When Diplomacy Fails . . .-eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  High overhead, another rocket sought to fall, only to be splattered into fine debris. A brilliant flash and crack of artificial lightning shook the sky in its wake. He couldn’t tell the incoming airframe, though it was on the larger end of short range stuff. The counterfire was definitely a combination of laser and particles. The laser marked the target for any physical followup, applied energy to it, and opened a plasma sheath. The particles ripped along that sheath and punched holes in the weakened missile.

  Interesting. The military had refused to comment on air defense, even though it applied directly to Highland’s safety. He’d seen a Cobra antiaircraft battery. The core buildings were around an improvised courtyard, and the missiles were hidden within, camo mesh and glittery distortion shields around them, that didn’t hide them from engineers with experience building landing fields. Apparently though, the Cobras were backup to the Sentinel Dual Array. He was glad to see it.

  Cady said, “It seems they have a lot of trust in their air defense, or a contempt for the local artillery.”

  “Any kind of counterbattery going out?”

  “Not that my sensors can detect. Though if it’s distant enough, they may have something more local to it.”

  “Or they may just be too snobbish and decadent to actually return fire.”

  “Earth culture? Snobbish and decadent?”

  “Yeah. A stretch, I know.”

  “In other observations, I see that the perimeter fence became live, the gate is locked, but there’s no supplemental forces, we remain unquestioned even though our presence and observations could theoretically be intel or terminal guidance.”

  She paused and he picked up. “The building has not been locked down. I bet our ID won’t be checked on entry.”

  “Well, that makes my job easier,” she said. “The local contractors aren’t present and the State weenies are useless. Why don’t we have Marine guards anymore?”

  “It was deemed ‘Amerocentric.’ Everyone should have a chance. These are Egyptian.”

  “Even by Egyptian standards, they are sub par.”

  “So it’s all up to you.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, and giggled again. “I’d like Elke to consult with me once she’s here.”

  “I’ll relay that.”

  The flight was comfortable enough, Alex thought. From the shuttle they’d embarked on a cruise liner that was privately owned by BuState, operated by contract and civil service crew, almost all of them veterans. That didn’t negate the possibility of attempts on their principal, but it did reduce the probability and change the factors.

  Still, it was nice to be comfortable while assessing threats. They each had a stateroom with frills and real wood paneling, which was ridiculous, and felt really odd during maneuvers, but the privacy and minimal but real space was something he appreciated. They’d once traveled all six in a bunkroom, on constant watch. This was nice.

  However, he didn’t trust the security protocols, nor the risk of anyone snooping, so they rotated between staterooms to discuss business, and did so by hand-writing notes to pass around and then shred. The contrast between state of the art ship and pencil on paper was amusing.

  Alex expected trouble at some point. They were hired for that reason. He didn’t expect an attack just yet, but political sniping would probably start early on.

  Eight days later, they were in system and prepared to transition to protection taskings. He had four of five shooters behind him, with Jason doing recon on Mtali, groundside. They were in what passed as a boardroom for this ship, on sparse but adequate furniture, as unarmed as anyone else. It was a policy brought about because of the risk of damaging the ship and causing leaks, even though the vessel was rated for meteorite impacts at ungodly velocity. Policies were usually based on emotion, not facts, and impossible to argue with.

  He stopped musing as the hatch swung. One of BuState’s guards was first, then the slight-looking redhead who was the assistant to Joy Herman Highland who came next, all 1.7 meters of her, projecting an attitude three meters tall, all of it bitch.

  The BuState security detail looked all too happy to hand her over. One of them came over, presented a tablet to be signed, then nodded as he turned. The four of them left with barely a mumbled goodbye.

  That left it all up to Alex, which, while it had downsides, also meant he didn’t have to argue with anyone except the principal. He expected that to be enough of a chore.

  “Minister Highland, I’m Alex Marlow.”

  She smiled cordially enough, though it was a politician’s smile. It was as real as her hair color and probably her breasts.

  “Thank you, Mr. Marlow,” she said, as she extended a hand. He recalled that she insisted on the appearance of manners. He took it firmly but not too hard.

  She continued, “Allow me to introduce Jessie Monroe, my personal assistant, publicist and factotum.”

  The elfin redhead offered a hand. He took it and said, “Of course we’re familiar with JessieM’s reports. It’s good to meet you.” He reflected he was lying as much as they were. JessieM was the unofficial voice of Highland’s empire. She made an endless stream of location reports, cute little references, posted fake “questions” that Highland could easily answer.

  She was also not part of the contracted protection.

  Monroe said, “A pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Marlow. That’s without an ‘E’, yes?”

  “Yes,” he said, then realized she was publicizing his name, company and location across the entire spectrum.

  He wasn’t going to address that in public, and it was too late for that incident. However, that shit could not be allowed. Jason wasn’t here, so he looked over at Elke. She raised an eyebrow, raised and lowered her head, and turned to her own enhanced “phone.”

  Then he turned to Highland and said, “Ma’am, I’d like to introduce the rest of the team and get up to speed, if that’s okay.” He didn’t clench his jaw or snarl.

  “Of course,” she said brightly. He wasn’t sure if that was act or honest.

