A Dark and Dirty War, page 21
He gave her a quick smirk. “I’m the one who tests people around here, remember?”
Armed sentries from the Terra Regiment, stationed on either side of the Hall’s main entrance, presented arms at their approach. As the senior of the two, Kowalski nodded formally in return since neither wore a headdress. Such items often went walkabout in the coatroom at events attended by hundreds of officers, if only by accident, and weren’t strictly necessary with mess uniform.
In the lobby, they joined a throng of Navy, Marine Corps, and Army officers making their way up the stairs to the Salle des Pas Perdus, an imposing, high-ceilinged gallery. Situated at the heart of the Palace and overlooking the stately Court of Honour around which its main structure was built in the early twentieth-century, not long after World War One, it seemed as ageless as it was venerable.
“I’m always grimly amused by the fact that this place was erected over five hundred years ago to help prevent another murderous war,” Holt said in a tone pitched for Kowalski’s ears only. “Yet here we are, a species that can’t stop fighting among itself unless another species invades, and we’ll likely see another dustup in our lifetimes at this rate, perhaps even before you and I retire.”
“Something we will try hard to avoid.”
Mercifully, the gala didn’t feature a reception line, and both made their way to where white-jacketed bartenders handed out champagne flutes filled with the real thing and not some downmarket sparkling wine. Drinks in hand, Kowalski and Holt wandered over to a corner from which they could observe the mass of mess uniform-clad martial brilliance sprinkled with the more sober evening clothes of senators, top government officials, and influential people from the world of commerce, finance, and industry.
Holt nodded at a vice admiral hanging on to every word from ComCorp’s Vice President for Government Relations, another member of the Amali clan.
“Even though I should have known better from my time in counterintelligence during the war, I’m still amazed at how many of our fellow flag officers will knowingly or unknowingly sell their souls in exchange for joining the rarefied circles of the elite. That’s Guy Olonga speaking with Cristof Amali.”
“One of the deputy chiefs in the Procurement Branch. I recognize him. I heard he’s a real operator, that one.”
“Oh, he’s gone beyond mere operator by now. There’s a reason Olonga seems so chummy with Cristof. Favoring ComCorp for certain lucrative naval supply contracts gets him a glimpse into the inner circle of those who really run things. But only a glimpse, though he hasn’t realized it, not an entry. And yet, he sold his soul for that imaginary ticket. You might be shocked at how many souls are bought and sold during events such as this. Since the end of the war, Fleet HQ has nurtured a growing number of senior officers seeking favor with the powerful and influential, for promotions, for remunerative jobs after retirement, and to become one of the anointed.”
Holt took a sip and waved his glass at the crowd.
“Yet few, if any, understand they’ll never join the Amalis and the Lauziers and the others who rule the Commonwealth, elites who see obsequious flag officers as tools, to be discarded once their usefulness is exhausted.”
“I’m neither shocked nor particularly surprised, Zeke. You’re merely confirming what I already suspected or knew.”
“At least those at the very top seem to have stopped short of selling out. Sampaio, Lowell, Doxiadis, Espinoza, just to name a few, are as clean as they come. But keep an eye on those who seem overly comfortable or deferential with private sector nabobs tonight. They’ll be the ones looking for that golden ticket, and there’s enough of them to spread rot at the heart of the Fleet.”
Kowalski turned her head and studied him for a few moments.
“You know, I never did ask precisely what sort of work your division did for the CNI, yet I’m beginning to suspect you’re our version of internal affairs.”
Holt winked at her.
“You may well think so, but I couldn’t possibly say. However, if you want to stop this nonsense, get Fleet HQ away from Earth and put it in an environment where interactions with the Amalis and Lauziers of the galaxy can be strictly controlled. Most of our colleagues who step over the line wouldn’t do so absent temptations dangled before their eyes and opportunities to act on them. And here comes Admiral Lowell, wondering why we haven’t made our manners with the SecGen yet.”
