Homecoming - Christie Golden [77]
Covington’s head came up and her pale eyes were fierce. For the first time, Libby saw the steel behind a [229] woman who had to be strong in order to be where she was. Covington had always struck her as friendly, but now Libby saw that she could be harsh when she needed to be.
“Agent Webber!” The words cracked like a whip, and Libby had to consciously refrain from flinching. “These wild suppositions will avail us nothing. I expect you to behave as befits your station.”
Libby knew she was right. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. She was starting to get hysterical, and that wouldn’t help anyone.
Covington softened. “I need you at the top of your game now more than ever, Libby,” she said, using her subordinate’s first name, something she rarely did. “Can I count on you?”
Libby nodded. “You can,” she said.
“Good.” Covington punched a few more buttons and Libby’s view of the scene pulled back so that she could see more of the room. There came a soft chime. “That’s him,” said Covington. “Watch him closely and we’ll discuss the conversation when it’s over. I won’t be able to see or hear you, but you can see and hear us. And of course, everything you witness here must be held in the strictest confidence. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Libby. She swallowed hard, tried to calm her racing heart, and leaned forward.
Libby had always respected Admiral Kenneth Montgomery, although he was a distant and chilly man, hard to truly like. He’d been a solid rock during the Dominion War, one of the real heroes to emerge from the conflict. But now, knowing what she did, Libby [230] couldn’t even give him the credit for what he’d done. He was a traitor, and worse, he might be responsible for hurting Harry. She looked at his broad shoulders and saw not strength, but brute force; at his brown, lined face and saw not the care of a compassionate man for countless lives, but only the marks of frowns and scowls.
He strode into Covington’s office as if he owned it, glancing about and grimacing in distaste.
“It’s a bit of a cliché for a Covert Operations director to keep her guests so in the dark, isn’t it?” he said without preamble. He did not reach out to shake her hand, and she didn’t rise.
“You light your office your way, I’ll light mine my way,” she said.
“You should get out more, Brenna. You’re getting pale sitting alone in the dark.”
Covington smiled icily, dislike plain in her eyes. “I’ll tell you what. You don’t talk about what the sun hasn’t done to my face, and I won’t talk about what it has done to yours.”
Libby snorted, even though she knew it was mean-spirited. Montgomery’s brown face was indeed more lined than it ought to be.
“Enough pleasantries,” Covington said. “What brings you here, Admiral? Thought you’d have your hands full with taking Voyager apart piece by technological piece.” She waved her hand absently in the direction of a chair and he took it.
“Wish I had time to do that,” he said, “but I seem to have my hands full with other problems. I was first [231] saddled with the holographic strike, and now I’ve got this damn Borg outbreak to try to keep quiet.”
Libby gasped, her hand flying to her throat. She was grateful the conversation only went one way. Borg? Here on Earth? What was going on? To her astonishment, Covington didn’t bat an eye. Either she was one cool customer or else she had already known about it.
“I’m not sure I understand—what does either of these things have to do with Voyager? Or have you been pulled off that project?”
“No, I’m still on the project.” Montgomery’s voice showed his irritation. “Didn’t you read the report I sent out?”
Covington smiled with false sweetness. “Quite a lot of reports cross my desk, Admiral. One such was the one written by one of my agents who brought the Borg virus to your attention in the first place and advised the Xakarian flu cover-up strategy you’re taking now. I perused your report but I didn’t have time to read it in depth.”
Montgomery sighed. “All right, let me recap for you. We’re