Against All Enemies

Chapter Six

Once again, Paul found himself trying not to act nervous as he answered a call from the petty officer of the watch. "Mr. Sinclair? You've got a visitor on the quarterdeck, sir."

"Thanks, I'll be right there." Paul checked his uniform, feeling absurdly as if this was a date. He paged Sharpe, then walked at a steady gait to the quarterdeck.

Pam Connally was there, looking nice indeed and not at all like a special agent. "Paul, this is so cool. This is your ship?"

"Uh, not mine, exactly." He could see Chief Cruz, the officer of the deck, giving him an approving thumbs-up and wink from behind Connally. Great. This'll be all over the mess decks by morning. "It's great to see you again after all these years, Pam. Come on inside."

She followed him through the hatch, bending more than she had to in order to clear the hatch edge, in the way people who weren't experienced with moving around ships always did. They walked down the passageway, exchanging idle, generic chatter about non-existent old times. "Can I see your room?" Connally asked.

"My stateroom? Uh, sure."

Connally went inside, making remarks about the small size of the compartment. "They actually have four of you living in here?"

"Yeah." Paul pointed to the four small desks. "That's mine. That one belongs to a guy named Brad Pullman, this one is Randy Diego's and that's where Jack Abacha works."

"And this one… Brad?" Pam pointed to that desk again. "He's a lieutenant like you?"

"Right. Lieutenant junior grade. The other two are ensigns."

"Wow." Having discreetly confirmed that she knew exactly which terminal belonged to Pullman, Connally looked around the cramped compartment with a wondering expression as if she were touring the Sistine Chapel.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Paul turned to see Ivan Sharpe. "Yeah, Sheriff. What's up?"

"Something I needed to talk to you about, sir. Oh, you've got a guest. Sorry, ma'am, I need to talk to Mr. Sinclair privately for a moment."

Connally looked disappointed. "Do I need to leave already?"

Paul shook his head. "No. This will only a few seconds. Right, Sheriff? Why don't you just stay inside while I shut the door and the master at arms and I talk out here? When we're done talking I'll open it up again."

"That'd be great! Then I could really see how it feels to be in this small room."

Paul closed the hatch, reflecting that he'd never thought of being in that small compartment as anything anyone would seek to experience.

Sharpe cleared his throat. "Yada, yada, yada," he murmured. "She's not bad lookin', sir."

"I hadn't noticed," Paul replied in a similar low voice.

Ensign Hosta came by on the way to her stateroom, giving Paul and the shut door a curious look. "The sheriff and I are talking about something my guest shouldn't hear," Paul explained. Hosta nodded and went on, hopefully to spread the explanation for the shut door to anyone who might wonder.

"I do recognize her," Sharpe continued in a near whisper after Hosta had gone out of earshot. "Seen her a few times around the offices where she works. Good thing you clued me in she'd be here or I might've mentioned it to someone tomorrow."

"But now you won't mention it to anyone."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir. Sure you can't tell me what's up?"

"No. Nothing's up, Sheriff."

"Aye, aye, sir. I don't know nothin'."

Connally rapped lightly on the hatch and Paul pulled it open. "Thanks, Sheriff," he said in a normal voice. "Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir." Sharpe nodded companionably to Connally. "Nice meeting you, ma'am."

"Likewise," Connally replied cheerfully as Sharpe left. "Can I see more of the ship, Paul?"

"Sure." They walked around a while, then back toward officers' country. As they were approaching Commander Moraine's stateroom, Paul checked his watch. "How much longer can you stay?"

"Not long. I had something come up at work. I need to go there right after this. There isn't a private restroom I can use around here anywhere, is there?"

"There's one in this stateroom," Paul advised, halting in front of Moraine's hatch. He knocked as if not knowing whether Moraine was onboard and in her stateroom, then opened the hatch. "Senior officers get their own. Go ahead."

"Thanks." Connally went inside, shutting the hatch, while Paul waited. A few minutes later she emerged. "I'm glad I got that done."