Kowalski looked in the same direction as Holt and saw Grand Admiral Sampaio standing with Charles and Sara Lauzier near the center of the gallery, watching them through the space created by Lowell as people moved out of his way. When Holt and Kowalski met his gaze, Lowell slowed his pace. He made a come here gesture, which they obeyed with alacrity, handing their almost empty champagne flutes to a passing attendant.
“Flag officers who aren’t mingling stand out from the crowd,” Lowell growled in a soft voice when they were within discrete earshot. “And Secretary General Lauzier is wondering why you’re playing wallflower in dark corners instead of introducing yourselves.”
“Sorry, sir,” Kowalski replied. “We were merely getting the lay of the land. This is a first for both of us.”
“If you intend to climb further up the ranks, it won’t be the last by a long shot. Now smile and pretend you’re enjoying this.”
“Oh, I am, sir.” Holt gave Lowell a lazy grin. “People-watching in this setting is like catnip for a counterintelligence officer.”
Conscious that the eyes of the three most powerful people in the Commonwealth government, albeit one of them unofficially, were on them, Kowalski and Holt came to a precise halt and bowed their heads instead of a salute.
Grand Admiral Sampaio gestured at them.
“May I present Rear Admiral Kathryn Kowalski and Commodore Ezekiel Holt, the architects of Athena’s rescue? Admiral Kowalski is one of Admiral Lowell’s operations directors while Commodore Holt works for the Chief of Naval Intelligence.”
Charles Lauzier stuck out his hand and shook with each in turn.
“I offer you my gratitude for helping retrieve Sara and her fellow passengers.”
Sara Lauzier acknowledged them with a regal nod.
“So, you’re the ones who put Dunmoore on our trail. Well done.”
Both Holt and Kowalski noticed Lauzier didn’t use their rescuer’s new rank and figured it was deliberate.
“How did you put the mission together in such a short time?” She asked, flinty eyes boring into Kowalski’s. For reasons she couldn’t understand at that moment, the latter knew for sure Sara Lauzier engineered the hijacking and possessed nothing that anyone with religious inclinations might deem a soul.
“We can’t claim much by way of genius, Madame. The conditions were right for a speedy launch. Athena’s captain got out a distress signal with images of the hijackers before he was seized. It was picked up by 3rd Fleet and sent to HQ within minutes. That gave us a trail. Admiral Dunmoore had just completed a readiness evaluation on a new cruiser outfitted as a flagship. Both were at Starbase 30, in the right general area for operations in the Zone. Since she knows that part of the galaxy and its less savory denizens best among the senior officers available, she was the natural choice to head the rescue. The rapidity with which Admiral Dunmoore tracked you and the others down proved she was the right choice.”
“I see.” Sara Lauzier turned her basilisk gaze on Holt.
“And what was your role in this matter?”
“My people provided Admiral Kowalski and Admiral Dunmoore information that allowed Task Force Luckner to proceed with rapidity and precision, Madame.” Holt held her flinty eyes and came to the same conclusions as his friend and colleague.
“Earning Dunmoore a two-step promotion in the bargain and, as I understand it, a battle group command.”
“Yes, Madame,” Lowell said. “The 101st, whose primary role is dealing with the piracy problems spilling out of the Protectorate Zone and threatening our shipping, as you experienced firsthand.”
Holt and Kowalski exchanged looks so brief anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But Sara Lauzier did. She fixed first one, then the other with her stare before turning back to Lowell.
“And what is Dunmoore’s current mission?”
“Just that, Madame. Seeking out and eliminating any hint of piracy coming from the Zone.”
“That’s it? Why create a new battle group when existing ones could do the job just as well.” Sara Lauzier’s tone made it clear she didn’t believe the Chief of Naval Operations for a single second.
Charles Lauzier laid his hand on her arm.
“Let’s not spoil the evening by debating tactics, my dear. Clearly, Admiral Kowalski and Commodore Holt know their business, which is why you’re here, with us, celebrating our Armed Forces instead of worrying whether you’re next on the pirates’ kill list.”
