Loralynn Kennakris 1: The Alecto Initiative (20 page)

“There we have it, gentlemen.” PrenTalien intoned. “That is
what we may be up against.”

Heads bobbed and amid the hum and mumble of whispered
conversations one of the Hesperian Grand Senator’s men asked: “I’d like to know
more about this stealth drone attack on the honorable Mr.—that is, Lieutenant
Huron. That would seem to be a prime concern. What additional steps in
mitigation have been taken in that regard?”

The Foreign Office’s security men bristled at the tone and
the most senior leaned forward to speak down the row of little chairs. “We are
running down the issue of the drone now. As for mitigation, I’d like to point
out that such drone, if used in a terrorist attack, would have to defeat the
layered defense of the Grand Exhibit Hall where the hearings are to be held.”
He paused to give a convenient cough and went on: “That is unlikely, even for a
stealth drone. But should it do so, you will observe that the Hall’s canopy is
resistant to even a hypersonic impact by that much mass, and the warhead this
type of drone can carry has a relatively small lethal radius.” Satisfied he’d
made his point, he ventured a further conclusion. “So in the very unlikely
event that another such drone exists and could be used in an attack and
succeeded in impacting the building, damage would be slight and any casualties
minimal.”

There was general low outcry at this
faux pax
and
PrenTalien observed Nick Taliaferro at the back, trying not to chuckle as the
Grand Senator’s man remarked, “I am not at all sure that
any
casualties
at such a gathering could be described as
minimal
.”

The Foreign Office rep, aware of the gaffe as soon as it was
out of his mouth, was very concerned to recover it. “Please forgive my poor
choice of words,” he said slowly. “I meant
causalities
in the sense of
the structure and equipment—not, ah, occupants. No
human
causalities
inside
the building would result from a strike of such a kind.”

The Grand Senator’s man gave him a cold polite nod. “I am
most happy to hear that. But I was rather thinking about a nuclear—not
conventional—warhead, as I understand that such a drone can be made so
capable.”

There was still redness in the Foreign Office man’s face so
PrenTalien decided to come to his rescue. “What about it, Chief Inspector? Any
uncustomed nukes in your jurisdiction?”

Taliaferro hid a smile at the admiral’s eccentric use of the
old smuggling term. “Well, sir, as you know, we have never successfully
detected a plot the enemy has successfully hidden—”

“I knew you were going to say that,” PrenTalien interjected
with a twinkle in his eye.

“—but I think I can say confidently that smuggling in
enough material to make a respectable device is a very low probability event.
And even then, they would have to defeat the fission suppressors. So while we
can’t ever say zero, I’d put it way down on the list.”

“Very well.” PrenTalien said. “Anything else?”

A man in the second row, from New Meridies by his accent,
spoke up. “There’s been some speculation about possible Halith involvement with
either the Bannermans or Andaman or both in the past year. And of course we
know both have ties to the prime Slaver factions. Any conduit to the Halith
would raise the threat level a great deal, but I didn’t hear a mention of that
possibility. Can you address it?”

Where the hell did he hear that?
PrenTalien wondered
as he prepared a reply, trying not to make it too sharp, but the Archon beat
him to it. “There
have
been rumors regarding a meeting between Halith representatives
and Andamans possibly having Slaver associations. Some Bannerman involvement
has also been claimed.” The Archon was using his best tones of calm
authoritative reason now. “But I think I can say with certainty those rumors
have been shown to be unfounded. Both CID and our own intelligence services
concluded this independently. I understand ONI  concurs.” He looked to
PrenTalien. “Is that not so, Admiral?”

PrenTalien allowed that it was. The Archon made a little bow
in acknowledgement and rising from his chair, spoke in a quiet but determined
voice: “Since the issue has been raised, I must stress the potential danger—the
most grave danger—of such rumors. We are all aware of the situation with
regard to Halith at this present time. As we are already dealing with a new and
potentially serious terrorist threat, great pains must be taken to see that
this does not mistakenly precipitate a major diplomatic crisis.”

The Archon sat and PrenTalien had to admit that the old man
has carried his point, as evidenced by the silence. When no one spoke for the
better part of a minute, PrenTalien stood. “Gentleman. Sir”—nodding to the
Archon—“if there is nothing else, I think we’ve said all we can for now.
Obviously, you have our full cooperation and I’ll see to it that whatever
coordination is needed between our several services, happens promptly. Good day
to you all.”

