Michelle in Yonkers wrote:He's had enough time to note that the humans believe that this shared risk makes a kind of bond -- friendship, loyalty, trust, gratitude, a sense of obligation towards one's rescuers -- none of which does Brivari feel.
Yay! More discussion.
I'm curious as to why you think Brivari agreed to heal Dee three years ago, even though Jaddo was making strong arguments against it. Healing Yvonne was different; one could write that off as a means by which not to lose Spade. But the Warders had no ties to the Proctors at the time of Dee's injury other than Dee pointing out grocery stores, nor did they have reason to believe they'd need the years of assistance which followed. None of them had died, they hadn't been found yet, things had not gone to hell in a hand basket, so it would seem that the best course of action would have been to let the bully's blow do her in and take out the bully with the big mouth at the same time. Was it Urza's insistence? Valeris' argument that they usually offer their protection to those who risk their lives in the king's service? A desire to tick off Jaddo? A moment of weakness? How did everyone else see that?
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX
June 9, 1950, 1530 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
" 'Cut the lines'?" echoed Corporal LaBella blankly. "Do you think this is deliberate, Captain?"
"I think it's highly coincidental that mere minutes after Cavitt issues his threat, all of our communication with the outside world is cut off," Spade answered.
"Steady, gentlemen," Ramey said calmly as LaBella's eyes widened. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Phone systems have glitches, and I would hardly refer to this as cutting off 'all communication'. Corporal, send someone over to the base and see what's going on. Maybe the phones are out there too."
"Yes, sir," LaBella answered, noticeably relieved.
"Sir, please don't take this lightly," Spade urged in a low voice as LaBella scurried away. "You were certain these men would kill you two years ago, so they're perfectly capable of cutting phone lines."
"Captain, I appreciate your concern, but don't you think you're going a bit overboard?" Ramey countered. "Sheridan Cavitt threatens everyone; that's how he communicates. Overreacting to everything he says merely gives him more power than he deserves."
"Don't you think I know that, sir?" Spade demanded. "I'd written off his entire speech as nothing more than the caterwauling of an ambitious man who'd been thwarted when I saw Major Lewis and one of the generals in Cavitt's car; then another car drove by with a Brigadier General, and I knew something was up. And that was before I learned there were even more generals at the base."
"That's it?" Ramey said. "You see a few generals, and now you're issuing more ammunition?"
"Sir, you didn't hear Cavitt," Spade persisted, mentally noting that what had really tipped him off was a warning from an alien, something he couldn't exactly disclose to Ramey. "If you'd heard him, heard what he said—"
"I don't need to hear him," Ramey interrupted sharply. "I've heard quite enough from him over the past three years, thank you very much. I'm accustomed to paranoia, Captain, but you're in danger of topping the Colonel, and you've only been on the job a few hours. Get a grip on yourself."
"Sir?"
It was Corporal LaBella, looking worried once more. "Uh.....I tried to get to the main base, but there's a group of mostly generals at the entrance demanding to see the general. They can't get in because of Captain Spade's orders, and they won't let me out. What should I do?"
"Thank you, Corporal," Ramey said calmly. "Tell them I'll be out in a minute. Captain, I know what you're going to say," he continued, "but I still think it's much too early to panic. It's perfectly understandable that the coalition would be up in arms because the ship has suddenly been closed off to us. They haven't heard the details, and naturally they fear the worst. I'll talk to them, calm everyone down, and then we can get back to the job of finding that key."
"Let me send extra guards with you," Spade urged.
"What for?" Ramey asked. "There are guards at the door."
"If they're planning what I think they're planning, that may not be enough," Spade argued. "It's just a precaution, sir."
"A precaution that sends entirely the wrong message," Ramey said impatiently. "How do you think it's going to look if I trot out there with my own personal army in tow?"
"Then take me," Spade insisted, ignoring Ramey's growing irritation. "I'm your head of security, so no one should object to my being there."
