Chapter 39
First City, Qo'noS
Monday 17th March 2375
Moragh stood by the large, hexagonal window of his office, high up on the thirtieth floor of the Imperial Intelligence building, watching the storm as it raged across the city. Electrical storms were normal at this time of year but this one was spectacular and as he watched the lightning, he wondered idly why the weather control systems had not yet kicked in. His duty shift had ended almost two hours ago but he had no intention of going anywhere until the rain eased off.
The comm system activated, its shrill chirp almost drowned out by the crashing thunder. With an annoyed growl, he turned away from the window and moved back to his desk to answer it. No doubt it was his wife, wanting to know why he was not yet home. No, he realised immediately, it was an internal call, originating from reception. His irritation increased.
"What do you want, Lurqal? I am off duty. It is Colonel Traig's shift. Why are you not calling him?"
"There is a woman in reception asking to see the officer in charge," the receptionist informed him crisply, unintimidated by his show of temper. "That would be you. Unless, sir…" she added with more than a hint of sarcasm, "…you would prefer me to call the Operations Master? I do have his home number on file."
Moragh bit back a growl. She had him there. No, he most definitely did not want her to call the Operations Master. "That will not be necessary, Lurqal," he said quickly. Against his will, he found himself smiling as he remembered one of his Terran counterparts calling her a battle-axe. He was fluent enough in Federation Standard to know it had not been meant as a compliment, but typically Klingon, he had chosen to take it as one. While he could not speak for Lurqal's proficiency with a blade, her skills at keeping the unwanted at bay were impressive to say the least. She was the ideal receptionist.
Just the faintest hint of a snicker came over the commlink as the receptionist savoured her momentary victory, but wisely, she made no comment, instead cutting to the issue at hand. "I believe you should deal with this yourself, Security Captain. I think it's important." Too important to delegate to the colonel. Those words remained unspoken, but Moragh heard them anyway.
"It would have to be important for anyone to come out in this weather," he acknowledged reluctantly. "Very well, who is she?"
"She's a Bajoran," the receptionist informed him, adding in some annoyance, "A very wet, soggy Bajoran who is currently dripping water all over the floor."
It was Moragh's turn to snicker. "Then I suggest you get her a towel and a hot drink while she waits. It would be a shame if you caused our Bajoran allies to think poorly of our hospitality. Now, does this wet and soggy Bajoran have a name?"
"The name she gives is Jen Maren."
The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Moragh scratched his crest as he tried to figure out where he had heard it before. It was several moments before he remembered the debacle with the I.I. computers and his resulting conversation with Krang, the security captain he hadn't known existed. Jen Maren… Of course! She had been one of the passengers on the Orinoco, the refugee freighter that had been attacked by the Jem'Hadar. What was she doing here, he wondered? This was not a place that people came for fun. Her presence here confirmed Krang's guess that she was an intelligence agent.
"Very well," he said, realising the receptionist was still waiting for instructions. "Have her escorted up to my office and…" He was interrupted by a flash of lightning, bright enough to momentarily blind him. Crashing thunder followed immediately, so loud it shook the building and left his ears ringing. Moragh swore. That one must have hit the conductors on the roof only a few metres above his head. His temper frayed. Enough was enough.
"Sir?" No longer adversarial or joking, Lurqal's voice sounded distinctly concerned.
"On second thoughts, I will come down," Moragh growled. "Show the visitor into interview room two and then get onto Weather Control. Tell those incompetent petaq'pu if they don't want a full-scale Imperial Intelligence investigation on their hands then they had better do their jobs and get that khest'n storm stopped RIGHT NOW!"
The room Maren had been shown to was windowless, with featureless grey walls and a stone floor. It was spartan to say the least, its only furniture a heavy desk that was bolted to the ground and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. Thankfully, she thought, it was at least warm and dry. It was also quiet. The noise of the thunder was muffled; either the room had some soundproofing, or the storm was finally dying down a bit. Maybe the security captain's threat had intimidated Weather Control into finally taking action.
Something about the atmosphere of the room made her feel uneasy. An interview room, they had called it. That, she thought cynically, was a euphemism if ever she'd heard one. She had been interrogated by the Cardassians in rooms that were all too similar to this one.
It was all she could do not to pace up and down. If she was being watched, she would give no indication of her nervousness. Where was he, anyway, she wondered in some annoyance? Now that she was here, she wanted to get this over with. What was taking so long?
Outwardly calm, she finished her coffee and placed the empty mug on the table alongside the damp towel. At least they had given her a hot drink and something to dry herself off. Maybe the delay was just typical Klingon rudeness and not an attempt at intimidation.
The door to the interview room swung open and a tall, powerful-looking Klingon wearing the black uniform of Imperial Intelligence, entered the room. Even without the insignia on his collar, it would have been very obvious from his bearing and the way he carried himself that this was a person of rank and authority. He held a padd in his hand, and crossing the room, he dropped it on the table before turning back to face her. He studied her silently for a moment before asking in passable but heavily accented Federation Standard, "You are Jen Maren?"
"I am," she confirmed, speaking in the same language. "And you, I assume, are Security Captain Moragh sutai Khamran."
He inclined his head. "I did not intend to leave you waiting here so long," he told her. It was not quite an apology, but it was the nearest she was going to get from a Klingon. "I was on the thirtieth floor when you arrived. I think the g'dayt turbolift must have stopped at every single floor on the way down."
He gestured towards the damp towel. "I see you have at least taken the opportunity to dry off a little."
