The Halls of Montezuma

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “I think so.” Rachel had no way to be sure, but it would take some time before the searchers discovered the body. By the time they started looking for her, it would be too late. “They have good reason to suspect my former commanding officer. It’ll take them some time to realise he’s innocent.”

  “Good.” Phelps led her through a maze of alleyways. “And your planned soft coup?”

  “I have a number of people who replied to my emails,” Rachel said. Soft coups were never easy. The temptation to just sit on one’s hand and wait for a clear winner to emerge could be overwhelming. “There’s no way to know how many of them will actually commit, when the time comes.”

  “True.” Phelps glanced at her. “We need to move quickly.”

  “Agreed,” Rachel said. She’d already prepared the messages, storing them within her implants. “Are the former prisoners ready?”

  “Ready, and eager for some payback,” Phelps said. “All we need is to finalise the plan.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Rachel said. “Right now, the streets are in chaos. We’ll never have a better chance.”

  She braced herself as he led the way into a mid-sized warehouse and up a flight of rickety stairs. The lower floor felt deserted, but the upper floor offices were crammed. Rachel glanced, automatically, towards the window, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw there were none. The warehouse had probably been deserted before Phelps had turned it into a makeshift base, and the surrounding area was hardly populated with people who’d call the cops, but it only took one flicker of light to draw attention. She wondered, idly, who owned the warehouse. If they decided to come visit ...

  “Welcome home,” Phelps said. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Rachel said, a deadpan look on her face. She shook hands with Captain Steel, who appeared to be the senior man amongst the former prisoners. “When do we move?”

  “As soon as things are ready,” Phelps said. He waved a hand at a terminal. “Get started.”

  “Sir,” Rachel said. “Where are the others?”

  “I don’t know,” Phelps said. His voice was flat, suggesting he was concerned too. “They didn’t report in.”

  Rachel nodded as she hurried over to the terminal. There would be time to worry about the rest of the unit later. The datanet was still in place, allowing her to access her secret inboxes, but ... it was clearly being monitored a great deal more carefully. She was mildly surprised it hadn’t been shut down completely. The reports from the KEW bombardment suggested there was literally nothing between the two megacities. The locals didn’t need their datanet so much now. Her lips quirked as she skimmed through a handful if replies. The security officers taking power had certainly concentrated a number of minds.

  She frowned as she read one message in particular. She knew Julia Ganister-Onge. The former Political Commissioner was hardly the sort of person she’d expected to reply positively, if she replied at all. And yet ... Rachel stroked her chin, sipping her coffee as she considered the issue. Julia had already given her a pearl beyond price by confirming the negotiations were little more than a stalling tactic. Given that Rachel hadn’t even known there were negotiations ...

  “The government is concentrated in Government House,” she said, slowly. It was impossible to trust Julia completely, but her emails matched what Rachel had learnt from other sources. She’d spent hours trying to locate the enemy centre of gravity when she’d been working under Commander Archer. “We could go there. If she helps us, we could get inside without a problem.”

  Phelps cleared his throat. “Can we trust her?”

  “I don’t know,” Rachel said. The woman she’d met had been willing to return to her homeworld, despite the possibility of being put against the nearest wall and shot. Or simply sent into internal exile. “If the security officers are launching a coup ... it’s possible Julia and the others are hoping to get their own coup underway.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I think we have to move fast,” she said. “If they realise Commander Archer isn’t a traitor, no matter what else he might have done, they’ll start wondering what happened. And it’s only a matter of time before they find the body I left behind.”

  “Understood,” Phelps said. He glanced at the rest of the marines. “You and I will sneak into the building. The remainder of the force will attack on the ground. Prepare your allies.”

  And see how many of them live up to their commitments, Rachel thought. It was easy to be a keyboard warrior. She’d met hundreds of armchair generals and admirals who’d thought they could do better than the men on the spot. The fact they had the advantage of hindsight had never really dawned on them. This could go horribly wrong.

  She smiled. “And send a message to Major-General Anderson,” she said. “We’re going to need reinforcements in a hurry.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Phelps said.

  “Tell him to play along with the diplomatic stalling,” she added. “We’re going to need some cover to get through their defences.”

  “Of course,” Phelps assured her.

  Rachel let him handle the debate with Captain Steel as she plunged her mind back into the datanet. Everything would have to be put in place ahead of time, to ensure that her contacts found themselves forced to rush into making a commitment. It was a simple rule of thumb that anyone who tried to bully someone into making a hasty decision was not a friend, but ... there was no time to sound out people properly. She didn’t dare try. There’d be no room for manoeuvre if someone had an attack of conscience and reported the affair to their superiors. If the enemy took precautions the coup might never get off the ground.

  She composed a message for Julia, then uploaded it. If she said no ...

