19
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its related properties. All such rights and considerations belong to CBS/Paramount.
This is the seventh installment of the Special Investigations Division. I hope you enjoyu. More is on the way.
Two weeks ago…
Lt. Commander Erim Zwinglet, (Starfleet) hurried to Hangar 4. The Special Projects Yards of Starfleet Intelligence boasted many similar facilities in their orbital construction zone. Built within the Utopia Planetia shipyards, the SPYards hid in plain sight. The SPYards were among the first of the massive construction yards orbiting Mars to be completed and they went into operation within hours of their Starfleet Corps of Engineers' certification.
If the arriving transports and disembarking troops meant anything, the SPYards next customer was about to be the Starfleet Special Forces. The Special Forces were an elite branch of Starfleet Special Operations Command. The Special Forces had utilised the SPYards in the past to equip for various covert missions. This time, however, there were no orders releasing any assets over to the Special Forces' control, thus forming the basis for Commander Zwinglet's growing headache.
Leading the Special Forces detachment was Admiral Gideon Weisz. Weisz was a legendary figure amongst those occupying the rarefied world of clandestine operations. Weisz had first come to prominence as a Special Operations Commander during the Border Wars. He'd earned a Captaincy following the Cardassian War. The Dominion War brought Weisz his elevation to Rear Admiral.
Given Weisz's predilection for preserving military traditions from past eras, the Admiral preferred to be addressed as 'Commodore'. This trait, among others, was gracefully accepted by those under his command in exchange for the characteristic that endeared him to them: he never sent them into harm's way without leading them there himself. At just over fifty years of age, Weisz's physique was a testament towards the Special Forces' physical fitness regime. His black hair was just beginning to grey and his piercing brown eyes were keenly intelligent.
As Zwinglet arrived on the hangar floor, Weisz was already out of his shuttle and awaiting the supervising officer's arrival. Zwinglet had heard countless tales whispered about Weisz, but he'd never expected the Commodore to radiate such a raw intensity. Zwinglet found Weisz intimidating just standing there in his Starfleet uniform with his black Special Forces beret affixed atop his head, hands clasped behind his back. Without a word being spoken, Zwinglet recognised and acknowledged the fact that the Commodore could easily dispose of him with or without a weapon.
"I'm glad you could join us, Commander." Weisz said pleasantly, extending his hand.
"It's and honour and a privilege, sir." Zwinglet gushed, pumping Weisz's proffered hand.
Weisz smiled, "Now, don't go trying to butter the old man up." After a moment's pause, Weisz's smile faded and he began to stroll about the hangar, visually inspecting the progress of his troops while speaking with Zwinglet, "I need a ship, Commander. My troops and I are once again headed into the knife's edge. We'd stand a better chance of surviving if we were to be equipped with a craft loaded with your customary 'refinements'."
Zwinglet's answering smile to the compliment was tentative, "Unfortunately, we have no available ships at this time."
"Your commander, Admiral T'Jol, recommended a Miranda-class cruiser named the Sarah McLachlan. Was she mistaken? Is the ship still undergoing work?" Weisz seemed quite surprised.
"No, Commodore." Zwinglet confessed, "You're well informed. The McLachlan is ready to deploy. All she awaits is her crew."
"It was also my understanding that the crew would not be assembled for several more weeks." Weisz further revealed and retrieved a padd from his pocket and held it out towards Zwinglet, "Here a copy of my authorisation to assume temporary command of the McLachlan and to hold her within my custody during the duration of my mission. You'll find a copy of these orders in Admiral T'Jol's files."
"I wouldn't know." Zwinglet said as he reviewed the orders he'd been handed, "She didn't confide in me in regards to this matter."
"Not surprising." Weisz shrugged, "I've already stretched the limits of discretion in telling what you what I have."
"You haven't told me anything, sir." Zwinglet complained, "And I can't help noticing that these orders were written by you. Typically, our deployment orders originate with the Director of Starfleet Intelligence and are countersigned by the Chief of Starfleet Operations."
Weisz gave him a winning smile, "The prerogative of command. It opens many doors."
