Into the Light
Page 63
“Still, Minister, he isn’t to be trusted.”
“Of course not,” Myrcal said with a smile. “He would, however, make an excellent hostage.”
“You want to … you want to capture Ambassador Abu as part of the hostage grab? But he’s in Dianzhyr.”
“But what if we were to summon him here, asking for an accounting of his meeting with Qwelth? I believe he’d come … right here, into our clutches, before he goes running off to Councilor Arthur to report whatever suspicions or evidence they’ve found. That can be the trigger for grabbing all the rest of the Earthians, planet-wide.”
“That’s certainly bold,” Jorhsal said, shaking ous head slowly.
“It is bold, which is what makes it so perfect,” Myrcal said, “but what makes it even better is that—if we capture Abu here in Kwyzo nar Qwern—we’ll be able to take him straight to the War Palace, where even the Earthians won’t be able to find him. They’ll have to negotiate with us!”
“That is indeed an inspired plan, Minister.”
“It is. Now, I must go inform Ambassador Fikiryah that we’d like to have Abu come here to brief us on whatever he was discussing with Qwelth. While I’m gone, I want you to let all our operatives know that the time to act is at hand.”
“It will be done, Minister.”
“Good.” Myrcal smiled again. “It’s time to finally bring this to a conclusion.”
. XIX .
ABU BAKR’S AIRAAVATHA, EN ROUTE TO KWYZO NAR QWERN;
CITIES OF RAZDYR, TYRHAZ, AND KWYZO NAR QWERN,
QWERNIAN EMPIRE,
SARTH
“Well, I’ll say this for Myrcal,” Malachi Dvorak said sourly. “For a neutro, ou’s got big brass balls. I have to wonder how much brain ou’s got, though!”
“I detect a certain rancor,” Abu Bakr observed from the Airaavatha’s VIP passenger compartment, and the Space Marine snorted.
“You might say that, Sir.”
Although Abu Bakr had been as much an “uncle” to the Dvorak kids as Daniel Torino and Pieter Ushakov, Captain Dvorak was always careful to observe military courtesy when he was on duty. He would have done it anyway, but his father’s—and especially his mother’s—reaction if he hadn’t would have been … epic, Abu Bakr thought with a smile of memory. It was welcome, that smile, under the circumstances, but it was also fleeting.
“I won’t say you’re wrong, Malachi,” he said, after a moment, “but there are rules. And whether or not we like it, we have to follow them.”
“Tell me, Sir,” Malachi asked, looking back over his shoulder, “did you ever see a movie called Road House? It’s from all the way back in 1990, I think. Maybe even a little earlier.” Abu Bakr raised an eyebrow, and Malachi shrugged. “Hey, it was one of my folks’ favorite movies.”
“I know.” Abu Bakr shook his head. “Your father inflicted it on me several years ago. In fairness, it was actually pretty good. Should I assume you’re thinking about Patrick Swayze’s three rules for the bouncers?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking about, Sir.” Malachi smiled thinly. “I understand about the rules, and I understand we have to follow them, and I understand that we have to smile and be nice while we do. But the truth? The truth is I really, really hope Myrcal’s going to give us a reason to not be nice.”
Abu Bakr considered pointing out that it would be far better for all concerned if that didn’t happen, but he decided not to. First, because he strongly suspected that it was going to happen, if not today, then soon enough. Second, because he had complete faith in Malachi Dvorak’s professionalism. Whatever the captain might want, he wasn’t about to engineer any reasons “to not be nice.” Third, because Jasmine Sherman sat in the passenger seat behind his, prepared to be however “not nice” it took to ensure that nothing untoward happened to one Abu Bakr. But, fourth … fourth, because he understood precisely why Malachi wanted to kick the hell out of the people responsible for what had happened to his father.
And because, despite his own responsibilities, Abu Bakr felt exactly the same way.
“If Myrcal does do something stupid—something else stupid, I mean—I’m sure you and the rest of your uncle’s Space Marines will convince him of the error of his ways,” he said.
“Oh, yes, Sir. I think you can rely on that.”
