Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

She knew if I attacked one of Drakon’s subordinates, he would reflexively defend that subordinate. But why would Morgan want that? To drive a wedge between Drakon and myself. She can see that we’re working together. Maybe the brainless man has actually told Morgan that we have a relationship. A working relationship, I mean.

Morgan laid a trap, and an experienced CEO like myself stepped right into it. Malin was right about one thing at least, I can’t underestimate Morgan.

Malin… He had said something that had caught her interest. What was it? Age? Something about… “I may be a year older biologically.”

That was it. Why would Malin specify his age biologically relative to Morgan unless he knew her history? Malin must be aware that Morgan was actually about twenty years older than she appeared to be, having been frozen in survival sleep for that period in a suicide mission against the enigmas. The mission had been canceled, and Morgan had been one of only two of the volunteers recovered. But that mission, and Morgan’s role in it, was still classified at a level that Malin should never have gained access to. And Drakon was not the sort to have shared that kind of personal information about one subordinate with another subordinate.

Yet Malin knew about it. Perhaps he had been tipped off by the medical waiver that had allowed Morgan to return to the service despite mental impacts from the mission that left her borderline stable. Had he been able to find out why that waiver had been granted and by whom? That was a question well worth asking. Malin’s mother was in the medical service. That might be where he got the connections to learn that, and maybe to learn how someone like Morgan got that waiver in the first place.

Questions. Togo was off questioning the snake agent. There had been something bothering her about that. But what? The agent? The message?

No. Togo himself.

Iceni sat down, resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. She put her weight on her arms for a moment, relaxing her body and trying to think.

The shuttle. It had been too convenient, too easy.

Iceni checked the display again, seeing that Black Jack and the enigmas were still a good time away from contact. She tapped her comm tablet to put out a call. “Togo.”

“Yes, Madam President.” His response was almost immediate. Togo’s eyes, his face, his voice, all as usual revealed nothing, carrying only the soft tones of respect that she always heard from him.

“How did you so quickly determine who was on the shuttle that tried to flee this planet?” Iceni asked.

“It was a simple matter of checking location readouts for important individuals, Madam President.”

“And neither Governor Beadal nor Executive Fillis attempted to deceive the location-monitoring systems?” Iceni studied Togo closely, watching for any revealing reaction, but he maintained his poker face as he nodded.

“They did. Both attempts were easily spotted. Governor Beadal was using an older version of deception software and Executive Fillis employed a redirection mechanism that can be identified when searched for using the right parameters.”

It sounded right. A reasonable explanation. Am I simply being paranoid?

An old bit of CEO humor came back to her. What is the difference between a sane CEO and a paranoid CEO? The paranoid CEO is still alive.

“What have you learned from the snake agent?” Iceni asked.

“Nothing so far, Madam President. She never directly communicated with her snake handler. Cutouts were employed, single-use points of contact who disappeared after each set of instructions were given to her. She knows nothing of her handler except the code phrases used to verify that an order came from that handler.”

“Have you searched the back files for messages containing those code phrases?” Iceni demanded.

“Yes, Madam President. None are showing up even though the agent reveals no deception to the sensors in the interrogation room. Those messages may have contained coded instructions to wipe themselves a short time after receipt. The file names might still exist, but with no contents, those files would not appear in response to our search.”

Another dead end. Damn the snakes and damn Colonel Morgan and damn stubborn General Drakon and damn the enigmas—

“We have very likely learned all we can from the snake agent,” Togo said coolly. “Do you wish her retained for further questioning or disposed of?”

Iceni, angry at just about the entire universe at the moment, almost snapped a dismissive order to eliminate the agent. But she caught herself just before uttering that word. I know what he’s asking. Keep her locked up, or get rid of her? She’s a snake agent. Her life is already forfeit. If in a moment of insanity we let her go free, then her own former coworkers would kill her.

And yet…

“Retain her. I want her alive for now. Ensure she is not abused.” Some instinct told her that was the right answer. Why? She didn’t know. All the more reason to give that answer. She needed time to figure out why something was telling her to keep the snake agent alive. “Keep me informed of anything else you learn.”

After Togo’s image vanished, Iceni glared at the top of the desk, then looked carefully at the display above it again. The light from the first clash of the Alliance and enigma warships would be visible here soon. She levered herself to her feet and walked out of the office, trying to project every ounce of confidence and command that she possessed. Mess with me, will you, Colonel Morgan? Killing you might not be feasible now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lay plans. And the next time you try to use Drakon’s loyalty to his subordinates against me, I’ll be ready.

Assuming Drakon had been motivated to defend Morgan by that loyalty and not by some other feeling toward Morgan.

Why that thought made Iceni bloom with renewed anger she didn’t know, but the anger just strengthened her resolve to reveal nothing of her feelings at this moment, to act as if she and Drakon were co-rulers without a hint of friction between them. She walked up to Drakon and smiled politely, using the posture Syndicate rules laid out for interactions between equals. “It won’t be long now before we see Black Jack and the enigmas cross swords.”

Drakon, who had been standing stiffly, looking across the command center with a thundercloud on his brow, turned a startled glance her way, the surprise quickly shading into relief, then suspicion. “Yes.”

At least he’s smart enough to say as little as possible so as to minimize the chance of saying the wrong thing. “The snake agent can’t identify any handlers.”

“I’m not surprised,” Drakon said. “The snakes know their business. Maybe if someone else questions her?” He left the question hanging, waiting to see how she would respond and whether she would announce that particular agent had been disposed of and wouldn’t be answering any more questions for anyone.

“Feel free,” Iceni replied.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“All right.”

The meaningless exchange of words ground to a halt as the level of tension in the command center rose in a perceptible fashion. Iceni looked at the display, her eyes on the distant warships. “Let’s see what Black Jack does. Or, rather, what he did.”

Hours ago, Black Jack’s diminished fleet had raced into contact with the enigmas and—“Huh?” Iceni said without thinking.

“Why did he swing so wide?” Drakon demanded. “He avoided an encounter.”

“I’m not certain.” Iceni studied the display, frowning, as the two forces began curving back up and around toward each other. Black Jack was known for last-second vector changes that allowed him to hit portions of his foe’s formation, but this time the vector change had been so large that the two forces had avoided contact. She couldn’t recall seeing any record of Black Jack misjudging an intercept that badly.