Better to Beg Forgiveness

by Michael Z. Williamson

"Meaning someone leaked the route."

  "It could be coincidence," the President said.

  "It could be," Alex agreed. "I don't like coincidences." He reached for a radio.

  The NCO said, "I'm supposed to relay a message that convoy commander is coming back to discuss some issues. We'll be stopping to perform convoy support and fueling in four kilometers."

  They all locked eyes for a moment before forcing themselves back to their sectors.

  "Discuss because they see the same threat? They suspect us? They want to change plans and have us peel out because we're drawing attention or don't want to be responsible?"

  "I suggest we depart now," Bart said.

  "Go," Alex said without pause. There was no good reason to stay here.

  Jason goosed it, ducked around the vehicle ahead, and went straight while the convoy slowed to turn left.

  "Tech White, Sergeants, we're going to have to leave you here and run our own evac. We greatly appreciate your help and it was a pleasure to assist."

  White nodded, her face red and stained and lined with stress. "That's probably best. Good luck." She had a thousand-meter stare and wasn't tracking well. She'd done a hell of a job, though.

  "And you."

  Jason braked, the Security Techs jumped off the roof and assisted White out the rear. One of them grabbed Buckley's body, and he could now see the wound. It was a headshot from the side, just under his helmet lip. Ugly. The rear vehicle of the convoy slowed and prepared to board them. Once it was clear they'd be picked up, Jason nailed it again. Allies were an iffy thing around here.

  Rahul opened his door, shimmied from under Elke, and stepped out.

  "What's up?" Jason asked, puzzled.

  "There are things I must do for my chief," the large man said cryptically. "I appreciate the ride to safety." He stepped to the back, leaned far in to hug his boss. "I will get things started for you, sir. Good luck."

  "I owe you much, friend," Bal said. "Be well."

  Then Rahul turned and jogged down the street to disappear into an alley.

  Jason shrugged and kept driving.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  An hour later, Aramis relaxed slightly. They were hidden in a hotel of sorts. It was a large addition built onto a house, with several suites. They stowed Bishwanath in a bedroom, with a strong drink for his nerves. He'd tried to refuse, and Alex insisted. Shaman claimed the bottle was "medicinal," and distributed a double shot each.

  The house was in an outer area of the city, and was just a frame building with a moderate amount of wear from outside. Jason had slipped in and rented space for a reasonable rate plus bribe from a thrilled owner who assumed they were smugglers. Jason was good at such things, Aramis admitted. He wanted to learn more from him.

  Now they had a few hours or a day or so before trouble would find them. That was enough to wash, rest, and regroup. Aramis used the time to check weapons and catch his breath from the chase. That had been an intense experience. Thrilling, even. That was a firefight, and serious EP work that would look great on a resume at some point, and he'd done a decent job, he thought, protecting their principal and literally carrying him to safety.

  Some of the others were still stressed, though.

  "Alex, you realize we're breaking all kinds of laws by doing this," Elke said. She hunched over, obviously nervous now. Her drink was untouched. She caressed her shotgun.

  "Well, Elke, there are laws and then there are laws," Alex said. Aramis didn't blame her. She carried the stress well, though.

  "I think we're cool," Aramis said. He sprawled on a couch and was comfy, dammit, even if it was musty and torn. "After all, if he's dead, we're not guarding him. We're just evacuating and taking some random civilian we felt sorry for out of harm's way. If he's alive, we've discovered an error in the system. Being incommunicado, we can't correct that error, so we have to handle it directly. Assuming we get out, no one can object . . . well, not officially." He finished his drink, crushed the cup, and bank-shot it into the corner designated for trash.

  "Goddam, son," Jason said, "you are a major dormitory lawyer. I think there's hope for you yet." He was sitting by the window, eyes out. An opened bulb of beer was next to him, but he'd hardly touched it. The alcohol was more for bonding than use.

  Bart was the exception. He'd produced beer, had one, and started on a second. The brawny German was true to his heritage. Beer wasn't just for breakfast anymore. It could be a snack.

  "Let's look at easy options first," Alex said. "Book tickets and leave."