They walked back toward the quarterdeck, while Connally invented an imaginary social event she'd attended with Paul and some equally imaginary mutual friends in their college days and chatted gaily about the details. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

"That's okay." Paul realized close to an hour had passed since she'd come aboard. The cover activities had taken considerably more time than the actual installation of the taps. "It was nice having you here."

She waved as she walked off the brow. Chief Cruz waved back along with Paul. "Your secret's safe with me, Lieutenant."

"There's no secret to keep safe, Chief."

"With a fine lady like that? There ought to be."

Paul laughed and left the quarterdeck, knowing word would somehow filter back to Jen and hoping she'd understand that Paul's secret activities tonight had been professional, not personal.

Another day, another evening at Fogarty's. Paul wondered whether he was starting to become too much of a regular at the bar.

But it wasn't like he could pass up on coming tonight. Neither Kris Denaldo nor Mike Bristol had wanted to make a big deal of their farewells from the ship, but tradition had to be served. Jen sat quietly beside him as Paul raised his drink toward the pair. "Fair winds, you guys."

"I still can't believe I'm going to be feeling real wind again before long," Bristol remarked. "Should I send some up to you guys after I get back to Earth?"

"Nah. If you tried that the new suppo would probably reject it as nonstandard."

Bristol looked pained at the reminder of the state into which the Michaelson 's supply department had fallen. "I tried to give my relief a good turnover, but she's got to work with Smithe so there's only so much I could teach her. Smithe won't let us do a lot of the things Sykes did."

Paul looked around, finally spotting Bristol's relief, a small-framed, quiet, brand-new ensign. Paul had been so busy he'd hardly met her since she'd come aboard. Now he noticed her sitting nervously as if expecting a team of inspectors from Naval Supply Command to burst through the door at any moment and demand to audit her books. "I'll try to look out for her." He felt that as a duty, in a way. The lieutenants onboard when brand-new ensign Paul Sinclair had reported in had helped him when they could, while still giving him enough slack to learn some painful but important lessons.

"Thanks. I know you won't have much time onboard with her yourself, but I'd hate to see her made into a whipping boy for Smithe's policies."

Kris Denaldo had been staring into her drink. Now she looked up with a wistful expression. "Young and innocent. We were like that once."

"Life goes on," Jen replied. "Keep in touch, Kris."

"I'll do my best. It's strange. You know what's really freaking me out? The next time the Merry Mike gets underway, I won't be on her. For the last three years, every time that ship left port, I was onboard. Next time, I won't. It feels wrong somehow."

Jen grinned. "Paul, if Kris tries to sneak back aboard the Michaelson after she's transferred so she can keep working, promise me you'll kick her back off."

"Even if she's doing some of my work?" Paul asked.

"Even if."

"Okay." He pointed a stern finger at Kris. "Begone and darken our wardroom no more."

"Screw both of you," Kris replied, sticking out her tongue. "Here I try to share my innermost feelings-"

"Save it for that lieutenant on the Mahan," Jen suggested. "Oh, yeah. Don't look so shocked. I have my sources."

Kris smiled. "I've spent a long time looking for someone as desperate as my lieutenant. Oh, there was always Paul, who was as desperate as they come, but someone else got their claws into him first."

Jen smiled back. "You snooze, you lose. Besides, you've been serving on the ship with him the entire time. That means you two were off limits to each other. I was clever enough to get transferred so I could snag the poor lad before he knew what was happening."

Brad Pullman came by, hoisting a toast of his own. "To the soon to be departed. Is this a private booth or can new guys join in?"

Paul moved over so Brad could join them. A few other junior officers came by and sat down, too. The conversation went on for a while, but it didn't have the same easy familiarity as when it'd been just among the four who'd served together for so long.

And when the night had ended and the next day came, Kris Denaldo and Mike Bristol detached from the crew of the USS Michaelson, walked off the ship for the final time, and life went on.

