Operation Hammerhead - 21. Marion's Parthian Shot

Regency Station

New Britannia System

Controller: “Delta 445 Heavy to Titan Station, you are next in the outbound queue. You are clear to the outer marker. You may jump when ready.”

Delta 445 Heavy: “Delta 445 Heavy, Roger Control. Will jump as soon as we pass the marker.”

Controller: “Aestus bound for Parliament; you are next in the outbound queue. You are clear to the outbound marker. You may jump when ready.”

Rose of Thrace: Control, this is Rose of Thrace. We are declaring an emergency. Aestus just exploded. I repeat, Aestus has exploded. It was a high-order detonation. It looks like her jump capacitor blew.”

Controller: “All outbound traffic in lanes Bravo-2 and Charlie-2, we have an emergency. An outbound ship exploded near the outer marker. Reroute away from the scene of the accident. Clear the lanes for Search & Rescue. Please acknowledge.”

“Rose of Thrace acknowledges.”

“Texas Rose acknowledges.”

“Bristol Star acknowledges. Jesus, Control. That was a bad one.”

“Yankee 344 acknowledges.”

“Southland Express acknowledges.”

“Control, this is the cutter, Dillon. We are twenty mikes from the accident site. Request permission for a hard burn in the Bravo-2 Lane.”

“Granted, Dillon. The outbound lanes are clearing.”

Regency Station

Station Security

Orbiting New Britannia, Regency Station was one of the busiest traffic hubs in the core worlds. Hundreds of ships and fast personnel transports passed through the station every day. It served as a convenient jumping-off point for more distant colonies, terraforming projects, and deep space facilities. Regency Station was so large, that it hosted field offices of the Alliance Bureau of Investigation (ABI) and Interstellar Customs and Commerce (ICC).

The ABI staff consisted of five Agents, a support staff of seven, and an office staff of five. Most of their business was supporting the much larger ICC office with a staff of seventy-five.

The ABI and ICC dealt with smuggling, smuggling, and occasionally the violence sometimes associated with smuggling. It was a posting usually filled by a senior agent on his way to retirement who was expected to provide seasoning to junior agents and forensics specialists.

Senior Agent Don Larkin was in yet another conference with Lieutenant Marco Volkov of Station Security and Inspector Bernice White of the ICC office when a station-wide alarm went off. All three officers looked to their computer pads to see that an outbound ship had exploded.

Volkov cursed and said, “When it rains it pours. We just had a tourist go down and an outbound ship just exploded. Excuse me. I need to handle this.”

Larkin said, “Let us know if we can help.”

Regency Station

Hub 3 Central Concourse

Volkov arrived on the scene five minutes after he got the notification. Emergency Services were already there along with Inspector Richter.

The paramedics had a young, redheaded woman on a stretcher and were desperately trying to save her life. It did not appear to be going well.

Lt. Volkov approached Inspector Richter and asked, “What’s the story, Mike?”

Richter said, “This young lady got off a ship, had some fish and chips, and walked down the concourse and dropped dead.”

Volkov asked, “What happened?”

“The paramedics say it looks like an aneurism.”

The paramedics stood, shook their heads, and covered the young lady in a blanket. The senior woman tapped something into a computer pad, replaced it in the holster on her belt, and approached the officers.

Inspector Richter asked, “What have you got Tasha?”

The paramedic shook her head and said, “A lot that doesn’t add up. She’s enhanced with a gene code that should make any kind of vascular problems nonexistent. I’ve never heard of any enhanced person having an aneurism. They’re incredibly healthy. That is sort of the whole point of enhancement. Something isn’t right about this one Mike.”

Volkov asked, “Do we have her personal effects?”

Tasha said, “There wasn’t much. Some jewelry, a purse, and an overnight bag. We bagged it for the morgue. One more thing Lieutenant.”

Richter and Volkov looked at the paramedic expectantly and she continued, “A couple of months ago we got a BOLO for assassination nanotech after some Senators dropped dead on Parliament. It took the Bureau forensics people a while to figure it out. Superficially, it looks like death by natural causes. I’m sure that most of the time death would be attributed to natural causes unless it is just too suspicious. As first responders, we were briefed to be on the lookout for it. This death has four of five markers we were briefed to look out for.”

Lieutenant Volkov said, “Chief Larkin offered to help, and I think we need to take him up on it.”

Regency Station

ABI Field Office Labs

The investigation was a team affair. Volkov would take the lead on investigating what ship Campbell had come in on and collect all the surveillance video.

Larkin, using his status as an office chief, would search the Bureau’s classified information systems to find out who Marion Campbell was.

