Four hours later McCoy awoke in his quarters, still in his clothes from the previous day. He groaned and sat up slowly. He vaguely remembered staggering to his door, but not much else. Fortunately the cabin assignments left him close to Sickbay.
He rubbed his forehead and cursed Carter. The empty brandy bottle was on his desk, he had had the good sense to take it with him and remove the incriminating evidence from the scene of the crime. Now if only he could shake this headache.
He looked in the mirror and decided that a new uniform was in order, and also a shave. There wasn't much he could do about the bags under his eyes. He glanced at the clock; 0630 hours. He blinked, and pressed a comm button. "McCoy to bridge,"
"Sampsell, here," answered the communications officer on duty.
"Has an officer by the name of Fisher arrived onboard yet?"
"Not yet, sir."
Before the officer could expound on it, McCoy clicked off and hurredly changed for the staff meeting.
He jogged down the hall, thinking that a sudden blood rush might help, and knowing that there would be black coffee at any staff meeting held this early in the morning. Turning a corner, he ran full tilt into Spock. "Jesus, sorry, Spock," he blinked and held his thumping head.
Spock nodded. "Are you in some kind of hurry, doctor? Are you all right?"
"Yes and no," McCoy breathed heavily, which was a little embarassing. "I'm fine."
Spock cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at the cryptic answer.
"I'm fine, Spock," McCoy repeated. "I thought I was running late."
"If you are going to the Staff Meeting for the presentation on the Intelligence Gathering mission, you are not late. We can proceed together."
"Great, Spock. Great. Thank you," McCoy nodded and hoped that Spock wouldn't look past his facade.
Together they strode down the hallway of Deck 13 to the forgotten Briefing Room at the end of the hall. A few empty Pelican cases were stacked outside and marked for storage; the agents had been busy last night.
The door opened and Karen Battaglia glanced up. "Oh, you're early," she breathed. She darted up and began setting out diskettes around the table for all the attendees. "I wasn't expecting you," she said quickly.
"Quite all right," McCoy sat down. "Where's Carter?"
"Said she was looking for some decent coffee, but other than that I haven't heard from her," Battaglia set down the last diskette and looked around. "Can someone page Yeoman Rand and ask her were our PADDS are? She was supposed to bring them." She turned her back to the men.
McCoy glanced around before sitting. There were clothes hanging from racks and a few new pieces of machinery. He didn't have the time to ask about them.
Carter walked in with a tray of a steaming pot and a few cups. "Okay, this is the one and only time that I am sharing this." She looked up and saw McCoy. "Good morning, sunshine." She poured him a cup of a thick black liquid and set it in front of him.
"This is coffee?" McCoy tilted the cup. "Is this some kind of OSFI special blend?"
"No, it's Honduran coffee. Made the old fashioned way. Where's our PADDS?" she looked around the table. "Mr. Spock?" she offered Spock a cup, but he politely refused.
McCoy sipped the coffee and the harsh bitterness enveloped his mouth and shocked away any hangover that he might have had. He swallowed hard and blinked.
Rand entered and handed Battaglia a stack of PADDS, which were then distributed alongside the diskettes.
Carter opened a small folio and set out a presentation folder. "Any word from Fisher?"
"He sent a comm up awhile ago and gave an ETA of one hour," a second ensign spoke up.
" 'Awhile ago'?" Carter repeated, her eyes narrowing.
"It was a half hour ago, Lieutenant," Karen said quickly. "He'll be here before we leave Spacedock."
"Oh," she sat down and drank her coffee.
"May I inquire as to the trouble, Lieutenant?" Spock asked.
"He needed repairs to his scout. He wanted to get it done before we left," she said.
"Scotty could have done it for you," McCoy offered.
"Could have, but we're not supposed to be asking you for assistance," she said, shutting off the conversation.
The doors opened, and Kirk and Scott walked in. Kirk straightened. "All right. It is my understanding that this is going to be an easy one for you folks. Let's hope that Starfleet is right, for once." He looked around, sniffing. "What smells so damn good?"
Ensign Battaglia poured him a cup of the rich coffee and handed it to him with a smile.
"We'll just start," Carter stood and motioned at two chairs. "If that's all right with you, sir."
"You're a man short," Kirk noticed.
"He's on his way, sir. I expect him shortly," Carter said quickly, glossing it over.
She sat down after Kirk and Scott had settled in with her coffee and pressed a button. The letters, "419" appeared on the screen behind her.
"Gentlemen, we have been sent on an intelligence gathering mission to the Arcturan System to investigate what appears to be the latest incarnation of what is known as the 419 Scam. The 419 is named after the Nigerian Penal code under which scammers were punished," she spoke drily.
