CHAPTER 14

Malcolm comm'd Ensign Foster, telling him to go to the mess hall and keep an eye on the group from The Bottom Line. After that, the tactical officer efficiently instituted lock-down procedures in the armory. As he moved away from the upper level control panel to the weapons' locker where the phase pistols were stored, he heard Violet take a deep breath before following him.

It was just his luck that the attempt on her life would come when none of his staff was in the armory. He was her last line of defense. On the plus side, however, he and Violet were in the armory. It was his turf, and he knew how to protect it.

"Who's Macklin?" he asked as he yanked the locker door open and pulled out a phase pistol.

"I've never met him," Violet said as she watched him put a power cell in the pistol and checked the charge. "But his was one of the names on a list in the file I got into. He received large payments at irregular intervals."

Malcolm glanced at her. "What did he do to receive such payments?"

Violet met his gaze steadily. "I'm not sure, but I think I can guess. After each payment was the notation 'problem terminated'... I think he killed people."

Malcolm's features hardened as he snapped the hinged cover back into place over the pistol's power cell. "And now he's here on Enterprise."

Foster was puzzled. Lieutenant Reed had told him there were five people in the party that had come over from the other ship, but he saw only four. He and another security officer had arrived at the mess hall in time to hear The Bottom Line's captain tell the other three he was going back to the ship to help with repairs. A slight jerk of Foster's head had sent his fellow officer off to follow the man, just in case.

So, here he was, trying not to appear too obvious, as he watched the three people relax and partake of some refreshments around one of the tables in the mess hall. They didn't look like they were in any hurry to leave. He was about to step out into the corridor to discreetly contact his superior when a voice startlingly close to his ear almost made him jump.

"Are you just going to stand there or you going to eat something? That is why most people come to my mess hall, you know."

Foster hated it when Chef snuck up on you like that. For a large man, he sure could move quietly. Of course, in his own defense, Foster's attention had been on something else at the time.

"Not now, Chef," Foster said softly, hoping the galley master wouldn't make him his latest spectacle. To say Chef had a flair for the dramatic was an understatement. He'd been present for the strawberry dessert fiasco the other night.

"Are you ill?" Chef asked, suddenly solicitous.

Foster, seeing the three men at the table looking in his direction, ducked his head and said quietly, "Could I see you in the galley for a minute?"

"Certainement," Chef said, and gestured for Foster to go that way.

As soon as the doors to the galley swished shut behind them, Foster glanced around to make sure no one was near, then said, "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on those people out in the mess hall for Lieutenant Reed."

Chef frowned. "I know the lieutenant is always the paranoid, but that seems extreme even for him."

Foster, anxious to get back to his duty, shifted on the balls of his feet. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but Lieutenant Reed's locked down the armory. He's in there with Ensign Smith." At Chef's upraised eyebrow, Foster quickly added, "I think he thinks someone is after her."

A volley of questions burst forth from the voluble Chef, his French accent becoming more pronounced. "To harm the charming Ensign Smith? How is that possible? Who would want to hurt such a delightful creature?"

"She's a weapons development expert," Foster said, his impatience growing. "Maybe they want to kidnap her. Get some secrets out of her, you know."

"We must not allow that to happen!" Chef cried, giving Foster a shove toward the door. "Get back out there!"

Foster halted, his hand poised to open the door. "Do me a favor, Chef. Contact Lieutenant Reed. Tell him one of the people who came over is missing."

Malcolm was chafing at being unable to do anything. Well, that wasn't true -- he was guarding Violet. But there was a potential assassin on board and he wasn't out leading the investigation.

He seriously doubted anyone could breach the department lock-down, but he mentally ticked off the defensible positions in the armory one more time on the off chance someone did manage it. There really wasn't much else he could do at the moment.

Violet had gone deathly quiet. She was still following him around as he paced the armory, but not so closely as to annoy him. Thank God for small favors, he thought. The last thing he needed was for her to knock him down -- accidentally, of course. Although, come to think of it, she hadn't done anything klutzy since she'd told him the Thiera business conglomerate sometimes hired The Bottom Line.

The beep of the intercom intruded on the tense silence of the armory. He quickly stepped over to the comm panel, thumbed the button, and said, "Reed here."

