Vicky Peterwald: Target by Mike Shepherd Read Free Book Online Page B

marveled at how little the civilian world understood the military. What to one side was just a good double check on a business deal, to the other was a violation of their honor and hard-earned rights of seniority.
    Someday she would have to thank her dad for sending her to the fleet for her training.
    Poor brother. He had thought he could transfer into the Navy and apply his freshly learned business skills to running a fleet. And he might have gotten away with it if he hadn’t run up against Kris Longknife.
    Vicky sighed. She was headed back into that nest of snakes now officially known as the Imperial Palace. Clearly, her Navy training would be of little use in that poisoned atmosphere.
    Here was a lesson for her to learn and apply. That something worked in one time and place was no guarantee that it would work in another. This might keep her breathing long enough to find some safe port in this stormy sea.
    But where is that safe port?
    Should she suggest to the admiral that he take his other bribe? Was she ready to raise a flag of rebellion against her own dad?
    Over supper, she would suggest to the admiral that he hold his ships to a single gee of acceleration. That would give her more time to weigh her options. That would also give her time to gather data. Greenfeld was never an easy place to understand. Lies were more often the only truth available. Still, the Navy must have sources it relied upon.
    Yes, she would ask the admiral to admit her to those reports he had alluded to. If Admiral Krätz had been reporting on her, certainly other reports were coming in from wherever the fleet was located. Reports for Navy eyes only would not spin or hide the harsh truths of what was happening to the Greenfeld they all loved.
    Mr. Smith returned, though the lieutenant and chief stayed with the ship’s investigative team. “The bomb,” he reported, “was both very simple and very sophisticated.”
    “Explain yourself,” Vicky snapped, in no mood for puzzles.
    “The explosives were C-16, hidden in the stems of the flowers, dipped in nonvolatile plastic so that there was no degassing from the chemicals. Standard issue in some circles these days. The vase, by the way, had been scarred on the inside, so when the explosives blew, it shattered into a thousand shards with dagger edges. The detonator was simplicity itself. The special paper was designed so that when you removed the letter from the envelope, it would create enough static electricity to activate one detonator. No battery. No wires. Alternately, another detonator was immersion in water and would, over time, as it actually happened, oxidize and provide the charge that set it off. It was so very simple, no electronics for us to spot. My hat is off to the expert who did this.”
    “And will we find that expert?”
    “Maybe. Very likely not. The others are doing the scut work, looking for fingerprints, anything left that might lead us to where the bomb was assembled. I don’t need to be involved with that. You and the admiral will have a report by morning. I’ll review the findings and see if they overlooked anything.”
    “Good,” Vicky said. “Now, I have an hour before we all must dress for dinner. Won’t you step into my boudoir? I’m sure we can find more to discuss.”
    Mr. Smith only smiled as she played with the top of her zipper. “Don’t mind if I do, ma’am.”
    Mr. Smith proved to be extraordinarily skilled at whatever he applied himself to. After half an hour, Vicky was confident that he would earn his paycheck from her in many pleasant ways.

CHAPTER 6
    D INNER that evening in the admiral’s wardroom was quite splendid.
    Admiral Gort had each of the cooks who had prepared a dish bring it in him or herself . . . and taste it in front of the diners.
    The chefs were not surprised by this requirement. They had been told in advance that they would be required to prove the safety of their dishes, and that outside input might be attempted to any meal