The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga) (31 page)

    
“There’s never going to be a last time,” Shawn replied heatedly. “You made very
sure of that.”

    
“The court of inquiry made their decision. They saw no negligence on my part of
the operation. However, I do recall they had something different to say
concerning your own role.”

    
“I remember, too. And you of all people know why I did what I did.”

    
Krif
shook his head in disappointment. “You disobeyed
the Admiral’s orders.”

    
“I didn’t have a choice.”

    
“Then you disobeyed the Captain’s orders.”

    
“I had to try and save them.”

    
“Then you went and disobeyed 
my
 orders!”

    
“It was a shitty order!”

    
“You weren’t in a position to make that call, Kestrel!”
Krif
shouted loud enough for anyone in the passageway to easily overhear. Richard
let out a heavy sigh,
then
ran his hands through the
short blonde hair as he attempted to quell his frustrations. “Besides, it wouldn’t
have made a difference anyway, and you know it. There was nothing you could’ve
done to save her.” He slowly stood from the table and moved to the view port
Shawn had uncovered. Shawn watched as
Krif
wiped his
hand tiredly down the side of his face before he continued speaking. “There
wasn’t anything any of us could have done.”

    
Shawn didn’t answer, but it wasn’t because he didn’t have something to say. It
was because a part of him knew
Krif
was right. It was
because a part of him had always known
Krif
was
right, and it made him sick to finally, after all this time, admit it to
himself.

    
At the same moment
Krif
had interrupted the
conversation between Shawn and Roslyn Brunel, Melissa had apprehensively
entered the briefing room containing the Director of the Office of Special
Intelligence.

    
The conference room was noticeably different than the one she’d last seen Shawn
in. This room was much longer, with a lengthy table covered with a dull cloth
dominating the center of the space. Around the table were over a dozen chairs,
all of them empty, save for the one at the far end of the room. Melissa assumed
that it was the Director who was seated in it, but it was difficult to
tell.    

    
She’d known for some time that the Director had a dislike of bright lights, and
for highly polished surfaces that allowed for reflections. There was an
unsubstantiated rumor that he’d been the victim an unfortunate accident some
years ago, one that’d damaged his ability to process any form of direct light.
Melissa, always one to believe in facts over fiction, never paid the rumors
much attention. It surprised her very little that the compartment was dark, far
darker than Melissa would have preferred for a meeting of this magnitude, and it
was inhumanly cold. Only half of the overhead pot lights were on, and those
that were had been set to half their normal luminance. It gave every piece of
furniture in the room a faint aura without highlighting any of their other
features. In the end, it didn’t matter to her why he chose to linger in the
shadows during their visit. It only mattered that the visit remained brief.

    
Her infrequent encounters with the Director had always been cordial and
professional, but the lack of light and ambient heat in whatever venue they’d
found themselves in always left her with the feeling that she was meeting with
a mythical creature of the night instead of the most influential intelligence
officer in the Unified Collaboration of Systems. It was even speculated by
some—mostly in the Unified Council—that the Director’s absolute authority gave
him even more power than the UCS President himself.

    
For her part, Melissa always considered the Director to be the power behind the
scenes, manipulating people and events to better suit the needs of the
majority. As such, the weight of the entire Unified Collaboration of Systems
was said to rest on his lithe shoulders, but he appeared to carry it smoothly,
as if he were born for it. In fact, an offhanded joke amongst junior agents
fresh out of the academy suggested that he was made for it—genetically
engineered to be the perfect intelligence officer—which would’ve certainly
explained his appearance. The man who sat there in the briefing room looked by
all accounts to be in his mid-forties. However, Melissa knew of no one in the
service who could remember another person occupying the Director’s position.
That meant that the Director was at least in his seventies—if not considerably
older.

    
Also quite legendary was his fast switching temperament. It was said that he
could be entirely rational one moment, only to become animated and enraged the
next. She’d never witnessed it herself and—always conscious of the problems
associated with making waves in the upper echelons of command—she’d continually
strived to stay in his good graces. In fact, it wasn’t until the disappearance
of her father that she’d experienced a falling out with the agency and, by
default, the Director himself. She knew it’d been a career ending mistake the
moment she’d done so, and knew with equal certainty that she’d eventually be
apprehended. She’d hoped that, by the time that happened, she would have
discovered more about her father’s mission. However, it was not to be. Too much
time had been
wasted,
time enough for Sector Command
and the OSI to catch up with her and Shawn.

    
Yes
, she thought forlornly. 
Shawn
.
What was going to
happen to him?
 She’d fully accepted the consequences of her actions
the moment she’d ignited her own private search for her father—a search
unsanctioned and even forbidden by the OSI She’d risked everything she had to
save the one person in her life that she loved. Did she have a right to ask
Shawn to do the same? Did he even understand what was happening? Back in the
briefing room, the look of betrayal on his face had hurt her to the very core,
and Shawn still didn’t even know half of the truths about why they were looking
for Admiral Graves in the first place. She’d never had the time to explain it all
to him, and now it looked as if that, too, would never come to pass. For the
first time in her professional life, she felt wretched for having lied to a
truly innocent person to get what she wanted, and something inside her hoped
that it would be the last time she did so. 

    
With a single, cautious step, Melissa neared the waist-high seatback of the
dark chair opposite of the Director’s still form. Mindful of the dim spotlight
casting a soft glow directly over her chair, she carefully remained in the shadows
and out of the glaring scrutiny of the Director.

