Burns nodded in appreciation. “We’ve nothing to lose. Mullins, get changed.”
Mullins disappeared into the commander’s bedroom and reappeared a couple of minutes later a completely changed man.
“My word, Mullins, but you do cut a dashing figure,” said Burns.
“Trousers are a bit short,” said Mullins.
“Don’t worry about that – the marines will be looking at the stripes on you jacket, not your trouser bottoms.”
“There is one thing sir,” said Penny. “The insignia on your lapels.”
“Fighter Corps,” said Jacobs proudly.
“Yes, sir, but Fighter Corps and Assault Corps were amalgamated to form the Home Fleet ten years ago.”
“Ah,” said Jacobs.
“Don’t worry, sir, we can soon run off some new insignia on the 3D printer. Best do a name tag too.”
“Good idea. What would you like to be called, Mullins?” said Burns.
“Mullins, sir.”
“Do you not think that for an undercover job an alias might be in order?”
“How about Lloyd? Mother’s maiden name.”
“That’ll do,” said Jacobs. “Penny, get Baz to run off a name tag and a set of insignia for Fleet Legal Department. While he’s doing that, consult your academy encyclopedia and teach Mullins all he needs to know about getting Chuck out of the cells. We could just order the marines to release him but it would be better if it all looks official.”
“Leave it to me, sir. I’m sure I can find something.”
“Good girl. Meet back at my office when you’re all ready. Work quickly people.”
His brow furrowed in concentration, Marine 3rd Class Burke reached the moment of truth. He wrapped a pair of oversized thumbs and forefingers around the last two cards, holding them at just the right angle a few millimeters above the apex of the house of cards he had so painstakingly constructed. He held the pose for a few seconds and then slowly and ever so gently began to lower them into position. Just as the cards began to caress the superstructure, the door to the warder’s office opened noisily and an officer briskly entered the room. Training immediately kicked in and Burke shot to attention, scattering cards in all directions. “Officer on deck!” he bawled to no-one in particular.
“Here we are sir. The brig,” said Penny.
“Thank you cadet.” Commander Lloyd of Fleet Legal opened his briefcase and withdrew a data pad. “Hold this a moment, cadet,” he said, passing the briefcase to Penny.
“I’m here to collect the prisoner Poulson,” said Mullins.
“Sir?”
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, marine.”
“Sir! No, sir!”
“Show me the log,” said Mullins.
“The log, sir? What log? Sir!”
“The prison log, marine. The prison log. What time was the prisoner admitted? Has he been informed of his rights according to section 48, sub-paragraph B? Has he been charged? If so, at what time and for what offence was he charged? Has he seen council? When was his last meal? What did he eat? It’s in the log, Marine, and if it isn’t I want to know why.”
“There is no log, sir!” shouted Burke, just in time to see Marine Dobbs enter the room at a gallop.
“What the fu–!” began Dobbs before he too snapped rigidly to attention. “Sir, Marine 1st Class Dobbs, sir!”
“Marine Dobbs,” said Mullins. “Perhaps you could show me the prison log. Mr. Burke here seems to have misplaced it.”
Dobbs glanced over at Burke who remained ramrod stiff, staring straight ahead. Burke had been in the corps for a long time and over the years had found it convenient simply to do what he was told. He wasn’t much of a thinker and the wonderful thing about the corps was that it did most of your thinking for you. Marine Dobbs was a lot sharper and immediately grasped the fact that a simple ‘Sir! Yes, sir!’ wasn’t going to pass muster.
“Sir! We were ordered by our commanding officer to hold the prisoner and keep him in isolation until ordered otherwise. We were not ordered to keep a log, sir!”
“And your commanding officer is?”
“Commodore Jacks, sir!”
“I see. I have orders from Admiral Giles that the prisoner is to be released into my custody immediately,” said Mullins.
Dobbs wavered uncomfortably. Jacks had been unequivocal in his orders. Poulson was to be kept in solitary confinement until he said otherwise. Jacks was a commodore and this officer was only a commander. On the other hand, the orders had come from Giles, and he was an admiral, which was just one step below God almighty. Dobbs weighed up his options.