Ramey sighed heavily, looking distinctly unhappy at being reminded that Spade was now head of security. "Very well then, Captain. If it will make you feel better, you may join me, but only if you hold your tongue. And when we get back, you and I really must have a chat about the domino effect of overreaction. Your men will take their cues from you, so it's of the utmost importance that you not go off the deep end over every little thing. Clear?"
"Clear, sir," Spade said tonelessly as he followed Ramey down the hallway, not caring about the reprimand just as long as he was allowed to accompany him. The guards held the various sets of doors open for them as they passed, and the final set at the very end of the long entranceway revealed a knot of seven men just outside, led by a steely-eyed man who wore three gold stars. Cavitt and Lewis were toward the back of the group, both wearing satisfied expressions.
"George," Ramey said, nodding to the lead Lieutenant General, General McMullen. "Stan," he added to General West, standing off to one side and looking disturbed. "This is a pleasant surprise. I've been trying to get you boys down here for ages."
"I'm afraid we're not here to pay a social call, Roger," General McMullen said. "We heard about what happened with the ship, and we all feel it's time to bring this charade to an end."
"What exactly did you hear?" Ramey asked.
"That the prisoner has finished repairs and cut off our access to the ship," McMullen announced, "an act of aggression which cannot be tolerated."
"Then you heard wrong," Ramey said, "no big surprise as I haven't had a chance to give a report on the subject. My Sergeant Keyser has made it extremely clear that it was he who mucked around with the ship's power distribution and accidentally locked us out. We're working on the problem, and we should have access again soon."
"I'm afraid we don't share your confidence in the situation," McMullen answered. "We feel this project should be terminated immediately."
Which means that John will be terminated immediately, Spade translated silently, biting his tongue as Ramey's eyebrows rose. "I disagree," Ramey said calmly. "We've had many setbacks in the reconstruction of the ship; this is just one more."
"I predicted you would feel that way," McMullen answered with deep satisfaction, as though he'd just been vindicated in some way. "Therefore I am giving you a direct order to turn the prisoner and this facility over to me immediately."
Spade felt the tension levels rise as the guards beside him stiffened and the group clustered around McMullen held their breath, waiting for an answer. Ramey, by contrast, merely chuckled. "We established a long time ago that the usual chain of command won't work in this situation, George. By keeping the existence of this operation from the President, we're all operating outside legal orders. You have no more business giving me orders than I would have giving any of you orders. Of course, I'm not stupid enough to try."
Silence. McMullen glared at Ramey as the group behind him exchanged glances, wondering what their leader would do next. "It appears we badly need to talk," Ramey continued when McMullen didn't respond. "Why don't you all come in, and we can discuss what's happened and how to fix it. We're nearly there, gentlemen. The ship is essentially as repaired as it's going to be. Let's keep our eyes on the prize and not get distracted by petty politics."
"Quite so," came a smooth voice from the back row as Major Lewis stepped forward. "With all due respect, sir," he said to McMullen, "I'm afraid we're allowing this....incident....to distract us from the real goal. Given the size of our group, however, I would suggest the base as a more appropriate meeting place."
"If you'd prefer to meet there, I have no objection," Ramey answered.
"Excellent," Lewis answered, throwing the tiniest of smiles in Cavitt's direction....and it was that smile that caused all of Spade's alarms to go off. Don't go! he screamed silently, certain that Ramey would never survive a foray outside the compound.
But Ramey hadn't seen it, and merely nodded to McMullen as though everyone had made up and agreed to play nice. "I'll be there within the hour," he said to McMullen. "Just let me know where you'll be. Captain," he continued, turning to Spade, "see to it that—"
"You cut the phone lines to make certain General Ramey couldn't make good on his threat to inform the president, didn't you?" Spade interrupted, staring straight at McMullen.
The effect of this statement on various individuals was instructive. Ramey looked at Spade in consternation, while McMullen, Cavitt, and Lewis looked first startled, then defiant. Everyone else looked truly shocked, none more so than General West.