"Nigeria was a nation in central Africa, disbanded in the late 21st century," Spock interjected.
"Good history," Carter paused. "But we're getting to that.
"There are legends of the 419 Scam dating back to the Dark Ages. A peasant would approach a victim and say that the King's son had been kidnapped, and he knew the kidnappers. If the victim would only give him all his money, then they could pay the ransom and the two of them would be richly rewarded by the king. We all know how that story ends," she smiled and pressed the button again, revealing a page of text.
"The 419 scam continued into the 20th Century with the fax, or facsimile, machine. Scammers would fax potential victims, claiming to be the long lost heir to some long lost fortune. Some of them would even threaten physical harm if the victim did not pay."
"What does Nigeria have to do with any of this?" asked Kirk.
"I'm getting to that," Carter didn't want to stray from her prepared presentation. "But 419 came into it's own with the advent of electronic mail in the late 20th century. Scammers would set up a base in an internet café or library, cull email addresses by the thousands, and email potential victims en masse. Most of these scammers were based in Nigeria, and sometimes claimed to be government or banking officials. Some of them were. Some of them claimed to be relatives of recently deposed presidents or other high ranking officials
"There were a couple variations on the theme, but most of them revolved around the victim surrendering their bank account information so the scammer could deposit in mythical millions of dollars. Once the victim helped the scammer, they were promised a portion of the millions," Carter paused, looking for questions.
"And once the account information was given, the lads took all the money from the account and ran," Scott nodded.
"Ah, but no," Carter shook her head. "These lads were too smart for that. They were actually running a side con. The bank account information didn't matter, as we can see from records of 'scam baiters', who apparently toyed with these people for fun," she smiled. "What mattered were fees. Lawyer fees, bank fees, transfer fees. Some of these folks would even hit up their victims for hotel charges. And as long as the victim would pay, there was a fee. In those days there was a service called Western Union, which functioned a lot like our Credit Booster. It was a quick and clean way to send cash overseas."
Kirk scoffed at the text scrolling by on his PADD. "The grammar alone on this is unbelievable. Let alone the very idea that someone would be privy to a bank account worth 115 Million US Dollars. People fell for this?"
"Enough people fell for this that at one time it was the largest industry in Nigeria," she nodded.
McCoy looked up. "You said something about a penal code. Weren't these people punished?"
"There were so many government officials in on the scam, it was practically impossible to catch everyone who was in on it," Battaglia spoke up.
"Yup," Carter nodded. "So. For the most part it was a clean scam. You send them as much cash as you can, thinking that you're going to get some millions, and they disappear into the night. They're hundreds of miles away and no one gets hurt. That's how it operated most of the time."
Kirk set down his PADD, and waited for the inevitable catch that Nogura and Richards had failed to let him in on.
"Occasionally, however," Carter continued. "Things got sticky. Some scammers got greedy. They would trick a victim into traveling to Nigeria or wherever, mostly Nigeria, in order to 'sign some papers' or 'make a statement'," she waved her hands around indicating nonsense. " The victim would be kidnapped at the airport, taken to god knows where and held for ransom. There were a few deaths associated with this," Carter said, and pressed a button.
A face appeared on the screen, a Rigillian Ambassador. "This is Ambassador Mulao. Three weeks ago he entered into a communication with suspected 419 scammers and traveled to Arcturus to meet with them. We have not heard from him since."
There was a pause. "And what are your plans concerning the Ambassador?" Kirk asked.
"We are to pinpoint his location and bring him back," she said simply. "My theory on the subject is that he walked into Arcturus loaded with cash, got mugged and was dropped off somewhere."
Kirk tapped a stylus on the table. "Well this doesn't explain my message, Lieutenant."
"Captain, there's a lot of violence that goes on at the Arcturan surface. It wouldn't be too hard to fake stuff like that," she shook her head.
Kirk sighed, and glanced around.
The door opened and Fisher appeared, buttoning his uniform. "Sorry I'm late, sirs," he looked around and didn't see an empty chair. "Looks like I'll be standing," he grinned.
Carter stood. "This is my partner, Jonathan Fisher. Ensigns Karen Battaglia and Mike Brown, who are serving as our support staff for this mission. Our two trainees, Paul Price and Sharon Engram." The officers and trainees stood as their names were called; the ensigns wearing maroon jackets with black underneath, and the trainees in jumpsuits with black trim. All of them wore the OSFI insignia. "You can all sit."
Price offered his chair to Fisher, who refused it.