Abu Bakr nodded, and Malachi turned back to face forward again while the Airaavatha’s icon moved steadily westward on the terrain map projected onto his corneal implants, boring through atmosphere at a leisurely six hundred kilometers per hour. They could have made the trip much more rapidly. For that matter, they could’ve used one of the Starlanders or Starfires, except that Abu Bakr had decided to make a point. If Myrcal wanted to “request” Abu Bakr’s presence in Kwyzo nar Qwern “at his very earliest convenience,” then Abu Bakr would come directly from Dianzhyr, underscoring where he’d been when the “request” came in. And he would take his own sweet time getting there, too. Whether or not the Qwernians would recognize just how leisurely he was responding to their summons was more than Malachi could say. Ostensibly, it was to permit the fighter escort the Qwernians had insisted on providing to keep pace with them, but Malachi could always hope Myrcal realized Abu Bakr’s decision to make the trip in air-breathing mode was at least partly to rub ous nose in ous relative importance—or lack thereof—on the Earthians’ current “Things to Do” list.
He smiled again at that thought, then closed his eyes to concentrate on his implants. After so many years, switching corneal projections was as automatic as breathing, and he flipped quickly through the status reports not simply from the units of his own command, but from Troy’s command center, as well.
At the moment, everything seemed to be exactly where it was supposed to be and doing exactly what it was supposed to be doing, on the Sarthian side as well as the “Earthians’.” Of course, that could have been said of his father’s last visit to Sarth, right up to the moment his vehicle blew the hell up.
Malachi’s jaw tightened. Every hideous second of that day came back to him in nightmares, and he knew Morgana was right. Part of it was simple trauma, but part of it was his own belief that he should have been able to prevent the attack. That was his job. It was what he’d been there for. And he’d failed miserably.
His uncle—as Brigadier Wilson, not Uncle Rob—had taken him ruthlessly back through every single step, and Rob Wilson’s conclusion matched that of his staff and of Admiral Swenson and her staff: Malachi Dvorak had done everything right that day.
Now if only Malachi Dvorak could accept that.
Oh, quit kicking yourself and concentrate … at least while you’re on the clock, he told himself. And you know Morg is right. You and Marge damned well saved Dad’s life. Even if you did let him get blown up first.
He gave himself a mental shake and told himself to take his own advice. And at least he was better equipped to keep Abu Bakr alive.
For one thing, the modified Airaavathas with the armorplast canopies were a thing of the past. The Sarthians had understood perfectly when their visitors decided to put safety in front of courtesy and appearances. If there were any who hadn’t, Malachi Dvorak didn’t give a good goddamn. So not only had they retired the diplomatic models, but they’d broken out the offensive armament to supplement the IFVs’ defensive suite and re-embarked the gunners.
If the bastards wanted to try to kill someone else on his watch, they were welcome to bring it on, he thought grimly.
“Crossing the Danto border in two minutes, Boss,” Corporal Celaj said. “’Nother hour or so to Kwyzno.”
* * *
“THEY’VE CROSSED THE frontier and the close escort’s made contact, Tysan,” Lance Swaygan KySwayHyr reported.
Myrcal MyrFarZol started to reply, then stopped ouself and shook ous head in acknowledgment, instead. Ou wasn’t certain ou had adequate command of ous own voice at the moment.
Swaygan saluted and turned on a heel to march back to his own post at the center of
the War Palace command post, and Myrcal’s nasal flaps smiled faintly as ou watched the lance’s back. Swaygan hadn’t said so in so many words, but Myrcal knew he’d rather be in the field, commanding his regiment, and not cooped up here in the War Palace. For that matter, the foreign minister strongly suspected that Swaygan didn’t really approve of the entire operation. Like so many of the Army’s “professionals”—from Flythyr, who had strenuously opposed it, all the way down—the lance had trouble thinking outside the tightly drawn limits of conventional thought. He saw the potential downsides of Operation Whirlwind only too clearly. It was unfortunate that he was unable to recognize the enormous potential prize with equal clarity, but he was a professional, and that meant he’d do as he was told.
Myrcal shrugged that thought aside and crossed to look down at the large map table and discovered that Lance Swaygan’s report, while accurate, had been incomplete.
