When Diplomacy Fails . . .

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “Jessie, I need to ask a favor, regarding Ms. Highland’s security.”

  “Yes?” the woman asked, looking alert and interested.

  “The constant media chatter decreases her safety. It means any threat knows her location to a close degree.”

  She didn’t look indignant, exactly, but certainly put upon.

  “That’s what I do—promotion. It’s expected. Ms. Highland’s ratings and electability depend on it.”

  “I understand, but it also increases risk.”

  “Well, that’s what you’re for.”

  “I’m here to make things as safe as possible, and that media chatter makes things less safe. This is why I’m bringing it up.”

  “It’s my job, and what she needs for this election cycle.” The woman was insistent and, as near as he could tell, clueless. He sighed mentally, while staying completely calm outside. He wondered if he could get a job as an actor.

  “Can you at least wait until after an event before you note it? Or at least after arrival? The scheduled events are a known issue, and have multiple agencies for security. The impromptu events are where the threat is, and I don’t believe a lot of outsiders actually make it. Only those in the immediate area. Which means anyone arriving has a strong motivation, with an increase in the negative side.”

  Chewing her lip, JessieM said, “I suppose. That’s a hindrance.”

  “Yes, but it makes her, and you, more safe.” Had he put just enough emphasis on that? He wasn’t going to tell her she was dispensable, but if she perceived a potential threat, it might help.

  “I will try, then,” she said. “A few minutes might be okay.”

  “It all helps.”

  Highland came through right then, and hurried over to JessieM, who plucked at lint, pulled a stray hair, and tugged a lapel.

  “You look great, ma’am,” she said.

  The cooloff cycle allowed the crowd to move closer, set up and take position. There was a red carpet unrolled from a large drum, a podium, flags, seat risers. The crowd included press, dignitaries from three of the factions and General Marsten, in charge of peacekeeping operations. They’d have to interact with him at some point. That would probably lead to some issues, they being armed, but under BuState, not BuMil.

  A chime on the Ripple Creek commo algorithm sounded. Cady’s voice said, “Playwright, this is Desi. On location, sweep complete, green.”

  “Desi, Playwright confirms.”

  Purser Sergeant Valko stood at the hatch controls, and had Highland even learned his name? It seemed unlikely. She was fussing with her hair again, and didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.

  Stepping around back, Alex drew the assistant aside and said, “Jessie, please don’t broadcast our departure. It would pinpoint our location on landing for any hostiles.”

  “Of course not,” she said, sounding put upon. “I’ll wait until we’re ready for Ms. Highland’s statement on the ground. That’s all I’ve told anyone to expect, and that was thirty minutes ago.”

  “Very good. Thank you.” That was a reasonable accommodation. He appreciated it.

  Highland finally turned and looked at Valko. “I’m ready,” she said simply. He nodded and swiped his panel. The hatch popped, chuffed, raised and swung. From the hold underneath, a complicated mechanism rolled a flowing staircase. This was a BuState landing limo, built on a military lander chassis. It could take a pretty good hit, and was designed to look classy in austere environments.

  The air was a little thin, but the gravity was light, so they should have no trouble operating. It was surprisingly clean air, and warm. There really hadn’t been much development here.

  Highland knew enough to wait. At a signal from Alex, Bart and Aramis stepped through and waited.

  She looked at Alex expectantly, lips parted, obviously eager. He gave it a few more seconds while Cady’s people swept for anything threatening.

  He transmitted, “On your mark, Desi.” She and Jason would coordinate with military on the ground.

  “Playwright, go.”

  He pointed at Highland. She nodded back and stepped off, JessieM right behind her, and a hindrance they’d have to deal with. Bart and Aramis preceded her as a wall of meat, Elke and Shaman closed in behind, and Alex took the rear.

  “Thanks, Olen,” he said to Valko. “Good to travel with you.”

  The man smiled back. “You’re welcome, sir. Be safe.”

  “That’s the plan,” he agreed as he stepped through and down.

  The stairway really was nice, descending in a long curve and a slight sweep. It had sparkly highlights that looked like something exotic, but was only aluminum dust embedded in the polymer. The heat increased as they descended.

  JessieM had sent her churp. Alex had his phone set to ping on her messages. If he couldn’t stop them, he could at least read and hear them.

  We’re down on Mtali. Ms. Highland will start her greeting momentarily. Sorry for the delay. It was necessary for safety in this action zone.

  “Action zone” was code for “war zone.” It wasn’t polite to use that word anymore. It was interesting, he reflected, how custom tailored language. Words came and went based on perception.

  He reached the bottom as Aramis and Bart reached the podium and stepped aside. They had to leave her exposed in front for the cameras. They’d shield the rest, even though the bulk of the lander did much of that. The time you didn’t was the time someone exploited it.

  The rain shield overhead was also ballistic protection. Between that and the mass of the crowd was a very small window she might be attacked through, and no buildings that had line of sight within three kilometers. They’d chosen this position to maximize safety, and of course, to have natural sunlight, or whatever it was called here, on her best angle. People imagined he was overpaid. They had no idea what this job entailed.

