“I think, Sergeant Stark, that we should toast the right thing. It’s been a long time since the right thing has happened. Let’s toast that; that whatever outcome occurs, it be the right one.”
“Sure. Whatever that turns out to be.” They tapped their mugs together, then drank the rest of their coffee, their faces grimacing at the bitterness.
“We have to do what?” Vic pretended to slap the side of her head a couple of times as if her hearing had gone bad. “Win without beating our attackers? Is that what you said our orders are?”
“Pretty much.” Stark indicated the display where he had called up a map of the Mixing Bowl region. “You got any thoughts?”
“None I care to share at the moment. That sounds like the sort of order General Meecham would have issued.” Vic paced across the room in a low-gravity glide grown instinctive through years of lunar living, shaking her head as she did so. “Ethan, we have to have a mission definition which doesn’t require us to do two mutually exclusive things.”
“Vic, I explained it to you. There’s good reasons for giving us that mission.” Stark raised both hands palm up in a gesture of helplessness. “I need you to help me do that.”
“Are you under the bizarre impression than I’m some sort of warrior goddess who can grant you a prayer regardless of the laws of nature?”
“No, but I figure you must be one of the priestesses for that goddess. Maybe you can put in a good word for us.”
She threw up her hands. “You’re hopeless. I’m going to call a staff meeting. Maybe Lamont will have some crazy armored tactic that’ll help. Maybe Gordo will be able to order a miracle through the supply system. Are you coming?”
“In a few minutes. I got word there’s a civ visitor in my office.”
“A civ visitor?” Vic’s mouth worked as if she were tasting the words and finding them not to her liking. “What kind of civ visitor?”
“I don’t know.” Stark held up his hands to forestall her next words. “Yeah. Be careful. I know that. The guy got screened by security for any weapons.”
“Okay. You’re a big boy. See you in a little while. Maybe this visitor is bringing a brilliant plan for achieving our mission objectives.”
A short time later Stark stood appraising his visitor. Not just a civilian, but a civilian with that sleek, well-groomed look that bespoke a generous salary. Either a corporate exec, not too high up an exec because he’s doing this job himself, or a lawyer. Stark fought down his initial negative impression, shaking the visitor’s hand, then seating himself at his desk. “What brings you here. Mr. …?”
The civilian smiled with that carefully cultivated authenticity that meant the smile was probably fake. “Jones. Frank Jones.”
“Mr. Jones.” Stark used one knuckle to surreptitiously tap a button on his desktop that started the room’s recording devices. He kept his expression fixed as a small warning light visible only from his angle announced that his visitor was equipped with something that was jamming those recording devices. Jones? Gimme a break. Now, who’s this phony working for?
Jones made a smiling examination of Stark’s office, nodding admiringly toward the display screen and its depiction of the lunar surface. “This is a nice office. I see you’re not the sort for ostentation.”
“Mr. Jones, I’m pretty busy. What is it you want?”
The smile shifted slightly, still pleasant but more businesslike now. “I have an offer for you, Sergeant Stark. I understand ‘Sergeant’ is your preferred form of address?”
“That’s right.”
“Sergeant Stark, my employers are concerned about costs. I’m sure you understand.”
“Just who are these employers, Mr. Jones?”
Jones’s smile shifted again, very subtly invoking a shared interest. “Sergeant Stark, you now have experience with managing a large group of individuals working toward common goals, much as a corporate executive does. I’m sure that experience will aid you in understanding and appreciating the problems my employers face.”
“I still haven’t heard who these employers are, Mr. Jones.”
“That isn’t important, Sergeant Stark. No, really. What matters is what my employers are willing to offer in exchange for some small cooperation on your part.”
Stark raised one eyebrow. “Just what kind of cooperation do your employers want, and why?”
“Why?” Jones now appeared to be sharing a subtle joke with Stark. “If costs exceed profits, the bottom line suffers, Sergeant Stark. Overhead expenses must be kept within appropriate limits. To put it bluntly, war is an overhead expense, an expense which in this case is having too large an impact on profit/loss projections.”
