She looked thoughtful. “But it’s encrypted…”
“Anything can be cracked. Then, there’s what’s called traffic analysis. Knowing the volume and timing of messages offers keys, as does the sender and recipient.”
“I could send a lot more messages, about inane matters.”
“That is an excellent idea,” he said. It was a partial win against other threats, but it all helped. Deescalate one threat enough, you could focus on others.
He concluded with, “Do please add as much variety and randomness to those communiques as possible. That will help all over.”
Meanwhile, he had another PR meeting to prepare for.
Elke’s position was that interaction with locals was always problematic. Factions made it worse. She hadn’t considered this day’s mission could top all that. They were flying to the event, which she was never very much in favor of. She liked control, and flying meant surrendering control to someone else.
In this case, the pilot was a local, of one of the factions.
Elke never screamed. She did, however, get roiling guts and sweats, and this did it.
They boarded at the military field, around Highland, into the cabin of a Emirates Aircraft EA6 Djinn. That was a so-so aircraft at best, outdated and at least half-used up, if it was here, and now piloted by a local.
She did everything as required, watching her sector, keeping position and distance from Highland, and putting a visual void over that aircraft.
Once aboard, she took a seat facing aft, fastened her restraints and donned helmet. She made a cursory visual check for any threats, then gave her attention to her sniffers and scanners. Jason would check also, and the military had done so when it landed. It was also politically inadvisable for their host to stage an attack, so he’d have made his own checks. Between them, the only threat that should remain was pilot error and shoddy maintenance. She shivered again.
Alex had a familiar expression on his face, and was looking at Jason. Jason gave a nod and a thumbs up. She translated in her mind.
If need be, can you toss this yokel out the hatch and land us intact?
Yes, no problem.
Somehow it didn’t reassure her.
“Intercom check. Playwright.”
“Argonaut.”
“Julien.”
“Babs,” she said in turn.
“Pirate.”
“Musketeer.”
“Witch and Black Cat accounted for. Pilot reports ready to lift.”
And they did, as Elke stared straight at the bulkhead.
Ten minutes into the flight she unfastened two suit buttons for ventilation. It was crowded and warm, faintly chemical, and not in the sweet way Comp G smelled, and the vibration hit a frequency that irritated her bladder and stomach. She was glad she’d not eaten or drunk yet today.
“A bit turbulent,” Jason said.
It was more than a bit, in her view. Of course, she didn’t like heights, altitude or movement anyway. The engine tone shifted periodically. That was perfectly normal, she knew intellectually. It still made her flinch.
It was only five minutes later that Alex announced, “Landing.” Though it took over 200 seconds to make the approach, gauge the winds and reflections, and put the beast down.
They were in a large compound ringed with low, but multiple walls and fences at comfortable distances, each in overlapping fields of fire. She could even draw the range markers. At least someone here understood basic tactics. Now as long as they respected Highland, or Ripple Creek, enough to not start trouble.
Bart and Aramis debarked first, she was last, being female and not the principal. She knew some women who’d be incensed over that. It was Alex’s order, and how things were done here, so she did it.
The Most Beneficent Mohammed Saliman al-Khazra actually greeted Highland in person. His own entourage was clearly a factotum and six guards in silly uniforms, with pompoms on their boots, pointy hats with neck cloths, and pink piping on white tunics and shorts. At that, it was better camouflage than the army issued.
He even spoke respectable English.
“Madam Minister, you grace my humble abode with your presence,” he said with a nod that wasn’t quite a bow, combined with an extended hand.
Highland reached between Bart and Aramis, who stepped obliquely back.
“Effendi, I greet you.”
With that in progress, Elke eyed their opposites, who were probably very respectable infantry, from the gear and muscles under those ridiculous outfits. She had no doubt that if Bart and Aramis couldn’t smash four of them, that Jason could drop the rest with one bullet each, and she could shred their legs with a disc explosive.
Shortly, all the guards sat in a ring, six on each side, sipping from sealed bottles of juice, while the two politicians and their aids sat at a table and chatted, under a hush hood, over a doc screen. Elke’s only significant activity was to escort Highland and JessieM to the toilet, and take a turn herself, while Aramis and Shaman stood guard outside.
After that, it was another grueling flight back. She’d rather have a firefight than a decrepit aircraft, but at least it was objectively brief, even if it felt like hours.
Alex appreciated the casual event. If only more could be like that, but then of course, they’d not be employed.
Nothing. Not even a handful of protesters with signs outside the gate, and it was obvious who’d be on that flight, given its departure point.
In several ways, that was more disturbing than the violence. It implied both an outside agent, and that a single one, or one that had significant influence over the others.
The pattern continued.
Tuesday was a summit on “Environmental Compassion” at the conference center. That afternoon, they met with interest groups to answer questions. Highland spoke like a politician, and gave vague answers. She was professionally competent at raising morale and causing smiles, though how long those lasted after the event he couldn’t gauge.
Wednesday was a forum debate in the National Parliament, which all groups sent representatives to, but it seemed to be a contest to see who could send the least important flunky with the most impressive name.
