Nina wondered. She felt Shepherd kept information from her. Maybe to protect her. Maybe so she would never know that she once betrayed Trevor.
Her mind could not accept that. She refused to accept that.
'Look, I'm not here to play games. His wife said you would help.'
'Help with what? What is there to do, Captain Forest?'
'Don't give me that,' she scolded. 'I know about you, Knox. I know you had your fingers in everything. If Trevor's assassination was more than it's been made out to be, then you'd have some place to start.'
He answered, 'I've been making a few phone calls, visiting with some old friends, and reading the newspapers. I particularly like this morning's edition. The front page story is about our President's peace deal. Isn't that wonderful? Nothing like blaming the victim. A great way to dampen the anti-alien feelings and an even better way to turn a nice chunk of the population into gutless sheep. Our new President's big revelation is that mankind brought this upon ourselves. The only way we can have peace, of course, is if we show how non-violent we are.'
Nina broke in, 'Seems to me like being violent was winning this war.'
Gordon smiled; it seemed he absolutely loved her response. 'So the politicians get everything they wanted and can make at least some of the people distrustful of the only group that might replace all these new-age sleaze-balls, the military.'
'So you think he's lying? You think there's another reason for this whole invasion.'
Gordon nodded and said, 'Only people who want to believe that it's our fault are going to believe that. I doubt Godfrey even believes it himself, but it gives him what he always wanted, a chance to turn back the clock and make America what it used to be.'
She narrowed her eyes and said, 'Tell me something, Mr. Director of Intelligence. If this was a conspiracy within our own government, how come you didn't see it coming?'
Something flashed over Gordon's face, some mix of sadness and regret; her question had stung. He took a moment to compose himself and then spoke slowly, measuring each word.
'That's a good question, one that has kept me up at nights. The truth is, Imperial Intelligence isn't as big as people think and those assets are deployed behind enemy lines, or scouring the planet looking for other survivors. I can tell you about the resistance in Europe or the southern hemisphere, but not much about what was going on in our territories. We were more like the C.I.A., not the F.B.I.'
He paused for a moment. Just when Nina started to speak, Gordon turned to her and his demeanor changed from something sad to something mad.
'But let me tell you this. Even with those excuses, there should have been hints coming through, reports that never made it to my desk. Of all the people who might have been involved in this, at least a couple had to have top clearance and access to the flow of information to Trevor, to me. I have my suspicions.'
She felt his eyes nearly burn through her. Gordon made his point; he had a score to settle.
A series of whistles from the practice field signaled the end of the work out. The players hustled toward water coolers, pulling off their helmets along the way. Nina wondered how they kept from passing out in this heat. 'So what about it? Are you going to help me?' 'Help you with what?' She grunted, 'To do what Ashley Stone asked me to do. To find out the truth about the assassination.'
'But here's the thing, Captain. I'm quite happy watching football, lying on the beach, and sipping cold drinks. I'm thinking that if I'm lucky, the bad guys or old age will put me out of my misery before all the mistakes our President is making causes everything to collapse.'
'I don't believe you. Besides, Ashley thinks that you'll help, even if just for her sake.'
He turned to her as if ready to speak, but held his tongue. His eyes studied her for a moment then he asked, 'You are a very interesting person, Captain Forest.'
'Stop wasting time.'
'Take your hair, for instance. You have very nice blond hair, with some soft natural curls in it. From what I can see, it easily lays on your shoulders, yet for almost all your life you've taken that hair and bundled it up into a ponytail. The question is, why bother? Why not just cut your hair short? Have you ever let it fall loose to your shoulders? If not, why do you hide it? I'm thinking there's more than just your hair hidden. I'm thinking there's a lot more to you that maybe you don’t even understand.'
'Look, I'm not in the mood for games. I'll ask again. Are you going to help me?'
