“Yes, sir,” Cecelia said. “What . . . what are you going to do to him?”
William sighed. It was easy to feel sorry for Parker—and, no doubt, when the case finally came to trial, the defense lawyer would spin a sob story for the jury. But Parker had managed to get several hundred crewmen killed and a number of ships destroyed or put permanently out of commission. There couldn’t be mercy . . .
“It would depend on just how cooperative he’s feeling,” he said finally. The Theocracy might not realize the spy had been caught . . . assuming, of course, that Parker was the spy and he wasn’t following a wild goose chase. “But that will be up to the captain.”
“Yes, sir,” Cecelia said.
William rose, headed out of the office, and walked through the tactical department. Parker didn’t look any different, even though he was certainly guilty at the very least of concealing the fact he could be blackmailed. But the XO hadn’t really expected horns growing out of his skull. He did look tense, but that proved nothing. Half the crew looked tense when they had a moment to think about just how impossibly unlikely the ambush had been.
He keyed his wristcom as soon as he was out of the department. “I have a suspect,” he said shortly. “Set up to receive him in tactical chamber five, then have Roach call him into the compartment.”
“Aye, Commander,” Davidson said. He sounded disgustingly fresh and alert, although William had a suspicion he’d spent the night in the captain’s cabin. On the other hand, anyone who’d lived through boot camp would be able to survive on three to four hours of sleep a day. “I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
And hope to hell we got the right one, William thought. Technically, the captain had the authority to order an interrogation on weak—or even nonexistent—grounds, but it wouldn’t look good when the ship returned to port. Because if we didn’t, we’ll have to interrogate the entire tactical crew.
Tactical chamber five was really nothing more than a small briefing compartment, used to demonstrate tactical concepts to the crew and rehearse operational plans before showing them to the commanding officers. The Marines took it over quickly, then called Roach and asked him to send Parker to the chamber. It wouldn’t alert the suspect, William hoped. The tactical staff were often asked to go through minor concepts by their superior officers; now, after the squadron had been ambushed, there was good reason to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb. Moments later, Parker stepped through the hatch and was promptly grabbed by two Marines.
Davidson stepped forward. “Lieutenant Parker, we have strong reason to believe that you have been working as an enemy intelligence agent,” he said formally. “By authority of the War Powers Act, it is my duty to subject you to an enhanced interrogation procedure. I am obliged to warn you that your normal rights and legal protections have been placed in abeyance and the captain will stand in judgment over you. However, if you cooperate, the case will be placed in front of a court-martial once we return to Tyre.”
He nodded to the Marines, who cuffed Parker to a chair. “Do you have anything you want to say for yourself before we begin?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Parker said. “I wasn’t given a choice!”
“I see,” Davidson said. He gentled his voice, slightly. “Tell us everything, starting from the beginning.”
William listened, carefully, as the whole story slipped out. Parker’s sister had been captured on Cadiz. The Theocracy had then contacted him on Tyre and told him to spy for them if he didn’t want his sister brutally raped and murdered. He’d requested assignment to the squadron in the belief it would be going somewhere safe, somewhere where he would have an excuse for not being very useful, but instead he’d discovered himself in enemy space. And they would have known if he hadn’t done anything to help them . . .
And he betrayed the entire crew, William thought coldly. We cannot let him live.
“How did you send the messages?” Davidson asked. “What tricks did you use?”
“Reprogrammed the communication nodes,” Parker explained. “It was the only way to get a message out without it being logged.”
William sighed, then drew Davidson aside for a brief consultation. “Drug him and verify as much of the story as possible, then transfer him to the brig as secretly as possible,” he ordered. It wouldn’t be easy to conceal the fact they’d taken a prisoner, but with so many crewmen moving around it should be possible to conceal just what had happened to Lieutenant Parker. “Captain Falcone will have to decide his fate.”
“Yes, sir,” Davidson said. “We might be able to use him.”
“I think so,” William said. They’d have to sit down and go through everything with Parker, but there wasn’t any strong reason why that couldn’t be done. “Send them a piece of information to misdirect them . . . you never know.”
He sighed. The only upside to the whole affair, at least, was that they’d found the spy. But were there any others? Even if there were none, and Parker probably wouldn’t know if there were, the crew’s trust had been broken. The long-term consequences could be disastrous.
“I’m going to report to the captain,” he said. “Write out a full report, then forward it to both of us.”
“Of course, sir,” Davidson said. He looked at Parker. “A weak man, at the end.”
“Yeah,” William agreed. “But at least he can’t do any more harm.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Captain?”
Kat glanced at the hatch, then muttered a curse under her breath. “Come in!”
The door opened, revealing the XO. “You didn’t answer the buzzer,” he said. “I was worried.”
“I’m fine,” Kat said, crossly. She glanced down at the datapad in her hand. “I was reading the personnel files.”
“We caught the spy,” the XO said. “Or one of them, if there is more than one.”
Kat nodded slowly. “Did you know that Midshipwoman Toni Jackson was in a band? That she had a handful of friends who played in bars on Tyre, when they had a chance to meet up? That she turned down a music deal to remain in the Navy?”