Commander Moraine had finished her daily little speech at officers' call. Paul was beginning to wonder of she had an entire book of them loaded into her data pad. Taylor was doing a good imitation of someone just barely able to stay awake after listening to the speech. Pullman appeared to be trying not to laugh at Taylor. "I have one other thing to announce," Moraine declared with icy looks at Taylor, Pullman, and Paul. "The captain has informed us that we'll be receiving an updated copy of the Fleet Tactical Action Manual. This has a Top Secret annex containing the latest intelligence on foreign space capabilities. You will be expected to read that annex and be familiar with its contents. It's a new format and Fleet Intelligence Center Space wants feedback."

Paul, already wondering why he'd gotten a fish-eye from Moraine when he hadn't been engaging in the same high-jinks as Taylor and Pullman, started wondering if this was the sensitive material Connally had told him would be provided to the ship. The bait's here, the taps are in place. It's just a matter of waiting until the trap springs. He looked at Commander Moraine, unable to keep from speculating if her days of giving speeches to them were numbered. The thought did cheer him up somewhat.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Sinclair?"

Paul focused back on Commander Moraine's aggravated expression. "Uh, no, ma'am."

"Then get to work. All of you." Commander Moraine stalked off, furiously punching the keys on her data pad.

Taylor blinked and looked around like someone awakening from a sound sleep. "Hello? What? Yes, ma'am!" Both Paul and Brad Pullman laughed as Taylor stood and stretched. "I'm really getting to enjoy these morning rest breaks. See you young 'uns later." She strolled off, singing "heigh ho, heigh ho," in a low voice.

Ivan Sharpe ran Paul down half an hour later. "Captain's Mast, Mr. Sinclair."

"I know. I know. At thirteen hundred."

"No, sir. The captain had something come up and he needs to be off the ship then. Mast has been moved up to zero nine thirty."

"Zero nine thirty?" Paul checked the time. "Great. There goes the rest of the morning."

"Yes, sir. If you'll excuse me, sir, I need to notify everyone else involved."

Paul dropped what he was doing, calling up the charge sheets for everyone going to Captain's Mast, and ensured they were accurate. Unfortunately, Sharpe had been right about the crew blowing off steam when they hit port, and there'd been an unusually large number of incidents that needed to be handled by the quick and dirty form of military justice known to the Navy as Mast even though its formal name was non-judicial punishment.

At 0915, Paul headed for the mess decks. Regardless of how Commander Moraine felt about it, the ship's legal officer was required to attend every Captain's Mast. Sharpe was already there, furiously checking off the presence of accused personnel, witnesses and the chiefs and division officers of the accused. Paul waved a brief greeting and left Sharpe to his work, going to the side of the compartment where'd he stand during the Mast. "Mornin', Mr. Sinclair," Master Chief Maines greeted him.

"Mornin', Master Chief." The new senior enlisted on the ship had taken over that job when she joined the crew soon after the departure of Senior Chief Kowalski. Paul hadn't had too much interaction with the Master Chief, who worked in engineering, but had the impression she was solid enough at her job, even if not quite the paragon that Kowalski had been. Then again, maybe I'm turning into one of those "old guys" looking back at the good old days when gods allegedly walked the earth in human form. Paul stood next to Master Chief Maines, waiting in a relaxed, almost-at-ease posture.

Maines checked her watch. "Gonna be a long one today, sir."

"Yeah. The crew went a little nuts on us the first days back in port."

"It happens, sir. Not that we didn't try to keep a lid on things, but after all the crap we went through during that last underway period, a lot of people had a lot of pressure to vent off."

"Too bad they couldn't have vented a little more gradually and avoided explosive decompression."

Before Maines could answer, Sharpe stuck his head in the compartment. "All present and accounted for, Mr. Sinclair. I'm going to get the captain."

"Very well." Paul let his mind wander, trying to plan which fires he'd concentrate on putting out for the rest of the day once Mast was over.

Before he knew it, Sharpe was back. "Attention on deck."

Paul and Master Chief Maines straightened to attention as Captain Hayes entered. Nodding to both of them, Hayes ordered them to "carry on" as he went to the small podium set up facing the center of the compartment. As Paul went from attention to parade rest, Hayes pointed at Sharpe. "Let's go."

Sharpe leaned back into the passageway. "Petty Officer Timbale," he called.