Sara inclined her head with what Kowalski interpreted as forced graciousness.
“Of course, father.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Admiral, and you, Commodore. Once again, you have my unending thanks for acting so quickly and decisively.”
“Sir.” Holt and Kowalski briefly came to attention, knowing they’d been dismissed.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Grand Admiral Sampaio said, smiling.
“Thank you, sir,” Kowalski replied. “With your permission?”
“Carry on.”
She led Holt in the direction of the champagne table, sailing through the crowd like a battleship at a naval review. Once they were out of earshot, she glanced at him and spoke in a low tone.
“For some reason, I need to wash a foul taste from my mouth, Zeke.”
“Me as well, but that’s what gratefulness from those who’d rather not owe anyone gets you.”
Kowalski gave Holt a wry smile.
“Like most in this room?”
“Perhaps not most, but many. Of course, in this case, there’s probably more than just the uncomfortable gratitude of the elites involved.”
“Oh, there’s no probably about it, Zeke.” She picked up a pair of champagne flutes, handed him one, and raised hers. “Our continued health and that of Siobhan.”
— Thirty-Two —
He eyed her while taking a sip, then asked, “Do you think we might fall victim to the unexpected?”
“If like the Mikado after who they named one of our Q ships, she has a little list, then you, me, and Siobhan are on it, along with the people who weren’t taken off before the pirates skedaddled. I could see it in her eyes, Zeke, and I’ll bet she knows we know. Trust me on this — my finely tuned psychopath detectors don’t lie, not after spending all this time at Fleet HQ watching political games.”
Holt let out a low chuckle.
“Since I got the same impression as you — not because of psychopath detectors, but because I know her sort — I’d say she and we are now firmly on opposing sides. But I doubt she’ll do anything rash. At this point, the sooner everything is forgotten, the better for her.”
They fell silent as a vice admiral with what Kowalski privately called a resting jackass face, one that seemed constantly twisted into an unattractive sneer, picked up a champagne flute, then walked over to where they stood.
“Hobnobbing with the top bosses, eh, Holt?” His voice was deep, yet she detected a faintly whiny undertone at odds with his ruddy, rough-hewn features. He glanced at her. “You must be Kowalski, Admiral Lowell’s latest prodigy.”
“I am, sir.”
“Well, don’t let shaking the SecGen’s hand get to your heads. It won’t help with promotion prospects, not that you seem to have problems in that area, Kowalski. I never saw such a young rear admiral as an operations director. The magic of friends in the right places.” He turned his gaze on Holt again and studied him through eyes dripping with contempt. “Though I daresay you’re in the right niche if several ranks above where you should be.”
The man walked away without another word, plowing through the crowd as he made a beeline for one of the private sector nabobs.
“What the hell was that about?” Kowalski asked.
“I suspect a little bird told Vice Admiral Vinq we’re looking into his private peccadilloes, and he feels a tad threatened. By the way, I arranged for that little bird, in case you’re wondering. Another minor act of psychological warfare against one of our lesser lights.”
“So that he overreaches and puts himself in your crosshairs?”
“He’s already in our crosshairs. You see, Vinq is the sort who likes cavorting in his birthday suit with partners of barely legal age, though with some, you couldn’t tell. He’s married and has four children, by the way. That makes him highly susceptible to influence, if not outright pressure. So far, he’s done nothing warranting career consequences, let alone arrest, but his proclivities present a threat. I’d rather he stops so we can focus on those who are breaking the law, but that bird chatter has had no other result than cause him to treat me with barely veiled malice.” Holt took another sip of his champagne. “I suspect he’s also consumed one too many of these already, and he knows I was Siobhan’s first officer and then the captain of her flagship and that I remain her friend.”
A light came on in Kowalski’s eyes.
“Of course. I’d forgotten. Though Siobhan didn’t mention any names in her study on the willingness to take risks during the war and the length of the stalemate, I recall hearing rumors Vinq felt personally attacked.”