The Earthians could have been invisible to Qwernian radar if they’d chosen to be, and ou reminded himself that there might well be Earthian aircraft up there which were doing just that. The air car bearing Abu Bakr towards his rendezvous with captivity, however, was a diplomatic vehicle, and there were niceties to observe where diplomatic vehicles were concerned. It was incumbent upon the Empire to clear airspace around it, and that meant it was incumbent upon the Earthians to be visible so that their hosts could know which airspace to clear. That made tracking it easy enough, and it hadn’t actually crossed the Empire’s frontier yet. It had crossed the frontier between the Republic and Yaluz, however, and Yaluz was a member of the Qwernian Alliance, so technically Abu Bakr was now in Qwernian airspace. But he was also on the far side of the Yaluz Mountains, still thirty-five minrans from the Empire’s airspace and well over a hundred minrans from Kwyzo nar Qwern itself. At his current speed, the Earthian would take about half a minaq just to cross the Empire’s frontier and about half a secar to actually reach the capital.
Ou stood, watching the progress as one of Swaygan’s noncoms moved the token representing Abu Bakr slowly across the map in response to updates over his crestphones.
Soon, ou thought, anticipating the moment when Abu Bakr discovered how totally he’d been outthought and outmaneuvered and the Empire presented its terms to Councilor Arthur. Soon. And we’ll see who looks down on who when this is over.
* * *
“WHUPS. GOT SOMETHING here,” Private Somogyi Fanni said suddenly.
“Got what?” Corporal Tomas Alvarado asked.
He and Somogyi were the wing assigned to ride herd on Doctor Yamazaki Motoshige. At the moment, they were parked at the end of the short hall which provided the only access to the lecture room in which Yamazaki was demonstrating the rudiments of modern medicine to an audience of Sarthian surgeons. Alvarado would’ve preferred to have either himself or Somogyi in the room with him, but Yamazaki had pointed out that there was no other way into the lecture room and suggested that a bodyguard standing around with an assault rifle might possibly distract some of the Sarthians from his presentation.
Alvarado rather liked Doctor Yamazaki, but he could be a little frustrating to the Space Marines charged with keeping him safe. Yamazaki was a stout, cheerful fellow who’d gone into medicine because of how much he liked people, and that extended to people who looked a lot like tailless velociraptors. Despite what had happened to Secretary Dvorak and half a dozen of his fellow diplomats, Yamazaki—who, to be fair, wasn’t a diplomat; he was a doctor—clearly had trouble believing that even a religious fanatic could possibly want to harm him.
Alvarado, who’d spent a tour in Pakistan, had encountered quite a few religious fanatics. They continued to come out of the hills every so often in efforts to “restore the legitimate government” of Pakistan (this despite the fact that seventy-plus percent of all Pakistanis strongly supported the “degenerate Western travesty” the religious nuts in question opposed), and Alvarado had had more experience with them than he could have preferred. As such, there was very little he was willing to put past a religious fanatic whose fanaticism was fully engaged.
He just wished he could convince Yamazaki of the same thing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, and Yamazaki had a point about the only way into the lecture room.
“Not sure,” Somogyi said in reply to his question. She was frowning as she reran the sensor anomaly. “Giselle is picking up something from Alpha Three.”
“Like what? Talk to me here, Fanni!”
“Working on it,” Somogyi said, and Alvarado grimaced. Giselle—Somogyi’s phone’s AI—could be occasionally cranky, but—
“Tom, she’s calling it nitrocellulose,” Somogyi said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.
“What? On Alpha Three?”
“That’s what she says. And—” Somogyi’s tone sharpened “—she says it just turned up.”
“Mierda,” Alvarado muttered, wondering if Giselle’s crankiness was to blame for the reading. It seemed more likely than that the sensor they’d deployed in the shrubbery of this hospital wing’s central courtyard should suddenly be picking up a nitrocellulose signature. For that matter, they were in a hospital, and a Sarthian one, at that. Cristo only knew what kind of chemical compounds might be floating around an environment like that! But Giselle was reporting that it had “just turned up”?
“Anything on visual?”
“No, but Alpha Three’s pretty much buried in the bushes.”
