Against All Enemies (22 page)

David's expression changed. "You do know something about this game. Yes. I'll want to do that. Who do I talk to about setting it up?"

"Me." Paul grinned. "I'll also take you down to meet Lieutenant Owings. He's been appointed to defend Pullman."

"Where's Pullman? I understand he's in pre-trial confinement?"

"Yeah. In the brig. That's a military jail."

"Does Owings have any idea how well or badly Pullman's being treated in that jail?" David asked sharply, as if he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Paul stated. "So do I. I've visited him frequently to check on conditions."

David nodded, letting approval show. "Good one, bro. Consider me appropriately chastised for assuming you wouldn't have any kind of handle on this. How soon can we get going?"

Paul checked the time and shook his head. "I'm real limited on time right now, but I can take you down to see Lieutenant Owings. I'm sure he'll take you to see Pullman."

"Good. Pullman's old man wanted me to send him an update on how his kid's doing."

Paul hesitated, then asked a question that had been bothering him. "Pullman's father is the one who hired you, right? I know you're not cheap, and I know it costs a fair amount for you to come up here. Pullman's father is a retired warrant officer. I wonder where he got the money to afford you?"

David shrugged. "He didn't have to tell me that, but he volunteered that he'd had some investments pay off real well. You're not begrudging him spending the money on defending his son, are you?"

"No. Not at all."

Lieutenant Owings greeted David Sinclair politely when Paul brought his brother down to the JAG offices. Then both lawyers looked at Paul in a way which clearly conveyed that they wanted to be alone, no doubt to discuss how they'd defend Pullman. On his way out, Paul wondered whether he should drop in on Commander Carr, then decided after another look at the time that he needed to get back to the ship as soon as possible.

"Hey, Paul!" Randy Diego had the quarterdeck watch. "Guess what?"

"Am I guessing something good or something bad?" Paul asked, though from Randy's expression he knew it had to be good.

"Depends on whether or not you consider your relief coming aboard is good or not."

"My relief's aboard?" Paul didn't know how, even in the midst of everything else, he could've forgotten his relief would be showing up anytime now. "Where is she?"

"I think she's in Combat. Senior Chief Imari came down to pick her up."

"Thanks, Randy." Paul hastened up to Combat, where he found Lieutenant Junior Grade Jane Shwartz chatting with Imari. "Good to see you. Paul."

"Jane." She shook his hand. "This looks like the same set-up as on the
Rickover
."

"Pretty close," Paul confirmed. "There's a few minor differences. Did you work in Combat on the
Rickover
?"

"No. Engineering." They talked a while longer. Paul walked Shwartz around the ship, introducing her to other officers and senior enlisted. Shwartz seemed friendly and intelligent, which made Paul feel better about his impending hand-over to her of the sailors and equipment for which he'd spent the last three years being responsible.

Paul apologized for the amount of time he'd be off the ship for the next couple of weeks. "It's the legal officer job."

Shwartz nodded. "That legal stuff is so weird."

"You know something about it?"

"I just went through the three-week ship's legal officer course."

"Uh-oh."

She looked puzzled, then clenched her eyes shut. "I'm going to get stuck with ship's legal officer collateral duty when you leave, aren't I?"

"I'd put money on it."

Half an hour later, after Shwartz had met Commander Kwan, Paul could've collected on his bet if they'd actually made one. He took his relief to meet Petty Officer Qui. Paul hoped that after she took over the job Shwartz would have a less interesting time as legal officer than Paul had had.

He finally left the ship late that evening, having partially caught up on some of his tasks and having spent time jawboning with Shwartz about the wardroom of the
Michaelson
. Paul emphasized telling her which officers were the best in his opinion and could be trusted, while dropping a few hopefully discreet warnings about those who were less capable or should be watched. The
Michaelson
no longer had onboard any blatant back-stabbers like Smilin' Sam Yarrow had been, but he wanted to be sure Shwartz at least knew about Isakov. It turned out she did already. "A lot of people know about her. But thanks for the heads-up."

