DJ's Mission (11 page)

DJ stared down at the ensnared Jovian. “You
couldn’t leave well enough alone could you? Stupid dwarf.” Looking around he
spied the two exotic dancers. “Lashandra, you will lead me to Mocha’s office.”
Seeing her hesitate he added, “Now!”

Picking up the unconscious form of Jagger Jax, DJ
threw him over his shoulder. Then he grabbed the bound forms of Pridgen and the
criminal Fisher and followed the retreating dancers into the dark corridors of
the casino.

*   *   *   *   *

As Jennifer and Ryan stepped out from the corner of
the bar, she turned to her companion and asked, “Tell me you got that. Right?”

Ryan’s grin spoke volumes but she wasn’t comforted
until he said it. “I got it, I got it.”

“Oh my god. How’d we get so lucky again?”

Ryan shrugged. “Good karma?”

“Whatever. I’m not gonna knock it. We need to get
back to the hotel and do some research and editing before we transmit this.”

“Whatever you say, I’m just along for the ride.”

Jennifer knew that wasn’t true. They might have
been thrown together by chance but they made a formidable team. After all, it
had been Ryan’s idea to check out the casino Mocha Delights tonight. She had
wanted to sneak into the factory and do some snooping. But one thing she had
learned over the last eight months about her laid back holo-recorder, when Ryan
suggests something….listen. It always seemed to pan out.

Grabbing his arm, she headed towards the door.
“Come on. We have work to do.”

Chapter 8

Councilor Carpenter silently adjusted her position
in the high backed chair as she continued to pore over the files provided to
her by the Sheriff. The one thing she could say about their record keeper, they
tracked everything. However, they were the least organized files she had ever
seen. Glancing down at her chronometer, she realized that she had been at this
for over three hours. No wonder her back and neck ached.

Looking briefly over her shoulder, she was
comforted by the twin forms in coal black SWAT armor standing right behind her.
Only occasionally did either of the two police officers move but then, she
trusted that they knew their jobs which allowed her to concentrate on hers.
Turning her attention back to the files, she kept scrolling and reading. Sooner
or later she would find a discrepancy. There was always a discrepancy.

For the SWAT officers, this was just another stake
out. By wearing their TAC armor, they had ready access to food and drink.
Nothing tasty but good enough for long hours of guard duty and the built in
waste facilities meant they didn’t have to worry about those awkward call of
nature moments either. In addition, the tac-net served as a closed circuit
communications that was virtually unbreakable. Right now, the two SWAT officers
were using the advanced technology of their suits to play chess.

Moving his black knight into position Spike said,
“Check.”

“Dammit Spike, why’d you do that?”

“Because you left your king exposed…again.”

Sponge Bob scanned his options. None were any
better than the rest so he did what he always did when confused or confronted
with a problem, he attacked. Moving his bishop, he took his friend’s knight.
“That’s mine now.”

Spike couldn’t contain his grin even though his
buddy couldn’t see it.  “Checkmate,” he said as he slid his queen over to take
the offending bishop.

Whatever expletives Sponge Bob was going to use
was forgotten as Sheriff Kassinger entered the small office he had set aside
for their use. The subtle shift in their stances was enough to signal to the
Councilor that they were on guard and on alert. Teana Carpenter, High Council
Member and retired FSA agent, stood slowly and stretched. “Well, it seems that
everything is in order.”

Sheriff Kassinger grinned and sat his considerable
frame in a nearby chair. “Of course, we are very meticulous in our records. One
never knows what the government will be looking for during an audit.”

“That is a good policy to have. I will inform the
President that everything is in order, however you realize that we must tour
and inspect the facility. To do any less would be a huge breach of protocol.”

“Of course, I expected no less. I’ve made
arraignments for a shuttle to pick you up tomorrow morning at eight-hundred
hours, local time.”

“Until then.” Councilor Carpenter nodded her head
good-bye and turned to leave. Without a word, she knew her ever present
bodyguards would be one step behind her. Once in the hall, she switched on her
sub-vocal mic and earpiece; both were cybernetic implants that would allow her
to discreetly communicate with the SWAT officers. “What is your take on the
Sherriff?”