  “Very well. Bart Weil is our most experienced VIP protection specialist, from Germany.”

  Bart let her offer her hand first. He knew all the manners. He even sometimes used them. Highland’s expression didn’t betray anything.

  “Mr. Weil.”

  “Minister Highland,” he said with a nod.

  “Aramis Anderson handles most of our navigation and is responsible for quite a bit of logistics.” Translation, the kid could plot and draw maps, and liked stashing guns and gear where it might be useful. He followed Bart’s lead and let her offer her hand, and she held his a fraction too long. Yes, he was quite handsome. Someone in her position should barely notice, though.

  “Mr. Anderson.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Eleonora Sykora is from the Czech Constituency and handles all our explosive and other hazardous material threats. She’ll also be your close escort in some areas.”

  Highland said, “Very good. Pleased to meet you, Miss Sykora.”

  “Elke is fine, if you wish.”

  “Very well.”

  “Jason Vaughn is from Grainne Colony, and is already on location, preparing and doing advance observation.” Her expression went from confused to understanding at his nonpresence, and she nodded. “He’s a technical specialist on mechanicals and electronics.” Mechanic, gunsmith, lockcracker, and occasional pilot.

  “Horace Mbuto is a surgeon in addition to being an executive protection specialist.”

  As she shook his hand, he said, “I have your medical files, ma’am, but if there’s anything else I should know, please do tell me. You have full privilege, and I like to be prepared for any eventuality, no matter how rare.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try to get you a load.” She didn’t seem bothered by it, which was good. At her level of government, she had to be familiar with general security protocols. However, she was probably also rather secretive and wouldn’t share
that info. People at her level were worried about any leaks of any kind, with good reason. Actually, to that end, Ripple Creek might be more reliable than her staff. They all cashed checks, but Ripple Creek’s loyalty was bought and paid for, at least for the duration.

  They moved through into the docking compartment. It was already cleared of crew, but Elke made another sweep, and Aramis physically checked hatches.

  JessieM tapped away at her screen.

  “I’m not getting any signal in here,” she said.

  There was the barest hint of a smile at the corner of Elke’s mouth. Alex decided he owed her a drink for picking up on that and acting on it. They couldn’t have many “problems” with reception, but hopefully they could talk about it and get JessieM to tone down the intel leak. Probably not, but he’d try.

  Elke reported back, “It all seems clear.”

  Without Jason, she was the go-to person, and their physical checks hadn’t shown anything. He preferred redundancy, but he trusted Elke.

  “Then we’ll stand by to transfer at Ms. Highland’s pleasure,” he said.

  She smiled a polished, professional smile and said, “We may as well do so now, then.”

  He said, “Yes, ma’am. Elke, Aramis, lead.”

  They took up position and preceded Highland, with Bart alongside her and Alex and Shaman at the rear. They locked through three hatches with chuff sounds and pressure shifts, into the deluxe landing shuttle, and took very comfortable couches.

  And how the hell did this luxoboat get insystem? It had to be hauled externally, and the energy cost would be insane. Even Caron Prescot never did that. She rode very basic shuttles up and down, and even the resort customers didn’t have it this nice.

  The UN government had the money, but there were better ways to spend it, he thought.

  Highland and her assistant took seats far forward. Alex indicated a bit of space, and the team sat four rows back. These were deep rows, with very comfortable couches, enough leg room even for Bart, adjustable tables and screens, everything. There was just enough airflow and mechanical noise to make an effective privacy screen.

  Aramis gave an inquiring look, Alex translated it and nodded assent for him to talk.

  “What’s the word on weapons?”

  “They’re approved.”

  “Approved?” Aramis asked, disbelieving. Yes, they actually had weapons.

  “Yes, armor with spares, two armored transport vehicles. Full commo suites. Knives, Jason’s hatchet, pistols, carbines, two squad weapons, that autocannon you like, a couple of sharpshooter rifles.”

  “And explosive?” Elke asked.

  “It’s supposed to be coming.”

  “Then I shall raise our principal’s standing in my portfolio.”

  Aramis flared his eyes. Alex could read his thoughts. Real weapons, and no one whining about what the locals might think. There had to be a catch, but he’d deal with it. Elke, of course, used explosive for things people never anticipated. They always assumed big blasts, and she could do that, including low-yield nukes. However, she started with firecrackers and smoke and escalated as needed. The only problem was that she used geometric or logarithmic progression. They tried not to share that fact.

  Alex said, “Jason will be waiting on the ground, with Cady, and they should have a minimum battlefield kit ready for us. They’ll bring it in before we go out.”

  Aramis said, “I like this gig better all the time.”

  “I’m just wondering when it will go south,” Alex said guardedly. “We aren’t getting a big check for nothing.”

  On his right, Shaman said, “Not all our contracts have been dangerous. Only about one in four. Though they tend to make up the difference in value. I’m considering that she certainly has a strong opinion of her value, and until the last ninety days before the election, she’s not eligible for Special Service Branch protection. If she thinks there’s a threat, we are arguably better than BuState security, and she’s not the one covering the tab.”

  “There is that,” Alex agreed. “And she’s certainly made a lot of claims of enemies.”

