Mark put his assault phaser on top of the desk.

Mitchell noticed the weapon immediately and straightened up, "Gun on the table. I've seen old west movies too. You plan on using that, or do you expect me to use it?"

"That depends on how you answer my next few questions, Dougie. Do you have one of those of your own? I want to be fair about this," Mark asked, pointing to the weapon.

Douglas opened one of his drawers and placed a MK8 Hand Phaser beside Mark's MK5 Assault Phaser.

The smaller, dolphin-shaped wand contrasted fiercely beside the larger black pistol.

Mark and Douglas spun the weapons so that the barrel of each pointed at the other man.

"Table quick draw, right? Ten seconds, and first to draw wins. Are we gonna wait until high noon as well?" Douglas asked, shifting from depression to anger.

Mark shrugged, "Like I said, depends on how you answer. I'd rather not shoot you, especially after the story you just told me, and for what's its worth, I do feel bad for you. But its your three downs right now. You decide where to throw the ball."

"We play four downs in the US. Canadian Football is a joke. I should also point out that you just drew a weapon on the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet in the middle of HQ. I can have a few hundred S.O's here with a single word."

"And the General of the Marine Corps has a few hundred of his own, and better armed, Marines about the same distance away, that can also be here with a single word. You and I are gentlemen though. I'd rather we settle it that way if it comes down to having to settle it. Can we at least agree to that?"

"Agreed. So, lets get on with this, ask your questions," Douglas said, offering a drink to Mark.

"You remember a couple months ago about that explosion in Shanghai, just outside the Puzzle Palace? I know I sent you some mail about it," Mark began, opening his wrist-comm to read off the notes.

Douglas nodded, "Training accident, as I recall. You should be more careful with your munitions."

Mark scoffed, "I had my Wrench Turners tell you that, push any sob story and people believe it, in your words. What actually happened was that the office got hit by a Plasma torpedo. A Romulan Plasma torpedo to be precise. The same kind of Romulan plasma torpedo, which got past Home Fleet and the tachyon detection net, that also blew up Red Ball Express a few hours ago. Vir installed ablative armor on the side of his building, which kept me from dying. He's a paranoid son of a bitch, but he was right about it this time."

"On a hunch, I had him run an analysis on the plasma signatures. You see, the Rommies used this weird kind of radioactive marking to keep track of their munitions stocks, or at least they did before the Star Empire became the not so Starry Empire. Logistics is what wins the war, right?"

"Anyway, turns out the torpedo that hit the Puzzle Palace was in the same magazine as the torpedoes that hit Europa. I double checked it while I was on the Warbird. Her forward magazine was six short of the full load of two-fifty. But everyone in space today only saw that Warbird fire five torpedoes. So, the question would be, where was the sixth torpedo?" Mark asked.

Douglas shrugged, "So they got past us once before and fired at your intel section as a test run. That's my fault for not being more thorough with Home Fleet. Is that really worth shooting me over?"

Mark shook his head, "Not that, exactly. You missed the part of why that Warbird fired a torpedo at us before Europa. Me and Vir, along with some help from now Brigadier Jack Marshall, and of course Kitty, were watching a very interesting recording."

"It was a conversation, between two women and one man, and the recording was on a data rod that happened to match up with information we discovered when Vir and Kitty finally cracked Project White Noise. You remember what that is right? You called it exploratory modelling after Tranbir Nine."

Douglas slammed his fist against the desk, "I fucking knew it! I had a feeling that crafty little Rommie-Borg bastard had to have something! I just couldn't prove it."

Mark smirked, "Hey, you didn't let me finish, but I will get back to you about the project in a minute. So, on that recording, among the things these people talked about was sending Eddal to Risa to clear the project files off the up-link and getting someone in your CIC to send Jonathan Pollard to Tranbir Nine to see the first results of Project White Noise."

"Now, whatever these people knew about Risa is immaterial to me, but they couldn't press gang one of your ships without you at least knowing about it. So, they tried to drop a torp on me to close the leak. And they, more than likely, torped Red Ball Express themselves, or at least pushed some shifty Republican Commander into doing it for them. Why they did that is beyond me at the moment. But I'm ranting, so let me sum this up."

Mark held out his hand and counted off three fingers, "Did you know this shit was gonna happen? How deep are you into this shit? And are you trying to start a war with the fucking Romulan Republic to cover your own ass?

"How you answer those three questions is what will decide whether or not I shoot you in the next thirty seconds."

Mitchell thought for a long time. He finished his drink and sat in silence.

After thirty seconds, Mark put his hand down, "Time's up. Story or Shot, what's it gonna be?"

