Crystal Deception (4 page)

The broader outlines of the exchange made it clear they were
both taking the situation seriously as they debated methods and maneuvers for the
next steps. Given her tenuous evidence, she gained comfort from their evident
approval of her actions. Being proactive had been the right choice.

As the discussion ended, Deveraux turned to her. “Cheryl,
thank you so much for your thoughtful leadership and discretion in this
difficult situation. We’re pleased with your initiative. You’ve done the Union
a great service by coming to us today.”

She knew this was a statesmen’s equivalent of saying
hi
.
Politicians seem to begin every conversation with a string of all-purpose compliments
and generic patter. She nodded her head to acknowledge his words.

“As you just heard, our people have been looking into
certain activities at Crystal Fab.” The secretary sat back and folded his hands
across his ample stomach. “A staffer stumbled across some information that
caused us concern, but it centered on their profiteering at the expense of the
Union. Combine that with the fresh intel you bring us today, and you have our
attention.”

Deveraux reached to a sideboard next to his desk, lifted the
lid from a glass jar, and popped an orange candy ball into his mouth. He
offered the jar to Cheryl and her dad, who both declined. As he spoke, Cheryl
could hear the candy click off his teeth as it bounced around his mouth.

“The Union Assembly funded the
Alliance
as a first
step of a buildup that will allow us someday to confront the Kardish. That’s
what the supporters of the construction initiative claim, anyway. What you
describe may prove they were prescient in their planning.” He leaned forward,
supporting his weight with an arm on his desk. “This Juice Tallette, do you
believe her story? Is she on our side?”

“Well, Mr. Secretary—”

“Tim,” he said.

“Tim,” she echoed, though the word felt awkward on her lips.
“Yes, I think Juice is doing right by the Union, and Brady Sheldon is acting
for himself. But this is all instinct. Given the personal dynamics I witnessed
when I visited the site, another alternative is that the crystal has a scheme
going, and Tallette and Sheldon are being manipulated.”

The secretary turned to look over at the senator, but
continued speaking to Cheryl. “Captain, it would be a great service if you’d remain
involved and help us as we develop this case. It’s possible that we’ll have to play
along, maybe even wait until the crystal is moved to your ship. We can watch to
see if the Kardish become aggressive and respond accordingly.” He looked back
at her. “It could get dangerous.”

“Absolutely, sir. If the Kardish are the aggressors, then
the
Alliance
was built for this job.”

“Now hold on here,” said the senator. “This could blow up in
a dozen different ways. I don’t want my daughter in the thick of something so
risky.”

“Excuse me, Senator,” Cheryl said with an edge in her voice.
“I believe this is exactly what I’ve signed up for.”

He gave her a long look. She could see the concern on his
face, but she stood her ground.

Wallace turned to the secretary and spoke like a man with a major
influence on the secretary’s departmental budget. “I want two things here, Tim.
Have your
best people
teaming with her. This is vitally important, and we
have to identify and stop whoever is behind this affront to the Union. And find
me a team leader who won’t give up until this is over and she’s safe.”

The secretary smiled broadly. “Done, and done.”

Chapter 5

Secretary Deveraux walked with Cheryl
out to his staff area. “Thank you again, Captain. We’re counting on you to work
this situation for the benefit of the Union.” He motioned to one of his staff.
“Denise will help you from here.” Before his assistant had a chance to stand, he
was back in his office.

The door closed behind the secretary just as Sven Preston entered
through a side door. “You heard me, Sven. I just made a huge promise to the guy
who funds us. How can I keep it?”

Sven, director of the Defense Specialists Agency, led an
elite force of covert warriors. The DSA existed to serve the needs of the secretary,
and its agents thrived on just this kind of challenge—the sort where Deveraux
expected them to deliver the impossible.

“We know who you’re going to choose,” said Sven. “Let’s just
pull the trigger.”

The secretary squeezed the arms of his chair as he eased
himself into it. He and the chair sighed at the same time as his mass came to
rest on the seat. “Every time I send an improviser on a job, the property
damage is horrific and the body count is worse. I like the guy, but give me
some alternatives.”

“We don’t know who the bad guys are or what they have for
means and motive,” said Sven. “The situation is fluid as hell. Other than
keeping the senator’s daughter safe, we can’t even express what success looks
like. That’s exactly what improvisers are trained for. He’s the best there is,
and he’s not in the field at the moment.”

“Why not send a ghost or a toy-master?” asked Deveraux,
knowing the answer but asking nevertheless.

“Ghosts are talented at slipping in and out of places undetected.
Toy-masters use gizmos and gadgets to do their dirty deeds. It’s not clear how
either of these specialties alone are the right choice for this job.” As Deveraux
watched, Sven’s face brightened. “Here’s a bonus. If we send him, we get his
partner, our only agent equally qualified as both a ghost and a toy-master.”

