The Paths of Destiny
The Chickering Affair

September 17, 2000:

Well, we finally graduated! Congratulations to us!

The actual graduation — when we finally got to it — was at best, anti-climactic. The usual speeches by the guest speakers, quite dull, were endured by everyone. Just barely.

Surprisingly, Sami called Drayton, Doc, Nighthawk and me to the podium to receive special recognition for our part in the rescue of Robyn Coyne. She flashed a never before seen smile towards us as we received our commendations, surprising us even more.

Logan Blackeagle was then called to the podium. We were given another commendation for our part in the pre-Graduation incident.

One final surprise, the five of us graduated with the rank of full Lieutenant, a rarity in the history of SPJ training.

When we returned to our seats, I managed to catch a glimpse of Mary Ann Sullenberger, Section Leader for Community Services. She had a particularly thoughtful look on her pale face as she watched us.

Although I didn’t show it, I was taken aback. I recognized her as the woman Robin Coyne had been speaking with at Claridge’s during my training assignment. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything about it and a quick glance at the others didn’t reveal if they recognized her.

I made note to figure out a way to come up with some hard evidence to prove her involvement in Coyne’s kidnapping and turned my attention back to the ceremony.

In view of the strenuous activities involved in the graduation, we were given the rest of the week off.

Well, most of us at least. I found out from Drayton that he and Nighthawk were ordered to report to Senior Commander Storm immediately after the ceremonies to continue researching Overton’s public records.

Doc James wound up being tapped to assist with the autopsies of the terrorists, nine of whom committed suicide.

Of Blackeagle, no one seems to know what he’s been doing. Not even my friends. They’ve managed to catch a glimpse of him from time to time, nothing else. I’ve not seen him once since graduation.

For me, I’ve been on medical leave recovering from the wounds I received during the pre-graduation incident. The leave ends tomorrow when I report in for my first day on the job.

September 18, 2000:

Technically, today was our first day on the job. We were ordered to report to our respective Sections at seven this morning and await further instructions. Before parting, I agreed to meet with my friends for lunch, if possible, in the main cafeteria. We hoped our lunch times would coincide.

We’d been told that this first day, the early part, would be taken up with various meetings. Breakfast meeting first, then introduction to our respective Department Head after lunch, given a desk and a locker, and maybe even some work to do!

When we arrived, we were each handed a schedule.

There were some meetings on the schedule, which are more crucial than others for this entry, and I’ll mention them in detail shortly. The less crucial meetings were those with Section Leader Michael Bartlett, for housing, and with Section Leader Jacqueline Bartlett, for payroll. As for the physicals, do I need to quack like a duck?

My schedule was as follows:

Lieutenant Robert Bixby Parker

External Operations

0800: Breakfast Meeting with Ted Westbury in his office.

0900: Meeting with Section Leader Donald Chickering, Security, at his request.

1000: Meeting with Section Leader Paul Robinson, External Operations.

1100: Meeting with Section Leader Jacqueline Bartlett to take care of necessary payroll paperwork

1200: Report to Medical for a full physical

1300: Meeting, Section Leader Michael Bartlett, to discuss accommodations

1400: Lunch Break

1500: Meeting with Department Head in External Ops Department

I’ll note our meetings, in as much detail I gained from everyone. Those relevant to the day’s activities. I’ve made it easier by breaking each meeting into their corresponding hour.

0800:

Drayton, Doc, and Nighthawk had a Breakfast Meeting at eight, with their Section Leaders in their respective offices. Since all Senior Officers were supposed to be approachable at all times, new hires have at least one Breakfast Meeting with their SL to meet-and-greet and get over “Peer Fear”. Supposedly, this meet-and-greet usually works.

Drayton’s went extremely well. Dara DeVere was passionate about computers, and very appreciative of his skills. From what I understand, they traded various coding styles.

Doc and his SL, Dr. Bernard Mallory, had been working together since last Tuesday, autopsying the bodies of the terrorists from the Graduation activities. Doc said, his meeting was pro forma. They spent the entire time discussing medical cases.

Nighthawk’s SL is Paul Robinson. Incidentally, my scheduled meeting with him was at ten since he’s my Section Leader as well. Her meeting is worthy of mention, based on what she told me.

Nighthawk described him as aged about 48 to 50, a five-foot nine-inch tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes. When she met him, he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a well-cut suit that emphasized his physique to good advantage. Not a bodybuilder, but not a wimp, by any means. It was easy to imagine him leading people from in front. In fact, scuttlebutt had it he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty when necessary.

She walked into the office where Robinson stood and came towards her, his hand out. He welcomed her and conducted her to the casual area, a corner nook with a comfortable settle and table. As she looked around, she noticed a large, imposing desk with corresponding chair against the far wall. No additional chairs, she noted. She got the distinct impression that one was there for either praise or censure, nothing in between. In fact, there was a small carpet in front of the desk where a second chair would be ....

Nighthawk also noticed his hand on her elbow was a little too firm, in her opinion. He reminded her that they had met before during their interviewing before graduation.

She also recalled seeing, beyond the desk, another room. She surmised it could be a bedroom or bathroom, possibly a combination of both. The door was open, and she could see partially inside. Nighthawk wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw movement as if someone shifted restlessly.

“Oh, by the way, how are your researches coming along?” Robinson asked her. “I understand that you’re looking into the backgrounds of certain people. What have you found so far?”

Figuring Robinson may have been trying to trap her into betraying Drayton, Nighthawk refused to give any information.

“I should like to remind you, Lieutenant Nighthawk, that I’m your Section Leader. In case you’ve forgotten your training already, that means I am the one to whom you are answerable.”

He looked at her for a moment before continuing.

“You are very new here. It’s too soon to be joining cliques and forming alliances. I recommend you ... forget this foolish quest of Drayton’s sullying the name of a fine Section Leader, and a personal friend of mine, I might add, and look to the… advancement of your own career.”

“But Commander Storm…,” she began.

“This Section does not answer to Commander Storm,” he interrupted her sharply. “This Section answers to Commander John Redhawk. Would you like me to tell him of your ... lack of co-operation?”

Seeing the tactic for what it was, the old “Carrot and stick technique”, Nighthawk stuck with her story.

Robinson, however, wasn’t done. He tried one last tactic to get her to break.

“Miss Nighthawk. You may have completed your preliminary training, but you can still be summarily dismissed. For poor performance. And I can assure you that lack of co-operation will add up to extremely poor performance indeed.”

Nighthawk knew the bluff for what it was and called her boss on it.

“No you can’t,” she burst out. “Once one has graduated and signed the Oath, a Section Leader can only recommend dismissal. A Senior Commander has to institute the actual proceedings and one would have to undergo a Review Board Hearing first.”

Robinson sat back for a moment. His face was a study in the art of blandness as Nighthawk wondered if she might’ve gone too far with her outburst.

For what seemed an eternity, Robinson sat there saying nothing.

“Good,” he said suddenly, making her jump. “You know how to stand up for yourself. You’ll replace,” he went on more mildly, “that skill to be useful throughout your career with the SPJ when you feel you’re correct in your actions.”

“For now, Lieutenant,” Robinson said as he stood. “I would caution you to choose your friends wisely or else you may wind up in the same boat as them.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Dismissed.”

My breakfast meeting with Ted Westbury went well. We caught up some more on old times and spent most of the hour having the normal type of conversation one expected among old friends.

One thing of note, in regards to the rest of my interviews. He was surprised that Donald Chickering wanted to see me. I thought it odd, too. I’m not in his chain of command, and since I graduated and taken the Oath, there shouldn’t have been anything to concern him.

Backtracking just a bit, Ted, after my pestering him about it, gave me one tidbit of information in relation to the Robyn Coyne assignment. It turns out the “Mad Scientist” we took into custody at the Overton Estate in St. Albans was a Dr. Dean Elyacoubi. Apparently, Elyacoubi had no remorse for any of his past deeds when questioned. In fact, he was quite proud of what he had done.

I also gave him my misgivings about Sullenberger. Admittedly, even though I recognized her from Coyne’s kidnapping, SPJ didn’t have any hard evidence against her. Ted assured me Sullenberger was under close observation and not to worry about her.

