Retribution (13 page)

Chapter 5. Nova Vista 1530, 6 June

Phil Yomoto terminated the call and said “Yes!” ‘It’s so good to have some good news for a change.’ “Alex?” he yelled out.

Alex Peebody stuck his head in the door and raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘what is it now’. Phil knew he was flogging poor Alex to an early grave. “Good news Alex. The Phantom’s going to be ready the day after tomorrow.”

A smile came over Alex’s face. “That is good news Sir.” Then he frowned. “But I still haven’t raked up a full crew yet and isn’t Bellard on leave till the 10
^th
?”

Phil nodded, deep in thought. He wasn’t going to be Mr Popular but then he wasn’t paid to be popular. “I’ll deal with Cmdr Bellard, you sort the rest.”

“Oh thanks Sir” said Alex in feigned appreciation before pulling his head back out of the doorway. Phil could hear him mumbling “I get up half an hour before I go to bed and the youth of the world won’t believe me.”

Phil smiled. He liked Alex’s humour. ‘Right then’ he said to himself.

“Aubrey, it’s Admiral Yomoto” he hailed.

Aubrey and Brennon were lying under the shade of an umbrella on their private pool perched above the city. She almost knocked over her now empty champagne glass as she picked up her communicator.

“Yes Admiral?” said a wary Aubrey.

“I trust you’re enjoying your leave” said Phil.

“Yes Sir WE are” she replied emphasising the ‘we’.

“Well that’s nice. I have some good news for you. The Phantom will be finished day after tomorrow.”

“But you said next week Sir. I’m on leave. WE are on leave.”

“Yes I know Aubrey but there’s a war on and you’re needed. I need you on deck here at 0800 on the 8
^th
.”

“Mmm…all right Sir I’ll be there.”

“Thank you Aubrey. Please give my apologies to Brennon.”

“How did you know?”

“I know everything” said Phil and hung up. He smiled as he put the communicator down.

Brennon knew something bad had just happened but he opted to wait for Aubrey to explain. But before she could his communicator rang.

Aubrey listened to the ‘buts’ and the ‘what abouts’ and was not surprised by the look that Brennon gave her after he hung up. “Got to go back to work on the 8
^th
?” she asked.

Brennon nodded. “You too?”

Aubrey nodded. “Better not waste it out here then” she said as she stood up and offered her hand to Brennon.

He accepted the lift up and followed her sashaying hips back inside. “I had this other dream too” he said with a smile on his face.

“Did you now tiger?”

Back in Phil’s office he was smiling not at being a bastard to Aubrey and Brennon but because in a couple of days he would finally have an option. He wasn’t exactly sure how to employ it but he hated not having one. He recalled how Cmdr Bylon used to bang on to them during his junior staff college days. ‘Always maintain a reserve’ he’d repeat ad nauseam ‘and as soon as you use it, create another.’

‘He was a pompous arse’ thought Phil but he had to admit that that little gem was indelibly etched on his brain.

The Resolute had been his ace up his sleeve. Now it was temporarily on the discard pile. The Phantom, while not an ace, was a good jack of clubs. But then he thought how it would be commanded by Aubrey and he said out loud “No it’s my queen of hearts.”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled as he swivelled his big frame from side to side. ‘Come on Rose’ he said to himself ‘I need to know.’

Chapter 6. Washington DC 1700, 6 June

Bernie Wong sat at his desk rubbing his tired eyes and wondering what to do. He had a submission to the Minister that the Fleet Admiral had given him about funding a new ship project. He was supposed to be analysing the submission but he couldn’t tear his mind away from what he viewed as a more pressing matter.

Rose had sent him a text. Yomoto would know in a couple of days. He felt relieved about that. He was tempted to lay his cards on the table with the Minister. But he was worried this may precipitate the arrest of McKew and that the rest of the chiefs would deny any knowledge. He knew he would be a marked man unless he got the lot of them or at least confirmed that McKew acted alone.

‘Malcolm, bloody Malcom…why did it have to be down to you?’

“Malcolm” hailed Bernie.

“What is it Wong?” asked Malcom Muggeridge. He brushed his thinning hair back away from his forehead.

“Can we meet, away from the office? I’m available now” said Bernie.

“What for and why the cloak and dagger?”

“I’ll explain when we meet.”

“You have to do better than that.”

“The scotch is on me.”

“Hah! You really are desperate. I need more than that. I’m a busy man. Why?”

