by Linda Nagata
“How long do you expect these interviews to last?” he asks.
Their spokesman looks relieved at the concession. “Fifteen or twenty minutes per person, sir. That’s assuming you’re willing to turn over video of the operation.”
“I’ll need a confidentiality agreement and limited liability.”
The youth hesitates, gaze unfocused as he listens to instructions from someone in authority. He nods. “Yes, sir, Mr. Han. I can have signatures by the time we’re done here.”
The legal documents are sent to the DC office, Lincoln assigns rooms for the agents to use, and the interviews commence. When his turn comes, he asks a question for every question he’s asked—and some get answered.
“How did you locate Hussam El-Hashem?” his interviewer wants to know.
Lincoln addresses his answer to the tablet, set up on the table between them, knowing that a senior official is present behind its little camera lens. “I employed local contractors to track him down. What can you people tell me about an outfit known as Variant Forces?”
The kid listens to instructions Lincoln can’t hear, then says, “We believe it’s a syndicate of unlicensed military contractors operating in north and central Africa. Sir, how many local contractors did you employ in your operation?”
“Every reliable one I could find.”
“Could you provide us with a specific number, sir?”
“Under twenty,” Lincoln allows. He doesn’t want to say three because that will lead to too many questions about the surveillance equipment he used—equipment the State Department is not allowed to use, not if they are operating legally. He moves immediately to his own question. “What information have you got on a mercenary with a crippled hand associated with Variant Forces, name of Jon Helm?”
The kid cocks his head, taking several seconds. Then he tells Lincoln, “They say no such man. Seven or eight warlords like to claim the identity. They use it to hide crimes or enhance their reputations. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Lincoln asks suspiciously.
“Yes, sir.”
“What about a mercenary with a crippled hand, Caucasian, by any name?”
“There are a lot of mercenaries in the region, sir. Could you tell us how many fatalities occurred during your mission?”
Lincoln: “Not precisely, no. We’re guessing at least four on the road. Those were defensive kills, undertaken to protect my people.”
“This would be the personnel in the technicals that were hit by your squadron of Hai-Lins?”
“Yes.”
“Were those UAVs operating under a customized artificial intelligence?”
“Absolutely. That AI is proprietary. I’m sure you’re aware we had trouble from a squadron of Arkinsons.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was flying the Arkinsons?” Lincoln asks.
The young man hesitates. “I’m sorry, sir. That’s classified.”
This is not an answer Lincoln expected. “Are you telling me those Arkinsons were allied assets?”
The kid looks worried. He gives a slight shake of his head. “There are ongoing operations in the area, sir. The answer is classified.”
Lincoln nods, hiding his frustration behind a neutral expression. What this agent is relaying to him… it doesn’t make sense, not in the context of what Miles reported, of what True was told. But even disinformation can be useful. Jon Helm is not a fictional person. He’s sure of that much.
He’s sure too that the State Department would not lie about it unless the identity of Jon Helm mattered.
Later, the agents ask to take possession of the intelligence material recovered during the mission. This Lincoln denies. “We need time to look it over.”
Given the backlog of evidence awaiting analysis in federal labs, he knows that if he turns over the recovered electronics now, it will be weeks, maybe months, before anyone bothers to look at it.
No, he’ll let Tamara examine it first. In ten days or so, he’ll hand it over to the feds as a goodwill gesture that might earn him favors down the road.
Senior Staff
“We can’t afford a war,” Chris is saying. “We need to contact Variant Forces. Work this out.”
Lincoln has re-gathered his senior staff in the conference room: Chris, Tamara, True, and Renata. Tempers are short. Renata presented the results of her research on the replacement cost of the Hai-Lins: an impossible forty million for all three. ReqOps still owes several million on the loan used to purchase the now-destroyed equipment.
“Big profits only happen on the back of big risks,” Lincoln reminded them. But no one anticipated a hole this deep.
