Op File Sanction Read online

  ***

  In the dark, Lerma’s teeth glowed as Warlock’s ultraviolet beam passed over them. Once sure the UV from the bionic eye functioned, the retired Marine scanned the offices. Smudges from where fingers transferred DNA and other bodily fluids appeared on desks and crusty stains from saliva edged coffee cups and drinking glasses.

  ‘Don’t they ever wash their cups?’ Warlock thought in disgust. ‘Or wash their hands?’

  She turned to the space around the printing press. Far fewer areas fluoresced, and she moved the beam slowly searching along the floor on the way to scanning the walls. Something glowed on the tiles as she scanned by. It took an adjustment to relocate the stain. Once caught in the beam she searched around it. Another smudge, two meters from the stain glowed in the UV beam.

  “Lights,” she ordered without moving her head.

  When the lights snapped on, the marks vanished. In three steps, she stood between the UV marks. Peering at the floor, she noted small cutouts. The notches were only slightly wider than the grout line.

  “Does anyone see anything with a pointed, curved end?” she asked.

  “On the wall of the office are a pair of antique longshoremen hooks,” a Marine replied.

  “Bring them over here,” instructed Diosa.

  The hooks fit in the notches and when two Marines pulled, a large section of the floor rose slowly. Hydraulic shocks explained the ability to lift the trapdoor made from the thick flooring. Once raised, the overhead lights revealed the top of a ramp. Warlock tapped a switch on the underside of the door and lights came on illuminating the ramp and a room under the floor. Warlock marched down to find a pallet of paper on a handcart and two plates on a shelf.

  “The investigators will dust for fingerprints,” she warned as three Marines followed her down. “Use rags to lift the plates and where you touch the cart. Take everything to the office.”

  ***

  Lerma Charito had lost her grin. At her feet were the engraved plates and beside her the stack of counterfeit pesetas. Warlock ignored her as she typed on her PID.

  ‘Poet. Five minutes. Alert the Marines.’

  ‘It’s about time. The Lieutenant said there are police air units circling, ground units across the landing port, and boats near the docks.’

  ‘Any Galactic Council government units?’

  ‘One. It’s circling outside the police air cover.’

  ‘Five minutes. See if you can contact the government shuttle and tell them the first warehouse has the printing press and the plates.’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  “Lerma. You are going to jail for a long, long time,” Warlock informed the woman. “However, personally, I have another issue that for me tops putting you away until you are old and wrinkled.”

  “You want to know about the man,” offered Lerma. “If I give you his name, will you let me go?”

  “If you give me his name, I can promise you, my associate and I will walk out of here and leave you,” Warlock assured her. “But you had better be straight with me.”

  Lerma searched Diosa’s face for a sign that she could trust the Treasury Agent.

  “Javier Rodolfo. He is the head of UGT’s navigation and communications research division,” Lerma informed Warlock. “Now untie me.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal,” Warlock said as she walked away. Then, the former Striker turned to face the woman. “By the way. Treasury Agents don’t investigate counterfeiting. The Secret Service does. A couple of their agents will be along shortly. Marines, we are out of here.”

  Chapter 8 – Talon One

  Warlock and Poet strolled by the first large building. Stars still shone in the sky and the floodlights at the spaceport cast circles of light stretching down the rows of spacecraft and aircraft hangers.

  “I don’t think the Marine aviator was pleased with being diverted,” Walden offered.

  “He couldn’t very well argue with an Inspector General’s team,” Diosa replied. “I have to admit to liking the occupations we can select on the agency PIDs.”

  “Lieutenant Daichi seemed to enjoy that. It was the first time I saw him smile. And you were right. The Marines will be back at their post for breakfast before dawn. Which is where we should be heading and not to the shuttle,” complained Walden. “There’s a nice twenty-four-hour restaurant at the terminal. Which is in the other direction, I might add.”

  “No time Poet. We can feast on rations,” advised Diosa. “You have research to do.”