"I'm afraid it won't this time, sir." Zwinglet not until I can verify these orders with Starfleet Command."
"You do what you have to do, son." Weisz replied with a sad expression.
When the strike came, Zwinglet never saw it coming. The hypo merely pressed up against his neck and emptied its contents with a hiss. Zwinglet's vision blurred, then all went dark. Weisz caught his falling body as he slumped. A nearby lieutenant hurried over to the Commodore and relieved him of his burden.
"Hold on to him for now." Weisz instructed, "We'll drop him off in his office when we go to retrieve the operations codes and specifications for the McLachlan."
"What about the other prisoner, sir?" the lieutenant looked worried.
Weisz supposed he'd be worried too if he was a junior officer being charged with the security and safety of such an important charge, "Bring the President's daughter out and prepare to transfer her to the McLachlan."
Weisz waited while the lieutenant carried out his charge. As he stood there, he was joined by his Executive Officer, Commander Theriv'shran. Weisz studied the two platoons of Special Forces troops mustering and a grim smile played across his lips. Weisz glanced over towards his Andorian XO and saw a glimmer of emotion.
"Once more into the fray, eh Shran?"
Shran bared his teeth in a grimace that was the Andorian equivalent of a smile, "Once more to victory, Commodore."
"Do you really think so?" Weisz looked unconvinced, "Or do you think our plan will merely harden the President's resolve?"
"Holding his daughter will certainly garner his attention." Shran qualified, "What he does afterwards is anyone's guess."
"Don't you find it remotely sinister that we found allies ostensibly within our own ranks so swiftly after choosing our strategy?"
Shran's attenna twitched at that, "Whomever these 'Section 31' agents truly represent their stated mission of protecting the Federation by any means possible. Which I suppose means that by supporting our mission they consider this President an active threat to Federation security."
"And implies that we do as well." Weisz shook his head, "I swore an oath to obey my Commander-in-Chief and he in turn is sworn to uphold the sitting President. So where does that leave our actions here? Treason?"
"You knew that label would be applied to us. We all did. We've accepted that part and the fact that we will not be able to return to the Federation within the near future if ever. These are choices each man in your command struggled with and accepted before embarking on this mission. I suggest you put you doubts aside. The hardest part of our task is behind us."
Weisz sighed, "You're right of course. Call it angst brought on by age. I've seen too many missions derailed by the slightest complication. What we're doing is dependent upon too many variables and it could all start coming down around our ears without warning."
"I have faith in you, sir." Shran assured him, "We all do. If things hit the fan, then you'll find us a way out just like you always have."
Weisz's spirits were bolstered. He would not fail his troops. The assorted men, women, and polysexuals, officers and enlisted, under his command deserved his best and that's what he would provide. He would redeem their sacrifices and bring this plan to fruition.
Weisz's record of success, while not spotless, still shown as one of the best for his profession. He'd personally conceived and implemented this operation. He'd hand selected and recruited the soldiers under him. Each one had demonstrated unswerving loyalty in the past. Now Weisz was asking more of them than he ever had and they'd risen to the challenge.
He knew his introspection was a result of age and regrets. The devastating losses of the recent war had hit the Special Forces units especially hard. These losses had gutted Weisz, who strongly felt responsible for every life under his command. His responsibility to his fallen troops extended to preserving their honourable memory and that is what had brought him to this present crucible.
"Get the men ready to transfer to the McLachlan." Weisz ordered, "I'll need a detachment with me to return the good Commander to his office."
"What about his counter signature for your orders?" Shran inquired.
"Already taken care of." Weisz assured him, "Our mysterious allies provided me with Commander Zwinglet's authorisation code before we embarked on our little adventure."
"How considerate of them." Shran remarked dryly.
"Yes, wasn't it though? Makes you wonder what else they have access to."
Shran made a hissing sound as he sucked air in between his teeth, "At this point, I prefer not to know."
Weisz nodded, "Probably for the best." He exhaled heavily and placed his fists on his hips, "All right. Let's get to it."
Three days ago...