There might have been just a hint of criticism in Somogyi’s tone, Alvarado thought. He was the one who’d chosen the positions for the Alpha sensors, and he’d been more concerned about keeping them concealed than about giving them the very best visual angles.
“All right,” he said. “Hold one. Marcela,” he cued his own AI, “Doctor Yamazaki.”
“Yes, Tomas?” Yamazaki’s courteous voice replied after a moment.
“We have a sensor anomaly out here, Doc. May be nothing, but we’re going to have to check it out. You know the drill.”
“But I’m coming up on a critical moment of the presentation,” Yamazaki said.
“Sorry about that, Doc. And like I say, it may be nothing and you can get right back to it. But, right now, you need to start heading this way in case we need to cram you into the car and bug out.”
“You’re going to insist on this, aren’t you?” Yamazaki’s tone was resigned now, and Alvarado chuckled.
“’Fraid so, Doc. So, are you on your way?”
“Give me ten seconds to at least make my excuses.”
“Ten seconds, Doc. Not eleven!”
“Slave driver!”
Alvarado chuckled again, then glanced at Somogyi.
“Doc’s on his way. Once we’ve got him safely under our eagle eye, guess who gets to go beat the bushes?”
“Gee, thanks.”
* * *
“YES?” FIST WEYRKYN HarShulWeyr pressed the phone receiver to his crest.
“The Earthian is leaving!” the voice at the other end said.
“What do you mean, leaving?” Weyrkyn demanded.
“I mean he just told the doctors he ‘has to go but he hopes he’ll be back.’”
“Shit.” Weyrkyn looked at the rest of his team. Aside from Starth Fyrmalyk JyrKholTarn, who Weyrkyn had just sent out to watch the courtyard, all of his double-eight of heavily armed special operations troopers were assembled in the spare doctors’ lounge, looking at him, waiting for orders. But what did he do now?
There are only two of them, he told himself, closing his eyes in thought, and they don’t have their magic armor or anything else. And my people are good. But—
Both the mission orders and the pre-op briefings had emphasized the need for the operation to kick off simultaneously, and he wondered which civilian genius had been responsible for that? Any soldier knew “simultaneous” was more easily ordered than accomplished. But the same orders that warned so sternly about the absolute necessity of waiting for the command code had also emphasized that it was essential none of the Ea
rthians earmarked as hostages be allowed to escape capture. So what did he do—?
* * *
“HERE I AM,” Yamazaki Motoshige said, and Corporal Alvarado nodded.
“I’m genuinely sorry, Doc, but standing orders.”
He shrugged, and Yamazaki nodded.
“Understood, Tomas. And I’m grateful you’re taking such good care of me. It’s just a tiny bit inconvenient.”
“I know, but inconvenience—”
“‘Is a piss-poor reason to get yourself killed,’” Yamazaki finished with a smile.
“Only reason I repeat myself so much is because I’m so right about that,” Alvarado riposted with a broader smile. Then he nodded to Somogyi.
“Go check it out, Fanni.”
* * *
“THE FEMALE’S HEADED for the courtyard,” the voice on the other end of the telephone said, and Fist Weyrkyn swallowed a curse.
“The female is headed for the courtyard,” he repeated to Leader of Thirty-Six Qwezyr as the noncom leaned closer. Qwezyr’s nasal flaps frowned, and Weyrkyn didn’t blame her one bit.
Fyrmalyk JyrKholTarn was young, and looked younger than her age. She was also slightly built, more like a bearer than a female, and looked about as threatening as a secondary student on her way to her graduation dance. Appearances could be deceiving, however, and the harmless looking starth was actually extraordinarily dangerous, whether with her bare hands or with the blade and automatic pistol in the thigh holsters under her hospital uniform kilt. And despite her lowly rank, Fyrmalyk was both smart and ruthless. Coupled with her innocuous appearance, that made her the perfect choice as Weyrkyn’s forward picket. But she was on her own now. There was no way for him to communicate with her even to warn her of the Earthian’s approach.
“How do you want to handle it, Sir?”
The thirty-six’s voice was as low-pitched as Weyrkyn’s had been, and the fist’s nasal flaps grimaced.