Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  I cursed. “What’s that idiot doing?”

  “Lining up a midships shot.” Tolliver pointed. “If he comes in low from the side he can target both wheels with the tracer. Then all he has to—”

  “Show-off,” I growled. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

  I didn’t hear shots, but I could see tracers arc across the road. Mantiet’s car lurched, spun out of control. It jumped the curb and slammed into the porch of a wood-frame house. In the heli, the excited middy crowed into his mike. Deafened, I spun down the caller volume.

  I beat on Tolliver’s shoulder. “Hurry, before he runs!”

  We skidded to a halt in front of the damaged house. Mantiet’s car door swung open. He dashed with surprising speed down the road.

  “Get him!” Tolliver bolted from the car in pursuit. I hauled myself out, furious that I couldn’t join the chase, but the outcome was never in doubt. Tolliver had always been a fine runner, as he’d shown in catching Jerence. He overtook Mantiet at the corner and whirled him around. His fist flew. Mantiet stumbled.

  I let go of the car and walked down the street, trying to make my legs steady. Mantiet sprang to his feet. It seemed to enrage Tolliver, who flailed wildly at the man’s stomach and face. When I finally reached them Tolliver was holding Mantiet against a tree, pounding him with his free hand.

  “Enough.”

  “Remember Mr. Tamarov?” Tolliver’s face was hard, bitter. “And our heli?”

  I hesitated. Tolliver drove his fist into Mantiet’s ribs, knocking him to the ground. I caught his hand. “That’s enough!”

  He subsided, fuming. A heli settled into the road, blades spinning lazily.

  A blond middy jumped out, loped toward us. “Midshipman Harvey Kell reporting, sir!” He came to attention, his stance marred by an ecstatic grin. “I knew I’d get the grode!”

  “Stand easy, Mr. Kell.” But I owed him something more. “Well done, Midshipman.”

  The boy gawked at Mantiet, semiconscious in the dirt. “This is the one, sir? Who shot you down?”

  “Yes.” I felt a savage triumph. “Tolliver, you and Kell take him by heli to Admiralty House. I’ll drive our car.”

  “You, sir? But—”

  “The response to an order is?”

  “Aye aye, sir! Sorry.” Tolliver snapped a salute, hauled Mantiet to his feet. Kell hurried to help. Between them they bundled the planter into the heli. A moment later they were aloft.

  “Where is he?” I flung open the door to the anteroom.

  Lieutenant Anton came to his feet. “In the dayroom, sir. I, uh, didn’t know where else to put him.”

  “Can he get out?”

  “He’s under guard, sir. Midshipman Tolliver seemed quite eager for the duty.”

  Alexi came out of the conference room. “Are you all right, Mr. Seafort?”

  “Me? Of course.” I put on my vapormask.

  “Have you anything for me today?”

  “Don’t bother me now, Mr. Tamarov.” His face fell. “On second thought, come with me.”

  He followed as I strode down the corridor. “Where are we going?”

  “To the man who stole your memory.” I opened the door.

  Frederick Mantiet slumped in a straight chair in the center of the windowless room. Tolliver stood in front of him, fists bunched. Mantiet’s face was puffy.

  Through the vapormask my voice was a rasp. “What have you been up to?”

  “Guarding the prisoner.” Tolliver was savage. “Waiting for him to twitch.”

  “Leave us, Mr. Tolliver.”

  “But—aye aye, sir.” He left with unconcealed reluctance.

  Mantiet’s tone was sardonic. “A pleasure to see you, Captain. Last time, we were both in better health.”

  I shrugged. “It was your choice to run.”

  “Oh, is that why he worked me over? I’ve been wondering.”

  The man’s cool demeanor enraged me. “You’ll feel worse after interrogation, I’m sure.” Drugs and poly often left a subject nauseous, and with a splitting headache.

  Despite his bruises, Mantiet managed to raise an eyebrow. “Interrogation? Whatever for?”