Naked, Tom Riker ran down the corridor, checking back over his shoulder occasionally. He waited for the cry of alarms but none had erupted to life yet. Although he was stiff and weakened from countless weeks of confinement, he pressed on as fast as his legs could carry him. Within moments, his goal was within sight.
The corridor opened up into a circular space. The outer ring of this circle was modular rooms. Most were laboratories, a fact the man had become all too familiar with during his stay here. One of the labs contained a subspace communication array. It was this room that the bedraggled figure stumbled toward.
Once ensconced within the protective walls of the lab, Riker sealed the door. It would prove a stopgap measure at best when his captors discovered his unconscious minder and traced his activities to this location. With any luck, he'd have time to inflict some major damage to the bastards' operations before he was recaptured. The potential side benefit of his plan was his own rescue from this hell.
Riker activated the comm panel. Unaware of his present location, he opted for an omnidirectional signal. Transmitting in the clear, Riker was enhancing his chances of a friendly party intercepting this message and passing it on to the Special Investigations Division of Starfleet Intelligence. As a SID agent missing in action, he felt his message best be personally addressed to the SID's Director, Admiral Amanda Drake.
He was halfway through his message when the alarms sounded. Riker swore and hurriedly tried to finish before the comm terminal was cut off from the primary communications array. He'd almost finished when the lights and indicators on his board went dead. Riker fumed. He'd been ready to reveal the most crucial aspect of the goings on at this facility when they'd severed his connection with the galaxy beyond.
Next came a pounding at the door. This was followed by several minutes of silence as the pursuing captors bypassed the door's locking mechanism. It rolled aside and two Starfleet Special Forces officers rushed in wielding stun batons. Stun batons were modelled after the traditional police baton but were equipped with a low intensity particle beam emitter on one end. They'd been designed for riot control for the M.A.C.O. forces of Earth's Starfleet. They'd since been adopted by most planetary constabularies since the absorption of Starfleet into the Federation. Starfleet Security forces had phased the devices out of their inventory since they were only called into crowd control situations that had progressed beyond the local authority's ability to manage.
Riker reared up to his full imposing height and readied himself for the two encroaching troopers. The one to his left feinted with a thrust at his ribs. It was a move designed to push Riker into the reach of the trooper on the right. Riker did the unexpected instead and moved in towards the attacking trooper. Riker locked a hand on the baton wielding wrist and shoved the baton aside.
Riker smashed his fist into the man's nose and he staggered backwards, releasing the baton. Riker quickly scooped up the abandoned baton and touched the wounded Special Forces soldier with it. The man groaned and slumped to the floor. Riker wheeled and prepared to deal with the other trooper.
She cast an evaluating eye over Riker's naked form. Her smile was cold and predatory. Riker immediately knew that she'd be trouble. She looked fast and powerfully built.
Riker thrust forward, wielding the baton like a sabre. The Special Forces trooper ducked under his reach and stepped forward to end up behind him. Once behind Riker, she turned the baton in her hand so that she held the emitter end pointed towards her elbow. She whirled and made a strike at his kidneys.
Riker quickly moved ahead and turned, sweeping the area with his baton. The trooper righted her grip on the baton and held it in a two handed grip like a short sword. Riker kept a single-handed grip and handled the baton as he would a club. He moved in quickly and brought a blow to bear on her shoulder.
She blocked the blow and forced him back. Riker could hear the footfall of approaching reinforcements. He charged forward, again thrusting with the baton. She freed one hand from her own baton and stepped aside. Using her free hand, she caught Riker's outstretched wrist and pulled him forward. As she did so, she rammed her knee into his solar plexus. She followed this up with an elbow strike to the kidneys.
Riker sank to his knees and tried to catch his breath. He looked up at his opponent to see her sadly shaking her head. She applied the stun baton to his shoulder and he stiffened and the world went dark. She waited for her comrades before attempting to move either Riker or her fellow fallen Special Forces trooper.