“I will of course provide you with a receipt for the prisoner, countersigned by Admiral Giles.”
The balance tipped. “Very good, sir,” he said. “Marine Burke, fetch the detainee.” A few minutes later Burke appeared, once again holding Chuck’s arm in an iron grip. When Chuck saw Mullins and Penny, surprise registered in his eyes, but a day full of surprises had taken its toll and he had the common sense to remain silent. Penny gave him a warning glance just to be sure.
“Sub-Captain Poulson?” said Mullins.
“Err, yes,” said Chuck.
“Yes, SIR!” bawled Burke into Chuck’s ear at point blank range.
“Yes, sir!” repeated Chuck obediently.
“My name is Lloyd, Fleet Legal. I have orders to take you into custody. Restraints?” he said to Dobbs.
“Sir?”
“Restraints, handcuffs.”
“Begging you pardon, sir. We were not issued with handcuffs, sir.”
“Never mind,” said Mullins. “Mr. Poulson, do I have you word as an officer and a gentleman that you will not attempt to escape?”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Chuck at once. “You have my word… sir.”
“Fine,” said Mullins. “Cadet,” he said, holding out his hand. Penny opened the briefcase and extracted a sheaf of papers.
“Right,” said Mullins. “Here is form 1047A, a receipt for the prisoner signed by myself and countersigned by Admiral Giles. It affirms that the prisoner was in good health and in a fit condition to travel at the time of transfer, which by my watch is 16:30 hours.” He passed it to Marine Dobbs.
“Next, Marine Dobbs, form 1047B, which I will need you to sign, confirming that the prisoner was transferred to my jurisdiction at said time.” Dobbs looked at the form suspiciously but signed on the dotted line.
“And lastly, form 1047C, which I will need the prisoner to sign, attesting to the fact that he has been treated with humanity and dignity, has not been subjected to discrimination on grounds of race, religion, sexual orientation or political belief, has been interned in accommodation with adequate sanitation, been allowed access to bathing, exercise and recreational facilities and has been provided with clothing and bedding appropriate to the prevailing conditions.”
The only thing Chuck was could attest to was the bit about not being discriminated against, though no-one had bothered to enquire about his race, religion, sexual orientation or political beliefs anyway. Rather than argue the toss he took the proffered pen and signed with a flourish. With the exchange of documents complete, Chuck, Penny and Mullins left the brig, Mullins even delivering an authentic salute.
Once outside and safely out of earshot Penny gave Chuck a smile. “How about that for a prison break, sir?”
“Would somebody like to tell me what’s going on?” said Chuck.
“Think of this as a reprieve, Mr. Poulson,” said Mullins. “Or perhaps just a temporary change of landlord.”
“Anywhere away from that cell and those two marines will do for me.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Penny. “No-one thinks you did it. Not even Chief Inspector Burns, even after finding the murder weapon in your locker. Well, not your locker exactly, the instrument locker outside the core room.”
“Murder weapon? What are you on about?”
“Have to wait for the lab results but it looks like Mr. Steve
ns was clubbed with a wrench before he went out the air lock,” said Mullins.
“But who would do such a thing?” said Chuck.
“The evidence we have points straight at you, but DCI Burns thinks otherwise and whatever the truth may be, he believes you might hold the key.”
“So where are we going?” said Chuck.
“To meet up with Commander Jacobs and DCI Burns,” said Penny. It’s Commander Jacob’s old uniform that Sergeant Mullins is wearing, you know.”
“Not a bad fit. Trousers are a bit short, though,” said Chuck as they entered the crew room.
“Have an eye for detail, do you Mr. Poulson?” said Burns, sitting at the table. “Well, let’s hope so.”
CHAPTER 10
“If you recall, the last time we talked I said that I was very tempted to lock you up,” said Burns.
“Yeah, well someone beat you to it,” replied Chuck.