"Over the past few months, Batty, Fisher and myself have intercepted and initiated communications with likely scammers and arranged meetings with them on Acturus. All under aliases, of course. In this way, we hope to locate the Ambassador as well as pinpoint and stop these messages flowing into the UFP and Starfleet. They're annoying everyone," she hit the button for a final time and the screen behind her went dark.
"Is that all?" McCoy asked.
"That's it. If you were hoping for cloak and dagger, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed," Carter leaned back in her chair. "But all the same, this is classified material. You don't have anything to add, do you, Fisher?" she asked.
"No, it's pretty much a gathering mission. Gathering intelligence and ambassadors," he joked.
Kirk didn't smile.
Carter stood up quickly. "That's it. Hopefully we can stay out of each other's hair."
"Well," Kirk stood slowly. "We have three weeks to deliver the medical supplies throughout the system, and Richards insists that this will be plenty of time."
"It will be," she nodded.
The overhead comm. Sounded, and Uhura's voice came into the room. "Attention personnel, thirty minutes to Spacedock departure. Repeat, thirty minutes to Spacedock departure. Captain to the bridge."
Kirk sighed. "Doctor? Spock? Shall we?"
McCoy and Spock stood and walked out with Kirk.
"So what do you make of it, Spock?" Kirk asked.
"The officers seem confident, even though they are disorganized."
"I knew there was something missing from Nogura's little briefing," Kirk scowled as the turbolift door closed.
"Well, Jim, if anything happens it's their beans and not ours," McCoy folded his arms.
"True enough."
The turbolift opened to the bridge, where the departure proceedings had been causing a flurry of activity and excitement. Upon Kirk's arrival, a calm settled over the chaos, as though his mere presence could influence a smooth departure.
"Enterprise, this is Spacedock, doors are open and you have permission to depart," a friendly female voice chimed over the loudspeaker.
"Thank you, Spacedock," Kirk sat down in his chair and grabbed at the armrests possessively. "Full thrusters, Mister Sulu."
"Full thrusters, aye sir," Sulu acknowledged.
The ship hummed and pressed gently forward, as the confining walls of spacedock began to move past. Within passing windows, restaurant patrons waved good-bye or raised their wine glasses.
All eyes on the bridge were rapt to the main viewer as gray walls slipped away and a vast field of stars came into view. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief and anticipation when the starfield was complete.
"Set course for the Arcturan System, warp factor one. No rush," Kirk said.
"Course plotted and set," Chekov turned the dial at his station, arcing the ship's course through space.
"Warp factor one," Sulu pressed a button. The starfield streaked momentarily, and then gave way to gently passing stars.
Kirk huffed, and turned to McCoy. "Don't you have something to do?"
The bridge crew turned to their tasks, the show over and the moment gone.
McCoy looked around. "Yeah, I guess so. You know where I'll be, Jim." He turned and disappeared into the turbolift.
Spock had turned and was studying a star chart when Kirk came up behind him. "Do you have some plans for this mission? I can't think of much for a science officer to be doing on a delivery run," Kirk tapped the console.
"Our increased level of Security has given me access to previously classified reports," Spock explained. "I am wondering why there are reports of increased piracy across the Romulan border."
Kirk looked at the chart and saw the dotted red lines commonly known as piracy routes, and blue dotted lines that indicated new routes. There were more blue lines than red. "I don't know. I wonder if the intelligence agents are working on that."
"There was no mention of piracy in Lieutenant Carter's report."
Kirk stepped back and shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't get too far into it Spock. You can read it, but ultimately it's the intelligence division's problem."
Spock nodded, but returned to the chart all the same.
In Briefing Room 5, Fisher looked around at the tiny space, already filling up with their equipment and supplies. "I don't think they could have made this any smaller."
"You should see your quarters," Carter said. "I woke up last night in a fit of claustrophobia." She straightened and stretched her back. "The captain extended an invitation to dinner tonight."
Fisher raised a brow. "Really? What are we having?"
Carter made a face. "Well, I don't think it's going to be prime rib."
"I don't know," Karen said cheerfully. "I've heard some nice things about chefs on starships."
"They only get professional chefs when there's an important person on board," Fisher grinned, and hung a dusty coat on a rack. "Trust me, we aren't that important."
"It's also Senior Staff," Carter looked at her small crew. "So, sorry guys."
Ensign Brown tapped at the main viewscreen in the room, calling up the aft camera. Earth lazily pulled away, and Mars crossed into the screen. "There she goes," he sighed.
"Three weeks, tops," Carter said quickly. "We'll be back in a nice quiet office in no time."