Timbale entered, his uniform well turned out, marching up to stand at attention facing the captain. Behind Timbale, his division officer Ensign Abacha and the chief of his division entered and came to attention on the other side of the compartment, facing Paul and the Master Chief so that the accused sailor was in the center of a three-sided box formed by his superiors.

Hayes eyed the sailor for a moment, then looked down at his data pad. "Petty Officer Second Class Timbale. You are charged with violation of Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Failure to obey order or regulation. You're also charged with violating Article 108, damage to military property of the United States and Article 134, disorderly conduct/drunkenness." Hayes fixed Timbale with a demanding look. "What do you have to say?"

Timbale licked his lips nervously before starting to speak. "Captain, I was drunk."

Hayes waited a moment, then prodded the sailor. "That's all?"

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I wasn't disorderly, sir."

"Why were you charged with being disorderly?"

Timbale let his unhappiness show. "I believe that's the result of a misunderstanding, sir."

"A misunderstanding."

"Yes, Captain." Timbale's expression became earnest. "I don't deny me and my shipmates had been hitting the bars and maybe hitting them a little too hard. But we weren't making any fuss. Maybe we were a little loud, but when we got thrown out of- I mean, when we decided to leave that last bar we was going to head back to the ship and sleep it off. But then Johnson started feeling a little dizzy and he laid down and we couldn't get him up again and we had a problem."

Captain Hayes waited again, then once more posed a question. "And?"

"Captain, we wasn't going to leave Johnson just lying there. He could've got in trouble. But he's a big guy, sir, and for some reason we was having trouble trying to carry him back to the ship. Then Petty Officer Ghi remembered there was a first aid locker real close."

"Did you think Johnson was sick?"

"No, sir. We knew he was drunk as a pig. But those first aid lockers have stretchers in them. So we popped open the seal on the first aid locker and pulled out the stretcher and put Johnson on it and carried him back to the ship that way. Then the officer of the deck got kind of upset when she saw Johnson in the stretcher and told us we'd messed up. But we never tried to hurt Johnson, sir!"

Hayes looked perplexed. "Who said you did?"

Sharpe cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Captain, but the XO screened out an assault charge against Timbale and the others. It was brought because of some injuries Johnson sustained."

The Captain looked around, then focused on Timbale. "How did Johnson get injured?"

"Captain, that wasn't my fault. Ghi dropped her end of the stretcher a few times-"

"Okay. I understand. To summarize, then, you all got drunk, Johnson passed out and you broke into a first aid locker to steal a stretcher." Hayes looked around the compartment again. "Why wasn't he charged with theft?"

Paul took a moment to realize that after all the Captain's Masts at which he stood by just in case he was needed, he'd finally actually been asked a question during Captain's Mast. "Sir, we couldn't charge Timbale or Ghi with theft because they didn't plan on keeping the stretcher. They were going to take it back."

"It's only theft if they plan on keeping it?"

"Yes, sir. Legally, sir."

"The Uniform Code of Military Justice says that?"

"Yes, sir. It's that way in civil law, too."

Hayes shook his head, then looked at Timbale again. "But you're charged with damaging property, so I assume the stretcher was damaged?"

Timbale nodded, his nervousness showing again. "Yes, sir. When it got dropped and when we were getting it out of the locker. And I guess some folks were upset that we popped the locker seal, and they said that was damage, too."

Hayes looked at Paul again. "What order or regulation was violated?"

Paul nodded toward Timbale. "The first aid lockers are only supposed to be opened to provide emergency medical assistance. That's by order of the station commander. The order is posted on the lockers."

"But, Captain," Timbale protested, "it was an emergency. We couldn't leave Johnson just lying there."

"Why didn't you simply call for assistance?" Hayes demanded.

Timbale hesitated. "Uh, Captain, we didn't want anyone to get in trouble."

Hayes shook his head again, looking down at his data pad for a moment, then gazed over at Ensign Abacha. "What kind of sailor is Petty Officer Timbale?"

