull back.”
Lenson seemed to ruminate an answer, but looked to her instead. “Agent? You have the floor.”
She stepped forward as Toan moved in from the other side. “William Noblos, you’re under arrest.”
He grinned. “Arrest? On what specious, idiotic charge?”
“Rape, malicious wounding, and attempted murder.” She glanced at Toan, and nodded.
Noblos stepped back as the chief approached. Under the wrap, Aisha’s hand went for her pistol. But instead of resisting, the physicist raised his voice. “No need. I’m cooperating. But this is bullshit. Captain, think. Your ALIS team can barely read your AREPS data. Your radar’s out of parameters. Mitscher’s gone. The Japanese have pulled out. You’re putting your whole crew at risk. For what? Because some airhead says she got groped?”
Lenson, after a moment, put out a hand. “Chief. Stand down.”
“Sir?” Toan halted, looking puzzled.
“He’s not resisting. Let him have his say.”
Aisha started to object, then glanced at the captain and didn’t. Those gray eyes glittered like sea ice. “So, go on then. What are you saying, Bill? That you didn’t rape Petty Officer Terranova, and try to murder the special agent here? Show me I’ve got the wrong guy. I’ll be happy to call this off.”
The J-phone on the bulkhead squealed, making everyone jump. Tausengelt answered in a low voice. Handed it off to the exec. Staurulakis nodded, glanced at Lenson.
“What is it, Cheryl?”
“They want one of us in CIC. I’ll go?”
The captain nodded. “Call if you need me.… Okay now, where were we?”
As the door closed behind the exec, Noblos smiled frostily. “You were making threats, Dan. Accusing me of something I didn’t do. If I can prove I’m innocent, you’ll call it off? You’ll have to call it off anyway! Why bother with this charade?” He grimaced. “Oh, I see. To rattle me. Make me come clean. Well, I don’t think so.”
He shifted that contemptuous grin to Aisha. “Or, wait. It was her idea, right? I’m going to break down, blurt out a confession. Does that work with the teenaged seamen you usually grill, Special Agent? Frightened ignoramuses who have no idea of their rights? Do you understand who I am, what I’ve done for the Ballistic Missile Defense Organization, the national missile defense program, the Defense Science Board?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Aisha tapped the toe of her boot on the scarred tile. “We have your knife. Your blanket. Your videos. Very interesting viewing. Plus gun-camera footage of you in the helo hangar, in the supply fan room, and in the Equipment Room on the 03 level with Terranova.”
This wasn’t actually true. The gaps in the taped record, which they were assuming showed him, had been deleted or overwritten. But the point right now wasn’t to stick to facts, but to force an admission. “You were in here two days ago, with that knife. I identified you then. I’d say we’re airtight, without any admissions from you at all.” She paused, reflecting once more that they still hadn’t been able to break the encryption on the files. They were guessing what was on there. To that extent, he was right; she was bluffing, hoping for a breakdown, a confession.
Which she still might get, if she could play on that overweening pride. His conviction that he operated above everyone else’s intellectual level, that they were ants creeping about his feet. “But you deserve to be on the record, Doctor. So what did you want to say? Now’s your chance to tell us.”
Noblos tossed his head, eyeing Toan, who still hovered between him and the captain. “Why should I say anything? As soon as those cuffs are on, I’m entitled to counsel. Correct, Special Agent?”
“Um … correct,” she murmured. Not under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, but if they were going to charge him under MEJA, he was right. “You are so entitled.” She added, “I see you’ve looked up the relevant statutes, in anticipation of your arrest. Still a step ahead of us, I guess.”
He smiled. “It’s not that hard.” He tilted his head toward the chairs. “If you don’t mind. Since you’re obviously having second thoughts about staging your little drama. Dan?”
“Not a problem,” Lenson said. After a moment, he pulled down a chair too, facing the physicist across the coffee table. She wasn’t really sure how or when it had happened, but the confrontation was between the two men now, with the rest reduced to onlookers.
Noblos said, “All right, let’s set up the problem. What exactly am I being accused of?”
“Like the agent said. Assault, rape, attempted murder.”
“Ridiculous. You’d never bring me to trial.”
Lenson regarded him steadily. Aisha remembered the
scuttlebutt about this captain: that he’d actually once executed a murderer; hanged him, aboard an old destroyer. She didn’t believe it, but something about his cold stare made her shiver. “Oh, I think we could,” he said.