  We can handle it, she assured herself. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

  ***

  Julia had never felt so naked in her life, even when it had dawned on her - finally - just how closely her life was monitored. She was fully dressed and yet she felt naked, unable to shake the feeling no matter how many times she looked down at herself. Her heart was pounding so loudly, as she made her way past the pair of security officers on duty outside the director’s office, that she was surprised they couldn’t hear it. She suspected they had other problems. From what little she’d heard, McManus was moving rapidly to consolidate his power.

  The director didn’t look up as she entered. “What is it?”

  “I signalled the marines,” Julia said. She wouldn’t have dared to lie about that. “They have agreed to discuss a truce.”

  “Good,” the director said. He never took his eyes off the terminal. “You may proceed.”

  Julia took a breath. “I need diplomatic advice,” she said. “There are two people in the city with diplomatic experience ... such as it is. I’d like to call them both to the complex.”

  The director said nothing for a long, chilling moment, long enough to make her fear she’d made a dreadful mistake. Her request was reasonable - there weren’t many people with diplomatic experience - but ... what if he expected her to handle it alone? Or ... or was McManus already in complete charge? Julia found it hard to believe, but ...

  “If you feel it necessary,” the director said, finally. He still didn’t look at her. “General Gilbert killed himself, two hours ago.”

  Julia swallowed, hard. “He did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I ...” Julia swallowed, again. Had it really been a suicide? McManus could easily have killed the general and made it look like a suicide. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just end the war, quickly,” the director said. “Give us time to recall the fleet and win.”

  “Yes, sir,” Julia said. She felt sorry for him - the director and his general had been friends - but she knew it was already too late. “I’ll make the call now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The corporations responded by buying their way into the corridors of power, demanding laws that made life ha
rder for workers as well as competitors.

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  “They didn’t find the trucks,” Mayberry said, surprised.

  Haydn grinned at him as they slipped into the abandoned warehouse. The Pathfinders had been fairly sure the trucks would remain undiscovered for some time, as the population and traffic monitoring systems had been crippled, but he hadn’t been so sure. He was used to serving on a battlefield where everything moving could be located and blown away from orbit, not sneaking around a city big enough to house over a million people. There were so many refugees on the streets, outside the government complex, that the marines had no trouble hiding as long as they didn’t attract attention. It helped, he supposed, that the enemy security officers were too busy mounting a coup.

  Which is the problem with security forces, he thought. You just can’t trust them.

  They checked the trucks quickly, altered their IFF beacons and then readied themselves for the task ahead. It would hardly be the first building Haydn had stormed, but ... he felt oddly uneasy as he addressed his men. They were using dishonourable tactics, even if they were using them against dishonourable men. He’d seriously considered insisting that they should sneak out of the city instead, making their way back to join the remainder of the division. Only the blunt truth that they had a chance to end the war overnight had kept him in place.

  “Maybe I wouldn’t make such a good Pathfinder after all,” he muttered.

  Mayberry looked at him. “Sir?”

  “Never mind.” Haydn looked at his men. The drivers, who’d be sitting in the cabs, wore enemy uniforms. The remainder wore their regular BDUs, although it probably wouldn’t keep them from being shot if they were recaptured. “Is it time?”

  “Just about,” Mayberry said. He indicated the first truck. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” Haydn said. He raised his voice. “Mount up!”

  A moment later, they were on their way.

  ***

  McManus had no qualms about doing whatever he needed to do to extract confessions, up to and including making them up. He had no intention of becoming CEO himself - there were too many risks - but he wanted, needed, to be the power behind the throne. It was the only way to keep himself safe in a dog-eat-dog world. He was perfectly aware that the vast majority of the people who knew him hated him, as the vast majority of the population hated the security officers under his command. He didn’t care. Let them hate, as long as they feared. But they were starting not to fear.

  He felt nothing as he surveyed the live feed from the interrogation cell. Commander Archer looked as if he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life, by men who knew precisely how to cause the maximum of pain with the minimum of permanent damage. It didn’t matter, to McManus, if Commander Archer was guilty or innocent. The point was to justify the security lockdown beyond all doubt. Commander Archer would be confessing to being responsible for Earthfall shortly, McManus was certain, as well as a number of other crimes he couldn’t possibly have committed. The trick was to ensure the confession that reached his nominal superiors was one that was reasonably plausible ...

  And yet ... he frowned as he watched the interrogators resume the beating. Commander Archer was an asshole. His staff had been quite happy to detail Commander Archer’s proclivities, pretty much involving each and every one of his subordinates, but ... they’d never suggested he was particularly strong. He certainly couldn’t have killed the security officer whose body had been found in a closet. And ... the naked staffer was missing. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The file on her was curiously vague. It was starting to look as though she had been the traitor.

  Not a traitor, he corrected himself. An enemy infiltrator.

  Commander Archer groaned and started to babble. McManus watched, unmoved, as the interrogators moved in to hear his confession. He had a nasty feeling it didn’t matter as much as the broken commander might have hoped. If he’d been guilty of little more than being a horny idiot at the worst possible time ... McManus scowled as he turned his attention to the reports from his staffers. General Gilbert’s death had robbed Commander Archer of any real purpose. After his confession, he’d be shot and his body dumped in the incinerator.

