When Diplomacy Fails . . . (18 page)

“Those mercenary assholes! That loose-lipped bastard, telling everyone we staged an attack. They can’t be trusted with anything.”

JessieM sounded timid as she said, “It’s always best to keep information inside, ma’am.”

Yes, Highland had told them of the fact herself. She seemed to have missed that. Interesting that she didn’t trust her own intel people, or the military’s. What a terrible world she lived in.

Highland said, “Well, we’re safe here. Das admitted he can’t spy on us, and Gillette said he detected nothing. As long as our phones are off, we’re okay.”

That was amusing, and even more so as her monitors picked up two phones handshaking the nodes and logging out. They’d both had active systems.

So, Elke must assume someone else with similar gear was monitoring Highland, too. It wasn’t certain, but it was eminently possible. That was the nature of their world. Still, their principal assumed she had secrecy. It was a good thing she didn’t know about Shaman’s monitors, also.

JessieM said, “Ma’am, you present well. You are still perceived as strong, courageous and honest in the face of adversity.”

“Hmmph. And what is being said about my security detail?”

“You’re seen as a victim of the administration, with them as its contract muscle.”

“Close enough to the truth. You say it’s reading well?”

“Quite. Even the Neo-Stalinists are sympathetic. They’re talking it against Cruk.”

“Interesting. Then we need to keep playing that. There are just so many issues here. Showing position over him is as important as the opposition proper.”

“Yes. They’re all opposition.”

“Exactly. I can have no friends.”

“You do have me, ma’am.”

“Of course. You’re trusted and paid, and so is Erickson.”

If Elke recalled correctly, Erickson was her campaign manager on Earth. She had quite a small personal staff, considering all things.

Jessie sounded timid when she said, “What about paying Ripple Creek a bonus?”

“What?”

A bit more firmly, she said, “You could offer a bonus for their support so far. That might swing them more your way, and amenable to promotion.”

“No. They’d let it leak eventually, and then I’d be the one contracting mercenaries. That has to be played right, too.”

“I understand. It was a thought.”

“Not a bad one, but not right for this circumstance. But I’ll call Mogreb.”

Elke perked up at that. Mogreb . . . oh . . .
kurva drat
.

Mogreb was a Serbian thug disguised as a lawyer, who’d been Highland’s employer before she went into politics. Interestingly, it seemed she’d taught him more than she’d learned from him.

Still, he was an ugly man. Intimidation and coercion were typical of him, though never proven in court. He’d been on her payroll early on, handling interventions for constituents in her district. If she took an interest in a case, Mogreb showed up to “express concern.” Most of the time, the problem then resolved amicably.

Certainly it saved court costs. It was also certainly unfair.

So he was either still on payroll, or was a consultant. So why call him? And where was he?

“Zoltan, hello again.”

He was on planet, then, if she spoke to him directly.

“Did you see the broadcast? Yes, Ms. Landinger’s comments were rather unkind.”

They spoke for several minutes, but Elke gained all she needed from that opening. Highland wasn’t happy with the press, and was arranging for muscles to mix it up. That was useful to know, and the team would need to be prepared for that if she ever went nasty. More than she already was.

When she briefed Alex and rolled the file for him, he nodded.

“For two reasons we can’t get involved. First, it’s none of our business what she does to others, except as it affects potential threats. Also, we can’t let her know we have that feed.”

“She also might escalate against us,” Elke added.

“Yes. Still, I’d like to find a way to dissuade her.”

“Without mentioning it?”

“It was an encrypted signal, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Can someone ‘discover’ the signal and report it to us as a security issue? Meaning to Cady’s people?”

“Everyone knows she has secure and personal communication.”

“Yes, but can we pretend we didn’t know? Then hint contents to encourage her to shut up?”

She flared her eyes slightly. “Probably not. I’ll think on it.”

Highland had what she needed. Keeping it discreet across light years had taken money, patience, effort, and a good rapport with people who could read between the lines.