Abacha looked almost as nervous as Timbale but spoke in a firm voice. "He's a good performer, Captain. He rarely gives us any trouble. Just an occasional incident on liberty. There's never any problems on the job. He's a good petty officer when he's on the ship." Timbale's chief nodded in agreement.

Captain Hayes gave Timbale a searching look. "Petty Officer Timbale, do you think you handled that situation properly?"

"Captain?"

"Do you think you did the right thing or do you think you screwed up?"

Timbale nodded heavily. "I screwed up, sir. We shouldn't have taken that stretcher."

"Or gotten so drunk you got thrown out of a bar and Johnson passed out?"

"No, sir. Not that, either. But, Captain, honest, we didn't think we were violating any order. It said open that locker in an emergency and it sure seemed like an emergency to us."

"All right." Hayes glanced at Ensign Abacha again. "Your division officer and your chief stood up for you here. But they also said you get in trouble on liberty sometimes. You're a member of the United States Navy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, Petty Officer Timbale. That means your job doesn't end when you walk off of this ship. You still need to think about what you're doing and make sure you don't get so drunk that damaging government property sounds like a good idea. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"I could really hammer you, Petty Officer Timbale. Instead, I'll go pretty light because your chief and division officer say you're a good performer and you've got a clean record. But not so light that you won't remember this next time you have to think about what to do on liberty. I'm fining you one-half month's pay for one month and giving you a reduction in rate to seaman, suspended for six months. Keep yourself out of trouble and you won't have to worry about being busted to seaman. Understand?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Dismissed."

Timbale pivoted on one heel and marched out of the compartment, followed by Ensign Abacha and his chief. Master Chief Maines shook her head and muttered something under her breath. Hayes gave her a wry look. "What was that, Master Chief?"

"I was just commenting to myself on the eternal nature of sailors, Captain. If they ever design a machine that can replace them, it'll probably go out and get drunk and do something stupid."

Hayes grinned. "No doubt. Next case, Sheriff."

Petty Officer Chi came next, getting the same treatment as Timbale had. Then a still slight battered looking Petty Officer Johnson, then more sailors, each with some variation on drunk and disorderly, provoking speeches and gestures, insubordination, and the occasional assault charge from a bar brawl. The captain varied his punishments depending on their individual records and the severity of the offenses. Hayes was shaking his head by the time the last case came up. "At least we didn't have a riot," the captain remarked. "What's this last one?"

"It's a bad one, Captain," Sharpe warned before leaning into the passageway. "Petty Officer Vox."

Vox entered, his uniform neat but his face still bearing a black eye and a visible series of healing but deep scratches on one cheek. Hayes frowned, then checked his data pad as Lieutenant Isakov entered and took up position along with a female sailor who avoided looking at Vox. The captain's face visibly hardened as he read. "Petty Officer Vox. I see you're charged with Violating Article 112a, wrongful use of controlled substances, Article 134, assault with intent to commit rape, and Article 134, drunk and disorderly. What do you have to say?"

Vox's eyes flicked from side to side before he spoke, then looked straight ahead to avoid meeting the captain's eyes. "I don't remember doing any of that, Captain."

"That's all? You just claim you don't remember committing these offenses?"

"Yes, sir."

" Did you commit them?"

"I… I don't remember, sir."

Hayes glared at the sailor, then over at Isakov. "Lieutenant Isakov, what's the story?"

Isakov kept her face expressionless as she spoke. "As command duty officer on the night in question, I was notified by the shore patrol that Petty Officer Vox had been placed under arrest. I arranged for his release into the custody of Chief Sharpe the next morning. As Vox's division officer, I investigated the report the shore patrol provided. The report states that Petty Officer Vox became belligerent while on liberty and was asked to leave a bar where he and a number of other sailors from the Michaelson were drinking. About one hour later, as Seaman Kanto was returning to the ship alone, she was assaulted by Petty Officer Vox, who attempted to rape her. Seaman Kanto fought off her assailant and called the shore patrol, who took Petty Officer Vox into custody a short time later not far from the scene of the attack. While Petty Officer Vox's injuries were being treated at the brig, blood tests revealed he had ingested an illegal synthetic substance known as Joy Juice earlier that evening."