"Story," Douglas said, "No, I did not know this shit was going to happen. No, I am not trying to start a war with the fucking Romulan Republic to cover my own ass. As for how deep I am into this shit...I can't even make sense of it. Maybe you can help me instead of shooting me?"

"This better be good."

"A year before you made your triumphant return to uniformed service, I took my annual holiday on Cetlus Minor. You know who was there? That Bolian Geologist you beat me to on Lancaster. You weren't around, and I was on holiday. So, I bought her a drink. One drink turned into seven. Seven turned into dinner. Dinner turned into her coming back to my suite for the night."

"I was too drunk to remember her. This is a fucking weak story so far, Dougie."

"I'm giving you the context, you fucking alcoholic. Let me finish. I woke up the next morning, and she was in bed next to me, dead. Not just dead, but all fucked up, like someone had taken a par-steel bar to every bone in her body. Her blood was all over the suite, and the bar was next to my comm-badge. Someone must have slipped something into my drink because I had no idea what happened, and I still can't remember anything."

"I was trying to figure out what to do, when the door opened and two people walked in. One was a guy with blue hair, and the other was a girl with yellow hair. They showed me a PADD with a recording of me beating the geologist to death with the bar. It might have been fake, or it might have been real, I couldn't tell."

"Either way, they said that unless I signed off on their wish list every time it came across my desk, they'd send that recording to every reporter in the Federation. Not only would I be in jail, but everything also I've done for the fleet would be undone in a heartbeat. So, I agreed. And I didn't hear from them again until after Risa. Yellow Hair asked me to send Pollard to Tranbir Nine, and you know what happened next," Mitchell continued.

"So that's how they got to you," Mark said.

It made sense. Dougie would be as hard an intel target as anything he could think of. The man had few vices, no family to exploit and a crystal clean personal life, Bolian Geologists aside.

"Her name is Sarah, by the way. At least that's the name Mor got when they tried to contain him during Rain's trial. He shot her in Russia and told me about her trying to get at the project files during Outer Heaven."

"So, my next questions are, did you know what was going to happen on Tranbir Nine? If you were that deep into it, why wouldn't you come to me for help, knowing that this is what I do? And what do you know about Project White Noise?" Mark asked, trying to fill the blanks.

"Ill answer like this," Mitchell said, pouring another measure of real whisky for himself and Mark, "I didn't come to you for two reasons. I had no idea if you or your team were part of this group, and I wasn't inclined to trust you. And I was trying to control the situation from my end. I had half of Starfleet Intelligence tearing half the galaxy apart for any trace of these bastards, but they didn't turn up anything for two years."

"When Sarah, if that is really her name, called in the favour for Pollard, I told her I'd only do it with a fully equipped taskforce, and I went behind her back and assigned your Marines to it. She'd been pushing me for a way to get you out of the picture for a while. I figured you'd either die on the mission, or at least fuck her plans up. I was good with either result. Still feel like shooting me?"

"Right now, the only thing keeping you alive is the fact that I'm waiting for the answer to my third question. I lost eighty-six Marines on Tranbir Nine, Dougie. And you just told me that they died because of a fucking game that you were playing, a game that you were way over your head in playing, and a game that you should have come clean about a year ago. Their blood is on your hands, you selfish son of a bitch."

"I don't know what, exactly, White Noise is. When I asked, Sarah told me exactly what I told you, exploratory modelling. Again, I had the better half of my very deep intelligence department trying to solve that issue as well, and you and your little Romulan got more than I did in three years."

"These people, whoever they are, are very fucking dangerous Mark. They know things that I'm not even supposed to know. They've got reach past anything you or I can reach. I'm almost positive they were the ones that got Justin Reams into the Legal Adjutant's office. They had a man, or men, on Inyo's cabinet."

"They had or have people at every level of the fleet, from the Academy right up to the Admiralty Board. I don't know if they have any push into McClair's office yet, but it's well in their scope to get someone close to her. And for all I knew, you were one of them, or they had a hold over you for something as well." Mitchell said, sipping his drink.

"As for the Warbird connection, I don't know. My right hand to God, I don't know how they got a D'Deridex, or how they got past Home Fleet. Maybe they have as much reach into the Romulans as they do us. Maybe they're some kind of Tal Shiar revival. Maybe this is some long, roundabout game for D'Tann to revive the Star Empire. Or maybe the Rommies got fucked just as hard as we've been, and Red Ball Express is their way of taking two threats off the board at once."