0900:

I don’t know much about Logan Blackeagle. I’d seen him a couple of times during Basic and he helped take out the terrorists during Graduation. Aside from that, I don’t have much more to go on. However, Doc, Drayton and Nighthawk seem to get on well with him. Therefore, his various meetings as they relate to this entry will be included; pieced together by me based on what my friends told me.

Unlike the rest of us, Blackeagle was free for breakfast, but he had a scheduled meeting with SL Robinson at nine. As he arrived, Blackeagle happened to see Katrina Nighthawk leaving. To his eyes, she appeared a little shaken.

A few moments later, while he was waiting to go into Robinson’s office, someone else came out. She was a tall, pale woman with long, dead black hair. Blackeagle recognized Mary Ann Sullenberger, Section Leader for Community Services.

When finally allowed entry, Robinson greeted him affably and offered coffee. He asked how well Blackeagle knew Katrina Nighthawk and was genuinely surprised to learn the two met only recently. Robinson had been under the impression they’d been in training together. As Blackeagle explained it, he’d been in the school at the same time but in a parallel class, and only met up in Basic at Uxbridge. Robinson sympathized with Blackeagle when he heard that he’d been the only remaining member of his class.

Robinson hoped Blackeagle would make friends with some members of our class. Specifically, Drayton and Nighthawk. He said the pair were becoming a little too independent a little too early, and he didn’t like that. He asked Blackeagle to keep an eye on them and let him know what they were doing.

Apparently, Blackeagle knew what was happening, based on what I gathered from the others. All three of them separately ran into him before our lunch date and concurred with his assessment of Robinson trying to manipulate him. Per all three accounts, Blackeagle just went along with him nodding his intent to do as requested.

While Blackeagle met with Robinson, Nighthawk reported for her Physical. The nurse said her blood pressure was a little elevated, but nothing to worry about. Once done, Nighthawk had an hour free before meeting with SL Chickering.

On the way to my next interview, my cellphone rang.

“It’s Corey,” came a familiar voice when I answered.

In the background, I could hear planes revving — all the sounds of a busy base.

“I’m flying out to my new posting,” she bubbled with laughter. “Full exoneration, Robert. You were right! I even got a commendation for getting out when I did with the Intel I brought back. I’ve passed it on, by the way, to where it’ll do the most good.”

She paused a moment as if catching her breath.

“I want to see you again. I don’t know when — I’ll be in the Med for at least a year, I think. However, I’ll try to get back on leaves.”

Indistinct chatter over the loud speaker

“They’re calling my flight — I have to go. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier — you have no idea how busy it’s been.”

She sobered for a moment.

“Robert — thank you. You were there for me when I needed you, and that will always count for something.”

“Corey, I’m happy for you,” I replied allowing the pleasure and relief to show in my voice. “I knew you’d get through this. Congratulations on the commendation. Don’t worry about the contact delay. I’ve barely had time to breathe since our night together. I graduated boot camp, recently, and going through a series of the usual tests and interviews. I’m in between interviews, right now. So, you’ve caught me at a good time.”

I paused long enough to return a greeting my way from someone I didn’t know.

“I know you need to catch your flight. I just wanted you to know I’m just a phone call away if you need me while you’re out there.”

I remembered something I wanted to tell her.

“One other thing,” I added. “If you ever come across any books written by a ‘William Anthony Nall’ pick one up. It’s one of my hobbies. I’d like you to think of me whenever see it on your shelf and feel you need a friend.”

Shameless plug, I know. I wanted to ensure she didn’t forget me.

“Good luck out there, Corey. Keep in touch whenever you can. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you on your next leave.”

“‘William Anthony Nall’ — I’ll remember that.”

“Oh, one other thing,” I added as an afterthought. “What is your last name?”

“My last name? It’s...,” the phone garbled, then the contact was lost.

I went on to my next interview not at all bothered that the signal had been lost. Too bad my jaunty mood would end so abruptly.

For me, that next meeting was my nine o’clock with Donald Chickering. He was a short fireplug of a man, about five-foot eight and very solidly built. Not someone anyone would like to meet at night in a dark alley. He positively exuded an aura of menace as I entered his office, coming smartly to attention in front of his desk.

“You were part of the group that drew Miss Coyne as your training assignment, correct?” He asked without preamble. “Your classmate, Frederick Drayton, is still investigating Section Leader Sullenberger. What has he found out?”

“I’m not sure I can say, sir,” I replied.

“This is a matter of internal security, Parker. Drayton has been specifically told not to continue with his investigations, yet he persists in disobeying. Not to put too fine a point on it, your friend Frederick Drayton is disobeying the direct orders of a superior officer, to cease and desist in his efforts to investigate Section Leader Sullenberger.”

He paused considering me for a moment.

“I want you to replace out all you can about his investigation, and report directly to me. This should not be too difficult for you, Detective. Otherwise... well, when the axe falls, you may well replace your head on the chopping block as well.”

He waved his hand in dismissal.

“Dismissed.”

Of course, from my time in the Peacekeepers I knew this was so much bull. I’d already taken the Oath. At the very least, a Review Board Hearing would have to be convened. I knew we’d be on probation my first year, during which time separation would actually be easier. It wouldn’t be as easy as Chickering seemed to indicate.

And I had a small ace up my sleeve as well — no one knew about my prior service with the Peacekeepers. I had a year and a half seniority on my side. Firing me wouldn’t be as easy as they thought, not at all.

1000:

Blackeagle’s next meeting was with Chickering. Not affable at all.

“So, Blackeagle. Are you aware you’re running with a very dangerous crowd? I believe — and intend to prove — that Frederick Drayton and Katrina Nighthawk are acting contrary to the aims and intentions of the United Nations and of this Organization.”

Blackeagle waited for Chickering to continue.

“When they go down — and they will go down — anyone associated with them will follow. Unless...”

Chickering gave Blackeagle a sidelong glance.

“Unless that person has fully co-operated with my investigation that is...”

As with the previous meeting, my friends stated, Blackeagle pretended to go along with Chickering’s plan.

After my meeting with Chickering, per my schedule, I finally met my own Section Leader, Paul Robinson. I went to his office and his secretary waved me in after notifying Robinson of my arrival.

He was seated behind his desk, waiting.

Since I hadn’t seen any of the others yet, I had no foreknowledge of what to expect. One could imagine my surprise when I saw only one place to stand. A small square of carpet in front of his desk. The symbolism didn’t escape me.

Once I reached the spot, I snapped to attention and waited.

“Good work last Tuesday.”

“Thank You, Sir,” I said, still at attention since I’d not been given leave to stand at ease.

“This Section is concerned with External Operations, including Investigations. As a trained investigator, this should be a natural fit. However, from time to time we loan personnel out to other Sections. Sections who can best use their talents.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“I believe you’ve already met with Section Leader Chickering?”

“Yes sir,” I said, risking a quick glance at Robinson, wondering where this was leading. “I’ve just come from my scheduled meeting with him.”

“He’s asked for the loan of your talents in investigating two of your classmates, Frederick Drayton and Katrina Nighthawk. I have agreed. Spend time with them, take lunch, replace out about the researches they are doing.”

Robinson pointed at me.

“If possible, bring me their laptops so we can download the information they’ve already found. Dismissed.”

To say my meeting with my own Section Leader was a rousing success would be saying Welsh soprano Charlotte Church was expecting a baby, out of wedlock, by a popular UK soccer player. It wasn’t true. Robinson expected me to spy on my friends. Simple as that.

I figured if he wanted me to spy on my friends and obtain their laptops, then I’d have to do something about it. Of course, all I did was acknowledge his orders with the intent of carrying them out in a way I hoped he wouldn’t expect.

1100:

Doc James met with SL Robinson at precisely eleven, where he was ushered into his office, and offered coffee.

“Dr. James,” he began conversationally. “I’ve been hearing good reports about you. Tell me, will this work be very different from what you’ve already done with Scotland Yard?”

Doc, naturally, assured Robinson his current position was no different from before. He just had more toys to play with now.

“From time to time,” Robinson said pleasantly, “we need an experienced forensics investigator on our team. Mallory and I are on good terms — I can see to it that we ask for you, if you would like.”

“It would be a pleasure to serve, Sir.”

“You were in class with Frederick Drayton and Katrina Nighthawk, weren’t you? What can you tell me about them?”