“And not without reason. You are still in a whole heap of trouble if you hadn’t noticed. As I explained to Commander Jacobs here, the only reason you aren’t still locked up with those two gorillas is my personal conviction that we are being deliberately misinformed and misled. Unfortunately, my convictions won’t be enough to keep either of us out of trouble unless we can come up with something concrete pretty damn quick. The only difference being that while I’ll get a slap on the wrist for a breach of protocol, you’ll be lucky to see daylight for the next thirty years.”
“But I haven’t done anything,” said Chuck.
“Maybe not, but the evidence tells a rather different story, Mr. Poulson, and unless we can find something substantial to the contrary, you are going down, and there will be nothing I can do to prevent it.”
“DCI Burns feels that someone may be trying to frame you,” said Jacobs.
“Frame me? What makes you think that?”
“The wrench. The wrench tells me. It was found in a locker that only you and Guns Graham have access to. What would any sensible assailant do with the murder weapon?”
“Get rid of it. Or clean it,” said Chuck.
“Exactly. The one thing you wouldn’t do is leave the blood on it and then put it in a place where it would incriminate you.”
“Unless you panicked,” said Chuck.
“After wiping the prints off the handle? No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t add up. As a matter of fact, there’s not much about this case that does.”
“Such as?” said Jacobs.
“Let’s go back to when Hector was first stolen. According to your scans, Hector was aboard the fast transport Magellan which then left the station without clearance. Right?”
“That’s right,” said Chuck.
“And you gave chase in the Valiant.”
Chuck nodded.
“And as you closed in on the Magellan they jettisoned the cargo pod.”
Another nod.
“Well let’s forget about the pod for a second. Don’t you find it just a little odd that you were able to close in on a ship that should have been half way out of the system before you even got your seat belts fastened?”
“We thought they must have been having some kind of engine trouble,” said Jacobs.
“Ah yes, of course,” said Burns. “Which then miraculously righted itself as soon as the pod was dumped?”
“Could it have been something to do with the pod? Attached incorrectly, or something like that?”
“Possibly, but they flew in with no problems. No, it seems to me that they let you catch up with them on purpose.”
“Why on earth would they do that?” said Jacobs.
“Apparently so they could ditch the pod where you could find it,” replied Burns.
“But why did they blow it up? To destroy the evidence?” said Penny.
“What evidence would that be?” said Mullins “Fifty tons of assorted spaghetti?”
“Now, now, Mullins,” said Burns. “The cadet does have a point. You have to wonder why they felt that they had to destroy the pod.”
“Maybe they thought that if they couldn’t have Hector then nobody else would either,” said Chuck.
Burns shook his head. “Hmm… so right from the start they were saying, ‘On the off chance that we have mechanical difficulties and have to jettison the cargo pod, let’s put a bomb on board too, just to make sure no-one gets their hands on our loot’. That make sense to anyone?”
“Why not? Who knows how a criminal mind works?”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” said Burns. “And while you are right that there are some crooks who would take some perverse pleasure in that kind of thing, in this particular case, I’m pretty sure they didn’t.”
“Why’s that?” said Jacobs.
“Because Hector was never aboard in the first place.”
“Huh?”
“Hector was never on board the Magellan. He was someplace else. You were chasing a shadow, a decoy.”
“How can you know that?” said Chuck.
“It’s simple. Has no-one worked it out yet?” said Burns. A row of blank faces told him that no-one had. “How was the Magellan moored to O1?”
“Airlock 3,” said Chuck.
“That’s a personnel airlock. Hector’s pings came from the cargo pod, not the flight module.”
“So?” said Chuck.
“Cargo pods are attached to a ship by a dockyard crew and that had to have happened somewhere else, before the Magellan ever arrived here. There was never any access to the cargo pod from O1. And on that class of ship there is no access to the pod from the flight module either. I checked. So unless someone has invented a point to point transporter beam, Hector couldn’t have been put aboard the cargo pod of the Magellan from this station.”