“It’s very important Malcolm. God knows I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t.”

“Ain’t that the truth. All right, where?”

“The Statesman. Ten minutes.”

“OK” and Malcom hung up.

‘Well I’ll be ... a desperate Bernie Wong’ thought Malcolm. In fact it was because he was intrigued that he had finally agreed to see Bernie. ‘What’s the little grafter up to?’

Malcolm grabbed his suit jacket off the hangar, quickly checked his presentation in the mirror, ran his palms down the sides of the jacket and admired his trim figure. He was proud that despite his age he kept a trim figure. He brushed his hair back again. He lamented how it kept thinning and his hairline receding. He smiled as he remembered Alise saying to him that it looked distinguished. But then, if he was honest, he also knew she would say whatever it took to please him. After all that’s what she was paid to do.

Dapper Malcom marched out of the Henderson Building, crossed Federation square, continued past the cafes, past Tommy’s bar, a place he never frequented, and around the corner. The burgundy and gold coat of arms beckoned. He turned into the Statesman and nodded at the maître de.

“Good evening Mr Muggeridge” said Giles Simpson.

“Good evening Giles” said Malcolm. He marched through into the members lounge, saw Bernie at the bar and wondered how a man with such appalling dress standards could be a member of this establishment. ‘Standards are certainly slipping’ he said to himself.

“Wong” he said as he stood erect next to Bernie, who was leaning if not draped over the edge of the bar.

Bernie wanted to deck him then and there but he knew he would have to eat dirt tonight. “Malcolm” replied Bernie, determined to be pleasant and also informal. He couldn’t help himself. He knew that informality drove Malcom mad. Bernie caught the barman’s attention and asked him to pour Malcolm a drink.

“The usual Sam” said Malcolm. Sam nodded and turned to fill the order. “So what’s so important?”

Bernie pointed to a set of lounge chairs in the corner. Malcolm nodded, grabbed the cut crystal glass with the still amber liquid and followed Bernie over to the big Chesterfield lounge chairs.

Bernie knew it was pointless trying to beat around the bush with Malcom. He might be a prig but Malcolm was no fool. “I have proof that either the Fleet Admiral or the Chiefs have usurped their authority and ordered nuclear strikes against rogan cities.”

Malcolm went white. Never in his wildest imagination did he expect this. But he was a master of self-composure and he quickly regained his. “Go on.”

Bernie explained the evidence and with a swipe on his communicator transferred the files to Malcom. Malcom studied them closely. They indeed looked genuine. “And Barry Fey was adamant?” Bernie nodded. Malcolm downed a good swig of malt and felt the alcohol burn the back of his throat.

“And you want me to confirm if the rest of the Chiefs are involved?” asked Malcolm.

“That’s right?”

Malcolm looked around the room seeing if anyone was watching them. No one was. He took a deep breath in. He looked directly at Bernie. He knew Bernie would be scrutinising his expression and he wanted to convey in no uncertain terms that he was telling the truth. “Not to my knowledge.”

Bernie nodded and took a good suck of his beer. “Just the Fleet Admiral then?”

“It would appear so. What are you going to do with this Bernie?”

The use of his first name was noted by Bernie. ‘There’s nothing like a shared conspiracy’ he thought.

Before he could reply Malcom added “McCubbin’s in danger then?”

Bernie nodded. “I will see the Minister tomorrow.”

As Bernie left the Statesman, the wiry man steadied the video cam. He waited till he also had Malcolm in the frame and then hailed his boss. “The plot thickens Maam.”

Chapter 7. Sandford 1900, 6 June

Marine Sgt Jules Meyer looked into the now empty glass that sat on the table in the sergeants mess. He was depressed and getting more so with each beer.

“Another?” asked his drinking buddy Sgt Hadj Bruel. Jules nodded and Hadj made his way to the bar. It was his shout.

Jules could not believe that his time as an instructor on the Corporals course was coming to an end. It had been perfect, a safe harbour, until now. He thought he had an understanding with Personnel. He’d done his combat service. He wasn’t supposed to go back. He knew that being posted to a new ship, a new stealth frigate no less, was going to mean action. His left hand began trembling at the thought.

It was still trembling as Hadj approached with two new glasses. Jules willed his hand to stop. This usually worked but not now. Hadj saw it as he placed the beers on the table. “You OK mate?” he asked.

“Mmm!” replied Jules.