“They’re capable people, Sir,” Doc answered honestly, unsure of where Robinson was going. “They know their stuff and seem to have the makings of going far within the SPJ. Aside from that, I can’t tell you much more about them. We seem to get along well. We sometimes meet up for lunch and such. Provided my work with Doctor Mallory doesn’t get in the way, of course.”

Robinson waited for Doc to continue.

“I wish I could tell you more,” Doc said apologetically with a shrug.

“Who is your loyalty to,” Robinson asked sharply, “your classmates or the SPJ? To possible traitors, or the UNO? Doctor, it is your duty to help us replace out what’s going on, and stop it! Now, are you with us or against us?”

“I’m with the SPJ, Sir,” Doc answered simply in his easy manner, with a touch of insult. “I took my Oath just like everyone else here. That includes doing whatever is necessary, within my power, to help thwart any threats within the SPJ.”

Apparently, Robinson was satisfied with Doc’s answer. He gave Doc leave to carry on and dismissed him.

Nighthawk arrived at Chickering’s office after going through her Physical and the free hour to herself — reflecting on the meeting with her Section Leader. Robinson started out affable, and she felt she could work with him — at first. There was nothing affable about Chickering. In fact, Nighthawk encountered the same distinct aura of menace from him I had.

“Lieutenant Katrina Nighthawk,” Chickering began without preamble. “Full lieutenant, straight out of training. Relatively rare — we get about one every three classes. Your class produced four, plus one from the class parallel to yours.”

He got up from his desk and began slowly pacing around her.

“You were elevated because of your actions when Miss Coyne was kidnapped. You further distinguished yourself when you helped rescue those of us being held hostage last Tuesday.”

Chickering turned to face Nighthawk.

“However, this does not give you any kind of blanket immunity in regards to — shall we say — other actions?”

He stabbed a finger in her direction before continuing.

“You’ve been investigating one of the Section Leaders, Mary Ann Sullenberger. Your friend and co-conspirator, Frederick Drayton, has already been told to cease and desist. Now I’m telling you.”

Nighthawk felt a trickle of sweat run down her back as Chickering took a step towards her.

“This sort of thing comes under the heading of Internal Security. By interfering, you may be jeopardizing an on-going operation. You are, at the very least, overstepping your bounds as a newly created lieutenant in External Operations.”

She held back a tremble as Chickering took another step towards her.

“I am giving you one chance and one chance only. I suggest you take it.

“Stop. Now.”

Another chopping motion that made her flinch.

“If you don’t, my next step will be to place you on formal report, and send a copy of that report to your Section Leader, Paul Robinson. I can promise you, you will not like his reaction.”

Chickering, abruptly, returned to his desk and sat down. With narrowed eyes, he stared at Nighthawk. Not a word spoken for several long moments.

“Dismissed.”

1200:

Drayton’s meeting with Robinson was scheduled for noon. He hadn’t seen any of us up to this point yet since we were all on very different schedules. Still, he looked forward to our planned lunch at two to catch up on our experiences so far.

The only one of us he’d seen thus far was Doc James. As Drayton arrived for his meeting with Robinson, Doc was leaving. He gave Drayton an abstracted nod and hurried away with nary a word.

Robinson was standing behind his desk as Drayton entered. He waited until Drayton halted before him on a small square of carpet and then folded his arms.

“Drayton,” Robinson began. “Lieutenant Frederick Drayton. Troublemaker. Poking his nose where it is definitely not wanted. Investigating his betters? Why? Because he doesn’t have anything better to do?”

He came out from behind his desk and started prowling behind the lieutenant who was braced at attention, eyes straight ahead, wondering where this was going.

“You have been investigating Section Leader Sullenberger — directly against the orders of your superiors. Section Leader Chickering told you to cease and desist. Senior Commander Storm told you to cease and desist.”

Robinson paused behind Drayton.

“Are you even aware of how many rules and regulations you are already guilty of breaking, the two of you? And before you ask. Yes, I know about Lieutenant Nighthawk.”

He sat behind his desk and pulled a file out of a drawer. It was already an inch thick. On the front was written Drayton’s full name, rank and Section.

“This has not gone to your Section Leader,” Robinson said as he slapped the file down on his desk. “Yet. It’s still incomplete. Nevertheless, as soon as I’ve finished my investigation, it will. Once she signs off on it, it will go directly to your Senior Commander, Richard Vallance. For action.”

He pulled out a second file. This one had Katrina Nighthawk’s name on it.

“Nighthawk is one of my people. I don’t need a formal investigation. All I need to do is forward her file to Senior Commander Redhawk, and she’s out the door.”

Robinson gave Drayton a pointed stare.

“Drayton, I am going to give you one chance,” he waved Nighthawk’s file in Drayton’s direction. “Only one chance. Cease and desist. Now. Turn over your research and Nighthawk’s by five p.m. today, and these files will go away. Fail, and I already have a meeting scheduled with Commanders Redhawk and Vallance for 1830.”

Drayton opened his mouth, and that was as far as he got.

“Silence!” Robinson roared, abruptly standing and throwing Nighthawk’s file angrily onto his desk. “You have not been given leave to speak! You’re not here to tell your side of the story — you don’t have a side! You, sir, are a newly minted lieutenant who is well on his way to being drummed out in disgrace! Together with your young girlfriend Katrina Nighthawk! Is that what you want?”

For an eternity, Robinson sat at his desk staring at Drayton before speaking one final time.

“Dismissed.”

1300:

Drayton’s next met with Chickering. For a full half hour, he was kept kicking his heels in the outer office before the secretary finally announced he could see Chickering. Whereupon, my friend entered the office and came to attention before the desk.

As was proper for this situation, for Drayton at least, he stood at attention during the uncomfortable silence. All the while, Chickering sat at his desk regarding Drayton in silence, lips pursed, hands on his chest. Finally, the man behind the desk spoke. Without preamble, he ticked off each offense towards Drayton; reminiscent of Perry Mason in court pounding out the damning evidence against a criminal.

“You have continued to investigate Section Leader Sullenberger against the direct orders of a superior officer to stop.”

Chickering stood up, placed both hands on his desk and leaned toward Drayton.

“You have expanded your investigation to include another SPJ member, Katrina Nighthawk. I have already spoken extensively with Nighthawk, and she has made a full report of your actions, including your replaceings regarding Section Leader Sullenberger.”

Chickering’s hard stare turned menacing for a moment. He sat back down, elbows on the desk and peered at Drayton over steepled fingers.

“I’ve just concluded a long conversation with Section Leader Paul Robinson regarding your recent meeting with him.”

He pointed an accusing finger at Drayton.

“Your insolence towards him goes beyond the bounds, Drayton, and you are fortunate that he was the only witness. Although any testimony to that effect will be only hearsay, his rank and service to the SPJ carries far more weight than your impotent threats.”

Silence for several moments as Drayton continued to stare at the red oak paneled wall behind Chickering.

“This Section is charged with Internal Investigations,” he continued. “As such, it is completely within my purview to investigate any member of the SPJ, from the Senior Director on down.”

Another pregnant silence.

“You are a member of the Communications Section. You are, granted, very good with a computer. If you survive, you may well be asked to conduct some computer investigations for either Section Leader Robinson or myself.”

Chickering leaned back in his seat, his fingers again steepled in front of his face.

“If you survive,” he purred menacingly.

Chickering nonchalantly inspected his nails for a few minutes before speaking again.

“You’ve been given an ultimatum. I suggest you go away and think about it.”

He continued inspecting his nails before wordlessly looking at Drayton.

“Dismissed.”

Learning his lesson from before, Drayton didn’t even bother opening his mouth. Upon his dismissal, he made a smart about face and left.

With all the morning meetings done and out of the way, the time was now two in the afternoon, and we were all scheduled for lunch. There was a perfectly adequate cafeteria in the basement. The food was reasonable and reasonably priced. There were also restaurants nearby — certainly within walking distance. None of us had a car yet — or enough influence to sign one out from the motor pool.

When we met up, Blackeagle was the only one missing. All of them looked as perturbed as I felt. Nighthawk more so, I think. All except Drayton. Considering the mood, and the import of our collective news, we unanimously agreed to go outside of HQ and went to the nearest outside café.