  There was still the small chance of a remotely piloted vehicle. Any engine signature should be noted, but gliders were also possible, so they had jamming . . .

  They didn’t think anyone hated her enough to shell the entire apron with artillery or rockets.

  Cady’s men kept up a steady patrol and scan. Outside that perimeter, the military had a Recon unit watching things. Recon and Ripple Creek didn’t get along very well, but they could work together. Outside that, the Aerospace Force had a security and marshal squadron. Outside that, the locals had whatever security they wanted, and good luck to them.

  The polished podium had been placed just so, for their security concerns, and for her presentation. The press were in a controlled area for safety, and to ensure they caught her at just the right angle of profile. Had politicians always been celebrities?

  She stepped up, looked in exactly the right direction, and read from the scroll on the one-way screen in front of her.

  “Thank you. It’s wonderful to be here, as we try to resolve differences in policies on a galactic matter, and between neighbors locally.” She paused, nodded slightly to acknowledge the applause that was being inserted electronically. There was no one close enough to be heard or seen. A camera pan of the spectators, watching her on remote video, would be merged in also.

  “I look forward to meeting with all the factions, as we explore our common ground . . .”

  He tuned her out. She was going to say absolutely nothing with a lot of words.

  She didn’t take long. At least she was a professional speaker, and knew to stick to high points and a simple message. Or maybe it was the baking heat of the flightline. Either way, she finished, stepped back, and paused for a few photos from the hovering drones.

  Those were a serious point of contention. Any drone was a potential bomb. Neither Ripple Creek nor BuState Security approved of them, or wanted to allow them. It was simply impossible to ascertain safety on them. However, media was a practical necessity, and a matter of Charter Freedoms. Instead, these were owned by BuState itself, controlled by one of Cady’s team, and the feed available to any news outlet
. There was always a legal challenge demanding individual access, and it always failed, and the media always tried anyway.

  Alex’s professional paranoia didn’t even like these. He had no direct control over them, so they were a potential threat, given the status of the principal.

  In this case, they were safe. This time. They filled in around her.

  He heard Jason in his earbuds. “Arriving, twenty.” He saw the vehicle and acknowledged.

  “Roger.” Then, “Ma’am, our transport is over to the left.”

  “I see it. I’m ready when you are.” It was nice having a principal experienced with security details. It simplified some things.

  The ARPAC pulled up at the edge of the apron. It would have been legal and simple to roll all the way in, but Highland had insisted on a walk for visibility. Cameras continued to hover far back. So, theoretically, could snipers.

  With a whine of power takeoff, the ramp lowered smoothly, and Jason stood there waiting, along with Cady and two of her men.

  “Welcome to Mtali,” Jason said as they approached. He smiled and seemed very glad to be together with his friends and teammates again.

  “Ma’am, Jason Vaughn is our technical specialist, crosstrained as a paramedic.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said with little emotion.

  “Jace Cady is Agent in Charge of the Facilities Security team,” he said, and introduced the tall Asian woman.

  Highland paid attention now.

  “Oh, Ms. Cady. So very good to meet you at last.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I appreciate the opportunity you offer, to work with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The effusive commentary had to be political, but unless . . . no, that had to be it. Highland knew Cady was trans, and wanted the political points, but wasn’t going to say so, because any mention of trans status was rude and gauche. It would be funny watching her try to juggle the conflicting issues if it didn’t make him ill to watch his friend being treated like a pawn over a very personal issue.

  He stopped musing when he heard the rattle of machine gun fire. Long burst. Mid-caliber.

  There was nothing wrong with Highland’s reflexes. She took two leaping steps in the general direction of the vehicle and dove behind a portable shield set for that purpose. Only he’d not imagined it would actually be needed.

  That’s why they pay us, and why we do that, he thought. Elke and Bart were closest, dove down with her, and readied to sprint up the ramp on either side of her.

  He pointed and shouted, “Contact left!”

  Jason shouted, “Suppression. I need some kind of suppression!” Elke didn’t have any explosives, no one had anything but light arms, and someone with a machine gun had them pinned.

  Then as fast as it had started, the hostiles disappeared.

  That was good, since they were alive and apparently unhurt. Just out of view, Shaman patted Highland down, and he knew that from the surprised yelp everyone made the first time that happened. It was bad, because they had no idea who the threat had been, and it was probable that others would follow.

  Aramis made it into the ARPAC in two leaps, braced feet on either side of the turret station, yanked and slammed the charging handle on the cannon, and opened fire in methodical but rapid shots.

  Highland started screaming.

  “Stop! Stop shooting! Get down, you militaristic asshole!”

  Aramis turned and stared, but didn’t let go of the weapon.

  “They’re gone, and I don’t want any bad press. Get down!”

  Aramis glanced at Alex, who nodded. He shrugged and climbed down.

  Highland lowered her voice, but not her intensity. “The whole point of a rating event is lost if someone gets hurt.”

  There were two ways to interpret that, but Alex keyed on the proper words, then replayed it again, both mentally and via his recorder, to be sure that’s what was actually said. It was too surreal to anger him now, though he knew it would shortly. In the meantime, he wanted to triple check.