Present…
"And you can go to hell!" Amanda Drake snapped at Edward Jellico. The two, along with Alynna Nechayev, Bill Ross and Jaroess Marrine were assembled to conduct a meeting of the ultra top secret Council of Five. The Council had been charged with apprehending the renegade Admiral Weisz and facilitating the safe return of the Federation President's daughter. They'd searched the Alpha Quadrant twice over but with no success. It had now been conjectured that Weisz had sought refuge outside of the Federation.
Drake and Nechayev put forth the position that the search now required operatives with the credentials to operate outside the Federation. They had offered up the services of the SID as a whole and of one agent in particular. At the mention of that agent's name Jellico had become bellicose, refusing to authorise any action that included Brin Macen's participation. The antagonism between Macen and Jellico dated back to before Jellico's promotion to the Admiralty.
"Macen is not to be involved." Jellico growled, "That's final."
"Not so fast." Drake snapped back, "There are five members of this committee, remember?"
"A majority of whom are uncomfortable with your departments heavy reliance upon irregular forces."
"Starfleet Intelligence has utilised civilian irregulars and contract forces for centuries." Drake pointed out.
"But in a limited capacity and numbers." Jellico rejoined, "A full third of your investigative forces are civilian irregulars, not Starfleet officers."
"A full ninety percent of those civilians are former Starfleet officers, with all the necessary clearances and training." Drake contended, "The rest are former police officers that have been vetted by Starfleet Security and Intelligence both."
"That isn't always the case." Jellico countered, "Take your Commander Macen for instance. He has a former Maquis terrorist and a mercenary formerly in the employ of the Orion Syndicate on staff. This does not include the latest addition to his team: an Iotian starship captain. Who knows what form of espionage she is engaged in?"
"That particular starship captain convinced the Iotian Admiralty of the necessity of aiding Commander Macen's team during the mission to Magna Roma." Drake fumed, "When she turned up, having been stripped of her command, for her actions in bringing us aid, Macen felt compelled to grant her place within his team."
"The Magna Roma mission is just the perfect example of why we shouldn't involve Brin Macen. He was assigned to rescue Federation hostages, not launch a war between Iotia and Magna Roma."
"He accomplished the mission and neutralised a threat." Drake rejoined defiantly.
"He exceeded his authority." Jellico pronounced, "A trait of his, I should think."
"Fine." Drake threw her hands up in surrender, "How about this, we assign Macen to track down the source of Tom Riker's signal. He can make a preliminary assessment upon arrival, if it appears that Commodore Weisz and his forces are there, then Macen will get on the horn and request back-up. Would that satisfy you?"
"He won't engage in an ill advised rescue effort?"
"Only if Weisz and the President's daughter are elsewhere." Drake clarified, "Otherwise you can't expect Macen to simply leave his man in captivity."
"Negotiations first and foremost." Jellico demanded, "I don't want any unnecessary military operations."
"Agreed."
"Well, then," Jellico smiled, "let's put it to a vote."
The vote carried and Drake received her authorisation. Jellico, however, wasn't finished, "The matter of your irregulars isn't over, Amanda. We'll revisit the topic soon."
"What are you suggesting?" Drake asked coolly.
"That it may be better to have a unified force, a homogenised force to better serve Starfleet's needs."
Inwardly, Drake seethed. Outwardly, she shrugged and smiled coldly, "We'll have to take that up on a later date indeed."
Twenty minutes later, Drake and Admiral Nechayev were seated in Drake's office. They'd utilised the primary transporter station within Starfleet Headquarters to beam over to the SID's ultra modern headquarters located in Reading, adjacent to the venerable university of the same name. The university's famed International Relations course of yesteryear had evolved over the centuries to a formidable Interstellar Relations degree. More than a few graduates had found their way to the Starfleet Intelligence's Analysis Centre.
Drake's assistant, Lieutenant Ambril Delori, stood near the Admiral's desk awaiting her morning orders. Ambril was a waif-like brunette with deep set, brown eyes. Those same eyes were just beginning to crinkle with laugh lines. Her lips were generous and her nose bore the distinctive ridges common to Bajorans. As things presently stood, Ambril's lips were pursed and her hands were clasped in front of her.