Hayes gave Vox another hard stare, then looked over at the sailor next to Isakov. "Seaman Kanto, is that an accurate account of events as you know them?"

Kanto nodded, studiously avoiding looking toward Vox. "Yes, sir."

"How certain are you that Petty Officer Vox is the individual who attacked you?"

Kanto gave a brief, nervous smile. "I marked the son of a bi- Excuse me, sir. That's him."

Isakov spoke again. "The shore patrol investigation matched the blood under some of Seaman Kanto's fingernails to Petty Officer Vox, Captain. One hundred percent certain match."

Hayes stared silently at Vox for several seconds. Vox quivered once but said nothing. Finally, Hayes shook his head with slow finality. "And you don't remember trying to rape a shipmate, Petty Officer Vox?"

"No, sir."

"Do you remember taking Joy Juice?"

"No, sir."

"Lieutenant Isakov," Hayes asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Vox, "what kind of sailor is Petty Officer Vox?"

Isakov's voice stayed cool and controlled. "Middling at best, sir. He does what's required and nothing more."

"Does he have a history of trouble?"

Isakov nodded. "Petty Officer Vox has had frequent minor disciplinary problems. He just came off a suspended bust to seaman."

"And now you've graduated to trying to rape a shipmate, is that right, Petty Officer Vox?" Captain Hayes's face had reddened as he glared at the accused sailor.

"Captain, I don't remember-"

"You said that. Even if it's true, it doesn't excuse the act in the least. Nor the use of a controlled substance which has long-term effects on a person's judgment. You're a menace to this ship and to your own shipmates." Hayes shifted his glare to Paul. "This is too serious an offense to dispose of at mast. I want this… individual… court-martialed."

Paul nodded. "Summary or special court-martial, sir?"

"See if the station will approve taking it for a special. If not, we'll do a summary." Hayes looked back at Vox. "Regardless, you are going to get hammered, Petty Officer Vox. Chief Sharpe."

Sharpe came to attention. "Yes, sir."

"I don't want this man on my ship. Will the brig take him for pre-trial confinement?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Make it happen. Today. Notify me if I have to talk to the brig commander in person. Master Chief."

Maines also came to attention. "Yes, sir."

"I want to ensure Vox doesn't come back to this ship. If the court-martial doesn't discharge him I want to make sure he's transferred somewhere else."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," Hayes snapped.

Vox, his face rigid, marched out of the compartment, followed by Isakov and Seaman Kanto. Hayes shook his head. "Inexcusable," he said to himself, then walked out.

Sharpe pointed to one of his deputy master at arms who was standing by and then to Vox. "Lock him up in the confinement compartment."

Paul let out a long breath as he relaxed. "Let me know how the brig goes, Sheriff."

"Aye, aye, sir," Sharpe replied grimly. "It shouldn't be a problem. I know they've got a few vacancies." He sketched a salute and hastened away.

Master Chief Maines rubbed her chin. "I'll go talk to Kanto."

"She handled Vox real good," Paul noted.

"Oh, yes, sir. Real damn good. But that sort of thing still rattles a person something fierce. I'll talk to her and listen to her."

"Thanks, Master Chief."

Maines shrugged. "It's my job, sir. Too bad I can't have a personal talk with Vox. If he'd attacked me he wouldn't be walking around right now."

"That's okay, Master Chief. I have a feeling that even if Vox isn't already real sorry for what he did, he's going to be real sorry before all's said and done."

"Are you sorry for him, sir?"

"Hell, no."

"I didn't think so." Maines gave Paul a fierce grin. "By your leave, sir." She left, heading in the direction Kanto had gone.

Paul exhaled again, then walked out of the compartment. He had a lot of other things to do.

Late that afternoon, Paul was standing on the quarterdeck, talking to Senior Chief Imari and a contractor who claimed the tracking software problem had been fixed even though the same problems kept popping up, when Brad Pullman came out as well. "Don't tell me you're still working," Pullman chided Paul.

