weapons, your sensor arrays, your ship's internal layout, and contingency plans for open warfare in space if that erupts. You talked about betraying trust. Someone is selling you, and every other officer and sailor on your ship and every other ship, down the river. Literally selling you. We know money has changed hands.'
Paul sat silently for a moment. 'If you know money has been paid, then you must know who got it.'
'No. We wish we could trace that. But international currency transfers have gotten very good at laundering money. If we can get enough specific information to get the right warrants, we can dig in the right places and find what we need to know. But if we try to dig now, we risk alerting the object of the investigation. Money launderers are very sophisticated. Lots of big-time criminals and assorted dictators need those kinds of services.'
Paul nodded, then looked challengingly at the special agents. 'I've heard our own intelligence services make use of that, too.'
Connally shrugged and Gonzales made a noncommittal gesture as he answered. 'I wouldn't know, Lieutenant.'
'You're just a cop.'
'Right.'
'We have a cop on the Michaelson. A real good one. Ivan Sharpe.'
This time Gonzalez nodded. 'I met him when our team searched Lieutenant Silver's stateroom.'
'I didn't know you were in on that.'
'We lead busy professional lives, too,' he responded dryly. 'Your master-at-arms seemed very capable. But he's not in on this.'
'Why not?'
'It's above his level. So far.'
Quiet fell in the small room, Paul sitting silently and the two special agents watching him as if waiting for his next question. Why me? Haven't I given enough blood to the Navy already? Am I the only officer on the Michaelson who could possibly do this? He finally spoke again, openly stating his question. 'Why me?'
Connally looked at Gonzales, who reached into one pocket as he replied. 'The short answer is we called you because your commanding officer said you were the best one for the job. He told us you could be counted on.' The agent held out an actual envelope to Paul. 'This is for you.'
Paul opened the envelope, fumbling at the unfamiliar task and ripping the envelope almost in half. Inside was a single sheet of paper, which Paul saw was on the same letterhead as the innumerable official e-letters he'd seen generated by the Michaelson 's systems. Instead of a computer font, though, the paper held a few lines of handwriting. Paul. I know this is asking a lot. It's a lousy job. I can't order you to cooperate. But I am asking you to do so. This is very important. I know I can count on you to do what needs to be done and do it right. The signature was Captain Hayes's. Paul read the brief note through twice, then blew out a long breath and gazed at the two special agents. 'Do you know what this says?'
Gonzales shook his head. 'Your commanding officer said to give it to you if you expressed serious reservations.'
Paul turned the paper over in his hands several times. 'I need to talk to someone else.'
'We'd really prefer you didn't.'
The tone made Paul smile. 'Meaning I can't?'
'Basically, yes.'
'I still need to think it over.'
'Understood. Just please don't take too long. This guy, whether it's Pullman or Moraine, is doing damage every day they're free.'
'Are you so certain it's one of them?'
Connally gave him a demanding look. 'Lieutenant, if we wanted to railroad somebody, we wouldn't be going to you to help us generate evidence. Pro or con. Right? We wouldn't need you if we were certain who was guilty.'
Paul looked away. 'I'm getting married soon.'
'Oh? Congratulations.'
'To Lieutenant Jen Shen. Do you recognize the name?'
Connally had the grace to flinch, while Gonzales just nodded, his lips a thin line. 'Yes. This isn't that kind of thing.'
'How can I know?'
The special agents exchanged glances again. Gonzales finally answered. 'All I can do is promise you it isn't. And point out that your commanding officer thinks it's real.'
Paul nodded reluctantly. 'That's true. But I need to think. I'll be in touch.'
'Before long?'
'Before long.'
The two special agents escorted Paul back to the entry area. 'Ask for one of us when you come back,' Connally advised.
Paul held up his data pad. 'Why not just scan your cards into my pad so I have your contact info?'
'We don't want to do that. We don't know who might be looking at your pad besides you.'
That took another moment to sink in. This spy, if he or she was in the Michaelson 's wardroom, might be going through Paul's own files. Paul's own data pad and personal files. Looking for things to sell. He felt a hot rush of anger at the idea, but just nodded abruptly to the two agents and left.
As he walked back toward the ship he remembered something. Earlier conversations in which he and other officers on the Michaelson had wondered how the SASALs could've been so confident at the asteroid that the American ship wouldn't actively move to stop them. As if the SASALs knew exactly what our rules of engagement were.
Maybe they had known.
Chapter Five
He spent the rest of the day trying not to look distracted. Commander Moraine chewed him out for not having provided enough files to her and for wasting time on legal issues ashore instead of doing his primary job. Captain Hayes had apparently provided that as a cover story for Paul's absence from the ship. Paul refrained from telling Moraine that he'd gladly let someone else do the legal stuff if he could find anyone else naive enough to take the job. But he figured he was stuck with it until he transferred off of the Michaelson.
He also, hopefully, refrained from looking at Moraine as if she were a spy. Which he felt she had to be, if there was truly an officer on the Michaelson committing espionage.
In the late afternoon, he passed the captain in a passageway. Hayes nodded casually as Paul flattened himself against the bulkhead to let the captain pass. 'How'd that business go this morning, Paul?'
'Fine, sir.'
'Keep me informed.'
'Yes, sir.' Once I know what I'm going to do.
Thankfully, he had one more night before duty would keep him on the ship for twenty-four hours. He went back to Jen's quarters at the end of the day, his mind whirling but focusing on nothing.
Jen knew him perhaps better than anyone else by now. She took one look at his face and gestured to the couch/bed. ' Now what?'
Paul sat gingerly, trying to sort out his feelings and trying to figure out how to broach the subject. 'There's something I need to talk to you about.'
She nodded slowly, her face a mask. Watching her, Paul realized Jen could be misreading his hesitation. 'It's not about us. Not that way.'
'Your orders? Mars?'
'No. That hasn't changed.'
'Then what is it?'
He looked down at the deck, knowing he should maintain eye contact but not able to do so. 'Jen, I've been