As soon as we had settled down at a table, I started things off by relating my meetings I had with Chickering and Robinson. When I got to the part about Robinson ordering me to procure Drayton’s and Nighthawk’s laptops, the reaction was as I expected.

I forestalled any objections by holding up my hand and saying, “I already planned on obeying that particular order. But not the way Robinson wants. Before I go on, I need to know exactly what happened at your meetings.”

Drayton was very blasé — he’s an ex-Washington, D.C. MP and didn’t think much of the technique — he’d been chewed out by the best of them, he said.

Nighthawk and Doc didn’t share the same attitude. They each were troubled by their meetings and it showed. Nighthawk almost breaking down in tears. She’d never been in the military like the rest of us. So, it was understandable her nonmilitary reaction.

Once they were done, I had a picture of what was happening. Including, Blackeagle’s version of his meetings. Apparently, they each had run into him separately on his way elsewhere. He gave no explanation as to where he was headed. But declined each invitation offered.

Instinct, combined with the information I had just obtained, told me a conspiracy of some kind was developing. It could also be well under way. So, I began to lay out my plan.

“Drayton,” I turned to him. “You still have two laptops, right?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t sleep with that personal one, do you?”

“Uhh, no,” he said a bit confused. “Why?”

“Well every time I’ve seen you, since day one, you seem to always have it with you. I figured you slept with it by your side.”

“No, I don’t sleep with my laptop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Parker.”

“You’re not just telling us that, are you?”

“No,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not.”

“Okay,” I said smiling. “Just checking.”

During the exchange, Doc and Nighthawk forgot their momentary troubles long enough to smile and tried not to laugh. Drayton even managed to crack a faint smile when it was over with. My intent worked. I needed them to lose some of the tension they were all feeling from their meetings.

“Good,” I continued. “This’s what I want you to do. I need you to transfer all the public stuff you found on Sullenberger and Overton to your issued laptop. I’ll need you to do the same on Nighthawk’s.”

I leaned forward and pointed to Nighthawk.

“I’ll need you to back up all your important stuff onto Drayton’s personal laptop.”

Leaning back, I lit up a cigarette.

“If this works, it just might keep Robinson and Chickering off our backs for a little while. Got it?”

They all nodded.

“Good,” I said satisfied. “Now, tell me what you’ve found.”

What they found was quite interesting.

Money was flowing to a series of companies with a small amount staying in each. Very creative accounting going on. This had been going on for at least 25 years, with monies being siphoned off the whole time. Most of the money seemed to end up in the Swiss banking system, deposited to one or more numbered bank accounts.

Mary Ann Sullenberger graduated from Oxford with an MBA, and then went to work for a company that was part of the Overton Group, as a low-level secretary. After five years, she applied to the SPJ and was accepted.

Known Associates: Same graduating class included Paul Robinson, Donald Chickering and a previously unknown name, Jeremy Corrigan. Going back further into their history, the pair found that all four of them were on full scholarship for the entire course. The scholarship had been provided by the Overton Group. This was worth about $30,000 a year. In addition, the term JISA kept coming up. It seemed to refer to a club or a group of some kind.

As mentioned in a previous entry, Doc James wound up being tapped to assist in the autopsies of the terrorists from Graduation, nine of whom committed suicide. That left the three live terrorists we managed to take into custody.

Before going any further, Drayton’s cellphone rang. He looked at the number and set the phone to ignore.

“The ID said ‘Not Available’,” he said simply, when he noticed our curious looks.

We were about to continue when my cell phone rang. As with Drayton’s, my ID said “Not Available”. Instinct told me it was important.

“Parker,” I answered as I motioned for the others to remain silent.

“This is Commander Storm. Where are you?”

“I’m having lunch, sir,” I replied.

“Who is with you?”

“No one, sir,” I lied.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your lunchtime, but — would you please go to your quarters, pick up your laptop, then report to my office?”

“Yes sir.”

“Your companions? Bring them with you, please.”

I should’ve known I couldn’t get away with fibbing to a senior officer. Since I didn’t know this Commander Storm, I included him on the conspiracy list for now. Discounting Ted Westbury, Storm was among the other bigwigs of SPJ I’d had brief contact with during Graduation. But that didn’t take him off my list until I was sure of him. I figured I’d play along and pretend to go after the carrot.

“Yes sir,” I said then hung up.

“That was Commander Storm,” I said in answer to their inquiring looks. “He wants us to meet him in his office and to bring our laptops.”

Drayton’s cell rang just then. He answered it after I nodded for him to answer. When he hung up, he confirmed what I’d just told the group.

Doc James and Nighthawk also received calls. One after the other, they answered their phones at my nod. Each call was the same.

We carried out our orders and proceeded to our quarters, agreeing to meet outside Storm’s office door. The partial phrase “Strength in numbers” came to mind.

Entering my quarters, I stopped and stared. It looked as if a tornado had come through. Not any tornado, mind you. The “Finger of God” variety.

Someone had, obviously, been searching for something. And they found it. They had taken my laptop.

There was only one person I knew of who had in interest in laptops aside from Drayton. That same someone had expressed an interest in two of my friends’ laptops. It was so obvious, Ray Charles, Roy Orbison, and Ronnie Milsap would’ve claimed they’d seen the light and written their own songs about it.

A quick search showed the laptop was all that was missing. My journals were with me in my travel pack, so I had no fear of losing them. All that was left to do was meet up with the others.

I happened to be the first to arrive. Followed shortly by the others as they trickled in. As I expected, the only one of us with a laptop was Drayton. Judging from the way he was holding it, it was his personal one; I had a feeling he would be sleeping with it from now on. If he hadn’t been already, despite what he told us at the café.

Once gathered, we announced ourselves as a group and were immediately ushered into Storm’s office.

“Come in, please. Did you have time to eat? If not, I can send for something... At least have some coffee, then?”

As Storm stood up to offer his hand to each of us, I had a chance to observe him. He was six feet one-inch-tall, with dark hair and eyes. His slim build was in very good condition. Well-dressed, clean-shaven and not a hair out of place, he was bandbox immaculate. His voice was low, fairly deep, very cultured. Accent indicated he was definitely British Upper Class. He projected an air of competence and command. I could almost see him as the perfect candidate for the next James Bond film or even in a movie version of Reilly: Ace of Spies I’d remembered watching on PBS with Sam Neil as Reilly.

During my observations, I couldn’t help but feel I’d met him once, a long time ago.

“Please, sit down. This is very informal for now. When it gets formal, I’ll let you know.”

Storm sat back down and leaned forward onto his desk. Hands clasped in front of him.

“First of all, I want to thank the four of you, personally, for your actions prior to your Graduation ceremony. Secondly, I must add my congratulations to your successful rescue operation of Robyn Coyne. Parker, your idea to use the text messaging was something we hadn’t thought of before. We’ll be implementing that into our procedures from now on, thanks to you.”

“On behalf of the group, sir, I’d like to thank you,” I said. “As for the text messaging, the proper credit goes to Lieutenant Nighthawk.”

A brief look of surprise came over Storm’s face with my statement. I’d like to think it was because I chose to spread the recognition instead of taking all the credit. It’s true, I wound up taking charge of the situation during the rescue. But I’ve always thought it fair to make sure those who worked with me should share the credit where credit is due. In regards to any disciplinary actions, should they arise while I’m in charge of a group, I’ll take the blame.

“Well in that case,” Storm said turning to Nighthawk. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Parker,” he said turning back to me. “Ted Westbury wants to know why you had a meeting with Section Leader Chickering. In fact, I understand you all did. And with Section Leader Robinson. Now, Paul is direct superior to two of you, but the other two shouldn’t be meeting with him at this juncture — I refer, of course, to you, Lieutenant Drayton, and to you, Dr. James. Nor should you — any of you — be meeting with Section Leader Chickering. Of course, you can’t refuse when they send for you, but I have to wonder why they sent for you and no one else.”

He placed his fingers on the desk, absently caressing the smooth surface.

“So my curiosity is aroused. And believe me, I didn’t get where I am today by ignoring my curiosity — far from it. So, I invite you to indulge me.”

When he finished, he sat back in his chair, folded his hands on his (non-existent) stomach and waited.