"Yeah. Some of us have real jobs."

"Better you than me. I had duty last night and I'm ready to get off this tub and hit the bars."

"Have one for me."

"I'm a better shipmate than that, Paul. I'll have two for you." Pullman laughed and faced the officer of the deck. "Request permission to go ashore."

Paul shook his head and went back to arguing with the contractor. Then he heard something unusual and looked up again.

Brad Pullman wasn't far from the ship. He had three people standing by him, one in front and one on each side. The one in front Paul recognized as Special Agent Gonzalez. As Paul watched, Gonzalez used a small device to scan over Pullman, locating what seemed from this distance to be a couple of data coins. Gonzalez dropped the coins into his data pad ports, read briefly, then nodded. A pair of hand restraints appeared and were clapped around Pullman's wrists.

Paul realized his mouth was hanging open as Pullman was led away. He shut it, then spotted Special Agent Connally near the ship as well. Seeing that Paul was looking at her, Connally gave him a discreet but triumphant thumbs up and then followed the agents taking Brad Pullman into custody.

"Sir, what happened to Mr. Pullman?" Senior Chief Imari asked, staring at the departing figures.

Paul shook his head, trying to clear it. "I… I need to see the captain, Senior Chief." Ignoring the contractor, Paul went in search of the captain. He didn't feel triumphant, just sick to his stomach.

The wardroom was crowded with officers again and filled with a buzz of conversation. Paul hung near the back, trying not to look like the man who'd help get Brad Pullman arrested. And I still can't believe he's actually guilty.

"Attention on deck!" Commander Kwan barked and everyone leaped to attention as Captain Hayes entered.

Hayes looked around the compartment for a moment, his expression unreadable. "As some of you may already be aware, Lieutenant Pullman has just been arrested. He was apparently carrying highly classified information which had been illegally downloaded from the ship." Hayes paused while his audience absorbed that information. Paul, watching faces, saw various degrees of shock and disbelief registering. Commander Moraine had gone very pale, her cheek twitching spasmodically.

The captain cleared his throat before speaking again. "There'll be a full investigation into the charges against Lieutenant Pullman. You will all be expected to cooperate in that investigation to best of your ability. Lieutenant Sinclair." Paul jerked his head up, staring at the captain. "You and Chief Sharpe will be our primary points of contact with NCIS during their investigation. Make sure the XO and I are kept fully informed."

"Yes, sir."

Hayes paused again, long enough for Commander Destin to interject a question. "Captain, exactly what is Pullman going to be charged with? Mishandling classified materials? That doesn't seem serious enough to warrant-"

"If I didn't make it clear before, Lieutenant Pullman is suspected of committing espionage. The extent and duration of the suspected espionage is one of the focus points for the investigation." Hayes grimaced. "I know this is unpleasant news. I expect you all to continue focusing on your jobs. If the crew poses questions about Lieutenant Pullman, you are to tell them that there is an ongoing investigation and you can't comment on it. That's all." The captain turned abruptly and left the wardroom so fast he was already out the hatch before Kwan could yell "attention on deck" again.

The XO gave them all a hostile look. "You heard the captain. Keep your mouths shut on this." Then he left quickly, heading in the same direction the captain had gone.

The other officers held themselves at attention a moment longer, too stunned to do otherwise, until Commander Destin snapped, "Carry on." She shook her head, speaking in a low voice to the other department heads near her.

Gabriel was staring into the distance. "Brad was spying on us?" she asked no one in particular.

Paul swallowed and nodded. "That's the… the allegation. It hasn't been proven."

"But the captain said Brad had classified material he'd taken off the ship."

"Uh, yeah."

Jack Abacha suddenly looked livid with anger. "He was in our stateroom. He lived with us and worked with us and he was spying on us? Why?"

"I have no idea, Jack. Look, there's a lot that needs to be looked into. It's possible the charges won't hold up, or won't be all that serious. It's going to depend on what the investigation finds."

Ensign Taylor had sat back down silently, but now she shook her head. "Too smart. He figured he was too smart to play by the rules. And I'll lay you odds, boys and girls, that Mr. Wise Ass Pullman figured he was too smart to get caught."