“No, Captain,” the XO said.
“Or that Lieutenant Sally Pagan loved old books,” Kat added. “She was a reservist; she worked at the Planetary Library after retiring from the Navy the first time and is credited with restoring a very old copy of Foundation. There’s even a copy of an article she wrote on pre-hyperspace science fiction and how it predicted the future—and what it managed to get wrong.”
She shook her head tiredly. “I didn’t know either of them.”
“But they’re both dead,” the XO said. “It doesn’t get any easier to lose people, Captain.”
“I know,” Kat said sourly. “But I can’t help feeling guilty about not knowing them. They’re names and faces in files, nothing more. I never heard Midshipwoman Jackson play; I never read Lieutenant Pagan’s articles . . . I never really even knew they existed. And there are hundreds more just like them, hundreds of people who are now dead.”
She looked back at the datapad, picking names out at random. “Senior Crewman Thomas Throne had a drinking problem,” she said. “He was fine onboard ship, according to his mates, but when he was on shore leave he would get drunk and spend his time battling the redcaps. Crewwomen Laura Adams was caught having an orgy with three other crewwomen two years ago, apparently. Crewman Lesley Morse had three children, all of whom are only just entering their teens. What do I tell them when they ask why they had to grow up without a father?
“I need to write a letter for each and every one of them,” she added bitterly. “And I didn’t know any of them well enough to say anything.”
The XO frowned. “You might have to send them a form letter, Captain,” he said. “There isn’t time for you to write out five hundred separate letters.”
“I should write them each a personal letter,” Kat insisted. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“There’s a department back home that handles such matte
rs,” the XO reminded her. “You would not be responsible for taking care of the families.”
“These people died under my command,” Kat insisted. “It’s something I have to handle personally.”
She glared down at the datapad, then put it on the table. It had been easier when she’d been a junior officer; she’d known everyone in her department, as well as most of the rest of the crew. Now . . . she didn’t know everyone on Lightning, let alone the remainder of the squadron. There simply hadn’t been time to walk through her ship and meet her crewmen, even though they were under her command. And now far too many of them were dead.
“We’re going to hold a proper funeral in an hour,” she added curtly. “And maybe even a remembrance ceremony.”
“Those are private gatherings,” the XO said. “You cannot order one to take place.”
Kat glowered at him. He was right.
“Yes,” she said finally. She ran her hand through her hair, then looked at him. “What did the spy have to say for himself?”
“Basically, he was forced into spying for the enemy after his sister was taken prisoner, Captain,” the XO said. “They provided proof she was still alive and reasonably safe, as long as he followed orders. In short, the bastards got lucky.”
“Very lucky,” Kat muttered.
“Parker tried to get himself assigned to somewhere harmless,” the XO added. “He just happened to find himself here.”
Kat had to laugh. “Shot ourselves in the foot, didn’t we?”
“In more ways than one,” the XO confirmed. “The sister wasn’t listed as an official POW, so his file wasn’t flagged . . . hell, Captain, the CIS let us down pretty badly.”
“In hindsight, I should have walked into Admiral Morrison’s office and shot him out of hand,” Kat said tartly. She would have been executed for murdering her superior officer—not even her father could have saved her from the gallows—but it might have preserved thousands of lives. “There’s no point in wishing to change the past.”
She took a breath. “They know the spy is trustworthy now,” she added after a moment. “We could use this, somehow. Misdirect them.”
“It’ll only work once,” the XO warned. “They’d assume the worst after we used the spy against them.”
“I know,” Kat said.
She looked back down at the datapad. It was hard to think straight, not when so many lives had been lost, not when she felt terrifyingly guilty. How could she feel that it wasn’t her fault? She’d been the one who’d made the mistake of sharing too much information with her junior officers, unaware that one was planning to betray her. And the enemy had given her a bloody nose, restoring their own morale. She’d embarrassed them and hurt them, she knew, but it wasn’t enough.
“We need to go back on the offensive,” she said. “But most of the significant targets are too well defended for our weakened forces, particularly now.”
“Then we find a weak point,” the XO said. “They can’t guard everywhere against a sneak attack.”
Kat shrugged, then tapped her console, bringing up the star chart. The easy targets were largely insignificant, unless she wanted to bombard civilian populations from orbit. It would annoy the Theocracy, but it wouldn’t significantly hamper them. The handful of more viable targets were risky as hell, given her shortage of warships. And the enemy might have started parceling out superdreadnoughts to cover them.
“We have a choice,” she said, finally. “We can either head deeper into enemy space, where we might be able to find more significant targets, or we can return to the Commonwealth. I don’t think we have the resources to risk more attacks in this sector.”
The XO hesitated. “There’s another possibility,” he said. “Actually, there are two of them.”
Kat looked up. “Go on.”
“First, we scout around Aswan and wait for a convoy to depart,” the XO said. “And then we attack it in hyperspace.”
“Battles in hyperspace are notoriously unpredictable,” Kat reminded him. “A single explosion could whip up an energy storm that would force us all to crash back to normal space.”
“That might not be a bad thing,” the XO said. “We could take a crack at them while they were disorganized, or back off if we were outgunned.”