We each told our story, in our own fashion, or as much of it as we felt we could trust Storm with. Drayton’s read like a military report in his clipped, precise, and matter-of-fact soldier’s voice. Doc’s sounded like one of his autopsy reports, with analytical side notes, as if he were examining one of the cadavers he’d been poring over with Doctor Mallory. Nighthawk gave a clear concise report, with difficulty since she still felt the effects of her meetings. Myself, I gave a lengthy report, out of habit, in full detail as an investigator; including what I had pieced together about Blackeagle’s meetings and my own observations based on the others’ reports to Storm.

When I finished, Drayton apparently felt confident enough to add to his report. He complained he’d been threatened with disciplinary action for insolence. In reply, Storm wordlessly played a portion of Drayton’s taped interview with Robinson, proving he hadn’t said a word.

Hearing that tape, I found we were correct in taking ourselves outside of HQ for lunch. If Storm had the means to eavesdrop on a Section Leader’s private meetings, anyone in authority could have the same means set up for themselves. But I didn’t have the opportunity to pursue that line of thought.

Storm, after playing the tape, looked to me.

“I thought I asked you to bring your laptops with you.”

“Our rooms were trashed, sir,” I answered for all of us. “The only thing taken was the laptops. Drayton’s personal one is the only one we have.”

“I see,” Storm said steepling his fingers in thought. “This is just one of a series of irregularities I’ve noticed recently. Do you have the ID code?”

“I do, sir,” Drayton said.

Storm turned to his own computer and brought it up.

“All our laptops contain a GPS unit — means the laptop can be traced using its ID code. That’s privileged information, by the way. Think you can trace it from here?”

Drayton, in his element now, gave a confident affirmative, saying he could also locate the others. He’d just need to get the corresponding ID codes. Storm provided him the necessary passwords permitting him access to Records for the codes.

“It seems to me,” I mused almost to myself, “it’s no coincidence ours are the only laptops missing. Providing, of course, no others have reported missing theirs. Given that, we’ve a good idea who might’ve taken them and why. It’s only reasonable to believe all four laptops would be in the possession of Section Leader Chickering. And, if somehow, Chickering has already started his people taking them apart, there’s the chance the tracker on each would be disabled.”

I got up to pace.

“So long as only one tracker’s still active, however, where you replace one of the laptops, it’s safe to presume the other three will be close by,” I concluded.

Just as I finished speaking, Drayton piped up.

“I’ve found them. They’re down one floor from here, about 60 feet west. I think that’s Section Leader Chickering’s office.”

“Then we’ll endeavor to reclaim what’s rightfully yours,” Storm said. “Parker, any ideas how we should proceed?”

Why he singled me out, I’ve no idea. Regardless, I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Well, Commander,” I began slowly, but gaining momentum as I went along. “If memory serves, Section Leader Chickering is in charge of Security and Policing. This, I believe, falls under your jurisdiction as Senior Commander of the Security Command. Therefore, you, as Section Leader Chickering’s direct chain of command, have the authority to send any subordinate you choose to go directly to the Section Leader’s office and confiscate the laptops from him.”

I sat back down.

Storm wordlessly looked at me for a moment once I’d finished. Then he blinked, and a small smile came to his face as he shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself.

“You’re absolutely correct, Parker,” he said. “I’ve been in this office for so long, I sometimes forget that small detail. Thank you for the reminder.”

He then turned away from us and picked up his phone. A few quiet words of discussion later, he turned back.

“You’ll have your laptops within the half hour.”

He sat behind his desk for a few moments. He looked at each of us in turn as if considering what to do next. Finally, he spoke after an interminable silence.

“I’ve decided to put together a task force — do my own investigating. I want you four on it. You’ll be detached from your own Section and seconded to me — you’ll report directly to me. No matter what. I’ll be available to you 24-7. Drayton, Nighthawk, you really should’ve called me in before this, you know.”

Nick contacted the other three Senior Commanders — they approved the group formation. In the middle of one such call, Security came in with our laptops. Storm waved for them to set them down on his desk and dismissed the two security officers. He then waved permission for us to regain our returned property.

Upon inspection, everyone’s, but my own, still worked. From the looks of mine, someone must’ve thought the Samsonite gorilla should test it for durability when they discovered there was nothing useful to them on it. I never used my laptop for anything other than gathering my notes from training. Nothing incriminating. Storm promised to have a new one issued to me.

Once, Storm gained the approval of the other Senior Commanders, I immediately went into command mode. Not bothering to think Storm wanted to be the one issuing the commands, I had the team start going over all the information obtained thus far. Right there in Storm’s office. Storm just sat there watching us.

Whenever I happened to glance in his direction, I caught him giving me a particularly studied look, before he caught me glancing at him and turned his attention to the rest of the group. Every time this happened, something clicked in my mind. Something that told me we’d met prior to my joining the SPJ.

“You know him, Robert,” Jasmine would whisper in my ear, prodding me along each time the incident occurred. “Think back.”

At one point, Sullenberger’s name came up. My mind automatically went back to the look we received during our graduation ceremony. I made mention of this to Storm and also asked him about the terrorists.

“I’m not sure why Section Leader Sullenberger would give you such a look,” he replied. “Then again she may have been evaluating what she saw in comparison to the other graduates.”

He paused as if hesitating to say something else.

“As for the other,” Storm continued. “When Security came to pick them up, they were dead. There appeared to be no visible cause of death. Why do you ask, Parker?”

“I think I may be able to shed some light on that subject,” Doc piped up. “About the dead prisoners, I mean.”

“Well Doc,” I said when he didn’t go on. “Enlighten us please.”

“As Commander Storm said, when Security came to collect the three surviving terrorists, they were dead as a door nail. No apparent cause of death. We know already, their means of committing suicide had been forcibly removed. Yet, they had died by some means. My autopsy replaceings came up with a surprising cause of death. Doctor Mallory missed it completely, and I almost did. They had been killed skillfully and, obviously, professionally. With a long, sharp object through either the ear or the base of the skull.”

He shrugged apologetically at me, “I would’ve told you sooner during lunch, but we were ordered here.”

“No need to apologize,” I said raising my hand. “So who could’ve done it? We know the terrorists didn’t do it to themselves. They were trussed up like pigs for market. Who does that leave?”

When no one spoke up, I answered my own question. “It leaves those of us who were there. The only ones left alive. All the members of the SPJ, from the upper echelon down to graduating trainee. And we were all in full dress uniform.”

I gave them a moment to let that sink in before continuing.

“Doc, you said a long, sharp object was used to kill the prisoners, correct?”

“Yes,” he said, his look mirroring the others. Storm included.

“Drayton, everyone in the SPJ was in full dress uniform correct?”

“Yes,” he replied still just as puzzled.

“Nighthawk, what does one usually wear when they’re in full dress?”

“Medals,” she said thoughtfully. “Hats.”

“A hat pin!!” Doc exclaimed. “The prisoners were killed with a hat pin.”

“What about the pins on the medals?” Drayton asked. “Those are long sharp objects.”

“No,” from Doc, “The pins on the medals are too short and too thick. It would have to be a hat pin.”

“What about a needle hidden in the hair?”

“Unlikely,” Nighthawk answered. “Think of the proverbial needle in the hay stack. Even if the killer were sure they’d be able to set it in a position for easy access, head movement would most likely cause it to shift. This would take time for the killer to search for it. The killer wouldn’t want to take that chance. They needed to take out their target quickly to prevent them from talking. In our case, our killer didn’t know if the prisoners would talk before being collected by Security. Therefore, knowing he, or she, was running out of time, the killer used a weapon that was more convenient. The hatpin. It’s small enough not to be noticed and easier to get hold of and put back with none the wiser.”

“She’s got you there, Drayton,” Doc said.

Drayton nodded his respect toward Nighthawk, who beamed him a smile in return.

“Let’s do this,” I said as I turned to Storm. “Commander, do me a favor. Look up in stores receipts and see how many people purchased any new medals or hat pins. Include the last two weeks prior to and including Graduation Day.”

With a nod, and another one of his strange looks toward me, Storm turned to his computer and began tapping keys and clicking his mouse. After a few moments, with a final mouse click, he turned back to me.

“The list is going to the printer now,” he said gesturing toward the wall behind me.

As if on cue, the printer came alive and spat out a single sheet of paper. I retrieved it and began going down the list. There were twenty names listed.