"Eh, Monsieur Reed," came Chef's mellifluous voice, and Malcolm rolled his eyes. Of all people, Chef was the last one he wanted to talk to right now.

"Chef, get off the comm," Malcolm said rudely.

"No! I have the important information concerning the Ensign Smith."

Malcolm's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Your man -- Foster -- he is in the mess hall. He wants me to tell you that one of the people you have him watching is not there."

"What!"

"That is what he said. One of them is missing."

"Bloody hell! Did he say where the person went?" Malcolm waited for an answer, but there was no response. "Chef?"

"Why doesn't he say anything?" Violet asked.

Malcolm thumbed another button on the comm. "Reed to the bridge...Reed to the bridge." He waited a few moments, and when he got no reply, he tried another button. "Reed to Engineering."

Slapping his hand against the bulkhead next to the comm panel, Malcolm turned to face her. "The comm's out."

"Couldn't that be a malfunction?" she asked.

"Not bloody likely. It's too coincidental."

"Wh--what do we do now?"

"We wait," he said grimly. "I have a feeling we're going to have company very soon."

Jon was stewing in his command chair as he waited for what T'Pol could dig up from the database on The Bottom Line and Captain Macklin. The "we have an engine malfunction" scenario was one of the oldest tricks in the book for luring in an unsuspecting victim. He should have ordered a background check be run on the ship before docking with it.

If Malcolm had been on the bridge, he would have suggested it, Jon realized with chagrin. Was he so used to having the tactical officer provide the voice of caution that he himself had gotten out of the habit of questioning the motives of others? As it was, he was glad Malcolm was in the armory with Violet. If there really was someone on board who wanted to kill her, he was her best protection. But it was still a damnably awkward situation.

Until they knew for sure, it was best to play this quietly. Getting up from his chair, he walked over to the communications console.

"Hoshi, contact Trip," he said. "See how the repairs are going."

She worked a few controls on her panel and looked up at him in alarm. "The inter-ship comm's not working."

"What wrong with it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I can't get through to The Bottom Line," she said as she continued to push buttons and check readouts on her panel. "And the internal comm isdown, too."

T'Pol, overhearing their exchange, hurriedly called up some information on the ship's systems. "The entire comm system has been disabled."

Jon stared at her for a moment, then spun on his heel to address a crewman working at one of the auxiliary panels. "Singer, get down to the mess hall and tell the security people there to detain everyone from The Bottom Line."

The man nodded and hurried to the turbolift.

"T'Pol," Jon said, "have you found anything?"

"There is no record of a Captain Macklin," she responded immediately. "He could be using an alias. The Bottom Line is a contract-for-hire ship, but the company which owns it lists no Captain Macklin as a pilot."

Jon quickly reviewed the situation: A potential assassin was loose on his ship. Malcolm was locked in the armory with the target of the assassin. Security hopefully would keep the passengers from The Bottom Line from causing trouble. Trip was on the other ship but they couldn't contact him.

The biggest problem was the comm system being out. He had no way of knowing what was happening off the bridge.

Violet was safe where she was for the moment, Jon reasoned. But perhaps if the assassin's means to escape was unavailable, it might encourage him not to carry out whatever his plan was.

He headed for the turbolift, issuing orders as he went. "Hoshi, try to get the comm system back up. T'Pol, you're with me."

As T'Pol stood and went to join him, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"To make sure The Bottom Line can't leave," he answered.

A muted beep issued from the door control panel inside the armory next to the main entrance.

"What was that?" Violet asked, her gaze riveted on the door.

"Someone's trying to override the security protocols," Malcolm answered, motioning for her to move behind him.

She swallowed nervously. "Um. Do you think I could have a pistol?" At the incredulous look he threw over his shoulder at her, she added defensively, "Hey! It's my life that's in danger here."

"Point taken," he conceded. "Just don't shoot me again."

But before he could accede to her request, a faint scraping noise came from the other side of the armory.

"What's that?" Violet asked, spinning around and trying to locate the source of the noise.

Malcolm's gaze was darting around as he, too, tried to find where the sound came from. "The door was just a ploy to distract us," he said, holding his phase pistol in the ready position before him. "Someone's in an access crawlspace behind a bulkhead."