Kat nodded, slowly. “And the second possibility?”
“There’s a smuggler base in the sector,” the XO said. “I go there, get intelligence, and come back. We might learn something useful.”
“You might also be betrayed,” Kat said. She considered the possibilities for a long moment, then frowned. “I doubt the Theocracy is unaware of their presence.”
“My brother’s files say the local Theocrats know about it,” the XO said. “The base really isn’t that far from Morningside. However, they turn a blind eye in exchange for certain . . . considerations.”
“Bribes,” Kat said. She shook her head in disbelief. “How does that even work?”
The XO smiled. “Tyre isn’t the most democratic state in human history,” he said, “but it is reasonably transparent and the way to climb the ladder to power is well understood. The civil service is not corrupt, any malefactors are dealt with promptly and people trust the government to leave them alone when they’re not doing anything wrong.”
Kat nodded. “Because playing moral guardian is so inefficient,” she said. “My father used to say there were certain issues that should never be touched.”
“Exactly,” the XO agreed. “But if you grow up in a society which is rotten to the core, where you can cheerfully ignore the rules if you have power and status, where your superiors will screw you over if they happen to need a scapegoat . . . you wind up with very little respect for those rules. Why should you show any respect when your superiors show none? And hell, you need power to protect yourself from anyone else.”
He shrugged. “I’d be surprised if every bureaucrat in the Theocracy isn’t a corrupt little bastard trading favors just to survive,” he added. “Get bribes from the people you’re supposed to supervise? Why not? Want a harem? Why not collect a few women as tribute and add them to your household? Your superior might pitch a fit? Offer him one of the women as a gift. Dealing with smugglers? Why not?”
Kat looked at the star chart, thoughtfully. “And you think the smugglers will know something we can use?”
“I’d be surprised if they weren’t collecting data constantly,” the XO said. “Information is power in their world.”
“They’d notice if we took Lightning,” Kat said. “How do you intend to travel?”
“I’ll take Mermaid,” the XO said. “She’s old enough to be a smuggler vessel without raising too many eyebrows. We’d be fucked if someone got a look inside, but if we run into a warship we’d be fucked anyway. I can dock with the asteroid and go inside, if we take something to barter. Those captured enemy spare parts should raise a nice price.”
He smirked. “After what we did to Verdean, Captain, I imagine the price has skyrocketed.”
Kat nodded in agreement. It would be blindingly obvious just where the spare parts had come from, but she knew from bitter experience that no one would care. If a colony world on the rim of explored space refused to ask too many questions about something that had to have been stolen by pirates, she couldn’t see desperate enemy officials caring either. It did raise the issue of accidentally aiding the enemy, but under the circumstances she didn’t see any other choice. The only real concern was losing her XO if the enemy caught them before they could escape.
“You’ll have to be very careful,” she warned. “This isn’t your brother’s territory.”
“They’ll let anyone dock, as long as they’re not blatantly hostile,” the XO assured her. “And the data . . . well, we can use it to formulate a proper plan.”
“Good,” Kat said. She glanced at her chronometer, then sighed. “It’s time for the funeral, Commander. When will you be able to leave?”
“Mermaid was largely untouched,” the XO s
aid. “I imagine I can leave thirty minutes after the funeral.”
“We’ll set up an RV point before you go,” Kat said. “No, we’ll stay here; the rest of the squadron can wait elsewhere, with the fleet train. I may have a use in mind for the scrapped ships.”
“Good luck,” the XO said.
“I should be wishing you that,” Kat said. She half wished she could go with him, or go in his place, but she knew that was impossible. A starship commander could not risk her life on a smuggler’s asteroid, or lead a mission down to a dangerous planet. That only happened in bad movies. “Just take very good care of yourself.”
“I will,” the XO said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
The captain looked . . . different, somehow, as she read out the second set of names. William listened, holding his cap in his hand, as she recited each and every one of the dead, her voice lingering for long moments as she recalled what she’d read in the files. It was never easy to say good-bye to the dead, he knew, but it was harder when one felt guilty. Everyone who joined the Navy knew the risks, yet far too many of them were just faceless names and notes in the files. Even he didn’t know everyone attached to the squadron.
And I never will, he thought numbly. He’d come to terms with it long ago; his homeworld, for all its faults, had never tried to convince its children that they could be safely wrapped in cotton wool. Death came for everyone, no matter how much engineering one tried to splice into one’s genetic code. Even hiding in a perpetual stasis chamber was only a way to hide from the Grim Reaper. Death came for everyone and the only thing a person could do was accept that, one day, he or she too would die. But the captain felt guilty.
He didn’t blame her. She’d had very little time to whip her command into shape before leaving; hell, he had the feeling that someone else had been intended for the command before the king had intervened. She had had very little time to get to know her personnel, even if she hadn’t had the enforced distance of being their commanding officer. To feel guilt over their deaths was one thing; to feel guilt over not knowing them was quite another. William had served under men who hadn’t cared about their subordinates and they could be dangerous, but there was a fine line between caring for one’s subordinates and being unwilling to risk their lives.
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind #2) Page 29