"I take the meeting went badly." she ventured.
Nechayev snorted and Drake growled deep in her throat, "You know I can't discuss any details of the meeting, Ambril, but I will say this. Edward Jellico is an ass."
Ambril shifted her feet uncomfortably, "Is that really news?"
Drake sighed, "I guess not. God, I could do with a drink."
"Would you settle for tea or coffee?" Ambril piped up.
"Coffee for me, thanks. Alynna?"
"Tea please."
Ambril got them their drinks and resumed her stance before the desk, "Are you ready for your daily briefs?"
Drake rubbed her temples, "I'll get to those in a minute. I presume you did your usual astute prioritisation."
Ambril curtsied, "But of course. The Prophets grant wisdom to those in need."
"Why, Ambril. I never figured you for the religious type."
"Never turn down help where you can find it."
Drake chuckled, "First things first, get me transport to Deep Space 9."
Ambril gave her a questioning look and Drake relented, "It's the last know location of Brin Macen. I have to speak with him and I can't risk a subspace message getting intercepted and decoded."
"I don't suppose I can ask why or what." Ambril said in a helpless tone.
"Of course not." Drake gave her a humourless smile, "Now if you'd excuse us, the Admiral and I need to discuss a few matters."
Ambril nodded her acknowledgement, "Yes, ma'am."
The aide excused herself and Nechayev smiled warmly, "She's quite the firecracker. It goads her though, to be left out of the loop."
"God knows we could use another hundred like her." Drake agreed, "If we did, maybe the President's daughter would be safe at home. As far as Ambril's frustrations, she has nearly unlimited access to the Federation's greatest secrets. She just hates to be reminded that even she has limits."
"You respect her then?"
"I've asked the impossible of her a dozen times over and she's never failed me." Drake took a sip of her coffee, "And she's proven her loyalty beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"Well, she does have the mastoid monitoring device. It would be rather foolish of her to divulge any secrets." Nechayev reminded her, "Starfleet Security would be blowing her door down within moments."
"Remember when devices like that weren't considered necessary?" Drake said wistfully.
Nechayev gave her a pitying look, "Look Amanda, I don't know where this bout of melancholy is stemming from, but you know as well as I do that we needed to develop a system that would guarantee the sanctity of Starfleet Intelligence. Changelings can't host either a mastoid or cortical implant so we began implanting them in the most vital members of the staff. Although the war is over there was no reason to discontinue the use of an appropriate security measure."
"Except for the fact that we're denying those people any form of privacy. For God's sake Alynna, we record every single utterance of an implantee." Drake was beginning to get passionate about her topic.
"Glad to see some of your usual fire." Nechayev gave Drake a calculating smile, "You can't let Eddie get to you like this."
"I know." Drake returned then raised her hands in surrender, "I know. But who does he think he is, dictating policy to me? The Council is largely an oversight committee. I answer to you and then the Commander-in-Chief. That's the chain of command."
"You are forgetting that the Council does have the authority to launch directives, implement procedures and demand internal reviews. We rarely exercise these functions but we do retain the powers." Nechayev gave a gentle reminder, "Edward has made it a personal vendetta to rid the SID of its irregular forces. His contention is that they are too unpredictable and reckless. Part of this argument stems from Brin Macen himself. Macen became an irregular after the shooting incident resulting in the destruction of a starship, a starship that had surrendered. Added to the gravity of this charge was the fact that Macen fired counter to a direct order from the commander on the scene."
"We made a compromise then that allowed Macen to remain within the framework of the SID. He would accept demotion and retire to the active reserve list and in return he would form a security and expeditionary firm and would contract with us for employment. We ceded a ship over to him and his team, those members serving in Starfleet, all transferred to the reserves as well."
"I do happen to know all of this, Alynna." Drake was slightly impatient, "What's your point?"
"Macen is the most illustrious of your agents." Nechayev explained, "He gets the toughest assignments and produces the most dramatic results. He was the first of the irregulars and they look to him for their example. It is this power that Eddie fears."
"Jellico?" Drake wondered, "Afraid? Bull-headed, yes, but afraid?"