"You lied to us!" West exclaimed to McMullen. "You said we'd talk to him first!"
"Control yourself, Stan," McMullen said sharply.
"But he's right," another general called from the back. "You said force was a last resort."
"Nobody's forcing anybody to do anything," McMullen said impatiently. "You all just heard Roger agree to meet with us at the base, so what's the problem?"
"The problem is that all our phones are dead, sir," Spade broke in before anyone could answer. "And I don't think you plan to 'meet' with the General; I think you plan to take him into custody, take this compound by force, and execute the prisoner. That's why you want this so-called 'meeting' to happen at the base, away from the General's own troops, isn't it?"
Everyone stood paralyzed as Ramey and McMullen traded expressions, with Ramey now looking suspicious and McMullen glaring angrily at Spade. "Is that true?" General West demanded of McMullen. "Is that what you were planning all along?"
"Of course not!" McMullen replied sharply. "Roger, it appears your new security officer hasn't learned his place. One more word out of him, and I swear I'll court-martial him!"
"Why don't you come inside, and we'll discuss it?" Ramey said in a deadly voice.
"Not on your life," McMullen retorted, eyeing Spade furiously. "Captain Trigger-finger will have me shot within the hour. I don't feel safe in there."
"You'll understand, of course, if I don't feel safe at the base," Ramey replied coldly.
"Then what do we do?" one of the other generals asked. "We can't just stand around out here and discuss something like this!"
No one said anything for a full minute. Ramey and McMullen never took their eyes off one another, while Spade withered under both the hot sun and the hot glares of Cavitt and Lewis, combined with the sheer panic radiating off the guards. Finally, General West broke the silence.
"I'll go in," he said, moving to stand beside Ramey. "Will anyone join me?" When no one answered, he nodded stiffly. "Very well, then. I take that to mean that you have faith in my ability to explain your position, since you decline to explain it yourselves."
" 'Our' position'?" Lewis said softly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but isn't our position also your position?"
"That remains to be seen, Major," West answered. "Roger—let's go."
West turned and stalked inside as Ramey gave one last look at McMullen before following, with Spade on his heels. "Captain," Ramey said in a low voice as the doors closed behind them, "did I or did I not give you a direct order to remain silent?"
"You did, sir," Spade said.
"And did you or did you not willfully disobey that direct order?"
"I did, sir."
"You have a habit of doing that, don't you, Captain?"
"Yes, sir."
"It's a very bad habit."
"Yes, sir."
Ramey paused for a moment. "Thank you, Captain."
Spade kept his eyes straight ahead as they walked down the entranceway. "You're welcome, sir."
******************************************************
Ramey slammed the door behind him, so angry he was only barely able to control himself. After nearly a half century in the Army, after all his pronouncements about knowing how the game was played, he had come perilously close to letting his piece be swept off the board without even putting up a fight. To have missed this subterfuge was embarrassing; to have a still wet-behind-the-ears captain whom he'd taken to task for being paranoid pick up on that subterfuge so effortlessly was acutely embarrassing. "What the hell happened out there?" he barked at General West, who was standing across from him looking every bit as unhappy as Ramey and a good deal more shaken.
"Roger, I'm sorry," West said, unbuttoning his uniform jacket and loosening his tie. "I had no idea they'd move this fast. I thought I'd have time to warn you."
"You knew?" Ramey demanded. "You knew they planned to cut me off, take me hostage, and—"
"Of course not," West broke in sharply. "That was always only a last resort."
"But it was discussed," Ramey continued. "It was on the list. What else is on the list, Stan? Hanging? Going after my family?"
"You got any Scotch?" West asked.
"Answer me!" Ramey thundered.
"The Scotch, Roger," West insisted. "Believe me, we're both going to need it."
Ramey smoldered for several seconds before rummaging in the cabinet for whiskey and two glasses, pouring with hands that were almost shaking, he was so furious. "Leave the bottle," West instructed when Ramey shoved a glass unceremoniously his way and took a seat.