“But what about the pings? Hector’s pings definitely came from there,” said Chuck.
“They must have been faked,” said Burns. “So you were right, Penny. They did blow up the pod to destroy the evidence – whatever they used to imitate Hector’s pings – and also to make us think that Hector had been destroyed. And meanwhile the real Hector was spirited off the station by some other means.”
“That’s it… that’s it!” said Chuck. “When we were scanning for Hector we found two pings. A weak one and then a strong one. We chased the stronger one, the one from the Magellan. I thought the weaker signal must have been a back-echo or something.”
“Could it have been Hector?” said Burns.
“It was very weak, but I guess so.”
“If the perpetrators went to the trouble of creating a false signal it makes sense that they’d try to mask the real one,” said Mullins.
“I agree. Did you try to locate the source of the weaker ping?” said Burns.
“No,” said Chuck. “When we found the stronger ping we homed in on that one. The information might still be in the data log up in Ops, though.”
“Let’s go,” said Burns.
Five minutes later they were all gathered around the main console in Ops as Archie Andrews searched through the data log.
“It’s not there,” he said after a while. “Looks like it’s been deleted.”
“If it’s simply been deleted the information might still be retrievable,” said Chuck. “Move over.”
Chuck replaced Archie at the console and tapped away for a while but then shook his head. “The data hasn’t just been deleted, it’s been destroyed permanently. That must have been done on purpose.”
“Cold trail,” said Mullins.
“Not necessarily,” said Chuck. “Whoever destroyed the data knew exactly how to do it, but what they might not have known is that with a lot of the older stuff on O1 being a bit on the temperamental side, we keep a back up file on a separate hard drive which is… right here. So if we’re lucky it will still be… Yes, got it!”
“And?” said Burns.
“The stronger ping was on a bearing of 185 degrees from Ops, with the weaker one at 225 degrees which would put it somewhere around… Alpha Section, Airloc
k 6.”
“Can you find out what ship or ships were docked there at the time?”
“No problem,” said Chuck. “Hang on a minute. That’s funny, at the time we think Hector was taken there was only one other ship moored to Alpha Section…”
“So what was it?” said Burns.
“The Arrow, Commodore Jacks’ scout.”
With no duties to perform, Marines Burke and Dobbs once again fell back on their training. Fifty push-ups, to be followed by the exact same number of sit-ups, squats and crunches with everything nicely topped off by a thirty minute run around the inside of Hangar 1 wearing a full pack. After taking a shower they could look forward to an evening meal of field rations, after which they would polish their boots, buff up their belt buckles and badges, iron the creases in their uniforms, clean their side arms and attend to their ablutions, all by the numbers.
Marine Burke was heartily relieved to be back in a routine that he was used to and understood; Commander Lloyd and the prisoner had been an unwelcome distraction but they were already well on the way to becoming vague memories of a distant past.
Dobbs wasn’t quite so content. He still felt uneasy about the day’s events and the thought that he may have transgressed nagged at him incessantly. Orders were orders, but Commodore Jacks wasn’t going to like it when he found out that his orders had been countermanded, and when he did find out he was going to take it out on someone and the chances were that he and Burke would find themselves first in the firing line.
Dobbs had been taught that the first duty of a marine was to obey the orders of a superior officer, always and without question. He had also been taught that the astute marine should be able react to changes in circumstance. Situational awareness, they called it. He had done the first but wasn’t sure about the second. It wasn’t just a matter of fulfilling his responsibilities; it was also about covering his backside which was always high on the list of priorities for someone at the bottom of the chain of command. Well, the commodore might not be here but his adjutant still was. Dobbs straightened up his uniform and marched up to the commodore’s HQ. He was disappointed to find no-one there but on the desk there was a communications array that had a much greater range than the field communicator that was part of his standard equipment. He should probably ask permission before sending off a message but it was getting late and he didn’t want to wait until morning. If he was going to get into trouble over this, any further delay might make it worse still.
The Blunt End of the Service Page 18