Chris continues: “We’ve got major training contracts to fulfill. The next class gets here in three days. We need to be one hundred percent on our security before then, and if that means signing a peace treaty, I say we do it. We cannot run the risk of a vindictive hit harming our clients, and we cannot afford to lose this training contract.”
Lincoln does not agree with this assessment. He hasn’t announced it yet but he intends to postpone the training session. ReqOps can come back from the financial hit, but if they allow harm to come to their clients? The company will be finished, and deservedly so.
True says, “You’ve put this off long enough, Lincoln. You need to let our people know who we’re dealing with.”
He meets her gaze, nods. Chris realizes he’s been kept on the outside of something, and the knowledge does not go over well. “What the fuck, Lincoln?”
Lincoln leans back, crossing his arms. Might as well do this right. His gaze drifts up to a tiny camera glistening in the corner of the room. “Hello, Friday,” he says. “Call Jameson in here.”
Chris eyes him warily but asks no more questions, willing to wait. Renata too says nothing, though her tension is revealed in the quiet tapping of her polished fingernails against the table top. Other than that, it’s silent until Jameson walks in. He looks around the table, assesses the cool emotional climate, and scowls in suspicion.
“Take a seat,” Lincoln tells him.
Jameson pulls out the chair next to True. They trade a glance. The chair creaks as he sits down.
Lincoln says, “You’re here because you and Chris were part of Rogue Lightning.”
“This have to do with our emblem?” Jameson asks in his deep voice. “Juliet told me about that.”
“It’s more than the emblem. It’s about Shaw Walker, our original commander, before either of you were part of the team.”
“We know who Shaw Walker is,” Chris says. “We know how he died.” He’s careful not to look at True.
Lincoln says, “There’s evidence that he’s not dead, that he’s Jon Helm, and that elements within the State Department are aware of his identity.”
Neither believes it. After True provides details, neither wants to believe it.
“We were supposed to be the good guys,” Jameson says. “How could Walker be tangled up in all the shit Hussam’s been putting down? You knew him, Lincoln. You really think Walker is the same man as this asshole, Jon Helm?”
Lincoln chooses his words carefully. “Shaw Walker had his faults. We all do. If it is him, the time he spent in Nungsan must have fucked him up good.” He turns to Chris. “We can’t do a deal with Variant Forces. They’re an unknown. We have no idea if they would honor an agreement.”
“They called in a warning before they hit our air force,” Chris reminds him. “That shows restraint. They were concerned with avoiding casualties. That tells me they can be reasoned with.”
“They gave Eden Transit ninety seconds to clear out,” Lincoln says in contempt. “That’s not concern. That’s one step north of fuck you.”
“Come on. If he’s known to the State Department—maybe on their payroll?—he’s not going to—”
“We don’t know what his relationship to the State Department is, but I’m betting ‘deniable’ describes it. We are going to postpone the upcoming training session�
��”
Chris’s fist hits the table. “We cannot afford to do that! We will be liable for—”
Lincoln cuts him off. “Yes, we will be liable for costs! But we cannot take the risk that our clients will be targeted the same way the Hai-Lins were targeted, if Variant Forces decides to take it up a notch.”
Tamara leans in, lends her support. “Lincoln’s right. I don’t know if Shaw Walker or Variant Forces was behind the intrusion at True’s place. My gut instinct is that was a step up from the operation we encountered in the TEZ. Even so, if Variant Forces decides they want to scope us out, take a run at us, my guess is they have the personnel to pull it off.”
“So you think Variant Forces is more than Shaw Walker?” Chris asks. “You think he’s got his own development team?”
“Absolutely. We beat them in that dogfight but if we had to do it over again—”
“If we could do it over again,” Renata interrupts in a bitter tone.
“Where’s a renegade company like that going to find quality talent?” Jameson wants to know.
“Anywhere,” Tamara tells him. “Everywhere. We’re used to the university system. We expect the best programmers to come out of the best schools—but it’s not always that way. To be really good at this stuff, you’ve got to have a mind wired for it, and you’ve got to be confident in your abilities and, sometimes, willing to take chances. Those traits can show up anywhere, including the ungoverned territories.”