    
From her vantage point, separated by twenty feet of dull gray tablecloth, she
could barely make out the form of the man in the dim light. There was, however,
little doubt she was staring at the person whose image had come to symbolize
the intelligence community for decades. Like all agents, the Director wore a
uniform of dull grey, sharp creases all around, and accented with black stripes
running the length of his arms and legs. The golden badge attached to the left
breast of his coat, unlike all the others in the OSI, lacked its usual polished
surface, and was instead covered in a satin-like veneer. His eyes were hidden
behind a pair of dark sunglasses, completely out of uniform for an agent, and
altogether unnecessary in the dark space of the 
Rhea
’s briefing
room. Yet, while she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses, she
surmised from the direction and inclination of his head that he was staring
intently at her. His hands, covered in skintight black gloves, were folded
neatly on the tabletop before him.

    
Despite the murkiness of the room, she could quite clearly see the two
uniformed OSI agents standing at attention on either side of the Director, each
positioned under their own respective spotlight. To the Directors left was a
human male, perhaps in his mid-twenties. The other was a female, but Melissa
could only base that assumption on her body shape. Her face seemed anything but
feminine, with an angular jaw line and protruding, heavy set eyebrows. Her
pug-like nose caught the overhead light in all the wrong places. Both of them,
dressed in the same black and gray high collared uniforms, stared past Melissa
as they stood motionless like stone monoliths. Nevertheless, Melissa knew that
they were watching her closely in their periphery with marked apprehension. If
she made even the slightest of unplanned or uncoordinated moves, they wouldn’t
hesitate to neutralize her with anything at their disposal. Melissa could see
their respective sidearm’s slung tightly to their waists, an unusual
accoutrement for an OSI agent to display in the open. She deduced that it was
likely one the Director had insisted on personally.

    
There was a drawn out silence in the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of
the 
Rhea
’s air recirculation system piping clean oxygen into the
space. Melissa shivered as a waft of cool air brushed past her face, and fought
the urge to rub her hands briskly together to induce a fresh bout of much
needed circulation. It was at that moment the Director slowly turned his head
to the right and simultaneously addressed the two agents behind him.

    
“Agents, you are excused,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone.

    
The two briskly snapped to attention, then strode forward in perfect time with
one another on either side of the long table. They exited the room without
giving Melissa the slightest indication that they’d acknowledged her presence.
The room became deathly silent once more. Melissa’s heartbeat was pounding in
her ears, and she wished the Director would say something to break the tension
in the space. He didn’t move, nor did he speak, but she knew he was waiting for
the perfect moment to do so. She surmised that, if this was to be the end of
her career in the OSI, she would face it like a professional. Taking charge of
the situation, she slid aside the tall chair and placed herself fully under the
overhead light, revealing herself fully to the Director in the process.

    
“That’s better,” he began. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you.”
The tone of his voice was low and soothing, almost hypnotic as it echoed off
the barren walls of the conference room. “It’s been a long time, Miss Graves.”

    
“Yes sir,” she replied meekly. If there was one thing she detested, it was
drawn out speeches. 
Come on
, her mind screamed. 
Get it over
with
.

    
The Director’s lips, hardly parting enough to construct his words, were the
only part of his body showing movement. “You know, I’ve always thought highly
of your performance in this agency.”

    
“Thank you, sir.” She tried not to sound too anxious.

    
He nodded once, slowly, as if a brick were tied to his chin. “You’ve been a
very valuable asset, not only to the OSI, but to
myself
as well. Your performance, in short, has been stellar.”

    
She nodded sharply. “Thank you.”

    
The Director suddenly shifted his body, and the movement took Melissa by
surprise. He unfolded his hands and leaned back into his chair almost casually.
The leather surface chafed slightly against his uniform in a series of soft
pops that assaulted her ears. “What always impressed me the most was your
ability to put aside any difficulties that less experienced agents would have
easily succumbed to in the line of your duties. You’ve been very methodical…
exacting. You never left a mess for someone else to clean up, and you always
obeyed orders without question. I would even go so far as to say that you’ve
earned my personal…
admiration
.”

    
True, she’d always prided herself on those same abilities, even the times when
she felt her grip on her own humanity had suffered for it. It hadn’t been until
recently, in fact, that she had begun to question her role in a number of the
things she’d been directly responsible for. Her service record was littered
with awards and accolades, most of which would never be publicly heralded due
to the secrecy of the individual operations. At the moment, she couldn’t think
of a single one of those honors that hadn’t come at the cost of someone else.
If her father hadn’t disappeared those months ago, she had no idea where she’d
be right now—she only knew she would be a very different person. Her
acknowledgement to the Director required no words, only a simple nod.

    
His long fingers slowly laced themselves together as he placed his hands in his
lap. “However, I have to say, Miss Graves, that I’m sorely disappointed with
you over your actions in this current situation.” His tone was unchanged. It
was all but impossible to tell if he was angry or not, although there was no
mistaking that he was dissatisfied.

    
Here it comes. Be strong.

    
“I understand, sir.” Where most agents would have started blathering, trying to
use words to explain away their own actions, Melissa knew better. Words, no
matter how eloquent or well spoken, wouldn’t get her out of this menagerie. The
cage she occupied was constructed of bars she forged herself over her years of
service. It was her lot to accept her punishment, and she wanted to do so with
dignity.

    
The Director leaned forward in his chair, bringing his laced hands up to the
tabletop. His head leaned slightly forward before he shook it slowly, almost as
if he were submersed in water. The very tip of his pointed nose glowed under
the scrutiny of the overhear light. “No, Miss Graves. I don’t believe that you
do. In fact, I’m quite sure that you don’t.” His tone was different now. The
pitch was higher, but no less ominous. “You see, you’ve gotten yourself in way
over your head—not to mention your pay grade on this—to say nothing about the security
breach you’ve committed by bringing civilians into a classified operation. This
is all very serious, Miss Graves, and could carry a
very substantial sentence.”