“I see.” Corporate, then. This guy represents one or more corporations. More than one, I think. He keeps referring to his “employers.”
“Of course you do. Now, in order to reduce overhead, cut projected losses, and bring profit projections back within the sort of limits favored by the financial community, my employers need to regain control of their facilities up here as well as the means to import new employees who are willing to abide by their contracts. You, Sergeant Stark, are critical to that happening.”
Stark raised both eyebrows this time. “It’s nice to know I’m important.”
“You are very important. Executives recognize talent in other executives. They look out for each other. All my employers ask is that you cooperate in their achieving their goals.”
“Cooperate?”
Mr. Jones clasped his hands in his lap, serious now, lapsing into obvious bargaining mode. “Ideally, you create the conditions for a rapid return of assets to my employers.”
“You mean I’d have to arrange for the Colony to surrender.”
“Surrender scarcely seems likely under present circumstances, does it? No, Sergeant Stark, you’ve done your job very well. So well that only a defeat of the forces defending the Colony would accomplish our goals.”
“You want me to arrange for the military forces I lead to be defeated?” Stark marveled internally that he’d been able to keep his voice so bland while he was seething inside.
“It doesn’t have to be that extreme. Security codes compromised, perhaps, or a worm inserted into surveillance systems to fool their monitoring devices. You could end this war very quickly, and that would, naturally, reduce the chances of any further soldiers dying in this sadly misguided struggle.”
“I see. Tell me again why I’d want to do this.”
“Why, shared interests with my employers, of course.” Frank Jones leaned forward slightly, a small smile that implied shared confidences now on his face. “Nonetheless, Sergeant Stark, my employers are willing to reimburse you for your cooperation. Of course.”
“Of course.”
“Now, I realize a million dollars isn’t what it used to be, and your services would be of some value. Therefore I am authorized to offer, purely as a fee for your professional services, the sum of one hundred million dollars. Placed within whatever bank account you choose, of course.”
“Of course.” Stark fought to keep his face and voice calm. “That money wouldn’t do me much good when I’m dead, would it? The government wants me. It wants to court-martial me and then hold a nice firing squad.”
“We know that. Certainly, you have to, ahem, ‘die’ so as to satisfy the legal authorities. It’s all fairly simple. You are taken to the location of your choice, given a new identity to go with your new fortune, and someone else’s body is left here and identified as your own.”
“Won’t this ‘someone else’ object to that, Mr. Jones?”
“Oh, no, no. Not at all. Bodies are always available for the right price. We’d just find someone who had died of natural causes and substitute their body for yours. A few bribes and data substitutions in the forensic labs, and the DNA is proclaimed yours. It’s all very simple.”
“I bet it is. How can you be sure someone will die when you need it?”
“People die from n
atural causes all the time, don’t they?”
“Yeah. They do.” Who was it that said every form of death could be listed as heart failure? Natural causes, hell. “I’ve got to admit, Mr. Jones, that’s a lot better offer than General Meecham offered me some time back.”
Jones’s smile shaded into a smirk. “You can’t really expect to find good deals in the military.”
“I’ve heard that.” Stark leaned back, finally letting his face harden. “Let me clue you in on something. I’m not interested in your offer. Not now. Not ever. There’s some things, and some people, that can’t be bought; Not even for a hundred million bucks.” Jones nodded politely but his confident smile didn’t waver. “What I just said doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Well, no, of course not. I’ve heard variations on it many times, so I know what it really means.”
“And what would that be, Mr. Jones?” Stark’s voice had become so quiet that Jones had to strain slightly to hear.
