When Diplomacy Fails . . .-eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “That was a power play.”

  “Yes. He wants us to know how connected he is, and that he thinks he’s better thereby.”

  “How long are we staying?”

  “Thirty minutes. Want to play a game of pool?”

  “Sure. I’m terrible at it and will laugh at myself.”

  “Can’t hurt.”

  Aramis was eager to get on with the mission, but there was always groundwork. He knew it was important, and he took pains to make sure it was done properly.

  In addition to the bailout bullion and cash, he’d been assigned discreet assets to use for his part of the groundwork. He was expected to furnish maps of as many areas as possible, with photos, on a non-connected system or actual paper. He usually went for both. Basic supplies of food, water, clothing and rucks would be stashed in several safe locations, along with weapons as they were able to acquire them by purchase, trade, battlefield pickups or outright theft from anyone who on paper wasn’t allowed to have them. Once, they’d even robbed a military armory. That had been life and death at the time, though. Planning ahead meant it might be unlawful, but shouldn’t come at a cost to anyone.

  Cady and Jason had two safehouses arranged already, but he would like a third. No one else needed to know about it.

  He reflected that three years before he’d been a pure mercenary, attracted by gobs of cash and the potential excitement. It now was more home to him than the military had been, still better paid, but with fantastic esprit de corps and a better sense of accomplishment. They kept people alive when no one else could. He took the task seriously. Still, there was a thrill of ancient gunslinging and swordselling in acquiring the assets they needed. Weapons, explosives and bullion made for a fine simulation of an adventure game, in the real world.

  The beer wasn’t very good, but he finished it rather than waste it. He finished cutting the current map, saved it on both the “phones” he had wire-connected to the unit, and ran six copies through the printer on tough polymer sheet. The phones had no circuits for communication, only memory storage and display. One printed copy would go to each bugout location, and one each to Jason, Alex and himself.

  At some point he’d have to make a shopping trip.

  CHAPTER 7

  ELKE ROSE EARLY. She was about to try something she hadn’t much experience with. Diplomacy.

  Neatly dressed complete to a blazer, she took an apple and a chunk of havarti cheese for breakfast, and went down to the vehicle apron.

  They had access to several, but for now, that little three wheel runabout was fine. It was different from the military’s, but State had several. Dressed like this, no one should remark on her. She rolled for the gate.

  The guard held up a pad, and she nodded, slowed and printed out.

  It took only minutes to reach the engineer compound. It had nice landscaping and a proud sign they’d milled themselves. That was a positive indicator. She drove in carefully. There were no shop markers. That was decent OPSEC, but she’d know what she was looking for, and yes, that was it. She parked.

  The shop in question was separated slightly from the others, had additional cofferdamming, and two items that were trophies. One was a section of nose cone off an H-17 rocket, the other a twisted corkscrew of metal that most people might take for mere fragmentation debris, but she knew had been explosively formed in a combination of practice and recreation. It was a reasonably good job, though she could do better.

  She pushed the button and waited patiently. It was a full two minutes before someone opened a physical hatch and looked through. He was early thirties, lean and unremarkable.

  “May I help you, ma’am?”

  “I’m Eleonora Sykora, Executive Protection Agent and Munitions Disposal Specialist in Charge, Ripple Creek Security. I will be operating in your area and need to consult with your shop chief.”

  “One moment. And can I see your ID, please?”

  She handed over her primary ID—she had a duplicate in case of emergencies, and several local and Earth IDs in case evasion was necessary. There was no reason it would be necessary here, but Jason issued the instructions and she concurred.

  The man glanced it over and said, “Very well, please stand by.” He closed the hatch.

  Another full minute elapsed before the door was opened. The greeter stood next to a woman, a master sergeant.

  She said, “Agent Sykora? I’m Master Sergeant Corbelle.” She sounded French, though the accent was unusual. Caribbean? Quebecois?

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Tea?” Corbelle indicated an office.

  “Thank you.”

  Elke adjusted her seat to keep her back from the door, accepted a cup from the assistant.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

  “Sorry. Sergeant Lang. Welcome to Mtali.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, Agent Sykora, you’re rather well known in some circles.”

  “More than I would like, on this tour, unfortunately.”

  “Yes, I figured that wasn’t intentional publicity. What can I help you with?”

  “I wish to be polite so that you know I am operating in your area. I am available for disposal work if not on post with my principal. I’m available for consult.”

  “We appreciate that. It’s been quiet, though your last tour had an interesting outcome.”

  “Which do you mean? I’ve had several.” Did they mean Govannon, where she’d used a small nuclear core as a distraction? Or . . .

  “Celadon, where you did recovery work after that home-brewed device.”

  “Ah, yes. A poorly executed contraption that was most exciting for a while.” She smiled slightly, then sipped her tea. It was quite good.

  Corbelle said, “‘Most exciting,’ indeed. I wish I’d been there, but I’m also glad I wasn’t.”

  “Are there any special rules or restrictions on operations here?”

  “As far as demolitions?”

  Elke nodded.