The secretary looked up at the ceiling and started rocking
in his chair. It squeaked in rhythm to his movements. “What’s that phrase—insanity
is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?”

“He’s our most successful agent. That’s not insanity. We
want the same result.”

He stopped rocking and popped a yellow candy into his mouth.
“I wasn’t talking about him. I’m the one who has this same conversation over
and over with you.” He shifted the candy from one cheek to the other.
Click-click.

Sven changed topics. “What’s your take on the intrigue with
the crystal? Do you believe it has superpowers? She made it all seem
over-the-top.”

“The legacy I’ve set my sights on is a Union with a first-class
space fleet. I think this crystal hits the sweet spot. If it gins up tensions
with the Kardish, then the politicians will have to fund more ships. If it
helps make construction cheaper, we can afford more ships. And if both things
happen, we hit the jackpot.”

He rocked some more, thinking how proud he’d feel if, by the
end of his term, the Union had a dozen Horizon-class ships in Fleet.

His musing was interrupted when Sven stood up and looked at
him expectantly.

“About the improviser?” The candy clicked. “Have him handle
it.”

* * *

Sid sat on the porch, nursing his
third beer and watching the world go by. His com signaled with an urgent
message, interrupting his well-earned reverie. He’d sustained a number of minor
injuries on his last assignment and been given leave to rest and recuperate. He
knew it was the agency calling to ask him to come back early. Annoying, but duty
came first. He acknowledged his com.

The message was short. “Your date is waiting at the restaurant
and needs help preparing for a journey. Your week is free. Please handle it.”

He stood up, smiled as his beer buzz swirled in his head,
and stepped inside his apartment. As he dressed, he reviewed the message. The communication
was typical DSA code. “Your date” meant he would recognize his contact. “The
restaurant” referred to a local Irish pub. “Needs help” indicated a sense of
urgency. “Handle it” confirmed he was being deployed as an improviser.

Which meant this assignment would likely progress into a
shit storm.

Sid made his way to the pub, entered, and scanned down the
row of booths across from the bar. He looked for a familiar face; they saw each
other at the same time. His adrenaline spiked, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Agents would occasionally see friends and acquaintances when on assignment.
They learned how to keep the mission moving in such situations. But seeing her was
so disorienting that he hesitated.

Training kicked in and he moved back on task. He ticked through
his action list: locate and protect the contact, maintain cover, find secure
shelter, create goals for the next twenty-four hours, and move the mission
forward.

He scanned the booths again, looking for someone on the job,
and still didn’t see anyone that made sense for this circumstance. His eyes
returned to hers; eyes he never thought he’d see again.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still motionless in the
entryway. The din of the crowd drowned out the sound of his voice.

Time passed and he remained rooted. He’d already broken
procedure. Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, he walked toward her, still
searching the pub for his assignment. When he reached her table, their eyes
locked. His cheeks flushed in shame.

* * *

Cheryl followed Denise out of the
office suite. “I guess today’s the day you become a spy,” the assistant
commented, leaving Cheryl to ponder that statement as they traveled another
maze of hallways and stairs that eventually exited the building onto the
street. Denise stopped, pointed south, and said, “Two blocks. Number 3267. It’s
on this side of the street. Big glass entrance on a red brick building. Can’t
miss it.”

She stood there waiting, and Cheryl did the only thing she
could think of. She pointed down the street and repeated, “This way to number
3267.”

Denise winked. “Good luck, Captain.” She disappeared back into
the building.

Cheryl started walking, not exactly sure where she was
headed, but believing this was a good sign. She mentally reviewed the events that
had occurred with her father and the secretary as she made her way down the
quiet street. It had gone well. Her dad seemed genuinely glad she brought the
issue to him, and the secretary acted sincere when he said the situation had
their attention.

As she replayed the conversation, she realized the
discussion focused on the behavior of the Kardish more than anything else. They
had only briefly touched on the notion that the crystal could be a self-aware
intelligence with a potential to become extremely disruptive. She was mulling
this over when she arrived at 3267 and its big glass doors. Her thoughts returned
to the present.

A youngish fellow, well-groomed and dressed in colorful garb,
greeted her at the entrance. “Captain Wallace, please come in.” He made a show
of looking her up and down. “He is going to love you, honey.” Then he took off
at a fast pace, hips swiveling, as he led her into the depths of the building.

Cheryl rushed to keep up. As they walked, he spouted a
rapid-fire spiel that sounded interesting but had no more substance than the
political patter she’d listened to from the secretary. They entered a brightly
lit room, and he got her seated in a comfortable upholstered chair. As he
walked to the door, he waved good-bye with his fingertips. “Ta ta.” The door
closed behind him. When enough time passed for him to take perhaps ten steps,
she heard him bay a creepy howl.

