move, indicating that there was some doubt that he was still on the fast track to promotion to admiral.
If it bothered Ganner, you couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He was a darkly tanned man, one with brown sun-streaked hair swept back from his face, short but not Marine short, dark brown, almost black eyes and a powerful physique. He had the look of an admiral, the sense of presence and command, and from what Lab Rat had heard, he had the brain power to back it up.
So what had happened? What had knocked him off his preordained track to higher rank? Lab Rat considered asking Coyote, but decided against it. While Lab Rat himself was considered part of the aviation community, he was not per se an aviator. Therefore, Coyote might have been reluctant to confide in him the way he would in another pilot. Besides, it was always better to know things that no one else knew you knew. Sooner or later — and Lab Rat was betting on sooner — he’d know exactly what had happened in Ganner’s career and be able to evaluate how it affected his position on the ship. Maybe Ganner was resentful over whatever had happened and envied Coyote. A bitter or disillusioned COS could make life difficult for one of the admiral’s perceived favorites, and joining the battle group like this could make Lab Rat and his people look like just that. There were a thousand ways a COS could sabotage a more junior officer.
In the meantime, it was important to avoid getting caught between Coyote and his COS. Stay on the good side of both, keep your head down, and do your job. Because clearly the COS hadn’t pissed Coyote off enough to get his butt relieved, so Coyote would be reluctant to completely torpedo the man’s career. But the situation would bear watching.
“So git,” Coyote said. “You got a ton of stuff to do, starting with finding a ride home, right? You need to get your people packed up and orders cut and berthing arranged and all that paperwork shit, I bet.”
“Sir, they’re packing out right now.” Lab Rat could not repress a slight smirk. “I got reservations on comm air for all of them and a couple of COD’s standing by at North Island to get them out here.”
Coyote gave him a long, level look. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“Not in
SEVEN
Shortly after the last secretary had straggled back from lunch, Captain Hemingway appeared at Wexler’s office, accompanied by four enlisted technicians carrying black plastic cases. Hemingway did not give their names, and Wexler did not ask.
Most of the staff was still at lunch, although a few were eating at their desks. They looked up, puzzled, as the technicians immediately began spreading around the room, rapping on the walls, examining cracks and ceilings, checking telephones and computer lines, and generally taking possession of the entire office.
Hemingway turned to Wexler. “This takes about an hour. I also have people down at the central switch boxes tracing out the circuitry. You’d be amazed how often that is overlooked. And yes, I know you’re on fiber optic communications, but there are ways…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but merely looked at Wexler significantly.
Just then, Brad returned from lunch, his face flushed. Another quick round at the racquetball court, Wexler surmised. But his color rose even higher as he saw the people swarming over their office complex. He turned to Wexler, a question on his face.
“Just a redundancy check,” Wexler said calmly. “Captain Hemingway was kind enough to offer the services of her office. She provides the same service for JCS, and I felt we would welcome a second set of eyes.”
Brad’s face looked anything but welcoming. He went into his own office without speaking to Hemingway, dropped his gym bag, then came back out, all traces of emotion gone from his face. “Madam Ambassador, could I see you in private for a moment?”
“Of course.” Wexler led the way back into her office, and Brad shut the door firmly behind them.
“You didn’t discuss this with me,” he stated.
Wexler nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t.”
“I’ll resign immediately, if you like,” he said steadily. “That’s really the only course left open if you don’t trust my judgment in these matters.”
Wexler waved him off. “Oh, do sit down and stop being such a dick, Brad. It’s just what I said — a double check. I thought you’d welcome a second opinion telling me how wonderfully capable you are at your job.”
Brad leaned forward and planted his hands on her desk. “Have they been in your office yet?”
“No.”
Brad pointed at the telephone. Then he motioned her to follow him into her small personal room behind her office. He shut the door again behind them. “I can’t believe you don’t see the danger in this,” he said. “Did it occur to you that they might be planting a bug rather than looking for one?”
Wexler regarded him levelly. “Yes, of course it did. I need to sort out who the players are, Brad. One way of doing that is to give people a chance to make their intentions clear. As soon as they leave, I want you to run a complete check on our spaces. See if anything has changed.”
“That’s what this is?” Brad asked incredulously. “You’re giving the Joint Chiefs of Staff the opportunity to bug your office to see if they take advantage of it?”
Wexler nodded. “And if you can think of a way to run the same scam on the State Department and the CIA, I’d like to do that as well.”
Brad laughed. “You’re betting a lot on my competence, Ambassador. What if they’ve got some new system that we don’t know how to detect?”
“Then we’re in a lot more trouble than I thought.” She stared at him, challenge in her eyes. “You keep telling me that there’s nothing to worry about — well, then prove it.”
Just then, she heard a cry from the other room.
“This conversation is over,” Wexler said. “I am counting on your cooperation.”
Brad nodded, although he was clearly still not in favor of the idea. They walked out together into the outer office to find Captain Hemingway in deep conversation with one of her technicians. She turned to face them, a mixture of triumph and concern on her face. “Look at this.”
The technician held out a pair of tweezers and what looked like a grain of rice between the prongs. Hemingway held out a magnifying glass to let them get a closer look.
“That’s it?” Wexler asked, surprised at the size of it.
Brad looked grim. “Where?”
“In the ambassador’s door jamb,” Hemingway answered.
“Any idea how long it’s been there?” he asked.
She shook her head. “As you can see, it’s colored to match your wall paint here. I don’t know if that means it was designed that way, or whether it was painted over the last time the office was redone.” She shot a speculative look at the walls. “Do you know when it was last painted?”
“Eighteen months ago,” Brad said immediately. His face was pale now, his jaw pulsing with anger.
“You mean,” Wexler said carefully, “there is a chance that that… that… device has been listening in on conversations in my office for the last eighteen months?” Her horror was evident in her voice. She cast her mind back over that time, reviewing the conflicts the United States had been involved in, the delicate negotiations and outright confrontations that had taken place in her office. Was it all compromised? Did someone else know everything that she did as soon as she did it?
“Tell me everything you know about it,” she said firmly, focusing on the current issue at hand. What was important was that they figure out who had planted it, whether there might be any more, and then deal with the damage already done. “They will know we detected it, I suppose?”
Hemingway looked faintly amused. “I have certain… ways… of dealing with that very issue. At the moment,