I carefully ripped the sheet in half and handed one half each to Drayton and Nighthawk. I told them to cross-reference the names with those in attendance at Graduation.

While the two were occupied, Storm sat back in his chair, lit up a cigarette, invited those of us who smoked to do the same. Drayton and I were the only two to take him up on the invitation.

“I think I found our killer,” Nighthawk announced. “2nd Lieutenant Jennifer Hughes. Currently assigned to Records under Section Leader Kjell Thorstensen. That’s Security’s purview.”

The last was said with a glance towards Storm before turning her attention back to her laptop. She frowned and looked up at me.

“Parker,” she said. “Jennifer Hughes graduated with us.”

Everyone stopped with her announcement. I sat there for a moment and tried to picture Hughes in my mind. But came up blank.

“Drayton and Nighthawk,” I said finally. “Find out everything you can about Hughes; known associates, past affiliations, where she grew up. I want anything and everything you can replace on her. Doc, replace out anything you can on her medical history. And Nighthawk?”

She looked up at me questioningly.

“Good work,” I said with a nod.

“Thanks, Parker,” she said beaming before happily setting to work.

Apparently, I had done something right in Storm’s eyes. I happened to look in his direction and saw him looking at me again. This time, instead of looking away, he deliberately looked me in the eye and gave me nod of respect and approval.

At that moment, my mind flashed back to a room of some kind. I had been speaking with a man. But he was in shadow so I didn’t get a look at his face. The silhouette seemed familiar.

I could hear Jasmine whispering encouragement. Goading me to grab that memory and actually notice each detail. I almost had it when Drayton’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Parker, I’ve run into a roadblock here.”

“What kind of roadblock, Fred?” I asked as I whipped my head around in his direction.

“Hughes’ records have been sealed and marked classified.”

“I’m getting the same thing,” Nighthawk announced.

Already knowing what his answer would be, but hoping I’d be wrong, I turned to Doc James.

“Doc?”

“Sorry, Parker. The only medical records I have any access to are those in our medical files. Broadening the search brings up her records as sealed and classified as well.”

“By whose authority?” I asked no one in particular.

“The British SAS,” all three said in unison.

The SAS.

I read a book on them many years ago while living in Singapore when I was in tenth grade. It was during my fascination with covert ops groups phase.

The British Special Air Service, was created in 1941 by a Scots officer, named David Stirling. He wanted to start a small, highly trained, extremely motivated, dedicated raiding force. They were to work in groups of four or five to better avoid detection. When presented to the top brass, Stirling was given the go ahead and began training 100 men, most of whom were already commandos, but received even more strenuous training in endurance and weapons skills. Since its creation, the SAS has become well known and respected throughout the world. When one utters “Who Dares Wins” they can’t help but think of the SAS.

“Drayton,” I said only seconds later. “Can you break into their system and replace out why those records are sealed?”

“I’ve been trying. No luck so far.”

“Well, see what you can do. All of you,” I said turning back to Storm. “Commander, do you have any contacts within the SAS that might help us out?”

He considered for a moment, as he sat back in his chair, eyes momentarily glazing over. Then he slowly leaned forward and looked pointedly at me before he spoke.

“No, Parker,” he said bluntly. “But you do... Commander.”

I’m glad I was already sitting down. I took a quick glance at the others, to see if they’d heard. I was relieved to see they hadn’t. They were too engrossed in the task I had set before them. Nevertheless, I had a brief moment of panic.

Once again, in that brief moment, my mind flashed back to a room. This time, I recognized it was a room in my native Miami.

It was June 12, 1999. I’d just completed a successful investigative assignment with the FBI to whom I had been on loan from the Miami-Dade PD. Upon my return, I was told I had a visitor who requested to see me.

The interview lasted for four long hours. By the time we were done, I felt as if I had been through the mental equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. My entire life, up to that point, had been spilled out in those four hours.

Well almost all.

I somehow managed to keep secret Jasmine’s existence.

The man, who interviewed me, claimed he was a representative of the UNO. When we were done, I was thanked for my time and told I’d be contacted if I qualified. Back then, I didn’t know for what I might be qualifying.

Now, I knew.

The man who interviewed me, was pointedly staring me in the face and had just called me by a rank I hadn’t used since my Peacekeeper days.

In that moment of clarity, my panic faded. At the same time, Jasmine whispered in my ear.

“Finally, he sees the light.”

I licked my lips before I spoke, the shaky words almost a whisper.

“I know you. I know who you are.”

“It took you long enough, Parker,” Storm said. “What kept you?”

“A lot of things, Commander,” I said as my voice regained its strength and I began recovering myself. “Most of it pertaining to my training, Graduation and now this investigation we replace ourselves in.”

Storm only nodded.

“May I use your phone?”

Without a second’s thought he motioned his permission, and I called up the one contact I knew still affiliated with the SAS. An old friend of mine from said Peacekeeper days, David Sinclair.

“Sinclair,” the familiar thick Scottish baritone burr answered on the first ring.

“Dave,” I said with the familiarity of an old friend. “It’s Spenser.”

“Spenser?” he began in a moment of confusion. “I don’t know any Spens… Wait. Parker? Spenser Parker? Is that really you, laddie? What’ve ye been up to?”

“What?” I said good naturedly. “You haven’t been reading any of my books?”

After a few more moments of friendly banter, I finally got down to the reason for my call.

“Look Dave,” I said in all seriousness. “I need a favor. I’m over here at the SPJ building in Senior Commander Nick Storm’s office….”

“Nick Storm?” Dave interrupted with surprise. “Laddie, what have ye gotten yerself into now?”

“Got a possible internal threat here. We’ve reason to believe one of our people may be involved. Every time we pull up the name, we keep getting road blocked by your computer net saying the records are sealed and flagged classified. Even the medical records. Any way you can help me out here?”

“What’s the name?” Dave asked all business and suddenly losing the heavy burr though a trace of it was still apparent.

“Jennifer Hughes,” I said. “She just graduated from SPJ Basic last Tuesday.”

In the background I could hear him typing as I spoke.

“Hughes,” he muttered to himself repeatedly, then stopped. “Spenser, I’ll have to get back with ye. Where can ye be reached?”

“Here in Commander Storm’s office.”

“Okay,” my friend said. “Give me some time and I’ll get back with ye. Once ye’ve cleared up that matter over there, give me a call and we’ll grab some catch up time over a pint or two.”

“Will do, Dave. And thanks.”

“Anytime, Spenser,” he said cheerfully. “Anytime. Besides, I still owe ye for saving my bare kilted self in Japan. Good luck to ye.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Storm.

“My contact said he’d get back with me.”

At Storm’s nod, I turned back to the others who looked at me expectantly. It didn’t appear as if they heard the conversation I had with Commander Storm, but their looks seemed to regard me in a new light.

“He’s an old friend of mine from my military days,” I said and left it at that.

The brief explanation seemed to suffice as they went back to their tasks.

A few moments later, Storm’s phone rang. He spoke on it for several minutes before hanging up with, “Yes, send it directly to me.” He then turned back to us. “The SAS is sending their complete file on Hughes, which I’ll be forwarding to your laptops.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said with a nod.

Once the others had the needed information, we got to work. Drayton and Nighthawk were able to provide the rundown on our Miss Hughes.

Hughes had attended Oxford on a scholarship provided by the Overton Group. She was a Political and Social Sciences major, graduating fifth in her class. Just prior to her graduation, Hughes came into a large inheritance upon the death of her parents. She spent two years after graduating living off her inheritance and traveled around Continental Europe. About a year after her return, Hughes began training with the SAS. Worthy of note, her records indicated she was a trained assassin.

Two years after completing her training, Hughes was assigned to an undercover assignment with an emerging group known as “The Brotherhood”, a religious fanatical group who claimed the UNO was the Anti-Christ. Their motto was “One World Under God”. Her objective was to infiltrate the group, replace out what they were up to, and see how much of a threat they would be. For three years, she worked undercover and was instrumental in thwarting many of the growing movement’s schemes without once blowing her cover.

Then, about three years ago, Hughes disappeared. Nothing was heard from her for about a year. Then one day, she was found in the wreckage of a burnt out building, dazed and confused. There had been some thought she might’ve gone native, sympathizing with The Brotherhood. SAS observers kept her under their supervision as a precaution.