After a week with no threats, Alex was more disturbed than ever.
“It’s an indication of something, but what?”
The team was in their armory, being the most secure room. He had a chart up on their secure system, showing the events, locations and which groups were involved, incidents, her running popularity figures, and whether or not they’d had military support. They gathered around in an arc. This was a war council.
Elke said, “Her popularity increased after each unsuccessful attack.”
“Yes, which makes me anticipate a successful one.”
Aramis said, “That, or obscurity as a tactic.”
From behind a tall glass of raspberry juice, Bart said, “Have her supporters also reduced their actions? There have been no low-level attacks as they do. Those boost her popularity.”
“They ran out of money,” Aramis said.
Jason said, “No, I suspect collusion.”
“Sure, but how?”
“Okay, let’s go through it. She’s arranged some low-level harassment for PR. Some of her fans picked up on the riff. She’s refused to coordinate that with us, but gets upset at our response. She may have asked them to back off, fearing we’d actually kill someone. Again.”
“Yes,” Alex said. “Her conflict was between coverage for bravery and headlines, and the risk of us being stuck to her.”
“But she managed to stick us on Cruk.”
“Right. So she was benefiting anyway.”
“Which suggests her random fanbody activist attacks were coordinated by one of her people.”
Elke said, “It would make sense. They all had the same goal in mind, and were all relatively low-scale, and similar. Random attacks with nonlethal stuff.”
Aramis said, “And this recent attack, again, not enough to be le
thal, but certainly to look so.”
“That’s aimed at us,” Jason said. “They want us to overreact, to try to bring her ratings down. So that is hostile activity, not propagandist.”
“Hostile against us, but dialed back against her,” Bart commented.
“Yes,” Jason agreed, looking thoughtful. “So, all her propaganda seems to have one source. Attacks against us seem to be a second.”
Alex said, “Which leaves the rioting that increased, then stopped suddenly.”
Aramis said, “Hostile attempt to either intimidate her, or provoke over-reaction from us-meaning overreaction from a press perspective, not reality.”
Jason said, “I understood you. So that’s a possible third source.”
Alex said, “Which leaves a potential fourth aspect or source, if ignoring her doesn’t lower her popularity, which it seems to not be doing.”
“You expect a bonafide professional hit.”
“That’s why we’re hired. Someone is spending a lot of money on us, from both her campaign and the administration, to keep her away from her regular security. Part of that is political. She can’t use them while campaigning. But they’re splitting the cost due to some accounting method. So who insisted on us?”
Jason said, “It comes back to Huble, her adviser.”
“Is it that simple? He’s a plant trying to drag her down?”
“I’d say all the promotional attacks are through him.”
“So why wouldn’t he tell her of the others?”
It was Bart who said, “Because they’re intended as intimidation against her. They’re more embarrassing, less heroic, and act to work against her campaign.”
“He’s a double agent then. Strong suspect. But so far, nonlethal.”
Elke pondered, “The administration runs him? They get benefit in close, and intel. Which explains how he can have the inside information, and manipulate her.”
Aramis said, “Wait, she orchestrated some propaganda against Hunter, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And Cruk likewise benefits from that, out of her campaign, without anything attachable to him.”
Jason said, “So he backs off to let her wreck the opposition, and himself.”
Alex said, “That all adds up. So the attacks aimed at us are likely from the left-factions who want us out of the way. No logical reason, they just hate us generally.”
Elke said, “They hate anything with a profit motive. Wars are bad, if for assets, like Salin. But this war is pure and clean and ideological, for peace, except for filthy mercenaries like us.”
“If they hurt some of us, they win. If they get us sanctioned, they win.”
“Are we ruling out local threats?”
Alex chuckled. “No, I suspect every faction here would like to take us out. We’re either filthy mercs, or guards of the harlot, or poisoning her purity.”
Elke asked, “And attacks against her?”
“Amala definitely, when they have the money and capability. They will continue to be third raters. Sufis don’t like her, but aren’t antagonistic to us other than we’re her shield. They’ve hired their own contractors at times. Shia hate her guts. The Faithful whatever Christians hate her for talking to Muslims.”
Aramis said, “You know, I was disgusted that she wore a glove to shake hands with Bawani. But that gave her some deniable distance from the Muslims.”
“She still had a riot outside.”
“Yes, and that’s just par for this place. We’ll go crazy trying to sort that out, then it will change.”
“So, unscripted local attacks, scripted harassment for PR and intimidation, from the administration. Attacks against us by opposition to hurt us and discredit her, and potential nuke if and when they decide she’s too popular.”
“The result of that is a wave of sympathy for the incumbent who’s worked so hard, and the party, and without any internal opposition, he goes up five to ten points and wins regardless of any issues.”
Bart asked, “When do we need to pull her out?”
Aramis snickered. “The question is ‘can we without tranking her? ’ ”
“I am prepared either way,” Shaman said, with a nod to his medical pack.
“So, we watch the news, her ratings, major events, and gauge the ongoing lack of attacks and any resumption.”