As the guests rose and began to file out, the Admiral
motioned to Taliaferro and Huron. “Chief Inspector, Lieutenant, would you
indulge Commander Wesselby and myself briefly, please?”

“Well, I suppose we had to do that,” PrenTalien said when
the four of them were alone. “What a useless bunch. Most of them couldn’t find
their ass with both hands unless they shoved a navpac up there.” He shook his
head and then looked out at the three of them. “Any comments?”

“Sir,” Wesselby began. “I’m concerned about that fellow from
New Meridies knowing about the Ionian report. That report isn’t supposed to be
out to senatorial staff. Who is he?” She looked around the room.

“His name’s Hagan. Denis Hagan,” Taliaferro answered. “Used
to be an operator. Now he’s Grand Senator’s Grimbles familiar.”

“Does he still have connections?”

Taliaferro shrugged. “Sounds like it. He’s not a bad sort—overbearing,
proud of what he knows—but not
bad
. We’ll have to watch him though.
Can’t have any loose cannons right now.”

“Quite so,” PrenTalien agreed and Wesselby nodded
emphatically. “Nick, who was that guy from the Foreign Office?”

“Burton.” He scratched behind his ear as he gave his head a
private shake. “Technically, very solid—just doesn’t always know how to work
his mouth.”

“So you agree with what he said about the physical
security?”

“Pretty much. He was defending his honor so he was being
maybe a bit optimistic, but I don’t think by much—unless there’s a crowd
outside, of course. Then again, it’s never been tested.”

“What’s the chances there are more drones in our future?”

“Well y’know Joss, we’ve never—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” The two men exchanged a smile.

“Drones don’t bother me much though.” Taliaferro leaned back
and folded his hands across his ample stomach.

“Plants?” Wesselby prompted.

“Yep. Drones ain’t Mankho’s style.”

“Speaking of Mankho.” PrenTalien looked at Huron. “What
about you, Lieutenant? You haven’t said much.”

“Not exactly my area, sir. But for what it’s worth, I find
Commander Wesselby’s assessment convincing.”

PrenTalien thumbed up the corner of a report and glanced at
it. “What about this girl, Loralynn Kennakris, that the medicos have got their
knickers in a twist over?”

“Sir?”

“Dr. Quillan has memos abroad expressing his ‘grave
reservations’ and recommending I lock her up. At least. Seems to think she
might be a plant. If we accept that Nestor Mankho cooked this up, sounds like
his M.O. But I understand you don’t share the doctor’s opinion.”

“That is correct, sir. I do not.”

“And you are willing to bet your life on that?”

Huron stiffened, thinking of their encounter with the drone.
“I believe I already have, sir.”

At that, Wesselby looked down, PrenTalien looked serious,
and Taliaferro looked interested. PrenTalien pulled his chin for a bit, but
turned to Taliaferro. “What about it, Nick? Any thoughts?”

“Not really. Unique case. On the one hand, can’t be too
careful sometimes. On the other, the shrinks can and do go overboard.”

“Trin?”

Trin looked at Huron briefly and then slid her eyes away. “I
don’t have anything to add, sir.”

“Any other candidates? Indications?” PrenTalien looked from
one to the other. They both shook their heads and Wesselby added, “Mariwen
Rathor is the only attendee who’s actually had any contact with slavers that we
know of, but the timeline doesn’t work and she was fully checked out, of
course.”

 PrenTalien looked contemplative. “Nick?”

 “She looks golden. As for who gets into those hearings: no
friends, no family, no live media, hand-picked security. Unless some grand
senator’s a mole, it’d be damn hard to insert someone.”

 “But the Halith angle still bothers me, sir,” Wesselby
interjected. “If there
is
a Halith conduit, we’ve got a whole new
situation. If Mankho had access to Halith technology and Ops support . . .” She
didn’t need to finish the thought.

“Indeed.” The Admiral looked at them all in turn. “For all
the Archon is an oily old SOB, he has a point about Halith. We
cannot
go
there unless we have something ironclad and locked in. They’re salivating for a
casus belli
and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give them that
satisfaction.”