  “Attempted murder, treason. Destruction of Naval property.” And of Alexi’s soul, you bastard. “I’ll look forward to the details of your confession. And afterward, to your hanging.” I smiled, savoring my revenge. “You can’t escape interrogation, Mantiet. There’s more than enough evidence to send you to poly.”

  “What a pity to disappoint you, then. I confess.”

  I blurted, “You what?”

  “I confess, to all of it. The missile, the explosives in the hauler, everything.”

  “You’ll be hanged, you know.”

  “I assumed as much the moment you spotted me.”

  I sagged into a chair. Why did I feel cheated? I wanted him to undergo the polygraph and drugs, to experience the maddening inevitability of confession. At my own interrogation, I’d made no effort to conceal anything from Admiralty, but I recalled the irresistible compulsion to tell my questioners whatever they asked.

  But if Mantiet confessed, he couldn’t be interrogated. The drugs and poly were means to determine the truth, not instruments of torture.

  I said reluctantly, “Alexi, call Lieutenant Trapp.”

  A moment later the lieutenant appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Trapp, interrogate Mantiet. I want a full confession about the hauler, the missile fired on our heli, and whatever conspiracy he engaged in. Names of his associates, dates, details. If he fails to cooperate, break off immediately and inform me.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Get on with it.” I stalked off to my conference room, Alexi trailing behind. I sat at the table, breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s over, Alexi.”

  “Is it?” His voice was bleak.

  I flushed with shame. “Not for you. I’m sorry. But we’ve got him at last.”

  “He’ll be executed.”

  “Yes.” Without a doubt.

  “I suppose that’s good.” He paused, looked at his hands. “Mr. Seafort, I follow you around, hold doors, help you into your car. Is that all I’m fit for?”

  I thought of telling the truth, then relented. “No, of course not.” I hesitated. “There’s not much to do, actually, with all our personnel aloft.”

  “Isn’t there anything?” He searched my face in appeal. “I feel useless, waiting for memories that are gone forever.”

  Alexi’s problems were the last thing on my mind; my adrenaline still coursed from the chase. I searched for a way to appease him. “Would you like to help with the relief work?” He wouldn’t need to remember his duties for that.

  “Could I?” Then his face clouded. “I don’t really know my way around Centraltown.”

  “You could learn. And you know how to drive; you offered several times.”

  “Did I?” A smile lit his face. “Yes, how could anyone forget how to drive?” He jumped up, nearly knocking over my coffee. “When could I start? Today?”

  Why did I feel abandoned? I forced down the ungenerous impulse. “I’ll have Mr. Anton call the relief agencies.” I took the caller, spoke as if joking. “You’ll visit me sometimes, still?”

  He grinned. “Every day, Mr. Seafort.”

  Later that evening, beside himself with excitement, Alexi left Admiralty House for the transport center, where he was to work as a volunteer. Normally his status would have been a problem; Alexi’s injuries put him on the Navy inactive list, but he couldn’t work as a civilian employee while in the Service. In the emergency, such niceties were ignored.

  Later that evening I sat in my conference room reading Frederick Mantiet’s confession. Trapp had been thorough. He’d gone over every detail of the plot, starting with the hauler explosion on Plantation Road.

  To my surprise, Mantiet hadn’t objected to naming his coconspirators. That was odd. Was he lying? I slammed down the transcript. Of course he was lying; why betray his cou
ntrymen? True, a man who could contemplate treason would do anything.

  Staring at the polished genera table, I recalled my clash with Judge Chesley over my enlistment of Paula Treadwell years before. In my hubris, I had threatened to put the colony under martial law and suspend civil administration. I wished I could do so now; I ached to put a rope around Mantiet’s neck for what he had done to Alexi. Unfortunately, all I could do was turn him over to the civilian authorities who would conduct the trial.

  But I hadn’t relinquished him yet. I stalked down the corridor. Lieutenant Kell saluted as I approached the dayroom. “Any trouble?”

  “No, sir, he’s been quiet. Mr. Anton ordered him fed an hour ago.”

  I grunted, begrudging him even that decency.

