The Firestorm Conspiracy (24 page)

* * * *

John pushed on the grating and his blood ran cold as the metal refused to budge. He searched the perimeter for screws or other fastening devices and found none.

Trapped. He pounded his fist in impotent rage against the metal of the grating.

He froze. Had it moved?

He pushed until his already tortured arms threatened to give out and the bottom of grate slid a few centimeters away from the wall.

John shifted and placed his hands against the base of the grate. He pushed with all his strength and forced open a twenty-centimeter gap between the grate and the exterior of the building. Now he needed to figure out how to get through the gap without crushing himself. He lowered the cover into place and sat on his heels to study the problem.

The guard would be making another circuit soon, and he’d yet to get out from the conduit, let alone across the five hundred meters of open space between the building and the forest. He had no idea how long Kree disabled the fan for, but he hoped the massive blades wouldn’t be starting up soon.

He huddled several meters down the tunnel as the guard passed by the vent shaft. The blood rushed from John’s head when he heard the guard pause in his rounds and point his light into the shaft. He fought the urge to be ill as the guard spoke into his communications device, reporting the fan’s inactivity. Shivering more from fear than from cold, John sagged in relief when the guard was ordered to continue his rounds while someone went to investigate the malfunctioning unit. John had one chance to get out.

He counted to fifty then slowly crept up the conduit to the fan. Fear that the great blades might start their deadly circuit any moment made his movements choppy and clumsy. He placed his hastily manufactured bundle in front of his chest as he lowered himself into position. The metal of the conduit was like ice on his bare skin, but he didn’t care. Using every shred of material on his body, he’d wrapped his boots, making a thick, almost spherical bundle roughly the size of a pumpkin.

His hands braced against the grate as his count hit ninety, his arms and shoulders tensed as he reached ninety-five, and he shoved with all his might as soon as one hundred drifted through his mind. Aware of the fan blade resting against his naked waist, the chill of the edge as painful as a scalpel cut, he pushed against the grate. The cover shifted ever so slightly away from the wall, forcing him to clench his jaw and use his toes for added traction. As soon as the grate was a hand’s breadth away from the wall he threw his head and shoulder against it and quickly stuffed his bundle into the gap.

He panted from the exertion and shivered as sweat evaporated off his naked body. John waited on the cold floor gathering his strength to push again. He’d managed to get about a third of the bundle into the gap, but the space was still too small for him to slip through. Bracing his arms, he tensed his whole body as he pushed his fingers through the holes in the grate. He grunted with the strain and wedged the bundle further into the gap. Another push and the grate would be far enough away to allow him to slide through.

A series of loud clunking sounds echoed through the tunnel, followed by the telltale hum of an electrical current. Someone had restarted the fan. Adrenaline fuelled his last push against the grate. The fan blade resting against his waist began to press more firmly into his flesh. In a matter of seconds the pressure would be strong enough to break the skin. His need to escape was so strong the bundle almost slipped through onto the ground below. John shifted the heavy panel the last few precious centimeters. He drew his body along the protesting fan blade, dove headfirst out the gap, and landed heavily on the ground below.

Nate paced the length of Fleet Captain Banks’ outer office. News of the
Firestorm’s
redeployment along the border reached him two hours earlier and he’d spent every moment of his hectic day juggling and rescheduling his appointments in order to see the fleet captain as soon as possible. The door to the inner office opened and Banks’ aide said, “You may go in now, sir.”

Nate nodded and strode through the door.

Fleet Captain Banks stopped typing and rested his hands on his desk as Nate charged into his office.

Nate froze as Banks leaned back and regarded him with a penetrating stare. “So?”

“So, what?”

“I told you the next time you walked through that door I wanted a workable plan for preventing a war. Where is it?” Banks asked.

Nate was taken aback. “What do you mean? You also told me you wouldn’t keep the
Firestorm
out any longer than necessary.”

The fleet captain seemed genuinely surprised Nate knew of the new orders. “Yes,” he coughed, “the situation has changed. It was decided the
Firestorm
could serve the UESF better patrolling the border than by returning to Earth.”