  “I thought we were flying up to The Talon. The sanctioned mission, Special Agent Eiko, you know, our job,” pleaded Poet. “Wait? What research?”

  “A man name Javier Rodolfo and a company call Uno Global Transporters,” explained Warlock. “He is supposed to be the head of UGT’s navigation and communications research division. I don’t know about the title but he is a Constabulary officer. I want to question him and turn him over to the authorities.”

  “You mean arrest and then interrogate him,” Poet suggested.

  “No Poet. Javier is a spy for the Empress and I want details on his network,” Warlock said. “Eiko gave me forty-eight hours to find you. I’ve only burned eighteen. The way I figure it, you have a few hours to locate Mister Rodolfo leaving me several more to reach him and extract the information.”

  “Eiko is not going to like it,” offered Poet.

  “Then let him get another Unrestricted Agent for his mission,” Warlock stated. “I’m sure the Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency has other agents who are capable.”

  ***

  “What do you mean you haven’t launched yet,” Special Agent Eiko yelled over the secure voice connection. “Where is Warlock?”

  “She’s in the back of the shuttle sharpening her sword,” Poet replied.

  “Get her on the line, Walden,” ordered Eiko.

  “She can hear you. And her response is an ugly hand gesture, sir,” Walden informed their handler. “Also, she said sixteen hours.”

  “What does that mean?” Eiko questioned.

  “I would assume that’s when we’ll start the mission,” Walden offered.

  “Fine. Contact me when you’re heading for The Talon,” the Special Agent growled. “Eiko out.”

  “He is not happy,” Poet remarked as he clipped the mic into its holder.

  In the back, Warlock stood on the floor of the hanger leaning into the four-man shuttle. While listening, she drew the blade of a katana across a honing stone. As a former team leader for an elite Striker Kill Team, she’d carried a sword. The unit specialized in assaulting heavily defended ship’s passageways. In tight quarter’s combat, you couldn’t get much tighter than a corridor, a blade worked better than a rifle. Accidently shooting one of your team members with a blade rarely happened, the Striker instructors explained. Although no longer a Striker, Warlock kept a sword in her arsenal.

  “He didn’t replace us with another team,” Diosa commented as she stepped up and into the cabin.

  “Because no other agent has a bionic eye and a 60-centimeter razor blade,” Poet responded while looking at the katana. “I have information on Uno Global Transporters, if you are finished cleaning your equipment.”

  Warlock used a soft cloth to wipe down the blade before placing the katana in a wooden box. The box, a freshly cleaned rifle, and a pistol went into a cabinet. After latching the door, she sat on the deck, and focused on her pilot/researcher.

  “UGT until four years ago was a small player in transoceanic shipping. Then a sudden infusion of cash and letters of credit allowed it to buy up some competitors. After tripling their fleet of cargo and tanker ships, they bought trucking firms, and airplanes,” Walden reported. “And here’s the part that you’ll find interesting. Uno Global Transporters claims it’s their unique navigation and communication systems that gives it an edge over other freight haulers.”

  “What about Javier Rodolfo?” questioned Warlock.

  “He is the reported head of res
earch for UGT,” Poet said while flashing a stupid, toothy grin.

  Warlock waited but Poet just sat there with the odd look on his face. Finally, Diosa inquired, “Is there more about Mr. Rodolfo that you’d like to share?”

  “Javier Rodolfo. A P.H.D. in ion particle transfer, a widower with no children was lured out of retirement shortly after UGT’s acquisitions began,” Walden reported. “He hasn’t attended any award functions or done any guest lecturing in recent years.”

  “He’s probably busy with the business,” suggested Diosa.

  “Well according to the records, it’s understandable why Doctor Rodolfo has been absent from academia and doesn’t reply to emails,” Walden said drawing out the sentence. “He retired for health reasons and at eighty-nine, no one expects him to attend social events.”

  “He is an octogenarian in bad health?” Warlock questioned.

