Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Read online

  ‘What do you think you’re doing trying to get top secret information out of me?’ he demanded. ‘Do you take me for an idiot or what?’ Before the journalist could answer that, Harles bustled on, attempting stern authority, ‘I demand that you tell me at once where you obtained that information!’

  Jerome ignored that. He was staring at Harles incredulously. ‘You’re serious? You’re telling me this is top secret?’ He had not spent this long reporting on space affairs without becoming familiar with the codes the Fleet used for classified information. ‘What are we talking, nine ack alpha, here?’ His voice was rising because ‘nine ack alpha’ really was top secret, highest level stuff.

  ‘I am not telling you that!’ Said Harles, flustered by a rather belated realisation that this call was on the record, literally, as indicated by the alert on the journalist’s screen notifying that he was recording the call at his end. ‘And you can’t use this, it’s classified!’

  ‘All right, all right, we’ll go off the record, then.’ Jerome worked controls at his end, and the ‘call being recorded’ notification turned to ‘call being scrambled.’ ‘All right, we’re strictly off the record,’ he promised, ‘so come on, give!’

  If Lt Joplar had been there, he would have just laughed easily, and told the journalist very frankly the truth about what was going on. Jerome Tandeki was no gutter sleazebag out to give the Fleet a hard time. If it had been explained to him that this was only classified to level eight because it was a redeployment of a warship, and rated ‘sensitive’ only because of the risk of embarrassment if the details of the case became public, Jerome would have understood that entirely.

  He would too, being the responsible journalist he was, have advised the PR officer that they really would not be able to keep this one under wraps. He would, indeed, have suggested as strongly as he could that the Fleet get proactive with this, involving all interested parties with full information on it before it was announced to the media. He would have been fishing for an exclusive angle on it one way or another, of course, but he saw the relationship between himself and the PR office as mutually beneficial and would have been very happy to give them the benefit of his advice.

  Lt Joplar, however, was currently thirty six klicks away, being persuaded by the outfitter to try on a new and rather daring style of dress shoe, so Jerome was stuck dealing with Harles. Harles regarded journalists with deep suspicion anyway. He saw them as a subversive element in society, always trying to dig up things the authorities did not want them to. That, in Harles’ book, was practically espionage and he bridled with mingled anger and loathing.

  ‘How dare you?’ he demanded, and tried again more forcefully, ‘I insist that you tell me, right now, where you obtained that information!’

  Jerome gave him a withering look, but he could see that there was no point attempting a dialogue so didn’t waste his time. Instead, he re-engaged the ‘call being recorded’ notification.

  ‘All right, let’s go back on the record,’ he said. ‘I would like an official statement, please, in writing, responding to my request for information on the alleged use of convicted criminals serving aboard the Minnow.’

  Harles knew how to do that. He activated the necessary screens and generated a standard ‘unable to comment due to the nature of the information being classified under military security regulations’ statement, which he signed and mailed to the journalist with a defiant look.

  ‘I will be telling security that you called asking for classified information!’ He threatened, in a tone which was more like ‘I’m telling the teacher!’ than a formal warning. Jerome, at any rate, was wholly unimpressed.

  ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I know more nine ack alpha stuff than you know times tables.’ He gave him a mocking, ironic salute with the card he’d evidently put the statement onto, his end. ‘Thanks for this!’ he said, and broke off the call, already turning away with a very purposeful manner.

  Harles said a word, and then caught himself up a little guiltily in case any of the ratings might have heard him swear. The thought did occur to him, fleetingly, that this might be something that Lt Joplar might define as a ‘problem’ and want him to call about, but it occurred only to be dismissed. He did not want Lt Joplar, after all, to think he was an idiot who couldn’t deal with routine matters on his own authority. He had been told, too, recently, to try to show more initiative instead of just sitting there waiting to be told what to do all the time.

  Right, he thought, and with that called up a comscreen and wrote a detailed report, including a copy of the call, which he mailed to the intelligence division headed ‘Attempt to obtain classified information by J Tandeki, journalist.’

  Then he sat back in his chair again, satisfied, and resumed his idle swinging back and forth.

  That, he felt, had sorted that.

  * * *

  Seventy eight minutes later, Jerome Tandeki was in the office of a senior news editor at ABC.

  ‘I’m telling you, Mile, it’s huge,’ he assured him, earnestly, as the editor skimmed through the clips and statements Jerome had put together for him.

  He had been very active since coming off that call with Harles. He had called every organisation he could think of with any relevance to issues of law and order and criminal rehab, firstly to ask them if they’d heard anything about the scheme, and secondly, when they’d all said they’d heard nothing about it at all, to ask for their reaction to it.

  Only two out of the nineteen organisations he had called had declined to make any comment at all, saying that they could not possibly comment until they had more facts. Everyone else had been more than willing to give a general positional statement on what their reaction would be if it turned out to be true that the Fleet was employing convicted criminals aboard a corvette. As those statements had piled up, Jerome Tandeki had been more convinced by the minute that he had dynamite in his hands, quite possibly the biggest story of his career.