“I’m going to guess ‘right action’ is not their company motto,” Chris says acidly.
Tamara shrugs. “I’ve seen people in this country explain away what looks to me like inexcusable behavior. But morality aside, Walker is running a successful operation that almost certainly relies on wildcat talent with no accountability. I imagine his people are not overly concerned about mistakes. So a few bystanders get killed; so what? They just update the system and move on to the next job. An attitude like that will produce breakthroughs at a faster pace than a highly educated team working under the general liability of a big defense contractor. That’s why, in my opinion, wildcat systems are game changers.”
“More reason,” Lincoln says, “that we need to handle this straight up and handle it now. First we assess, confirm the identity of our enemy, and evaluate his resources. Then we go after him.”
“You’re going to hunt down Shaw Walker?” Chris asks in a harshly skeptical tone. “That’s where you want to focus our resources? And if you find him, what? You planning to bring him home?”
“Yes,” Lincoln affirms. “One way or another. We don’t leave anyone behind.”
Cross Purposes
One way or another.
An innocuous statement, but True doesn’t miss his meaning. She studies him from across the table, wondering: Are we at cross purposes?
He notices the intensity of her gaze. “Speak,” he tells her.
“I don’t want him dead.”
Lincoln crosses his arms, considers this for several seconds, then says, “I don’t either. That’s not my objective.”
“But it is an option?”
“Not an option,” he insists. “But a possible outcome? Sure. You know how it works. We’ll draw up the best plan we can, but once we’re in the field anything can happen.”
She nods. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re focused on removing the threat of Shaw Walker. I want that too, but more than that I need to hear from him his story of what happened in Burma.”
She feels everyone’s eyes on her, no one daring to talk until Lincoln says, “I get that. I know it’s important to you. But it’s too early to have this debate. Right now we have no idea where he is or what his circumstances are.”
“I’m going to back True on this one,” Tamara says. “That kind of closure matters.”
True hears this with gratitude. Tamara is their lone civilian voice and Lincoln respects her, seeks out her opinion.
Tamara continues. “I also need to insist that this company have a legal basis for whatever we decide to do. We cannot engage in a vigilante operation.”
“We won’t need to,” Renata says. She cocks her head, crosses her arms. She’s still spoiling for a fight. “We start by looking for an existing bounty on Jon Helm—”
Tamara shuts this down. “No bounty turned up in my early research.”
Renata shrugs. “So we be proactive. Get some puppet government to sponsor one and give us the cover we need.”
“No,” Chris says. “I am not going to play that game. If we do this, we do it right.”
Lincoln looks impatient with the debate. “We’ll work out the legal structure,” he says dismissively. “But we can’t do anything—we can’t know what’s possible to do—until we find him and understand how he’s situated. That’s our initial task and we need to do it quietly. Carefully. If we want to control the situation, he can’t know we’re coming.”
True is left uneasy, unhappy, as the meeting breaks up. Nothing is decided, not officially, but she’s worried that her concerns will be dismissed, and that this chance, her chance, to understand what happened at Nungsan will be taken away from her—if she allows it to be taken away.
It’s unsettling to feel so at odds with the people she trusts.
She’d like to retreat to her office. Instead she tells Lincoln, “I’m going to talk to our people.”
“Do it.”
She takes Jameson with her. They gather the team in the break room and True goes over it all again, laying down what’s happened and what’s known of Shaw Walker, and warning them to be careful. She listens to their disgruntled talk.
Felice lets her sarcasm spill over: “So we know the guy who burned our air force? Shit, with friends like that…”
Khalid looks to the future: “We going after him?”
Jameson eyes True. He didn’t say much in the conference room, but that look, it’s an apology. Sorry I gotta do this, Mama. He turns to the others and says, “It needs to be done.”