  "They scan his face and stop him. If they're looking to eliminate him, they have to have planned for escape routes." Jason was cynical about such things, but usually correct.

  "Worse if they identify us with him. He can't travel alone and accomplish anything." Elke said.

  "Which rules out having Shaman scar him up a bit in the interim. Then there's b-metrics at the port," Aramis added. Shaman nodded. He was glad the President—Bal—wasn't here to discuss that idea.

  "Option Two," Alex said, ending discussion of a dead idea, "hide somewhere quiet and pretend not to be who he is."

  Bart said, "Accomplishes nothing but will keep him alive. Last resort. Or should that be first? It is not as if he can be in charge here anyway."

  "Last resort. We need to get the money," Aramis said.

  "You know, there's a name for people with that attitude," Elke said, voice tinged with annoyance.

  He stared back. "Yeah. Corporate mercenary. It's in my contract. You cash your check, don't you?" He was going to twit her over this, dammit.

  "Well, yes," she said with a shrug. "But there's also the playing with restraints and explosive in an unsafe fashion between nonconsenting adults. That's my part." Ah, her sense of humor was back. That was a good sign. Aramis also knew now it was a sense of humor. She wasn't quite as insane as she came across. Not quite. She really was human and not the bitch she pretended to be.

  "Last resort," Alex agreed. "We'll keep him alive if we can, claim we got cut off if anyone IDs us. Keeps him alive, doesn't cost us anything additional. We'd prefer to get the money and get him out to blow this thing. Option Three it is. Take him out and make lots of noise so we can always find contracts. Though my guess is Corporate won't mind."

  "Oh? Why not?" Aramis asked.

  "Because it doesn't violate our contract on paper, as you noted," Shaman said.

  Aramis muttered, "That was largely for reassurance."

  Shaman drowned him out. "And it proves we can accomplish our mission without backup when shit hits the fan, as you say. Put those together, and they'll love the publicity."

  "I think you're optimistic," Bart said. "Most of our contracts are with government, specifically BuState. They will not be happy."

  Shaman nodded. "Good point . . . though they won't dare admit it and can't hold it against Corporate. That means we may get stuck with NoGo missions for a while." He wasn't worried, of course. His skill set would always sell somewhere.

  "Hell, if we wanted to be safe, we wouldn't be in this job," Alex said. "So we do it, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "Sure."

  "Does that mean I can use more explosive?"

  "Elke, my incendiary love, you can use all the explosives we can find."

  "Why, thank you. A gift beyond price, as we have almost none." She looked much more cheerful, though. Crazy.

  "Hit the base," Aramis said impulsively, but he had an idea here.

  "Say what?" Alex asked.

  "Hit the base, load up a truck with gear. Drive it back out."

  Jason said, "Sure, and they'll just let us waltz through the gate to do that? Using what authority?"

  "This authority," he said, and pulled a holocard from his pocket, his reserve Army ID. "I need a uniform, get Elke a set of vid gear and civvies as a reporter. We beat up a truck, load you guys as casualties, and bang our way through Entry Control screaming and crying. Hit the armory if we have to, or just schmooze with Ordnance Logi
stics. Drive back out in a different vehicle waving as we go."

  "We'd be violating so many UN codes and Army regs I can't even count," Jason said. He grinned. "Fucking awesome."

  "I like it, too," Elke said.

  "As a plan, that lacks a monstrous amount of planning, prep, and coordination," Alex said.

  "And that's a problem?" Aramis asked.

  Shaman dryly said, "I rather think that's an advantage around here. While it lacks the elegance of a drawn plan, it has a certain raw appeal."

  "Exactly," Alex said. "We'll tweak it as we go. Let's roll."

  As they stood, Jason said, "Hey, Aramis, you've shaped up good. I'm glad to work with you." He held a hand out.

  Aramis took it and shook. "Uh, thanks." He seemed flustered and unsure how to respond.

  "Aramis?" Elke said. He turned, still shaking hands. "I'm impressed. Really. Because I'm impressed, you can have this." She leaned forward and mashed her lips against his. There was a ghostly flutter of tongue against his. Then she leaned back.

  "And because I'm a sadist," she grinned, eyes vividly bright, "that's all you're ever going to get."