Spike answered first. “He’s hiding something.”

Sponge Bob snorted and snapped, “Ya think!”

“You’re right, he is hiding something. He’s every
bit a politician as I am and politicians are always hiding something.”

Sponge Bob countered. “I don’t think he would
agree with that accusation. He’s a veteran.”

Even as they climbed into the waiting skimmer,
Councilor Carpenter replied. “He might not agree but that doesn’t make it any
less true. I make a living reading people and from what I see, whatever he is
hiding it’s a doozy.”

Spike tended to agree with her. He’d worked his way
up to SWAT by walking the streets of New Atlanta as a beat cop. His instincts
screamed that the Sheriff was lying about something. But one question
outweighed all others, how would it affect the Coalition?

*   *   *   *   *

As the two Coalition officers waited in the
headquarters of the Saturn Sheriffs, Commander Cline slowly moved around the
office and took in the sights.

The office itself was impressive. It occupied the
whole back section of the building with its own bathroom and emergency exit.
The two side walls were lined with old fashion filing cabinets over which hung
numerous plaques, pictures and awards. The wall in front of the desk was made
of half-inch thick glass. The desk was oak and neatly arranged. But it was the
back wall, the one anyone would be facing when sitting in the office talking to
the Sheriff which captivated his attention.

Cmdr.. Cline moved behind the desk to get a better
look as one of the two deputies which acted as his escort moved closer to flank
him but didn’t stop him. This wall was a collection of military awards, medals,
pictures and memorabilia. He only glanced at the Coalition awards; Silver Star,
Purple Heart and numerous other pins denoting what segments of the war he’d
served in.

No, Cmdr.. Cline’s attention was on the collection
of Nazi Germany souvenirs.

There were knives, medals, one dented Nazi helmet
and a neatly pressed black SS uniform. All these rare antiquities were
protected from the elements behind glass. But what really intrigued him was
that all the memorabilia was placed strategically around two pictures. The
first was an old black and white photograph in a worn wooden frame. If it was
an original, Cline guessed to be over two-hundred years old, probably closer to
two-fifty. The second was a war poster. It was slightly faded but he could
still make out the colors. Two soldiers, one in green with a helmet and the
other in brown with a hat, both were carrying the Nazi flag; solid red with a
white circle in the center with a black swastika in the middle. Over top
written in German was:
‘EIN KAMPF, EIN SIEG!’

“One struggle, one victory,” said a deep voice
from behind him.

Cmdr.. Cline slowly turned around to find Sheriff
Kassinger standing there. Even though he’d heard a lot about the man, this was
their first meeting and the two warriors immediately sized each other up.

The Sheriff was probably a couple inches shorter
than the Coalition Commander but outweighed him by a good hundred pounds. They
both had dark hair greying at the temples but where Cline was clean shaven,
Kassinger had day old growth of a beard and a thick bushy mustache. The black
uniform of the Saturn Sheriff with its red highlights and silver six pointed
star looked spectacular on the Sheriff and it was tailored perfect to fit his
sizable frame. Uniforms never seemed to fit Cmdr.. Cline right; either they
were too baggy or too tight.

As Sheriff Kassinger moved around his desk, Cline
noticed that he walked with a very pronounced limp, evidently a holdover from
his time in the Fleet.

Alex moved back around the desk to his own chair.
“Sheriff Kassinger it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard a lot
about you.”

“Captain Cline, I mean Commander. I’m sorry about
that. It seems that our dossiers of Coalition officers must be outdated.”

He didn’t believe a single word of that. The
Sheriff had intentionally called him by his former rank to try and rile him up.
Alex wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“It’s okay. I’ll get my rank back eventually. You
aren’t the first to call me by my old rank, only the most recent.”

Kassinger smiled at his remark but Alex noticed
that it didn’t reach his eyes. As a matter of fact, he had a mental image of a
cat about to pounce on its dinner when the Sheriff smiled. It wasn’t
comforting.

The Sheriff looked around the room. “I was told
that you had a young lieutenant with you.”