Gordon paused and watched the players file toward the locker room. After several seconds of consideration, he warned, 'There's nothing half way about me. If I'm going to help, I'm going to bring it full bore. All out, do you understand?' 'I understand. I think.' 'But it's not me I'm worried about,' he cautioned. 'It's you.' 'Me?' 'Yes. Tell me, Nina, are you willing to do whatever it takes to find out the truth of Trevor's assassination?' She answered, 'Yes.' His words grew rougher, 'Will you keep pushing, even when people start pushing back?' To ask a second time annoyed her. She snipped, 'Yes.'
Gordon's voice growled and grew to shout, 'I'm talking about kicking over every rock to see what slithers out. I'm talking about biting into this thing with your teeth and not letting go until we know what really happened. Are you willing to do that? Will you? Even if it tears The Empire apart?' Nina answered so loud and forceful her voice echoed across the stadium. 'Yes, damn it! Yes!' Gordon's eyes widened, his head tilted, and his voice softened. 'Why?' Nina felt her breath heave in and out. But as for her motivation, she did not really know. — Director of Internal Security Ray Roos glided down the stairs and onto the tarmac of Miami International Airport. Behind him the whine of a Learjet's engines slowed from a roar to a hum.
The I.S. jet parked away from the public terminals but a reception committee waited, led by a portly mustached-man dressed in a short-sleeved police uniform with a shiny gold star. Sweat stains radiated from the man’s armpits and along his back.
Two associates stood on either side of the policeman. The silver of their armor reflected the setting sun in sharp glints. Despite their heavy gear, the two Witiko Skytroops did not appear uncomfortable in the humidity.
Roos slipped out of his black sport jacket as he approached the gathering, revealing both a white dress shirt and a nine millimeter handgun. He casually hooked the jacket with one finger and carried it over his shoulder.
'How you boys doin’? You must be Chief Hobbs. Yes, I’ll bet you are.'
Roos extended a hand and cocked his head in a cheesy grin.
'That’s right…uh…Mister Director,' Hobbs’ hand felt slippery and sticky all at once. 'This here’s K’Beel and M’Pwitt, they’re my liaison officers down here.' Roos eyed the two aliens. Their pupils glowed yellow. 'Hmm…okay. That my ride?' Roos referred to a white and gold Bell LongRanger helicopter in front of the hangar. Hobbs nodded.
Roos walked toward the chopper. The two aliens and Hobbs followed. Roos stopped. He wagged his finger first at Hobbs then the two Witiko. He spoke in a voice that sounded one part friendly, one part friendly warning.
'I’m in charge down here, just so there’s no misunderstandings, see?' He focused on the Witiko. 'Besides, you guys do things too subtle-like. Yes you do.'
The Witiko glanced at one another. Roos started toward the chopper again, still talking. The Witiko hovered behind, unsure what to do. 'I’m gunna show you my idea of subtle. Yessir.' Roos held one finger up and moved it in a circle. 'Okay now, let’s get this whirlybird in the air, we got work to do.' The sun set over Miami. — Gordon finished the top button on a blue silk shirt, thought better, and unclasped it again in deference to June in Miami; despite nightfall the heat showed no sign of abating.
He found a snub-nose. 38 revolver in the top drawer of a white oak dresser, thumbed open the chamber, confirmed a round in every hole, and flipped it into place again with a flick of his wrist. The. 38 slipped nicely into a small holder at the base of his back.
Gordon stroked his mustache and checked for gray. Nothing but black there.
Satisfied with his appearance, Gordon walked from his master bedroom to the wide and bright white living room. Along the way he wrapped two knuckles on the guest room door.
On the other side of that door Nina finished preparations of her own. As Gordon had suggested, she stowed her combat fatigues to better blend with the night crowd on South Beach. So she traded her combat gear for a basic white sun dress with spaghetti straps.
Nina placed one short-heeled shoe on the bed, grabbed a. 380 automatic from atop the mattress, pulled the dress high on her leg revealing a thigh band holster, and eased the pistol into place…