He paused, picked up the hardcopy reports and handed them
across to Wesselby, who sealed them into a yellow folder. “So even though I’ll
accept Iona’s report, the fact is we really don’t know a damned thing about
that meeting on Cor Leonis or what Halith’s involvement might have been—hell,
they could have been arguing against it or even warning the Andamans off
poaching on their preserves. So no one is to go off unprimed on this. We
officially
support the Archon’s position. Unofficially too, outside family. That’s rule
one.”

He paused again to ensure there could be no misunderstanding.
“Rule two is that we keep a hard wrap on this. Trin, I want you to set up a
small select group—whoever you think best but no in-laws except Nick here.
That okay with you, Nick?” Taliaferro nodded. “Copy findings to me, eyes only.
Otherwise, keep things at home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nick, can you find a way to share what you’ve got on Mankho
and his Black Army bastards with Trin here without tripping too many wires?”

Taliaferro looked dubious. “Maybe. Gotta walk soft around
that one, though.”

“What kind of official cover do you need? An MOU? Or do I
need to pitch something stronger to the Archon? Make him understand how
seriously we’re taking this.”

“With all due respect, that office is a goddamned sieve.
Let’s try an MOU. Just promise me a job after I get out, if it doesn’t work.”

“You got it.” PrenTalien smiled at his old friend. He
gathered up the remaining memos and stacked them to one side. “Now for rule
three. This is the easy one—
don’t
fuck up. That is all.” As they rose
to leave, the admiral motioned Huron back toward his seat. “Lieutenant, please
stay for a moment.” He stood aside as the others exited, Trin giving him a
uneasy glance on the way out.

When the door closed, PrenTalien leaned back and exhaled
as if setting down a weight. “You know, Huron, nine days out of ten, you’re
about the best officer I have. But on that
tenth
day . . .” He reached
over and selected a memo from the stack he’d set aside. “I can’t recall another
instance of a lieutenant of mine threatening a fairly high and respected
civilian official with a Grand Senate subcommittee hearing.” He waved the
flimsy. “But perhaps you were not acting your
official
capacity that
AM?”

Huron’s expression settled into stolid impassivity. “I
regret if I crossed over the line there, sir.”

PrenTalien chuckled. “Certainly.” He laid the memo back on
his desk. “So I’m going to suggest you check the calibration on where the
lieutenant ends and Huron family heir begins.”

“Yes, sir.” Huron considered the admiral for a moment, and
then added, “Have you seen the reports on Loralynn Kennakris, sir?”

“I have.” PrenTalien nodded, looking inscrutable. “I’ve read
yours, which Captain RyKirt forwarded to me, and I’ve heard what the rehab
people had to say and I’ve read that medical director’s report. His had
pictures.”

Huron exhaled. “Ah . . . yes, sir.” Then: “Did you know that
she out-flew a hypersonic drone after only ten flight lessons, sir?”

“Yes, I heard about that too. But she did have a little
help.”

“I could tell her what to do, sir. I couldn’t make her
do
it.”

PrenTalien nodded, cupping his hands above his desk. “Well,
that’s true.” He looked at Huron, mouth crimping. “Not sure how much it helps,
though. Candidly, she scares the hell out of people. Christ, she scares the
hell outta
me
.”

Privately, Huron thought it would be quite the news that the
Universe had spat up anything that frightened Joss PrenTalien, short of defeat.
Which had not yet happened.

“You know that the medicos—even if they don’t quite agree
on her being a plant—consider her to be a ticking time bomb and they want her
defused.” He rubbed his hands discontentedly. “Given this new situation I
cannot, in good conscience, refuse.” A chill settled in Huron’s stomach. “But .
. .” The admiral dropped his hands and leaned back. “I’m not sure my conscience
is all
that
good. Especially in view of her contribution to the d’Harra
operation.”

“Then you’ll give her a chance, sir?”

PrenTalien considered. “Where is she now?”

“We have her in a billet down in HQ.”

“Officially? Was she extended protective custody?”

“No, sir. It merely seemed prudent after that night.”

“Understandable.” PrenTalien nodded. “But get her out of
there before we have to take official notice.” A pause. “That detail was your
idea, I suppose.”