Cmdr. Cline pointed to the far side of the
Sheriff’s headquarters. They could just barely see the blonde hair of Lt. Evans
as she was surrounded by about five deputies. She was smiling and laughing as
if someone had just told a joke. Even as they watched, one of the deputies
moved in close and, not too subtly, groped her buttocks. Instead of getting
mad, Virginia playfully slapped his hand away and stepped to the side.

“As you can see, she is entertaining herself.”

“I see. So she is good for something.” This time
when the Sheriff smiled it seemed genuine.

Cmdr. Cline felt the urge to reach across the desk
and smack it off of him but kept his cool. “She has her uses.” Adding a grin of
his own. “But that is not why we are here.”

“No, of course not. You are here to oversee the
latest progress reports on the Dreadnaught.”

Cmdr. Cline shook his head. “No. Not the reports,
the actual ship.”

“That is a bit more difficult. You must realize
the amount of security we keep around the ship. It isn’t something you just
walk up and view.”

“I would hope not but let me be blunt; we are not
leaving until we physically see the ship and have hard copies of all reports.”
Cmdr. Cline stood up and tucked his hat under one arm. “I may even want to talk
with the people building the damn thing and you will do your best to facilitate
anything and everything I need. By God, this is a Coalition ship built under a
Coalition contract by a private firm and no local LEO is going to give me the
run around.”

Sheriff Kassinger also stood up and leaned forward
on his desk with both hands. “Now listen here former Captain. You’re in my
pond. It may not seem like much to a career Fleet officer like you but it’s my
pond and I’m the big tuna. You will go when and where I allow you to go.”

“Are you threatening to limit my movements within
this system?”

Kassinger shook his head. “No, by all means no,
that would be against Coalition laws. But I cannot guarantee your safety unless
you have an escort by my deputies and with the recent pirate activities in the
area and multiple visits from dignitaries, I don’t have enough manpower to
ferry you around the system at your every whim.”

“So you are denying my visit to the Dreadnaught?”

“No, I am saying that you must be patient.”
Kassinger pretended to look at his calendar. “The earliest I will have enough
deputies available for a visit to the shipyards will be at noon tomorrow, local
time of course.”

“Of course. Until then.” Turning away, Alex slowly
walked out of the Sheriff’s office and toward the elevator.

Lt. Evans saw his departure and broke away from the
mob of deputies which had her surrounded. As they stepped onto the elevator,
Virginia stood up onto her tiptoes and leaned in as if to kiss the Commander on
the neck and whispered, “When it’s safe, we need to talk.”

*   *   *   *   *

As the door to the elevator closed and the
Coalition officers were out of sight, a huge mountain of a man stepped out of
the Sheriff’s bathroom. “We need to talk.”

Kassinger nearly fell out of his chair when the
Confederate soldier appeared in his office. “Holy shit! Don’t you ever knock?”

“No.”

Kassinger looked around to make sure that his
deputies hadn’t seen the intruder yet and pressed the ‘private’ button on his
desk. In a matter of milliseconds, the glass wall became opaque and the door
locked securely. He turned to confront the man in grey and said, “How many
times must I warn you not to come into my office?”

Sgt. Pete Allen ignored the veiled threat from the
sheriff and cut right to his point. “Is that bluecoat gonna be a problem?”

“Bluecoat?”

Sgt. Allen nodded. “You Coalition folks.”

“I am no longer one of them.”

Sgt. Allen ignored him and picked up the ancient
Nazi knife that Kassinger had on display. “So you say. But you didn’t answer my
question. Is he going to be a problem?”

Kassinger shook his head. “No. Everything is on
schedule.”

“No, it’s not. If it was, I wouldn’t be here. You
are two weeks behind with the latest shipment to Haumea.”

“We just got in a shipment of inmates this
morning. They are being transferred to the outer shipyard in the morning.”

Allen nodded. “That’s good news but we are still
gonna be short on parts.”

Kassinger knew he was sweating and he didn’t like
the feeling. Usually it was him which put the other person on the defensive but
the Confederate NCO – non-commissioned officer – surprise arrival had put him
in an awkward position. “But…but…”