  “Let me save you some brain twisting,” offered Poet. “Javier Rodolfo’s identity has been assumed by a Constabulary officer. Now for the bad news. He has a Navy, an air force, and mobile land resources under his command. Plus, the means to hide people, weapons, and shuffle pesetas around the planet. Now for the really bad part. UGT has a proprietary communications system. Until now, the agency hasn’t paid attention to them. I send a notice to our analysts, they are taking a hard look at UGT.”

  “In all that research, did you get an address for Javier?” inquired Diosa.

  “The head of research for UGT divides his time between a yacht and their lab,” Poet answered.

  “We are a little pressed for time,” Warlock reminded him. “Can you narrow it down for me?”

  “I’ve already filed a flight plan to Falcate Harbor,” Poet responded as he flipped on the engine. “It’s a lovely coastal town. A little off the beaten path and not your normal tourist town with bed and breakfast inns. Seems, a conservation organization bought up most of the land and is holding it as a wildlife preserve.”

  “Let me guess. Javier Rodolfo is on the board of directors for the organization?” ventured Diosa as the hanger doors rolled back.

  “Yes, as well as being president of the town council,” Walden added. Then he switched on his radio. “Flight control, this is Talon One requesting departure clearance.”

  While Walden maneuvered the shuttle to a departure launch point, Warlock picked up the ship-to-ground phone.

  ***

  “Diosa. This is a pleasant surprise,” Frederick exclaimed when his secretary put the call through. “Does this mean we’re having dinner on Friday? I know a little Italian joint that serves a mean spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Warlock laughed as she replied, “I’ve never heard of a mean plate of spaghetti. And it sounds good but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on the little joint.”

  “How about Saturday?” he inquired.

  “No. It’s not the day or the idea of dinner with you,” Diosa explained. “I’m out of town on business. I hope you don’t mind if I pick your brain. I ran across the name of a research company and wondered if you knew it.”

  “Just a second,” he said. There was a long pause.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no, I was just taking off my ‘wow she called me hat’ and putting on my ‘project manager beanie’,” Frederick teased. “What’s the company?”

  “UGT navigation and communications research.”

  “Ah, the holy grail,” he gushed.

  “The what?”

  “Every young scientist and engineer wanted the chance to work with Javier Rodolfo,” Frederick described. “When he came out of retirement, they all sent résumés and letters of reference. But they got nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. No call backs, no interviews, and as far as anyone knows, no one from Uno was hired,” he stated. “Everyone agrees, UGT must have imported their scientists and engineers from off planet.”

  “Frederick. I owe you big time for the information. Thank you.”

  “Owe me? Big time? All right, then,” he announced. “I’ll just pencil in a floating date for dinner on my almanac.”

  “Most people use calendars,” Diosa suggested.

  “Most people know when they have a dinner date,” he said. “I’m hedging my bet by circling seasons of the year.”

  “Goodbye Frederick and thank you again,” Diosa said ending the call.

  “What did the nerd herder have to say?” asked Poet.

  “I knew as soon as I told you that, it was a mistake,” Warlock complained. Then she got serious. “Every employee at UGT research is an off-worlder. I’ll need a little buffer between the facility and where you land.”

  “Let me scan the maps and see if there is a worthy landing area,” Poet replied. “One secluded but not too far from UGT. And out of radar range.”

  “What makes you think they’re using an early detection system?”

  “If I was head of security at a Constabulary base on a Galactic Council Realm world,” explained Walden. “I’d want to keep an eye on who was dropping into my neighborhood.”

  ***

  They followed the coast until Poet angled inland. A short time later, the little shuttle zipped along at treetop level as he navigated a banking left turn. When they reached a river, he dropped Talon One down to just above the surface and reduced power. Even at the lower speed, the shoreline zipped by. A shuttle had little to no lift and glided as well as a jewelry box.

  “What are you looking for?” Warlock shouted above the rattling of the stressed engine.

  Poet craned his neck peering off to the left then ahead before looking to the side again.

  “A boat ramp,” he replied.