The Bureau forensics people were divided into two teams: one for the post-mortem exam and the other would closely examine the victim’s personnel effects. As soon as the body and personal effects arrived, two teams began their work.

They quickly discovered that the victim was full of surprises.

Her documents identified the victim as Marion Campbell, a twenty-six-year-old native of Mars. A query of the Alliance data net found her information.

According to the file, Campbell graduated from the University of Mars with a degree in Computer Science at the age of sixteen. That was all the information that was available. Her file had a red flag that locked classified information.

It took Chief Larkin’s credentials to unlock the file, and he was shocked to discover that the Campbell identity was a well-constructed cover. Her real name was Marion Callahan and, she was a deep-cover Bureau Agent assigned to a mysterious division called Internal Security (InSec).

Callahan’s personnal history was astonishing. Once again, Marion had another name. Her maiden name was Scott.

According to the files, Marion Scott had been involved with a group of junior-varsity terrorists, or vandals depending on who you asked, who called themselves the New People in her late teens. She had grown up with the kids and had even been their babysitter for a time. She saw how far over their heads the kids were and turned herself in. She negotiated a plea deal that got the kids arrested peacefully and put on probation.

Scott so impressed Bureau personnel who worked the case, that they recruited and trained her at the Bureau Academy on Parliament where she had assumed the Marion Campbell identity.

She went missing under mysterious circumstances that coincided with the death of her control agent a year ago. She was considered a suspect, albeit an unlikely one, and had been out in the cold ever since. The case was still open.

Don Larkin’s computer pad buzzed, and he saw it was Volkov.

“Larkin here.”

Volkov said, “You are going to love this. Marion Campbell got off the ship that exploded... the Aestus. We’re trying to run the registry, but the transponder was faked. We did get its tail number on video.”

Larkin asked, “Have you got anything yet?”

“No. The query had to go out-system. I’ll let you know when we get something.”

The leader of the autopsy team also found surprises. Marion Campbell had several implants. First, they found the coded implant that identified her as Bureau agent Marion Callahan.

Second, they found the sort of implant that was used to track probationers in her arm. It wasn’t a standard model and had been modified.

The third and final implant was a standard ThoughSpeed™ Neural Interface Processor.

Finally, they found what they were looking for. The assassination nanotech was meant to be untraceable. It did its damage and self-destructed but did leave some debris if you knew exactly what to look for. They found it. Campbell had been murdered.

The team examining her personal effects was in for the biggest surprise. She was wearing jewelry that would make any spy jealous.

The broach she wore monitored her heartbeat. If that stopped it was programmed to take some action. The jewel on her ring was a powerful personal computer and data store.

The team that was handling the personnel effects immediately got in touch with station security and had them look at the data logs on the station’s public wi-fi network. At the exact time of Marion Campbell, AKA Marion Callaghan, AKA Marion Scott’s death, there was a flurry of wireless activity.

When the heart monitor broach registered her death, several dozen messages hit the wi-fi network. One was bound for the mystery ship which exploded shortly after its delivery. She had spiked the Aestus’s jump capacitors.

Six of the messages, over one hundred gigabytes a piece, went to an ABI address on Parliament, and several journalists with a reputation for finding out the most inconvenient things imaginable about politicians and their unsavory machinations.

The other messages had the technicians stumped.

Dennis Lockhart and Sarah Hernandez, the two most seasoned network forensics analysts looked at the headers of the messages. They couldn’t tell where they were going but they both recognized a series of hex numbers in the headers.

It was Sarah who got it first and she said, “No!”

Dennis asked, “What are you seeing Sarah?”

Sarah said, “Give me a minute. I’ve got to look something up. If it is what I think it is, holy shit Dennis!”

She rattled through her secure cabinet, opened a secured locked box, and retrieved a data crystal. She pulled out a special coded data crystal, stuck it in the port on her datapad, and ran a search.

Sarah moaned, “No, no, no! Damnit!” She put her elbow on the desk and rubbed her forehead.

Dennis was now near panic. Sarah was a cool, calm sort not given for histrionics and he asked, “What is it, Sarah?”

She said, “Those numbers are prefix and override codes. This one is for StarCom. I’m sure if we look up the rest, they are all important overrides. Whoever this woman was, she has just pulled the smoothest hack I’ve ever seen.”

Dennis asked, “When?”

“Now, Dennis. It’s happening right now.”

Senior Agent Don Larkin was still working on his part of the Marion Campbell case in his office when panicked voices assailed his office and a frantic knock.

He stood and opened his door and found his computer forensics people in a state. Sarah Hernandez said, “Sir, the Callahan woman just hacked StarCom and God knows what else!”