  “The near range, outside the South Gate, is limited to two hundred kilos per shot. The far range is outside the city, and I mean outside. The city comes to a stop and the wilderness begins. Very colonial. Out there, we’re unlimited.”

  “What about military engagements? Are they restricted on munitions?”

  Corbelle took a long drink, then said, “Very. They require patrol commander approval for any release. He has a key. Lethal weapons require shift commander approval from here. Support weapons may not be unlocked for two minutes.”

  “And explosive munitions?”

  “Prohibited except for artillery and Aerospace.”

  “There seems to have been a mixup. I have need of small charges for emergency escapes, disabling pursuit vehicles, entering safe buildings during emergencies. My request apparently got rolled into the military logistics, and was cancelled.”

  Corbelle smiled and shook her head. “No, Elke, ‘Demigoddess of Destruction,’ I am unable to furnish you with explosives. While I could obviously make some disappear, the tagants are unique and fresh and would positively identify the source. If any is stolen, I will have to mark you as a suspect.”

  Elke grew tight and cool inside. Kurva drat. That was not how she’d wanted to start the negotiations, nor end them. There was nothing she could do, however.

  She stood and said, “I remain at your disposal if need arises. Thank you for the tea.” She offered a hand briefly.

  She kept the cool lump inside until she exited the building, at which point it became incandescent.

  They’d lied to her all along. Even if they’d not known until arrival, Jason was the advance man, and would have had this information.

  This would mean a shopping trip.

  Alex didn’t sleep well. He rarely did the first night, had a lot to worry about, and had few allies to back him up. There were the twelve Ripple Creek operators here, and another team of four protecting Ahmed Anjari, but while he was that team’s putative boss, he
was mostly liaison and would sign off on any logistics issues. Unless an incident called for lawyers, they weren’t his problem.

  Highland and JessieM made up for it, though. He figured this morning, the first outing, would add to the stress.

  Highland’s first trip was twofold. She was to meet with the Mtali Sufi Council, and to be interviewed for the Mtali release of her video presentation, “Family Across Cultures.”

  In fact, the trouble had started already. A Sunni group vowed to protest her appearance. An Amala group claimed they’d been promised her presence first. Someone called her an enabler of illicit occupation, regarding the military mission. They hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

  Well, it was time to do that, and decide how to proceed.

  Elke had signed out to visit the base, with a note on return. As the five of them ate from a table nicely laid out by the unobtrusive staff, he broached the subject.

  Bart said, “With Aramis’s help, I can randomize the routes. Will we have support vehicles?”

  “We do not. I’m not sure why yet.”

  Jason said, “She won’t think of rescheduling.”

  “Nor should we. We can handle it. If we start being timid, we’ll lose professional rating.”

  “Are we working on our own PR here?”

  “No, but pretty much everything we do is PR. Our ability to deliver a principal safely is all we have. We certainly can’t get anywhere with Bart’s looks or Aramis’s manners.”

  Aramis said, “Or Elke’s subtlety.”

  “So we load up and do it.”

  “At least we have the ARPAC.”

  “Yup. Are we ready?”

  “It’s fueled and inspected. Cady’s people and subcontractors have charge of the park. I want weapons for all of us, a spare of each and water and food. Aramis?”

  “Yes, I have paper and RAMmed backup routes.”

  Alex asked, “What’s status on body armor?”

  “It was released last night, and Cady’s bringing it up now.”

  He heard Cady’s voice say, “I’m here, Alex. Jason pinged me.” He pointed and Bart rose to get the door.

  A dolly rolled in, boxes overflowing, with Cady following. Elke arrived behind.

  “They’re all here, but I suspect Bart’s isn’t fitted. Corcoran is on the way up to fit him now.” Jason could do armor, but Corcoran on Cady’s team was a specialist.

  “Danke,” said Bart. “I prefer not to use mass to stop bullets.” He started unstacking the boxes and ripping their seals.

  Aramis said, “Think of it as an ecological mission. You’re a portable heavy metal collection point.”

  Jason said, “I like him better as a self-deploying sandbag.”

  Corcoran arrived with tools. “I’d forgotten how big you were,” he said.

  “No bigger than last time. One nine five centimeters, one four zero kilos.”

  “Yes, but that’s a four X vest, and they only sent through two X. I can make it work.” He opened up his box and started adding inserts to the 2X to fit Bart’s frame. Girth was easy enough. Length required drilling holes in the carrier and threading in ballistic cord to hold extension panels. It didn’t take long.

  “The four X should be here in a week. This will have to do for now.”

  Bart shifted and stretched. “It’s no more uncomfortable than other stuff I have worn. I have my inside vest. This will work, thank you.”

  Alex kept a side eye on the process as he chose a route, planned movements and deployment positions, and checked the rest. It looked good, and still looked good, so he made the call.

  “Minister Highland, we are ready at your convenience.”

  “Thank you. I’ll just finish breakfast.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” He hoped that would be five minutes, not fifty, but they were paid either way. She should also know they’d need plenty of bracket time.

  This time she acted appropriately, and came through only eight minutes later, with JessieM. Highland clearly had armor under her blazer and polo.

  “Ma’am, may I ask about your armor?”

  “Angelwear, Rating R Two.”