“Why, the opening gambit in negotiations for a higher payout, naturally. We don’t have to play games. My employers recognize that your position is somewhat comparable to that of a chief executive officer of a corporation, and therefore a compensation package similar to—”
Stark leveled a finger at Jones, his face so stern that the corporate representative’s voice choked off in mid-sentence. “That’s where I draw the line at listening to any more of this crap. No, you little pissant, I am not like one of your CEOs. I don’t bail out with a big pile of cash when stuff goes wrong. I don’t sacrifice lots of low-level people to compensate for my own mistakes. And I sure as hell don’t betray the trust of people who have placed their lives in my hands.” He reached out one hand, this time openly tapping the desktop comm panel. “Security Central, this is Stark. I need a couple of military police to escort Mr. Jones outside the headquarters complex. And I need you to notify Ms. Sarafina in the Colony manager’s office that her security people might want to talk to Mr. Jones.” Jones’s smile finally vanished as his face paled.
“You want us to hand this civ over to the civ Colony security, Commander?”
“That’s right. But I want to make sure those civ security guards are accompanied by Ms. Sarafina. Understand?” Guards could be bribed. Stark had no intention of handing a prisoner who could casually speak of hundred-million-dollar payouts over to a couple of doubtless underpaid and overworked security personnel.
“I understand, Commander. I’ll have the MPs there right away.”
“Good. Make sure one of them’s the watch commander.” Having a senior noncommissioned officer along might not prevent an attempt at a bribe of the military police, but it would make it harder.
Jones was shaking his head, looking both stern and serious now. “Sergeant Stark, this is really unnecessary. We can work out a deal without employing threats. But if my employers hear of this, they may well withdraw their offer completely. You must—”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do.” The tone of Stark’s voice hit Jones like a punch, so that the smooth civilian sat silent for the couple of minutes it took for the MPs to arrive. “Here’s your prisoner. I know he got swept for weapons before he came in here, but he’s got antibug gear on him. Maybe he’s got something else we didn’t detect. Watch him. Don’t listen to him.”
One of the soldiers looked Jones up and down with a scornful expression on her face. “Do we need to cuff him, sir?”
“Nah. If he tries to run, catch him and bounce him off the nearest wall a few times. Try not to break anything important if you do that, though.”
“Yessir. Anything important on him or on the wall?”
“The wall.”
“Yessir.” The MPs left, Frank Jones between them with an expression of bafflement finally replacing the false geniality.
Stark sat a moment longer, then keyed his comm unit again. “Sergeant Yurivan? I need to talk to you, Stacey.”
Yurivan seemed oddly subdued as she answered. “Good. I need to talk to you, too.”
“I can meet you at the staff meeting that Vic’s going to call—”
“No. We need to talk privately. Sir. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Stark broke the connection, studying his desk as if its surface held the answer to Yurivan’s mysterious words. Is there another mutiny in the works? Has Stacey found another spy? Or worse, does she know there’s one but not who it is?
He’d just finished briefing Campbell on “Frank Jones” when Sergeant Yurivan arrived. “Hi, Stace. Have a seat.” Ending the call, Stark leaned back, letting his curiosity show.
Yurivan sat slumped in her chair, gazing sourly at Stark until he finally gestured toward her. “Okay, Stace, what’s the deal? Why the private conference and the nasty expression?”
“I want it private and I feel rotten because I’m about to do something I’ll probably hate myself for.”
“Stace, you try to kiss me and I’ll slug you.”
The reply brought a grin to Yurivan’s face. “Stark, there’s some things even I’d never do, and that’s one them.”
“Thanks. So spill it. I haven’t got all day.”
She looked angry again. “I need to tell you something. I’ve been talking to a guy named Maguire.”
“Maguire? Don’t know him. What unit is he in?”
“He’s not in any unit, Stark! Maguire’s head of the CIA. You know, boss of Spook Central.”
“I know what the CIA is. So, what’d this super spook Maguire want?”
“What do you think he wanted? He’s been trying to convince me to turn on you guys. Help the authorities back home take you down. All for a nice payoff and a new identity down the line.”
“Huh.” Stark rubbed his chin, staring thoughtfully at Yurivan. I wonder how many other people in this Colony are being pitched recruitment offers by various covert types? “I didn’t know the head of the CIA did recruitment stuff personally.”