StarCom Network

When she was setting up her hack, Marion Callahan did not know exactly who she could trust. In her association with the Bureau, she had seen politically inconvenient things quietly go away. The system wasn’t going to ignore what was happening this time.

She had used her time with Jeff Mason on Parliament to set up what she was going to do. Her death triggered a flurry of network activity. With her override codes, her e-mails, remote procedure calls, and file transfers went right to the front of StarCom’s queue.

Marine Barracks

Parliament

0400 local time

Commandant Hartley was awakened by a frantic knock on his door. He sat up in bed and bellowed, “Come!”

Lt. Kane who manned the night desk said, “Sir! We were just flashed a Case Yukon alert by Central Command!”

That brought Commandant Hartley wide awake. He said, “Gather the Headquarters group in the CP. I’ll be right there.”

The flustered Lieutenant, grateful for orders that made sense, rushed off to carry them out. Hartley pulled on his work uniform to meet with his officers and picked up his computer pad on his way out of his quarters.

A quick look at the screen of his pad showed numerous messages popping up, all variations on the theme of what the hell?

He raced into the CP amidst his officers who had all awakened to a nightmare scenario. Captain Watson, the Regimental G-2, waited until the Regiment’s officers were present and the doors were closed.

Watson said, “Listen up. This is complicated and time is short. We have just received orders to execute our part of Case Yukon. A coup d’ tat against the Alliance is in progress. In just under two hours at 0600, a state of martial law will be declared and enforced by our Regiment, Parliament Security, and 2^nd Fleet. We also have arrest warrants for twenty senators, fifteen civilian and military officers of the Ministry of Defense, Naval Intelligence Officers a dozen people at the Ministry of Justice.”

“These people have been involved in a conspiracy to send the fleet into a disaster, arrange a major terrorist incident, and then call for a vote of no confidence in the Alliance Parliament.”

Commandant Hartley said, “All right gentlemen. We’ve practiced this contingency numerous times. Alpha and Bravo companies will deploy to defend critical infrastructure. Charlie Company will act as our Quick Reaction Force. Delta and Echo Companies will be our snatch squads. Foxtrot and Golf Companies will deploy with Parliament Security. Everybody else will be our ready reserve. Get everybody up, fed, and geared up. We kick off at five-thirty. Now, move out!”

Residence of Director, Alliance Bureau of Investigation

Parliament

Director Gregor Vallas was awakened by his computer pad at 04:00 local time. He rubbed his eyes, rolled over, and pulled the offending device off his nightstand.

He looked at the screen and saw that a message had arrived from a Bureau Agent flagged Case Yukon. It took Vallas a moment to search his memory. There were literally scores of emergency codes. Case Yukon was… a coup attempt in progress. Vallas sat bolt upright in bed eliciting a mumbled protest from his sleeping wife.

So, Fields and Jarvis were on to something after all. Holy…

Vallas had viewed the data Fields and Mason had gathered during their pursuit of Jeff Mason. Someone at Justice pulled strings and made claims about the young man that didn’t seem to make sense. Jeff Mason as a charismatic terrorist leader just didn’t work.

Although Vallas cherished his doubts about Mason and the whispers of conspiracy, he had formed a task force and contingency plan in case the hard evidence he needed turned up. Mason had certainly earned the benefit of the doubt by pointing out those rather nasty bombs. Fields and Jarvis should be to Thrace by now.

He picked up his computer pad and went into his home office and closed the door. He looked at the privacy field generator on his desk and the indicator light was glowing a reassuring green. He set the pad computer on the desk and ordered a link to the headquarters duty desk which was always manned.

Seconds later, the face of a young agent appeared on his screen and answered, “ABI duty desk. This is Agent Laine. How can I help you, director?”

Vallas said, “Agent Laine. Listen carefully. I want you to type this code into your console exactly as I call it out. Ready?”

Laine replied, “Yes sir.”

Vallas said, “Here goes: Case Yukon. Stop. Contingency Blue-19. Stop. Gather the tribes. Stop. Read that back to me.”

Laine read it back exactly and Vallas ordered, “Now hit commit.”

Laine did as he was ordered and said, “It’s asking for a password.”

Vallas said, “C-o-r-g-i—C-a-l-l-u-m”

Laine entered the password and asked, “Corgi Callum?”

Vallas chuckled and said, “Always loved that dog. How am I supposed to remember half of these passwords?”

Task Group Thrace

Heavy Cruiser London

Thrace System

Captain Gaines asked, “Status XO?”