“No you’re not” said Hadj as he sat down. “Look at your hand.” Jules pulled his hand back under the table. “What’s the matter Jules? It’s not this new posting is it?” Jules looked up from the glass and into Hadj’s eyes. He stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

“But why?” asked Hadj. “I thought you would be happy to get such a plumb posting.”

Jules had never opened up, not really, to anyone since getting out of hospital nine months back. His so called new friends were in awe of him. To them he was the hero who had led a team of marines from FFS Sydney in the defence of Klaster. To them he could do no wrong.

But Jules knew he was no longer the same man that had defended Klaster. He had been shot by pulse fire and had writhed on the ground in agony while one of his team tried to seal his suit before he suffocated. The three months of recovery and rehab had healed his body but they had done nothing to allay his fear. He did not want to be shot again.

Jules was desperate to tell someone. But could he trust Hadj. Hadj was a good marine, who had never seen combat. ‘He wouldn’t understand’ thought Jules.

“Don’t worry about it Hadj. Forget it!”

Hadj had never seen him in such a mood. He knew his mate was withholding something. ‘He’s wound up like a tight spring’ thought Hadj. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s scared.’ But he wasn’t going to be the one to call him out. So Hadj just silently raised his glass in salute and took a sip of beer.

In the nearby Other Ranks mess Cpl Serge Arsenault was also taking a rare moment to confront his fears. He had never seen combat and had also just received his orders to report to Nova Vista for assignment to the Phantom. The false bravado and bullshit that normally surrounded him had dropped away. He had been boasting how he wanted the toughest, most dangerous assignment and now that was what he had been given. ‘Shit’ he thought. ‘It’s really happening.’

His sycophantic offsider – Serge never had any real friends – Cpl Timbo Magabe, came back from the bar with more beers. He placed one down in front of Serge. “There you go Serge. A toast mate. To the killing machine!” and Timbo sculled his beer, leaving just a couple of fingers worth in the glass. He plonked it on the table and wiped the seepage from his lips with the back of his hand.

Cpl Madge Soderberg came by also carrying some drinks for her table. Timbo instinctively tried to pat her on the behind. Madge sidestepped to avoid his hand and yelled at him “Piss off Magabe”

Serge was always one to rise to a challenge such as this, despite his melancholy. “What did you just say Soderberg?” demanded Serge. He stood up, his imposing two metres of height and barrel chest declaring his authority.

“Sit down Arsehole” stated Maj forcefully “your days of bullying me are over.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Soderberg. I’ve been assigned to the Phantom too.”

That news was like a dagger in Madge’s heart. Her elation at her posting just became bitter. But she never backed down to a bully. “Guess I’ll just have to keep whipping your arse some more then.” Again she emphasised the ‘arse’. She knew it riled him. She turned to her comrades on her table and they were all smiling.

This just riled Serge more. He pushed his chair behind him and strode over to Madge, who had just sat down. He leant over her and growled “We’ve unfinished business. You’ll get yours. Don’t you worry about that.” He turned without waiting for a reply and headed back to his table.

Madge was just about to give one of her renowned verbal serves when her colleague Cpl Judy Fisher put a restraining hand on her arm. “He’s not worth it Madge. He’s just a bully.”

Chapter 8. Nova Vista 2100, 6 June

Vice Admiral Rudi Holland found Phil Yomoto’s office shut. He was a little surprised as he’d passed it most nights around this time and seen him in it.

“Sir” he hailed.

Phil was reading a book in his apartment in Nelson’s tower. The empty coffee mug lay next to his communicator. He cursed the annoying tone, picked it up and said “Yes.”

“We have a problem.”

“Don’t tell me you need me to come back in.”

“OK I won’t but yes you do” said Rudi.

“All right, give me twenty.” He rang for a car and went into the bedroom and changed back into his uniform.

Rudi was waiting for him along with LCmd Jenny Wetheril, one of his ops staff. Phil unlocked his door and invited them in. “This had better be good” said Phil but after looking at them he added “or very bad.”

Rudi waved his hand for Jenny to speak. “Well Sir, as you know, we’ve been conducting a full spectrum scan of the system. Six hours ago the Argonaut detected an anomaly with the Arcwright satellite. The analysis indicates an unknown transponder operating from the satellite on an abnormal frequency. We sent out a tech team to inspect and sure enough there was a device attached to the satellite that is definitely not made by us.”