The male civilian gestured Paul to follow, his face solemn. Paul considered asking for an explanation then and there, but decided against it. He followed the man, the woman taking up the rear, as they wound their way through a small maze of offices until they reached one with a fairly substantial door. The man fumbled out a key card, opened the door, and waved Paul in.
Fighting down images of himself being sealed away in a secret confinement facility, Paul went inside. As the two civilians entered behind him and swung the door shut, Paul's data pad chirped. He checked it, seeing it was informing him that he'd lost contact with Franklin's internal comm net. "A sealed room?" he said aloud.
The man nodded, his face now slightly apologetic. "Yes. This room's secured against electronic signals. And anything else that might allow someone to hear what's going on inside." He gestured to one of the chairs at the table which dominated the small room. "Have a seat, please."
Paul sat carefully, keeping his back erect and not relaxing in the least. "What's this about?"
Instead of answering directly, the man pulled out an ID wallet and proffered it to Paul. "Special Agent Bob Gonzales. This is Special Agent Pam Connally."
Paul looked the badges and cards over carefully, even though he knew he wouldn't have recognized fakes. "Okay."
Gonzales and Connally sat, watching Paul. Paul watched them. Finally, Gonzales sighed. "Sorry. Can I get you anything? Water?"
"I'm okay, thanks."
"You're not suspected or accused of anything. Nada. Period. That's not why you're here."
"That's a relief."
Connally grinned. As she shifted her seat, Paul noticed a slight bulge under one arm and realized she was carrying a weapon in a shoulder holster.
Gonzales quirked a brief smile, then went completely solemn again. "We need to ask you some things about your fellow officers. On the, uh, Michaelson."
Paul felt barriers going up in his mind. Is this how they tried to railroad Jen? What do they want me to say about any of the other officers? "I can't imagine what I could tell you."
Perhaps sensing Paul's reflexive suspicion, Connally leaned forward. "This is important. We'd appreciate your cooperation. Your captain said you were the best person to contact."
Captain Hayes. Great. No wonder he looked uncomfortable. But he wouldn't aid or abet anything wrong against me or anyone else. I'm sure of that. "Alright, ma'am."
Connally grinned again. "Don't make me feel old. Pam is fine."
"And I'm Bob," Gonzales added. "Like I said, you're not a person of interest. You're someone we're asking for help. Could you just tell us if you've noticed any of your fellow officers acting at all unusual?"
"Unusual?" Paul frowned and spread his hands. "How do you mean?"
"Uh, working extra long hours, say. After the normal work day is over."
Paul stared at Gonzales and then Connally, trying to judge if the question was serious. "We all work extra hours."
"I mean, consistently. Not underway, but inport."
"So do I. We all work extra hours. Inport, too."
Connally gave Paul a searching look. "None of the officers works longer than the others? At times when no one else is around?"
"Somebody's always around. And as for longer… look. Our typical work day is maybe twelve hours. Inport. Every four days inport is a duty day for junior officers. We spend twenty-four hours straight at work on those days. Maybe you get one of the night quarterdeck watches on your duty day and it's pretty much just you and the petty officer of the watch awake. But that's normal for us."
Gonzales leaned back and laughed. "Your work patterns are consistently after normal working hours and on weekends? All of you?"
"Yes. Pretty much. That's right. Even if it's not a duty day. There's always some emergency popping up, something that has to get done and get done right now."
"How about money? Does anyone seem to have a lot on hand?"
Paul let his puzzlement show. "How would I know?"
"Uh, spending, uh…"
"Yeah. On what? There's nothing much you can buy and take on the ship, no cars up here, no private housing, a couple of fancy restaurants maybe." Paul shrugged. "Somebody could be a billionaire and I wouldn't be able to tell. There's nothing they could be spending it on in front of me."
Connally looked at Gonzales. "I told you we'd have to bring him in on this. He can't help us otherwise."
Gonzales nodded heavily. "You're right. Lieutenant Sinclair, I have to ask that you swear to secrecy what we're about to discuss."
Paul felt his internal barriers rising again. "I don't understand. But whatever it is, of course I won't reveal classified information."
Gonzales waved to Connally, who gave Paul a level look. "I'll be blunt," she stated. "We have very good reason to believe one of the officers currently assigned to your ship is engaged in espionage against the United States."
Paul simply stared at her for a long moment before he could speak. "Espionage? You think one of the officers in the wardroom of the Michaelson is a spy?"
Both special agents nodded. Connally spread her hands, palm down, on the table before her. "Yes, but it's a lot more solid than 'thinking' that's the case. We have confirmed information of ongoing espionage. We've been tracking it for some time, with assistance when appropriate from the FBI and other government agencies. Just to let you know NCIS isn't alone in this. I can sum up what we know by saying the espionage operation has been ongoing for several years. We know, from sources we will not divulge to you, that one of the primary players is a Navy officer. I know," she agreed, seeing the look of shock on Paul's face, "that's hard to accept. But we know it."
Gonzales leaned back, rubbing his jaw line with one thumb. "Recently, there was a disruption in the deliveries by this officer. Then one delivery. Then another disruption, lasting from June 16th to the second of August."
Paul looked blankly back at the special agent for a moment, until the information clicked. "That brackets the period the Michaelson was just underway."
"Exactly. The officer transferred from the assignment they'd held before. We know he or she transferred up here. We know they couldn't pass materiel to their foreign contacts while your ship was underway. Within a few days of your ship getting back, there was a drop to their foreign contacts. Pretty clear cut, isn't it?"
"But most of our officers have been onboard for a long time," Paul protested.
"Right. But you had two new ones transferred to you recently."
"Yes-" Paul had to break his gaze on Gonzales to shake his head in disbelief. "Two of them." Commander Moraine, a spy? Is that why she's so nervous all the time?
Connally nodded, picking up the conversation. "A Lieutenant Pullman and a Commander Moraine."
"Yes, but Brad Pullman-"
"We can't rule out either of them. They both came from the area the spy was operating out of, and they both arrived on your ship at the same time."
"That's why you wanted to know if anybody was acting strange."
"But you say they're not."
"Not that way…" Do I really want to bilge Commander Moraine this way? But if she's doing what they say… is she doing that? I personally watched Jen get court-martialed and almost convicted on evidence that didn't prove anything. Is this that same sort of thing? How can I know? Paul became aware the special agents were watching him, waiting for the rest of the sentence. "Commander Moraine is usually pretty nervous. But," something made him add, "I've had some pretty experienced people say that's just because she's worried about her job, about not messing up."
"Do you work with Commander Moraine?"
"She's my department head. My immediate superior."