Six months later, Hughes left the service of the SAS with a clean bill of health. She dropped off the grid for more than a year before resurfacing as an applicant with the UNO.

One interesting thing of note, Hughes reported members of The Brotherhood were marked with a tattoo on them; the capital the letters “U” and “N”, and a circle with a “\” going through it.

“That reminds me,” Doc said. “The three dead prisoners had the same tattoo all on the inner arm.”

“Doc,” I said. “Do any of the SPJ medical records show any signs of a Brotherhood tattoo on Hughes? Or the removal of one?”

“Already on it,” Doc replied tapping away furiously on his laptop. “And it would appear she had something removed from the inside of her left arm that would fit the size of the tattoo indicated.”

Doc looked up with a widening of eyes. “You think she might’ve fooled the SAS into thinking she hadn’t joined them fully?”

“I’d say that’s highly probable,” from Drayton.

I turned to Commander Storm, who’d been sitting at his desk. Silent. Evaluating.

“Recommendations, Commander?”

“Since we don’t seem to have any concrete evidence on Lt. Hughes,” he said after a moment’s silence, “I recommend we keep her under discreet surveillance. She’s bound to slip up. Good work, Parker. Now about our other problem?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said turning to Drayton. “What do Overton’s financial records show, Drayton?”

“Overton,” he said consulting his laptop, “appears to have several offshore accounts. Several of which are Swiss bank accounts. And before you ask, I’m in the process of accessing the accounts.”

“Good man,” I said as I turned to Nighthawk. “Nighthawk, what’ve you come up with on this mysterious JISA you and Drayton mentioned?”

“Nothing, so far,” she answered. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, JISA refers to some kind of organization.”

“Bingo!” Drayton said triumphantly. “I just cracked the Swiss Bank network. And I’m pulling up Overton’s account information.”

“See if there are any records indicating deposits or withdrawals with the name of, or in reference to, JISA. Check for all variations of the term.”

“Working on…,” Drayton started to say then emitted a low whistle, instead. “We just hit the jackpot. Not only did I replace deposits and withdrawals by JISA, stands for Justice is Served Association by the way, but I also found names aside from Overton making a crap load of transactions. Four people in fact. Section Leader Donald Chickering, of Security and Policing. Section Leader Paul Robinson, of External Operations. Section Leader Mary Anne Sullenberger, of Community Services. And last, but not least, Section Leader Jeremy Corrigan, of Disaster Aid.”

As Drayton read off each name, I was watching Storm. Though he said nothing, I saw him wince slightly as each name was read aloud. His eyes widened at the last name. Apparently, he’d already suspected the first three were involved with some kind of shenanigans, but not the last.

“Commander Storm,” I said carefully. “At the risk of stating the obvious. I believe we may have the makings of a possible conspiracy by members of the SPJ.”

“Parker,” Drayton said before I could go on. “I just found some additional information about our Mr. Overton. He had a lot of meetings with the Russian Finance Minister in St. Petersburg. Russia, not Florida. These meetings have been going on for just a little over twenty-five years. Which…”

“Which matches the length of the financial transactions,” I said as I looked over at Storm. “Or close enough to it.”

“And the Russian Finance Minister,” Drayton continued, not perturbed at the interruption, “has been dipping from the till and adding funds over the same amount of time.”

“The way I see it,” I said. “There can only be only one reason why Overton and company would have any kind of transactions with a foreign minister of any given country…”

I paused for a second.

“A revolution,” I finished as I looked directly in Storm’s eyes.

“Are you suggesting, Lieutenant,” Storm said as he sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward, “that members of the SPJ are financing a possible overthrow of a lawfully recognized government?”

“If the shoe fits, sir,” I said not flinching. “And based on the evidence we’ve uncovered, this is no ball for Cinderella.”

Storm stood up so suddenly, I had to keep myself from pushing further back into my seat. The look on his face more than matched his name. I could almost see the storm clouds gathering around him as if he were Zeus, himself, preparing to hurl a deadly barrage of thunderbolts upon the mortal realm.

For what seemed an eternity, Storm and I just looked at each other. Him, standing behind his desk, calm except for the thunderous scowl on his face. Me, still sitting in my seat, barely showing a calm I didn’t have.

“So how do we show proof from our end of the spectrum,” Nighthawk asked, breaking the silence. “How do we obtain their financial statements without alerting the Section Leaders that we’re on to them?”

“I think,” Storm said with a calm that came before his proverbial namesake, “I know what I need to do from here, Lieutenant.”

Suddenly, the clouds disappeared, and the day was as bright as any crisp clear spring morning. Storm smiled.

“A financial audit of all Section Leaders,” he announced.

Apparently, the looks on our faces told him all he needed to know. He went on to explain.

“From time to time a financial audit is performed on a random basis — of all personnel. No one is exempt from this. Not even the Senior Director.”

With that said, Storm picked up his phone, dialed a number and gave the order for an immediate audit of all Section Leaders’ financial records to be done by his authority. He then hung up the phone, let out his breath, and sat down.

As soon as Storm sat down, I turned to Drayton.

“Pull up the security cams in the offices of our suspects,” I ordered. “And any exits within their vicinity. Patch them through to the monitors in here. I want to know if any of them try to bolt.”

Sullenberger was the first to run. Since she was nearest to the street, Commander Storm ordered all blast doors throughout the entire building closed. She almost escaped, but wound up being trapped in the foyer.

As soon as all the blast doors were closed, Storm’s desk phone lit up like a Christmas tree. He took only two calls though. Those from the only two Senior Commanders, other than himself, in the building. Richard Vallance, Senior Commander for Public Relations and Support, and Jim Conrad, Senior Commander for Administration. John Redhawk, Senior Commander for Field Operations, was out on assignment and wouldn’t be back for two more days.

Not many moments later, the two aforementioned Senior Commanders arrived. Only, they didn’t come in through the front door. Aside from Commander Storm, I think I’m the only one of us in the room that didn’t seem surprised to see Vallance and Conrad sneak in through the “back door”.

“Glad to see the two of you join the party,” Storm said to the newcomers. “We’ve been telling stories here. Rather, Parker and his team have. And we’re just about to finish the tale with a dance. Care to join us, gentlemen?”

“I hate being late for a good dance,” Vallance said. “Mind humming a few bars so we can at least make sure we don’t develop a sudden case of left feet?”

“Parker?” from Storm.

Without missing a beat, I brought the two Commanders up to speed. I tried to make my report as detailed as possible while still remaining brief. Although I knew our suspects had nowhere to run, they might try getting rid of any evidence they had with them or on their computers. By the time I finished my report, my throat was dry.

“So,” Storm said. “Are your dance cards full?”

“Only when the music’s stopped playing,” Conrad said.

“We’ll have to take the Jefferies tubes,” Storm said to us, “to go between floors, since the activation of the blast doors shuts off all the elevators. That includes the service elevators. First stop’s the armory.”

“Expecting trouble, Nick?” from Vallance.

“Not really,” Storm sighed. “Best to keep all bases covered.”

The Jefferies tubes were actually a network of service tunnels and access ladders that connected each floor. In a way, these tubes reminded me of the service hallways in medieval homes of the nobility and royalty. They were designed so servants could go about their tasks without being seen.

At the Armory, everyone but me chose a weapon. Due to the puzzled glances I received, I pulled out my paintball gun.

“The shock value of being hit by a paint ball gun should be enough to stun them long enough to take them down without having a bullet put in them,” I said simply.

Even though I could carry a firearm, I opted for the nonlethal method of shooting. Besides, it’d be nice to see the look on their faces when hit by a paintball.

The first on our list was Section Leader Chickering. Mainly because he was the closest. With us, was a security team Storm had drummed up.

When we entered his office, we caught him stuffing papers into a briefcase. He paused when he saw us, stood up straight, and turned to face us. Storm told Chickering the charges that were being filed against him and had Drayton place him into custody.

Just as Drayton was about to reach Chickering, I saw him make a move toward something in his desk. I whipped out my paintball gun and aimed for his wrist, knowing the impact would be hard enough to push his arm away. I hadn’t counted on him ducking as fast as he did, but it was too late to hold my fire. I had already pulled the trigger and instead of hitting the wrist, I left a big red paint spot in the middle of his forehead.