Paul paused outside the door to Jen's quarters for a moment, reveling in the feeling that the place was a home of sorts. Jen had keyed him into the entry system, but he still pushed the buzzer out of a desire to avoid seeming to take her or the quarters for granted.

"You're late. Rough day?" Jen asked.

"Busy day. My relief showed up."

"Good day, then." Jen held up her data pad. "Speaking of good days and not-so-good days, guess what? Your movement order came in."

Paul just nodded, not really wanting to look ahead that far.

"Aren't you curious as to when your ship leaves for Mars?" Jen prodded.

"Why?" Something about the question sparked concern in Paul. "When's it leave? About a month after I detach from the
Michaelson
, right?"

"Try three days."

"
Three days
?"

"The morning of the third day, to be exact. You will have two days between the time you detach from your ship and the time you leave Franklin for Mars."

"I don't believe this." A realization finally hit Paul. "The wedding. That's supposed to be a week after I leave the
Michaelson
."

Jen smiled mockingly. "Yeah. Sweet, isn't it?"

"What are we going to do?"

"I've done it." Jen sat forward, her face serious in that way Paul had seen it get when there was a job to be done quickly and right. "Miraculously, the chapel is available the day before you detach from the
Michaelson
. Only for a one hour window, but it's open. We'll have to do the wedding then, quick and dirty, after which you'll have to go back to the ship the next day, go through your check-out, and detach. That will leave us a glorious two days for a honeymoon before you sail off to Mars for at least two years."

Paul sat there, slowly absorbing the information. "I don't believe it."

"Think of all the days of leave we're going to save."

"Oh, yeah," Paul agreed. Jen seemed about to laugh. That puzzled Paul for a moment, then he got it. What else was there to do? They could get enraged, they could scream bloody murder, and it wouldn't make any difference. They might as well start enjoying the ride because it wasn't going to get any better. "Somebody up there must hate me."

"No, somebody down here hates you, but somebody up there loves you. That chapel is never available on this short of a notice. Talk about a miracle."

"Like my meeting you?"

"Oh, please . . ."

"Forty-eight hours." Paul thought about it. "That's going to be one short honeymoon."

"Short and intense, sailor," Jen advised with another smile. "Make sure you've been taking your vitamins. You'll need your strength."

This time he laughed, too.

* * *

To Paul's surprise, NCIS came aboard again just a few days before the court-martial was to begin. To his even greater surprise, Special Agent Connally was with them. "Hi, Paul." She seemed unaware of the others watching them, some of them no doubt recognizing Paul's guest from the days before Pullman was arrested, but her next words belied that. "I didn't tell you that time I visited the ship, but I'm working for NCIS now. I thought I'd surprise you today."

The first part was, literally, true. She hadn't told him then. She'd told him before that. But those listening would draw another interpretation from the statement, that Paul hadn't knowingly squired an NCIS agent around officers' country. Another lie by omission, in the service of truth. It still didn't feel right to Paul, even though he couldn't think of any other way it could've been handled. There wasn't any doubt he'd been surprised by Connally's coming to the ship, though. "Really?" he managed to reply. "What brings you here now?"

"We're doing another sweep of the ship for bugs and taps." She grinned at the look on Paul's face. "No, we don't think we missed any. We don't expect to find any at all."

"Then why are you doing another sweep?"

"It's a request from the trial counsel. She didn't explain why, but we know the reason."

Paul made a questioning gesture. "What is it?"

"One of the things Pullman's lawyer is certain to try to claim is that Pullman isn't the one who planted the taps and bugs we found last time, that it was someone else who wasn't arrested. But if our sweep shows that no new bugs or taps have been planted since Pullman was arrested, it sort of sandbags that claim."

Paul nodded as comprehension finally hit. "If Pullman didn't do it and someone else who's still free did, then why haven't more been planted?"

"Right. It's not proof that Pullman did the original plants, but it undercuts any claim that the real bad guy is still running loose." She looked around. "Can you take me to your commanding officer?"

"Sure." Paul led the way.