“You can’t bullshit me, about those disks. None of you could break the encryption I put on them.”
“The Justice Department can.”
“No, Captain. Not even them. Maybe the NSA, but it would take years of supercomputer time. Which I doubt they’d be willing to commit, in the middle of a war. It’s a block cipher with a 128-bit key. No one’s ever going to see what’s on there unless I give them the key.”
“So what’s on them?” Aisha put in. “Your home movies?”
The hard smile turned on her. “Test-results data. Tuning algorithms. Highly classified software.”
“Not video footage? Your rape records?”
“What an imagination, Special Agent. You should write for television.”
Lenson said, “What about the knife? The blanket? Longley identified it as yours.”
Noblos rolled his eyes. “A knife? Someone planted it. I don’t own one. The blanket? Yeah, that’s mine. Someone stole it from my room. I’d like it back, by the way. There’s nothing that proves it was at your crime scenes. Just the assertions of a couple of hysterical women.” Noblos caught himself. “I mean, no doubt they were attacked. But not by me. The agent here needs to do her job. Not persecute someone who’s out here at great personal risk to help his country.”
“I believe her,” Lenson said.
Noblos pulled a face. “So … what? You arrest me? Confine me to quarters? You can’t.”
“Try me,” the captain said. “You’re not getting away with these crimes. I promise you that.”
Noblos addressed the compartment at large. “Let’s sum up. None of you can prove a thing. But even if you could, you can’t do without me. Not if you hope to survive out here.
“Actually, come to think of it, right now, arresting me would be the best thing for the ship all around.”
Lenson blinked. “How do you reach that conclusion?”
Noblos spread his hands, as if explaining trigonometry to a first grader. “Simple. Confine me, and in a very short time, your Aegis is useless. Your SPY-1 detunes. Especially Illuminator One. ALIS degrades.
“Therefore, your ship has no combat value. At which point you can retreat, and offload me. Everybody wins.”
“Without charges?” Aisha put in, at the same time that Lenson said, “We’re not retreating,” in a flat voice. He interrupted himself and looked to her. “Sorry, Special Agent. This should be your show.”
“Is that really what you expect?” she asked Noblos. Trying to take over again.
The physicist shrugged, still speaking to the CO. “Charge me, and I stop work. The next incoming missile, air strike, takes your precious ship out. Kills the crew you’re worrying so much about. Your choice, Captain. But that’s what they pay you for, right? To make the tough calls?”
Lenson glanced at her. She opened her hands to convey that, essentially, the scientist was right. She couldn’t take him into custody against the wishes of the command.
Noblos looked from one to the other, then sighed. “Very well then. We’re in agreement. And I’m free to go.”
When he stood, Toan reached for the cuffs again. Tausengelt, too, went to stop him. But Lenson waved them off. “Belay that. He’s got us over a barrel.”
Toan gaped. “We can’t let him remain free. Roaming the passageways. Sir?”
“I have no intention of that, Sheriff. We’re shorthanded, but you’ll just have to bird-dog him. Who do we—”
Aisha gripped the pistol under her wrap. “I’ll do it.”
Lenson frowned at her. “You, Special Agent?”
She swallowed. The stairwell. His reeking breath. “I, uh … don’t have a general-quarters assignment. As far as fighting, I’m a spare wheel. The least I can do is keep an eye on this … suspect.”
“My own personal minder,” Noblos said drily. “Aren’t you afraid of me, Aisha? That I’ll get you in a corner and work my will?”
She met his amused stare with as stony a glare as she could muster. “Not really. But if you did try it again, I’d have to shoot you.”
Lenson nodded again. “Fair enough. All right, he’s yours. CIC, Aegis spaces, his cabin, the wardroom. Nowhere else. He wants to sleep, lock him in. And once we get home, Doctor, I’m turning you in for prosecution.”
“A deal I can’t refuse.” Noblos’s sneer was open now. “And you imagine I’ll go along with being railroaded? You have no evidence. Just this crazy woman’s imagination. She can’t come up with the real doer, so it’s got to be somebody who’s not in ship’s company. Or is it actually you, Captain? Did you ever think of that, Special Agent? That it’s really him?”
Aisha didn’t answer. Just stood, looking to the skipper. Who put his hands down flat on the table and rose.