  “Okay,” he said, and left it at that. Angelwear looked good, and he recalled they’d tried to use her for some contract leverage. It hadn’t worked because the stuff fell apart under military tests. However, for what she was doing it was probably okay. The idea was for her not to get shot anyway.

  “And you, Jessie?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have armor.”

  Elke said, “I have a spare undervest. It won’t stop armor punchers, but it will stop common civilian projectiles and fragments.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  “Back here, then.” She indicated her room.

  It took another thirty minutes of quiet but active bustle to get everything sorted and ready. They had their uniform and armor, weapons with ammo—he wasn’t sure Highland realized that, and wasn’t going to say anything, backup gear and the vehicle warmed.

  Downstairs at the dock, Alex looked for the weapon testing barrel he’d been told would be provided. He glanced at Cady with raised eyebrows. She shrugged back a response he read as, “Yes, I ordered it.”

  Shaman said, “Over there in the corner.” Yes, red drum, mounted on frame.

  “Good. Bart, Aramis, drag it over here.”

  The two men jogged over, grabbed it and heaved. The only effective ways to trap a bullet for test or practice were water or sand. Sand was easier to maintain. This was a specific silica grade and particle shape. With some scraping and yanking, they maneuvered it into place near the exit.

  Alex said, “I better contact the command post, just to make sure.” He flicked his mic to phone, said, “Command Post” and waited.

  It was only five seconds before he heard, “Command Post, Senior Sergeant Terkel, this is not a secure connection, how may I help you?”

  “This is Marlow, Special Agent in Charge, Ripple Creek, escorting Ms Highland on her approved itinerary.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “We need to test fire our weapons before departure. Please disregard the fire.”

  “Sir, we can’t do that. All reports of fire must be responded to. Additionally, no firing is allowed inside the perimeter except while under direct attack, with logged evidence.”

  There was nothing to be gained by arguing the point.

  “Then we’ll do so as soon as we’re outside the perimeter. Respond as you wish. Marlow out.” He closed the connection at once.

  As he expected, Terkel called back in seconds. “Sir, any fire will be considered a potential threat and investigated.”

  “Go right ahead,” he said and disconnected again.

  Shaman asked, “We’re really going to piss them off like that?”

  “Yes. They need to understand we do our thing our way and not according to their policies.”

  “I approve. I do wonder about repercussions.”

  “We’ll play Highland against them. Two can run that game.”

  He chuckled heartily. “I approve.”

  Highland arrived moments later, with JessieM. Elke was with them, and one of Cady’s females. Ridling? Amanda Ridling? Yes, that was it. Highland and Jessie wore long tan skirts, with tights underneath. Some cultural more they were complying with, no doubt.

  Highland smiled, nodded, made her way past and stepped aboard the vehicle. They were still using the ARPAC.

  Apparently, she felt safe enough on base. Well and good for now, but she really should let Alex make that decision. She obviously knew this, and obviously didn’t care.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “We are ready with your itinerary.”

  “Very good,” she said, seeming quite genial now. “Will you be adjusting the route and arrival?”

  “Always, and at random. We will deliver you on time, but sometimes earlier or from an unexpected direction.”

  “Very well. Let’s go.” She took a seat and seemed comforta
ble enough, with a rollout computer on her lap. JessieM took a seat across from her.

  The young woman then looked up. “I can’t get a signal in here,” she said in Alex’s general direction.

  He casually tapped Bart and they started rolling.

  “It’s one of the vehicle’s reinforcements, against electromagnetic effects, including pain stimulators, directional energy weapons and electrical capacitance.”

  “I see,” she said. She almost seemed to be in withdrawal, denied her outlet. Perhaps he was too hard on her. It was her livelihood she was being temporarily deprived of.

  The vehicle swayed in maneuvers, though it had a tight turning radius.

  “We’re out the gate,” Bart announced.

  “Good. Function check. Ma’am, we’re testing our weapons momentarily.”

  “Oh, yes,” she nodded, looking up from her work. “I thought you had already.”

  “They don’t want us to do it on base.”

  She rolled her eyes. At least they both agreed on that much.

  From the top turret, Aramis said, “We have a clear radius.”

  “Bart, drop the hatch. Quickly, folks, with cover.”

  Highland and Jessie both seemed familiar with the process and covered their ears.

  The rear hatch eased down a few centimeters, then dropped with a bang that shook up dust. Elke skipped down, fired her shotgun into the dirt, swung it and slung it, raised her carbine and shot, dropped it on its sling, drew pistol and shot. She reholstered, turned and came back, as Jason stepped back and did the same with his weapons. He swapped positions with Aramis as Elke swapped with Bart while he and Shaman shot, then Aramis and Alex brought up the rear.

  “Done,” he announced, and Bart, already back in the driver’s cabin, ran the ramp up at maximum speed. Aramis fired one short burst up above. Sirens were already audible on base, as the military responded to the “threat.”

  Alex sighed. He’d hear about that later. There was always some territorial dispute between branches. Increasingly, the military was run by MilBu, emphasis on the Bu. All their patrols should be testing weapons before venturing outside the wire.