  Fuck me, that was . . . "You're a bitch, Elke," he said. "But I promise you'll do more in my dreams tonight." He could still feel her hands on his chin and . . . wow.

  "I have every night," she said, "and in the shower and the head. Are you going to call a fire mission on your chin?"

  As he started flushing bright red, she punched him lightly in the arm and started laughing. He was still having trouble with that. She was a fine operator, but she was also decently hot when you saw her out of a suit. That was bothersome, especially as she was the only female around here who wasn't a disease vector or likely to kill you. Well, maybe not the latter . . .

  Bart interrupted the scene with, "Another issue to take care of is getting Bal up to speed on weapons. He's rusty. By 'rusty' I mean he never learned proper tactics. Brave, but unschooled."

  "Just like the Skinnies?" Aramis asked.

  Bart shook his head. "No, not that bad. He knows about cover, concealment, maneuver, and the need to work as a unit. It is not like he's a twenty-five-year-old child. He just never got taught the proper way to go about it."

  "So what are you giving him?"

  "Everything. Fire and maneuver, both advance and retreat under cover. Panic reaction. Room clearing."

  "Do you think we'll need that?" Shaman asked. He looked bothered.

  "No, but it is good training for handling weapons and following orders. He's a merc for the time being. He must move and act like one."

  "True," Alex agreed. "As to assets, we've got the weapons we have, one shitty vehicle that we can't use much more, and a small amount of money we'll have to save for food and possible bribes. Though not much in the way of bribes. Once we hit Kaporta we'll need a lot of stealth, because we don't have the requisite levels of cash."

  "Maybe I can help with that," Bishwanath said, standing in the doorway. Alex looked him over. He'd obviously had another couple of drinks. Good, he needed it.

  "With what, si— Bal?"

  The ex-president reached into an inside pocket and drew out a small but bulky sack. Alex had assumed the bulge was a weapon.

  "I brought some additional funds," Bal said, as he stepped forward and dumped the contents on the bed. "Six ounces of gold, some jewelry and two watches, an uncounted wad of marks Rahul was able to grab, and some more miscellaneous stuff." He went through his pockets drawing out assorted chains, rings, bullion coins, and some more cash.

  "Excellent," Alex said, looking impressed. "Well done, sir. That'll help. That will really help."

  Bal nodded. "And if Rahul has made it to safety, he will deposit into a small account I keep under another name. There could be a few thousand there."

  "Keeping in mind that transporting us anywhere is going to run in the thousands per movement, that's a great asset that we didn't have."

  Aramis fondled one of the gold bars. "PAMP Suisse has such beautiful stampings," he said.

  "Strikes," Jason corrected. "Coins and bullion are struck. Though I rather think the cash is better, being less noticeable. Bullion bars will not swap for even close to metal value down here, except maybe in barter."

  Aramis realized he was correct.

  "It's cash we didn't have before," Bart said.

  "No." Jason shook his head. "It's potential cash we didn't have."

  Shaman asked, "What's wrong with the exchange rate? We can visit any proper dealer or jeweler, once we clean up. I'm sure Elke can look appropriately professional."

  "We cannot take any of that to a legit dealer," Jason said.

  As people looked confused, Alex said, "Assay numbers."

  "Oh, right."

  Every bullion bar was coded with an assay number, attesting to its purity. Once scanned for confirmation, there'd be a file number in the bank. Most of it was Swiss or Canadian bullion, the finest available, and very discreet. But both PAMP and RCM records could be accessed by the UN with a warrant. They would have to go into black market circulation, at no more than seventy-five percent of actual market price, possibly fifty percent.

  "Well, it's still a big help. Thanks, sir," Alex offered. "Anything we can get will be an asset. So let's talk about transport and weapons."

  ****

  Weilhung was pissed. It didn't matter how many times a bureaucrat stuck his dick in a vise, he had to repeat the lesson with each new disaster to be certain that it was, in fact, a stupid idea and would hurt. He just wished he could do some of the cranking to apply that lesson.