She waited for a few minutes, and then decided to attack the
ever-expanding work log accumulating on her com. She’d made it through a few
tasks on her list when a man and woman entered through the same door she’d used.

“Hello, Captain,” said the man. “So sorry for the wait. I’m
Johan and this is Verra.”

She watched as they pulled chairs over to form a tight
group. When they sat, their knees almost touched. Johan, perhaps Cheryl’s age, had
a bushy mustache that danced with his lips as he asked her, “What do you know
of the Defense Specialists Agency?” The woman, middle aged and with perfectly
coiffed hair, nodded her head, unconsciously keeping rhythm with the bouncing
mustache.

The next hours were a blur as the two gave her a crash
course in the basics of spycraft. They explained what she should expect and how
best to contribute. They both personally knew the agent that the secretary had picked
to lead the mission and would refer to him only as “Captain Crunch.” It seemed
that real names weren’t used by DSA operatives.
Camaraderie through a shared
culture,
Cheryl surmised.

Seemingly unwavering in their awe of this agent, they impressed
on her that he was the best in the business, with a reputation for being able
to prevail when odds were longest and hope had dimmed. After so many glowing
comments about him, she was eager to meet this amazing man—if only to measure
the man against the legend.

She got to the pub early and, as instructed, sat in a booth
facing the door. They told her she would recognize him, so she systematically evaluated
each person who entered. There wasn’t a familiar face in the lot.

Until Sid walked in.

She began to tremble and brought her fingers to her lips. She’d
spent the last four years pretending he was dead. It was the only way she’d
been able to move on with her life.
Why is
he
here, and why now?
she
wondered. She made a move as if to leave, but her professionalism prevailed and
she remained seated.

Years ago, right after Sid had discarded her, Cheryl
fantasized about bumping into him at some random place, like maybe a party she
was attending. In those fantasies, an unlikely sequence of events would play
out, and the two of them would end up back together, happily ever after. But in
time, she recognized these as childish dreams. Resolving never to be hurt again,
she started construction on her wall. Day after day, brick by brick, she built
a fortress protecting her heart. While some men in the past couple of years had
weakened the structure, no man had succeeded in breaking through it.

And now, the reason for the wall was standing in front of
her. At the worst possible moment. After all of the times she had dreamed of a
random meeting, she found herself concerned that his presence would jeopardize
a vital mission.

He walked toward her while looking around the room as if he’d
lost something. She shifted her eyes between him and the front door, hoping the
agent would arrive to save her from this awkward drama. Then he stopped at her
table.

Their eyes locked and she was cornered. He slipped into the
booth seat across from her, and as he did, dozens of questions that had been
consuming her for years were answered.

“Captain Crunch,” she said, using the code words as
instructed. Her voice sounded foreign to her ears.

“Aye,” he whispered, struggling to complete the contact phrase.
“Crispy and delicious.”

They sat quietly for several minutes, looking at each other
but not moving.

Finally, he spoke. “Cheryl, I’m sorry.” The statement hung
there in the empty space between them. They sat some more.

As the shock of seeing him faded, her brain resumed
processing information. She stated what was now clear to her. “You left me, you
left
us
, to become a spy.”

He met her gaze and held it, then looked down at the
tabletop. “Yes.” Looking back up, he added, “We should leave this place and
move somewhere private. Let’s keep a low profile until I learn what this is
about and how I can help.”

He told her about a DSA secure room down the street and
suggested they meet there. Getting up, he headed to the back of the pub. Following
his instructions, Cheryl went out the front.

Her mind was in turmoil as she made her way to the secure
room. She briefly toyed with the idea of requesting a different agent but knew
that was neither feasible nor professional.

They’d spent time together those years ago—enjoying,
sharing, loving each other. Sid treated her well and made her feel good about
herself. She was attracted to his quiet confidence and the air of mystery and
danger he projected. He had captured her heart, held it for most of a year, and
then he disappeared.

In those first hours of his absence, she thought he might be
hurt or in trouble. When she called him, her com told her that no such person
existed. This didn’t make sense, yet she hadn’t been able to locate anyone who
could give her a reasonable answer.

Using her substantial technical skills, she had searched for
him. She was dumbfounded when every tool she tried reported that he did not,
nor had he ever, existed. She broke protocol and asked the camp commander, who
had told her, quite bluntly, to forget the past and focus on the future.

It had been three days before she learned from a well-placed
colleague that Sid had left camp for a new life. She recalled lying on her
bunk, cycling through feelings of grief, anger, denial, and betrayal. The pain had
been intense, and the emotional wound healed slowly and left a scar on her
psyche.

As she crossed a street on the way to the secure room, she willed
herself to stop dredging through the past.
Focus on your duty,
she
commanded herself. Protecting the interest of the Union in the intrigue with the
crystal, the Kardish, and her ship—that task transcended everything else.