Quinn was still grinding her teeth in frustration a half hour later as their small transport dropped towards the more friendly confines of Beta Level, where headquarters was located.
"Feds," she hissed for maybe the twentieth time. "I frickin' hate it when they take over one of our scenes. Because you just know they're working a cover up."
"That's what you always say, Q." Duncan leaned back against his jump harness, eyes closed. "The great government conspiracy to rob Earth of the last of its freedoms. Yet it's usually just the stereotypical dislike harbored by differing branches of law enforcement."
Quinn shot a look at her partner, her expression tight.
"I know you fought for them and every man has to decide for themselves which side they are on. But I didn't have you pegged as a blind patriot, Dunk. You've been working this shit as long as me. You know the white coats don't get involved in day to day unless they're protecting one of their own."
Duncan's eyes flew open, and he turned to stare hard at his diminutive Asian partner.
"Damn it, you did get a hit, didn't you?" he bluntly accused and grimaced when she sighed and nodded. "I'm guessing you didn't say then cuz you didn't want that federale to hear." At Quinn's tight nod, he went on: "Well? What do you have?"
"Blood belongs to a ranking official in the Ministry of Internal Operations. Some bureaucrat named Wilkes-Boothe," Quinn revealed, reading from the data sheet her internal network had stored. Duncan sat up straight in his harness at that, even as the razorbacks sitting beside them exchanged alarmed looks.
"InterOp??" he repeated, his own expression hardening. "Are you sure?"
"Only if the d-base is accurate," Quinn quickly retorted. "Which, when it comes to the government,..."
Duncan waved his hand in a forestalling gesture.
"Skip the conspiracy shit for a sec, Q," he growled. "If we're dealing with a dead InterOp paper pusher then this shit is as real as it's going to get."
"Tell me about it," Quinn grimaced. "Second most powerful ministry behind the Ministry of Defense."
Duncan's expression became somewhat confused.
"But those kinds of soft hands don't venture beyond Alpha Level," he pointed out with a frown. "What the hell was an InterOp cubicle jock doing that high up the well?"
"Pardon me for sayin', inspectors, but maybe he was running a black tank op," one of the razorbacks suggested, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. "Growing slip streamers for InterOp ghost teams."
Both Quinn and Duncan slowly nodded at the suggestion. A black tank was an illegal simplicant cloning facility, pumping out everything from mercenary soldiers to porn stars dolled up to look like aliens. For each one they shut down on the upper levels, five more seemed to pop up. Black tanks were so prevalent now that Earth law enforcement had specialized teams dedicated to tracking them down.
Despite that, it was well known that shadowy government organizations also used black tanks to grow special operatives and soldiers regardless of legality. Like slip streamers, which were simplicants with built-in EMF refraction, rendering them virtually invisible to sensors. With InterOp responsible for internal security and possessing a significant bag of dirty tricks at their disposal, they could certainly be one of those creating illegally enhanced clone operatives.
"That's a definite possibility, Jimmy," Quinn added. "Good call. InterOp doesn't hesitate to get its hands dirty when it feels it'll advance their agenda."
"Yeah," Duncan agreed before folding his arms and sagging back into his harness. "But let's not jump to conclusions until we at least confirm this guy is dead, or missing. Because if we're wrong and start some snipe hunt where we mistakenly point the finger at a ministry, we'll have I.A. so far up our collective ass, they'll be eating our breakfast for us!"