Captain Hayes greeted Connally in way that clearly revealed that they'd met before. They spoke for a few minutes as Connally described the sweep her team had come to perform and formally requested Hayes' permission. Captain Hayes, of course, granted it, then went on the general announcing system to order the crew to cooperate with the NCIS team to the best of their ability.

The NCIS agents and the technicians they brought with them went over the
Michaelson
carefully, searching painstakingly for any taps or bugs that might have been installed since the last sweep of the ship.

They didn't find any.

Special Agent Connally bade Paul farewell before she left the ship. "I'm one of the witnesses for the trial counsel, so I'll see you in court."

Paul pretended to flinch. "Women keep saying that to me lately."

"It must be the company you're keeping." She left, walking away with the rest of the NCIS agents.

Paul watched them go, thinking about the times he'd spent with Special Agent Connally and wondering if they would've really been old friends had they somehow met years ago. He thought so, that Pam Connally would've been a good friend to have, then and now. He couldn't help also wondering if she had felt the same, whether her friendliness was purely a public act or if she enjoyed being around him.
I'm not playing with fire here, am I?
he wondered.
No. I'm not getting any spark around Connally, like we'd get emotionally involved. She just feels sort of like Kris Denaldo. Somebody who'd be a friend
.

But then, given the odds he wouldn't be seeing Connally outside the courtroom again, the whole issue didn't matter. Perhaps that was just as well, given that Jen might have already heard about the fact that Paul had been seen with Connally after working hours on the ship. He knew it had been part of the investigation, and Jen would give him the benefit of the doubt (he hoped), but why risk anything else?

It wasn't like he didn't have enough other things to worry about. Not with Pullman's court-martial starting the day after tomorrow.

Paul walked slowly into the courtroom, taking his time since he'd arrived early and he knew Commander Carr had reserved a seat for him near the trial counsel's table in any case. The courtroom was one of three on Franklin, a multipurpose room able to fulfill other functions if necessary but currently dedicated to administering the ultimate form of military justice. Rectangular in shape, it was dominated by the slightly elevated judge's bench centered in the back, with the witness stand beside it. Slightly in front of and to either side of the judge's bench sat two tables. The defendant and his lawyer would sit at one table, the trial counsel at the other, all facing the judge. Off to one side sat a longer table, facing the judge's bench as well as the tables for the prosecution and the defense. This table, with five chairs behind it and a navy blue cloth draped over the top to add some dignity to the furnishing, would be where the members of the court would sit.

Two blocks of chairs filled the rest of the room, facing the bench and divided by a path leading up the middle from the main entry door. There were two other doors visible, one behind the judge's bench that led to the judge's chambers, and from which the judge would enter and leave courtroom, and one behind the member's table, which would be used by those officers to arrive and depart.

In the apparently bare walls, unseen cameras and microphones were emplaced to allow a complete and total record of any legal proceeding to be automatically recorded.

All in all, despite the color lent by the flags of the United States and the United States Navy posted behind the judge's bench, the room felt bare and utilitarian. It served the function of cradling the administration of military justice, and that was all that was demanded of it.

Paul reached the row behind the trial counsel's desk and sat down, though not without a glance to the other side of the room. He still felt oddly uncomfortable to be aligning himself with the prosecution against an officer who'd shared his stateroom, who'd stood watches on his ship, who'd been a trusted comrade right up until the moment of his arrest.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Sinclair." Commander Carr strode in with wide, quick steps, dropping her data pad onto the table but remaining standing, scanning the room. "Ready?"

"I guess so, ma'am."

Paul didn't turn around, but he could hear people entering and going to their seats. The court-martial was open to the public, and a fairly big crowd was expected due to the nature of the charges against Pullman and the fact that he was an officer charged with espionage.

Lieutenant Owings went past, walking to the defense counsel table, followed closely by David Sinclair. They stood talking to each other in low voices, then looked up as a sudden surge in conversation erupted in the courtroom. Paul finally looked back as well, seeing Brad Pullman entering in the custody of two masters-at-arms. The masters-at-arms walked Pullman to the defense table, then walked back to the main entry and took up sentry positions on either side of the door, their eyes constantly on Pullman.