Huble was good at that. It had cost money, though. The question was if the payoff would be worth it.

The newsload should be coming through this system any time now. There was the lightspeed delay from Earth, the wait for a ship to carry the signal through, for it to clear UN BuSec at this end, which should be a formality but could take time. More lightspeed delay. It should be now, dammit.

She sighed and poured a champagne and vodka cooler. It would happen.

There.

Oh, that was brilliantly done, she thought, feeling a rush that was almost naughty. It was even more spiteful than she’d hoped for. She brought the volume up so as to catch all the details.

—
essman Hunter’s wife. According to the release, she caught him in an ‘inappropriate embrace’ with a junior staffer. She reiterates her belief in his campaign, and vows to stand by him despite this personal trouble.

The payoff would come shortly, because Amelia Hunter had made no such statement. They’d be days sorting it out, and Highland would have time to regain points.

But it got better. So much better.

The staffer was not identified, but came forward as Angela Soruto. Ms. Soruto asked for Whistleblower protection, and CNNBC News is discussing the release of further details from her.

Had he really been nailing the little whore? Or was she an opportunistic bitch making up stories to cash in?

Either way, that was a one-two punch to the guts of that condescending cunt Amelia. This, right after Huble’s operatives had promised she’d ride out the trouble. She was a spoiled, frigid, diamond-digging cunt, and this should wreck her to more sleeping pills and sedatives. In two weeks, they could claim that was an ongoing problem, and that should be the end of that campaign.

It was back down to her and Cruk.

Damon Huble appreciated Highland’s employ. She paid promptly from her not insubstantial personal accounts, her campaign funds from her legion of jabbering idiots, and occasionally, from money shifted from her position accounts. She always repaid that promptly, which would help in any kind of political dispute, but he had warned her once that it was illegal to pierce that veil, regardless of repayment. Official funds were official. He’d warned her. Once. Highland didn’t like being told things she didn’t want to hear, regardless of legality, but for several reasons he needed to cover his own ass. No campaign or administration lasted forever, and any number of suits and charges were possible. Any smart staffer covered all angles.

Really, it was a delight to perform these tasks for her. They were a challenge, a puzzle, and their resolution always satisfying. They were more satisfying the more artistic the result. He was especially proud of this one.

She’d covered all costs from a discreet, completely legal account filled with donations from her special fans. He’d kept it thirty percent under his original estimate to her, fifteen percent under his own private estimate. The payments were all tagged for perfectly legal processes and promotions to three companies neither of them owned. They had total deniability of any impropriety.

In addition, he’d been able to tell another client that he’d accomplished their task at the same time, and pocketed only a consultancy fee, no operations costs. Completely legal, and they were more than happy to make that payment by anonymous transfer through Sealand, Ceres and Breakout Station Bank in the Grainnean system into his anonymous account groundside.

Politics was the one game where every player wanted to leverage every other player. And if he could use the funds of an inevitable loser—Highland—to support the campaign of a certain winner—Cruk, the Secretary General, then so much the better for all involved. Except for Highland, of course, once the campaign folded. Or if not, once the legal charges started.

But he had warned her. Once.

Hepgard would be very happy. No doubt the bonus he was paying would also be reflected in Hepgard’s own account. There was plenty to go around. On Earth, he was sure the SecGen benefited, but wasn’t going to ask. The end result was to soften up Highland so he could get that position. It would probably be a decade, but he’d get the appointment. And if she did win, she might appoint him anyway, with plenty of dirt to use on her in return. Thuggery on Mtali, dishonesty with government money in her campaign. A good start, but it would take more.

Franklin Lezt sat in another hotel, awaiting Hepgard for followup. He’d had two stiff grape vodkas already. He really wasn’t sure if the man got it.

He watched the scrolling news feed. It was almost at that critical point, and that meant playing the trump.