Holt nodded.
“That’s the man. He developed a deep hatred for her because, once again, she was entirely right. Vinq was more concerned about damage to his battle group’s ships — and thereby his career — than energetically pursuing the enemy. And as one of the deputy chiefs of personnel, he had the necessary influence to kill her chances of promotion. Fortunately, his chances for a fourth star are nil. I’ve already warned his superiors that there are issues with his off duty behavior that could bring disrepute to the Navy, if not worse. Even his friends in high places will walk away when they find out. He’s far from the only one, sadly. It’s enough to make you weep that the Vinqs of the galaxy are promoted while better officers don’t.”
“Move Fleet HQ away from Earth, and political influence over who gets what will dim.” She finished her glass. “And that’s all I’m having tonight. Care to mingle?”
“Not particularly. You?”
“Neither, but we’d best spend at least thirty or forty minutes making small talk with the good flag officers, if only because we might need their help one day.”
Holt smirked at her.
“Okay. But I want to see what you term good flag officers. Remember — I know about those who are bad although they hide it well.”
“We can compare notes on the way back.”
**
“Please tell me this is the last time I have to endure the SecGen’s Armed Forces Gala,” Holt said, settling back in his seat as the staff car moved away from the Assembly Hall’s main entrance.
“Make sure you’re not promoted again, and you’ll be fine. So, are any of my good ones under investigation by your lot? Or can’t you say?”
Holt let out a gentle grunt.
“Kudos on your instincts, Kathryn. They’re clean as far as we can tell, but a few mistakenly trust the wrong people. Mind you, they’ll find out from us in good time, and no, I can’t say who.”
“Are we agreed that Sara Lauzier wasn’t happy about being rescued by Siobhan?”
He nodded.
“No doubt about it, not that our gut feeling counts as sufficient evidence for a covert probe, so don’t look at my lot to confirm anything. If Siobhan can find evidence in the Zone linking the SSB with the hijacking, we might have a thread we can pull on. Otherwise...”
“She causes more mayhem on her way up the political ladder.” Kowalski let out a sigh. “Charles Lauzier, while a politician with the usual narcissism and lack of empathy, isn’t any worse than the rest, not that it’s a high bar to cross. How could he raise a daughter like Sara?”
Holt shrugged wearily.
“Our species has been practicing the art of psychiatry for over five hundred years, and the head shrinkers still can’t agree whether sociopaths are created by nature or nurture, so your guess is as good as mine.”
“That’s only because they refuse to admit that other individual traits are probably a result of nature rather than nurture and vice versa, lest they create an ion storm of epic proportions when blindly partisan proponents of one or the other take mortal offense. The mindless mob has ended professional careers for far less.”
“Be that as it may. I figure Sara as SecGen down the road will not be good for the Commonwealth — again, if we’re right.”
“We’re right, Zeke. She engineered the Athena incident to advance her career by removing potential opposition and pleasing those whose support she needs. Sara is playing the long game. Not the coming election and perhaps not even the one after. Unless she can swing it her way. Which means we can afford to play the long game as well by putting the right people into the right places and preparing our own plans.”
“Whoa. Say what? Are you talking of putting us up-and-coming flag officers on a war footing against the up-and-coming future SecGen?”
“Something’s going to give in the next ten or fifteen years, the way things are headed. Sara Lauzier is a symptom of the growing dysfunction in the Commonwealth, masked first by the war and then the immediate postwar years. But it’s coming back to the fore.” Their staff car halted smoothly in front of Kowalski’s apartment building, close to the shore of Lake Geneva. “And on that note, enjoy what’s left of your weekend. We can talk again on Monday.”
She climbed out, and the car sped off again, taking Holt to his quarters on the sprawling base that housed Fleet HQ.
— Thirty-Three —
“Madame Lauzier.” Blayne Hersom, Director General of the Special Security Bureau, rose as the SecGen’s daughter and closest adviser entered his office. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Normally, I’m the one seeking an audience with you in the Palace.”