Alex said, “I assume we’re past this stage. The next attack will be a killer.”
CHAPTER 18
Joy Highland hated this planet. It had little scenery anywhere inhabited, lots of savage religious nuts whom she had to publicly pretend to respect, was far too distant from her campaign, and she was saddled with too few staff and too many bloodthirsty mercenaries, especially that bitch Sykora, who wouldn’t shut up about “her” explosives.
Now they were questioning her friends and communication. She’d smiled and laughed, but the sheer gall of that man. His job was to stop threats, not intrude on her private life.
Which brought up the question of how he’d found that out anyway. Had they been cracking her communications? PrivatProtocol was one of the best encryptions out there, updated weekly, and she used a nineteen digit key. The key was secure, unless someone knew as much about twenty second century beers and twenty third century legal decisions. Though there were ways to derive keys, of course.
She did send extraneous messages to Huble, but she had to keep real communication up, too.
Dear Damon, I’m about to head out to the Peace Wall dedication. Thanks for arranging this. It’s visibility I can use, and presents as both official and campaign. The military didn’t even twitch, just authorized the escort. So I will make sure to use it to best effect. Thanks, dear.
That done, she checked on Jessie.
“How are we looking?”
Jessie damped her screens and looked through the transparencies at Joy. “Ma’am, things are trending well, though the violence actually boosted your headlines and perception. It’s leveled off. You’re still fifteen points behind Cruk, but that’s up from thirty behind, and we’ve not yet had the official challenge statement.”
“Yes, once I announce there’s an alternative, the no-confidence people will pile on him. But we’re stagnant, still?”
“Not stagnant, but the curve has flattened. It’s still positive, though.”
“And if the economy is in a state, I can blame him, using Ripple Creek as an example, when I have perfectly good escorts available from the military and BuState.”
“That seems to be the way to play it, ma’am.” Jessie almost never smiled. She was strictly business, though relaxed and not stiff.
“So let’s get out on the road. If we’re early, we can stop and talk to people on the way, and put a soft face on some of this military stuff. That might de-escalate things, and of course I’ll claim credit if it does.”
Bart sweated in suit over armor in hot sun. It might be dim, but they orbited closer and the heat built up over time. Add in the clothing and it was uncomfortable. He could ignore the talking, and the slowness, but not the environment. Eventually, it became uncomfortable, and it was there now.
Ripple Creek got these jobs because someone or someones wanted to kill the principal. They didn’t have to like the principal, though that was never a bad thing. It did help to have some empathy for the person for whom you contracted to jump in front of a bullet. However, in this case, none of them could claim to be a fan of Highland, and little about her gave them reason to change their positions.
That didn’t make the job harder of itself, but it made it unpleasant at times. On the other hand, empathy with the enemy did make it easier to counter some threats.
She is very brave with us, Bart thought. The woman kept making appearances, despite the threats, and yes, it seemed to help her political popularity. He didn’t like her, but she could manipulate. Anything that happened she pushed to her own advantage. She would probably make a competent SecGen in that regard.
This memorial, though, was a
wall. It was low at present, would be ten meters tall when finished, and a featureless extrusion. It was being sold as a fence between neighbors, but it was a wall. He wasn’t keen on standing against it, either. She had her mic and the cameras. They had Elke and Anderson behind the camera crew, Marlow and Vaughn on either side, he and Mbuto just barely in view, with glasses and hats to provide a little concealment, though Bart still felt very exposed in all ways. Outside of their line were some Marines, who had armor and helmets and were in much better kit for combat, even if their weapons weren’t lethal. That, and the awful camouflage that would almost blend in with some of the rubbish and graffiti. He was amused.
It was one of the hazards of the job, wearing a marginally reinforced suit and hoping nothing big enough to defeat it came in. On the other hand, Marlow and Vaughn were even farther in and more exposed, if someone decided to go for the principal. Or if a riot started, as had been known to happen.
Highland at least had a good speech writer, and was a decent presenter. If Bart could appreciate it through the language barrier, it must be effective in English.
“… we should not see this as a wall dividing people, but as a joint effort in architecture, an agreement on boundaries, from which we can move forward…”
Something fell, and his mind said it was tossed from over the wall. His glasses flashed a trajectory, but it was hand tossed, not projected. The laser hadn’t stopped it because it was not a balloon, too massive. It was a real threat.
Bart stared down. It was a grenade, equidistant between Highland and himself. He was going to die, unless…
The Marine on his left outside was a head shorter, and in reach. Bart grabbed the pull handle on the front of the man’s armor, swung and threw while jumping. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jason and Alex hurl Highland right and rear.
The Marine landed on his back on the grenade, there was a crash..
… and Bart woke up in hospital.
It seems I survived, he thought to himself.
He did a quick check. He could feel all his limbs, and feel the pressure of the bed and sheets against them, so nothing was missing. His entire body burned and stung, but it all seemed to be functional. He was thirsty and hungry. A glance at the monitor proved his neck still worked, and that his vital signs were normal.
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