"Talk to me," Ramey ordered.
West sank into a chair and drained half his Scotch before answering. "This dates back to December of '47, when you refused to execute the prisoner. McMullen immediately started building a faction within the coalition to bring you down. Ironically, Major Lewis wasn't very happy about it; even if his mentor gained control, keeping the prisoner alive long enough to experiment on it wasn't an option because of your threat to inform the president. You'd made it clear that any move made against you would trigger whatever mechanism you've put in place to do just that, so their only choice if they didn't want to be caught red-handed was to take the compound quickly, execute the prisoner immediately, and scrub the place clean so that when the president found out, there would be no evidence to back you up."
"So what took them so long?" Ramey asked.
"McMullen had trouble persuading enough people to go along with it," West replied. "It was a messy plan—even with the prisoner dead and the compound emptied, what about all the personnel who knew what had happened? How would they be kept quiet? And a lot of us had problems with the notion of turning on our own, not least of all me. A number of people were still on the fence when you showed up in the summer of '48 with Starlight....and Starlight made them tip your way. Right after that, work began on the ship, and everyone was so excited about it that McMullen's revolt was out of business."
"What, and now they're not excited about the ship?" Ramey demanded. "It's basically done, Stan! All we have to do is find a way to open it, and we're back in business."
"That's part of the problem," West answered. "Despite the initial excitement, the more repairs that were completed, the more uneasy everyone became. They already felt that keeping the prisoner alive was a huge risk. What if the ship had weapons it could use against us? What if it used the ship to contact more of its people, or escaped and flew home? The closer the ship came to completion, the closer everyone edged toward agreeing that the prisoner had to go, and to forcing the issue if necessary."
"And what do we do with the ship?" Ramey asked, bewildered. "What, are they just going to sit there and look at it? Even McMullen's disciples must realize that we need the prisoner to learn more about the ship."
"The collective opinion is that the prisoner is responsible for sealing the ship," West said, "and I'm afraid that no amount of penance on the part of your enthusiastic Keyser will convince them otherwise. And you have to admit it looks suspicious, Roger. The ship suddenly being locked just as it's approaching completion? Even if Keyser's right and it was all his fault, there's just no way to prove that the prisoner didn't set it up somehow. Opening the ship is seen as secondary; we can do a 'crystal' hunt with or without the prisoner. The primary goal now is to remove the alien from the equation. Even the most reluctant of the coalition feel that keeping the alien alive is an unacceptable security risk given what's happened."
"And what about you?" Ramey asked. "Where are you in all of this?"
West looked away. "I'm only one man. It doesn't matter where I am."
"It does to me," Ramey said.
West pulled his eyes back to Ramey's, set his drink down, and leaned forward in his chair. "All right, then. I told you back in '47 that you'd played a magnificent hand of poker, and I meant that. It was a huge gamble that paid off in spades when it garnered us a night vision device and an advanced piece of technology we never would have been able to repair ourselves. But you're not going to be able to pull that off again. The game's over. Time to fold."
"So you think I should just sit back and let them kill the prisoner?"
"I think you don't have any choice," West clarified. "When the men stationed here receive an order from a Lieutenant General to lay down their arms and step aside, you know as well as I do that the overwhelming majority of them will obey without a second thought. They're not going to go to bat for an alien, and you'll wind up looking like a fool if you ask them to. Which brings me to where I am in all this, Roger. I'm the one who wants you to come out of this with your head held high. You've accomplished fantastic things, and you've earned the respect of your colleagues, so much so that McMullen wouldn't dare touch you....if you don't cause trouble. If you try to defy him, the others will suspect that what he's been asserting all along is true—that you've grown too close to the prisoner, that you trust it too much, that you put its welfare ahead of that of your own people.....and frankly, I'll be at a loss to counter that argument. So don't make me. Step aside quietly with your dignity and your career intact."
"And allow a murder to take place," Ramey murmured.