  Mantiet looked up. Bruises were darkening where Tolliver had beaten him. He pushed aside the remains of his tray. A cool smile played across his features. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “I’m sending you for drug and poly interrogation.”

  “Why?”

  I tossed the transcript onto his tray. “This is garbage. For all I know you made it up.”

  He frowned. “Why would I?”

  “To protect your fellow traitors. Why would you expose them?”

  “You think I’ve accused innocent men?” His voice held a note of reproach.

  “Who knows what you’ve done? That’s why I’m sending you to P and D.”

  “You can’t.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You propose to stop me?”

  “Yes.”

  Despite myself I tensed visibly, then reddened. The man wasn’t about to launch himself at my throat, and if he did, help was just outside the door. “How?”

  “Are we under martial law?”

  “No. Governor Saskrit’s administration is still running Centraltown. And all of Hope Nation.”

  “Then you’re bound to follow the law, unless you’re as evil as I am.” He smiled politely. I had an urge to strangle him.

  “Make your point, Mantiet.”

  “I just did. Under the law you can’t send me for interrogation.”

  “Why not? Your confession is incomplete.”

  “I’ve confessed to every charge you’ve made. Make others and I’ll confess to them as well.”

  “We need to verify the truth about your conspiracy.”

  “Ah, but that’s not permitted. P and D interrogation may only be used to determine my guilt. Not to force me to betray others. It’s a well-settled point of law—even our provincial courts have heard of it.”

  “I don’t know that to be true.”

  “But you’re duty-bound to check, now that I’ve informed you.”

  I growled, “If we were aboard ship—”

  “That’s the point, Captain. We are not”

  I slammed the door behind me. Moments later I paced the anteroom in mounting fury while Lieutenant Anton waited for a connection.

  “I’ve got Judge Ches—”

  I snatched up the caller. “Judge? Captain Seafort, here.”

  “This is Judge Chesley.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. I need an immediate answer to a legal question.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I owe you a favor, Seafort. Explain.”

  What he owed me was hardly a favor; I’d humiliated him in his own courtroom. Still, much had passed in the interim. I explained the situation.

  He was silent a long while. Then, “There was a time it would have given me great satisfaction to tell you that Mantiet’s right. His confession bars his interrogation.”

  I said desperately, “But if I don’t believe his confession is true—”

  “Do you doubt his guilt?”

  I thought a moment. “No,” I conceded.

  “Neither would I, or any impartial judge. So we’re forced to accept his confession as valid.” As if sensing the frustration in my silence he added, “It makes the Truth in Testimony Act humane, Seafort. Otherwise it could be used to make people turn on their friends, even their family. The exception was written into the law from the start.”

  “I see.”

  “At least you’ll have the satisfaction of seeing him hang.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if that’s all...by the way, Seafort, that young lady. The cadet. Whatever happened to her?”

  “She was posted to Academy for advanced math.”

  “Out of harm’s way, then. Just as well.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry.” He said nothing. I rushed on, “For what happened back then. I was young and foolish. I wouldn’t do the same, now.”

  Another long silence, then a sigh. “It’s long past, Seafort. All the people, the destruction...even my sister and her husband, Reeves. You must have known them, they came out on your ship. They were killed in the explosion.”

  “Oh, Lord God.”

  “Your courtroom hijinks...they don’t seem to matter anymore.”

  “I understand. Good night, sir.” I rang off.

  15

  I ISSUED ORDERS TO have Mantiet transferred to the civilian jail the following day, and to have the authorities pick up the men Mantiet had named.

  That night the fish attacked.

  They took out Prince of Wales. Captain Martes of Victoria had transferred to her. I wondered if he’d taken Ricky Fuentes along.

  I spent the morning huddled in the tactics room with Tolliver, Bezrel, and every other officer who could find an excuse to join us. The fish appeared by twos and threes, Defusing near our ships, lobbing their acid from close range, abruptly disappearing. The speakers crackled with commands as our fleet deployed. Again, we succeeded in knocking out fish. Again, we had no idea how many constituted the aliens’ armada.