“One way or another,” True says coldly.
Rohan’s usual good humor has evaporated. His ginger eyebrows meet in a cynical glare. “Revenge sucks as a motive, Mama. Tell me we’ve got a major bounty in play?”
“No bounty,” True answers. “Not that we know of.”
“So it’s a question of honor?” Felice wants to know, her tone making it clear what she thinks of honor as a motivation.
“Ah, Jesus,” Rohan says with a roll of his eyes. “Fucking save me.”
“This stays within these walls,” True warns them. “It stays within the QRF. You got any concerns, come see me.”
After that she does retreat to her office, though she leaves the door ajar as an invitation to anyone with questions.
It’s not yet noon, but she’s tired: physically spent from the mission and emotionally worn by the fallout. She’s edgy, too. Now that she knows he’s out there, Shaw Walker, she can’t imagine relaxing until she finds him, gets her answers.
That’s all right. She’s got too much to do to relax anyway.
She starts by calling Miles. She wants to check in with him, see how he’s doing, and to thank him for keeping silent about Shaw. “Heads up, Ripley,” she says to alert her personal agent. “Call Miles Dushane.”
His phone rings several times, then goes to voice mail. She leaves a basic message: “Miles, it’s True Brighton. Call me when you get a chance.”
A footstep outside her office door alerts her. She looks up as Jameson comes in. At the moment her feelings toward him are less than friendly—and apparently it shows.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says in his low voice, closing the door firmly behind him.
“I thought maybe you’d get it,” she tells him.
He sits down in the guest chair. Leans forward. “I do get it. I got kids of my own. I know where you’re coming from. In your place I’d feel the same way.”
“It needs to be done,” she quotes him. “One way or another.”
&n
bsp; He considers this, rocking in the chair while she watches him. When he speaks again, it’s in precise, carefully chosen words. “When a brother wanders off the path, it’s right action to go after him, bring him home, bring him to justice if that’s needed. But I don’t know this bastard. He’s not my brother. He wiped out our Hai-Lins and that makes him the enemy. I’ve gotta believe he’s hunting us, Mama. That fucked-up mechanical deer you saw—who you think that belongs to? He’s mapping out your life. He’s probably mapping out all our lives so he can hit us. I don’t care ’bout bringing the brother home. I want to bring the battle to him. Hit him before he hits us here at our home. I’ve got to think of my kids, True. They’re only three years old. I’ve got to think of my wife.”
True sighs and leans back, lacing her fingers together, pondering what little they know. Shaw led the raid to kidnap Miles; he had a contract to protect Hussam. Logical to assume the two were partners on a kidnapping-and-ransom gig. A criminal business, to be sure, but a business all the same. And the hit against the Hai-Lins, wasn’t that just business too?
“It might already be over,” she says. “The Hai-Lins might have balanced the scales.”
“Not a chance I want to take.”
“This is Shaw Walker,” she reminds him. “If we swing and we miss, guaranteed he’s coming after us.”
“I got that, Mama. And that’s why I think we need to do it off the books. Do it mean. Ensure the threat is neutralized.”
She shakes her head. “You heard Tamara. This can’t be a vigilante action. He has ties to the State Department. You don’t think they’d notice?”
“They might thank us.”
This is about his kids. She makes herself remember that and adopts a conciliatory tone. “Let’s see how it plays out. Nothing we can do anyway until we know where he is.”
“Yeah. Until then, we are targets in his scope.”
~~~
Khalid spent two years in the TEZ, listening to gossip and chasing rumors. Jon Helm was one of those rumors. It was generally agreed he was an American mercenary and you did not want to be in a conflict if he was hired by the other side. But Khalid had never gotten anyone to admit that they’d met Jon Helm. Rumor insisted he was an American but nothing else was certain. He was a black guy or a white guy. He was a drunk, he was disciplined. He lived in Sudan, Algeria, Chad, maybe Mali. Somewhere far away, but he could turn up without warning and make warlords disappear.