West sighed and rose from his seat, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket. "I'll skip the argument about it having to be human in order for it to be murder, and just point out that we all knew it would come to this. It was always too dangerous to keep alive. You not only kept it alive, you got something out of it for three years. That's an impressive run, but all good things come to an end, and this is no exception."
Ramey rose from his own chair and walked to the window, staring across the grounds at the main base. "No."
"Roger, don't do this," West pleaded. "You can't win this one—"
"I need time," Ramey interrupted. "Over a hundred people have given three years of their lives to this operation, and I owe them the courtesy of an explanation."
"Fair enough," West replied, sounding relieved. "How long do you need? I'll give everyone a time frame as to when they can come in and—"
"No," Ramey repeated. "My people will see to the prisoner."
"That'll be a tough sell," West admitted. "A number of your people are known to be very attached to the prisoner. They may not even agree to participate."
"I'm not 'agreeing to participate' either," Ramey said darkly, swinging his head around to stare at West, "and it will be a cold day somewhere before I allow that butcher Lewis to cross my threshold. The prisoner may not be human, but I am. I thought you were too."
West dropped his eyes and fingered his hat briefly before donning it. "I understand you're upset, but that's not fair. Many a human political prisoner has been executed, and I haven't seen you going to the mat for them like you have for this alien. A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"
Ramey fixed cold eyes on his friend. "I don't think you want to know what I think."
"Maybe not," West sighed. "Well..... I'll do my best to argue for your terms, and I'll let you know what the answer is." His shoes clicked on the tile floor for a few seconds before stopping. "This will all be over soon, Roger, and when it is, you'll look back and realize you've done the right thing."
Ramey remained at the window as the door closed behind West. I haven't done anything yet, he thought grimly. And this won't be over until I say it is.
******************************************************
Sergeant Brisson rose from his stool and gripped the edge of the counter hard as he heard the footsteps approaching the lab, quick, urgent steps whose owner would be here within seconds. A couple of hours had passed since Pierce had ordered him to prepare samples of the alien reproductive cells, and in that time he had managed to come up with precisely zero excuses as to why those cells were gone. As the minutes had ticked by along with the list of discarded possible explanations, he had reached the conclusion that the best explanation would be no explanation at all. He would say he didn't know what had happened, that the cells had been there last he looked and he really had no idea why they weren't there now. It was a flimsy excuse, one that already had his palms sweating and his heart racing, but it was the best he could do on short notice, perhaps ever. Maybe he could suggest that Cavitt might be behind it. Or Lewis. Or the aliens. Or absolutely anyone but Lieutenant White, who would disappear faster than he could blink if Pierce got wind of the fact that she knew what he was up to.
The door flew open and Pierce blew in, making Brisson grateful that he'd had the foresight to stand up ahead of time; had he done so now, he surely would have fainted. Pierce looked agitated; whether angry or upset or both, Brisson couldn't tell, but whatever it was, his news was unlikely to improve Pierce's mood. "Sir," Brisson began, his voice coming out as little more than a croak. "I have something to tell you."
"So do I," Pierce replied. "Destroy everything."
"When I went to prepare—what?"
"I said destroy everything," Pierce repeated intently, opening filing cabinets and pulling out the journals and notes that Lieutenant White had gone through only last night. "And I mean everything. All our notes have to be shredded, all the slides destroyed. Dump everything in the liquid nitrogen containers, all the cells, the holding media, everything. It all has to go."
"What.....?" Brisson gaped, momentarily at a loss for words. "Sir, what happened?"
"What happened is that Major Lewis has gotten his handler to take charge of Eagle Rock," Pierce said angrily, slamming a file drawer shut. "Lieutenant General McMullen has demanded that Ramey hand over the compound to him and wants the prisoner executed."