“You can’t even answer.” Noblos shook his head sadly. “Pathetic, the lot of you. Without me, you’d already be dead. You’re fooling yourselves. I won’t be prosecuted. They wouldn’t dare.”
Steel shuddered around them as the ship slammed into a heavy sea. “I’ll be in Combat,” Lenson said to no one in particular. Then, to her, “Let me know if you have any problems with him.”
Noblos turned his back. She took advantage of that to reach under her wrap. Pretending to adjust her bra, she clicked the safety off the SIG, then followed her new charge out.
28
SAIC, Tysons Corner
BLAIR was in the conference room when the news arrived. She’d had to park some distance away. The lot, including where her space was, had been blocked off. Power diggers were gouging out earth. General Tomlin, the chair, Ms. Clayton, and the others were taking their seats when the new staffer barged in. Without a word, Reich turned on the television. They watched, appalled, as a stony-faced anchor spoke against a background still of a carrier departing port, sailors lining the rails, families waving from the pier.
“Details are sketchy. But the Department of Defense has confirmed that a possible nuclear explosion was reported early this morning. The presumed target was a U.S. task force on its way to support our allies in the Western Pacific. Five to six Navy ships are out of communication and may be lost. A Canadian ship reports heavy damage. It is searching for survivors, but encountering high seas and bad weather.”
The anchor paused, then went on, tone of voice somber. “Critics of the administration are already asking why the force was sent into a war zone without antimissile protection. Apparently an escort was planned, but was not yet ready for deployment. The group was directed to sail without it.”
“Let’s see what Fox has to say.” The general spoke soberly too, as if he’d suffered a personal loss.
The conservative network had little to add, except for a report that a Coast Guard cutter attempting to rescue survivors had been torpedoed. “But if this dreadful news is confirmed, America must strike back.”
Clayton said acidly, “Yesterday everyone was saying we had no business in the Pacific. Nothing official yet?”
The aide shook her head, still watching the screen.
Which now showed a blue-suited officer against the seal of the U.S. Pacific Command. The banner read “Live from Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Briefing by spokesperson for U.S. Pacific Fleet. Loss of USS Roosevelt strike group.”
The officer began reading from a prepared text, gaze not meeting the camera. “A possible nuclear detonation was reported by units in the Western Pacific at approximately 0210 Pacific time this morning. A large explosion was confirmed from national sensing sources, localized to a position several hundred miles west of Guam.
“Five ships fail to respond to attempts at communication. The ships are: attack carrier USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. Destroyer USS Elisha Eaker. Destroyer USS Richmond P. Hobson. USS Crommelin, a frigate. USS Salisbury, a littoral combat ship or frigate.
> “A weak signal from HMCS Protecteur, a Canadian replenishment vessel that was part of the strike group, reports experiencing heavy damage from an explosion. She is searching for survivors, but encountering high seas, bad weather, and radiation contamination. Any further details must be considered as rumor until confirmed. We are attempting to reestablish communication, receive damage reports, and vector submarine and other units to the scene to assist in rescue of any survivors. Our communications are still degraded. However, even if their main comm links were damaged, U.S. Navy ships have enough backup systems that they should have reported in by now.
“Based on that fact, and on a report by a Saipanese fishing trawler east of the detonation area, we have to presume that at the very least, American forces have suffered heavy damage. Each Nimitz-class carrier carries upwards of six thousand personnel. Adding in the crews of the escort units, total casualties may be as high as seven to eight thousand.
“We … hope the numbers will not be that high. New Zealand and Australia have offered search and rescue assistance, to add to those missions already being conducted by U.S. national forces.”
The briefer lowered his head and coughed into a fist. Touched his eyes, then continued. “In comparison: About two thousand four hundred soldiers, sailors, and civilians were killed in the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941. And just under three thousand military and civilian dead on September 11, 2001.
“We will provide additional information as it becomes available.”
The staffer switched from channel to channel but got only the same footage. Blair sat frozen. They hadn’t mentioned Savo, and Dan’s ship wasn’t part of that strike group, as far as she knew. But a loss of this magnitude … it was devastating.
“We have how many carriers in the Pacific?” the general murmured.
“Two,” Ms. Clayton told him. “Unless we find Roosevelt is still afloat.”
“Which doesn’t sound likely,” Blair put in. “The reporters are giving us hope that they’re just not answering the radio, but is there really any? With heavy seas, radioactivity—”