Commander Yellon replied, “London, and the destroyers Slim and Colbert are on station at condition two. We’re coordinating with Thrace Traffic Control and have the outbound traffic routed away from a least-time course from Sigma Puppis. Now we’re just waiting for the big, bad terrorists to show up.”

Captain Gaines had Senator Hanson, his two sons, and two ABI Agents in his ready room. What they were saying was completely at odds with his orders.

According to fleet orders, the Marine Assault Vessel Corregidor was headed to Thrace manned by terrorists planning to attack the planet. According to Senator Hanson and the Bureau Agents, it was a false flag.

Corregidor was several hours late according to the intelligence package received from Admiral Davidoff of Fleet Command. That package came with a shoot-on-sight order.

The Ensign manning the communications station said, “Incoming transmissions via StarCom for the Captain marked eyes only.”

Gaines said, “Mr. Yellon, you have the bridge. I’m going to CIC to take the flash traffic.”

Yellon replied, “Aye sir, I have the bridge.”

Gaines stepped into London’s combat information center where a pair of rating were manning their Condition two stations. Gaines said, “Give me the room. Grab a cup of coffee and be back in five. I’ll mind the store.”

The man and woman manning the station replied with a curt Aye Sir and headed out CIC toward the Officer’s Mess. Gaines sat at a vacant station and logged in to take the message.

The first one came up:

From: Fleet Command

To: All Units 1^st and 2^nd Fleet

Be Advised Case Yukon was just ordered by the Executive Committee. Fleet Command advises all units to be on alert. Authenticate all incoming orders via alternate encryption keys per Case Yukon protocols.

Gaines was Fleet and had no idea what Case Yukon was until he queried the ship’s computer and found a Yukon Ops Order. He shook his head. Coup d’ etat in progress? Holy Shit.

The second message came up:

From: Fleet Command

To: Task Group Thrace

Corregidor’s computers have been compromised. She is not expected to be under positive control. If at all possible, take the ship, but under no circumstances allow her to approach Thrace or the planet’s orbitals.

So, the Bureau agents were right. Corregidor was full of kids and young adults who were sent on a snipe hunt. Gaines snorted and thought thanks for the bucket of snakes Command. This is a real opportunity to excell.

Alliance News Network Headquarters

Parliament

Samantha Lake was in the office preparing for the early edition. She was banging out her next column when her computer alerted her of an incoming message with the highest priority. It was big. There was a video file with a lot of attachments. She did not immediately recognize the sender’s name, but she often got anonymous tips. Usually, they were just a few lines of text or pictures. This piqued her interest.

Outside her office, there was something of a disturbance. Curious, she stood up and stepped to her door.

She saw one of the section chiefs running down the hall and said, “Hey Marty. What’s going on?”

He slowed and said, “Someone just used a bunch of government override codes. Last time that happened…”

Samantha Lake said, “Oh crap. That was when Pacifica fell.”

Marty nodded and said, “We want to be ready when the other shoe falls.”

She returned to her office and played the high-priority message at the top of her mail queue.

The very familiar young woman appeared on screen and began, “Hi Sam. If you are seeing this, I’m dead...”

Lake gasped instantly recognizing Marion Callahan. A few years back, they had frequented the same gym as Marion had recovered from childbirth.

For the next ten minutes, Marion laid out her case, referring to attachments and public databases, and laid out Bishop Keilor’s plan to engineer a military disaster to flip Parliament and for his friends to put him in a seat on the Executive Committee.

Lake had been chasing bits and pieces of the story for months. She had seen the signs and simply had not been able to put it all together.

This would never do. She saved her daily column and began writing the biggest story of her career.

Task Group Thrace

Heavy Cruiser London

Thrace System

London’s Tactical Officer reported, “A new contact just jumped into the system. I’m reading one Okinawa class Marine Assault Vessel. Her Transponder is squawking Corregidor. She’s thirty light minutes out and making… two hundred fifty meters per second. She is running ballistic and her drives are down.”

Gaines said, “She jumped in way the hell and gone past the limit and she’s going so slow the only attack she’ll be making would be sometime next year.”

The Ensign manning the Communications Console said, “Captain, we’ve got an incoming message from Corregidor. She’s requesting assistance. They say they have the ship’s weapons and drive down and have disconnected the main computer.”

Gaines sighed and said, “Mr. Yellon, please contact Thrace 1 and request a tug. Comms, give me the Task Group.”

“Live mike sir.”

Gaines said, “This is London actual to task group. Corregidor is powered down and requesting assistance thirty light minutes out system. It doesn’t look like we’re going to have to kill anyone today. Prepare to jump in close, match vector and velocity, and prepare boarding parties.”