"Edward Jellico fears only one thing: chaos. He sees Macen as an agent of chaos." Nechayev gave a half shrug, "This is easily understood since Macen sees himself the same way. The difference is that Macen is a student of Chaos Theory. He believes that enough random disorder eventually forms patterns of coherence."
"How do you know this?" Drake asked in a hushed voice.
"You forget, I've known him for decades, since I was a very junior officer and before you classified his psyche evaluation. He's always played fast and loose with regulations and that trait earned him the ire of one Edward Jellico. His tendency to be correct was another irritant especially since Jellico and Macen endorsed opposing strategies for handling the Border Wars with the Cardassians."
"So my department and my operatives are just the latest casualties in an old grudge match." Drake said with disgust.
"As far as your department goes, Eddie truly does believe Starfleet would be best served if your agent pool were kept in-house. If the elimination of the irregular forces were to inconvenience Macen, that would just be an enjoyable bonus."
"Lovely." Drake grumped.
So," Nechayev slapped her knees, "what's next?"
"Well, as soon as Ambril secures a ride, she and I will be departing for DS9."
"Do you think Macen will be there?"
Drake shrugged, "He's been using it as his base of operations for this latest investigation. If he's not there, I'm certain Lieutenant Ro will know how to contact him."
"Yes." Nechayev mused, "An interesting bond of loyalty that those two share."
"It's all I have to go on." Drake sighed, "He's an independent. He reports in when he wants to."
"Another of Eddie's arguments to homogenise the force." Nechayev remarked with a wry smile.
Drake levelled a glare in reply and Nechayev raised a hand, "Sorry. Unfair of me. How about I offer you the use of my flagship in return?"
"The Sovereign?"
"Why not? I've a flag captain who is constantly wailing about his boredom with patrolling Sector 001. This will solve your problem and get both of you out of my hair."
"Deal" Drake tapped her comm badge and contacted Ambril, "Lieutenant? Stop what you're doing. The Admiral is going to arrange transportation for us."
"Thank the Prophets."
Nechayev smiled and Drake nearly laughed, "Go home and pack a bag, Ambril. I'll need you along on this one."
"Got it." Ambril replied with enthusiasm, "I suppose we'll need kits of the usual paraphernalia?"
"Good thinking. Gather everything up and I'll meet you back here in two hours."
"Aye, ma'am." the comm circuit went dead.
"With that all said and done, I need to get back to HQ and make arrangements."
"Thanks Alynna." Drake rose to see her out, "For the ship, the talk, for everything."
"You've earned it." Nechayev replied, "I gave you the task of creating and running a department that no one outside of Starfleet Intelligence believed in. Well, you've turned that goal into a reality and this division into a force to be reckoned with. You deserve a break or two after all the hard work and Jellico breathing down your neck."
Drake choked up for a moment then recovered herself, "All I can say is thank you."
"And all I can say is keep up the exemplary work and if ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." With that said, Nechayev exited the office and headed for the transporter room.
Drake returned to her desk and cradled her mug in her hands. She slowly sipped the rapidly cooling beverage and pondered the events of the last hour. Drake was the youngest admiral in decades. She'd earned her captaincy and command of a Starfleet Intelligence ship while in her thirties. Now, a decade later, she was an admiral.
She'd been a damned fine intelligence officer but an admiral was a political animal. All her analyses of various regimes hadn't prepared for the trenches of Starfleet Command like she'd thought it had. Jellico, who'd slowly risen through the ranks and spent two decades in the captain's chair, held a distinct advantage in the games of backdoor politics.
The SID was her baby, virtually her creation. She'd founded this organisation on Brin Macen's shoulders and expanded it based upon his successes. She wasn't certain where it would go without him. Someday it would have to, but seeing as how Macen was an El-Aurian and expected to live a minimum of three hundred more years. All that was required for the SID to become a permanently viable entity was a wealth of experience and training to be passed down.
"So let's make certain we have a legacy to pass on." Drake toasted the empty walls of her office and took a celebratory sip of her cold coffee.