“Who decided?” Nate demanded.

Banks scowled. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“I have assets on board. That makes the ship my business,” Nate countered.

“Your assets,” Banks replied, “are dead. Unless you have other agents on my ship I’m not aware of?”

“No,” Nate said, deflated. He brushed aside anger at the calculated jibe and gestured at the seat in front of the fleet captain’s desk. “May I?”

Banks looked like he considered refusing the request, scowled then nodded. Nate stared at the hawk-like man across the desk from him. Naturally dour, Fleet Captain Banks rarely looked content, let alone cheerful or happy, but the scowl on his face revealed a deeper emotion roiling under the surface. Nate’s sudden appearance in the man’s office obviously angered him, and Nate wanted to know why.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Where’s your politician’s clean-up plan to avoid interstellar war?” Banks countered.

“The avian government hasn’t mentioned so much as a peep about the incident on Cerces III. The odds are growing less likely we’ll be facing a full-scale war.” Nate paused. “Now what are you hiding?”

Banks scowled at Nate, his eyebrows forming a solid line across his forehead. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Then why won’t you tell me why you changed the ship’s orders?”

“That information is classified.”

Nate snorted. “My clearance is as high as yours. Try again.”

Banks pressed his palms into his desk and hissed through his teeth. Realization jolted Nate and he almost leapt from his chair.

“You don’t know, do you? You’re not the one who altered the mission. But if not you, then who?” Nate paused to think. “WGSS.” He slapped the desk. “Someone in the World Government Security Services countermanded your orders. Who else knows what was going on aboard the
Firestorm
? Why is the WGSS involved? Why are they operating above your command?”

“I will not sit here and be grilled like this!” Banks exploded. “If you don’t have anything constructive to offer in diffusing the situation, then get the hell out.”

Nate felt his own anger rush up his neck and into his hair. “There is no ‘situation,’ damn it, which is why it’s all the more puzzling that the WGSS ordered you to leave that ship out there.”

“I don’t care if you find the decision more puzzling than the genome map. I don’t have to justify my actions to you.” Banks narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I would suggest you spend more time preparing for the fallout from your agent’s escapade than snooping around in areas that aren’t your business.” He ploughed on, despite Nate’s opening his mouth to speak. “There will be fallout from this mission. I guarantee it. Why their government hasn’t questioned our unsanctioned presence in their space, I don’t know, but you can be certain they will ask at some point.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t explain why you’ve countermanded the decision we made last week,” Nate replied.

“No, it doesn’t,” Banks answered.

Nate’s anger vaporized into astonishment when he realized Banks didn’t intend to say anything further on the topic. The cantankerous old fool was stonewalling him.

Nate resisted the urge to reach across the desk and throttle the commander until Banks provided the answers Nate wanted. Despite the gratification such action would cause, his years as a politician warned against the inadvisability of a physical confrontation.

“Please, sir,” Nate decided to take a more respectful tack, “we’re on the same team here. How am I supposed to come up with a plan to diffuse the situation if you change the
Firestorm’s
orders without informing me?”

Banks refused to meet Nate’s eyes.

He sighed. “All right, I get it. You don’t have to tell me, and you’re not going to.” Nate stood. “My people are working on several fallout scenarios. You will have your report by the end of the week.”

Banks continued to stare out the window, clenching and relaxing his jaw. Shocked at the fleet captain’s irrational behavior, he walked out of the office wondering if the time had come to have the old buzzard replaced.

* * * *

“You,” Robert planted a wet kiss on Meredith’s cheek, “are amazing.”

She wiped off the offending slobber and turned from studying her father’s portrait to keep tabs on her half-brother as he practically danced around her office.

He beamed. “The shareholders are ecstatic. The largest non-wartime contract in the history of the UESF, and it’s ours.”

Meredith crossed her arms. “Do you have anything useful to say, or are you here to waste my time?”

“Aw, come on, sis.”

