Straits of Power

and then.”

“Who’s your control? When did they turn you?”

“I have no idea who left those messages! I ignored them!”

“Ignored them? Shouldn’t you have reported them?”

“I work twenty-hour days, sometimes seven days a week. When I get back to my quarters, I’m zonked. Voice mails that don’t make sense I delete. Come on.”

“How did they first recruit you? Was it with money?”

“Look. All phone usage is monitored by base security anyway. Artificial intelligence, expert-systems programs, I don’t know. Why should I report what’s being screened and archived already? That’s where your so-called log comes from, isn’t it?”

“Hiding in plain sight. Plausibly deniable. Clever, but we’re on to it.”

“Jesus.”

The agent pulled photos out of his briefcase. They were pictures of Ilse, shopping, running errands, as other people in the crowd of a sidewalk or mall bumped into her. “Explain these. What did you hand off to them?”

“And you’ve been following me?” Strange men had been brushing past Ilse, or walking into her, more than seemed normal recently. She’d sometimes wondered if they were pickpockets, or gropers.

“Why do you buy things off base when the exchange and commissary have everything at better prices?”

“I like brands they don’t carry here, okay? I like to get away from the job now and then. So what?”

The special agent pointed to the message log and the photos. “Who taught you tradecraft? How did they get you the comm plan?”

“You can’t possibly be serious…. Wait, are you two trainees? Using me for practice in some kind of exercise? You think you can get away with it because I’m a foreign citizen? Get lost. Go back to Quantico. I’m much too busy for this. And I intend to file a complaint.”

“Oh no, young lady. This is not an exercise.”

The two men stood abruptly, as if on cue. “Subject remains evasive and hostile. Interview terminated at eleven forty-three A.M.” The FBI agent spoke as if to the air. Getting it on the recording. Not even making a pretense now. The pair of them gathered the papers and photos and walked out the door.

Alone, Ilse almost laughed. She’d been in vicious firefights against seasoned Boer and German troops, on missions deploying from Challenger. She’d even been involved in conducting nuclear demolitions.

The FBI would have to work a lot harder than those two weenies to intimidate me.

Wait a minute… Tradecraft? Controls?

Fuming, Ilse went to see Captain Johansen, Admiral Hodgkiss’s senior aide.

Five minutes later, Ilse was standing in Hodgkiss’s austere, immaculate office. Johansen, blond, prematurely balding, a gruff man with no sense of humor at all, sat unobtrusively in a corner.

At Johansen’s insistance, Ilse had just given Hodgkiss a summary of her interview with the FBI.

Make that an interrogation, not an interview. Interviews are supposed to be benign.

Hodgkiss was frowning. “Lord, they don’t know when to quit.”

“I thought I should tell someone, Admiral, right away.” Ilse sensed that Hodgkiss hadn’t expected the blatant confrontation either, but knew more about whatever it meant than she did.

Before she could ask him for details, Hodgkiss turned to Johansen. “Get the CO of the marine battalion guarding the base. Tell him I need a platoon for special duty till further notice. I want to see the platoon LT right now, with a squad in full battle gear.”

“Yes, sir.” Johansen reached for a phone. A marine infantry battalion held up to 1,000 men; a platoon, part of a company, would be about fifty.

Hodgkiss reached for his own phone. “It’s Hodgkiss…. Yes, put me through.”

Ilse stayed standing, taking everything in.

Hodgkiss spoke into the phone. “No FBI allowed on the base, on my orders.”

He paused. Ilse assumed the base commander, a two-star rear admiral, was at the other end of the call.

“Correct. All gate personnel are to turn them away.”

He listened.

“Tell them all objections are to come to me, personally, through the FBI director only. I’ll speak to no one else.”

He listened again.

“Good. Thanks. You too.” Hodgkiss hung up.

Someone knocked on the door of the office.

Hodgkiss projected his reedy voice. “Come in!”

Ilse’s eyes popped. A dozen marines, in black-and-white-on-gray urban-warfare camouflage, with helmets and body armor and heavy weapons, came into the office. They braced to attention in front of the admiral; their leader was a lanky African-American with an all-business attitude that was only heightened by the thick-framed eyeglasses he wore.

“At ease,” Hodgkiss ordered. “Lieutenant, see this woman?”

“Yes, sir!” Some of the younger marines tried not to gape, with mixed success. Ilse was used to this from men.

“This is Lieutenant Reebeck, an important member of my staff. I want you to rotate your squads, and provide her with twenty-four-hour protection.”

“Sir, yes, sir! Sir, what is the threat, sir?”

“Some jokers from the FBI may try to have her arrested. I wouldn’t put it past them to go tactical and sneak on the base, use disguises or subterfuge. Anything.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight. Roving perimeter security, the war room, her sleeping quarters, wherever. When she needs to use the ladies’ room, I want two of you outside the door, and two more outside the windows. Nobody lays their hands on Lieutenant Reebeck without my permission.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Work with my aide on the details. Dismissed.”

The marines snapped to attention again, then filed out of the office after Johansen. The regular guard in the anteroom pulled the door shut behind them.

Hodgkiss smiled to himself, and murmured, “I love marines. They all have so much energy.”

Hodgkiss glanced at Ilse, still standing in front of his desk. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; already he was sour again.

“Just what we need. Now of all times. War with the FBI. Not surprising, after yesterday.”

“Er, not understood, sir.”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. This goes way, way above your pay grade.” Hodgkiss rolled his eyes. “They think you’re a spy, and I think their director needs a very long vacation. The stress is affecting his mind.”

“Um, thank you, Admiral.”

“Don’t thank me. The director can always try to go above my head. For a couple of weeks, at least, you better not leave the base.”

“No problem, Admiral.”

“If the Axis is trying to frame you, the FBI ought to focus on that.”

Before Ilse could react to this, Hodgkiss had an afterthought and picked up his phone again. “Set up a call for me with the judge advocate general, at 1630.” He paused. “Herself, yes…. Say I need her best read on jurisdiction,