  Aramis asked, “You think there’s more to those stories than grandstanding?”

  Alex shrugged. “There may be, which would justify us being here. It could also be that our presence is supposed to suggest there’s more to those stories, for campaign purposes.”

  Bart said, “Let’s hope that’s the case, and run a tight operation. Either way, it’s what we’re paid for.”

  Aramis said, “And no quibbles over weapons. So it’s certainly not one of our worst assignments.”

  CHAPTER 4

  JASON DIDN’T LIKE THE PLAN. Even inside the driver’s compartment of a nicely climate-controlled Improved Attack Resistant Personnel Carrier outfitted as an executive transport. He watched the putatively secure feed of the landing shuttle, and fidgeted. He sweated in his suit.

  Tactically, everything was sound. The rest of the team would land with their principal in a few minutes. He had good leads in the area and an advance recon.

  The strategic questions were what triggered his senses. BuState had security guards, and there was no spoken, outright threat to her at this point. Keeping it in house would make political and economic sense. The only reason he could come up with for using Ripple Creek was to make them some sort of cover. Either they expected threats of a level that would be politically infeasible to handle themselves, or they planned to toss the team to the wolves. Or both.

  Of course, it was possible she was just using their image for political gain.

  It seemed unlikely, though. They weren’t popular in the press, so she wouldn’t pick up votes from their presence. The perceived threat level, however . . .

  In the compartment behind him were Agent Jace Cady and two of her people. It was possible to shimmy between the two areas, though not easily.

  Cady always looked exotically elegant, and if you didn’t know she’d started out male, you’d probably never guess. They’d even adjusted her wrist angles, as well as her hips. If you watched, though, she had the residual habits of someone raised male.

  Malcolm Lionel and Roger Edge were just suited goons to look at, but very good at their jobs. Malcolm was from Antigua, Roger very English.

  “You seem agitated,” Cady said.

  He said, “Yeah, and I shouldn’t be. Except there’s no good reason for her to use us.”

  “It could be they’re both cautious and wanting distance. They can blame us for being excessive and have it forgotten in the news a day later.”

  “True. I hope that’s all it is. We’re paid to take the blame.”

  Cady said, “Well, our perimeter, their perimeter and all nonphysical perimeters are secure. I’ve got our own bugs in the commo, and they’ll shriek if anyone else touches the lines.”

  “You always do a fine job. I’ve got no concerns about that.” He idly ran hands over the controls, eager to do something.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I am worried about a less than friendly principal and unseen threats.”

  “Of course. You’re also missing your accomplices.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, Elke’s great company, and Aramis, even if still a bit cocky, is the man to have at your back. I like how the company has let us sort into teams and stick there.”

  She said, “It works with five hundred employees. It wouldn’t work with five thousand.”

  “Exactly. Though we wouldn’t be any more capable or earn any more, either. The smaller structure helps. Now I realize you’ve got me distracted from stressing out alone, and the lander’s on its final approach. Thanks.”

  She giggled very softly. “You’re welcome. Guys, check weapons and prepare to open up.”

  A moment later she said, “Jason, check your phone. Tag for Highland and live feed.”

  “Uh? Okay.” He dug it from the pouch on his shoulder, spoke into it, thumbed it and let the feed load.

  JessieM: We’re here on the g
round with Ripple Creek Security. Alex Marlow in charge, looking ruff.”

  JessieM: Agent Sykora, Ripple Creek bomb expert.—photo. Ms. Highland should be well-protected.

  Oh, holy shit. Did she really churp their IDs into the seething morass of the nodes, openly and directly attached to the company and Highland? With current whereabouts?

  “Good thing this vehicle is EM proof. It’s unfortunate there’s something wrong with the outside transmission antenna.”

  Behind him he heard a ripping, cracking noise.

  “You know, you’re right,” Cady agreed.

  He’d need to arrange some sort of personal scrambler for them to wear, and they might want to consider something to obscure their faces.

  Then they waited patiently while the gull-like white monster was ferried across the apron, hosed in a nimbus of steam that carried the dreadful heat away to condense and rain out in an oval a half kilometer downwind, and was prepared for debarkation.

  A private signal chimed softly, and he kicked the ARPAC engine to life. IARPC was too clunky an acronym to pronounce, so it had been mutated.

  He pulled in a broad curve, slowing more than he liked to get around a tug, a cargo can crane, and some other vehicle. The ground crew hadn’t been told to expect him and didn’t know how to react. They did the next best thing; stayed still and let him work it.

  Once through those, he turned and backed, bringing the rear of the vehicle right up to the edge of the obligatory red carpet. She’d want to make a speech first, of course.

  Alex untensed as the craft rolled out. He was always nervous on landing, for no other reason than that was when most problems were likely to manifest, and there was no way to do anything about them for those few minutes.

  It would take several more minutes for the craft to maneuver to the departure area. There was no modern gate here; they’d have to cross open apron. That was a prime time for an attack because it was a clear, predictable window. He was ready for that. Before then, though, the craft would have to cool a bit, then be hosed down, so the remains of the incandescent passage through the atmosphere didn’t roast them on exit.