  ‘But it’s insane.’ Mile Danforthy, the editor, had watched the clip of Sub-Lt Hollis stating angrily that the matter was top secret three times now and still clearly found it hard to believe. ‘Are you sure they’re not winding us up, here?’

  ‘It’s the Fleet.’ Jerome reminded him. ‘Yes, I’m sure! This is hot, Mile! I thought it was just, you know, politics, but the way that guy reacted, it’s obvious we’re really onto something here! And just look at the reaction we’ve got already!’

  ‘I am looking at it,’ Mile said, with a tone that hovered between awe and hunger as he scanned across the clips. ‘What did you say to them?’ he asked, seeing the furious ranting that Jerome’s calls had unleashed.

  ‘Nothing more than was said to me!’ Jerome asserted, definitely, and ticked off the key points on his fingers, ‘One, there’s a feeling in the Fleet that this guy Higgs was shafted. Two, Skipper von Strada is said to have had the Admiralty by the nuts over it for the last few months and to have forced this scheme from them to get his crewman released. Three, there is a belief in the Fleet that now he has a free hand von Strada will be pampering his crew with luxuries the regular Fleet is not allowed, even perhaps to allowing drinking on the ship. And four, whatever it is they are intending to do with this ship, it is top level classified, special ops level classified if that Sub’s reaction is anything to go by.’

  Mile looked at the reaction footage again. There were right wing ‘lock ’em up and throw away the key’ organisations ranting furiously about the outrage of allowing prisoners out of jail early under any circumstances, still less to allow them to return to service on a warship. One of the representatives of an extremist group was practically frothing at the mouth. If this was true, he said, if the Fleet was going to allow dangerous convicted criminals not only to serve aboard a warship but to be going about amongst the public, even potentially carrying guns, then it was the biggest outrage of the century.

  On the next screen along was a victims’ action group, declaring almost as angrily that if it was true tha
t these criminals were going to be treated to a life of pampered luxury aboard that starship, then it was an insult not only to the victims they’d injured but to all victims of crime. Victims had a right to expect society to put their welfare first, they said, and a right to expect that criminals would pay their dues to society.

  On the screens beside them were the predominantly left wing liberal campaigners, coming out just as hot and strong on the issue of prisoner rights. If this was true, they said, if prisoners were going to be employed in front line service, that was a blatant violation of their rights under constitutional law. And if it was true that they were going to be used as ‘expendables’ in some top secret special ops, that was an outrage and shame not only on the Fleet but on all of society for allowing such an appalling abuse.

  ‘Hot,’ said Mile, feelingly, ‘is not the word. This is incandescent! But I can’t, I can’t go with it just like this. I need some kind of higher level info on it just in case it turns out that that lad had his knickers in a knot – yes, all right, all right, I know!’ he over-rode Jerome’s protests and attempts to persuade him that all his information was sound, ‘but I need more than gossip and a statement from a Sub whose only claim to fame is projectile vomiting. So just give me a minute, all right? Back off and keep quiet, I’ll give one of my own sources a call.’

  Jerome did as he was told, understanding that he was to stay outside the range of the com-camera. No names were used, Mile using a headset so that Jerome couldn’t hear the other caller either. He had, Mile explained, ‘had one of his journos’ in the office telling him a wild tale about them going to be using prisoners on the Minnow in some kind of special ops top secret thing, so he thought he’d better call to get the facts of it before it went to air.

  Then he listened for some time, looking keenly interested, sympathetic, tut-tutting with shocked disapproval, and making encouraging noises. Below the range of the com-cam, however, his right hand was writing on a note screen, which he’d got on echo to the wall-sized scribble board, visible to Jerome but not to the caller. The words ‘Huge controversy within the Fleet’ appeared first, quickly followed by, ‘Outrageous’ and, ‘Skipper von Strada a disgrace to the uniform.’ After a minute or so with the pen poised, the editor’s writing suddenly got a lot bigger and went bright red, with flashing exclamations. ‘A dangerous and outrageous experiment!!!’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ the editor said, at length. ‘And yes, we will certainly do our best to make that clear. Thank you, yes, not at all.’

  He ended the call and looked at Jerome, who could feel his heart beating against his ribs like some bird trapped in his rib cage. It was the dream of every news journalist to catch the big one, breaking a story that would roar out there like thunder. There was an official conspiracy to use prisoners in a dangerous special ops unit, and he, Jerome Tandeki, ace investigative journalist, had been the one who had uncovered it. He was going to win major awards for this. He was going to be famous for the rest of his life. There would be books written about how he had broken this story, even movies, maybe. He and the editor looked at one another, and for two seconds there was silence as both of them savoured the pure journalistic bliss. Then Mile broke into the biggest grin Jerome had ever seen on his face, and gave him a nod.

  ‘We go,’ he said, and seeing that Jerome was still wearing the slobby casuals with which he blended into spacer bars, told him, ‘Go put on a suit.’