"But....why?" Brisson said in astonishment. "Is this about the ship? They don't believe that Keyser—"
"Of course they don't!" Pierce snapped. "And this isn't about the ship; it's about power, which is all anything is ever about. And it's about what Bernard Lewis is going to do the moment his foot crosses this threshold. He knows I'm up to something down here, and he will lose no time trying to get his hot little hands on it. I can't afford to save anything; if I hide it, he'll find it, and I can't get it out of the compound without him knowing because they've basically got the place under siege."
"Good Lord," Brisson breathed, sinking back down onto his stool. "But will Ramey just give in? He didn't the last time they ordered him to execute the prisoner."
"He won't have a choice," Pierce answered, feeding the first of his notes into the shredder. "They've cut the phone lines and left guards outside the front door who will be on me like a duck on a June bug if I leave with anything more than a briefcase. I'd planned for Ramey eventually losing power, but I never expected it to happen so quickly. Every single piece of evidence has to go."
"But....all your research!" Brisson objected, still unable to believe that Pierce was just going to throw it all away. "You've worked on this project for years, and—"
"And if Lewis gets in here, he'll take it all for himself," Pierce interrupted grimly. "I will not have that. I know what I've done; if by some miracle the prisoner survives, I can always collect more cells and start over, but for now, the only safe place for my data is here," he said, tapping his forehead. "Now get going. Destroy all the cells and all the supplies of serum."
"The serum? You want that destroyed too?"
"Yes, along with the formula," Pierce ordered. "I invented that, and by God, no one else is going to use it." He paused, a stack of notes in his arms. "This may sound petty, Brisson, but if I can't have an alien or an alien-human hybrid, no one else can either."
******************************************************
"So.....that's it?" Captain Spade said, his voice a study in shock. "We just roll over and let them have him?"
General Ramey closed his eyes, momentarily blocking the sight of his new security officer's dismay. Spade sat on the other side of the table, eyes fixed on the floor as he tried to come to grips with the realities of their situation, sparing Ramey what he was certain would be a very accusatory expression.
"We 'roll' one way or the other," Ramey said. "The only question now is whether we roll voluntarily and maintain some sort of control."
"I don't get it, sir," Spade said. "The last time they tried this, you decided murder was unacceptable. What made you change your mind?"
Ramey felt his jaw tighten, then deliberately relaxed it. "Nothing about this is 'acceptable', Captain. I'm playing the hand I've been dealt as best I can, which is all any of us can ever do. I had a stronger hand in '47, and frankly, the cards could have tipped in this direction even then. It's a miracle I've managed to stay in the game this long."
"But we can't just give up, sir!" Spade insisted. "The prisoner didn't lock the ship! Keyser said so, he said—"
"It doesn't matter what he said," Ramey broke in. "What matters is what the coalition believes, and most believe that the prisoner did this deliberately, somehow, some way. The fact that they're wrong changes nothing. They will act on their belief, facts be damned."
"So evidence means nothing," Spade said bitterly. "Testimony from their own soldiers means nothing."
"Ignoring evidence in favor of belief is hardly restricted to the military," Ramey noted. "You're young, Captain, and you've come out on top of some very big gambles. You need to realize that you can't win them all. Sometimes you need to choose the lesser of the evils, and sometimes you need to cut your losses and just walk away."
"How is having our own people kill the prisoner the 'lesser of the evils'?" Spade demanded.
"Because it gives us control," Ramey said firmly. "Think, son. If I resist, General McMullen will order this compound taken by force, and he will succeed; you know as well as I do that your men will obey an order from a Lieutenant General. Major Lewis will be the one to perform the execution, and you can just imagine how much he'll enjoy that. And this goes beyond the prisoner. When this compound is dismantled, the coalition will be faced with over a hundred personnel who know what happened here. What will happen to them? If I allow the coalition to take control, it will be General McMullen, Colonel Cavitt, and Major Lewis who make those decisions. If I capitulate, I can maintain control of the situation, see to it that the prisoner is executed humanely, and make certain that the people stationed here are treated fairly when they're reassigned. I have a responsibility to those people too. Either way, the prisoner dies."