"I do know that the answer is on the other side of the Republic border, so regardless of the why, that's where we need to go," said Mitchell again, looking Mark in the eye.

"Dougie, you better be god damned sure about this. We are both pointing a fuck of a lot of firepower at the Republic right now, and they wont just let us waltz into their space without a fight. If you're even one percent wrong about this, you and I are about to get a lot of kids killed for the wrong reason. I don't want that on my soul anymore than you do."

"What would you do in my position? And if you're so god damned sure I'm wrong, why don't you pull your Sharks off the task force yourself?" Mitchell challenged.

Mark sighed and tried to relax, "Because, there is a very slight possibility you're not wrong. I've come across these people before. Sarah worked with another woman I'm calling Red. Red had files on me, Rain, Vir, Mor, and my entire team. My theory is that based on how huge White Noise is, they've been playing us from the very start, but they didn't count on my Marines being as good as they are. And, what you said makes sense. The Puddle Pirates are good enough that they couldn't have gotten hold of a Warbird without help or inside knowledge."

"So, I'll concede to you that we do need to go to Mol Rhihann. What we actually do when we get there is still an open question. But the larger concern is what happens after. Sarah's people need to be dealt with. And that is something I plan on doing, with or without your help. So, my final question is this. Are you going to get in my way of doing that?" Mark asked, half wondering if he should reach for his pistol.

"I already told you; I'm stepping down when this is done. When a CNC leaves his post, all of his access codes are revoked, and all of his personal files are destroyed. I'll be completely useless to them," Douglas replied, also wondering if he should reach for his own weapon.

Mark was on his feet, "Not fucking good enough. Even if you're gone, that doesn't stop these bastards, or even slow them down. No, the way we deal with this is to turn the tables on these fuckers."

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Mr. Mercenary?" Douglas asked, crossing his arms.

"Me, you, Rain and Vir all go to Anna, together. We lay out everything we have to her. Since Fishie Intel is compromised all to fuck, I'll have my own spies and Black Star run down everything they have on everyone even close to her. If we find any leaks, we plug them. Then, assuming Anna agrees, we purge the fleet of anyone with the slightest connection to these bastards. We dig through every rock, every PADD, every last place any of us can think of that might give us some intel. And then we dig the graves ourselves, simple as," Mark replied.

"Are you that sure your own force hasn't been compromised? And do you really think a Federation President will order an officer's purge? And even if she does, what stops them from just shutting it down on their level?" Douglas asked, unimpressed.

"Do you have any idea the level of vetting I do on every single idiot that walks through the gates of Camp Nath or Sandhurst? Trust me, we're good. And we won't hide in the dark and sneak around like Sarah and Red did for decades. We'll come at them publicly, in force, with the law and a few thousand rifles behind us. More than a match for a crew that can barely slap a D'Deridex into working order and take pot-shots at a defenceless exploration ship," Mark replied.

"Well, that's not the worst idea I've heard. Suppose we do manage to pull this off, what happens to me after it's all said and done?" Douglas asked yet again.

Mark sat back down, and in a show of good faith, he retrieved his pistol from the top of the desk and holstered it, "That's on Anna. At a guess, you'll still resign, and she'll take a piece of your pension for the trouble. You'll likely stay out of jail, if only to avoid the press fallout."

"Fair enough-" Douglas said before being cut off.

"Make no mistake though, Dougie. The thing that just saved your life is the fact that you're now a strategic asset. You lie to Anna, run away, or leave anything out, and I'll fucking shoot you dead wherever I find you."

"Whatever respect I had for you just died for the second time in twenty years, and this time it won't be coming back because of a few poker hands at the Stratosphere. If you ever, in the slightest, try to fuck with me or my Marines again, you become a target."

Douglas sighed. He looked at the glasses on the top of his desk. He noted that while he had just finished his third, Mark hadn't even touched his first.

The fact that Mark hadn't touched a drop of real alcohol was almost as shocking as the very real threat he had just heard.

"I can't really expect a better deal, can I? Alright, you have my word that I'll come as clean as a fresh plasma coil to the President. I'll even bury all the shit I have on you, just to make you feel better. Good enough? I just cashed in my final insurance policy here."

"Bury it. Or I'll bury you."

"Does it matter to you at this point if I apologize?" Douglas asked, pouring a fourth whiskey.

"What do you think?"

Sipping his glass, Douglas again sighed, "Well, I'll say it anyway. I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen. I should have come to you first, trust issues aside."

Mark tossed the football at Douglas, which he caught with perfect precision, "Third down, ten and five. Don't miss the toss. Let's go to the CIC, we've got two wars to plan now."