  * * *

  ‘Uh… sir?’ Dix Harangay’s adjutant ventured into the First Lord’s office, diffidently because he knew that he was in a meeting. The First Lord had Senator Dorthang with him. He was chair of the Senate’s Fleet Sub Committee, and was there to discuss Dix Harangay’s desire to assign more warships to support the Peace Corps on the troubled world of Sixships. The majority of the Fleet committee were of the view that they were pouring enough resources into Sixships already. Dix was making a strong pitch, hoping to get the committee’s chair to support him.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Senator,’ the adjutant apologised as the Senator raised a startled eyebrow at the interruption, ‘but I feel that you will both wish to be informed of this as a matter of urgency. Excuse me, sir,’ he had activated the holovision that hung on one wall of the office, informing them, unnecessarily, ‘ABC channel 5.’

  Both the First Lord and the Senator got to their feet and walked over to the holovision as if they could not believe what they were seeing, neither of them saying anything as they took in the enormity of it. Studio presenters were pitching out the headlines. The latest breaking news was that it had now been confirmed that three ‘prisoners’ were now aboard a liner from Cestus on their way to Chartsey, where they were expected to arrive in about two weeks.

  Behind the journalists was a main-screen image of the frontage of the Admiralty building, with an ABC truck-sized Outside Broadcast Unit as close to the gates as it could get. A flock of other vans were racing in, journalists running up to join the mob storming at the gate. The police were just arriving, too, simultaneously with some kind of demonstration pouring off a bus that had just landed, illegally, in the no-park zone.

  On sub screens below the presenters, the footage of Sub-Lt Harles Hollis had prominent position, with the infostream running beneath it identifying him as the son of Vice Admiral Miranda Hollis. Either side of him, the furious ranting reaction Jerome had gathered was blazing away. It had already been supplemented by much more, including a statement from a senior police officer expressing surprise that the Admiralty could have contemplated employing prisoners in service without feeling it to be appropriate to discuss the issues in that with them.

  Senator Dorthang said a word. In fact, he said several. Dix, with rather better self-control, merely walked over to the window and stood looking out as if hoping that the scene on the holovision was some kind of illusion. But no, there they all were, inaudible through the soundproofed privacy glass but clear to see. The demonstrators were waving hastily made placards with messages he could not see from this angle, though a glance over at the holovision made it clear that they were from the radical group, EGCN, for End Government Conspiracy Now. Their banners said things like ‘Institutional murder!’, ‘Prisoners are People!’, ‘Human Rights Atrocity!’ and ‘Prisoners are Not Cannon Fodder!’ Another bus was just arriving with a banner streaming down its side reading ‘March for Law and Decency! No to Pampered Prisoners!’

  As the police tried desperately to contain and control the journalists, rival demonstrators and the merely curious who’d come to see what was going on and the first, inevitable arrests were made, First Lord Dix Harangay demonstrated the mettle which had got him appointed to command of the Fleet. Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders and turned away from the window with a resolute air.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s sort this out.’

  ____________________

  Chapter Two

  ‘Well,’ said Dix, reflectively. ‘That did not go as well as I had hoped.’

  Alex von Strada said nothing. He had just had to take a shower and launder his uniform after an ill-fated attempt to address the concerns of the various lobbying groups.

  Nearly two weeks of effort by the Admiralty to calm the situation and explain the facts had only made it worse. There was now an almost permanent presence outside their gates of media, demonstrators, onlookers and police. Dix had himself been obliged to discuss the matter with the Senate Fleet Sub-Committee and had been summoned to the president’s office, too, to answer some very tough questions.

  The matter had been raised, indeed, and discussed in open Senate, though Senator Dorthang had been on the spot for that one, as chair of the Fleet Sub-Committee. He had stood by them absolutely, confirming the facts of the matter just as Dix had in his meeting with the president and asserting that there were no grounds for any of the allegations being made about the scheme.

  This, as he had stressed, was a matter of military discipline. The unfortunate Ordinary Star Higgs, had he punche
d someone in the face in the course of an argument in the street, would not have been sent to prison at all for that as a first offence causing no serious injury. He would have been far more likely to be sentenced to a period of probation and community service. It was only the fact that it had been an officer he’d struck, on duty, which had made it so serious that he had been given a custodial sentence. The determination had already been made at his appeal that he would be offered the opportunity to resume service with the Fleet upon his release. O/S Higgs might have had some minor incidents of refractory behaviour on his record, but he had never been violent; the circumstances of that incident had been extreme and were highly unlikely to occur again.

  Those who had an axe to grind, however, had not paid the slightest attention to that and as the days had gone on, those attempting to deal with it had encountered a curious and incredibly frustrating phenomenon. It did not seem to matter at all what they said. People either just flat out didn’t believe them and yelled ‘cover up!’ and ‘conspiracy!’ or they picked out the one bit of what was said which could be twisted for their own purposes.

  Even publishing the Fourth Irregulars’ constitution hadn’t helped. The ‘lock up em up and throw away the key’ brigade shouted about the part which gave parolees the same shoreleave rights as any other member of the crew, ranting about the menace to society of these criminals allowed to go about in public. The victim-action lot shouted over the part that said that good conduct would be rewarded with treats. And, of course, the prisoner rights crowd railed on relentlessly that it was wrong to use prisoners in front line military, on principle, full stop.