  This meeting was BuState and Army, and not only was it about a jurisdictional dispute, but issues close to conspiracy, misuse of authority, and even treason were being discussed. As the junior man present and a deniable asset as part of Recon, a cynical part of him was seeking some kind of deniability of his own, fast. He considered that deWitt was not a backstabber, Weygandt could be but hated BuState, but that fat bastard leMieure, present only on vid, thank God, was a self-serving pig.

  "So we don't actually have a concrete location on Bishwanath, or his six hired thugs," Weygandt bitched.

  DeWitt said, "That might be best. I was never happy with the concept of just denying the man. If they can get him somewhere quiet, he can just disappear quietly back into his tribe. If he reappears in a decade, or even a couple of years, it's not a big deal."

  "I don't share your optimism," Weygandt said.

  "Nor do we." Michel LeMieure was a disgusting, bloated toad. Seeing him on vid didn't do justice to the reality. What Weilhung knew of him was just as unpleasant. What was rumored about his personal habits was disgusting. It was also believable. There was that invoice for a crate of mayonnaise. That the man actually showed up to talk with soldiers and dirty himself said he was having serious misgivings about the stupid, morally corrupt plan he'd sent down. Good.

  "If he shows up suddenly, it's not just a mistake," leMieure said. "We have to be very clear on this. Bishwanath disappears, dead in the fighting, so certain agendas can be aided."

  He's going to be a martyr, endorsing Dhe and other scumbags from the grave, Weilhung thought. Well, that really wasn't his problem. However, he did have a problem with exterminating a man over political differences. Bishwanath had been a good man. Hopefully still was.

  "Sir," he said, addressing Weygandt. "The Army cannot be party to an assassination. If you want to track him down and recover him, that we can do. Any 'accident' will be serious bad PR. We can't do it," he reiterated.

  LeMieure cut in, "We'll use what we need to, Major. There's more at stake than any bullshit 'honor' or other military crap."

  Weygandt looked stunned for a moment. "Ah, sir, I'm afraid I must concur with Weilhung on this. As senior legal officer for this operation, I—"

  "I'm sorry, Colonel, I thought you followed orders in the military." LeMieure had a snarl to his fat, sweating visage.

  "Absolutely," Weygandt said. "Get those orders from my chain
of command, with valid exemptions to the existing Laws of War and the Geneva Conventions, and I'll follow them."

  LeMieure stared at him, then at deWitt, who said, "Don't look at me, sir. Same applies to BuState. We don't have troops, we don't need the hassle, and I will not relay any orders to that effect."

  "You can be relieved of your position, deWitt." LeMieure was frothing now.

  "Have at it," deWitt said with a tight voice. "I'll be happy to comment on why. You may be the press's darling, but they'd love to take you down, too. Celebrity status doesn't protect you." DeWitt wasn't having any of it.

  Weilhung kept quiet. This was turning very ugly very fast. Best he not be dragged in. There was nothing good that could happen to his career if these scumbags started fighting. DeWitt caught his eye, and the two of them obviously agreed.

  "Do you even understand the problem here?" leMieure shouted. "We have announced the President is dead—"

  "You have announced," Weygandt insisted.

  "—and if he somehow survives we then have to put a good spin on it. He'll come out a hero."

  "I warned you not to make assumptions about the effectiveness of a mob," Weygandt kept pushing.

  LeMieure slammed his fists down on the desk below camera view. "You could have just fucking done the job yourselves and saved the hassle!"

  "This military does not engage in assassination," Weygandt repeated, standing and getting face to face with the holo image. "I am not setting up any of our people to be your bitch after doing your dirty work."

  Okay, this was getting interesting, Weilhung thought. Also very dangerous, and there was no way to sneak out.

  On the other hand, he mused, Weygandt did have a level of courage under the bureaucrat.

  LeMieure backed off, just a tad.

  "That's not the plan," he said. "All I—we want, is for there to be an accident. Find the reneging bastard, make sure there's a mob nearby. The graphic video will make it popular and martyr him for the right reasons."

  "Well, first we'd have to find him," Weygandt replied.

  Then everyone in the room was looking at deWitt.

  Eying the incoming fire, deWitt said, "The possibility exists, with enough resources. I'll need moving backup from Major Weilhung."