Inger eyed him with barely restrained distaste. “If you put it that way, Citizen Secretary, yes, I am going to murder three people because I think they might be spies.”
“Do you have any evidence they are spies?” Hudis pressed.
Colonel Inger steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have no evidence they are not, Citizen Secretary. Do you?”
“And the fourth?” Hudis asked testily. “You said there were four?”
“The fourth is a soldier in the Dominion military. He was assigned to escort our admiral and his staff. He knows that they were here. He may not know who the Cape Bretons are, but he will certainly know that there was someone from Tilleke here.”
“One of ours, then!” Hudis said sharply. “We don’t kill our own people!” Colonel Inger stared at him expressionlessly. How can a man with this much power be so naive? Inger wondered.
“No,” ordered Hudis. “Send him back to Timor, under guard if you must.”
“And the others, Citizen Director?”
“Take care of them as you see fit,” Hudis snapped irritably. There was never really any question about it. Nothing could be allowed to risk Family Reunion.
Colonel Inger bowed and left. Hudis poured himself a small cognac and stood by the window. After several minutes of watching the ocean and sipping the smooth liquor, he felt his shoulders loosen and his mind slow its ceaseless darting about. War has a way of letting the Colonel Ingers of the world reach a prominence and stature they could never achieve in peacetime, he mused. In peacetime, we keep our predators restrained, hobbled. But the chaos of strife nurtures them, exhilarates them. Makes them…ambitious. He turned away from the window and poured a second cognac.
How ambitious? We’ll need the good Colonel Inger for some time, Hudis thought to himself. But afterwards?
Chapter 13
P.D. 951
The Spy
On Darwin
The waiter with the thick glasses waited stoically until his shift ended. Soon now, very soon, they would come to kill him. Or not. But if they did, he could not run, could not try to escape. The Abbott was clear on that point. “You must live long enough to drop your package, Reuven, and then you must wait,” the Abbot had instructed all those months ago. “This is the terrible risk, I know, but if you suddenly disappear then they will know that they have been discovered and all will be undone.”
But the shift ended without incident. He changed into street clothes and walked several blocks to the harbor, to a bar he drank at two or three times a week. It catered to locals, not tourists. It was dark and noisy. One or two of the regulars waived at him. The bar tender nodded in silent recognition and passed over his usual beer without a word. He took it and sat at his usual corner table. In the middle of the table was bowl of peanuts and dried fruit. And a small, flickering candle.
This is why he chose this bar. If he were ever caught with a candle in his room, questions might be asked. Someone might take note and wonder. But here every table had a candle; it was the owner’s attempt at creating an illusion of intimacy. And so he sat, beer in hand, staring at the dancing flame. And in his mind he recalled the Three Doctrines:
The First: God beckons. Our task is to seek the Light.
The Second: There are many paths to the Light. All are difficult. A man must strive.
The Final Doctrine: Death in search of the Light is not death.
His name was Reuvin. He was a Devote from the planet Canaan, sent to Darwin years earlier to spy on the Dominion agents there. For four years he had watched, listened and reported things of little consequence. Then several months ago there had been a meeting with a man The Light knew was a prince of the Tilleke Royal Family. The others were unknown, but clearly from different nations. Security at the meeting had been very tight, preventing Reuven from learning its purpose. He waited. Eventually he learned there would be another meeting. New instructions had come from the Church. Urgent instructions. And now here he was, about to make his final drop.
He stood and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. No one else was there. Moving quickly, he went to the waste bin, which was half full of discarded paper towels. He reached into it, groped around and then withdrew a paper towel wrapped around a hard object. He hurriedly unwrapped it, fearful someone else might enter. He withdrew a pair of black glasses with thick lens, identical to the ones he was wearing. He removed his glasses, wrapped them in the paper towel and replaced it at the bottom of the bin. Putting on the new glasses, he returned to his table.
The relief he felt was almost palpable. He had done it. His mission was over. He sipped his beer unconcernedly, not bothering to look around. They were there or they weren’t. God has a plan for us all. Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he spread his hands out toward the candle flame and swept them back towards his face. “There are many paths to the Light,” he murmured softly. “And each must find his own.” A deep feeling or serenity and peace flooded through him. He had done all that had been asked of him.
Now let them come.
Chapter 14
P.D. 952
Intelligence Briefing
On Space Station Atlas in Victorian Space
Lieutenant Hiram Brill took a deep breath, stood and walked to the podium. “Good morning,” he said. No matter that he had given briefings twenty times before, he could still hear the tremor in his voice. His audience, the ten senior admirals of the Victorian Fleet Council, stared at him stone-faced. The senior admirals for the Home, Second and Third fleets were there. Home Fleet was permanently stationed in Victorian space; Second, the largest of the three, was assigned to patrol the border with DUC; and Third on a constant series of “courtesy visits” to the other inhabited sectors, a not-so-subtle reminder to everyone that Victoria was the biggest, badest military power in the known universe.
In addition to the Fleet admirals, there were the commanders for Logistics and Personnel, Operations, and Intelligence. The meeting was chaired by Admiral Giunta, the First Sea Lord. Ten admirals all together, staring at one lowly lieutenant.
“Today’s briefing concerns recent developments between the Tilleke Empire and the Arcadian sector,” Brill continued. “As you know, five months ago Emperor Chalabi declared that unless Arcadia sold Tilleke ziridium at heavily discounted rates, he would deny Arcadian freighters transit rights to pass through Tilleke space. Although this is in violation of the Darwin Accords, the Emperor…”
“We are well aware of the history! Tell us something we don’t know, Lieutenant,” snapped Admiral Skiffington, head of Second Fleet.
Brill’s face flushed. He darted a quick glance at Rear Admiral Teehan, head of the Victorian Intelligence Bureau and his ultimate boss. Teehan placidly returned his gaze.
“Of course, Admiral,” Brill said more calmly than he felt. “Under protest from the League, the Emperor has not closed the shipping lanes to Arcadia, but within the last four weeks three Arcadian freighters have disappeared.”
“Yes, yes, we know that, Lieutenant,” Skiffington growled. “Do you have anything new to add, or is this briefing a waste of our time?” He swiveled in his seat to look at Admiral Teehan. “Really, Jeffrey, it’s bad enough that you’ve sent a lieutenant to brief us, but this is old news.”
“Give the boy a chance, Admiral,’ Teehan replied evenly. “There’s more.”
“And the Lieutenant is here at my express order, Admiral.” Admiral Giunta stared coldly at Skiffington. There was a spark of tension in the room. There was little love lost between the two men. Everyone knew that Admiral Skiffington wanted Admiral Giunta’s job as First Sea Lord, and had been actively lobbying with members of the Legislature to get it. Giunta nodded at Brill. “Continue.”