"And without the evidence, the letter is useless," Spade said glumly. "I don't see why you expect them to let you call the shots on the execution or anything else when you've lost your leverage."
"Not entirely," Ramey answered. "The president knows about the alien ship, so he'd believe me were I to inform him that we've had a live alien in custody for three years. There would be a very long and very messy investigation with or without the alien, and the specter of that investigation is why the coalition will meet my terms. Which is just as well, because that investigation would include everyone stationed here, disrupting their lives and military careers. That's always been the downside of blowing the whistle, the chaos that would be caused not only at the top but at the bottom of the heap among men who had no say in any of this. I'll inform the president if I have to, but only as a last resort. And even then, it won't save the prisoner's life."
Spade was silent for a moment. "Are you going to tell him before you do it, sir?"
Ramey sighed and stared out the window. "Of course I will. I'm certainly not looking forward to that conversation, but I owe him that. Perhaps it would have been better if I'd carried through the last time this happened, when he was sedated and wouldn't have known."
Spade said nothing, still staring at the floor as though afraid to look at him. "I know how angry you must be, Captain," Ramey said gently, "and believe me, I sympathize. Unfortunately, I don't see any other way out of this. Rest assured that I will make certain the prisoner is allowed to die in privacy and with dignity. Any personnel who object needn't participate, including Lieutenant White. Major Lewis and the rest of them won't be allowed in my compound. I can't save Mr. Doe's life, but I can give him that. And I have you to thank for that."
Spade looked up finally, surprised. "Me?"
Now it was Ramey's turn to drop his eyes, lacing his fingers together. "I didn't believe you when you warned me about what Colonel Cavitt was up to. The prisoner had warned me that someone might be withholding the crystals needed for the ship, but I considered that the extent of it. I thought you were seriously overreacting, that there couldn't be that level of complicity, that they couldn't possibly move that fast against me."
"So did I," Spade murmured.
"Excuse me?"
Spade stared at him a moment before answering. "It wasn't me, sir."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not the one who figured out what Cavitt was going to do."
"Then who did?"
"An....acquaintance of mine," Spade replied slowly. "Someone who understands politics better than I ever will. Maybe better than you ever will."
"And who is this advisor of yours? Dr. Pierce?"
Spade shook his head. "No."
"Someone at the base?"
"No."
"Well, whoever it is, I'd like to meet him sometime," Ramey said.
"Do you mean that, sir?"
"Of course I mean it," Ramey said. "Perhaps this exceptionally savvy individual could give me more pointers."
Spade sat stock still in his chair for several seconds before abruptly rising to his feet. "You're right," he said. "It's time the two of you met. I'll be right back."
Ramey blinked as Spade marched out of the conference room without waiting to be dismissed. Where in blazes was he going? Before he could call him back, Spade reappeared in the doorway, followed by a man Ramey had never seen before who was dressed in a civilian suit.
"Who is this?" Ramey demanded.
"The man I said you should meet," Spade answered.
"Captain," Ramey said warningly, "I assure you there isn't a civilian on this planet who has the required security clearance to be here. Now, I'll ask you again—who is this?"
Spade's mouth opened, then closed as he looked helplessly from Ramey to the man and back again, at a loss for words. Then the man gave him a small nod and Spade stepped back gratefully as though he'd just been dismissed. What the hell was going on here?
"You are General Ramey?" the man inquired.
"My identity is not in question," Ramey snapped. "Identify yourself."
"My name is unimportant," the man answered, not the least bit disturbed by Ramey's anger. "You would know me, to borrow a human expression, as 'the one that got away'."
Ramey was about to officially lose his temper when the man's eyes abruptly changed, the pupils spreading until his eyes were completely, utterly black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 137 next Sunday.
My main concern here was Lewis; early drafts had Yvonne checking carefully to make sure he was really out until I decided that was redundant because they would already have ascertained that. As for Harriet, I shall assume she was so distraught about what she'd found that she didn't tune in until that very last comment about "one bastard down, one to go". (Convenient? You bet! 
)