  “Ma’am, please clarify for me. That attack was a fake, set to help with your image?”

  “It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s about presentation. Poise and confidence are critical to any race, or to any presentation. I needed to start this off on the right foot.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I need to know about these things.” He hadn’t heard any cracks pass by, so either it hadn’t been aimed this way, or they’d been blanks.

  “I didn’t know if you were trained enough as actors to be believable. It works better if it’s unstaged.”

  Yes, this was a waking nightmare. “It doesn’t really, ma’am. We can act appropriately, and without warning, our default appropriate response could have gotten someone shot. That won’t help your ratings.”

  “It depends on whom, and that’s what my publicists are for. That was just a show with some blanks. They’re not even real guns.”

  Well, this mission had hit the bottom of the shaft in a hurry, and was now starting to dig.

  “Ma’am, let me reiterate that we are trained, contracted and expected to use lethal force if necessary. That’s based on our threat assessment. I strongly caution against these kind of displays. There will be enough legitimate threats.”

  “Yes, but presentation is critical. I’d rather not be attacked, but if so, I of course plan to develop the event to demonstrate my core competencies.”

  Alex thought that “exploit” fit better than “develop.”

  He said, “Elke and Jason are both very skilled with cameras, for intel and promotional purposes. I am quite willing to make their footage available after it has been examined for tactical purposes.”

  Highland considered a moment, and replied, “Very well. I suppose I can arrange for Jessie to take charge of that if and when it happens.”

  “Thank you for your understanding. That will help us a lot.” He’d also make very sure that footage was edited to blur anything intel-worthy in the background. Jessie appeared to have little restraint on what she loaded.

  Highland continued, “You have to understand, part of the reason I was sent here was to lower my visibility during this stage of the campaign. This is a remote area, none of the key geographies care if these peasants kill each other, and I need to be able to maintain visibility, and boost my ratings.”

  “I can see that, ma’am, and we’ll do what we can to assist. Please keep us in the loop. We’re here for you.” Within reason. This bitch would actually stage a battle for vid ratings. Unbelievable.

  Alex understood the pressure she faced. He was not, however, going to assist with her campaign, even if it would make protecting her easier. There were some things even a pig wouldn’t do. He did need to learn about this, though, and work with it. That’s why he was getting paid more than most top surgeons.

  It didn’t seem like much of a deal. After all, that was probably why they’d nixed Elke’s explosives.

  At least they had an armored vehicle for transit. Clearly now, Highland wanted that for its imposing presence and the implication of great danger. However, this at least worked in their favor for protection purposes.

  There were cutouts in the contract to separate them from a client who refused to cooperate sufficiently. The problem was, those criteria were vague, though he had the final say, and their job was to protect the bitch, not play rules lawyer, there would be repercussions if they did so. Why this type of client? Because they paid a lot of money, which is what it came down to.

  There was a lot more to being a mercenary than people outside the business realized.

  CHAPTER 5

  JASON WAS GLAD to have been on the advance. He had a grasp of local conditions, or as much grasp as one could have from outside the insane clannishness and religious freakery that went on here. He’d made introductions, knew the rough lay of the base and the units, and had their billets set. Highland had choice quarters in the official VIP/diplomat/government sec
tion of the base. They had decent quarters a floor down. The rooms were spare and small, but they were private, and they had a roomy common area they’d convert into a ready room. It was better than most of the troops here would get. He idly wondered if any of those troops had been in Celadon on Salin when they were there.

  They also had a floor reserved at a nearby hotel, for them and their principal, and she had official quarters at the UN Colonial Liaison compound across town, where he’d staked out the adjoining suite using her credentials, to the annoyance of the local lodging manager.

  He led the way to their quarters and pointed to indicate rooms.

  “Aramis, Elke, Shaman, Bart, Jason, me. Kitchen. Had only vegetarian stuff when we arrived. Default to avoid upsetting people with dietary restrictions. However, it upset me, so I fixed that. Beer is very limited. We have one each to unwind from today, and I’ll purchase more on a very limited basis. That’s per me, Alex, Corporate and the base commander.”

  Aramis said, “I wasn’t going to argue the point, but Bart might.”

  “I will be fine,” Bart said. “Business is business.”

  “You see the vault there.” It was more a large cabinet than a real vault, but it would suffice. “I did encourage and assist both the Security Directorate and ACAMS—their electronic contractor—in wiring it. We can bypass it if need be. It will log and monitor all activity inside and immediately in front. There is no audio. I’ve already placed audio scramblers to make sure. I advised that we might discuss personal details of Ms. Highland, and certainly technical matters regarding her security and travel, and that any discovered leaks would lead to serious conspiracy investigations if something happened to her. They were reluctant even to give us the monitoring we have, so we should be safe.”

  Elke said, “Ah, there is the paranoia I’d missed so much when on Earth. It is so good to be normal again.”

  “Indeed. Everyone stow your personals, we’ll take a tour and discuss security. Beer when we’re back.”