“Neither did I. I guess I’m really special.”
“You’re special, all right. The fact that you’re telling me this must mean you didn’t bite on the deal.”
“Nah, I didn’t bite. Listen, Stark, I do things my own way, and I don’t mind working deals, but I never shot anybody in the back. And I won’t. Not that I wasn’t flattered by the offer.”
“So, if you turned it down, why are telling me?”
The anger was back, though Stark couldn’t tell if it was aimed at him or somewhere else. “Because I talked to him. Okay? Sooner or later, you may hear about it. Sergeant Yurivan’s been talking to the other side. Maybe negotiating. And then you’ll want my head on a platter.”
Stark nodded. “By telling me now, you’re protecting yourself. Okay. I understand that. But what the hell are you so mad about? Sorry you turned down the offer?”
“Hah! I warned you before, Stark, don’t try to psych me. I’m mad because I’m just waiting for you to fire me.”
“Fire you. Because…?”
“Because you can’t trust me now! Why do I have to spell it out?”
“Because I’m stupid, Stacey. Spell it out. You told me about it. Why don’t I trust you?”
She stared back, as if disbelieving, then laughed. “You are something else, Stark. Fine. How about if I lied? How about if I did take Maguire’s offer?”
“Why would you tell me about it if you had?”
“To protect my butt if you found out later I’d been talking to the enemy. ‘Oh, yeah, Yurivan told me about that. It’s okay.’ See?”
“I see. Did you have to learn to think this way or did it come naturally?”
“It’s a gift. So let’s get it over with, Stark. Fire me. Lock me up. Whatever. I’ll get by.”
“I’m sure you will. You’d probably be running the entire stockade from inside your cell within a week.” Stark leaned back, smiling. “So I’ve got to fire you because the CIA sent someone to knock on your door. What if that was the whole idea, Stace? Or part of it, anyway?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Spread distrust. If you bought the deal, then great. They got an agent just where they need one. But if you don’t, then I can’t trust you just because I don’t know what really happened, and I gotta fire you anyway, so I lose somebody who’s good, damn good, at protecting me and every other ape up here. Either way, Maguire’s knuckle-draggers win, and we lose. Right?”
It was Yurivan’s turn to nod, grudging admiration on her face. “Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that. Good one. You still surprise me, Stark.”
I wish people would stop telling me that. “Thanks. I think. Besides, you’re not the only one getting offers, Stacey. I just had a guy try to buy me out. That’s why I called you.”
“A buyout?” Yurivan sat up, intrigued out of her mood. “Who was offering the deal?”
“He never said, directly, but I’m sure his ‘employers’ are some or all of the corporations trying to get their assets up here back. He talked like a corporate type, anyway. Tried to flatter me by comparing me to some high-level corporate manager.”
“Now, that wasn’t very smart. How much did he offer you?”
Stark shrugged. “A hundred mil.”
“A hundred million dollars? And you turned him down?”
“Wouldn’t you have?”
“Uh… let’s not go there. Where’s this guy now?”
Stark checked the time. “Probably getting acquainted with a jail cell in the Colony detention facility.”
“I’ll bet that isn’t as comfortable as a business-class resort.”
“Probably not. Hey, maybe that guy worked for Maguire, too. I mean, he never mentioned his employers. He just implied they were corporate.”
This time Yurivan shrugged. “It’s possible, but not every questionable character in the world works for Maguire, you know. A lot of them, I’m sure, but not all of them.”
“Including you.” She smiled at his statement. “I’ll say it bluntly, Stace. I trust you. God knows why.”
“You said it yourself. You’re stupid.”
“That’s right, I did. But even if I was smarter than everyone else on the Moon you could still scheme rings around me. Right? That’s why I offered you the job of security officer in the first place. And I ain’t got any complaints about the way you’re doing that job. Well, maybe you could be a little less insubordinate every once in a while, just for the hell of it, but otherwise I’m happy.”
Stark’s Crusade Page 21