  Lieutenant Anton kept us supplied with sandwiches and coffee. Conversation was sparse, our mood tense. All of us had served aloft, and knew the perils our men faced.

  Around noon Anton stirred. “Mr. Trapp, Mr. Tolliver, take Mantiet downtown to the civilian jail.”

  “Not now,” I said.

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “Keep everyone here.”

  “Yes, but—aye aye, sir.”

  By day’s end two more ships were disabled, though not destroyed. By positioning the fleet closer to Hope Nation, Admiral De Marnay allowed our ships to come to each other’s assistance more quickly, and this tactic seemed to help.

  I spent a sleepless night on my conference-room cot. In the morning Alexi wanted to go to work at the transport center; when I forbade it he was so crestfallen that I relented. “Stay in touch, Mr. Tamarov. Call in every three hours.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Seafort. Are they still attacking?”

  “Four fish sighted during the night. We killed one.”

  “Great!”

  I grunted. Not for Prince of Wales.

  The day passed uneventfully. That evening I realized I was keeping Frederick Mantiet in our makeshift jail for no purpose. I’d have him transferred in the morning, as I’d originally intended. Perhaps I could make time to visit Annie.

  During the night we lost two ships. Captain Derghinski had brought Kitty Hawk to Brasilia’s aid when a fresh flotilla of fish appeared alongside, and both vessels were breached. A number of men got off in lifepods. We listened to confused reports relayed through our speakers. As day lengthened, I paced the tactics room with increasing anxiety, wishing I hadn’t let Alexi leave.

  I was on my way to the head when Midshipman Bezrel rushed after me. “Lieutenant Anton’s compliments, sir. You have a call.”

  “The Admiral?”

  “No, sir. Ms. Triforth.”

  My heart pounding from the false alarm, I went to my conference room to take the call. “Seafort here.”

  “Laura Triforth. I’ll be in Centraltown this afternoon. I thought perhaps we might have a talk.”

  “It’s rather a busy time.” I realized how ungracious it sounded and added hastily, “The fleet’s seen more action.”

  “I k
now.”

  I paused. “Communications are restricted to a tightbeam relay. Just how did you hear?”

  “I told you,” she said. “This is our city. Not much goes on that we don’t learn.” As if sensing that didn’t suffice, she added, “You’ve placed all your people on twenty-four-hour call; none of them goes near a restaurant or bar. Your Mr. Tamarov reports in every couple of hours.”

  I cursed under my breath. As a secret agent I was notably incompetent.

  “Has Mantiet been sent for interrogation under drugs yet?”

  “You knew we have him?”

  “Half of Centraltown saw your sky chase, Mr. Seafort. It’s hardly a secret.”

  The woman knew far too much. Best to stay away from her. No, better let her visit and learn what she wanted. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Ms. Triforth.”

  She chuckled. “Why, thank you. I look forward to our meeting.”

  In the tactics room the speakers were quiet. Our remaining ships were huddled close, about thirty degrees past Orbit Station. I tried to see past the blips on the screen, to the men and metal beyond.

  So few ships.

  I sat and watched in the tense silence. After a time I could ho longer stand the inaction. I went downstairs. “Mr. Anton.” He looked up from his console. “Work up a report on all Naval personnel, including sailors. Assignments, work hours, current location.”

  “You mean where they’re housed, sir?”

  “I said current location. Where they are at this moment.”

  “But why—aye aye, sir.” He took up the caller, his perplexity evident. I trudged back upstairs.

  Today fewer of us held vigil, as a consequence of days of sporadic, desultory action. Lieutenant Trapp, Midshipman Kell and young Bezrel were the only ones present. The two middies fidgeted and whispered until I fixed them with a stare that allowed no misinterpretation. A few moments later Bezrel excused himself and left. Kell, on duty, had no choice but to remain.

  I fought to keep myself from dozing. I was just failing when the speaker crackled. “Hibernia reporting. Two fish alongside, one abaft! They’re throwing! Fusing!”

  “Churchill reporting, three—no, five! They came out of nowhere, together! Lasers engaging! We’ve got one! Another Fusing out.”