  “Are we going fishing?” Warlock inquired. “Because I tried fishing and found it boring.”

  “Not a launching point for a bass boat. I’m looking for something more substantial,” he said casually.

  Suddenly, the shuttle rolled to the side, flew from the river, and followed a rutted dirt road into the forest.

  Tree limbs slapped the front and scratched the sides, and despite Diosa’s confidence in her pilot, she gripped the seat handles until her knuckles were white. Winding through the trees, her main fear, besides doing a nose dive and dying in the wreckage, was meeting an oncoming vehicle. Tree branches overhead prevented elevation and the shuttle took up the entire width of the track.

  In a hot corridor with defenders behind barricades, Warlock would be professional and proficient while attacking directly into the enemy’s fire. Here, racing through the deep woods, she felt helpless. Just before sweat beads broke out on her forehead, the shuttle made a sharp right into an open area.

  At one time there had been a house in the clearing. The shuttle zoomed around old floorboards with weeds growing through the rotted wood and the stones of a dilapidated chimney. Three times they circled the ruins, draining off speed until Poet finally allowed the shuttle to settle into the wild grass.

  He shifted to face her and commented, “We’re five kilometers from the UGT research compound. I don’t believe we ever showed up on their radar.”

  Diosa raised an arm and tapped her pilot on the shoulder.

  “Nice flying, Poet,” she said before getting up and making her way to the weapons cabinet. “Although, I don’t look forward to the return trip.”

  “Not to worry, we won’t be going back that way,” he said lightening her pessimism about their exit route. Then Poet added. “The clearing should be wide enough for us to launch from here. We just have to clear that big oak tree at the end of our run-up.”

  Warlock shook her head as she opened the cabinet and pulled out the light body armor, night vision goggles, and her weapons. Walden flew. She got up close and personal while investigating. He did his part, now it was up to her to make the daring insertion worth the risk. She’d worry about the take-off issue later.

  ***

  “Stand by for data,” Poet advised. Bent forward and reading from a
screen, his fingers danced over the keyboard. A few seconds later, he typed on his pad. “I’ve just sent you pictures of the compound.”

  “Why didn’t I have these before?” Diosa inquired. Her breathing revealed the physical stress of jogging over uneven ground.

  The low sun created shadows in the forest and Warlock took advantage of them by weaving between the dark patches. Anyone watching might mistake the flicker as a wild animal moving swiftly through the trees. Based on her rate of travel, she would reach the UGT facility before dark, if she maintained the pace. But now, she needed to stop and review the information.

  “The agency sent a drone over at altitude,” her pilot/researcher replied. “It took time to get over the target and for me to clean up the imagery.”

  A granite mound poking out of the tree leaves drew Warlock’s attention and she angled for it. As she squatted behind the rock barrier, she scrolled through the pictures on her PID.

  “I have no scale for assessing size,” she complained. Graphics on the small PID screen always created issues for operators. They were fine for references, after first reviewing them on a large monitor. “Start with west end.”

  “An access road from the town passes through a fence and ends at a parking lot with a large storage building. Continuing on the north side and facing the cliff is a two-story lodge. I believe its quarters for the staff. Behind and running perpendicular are two one-hundred-eighty-meter-long buildings. Separating them is a field of satellite dishes and microwave towers. I’ve seen fewer dishes at a ground-based Navy communications facility.”

  “Save the commentary and stick with the details,” urged Warlock.

  “Yes, of course. Fencing wraps the compound from the access road and along the east and west edges encompassing all of the buildings. Separate from the lodge and close to the eastern boundary of the fence is a two-story cottage. Outside the fencing is a hard surface running north and south.”

  “I see it. What am I looking at?” inquired Warlock.

  “The surface was mostly out of the drone’s focus,” Poet explained. “But I managed to expand and fill in the fuzzy gaps. I believe we’re looking at a runway. I didn’t have to estimate much to reach nine hundred meters. Long enough for a transport aircraft, or a handful of combat shuttles, or a squadron of helicopters.”