"Yes, your receptionist was good enough to supply me with a towel." Changing to tlhIngan Hol, a language she spoke as well as any outsider could, she added, "I am not quite so wet and soggy now."
He grinned. "You speak my language well. Can I get you another raktajino?"
His teasing attitude and the offer of a drink put the Bajoran woman a little more at ease and she was quick to accept. The coffee had been surprisingly good; maybe a little stronger than she was used to but sweet and more importantly, hot. A refill would be much appreciated.
Opening the door again, he snapped an order to one of the guards in the corridor. The bekk hurried off and came back a few moments later with two large mugs of fresh raktajino. Moragh took them from him and dismissing him with a nod, he handed one to Maren and took the other for himself.
Settling himself in one of the chairs and taking a mouthful of the steaming, hot beverage, he waved towards the other one, wordlessly inviting her to sit down.
"So what is it you want, Jen Maren?" Moragh asked her, finally getting down to business. "You are not one of my agents. Why have you come here?"
"No," she acknowledged, "I am not one of your agents. Tell me Security Captain, am I a prisoner here?"
"What? No! Of course not!" The question took him completely by surprise. "You came here of your own free will, and you are free to leave at any time."
"You say that, but I am in an interrogation room," she said coolly. "And there are guards at the door."
"Ah! Yes… I…" Quite honestly, in his haste to take refuge from the storm, he had not stopped to think about how this would look from her point of view. "I would have much preferred to meet you in my office," he said, deciding that she deserved an explanation. "This room may not be as comfortable, but right now, it's about the only place in the building that I can hear myself think!"
Maren allowed herself to relax a little. She had taken a huge risk in coming here to speak to him and she would not have done so had there been any other solution. The Klingons were allies at this point in time but after the breaking of the Khitomer Accords earlier in the war, it was an alliance that was shaky at best and Klingon Imperial Intelligence had a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness. This one, however, seemed honourable, and his shock at her question was obviously genuine.
"I have urgent information," she told him. "I am placing my trust in you to act in the best interests of the Federation/Klingon alliance."
He considered that. "If your information is so urgent, why do you not take it to Starfleet?"
She shook her head. "I cannot be sure that the attack on the freighter was aimed at me, but it is a very real possibility. By now it will be known that I am on Qo'noS. Someone was willing to sacrifice a ship full of refugees to stop me and the Terran embassy is the obvious place for me to go. I have to pass on this information before they catch up with me."
"I will aid you as best I can," Moragh promised her. "You have my word of honour on that. Providing, of course, that your information is not detrimental to the security of the Klingon Empire."
The Bajoran hesitated. She had no choice but to trust him, she reminded herself; it was too late to back out now. Taking a deep breath, she placed a microchip on the desk in front of him. "The information this contains is vital to the war effort. It is yours now. Do what you think best with it."
Reaching over the desk, Moragh picked up the microchip, inserting it into the data port in the side of his padd. Carefully, he read the information it contained before looking up with a frown. "Ketracel White? You are sure of this?"
She nodded. "Yes, I am sure."
Moragh was silent for a moment as he considered what he had read. She had not exaggerated the importance of the information. The substance was an addictive narcotic required by the Jem'Hadar who could not function without the enzyme it contained. If the data was accurate, this was one of the biggest production facilities in the alpha quadrant. If the allied fleets could destroy it, it would be a major victory. If they failed, however... Moragh thought of the sheer quantity of Ketracel White being produced and the number of enemy soldiers it could sustain… no, failure was not an option.
He thought back to his conversation with Krang. The other agent had been correct in his suspicions; someone at Starbase 62 was working for the enemy. "You have done well. Can you identify the traitor?"
Maren bit her lip. "Yes and no."
The security captain raised a bushy eyebrow at the cryptic answer. "That is not helpful."
"I have evidence that two junior transport technicians on the gamma shift are involved," she clarified. "But they are just grunts. They do as they are told and have no role in the planning. Identifying the person in charge is more problematic. While I do have strong suspicions, my cover was blown before I had a chance to gain incontrovertible proof." She hesitated before continuing, "The only evidence I have is circumstantial, but I believe the traitor to be the security chief. They are short staffed over there; he's pulling double duty as transport manager and…"
"And that," Moragh said in grim realisation, "puts him in the perfect position to coordinate the movement of the Ketracel White."
Maren nodded. "Exactly."
The Klingon was silent for several long moments as he considered what to do for the best. "You must trust me to deal with this," he said eventually. "In the meantime, I will make arrangements to ensure your safety."
Relief showed in the Bajoran woman's eyes. "Thank you."
Rising to his feet, the security captain activated his communicator. "Colonel Traig, report immediately to interview room two."
"On my way, sir."
It was never a good idea to keep a security captain waiting and the younger officer was quick to arrive. Moragh rose to his feet as the door swung open and his subordinate entered the room.
"Traig, this is Jen Maren. She has provided us with some very important information and is to be treated as an honoured guest of Imperial Intelligence. You will have her taken to a safe house and see to her protection. You will need to arrange a new identity for her and safe transport to Earth."
He glanced at the Bajoran woman. "Will that be satisfactory?"
She nodded, stunned by the level of support he was offering her. "Thank you."
"Good." He turned his attention back to his aide. "Deal with it."
"Understood, sir." Traig said, "It will be done according to your orders." He offered his senior the Klingon salute and moved back to the door. "Ma'am, if you would come with me."
The Bajoran followed him, and the door shut behind them, leaving Moragh alone in the interrogation room with a lot to think about.