"We don't know that he's guilty-"

"I do," Taylor stated firmly. "My gut tells me he is, and my gut don't lie." Then she grinned without much humor. "I guess that means I don't have to worry about being a member of the court-martial, huh?"

The officers were trickling out of the wardroom when Chief Sharpe stuck his head in. "Mr. Sinclair? Need you, sir."

Paul followed Sharpe, feeling the eyes of his fellow officers upon him as he left the wardroom. Sharpe waved down the passageway in the direction of Paul's stateroom. "We got company, sir. I hope you have a spare toothbrush on you."

"What?" Then the likely meaning of Sharpe's words struck home and Paul headed for the stateroom he shared with Brad Pullman.

A woman in civilian clothes stood outside the stateroom, which had crime-scene tape strung across the hatch. Paul came to halt before her, staring into his stateroom. He could see two other civilians in there, methodically searching the compartment.

The woman gave Paul a hard look, then read his name tag and her face cleared. "Oh, Sinclair. You're our point of contact."

Paul could only nod.

"Special Agent Connally sends her respects. She didn't think she ought to come aboard in an official capacity."

That took a moment to soak in. Then Paul nodded again. If Connally came on as an NCIS agent, then everyone would know I'd been walking an NCIS agent around officers' country after hours, and everyone would start to figure out what role I played in this. "Thank you. What needs to be done?"

She waved toward the agents in Paul's stateroom. "We're doing it. There'll be sweeps later on of places like the captain's cabin to see if any taps were placed there by Pullman. But first we need to go through this compartment atom by atom and see what we find."

Paul rubbed his forehead hard with the heel of his hand, trying to push away the dazed feeling inside him. "Any guess how long this compartment will be off-limits?"

"No. Sorry. It'll take as long as it takes."

"Okay." I'll have to talk to Commander Smithe about him finding temporary berths for me, Randy Diego and Jack Abacha. But all our uniforms, other clothes, personal articles and everything else are in that stateroom. This is not going to be pleasant.

"All your stuff's in there?" the agent asked.

"Yeah."

"We'll check out some of that as soon as we can and pass it on to you. Clothes and things like that."

"Thanks. Here's the link to my data pad. Please have somebody let me know as soon as your work is done in here."

"Sure. After all, we owe you one."

"Yeah, well, that's something I'd prefer not be widely known."

The NCIS agent gave a knowing nod. "Understood. We'll keep you up to date on anything that happens."

Paul turned and began walking, lost in thought until Sharpe made a sound to get his attention and began talking softly. "Excuse me, sir, but I assume this is what that thing I didn't know nothing about was about."

"Yeah," Paul confirmed.

"Good on you, sir. It couldn't have been easy deciding to work with NCIS on that. Not with a fellow officer involved."

"It wasn't. But there were some people I didn't want to let down." He gave Sharpe a look. "Like the local cop."

"And he appreciates that, sir. I'll tell you frankly that I'm proud to have worked with you the last few years. My relief's supposed to show up tomorrow and I'll let him know he'd better do a good job for you."

"Tell you what, Sheriff. I'll tell him that I learned a lot from a real professional, and that I was proud to work with you."

Sharpe grinned. "Damn, sir, if you wasn't marryin' Ms. Shen, we'd have to get hitched ourselves."

"That's not funny, Sheriff." But he was grateful for the brief distraction the conversation had brought. Everything still refused to make sense inside his head. Lieutenant Brad Pullman, a fellow officer and someone he'd trusted, arrested on suspicion of espionage. And Paul couldn't just blow it off as a mistake because he himself knew about the computer tap and the trap set to catch someone stealing classified information. Nothing made sense and the facts kept clashing with each other. How could it be true? How could Pullman actually have done something like that? It seemed cut and dried, Pullman caught red-handed, but how many things were there that Paul didn't know? Things that might exonerate Pullman?

Only one thing seemed certain, that Pullman would be facing a court-martial soon. Which meant Paul Sinclair's role in the matter was far from done.