She winced at the endearment.

“Enjoy the moment.”

She shook her head. No one should be celebrating. She wondered if money made them all blind, or if no one actually understood what a contract of this scope meant for the future of humanity.

“I’m busy, Robert. I have a business to run.”

Robert pouted. “Fine. Be that way.” He walked over to her desk and perched on the edge. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone else willing to raise a toast to our success.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. Robert’s drama fooled the shareholders and kept them pliable, but she found it childish and annoying. “Just make sure she’s gone before your wife gets home this time. I don’t want another messy scandal in the news.”

Robert scowled.

She moved away from the photo on the wall and sat behind her desk. Robert twisted to maintain eye contact. She picked up her portable computer and pressed buttons at random, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Jones caught me on the way from the boardroom. He said Acemark Industries is willing to accept our offer.”

Meredith’s pulse leapt. “What were the terms?”

“Sixty cents on the dollar for their assets, plus the cost of paying out their employees.”

Meredith’s lips curled. “Tell them the market has shifted. If they want us to bail them out, we’ll agree to forty cents and take on three-quarters of their workforce. They can pay out the rest from the proceeds of the sale.”

Robert’s jaw dropped and her grin widened.

“You are a cruel bitch.” He shook his head. “I’m glad I’m on your team.”

Meredith chuckled as Robert exited. The new terms would drive Acemark’s executives around the bend, but with the only contracts coming to Llewellyn, they’d protest then sign on the dotted line.

Her smile faded as the door closed. Patrick’s cryptic message suggested he’d found a way to alter the situation along the avian border. She scrolled through the real estate listings. Hard work deserved a reward, and she had always wanted to own property in the Rockies.

She grinned. The question: buy a single chalet, or the entire resort?

John braced his feet against the wall and pulled on the base of the grate. His bundle of clothing dropped to the path. Quickly scanning the area to ensure he was still unseen, John grabbed the wad of clothing and sprinted across five hundred meters of open grassland.

Inside the relative safety of the woods, John took the time to put on his clothes before surveying his surroundings. He had cut his feet running through the prickly grass, but he ignored the pain and stuffed them back into his boots. He completed a small reconnoiter within fifty meters of his entry point. Satisfied he was alone, he chose a secluded spot between two large trees and settled down to wait for Kree.

* * * *

“Monroe to Cmdr. Santiago.”

“Santiago, here,” she replied as she toggled the communications panel on the captain’s desk.

“Sir, I think I found the transmission you’re looking for.”

“Excellent work, Lieutenant. Send a copy to me here. Santiago out,” Rebeccah replied as she waited for the transmission record to appear on the screen. The tiny packet of information arrived and she leaned forward to study the details.

Fifteen hours prior to the malfunction of the forward sensor arrays, Petty Officer Randall received a short message from the avian homeworld. Rebeccah used the captain’s encryption key to open it.

“Preserve rendezvous at all costs.”

Rebeccah toggled the communications panel. “Santiago to Lt. Cmdr. Karenshikov.”

“Karenshikov here, sir.”

“Commander, I need you to send a team to PO Randall’s quarters. He is under suspicion for colluding with avians and sabotaging the
Firestorm
,” Rebeccah explained.

“Aye, sir,” replied Karenshikov. Rebeccah turned her attention back to their new orders. Despite requiring extensive repairs, the UESF expected the
Firestorm
to hunt down and apprehend vessels suspected of smuggling information, drugs, and other contraband items into avian space. They’d been assigned a huge swath of space on the human side, and the nearest UESF ship would still be almost three days away should trouble arise. She couldn’t help but think someone didn’t want them to come home.

* * * *

John heard Kree long before he saw him. If the avian was trying to move quietly in the dark, he wasn’t succeeding. Sounds of snapping twigs and rustling branches continued for several seconds and then ceased. After a moment of silence, they started up again. When Kree moved within five meters of his position John made sense of the odd pattern of sounds.

The rustling stopped. “Human?” Kree whispered. “Can you hear me, human?”