  His wristcom bleeped. “Sir,” his staffer said. “Long-range sensors are reporting enemy aircraft launching from Roxon.”

  “Do whatever you have to do,” McManus ordered. There was no point in fighting in the muddy sea between the two cities. The marines had the edge in the open, certainly against untrained men. “Just don’t let them fly over the city.”

  “Yes, sir,” his staffer said.

  McManus nodded. It was time to make himself the kingmaker. By the time the fleet returned, by the time the marines were beaten, his position would be impregnable. He already had a small army on the streets, as well as the commissioners reporting directly to him. The soldiers would follow orders or they’d be executed. General Gilbert had been the only military officer with some degree of independence - and a power base of his own - and he was dead by his own hand. McManus found that delightful. The fool might have lost most of his army, but he hadn’t been powerless. And yet, he’d killed himself. Idiot. He could have recovered his power base or launched a coup himself.

  It’s time, he thought. And I will finally know true power.

  ***

  “It’s time,” Phelps said, quietly.

  Rachel nodded as the groundcar glided towards the security checkpoint. They’d taken Julia’s permissions and checked them carefully, but there was no way to be sure she wasn’t trying to pull a double-cross. The woman she’d met back on the MEU had been smart, yet ... she’d been dumb enough to want to return home. Rachel supposed she would have done the same, if she’d been captured by the enemy, but still ... her people didn’t have a habit of searching for scapegoats. She put the thought aside as she started to upload the first set of messages onto the datanet. If nothing else, the enemy would be ripped apart by civil war. The marines would win by default.

  She let Phelps handle the talking as she hunched down in her chair, allowing the wig to cover her eyes. She looked different to the person who’d fled the staff offices, but ... she had no idea who’d seen her, who might recognise her. There was so much activity moving around the secure zone, from the antiaircraft vehicles she’d noted earlier to heavy AFVs and troop transports, that it was easy to believe she might cross paths with someone who’d seen her. It was a relief when the groundcar started to move again, leaving the checkpoint behind. They passed through two more before they reached Government House.

  “Impressive,” Phelps breathed.

  Rachel shrugged. Government House looked like any other government house - the design had been standardised centuries ago - but it had been built to a far greater scale. There were at least twenty floors, each one covering four times as much space as the standard design. She looked up, spotting troops patrolling the roof with handheld antiaircraft weapons and sniper rifles. Someone was feeling paranoid, she decided, as they parked in the parking lot and climbed out. A pair of grim-faced security officers checked their permissions before searching them quickly, thoroughly and professionally. The enemy had brought their A-Team to the party.

  “This way,” she said. She’d memorised the building’s floor plans, although she wasn’t sure how close they were to reality. The prefabricated design was intended to allow the beancounters to reconfigure their surroundings, at least before the original government complex was replaced by something new. “We don’t want to be late.”

  Her implants pinged an alert as they passed through the doors and into the building. The enemy datanet was locked down tight, the local nodes reprogrammed to prevent remote access. She suspected the enemy feared remote terminals, rather than enhanced soldiers, but it hardly mattered. She’d assumed they’d have to get the messages out before they entered the building and met their contact. She braced herself, readying herself to run - ag
ain - if they’d been betrayed. She was all too aware Julia could win herself whatever reward she wanted if she lured the marines into a trap.

  Her eyes wandered across the lobby. It was huge, so large she had the impression it had been built for giants. Her lips quirked, humourlessly. Had the designers just scaled up the plans with no regard for the implications? Or were they just trying to impress visitors? The security officers scattered around the room looked like midgets as they watched the doors and visitors with wary eyes. She put the thought out of her head as Julia emerged from a side door and hurried towards them. The older woman looked frightened, as if she expected the hammer to land on their heads at any moment. Rachel tensed, despite herself. Julia could betray them quite by accident, if the guards noticed she was jumpy.

  “This way, please,” Julia said. If she recognised Rachel, she said nothing. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Rachel nodded as Julia led them into the elevator. The security officers weren’t even trying to hide the pickups in the cramped compartment. Rachel noted their positions absently, then swept her eyes around the rest of the elevator, trying to determine if there were any more. People weren’t lazy, she’d been told once, but they did have a habit of slowing once they thought they’d reached the goal. A person who thought he’d found and disabled all the bugs would stop looking for more. She kept her mouth tightly closed as she noted three more, all concealed within the decor. There might even be more.

  The upper levels felt strange as they slipped out of the elevator and made their way down to one of the guest suites. Rachel guessed it was Julia’s office. She slipped inside, hastily scanning the room for surveillance devices. There were only four, all surprisingly easy to find. She checked the rest of the suite, her eyes narrowing in disapproval as she found one concealed within the shower head. Bastards. She knew that one would be almost impossible to find, let alone remove, without the proper equipment.

  “The room appears clean,” Phelps said, after he ran his own sweep. “Julia, can you unlock your terminal?”