It was enough to knock him backwards, but not enough to keep him from resisting Drayton, who subdued the man by hitting him on the nose with a baton. Drayton also recovered a small gun from a desk drawer. The drawer, apparently, had been open before we arrived. Once Chickering was in cuffs and in the hands of Security, we went on to our next suspect.

That suspect was my own Section Leader, Paul Robinson. He was sitting at his desk, calmly waiting for us when we arrived. To my surprise, Storm motioned for me to place Robinson under arrest. With a nod, I approached my ex-boss, paintball gun at the ready.

To make a long story short, I gave Robinson the chance to come peaceably. In return, he tried to bluff his way out of his situation. When that didn’t work, he tried to run for it. Even if it meant going through me.

This time, I aimed purposely for the head. He was close enough that, by the time I fired, the impact knocked him out, fractured his nose, and, I think, he might have swallowed some of the paint.

When Storm asked me about the head shot, I told him I was aiming for the chest and that Robinson must’ve tripped. Storm kept his own council on my reply. I thought I heard someone mutter Robinson should’ve been hit with a real bullet. Regardless, an unconscious Robinson was in custody.

Our next target was Jim Corrigan. We found him sitting at his desk, back to us. When he didn’t respond to our challenges, Drayton approached carefully, baton at the ready. It was a needless precaution. Drayton took one look at him, checked his pulse, then announced Corrigan was dead.

As soon as Drayton made his announcement, he happened to glance at the computer monitor. It was still on. Suddenly his eyes, went wide.

“Commander Storm,” he said in a not quite steady voice. “I think you need to come over and look at what’s on the Section Leader’s monitor.”

Storm brushed Drayton aside as he went behind Corrigan’s desk. What he saw made him grimace. Corrigan had left behind a full confession, which implicated Overton and the other three Section Leaders.

That wasn’t all.

According to what was on the screen, Corrigan had come from another timeline some thirty years ago. In this alternate timeline, the revolution of 1905 had culminated in the successful installation of a Communist ruled Russia. This Communist Regime would eventually lead to something called the Soviet Empire, who would go on to participate in what was known as the Cold War.

Interesting point of note here. In 1965, a Fidel Alejandro Castro Ruz became a member of this Communist Party in Cuba and became the president of Communist Cuba ten years later. In our timeline, a Cuban immigrant of the same name pitched the first of three seasons straight of no hitters for the New York Yankees in 1965; he was nicknamed “Fireball” Fidel. Our Cuba is an independent democratic island nation with the best cigars known to man.

That wasn’t all different about our timeline and Corrigan’s. It seems the divergence point went all the way back to 1872 when, in May of that year, a rebellion against Prussia’s 1871 annexation of Alsace-Lorraine, spearheaded by Martin von Lochner, led to an independent Duchy of Alsace-Lorraine with the signing of the Nancy Treaty in 1881.

In the latter part of October 1890, the German Empire, in defiance of reason and rationality, executed a surprise attack on the British Capital, starting a major continental war that lasted until April 1891.

History shows these two events happened. According to Corrigan, they never happened in his timeline.

Another divergence was the reference to the rise of something called Nazism in Germany. This “Third Reich”, as it was called, came into power in 1933, under the leadership of an Austrian born German politician by the name of Adolf Hitler. Hitler, who’d declared himself Führer, led the Germans on a campaign of aggressions that soon embroiled the whole world. Thus, causing a worldwide conflict, referred to as World War II — a previous war, dubbed “World War I”, lasted from 1914 to 1918. On Hitler’s orders, an entire people were nearly wiped out. All because they were Jewish. The end of that war in 1945, eventually caused Germany to be divided into two separate countries, East Germany and West Germany. The eastern half was overseen by the Communist run Soviet Government. The western half was monitored by the rest of the victorious Allies of that decade long war.

None of this happened in our history. We never had a World War I or World War II. However, we did have a world war, dubbed “The Great War”, during the years that corresponded with Corrigan’s WWII.

And the only Adolph Hitler that I know of in our history was a famous Austrian painter who started his career in 1921. I remembered seeing a few of his works in the Smithsonian once. Art critics favorably compare Hitler’s work to those of Monet, Picasso and Raphael. He died in April 1945 along with Eva, his wife of just two days, in a car accident just outside of Berlin.

I shudder to think what kind of world Corrigan claimed to have come from.

Corrigan’s information, however, brought back to mind my encounter in the Philippines when I was a new lieutenant with the US Navy. It happened to be my first experience with the supernatural.

It happened in 1988 on an unusually thick foggy June morning, along the beach of Cavite Bay while on leave. I encountered a wounded US Marine wearing a 1940s era combat uniform; I noted the cut of the uniform seemed off to me. Much to my shock, the Marine faded from my view while I was helping him; his blood on my clothing the only evidence of his existence. Years later while in the Peacekeepers, I had a sample analyzed for DNA testing. To my surprise, the report stated there were no matching DNA markers for any known person, living or dead. When asked where I got the sample, I said that I couldn’t remember.

I hadn’t thought about that incident in a long time. Now that I think about it, the Marine’s combat outfit, by the cut and design didn’t match what I knew to be the proper cut and design for the 1940s uniform.

I had a brief thought about bringing the subject up to Storm. However, something told me I’d better not. At least not yet.

“Commander, what should we do about Corrigan’s information?” I asked instead.

“We’ll provide the confession Corrigan left us as damning proof in regards to the other three Section Leaders and Overton,” Storm said.

“As for the rest,” he said after a moment of pondering. “We’ll keep this under wraps for now. This story of another timeline has just become Top Secret. Congratulations, Parker and Drayton, you two have just been notified that if this story gets out to anyone without permission… Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be you two if it does happen.”

Storm let out a sigh as he took one more look at Corrigan’s screen.

“For now, let’s go collect our last suspect.”

Not much to say about our collection of Sullenberger. Since she was trapped in the foyer by the blast doors, we saved her for last. She gave up without a fight when the inner blast door opened.

September 25, 2000:

It’s been a week since the Section Leader incident. It was discovered that Overton was a passionate supporter of the abortive Communist Revolution in Russia, which had occurred in 1905. Evidence from the investigation supported this theory in tandem with a secondary raid on Overton’s St. Albans home. He has since vanished and is still at large.

In a private ceremony, we were thanked by the Senior Commanders and the Senior Director.

The three Section Leaders are in custody. Trials will be private, but those of us involved have been alerted we’ll be needed to testify.

We have, finally, met our Department Heads and been assigned desks. As befits our newbie status, our desks are in a large room with about a dozen or so other desks, and not in the best location, at that. Reminiscent of those TV squad rooms.

Doc’s desk is much too close to the freezer where the more noxious samples are kept. Last time I spoke with him, he was thinking of investing in a heavy jacket and a set of nose plugs.

Drayton’s desk seems to have a leg shorter than the rest. He keeps grumbling that every time he types, which is most of the time, the desk wobbles. Problem is the shorter leg seems to change.

Nighthawk’s is over by the coffee machine. No problem, except they seem to expect her to keep the coffee machine full.

Mine is under a vent. That drips. I’m not sure if there’s a restroom directly above me or not, but the water has a rancid smell to it. I’ve put in a request for maintenance to see what they can do to fix the leak or whatever it is. I’ve no doubt, being a junior officer; I’m close to the bottom of their list, if not at the very bottom.

I’ve heard that Blackeagle was assigned to the same section as Nighthawk and I, but I’ve never seen him. Nighthawk has however. She said his desk is actually by a window. Too bad it looks out over an air shaft. She said he complained the window wouldn’t open. I went over to the indicated desk and tried opening it myself. And it didn’t work. To be honest, I don’t think he’d want it to open, actually, because of the smell. Even I could faintly smell the “bouquet” coming through the window. Might explain why I never see him at his desk. I’ll see if I can replace him one of those home deodorizer thingies to put on his desk to make it, at least, a little more bearable for him. On second thought, I may need to get about five of them.

Dateline: Christmas, 2000:

Postcard:

On one side a picture of a beach with a medieval–looking tower in the background.

Postmark is Barcelona, Spain.

Message reads:

48–hour Liberty. Great food, no tanks.