A knock on the door indicated Hepgard, and he buzzed the man in, set the interference and did not offer him a drink.

“So now she’s at twenty-eight percent and climbing,” he said at once.

Hepgard said, “That’s just reaction to Hunter being effectively quashed.” He looked around for a seat for himself. There wasn’t one, on purpose. He sat on the bed instead.

Lezt said, “Yes, but she keeps climbing.” He gripped his drink and the arm of the chair.

“Guy, my techniques are proven. She’s just molecularly coated against shit.”

“It seems like it.” He wanted to be angry, but Hepgard was right. It should be working. Just nothing stuck to her. That little twitch personal she had, JessieM, was both a brilliant spinster and very popular. How could anyone hate a college girl turned promoter, who had no perversions, drinking problems, whatever? It seemed her only purpose in life was to ping inane messages around the nodes, and she was brilliant at it, and now getting paid.

He said, “The first thing is,
do not touch JessieM
. No matter what. She’s a favorite pet and it will only be seen negatively.”

Hepgard nodded. “Agreed. Do you have something specific in mind for the other?”

“It’s time she made a personal sacrifice for her party.”

“Guy . . .” Hepgard stopped.

“Yes, that’s what we’re down to.
She cannot break thirty percent
!”

“What is it with you and that number?”

The man didn’t know, and he’d have to be told. Lezt took another heavy swallow, winced and looked up. “At thirty-two percent, it’s established by the election commission that she can have Special Service security freely as a campaigner. She’d only have to pay transport costs for her own people. No Ripple Creek, still with BuState security, free military resources on request, all government. If she goes down for anything in front of the SecGen’s personal guard, he takes the hit.”

“I thought that didn’t take effect until ninety days out?”

“That’s for anyone over five percent. It’s twenty percent at a hundred and twenty days, thirty-two percent at one eighty, which is next week.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” Hepgard was wide-eyed at the implied but not directly stated subject of assassination.

“My boss has agreed to the same elements used for that . . . apprehension.”

Hepgard snorted. “Which doesn’t seem to have worked. They didn’t kill the man, and he’s back at work. Highland benefitted by ignoring it. They’ve demanded more money and got it.”

“In this case they’ll be available to encourage her into an area where some very bad people will be outraged at civil society and very violent. So sad, but she tried so hard, let us remember her as we move on. Your job is to find that location, prep it, ensure everyone is in the right state of mind, and let me know. Keep in mind there’s about twenty-six hours of delay round trip.”

“And you want this in a week?” Hepgard looked very unsure. That was a nice score, but he better get sure in a hurry.

“I do. Why are you still here?”

Hepgard turned and walked to the door. As he closed it behind himself, Lezt heard him mutter, “Fucker.”

And Franklin Lezt had just enough of a recording to ensure that any claims against him would take down the SecGen, as well as BuInt.

CHAPTER 16

JASON STRETCHED IN HIS CHAIR.
He needed more exercise. He didn’t like exercise, but he disliked not exercising more. However, as assistant team leader, he had administrative stuff to handle, and some specifics to follow up on. He was worried about Aramis, but the man did seem to be recovering properly. Still, the intimate details were going to be a problem for the man, and he wanted to do what he could to help.

Which was what the first tagged message was about. He opened it, let it decrypt, then decrypted the decrypt.

Aramis sat across the room, occupied with some kind of work of his own—charts, maps, something. He wasn’t going to come see the screen, was what mattered. That established, Jason screened the message.

Dear Jason,

Thank you so much for keeping me informed. Aramis is a good friend, and yes, I was worried about him, about all of you, in fact, after you treated me so well during a very trying time.

“I have no specific information on who might be the threat to you or your charge. These things are generally discussed in private, completely off record, and the government responds to my ignoring most of its actions by ignoring me in return.

“I can very much suggest that you look inside for threats. I know that’s what happened to me, but it’s not uncommon. However, from all I can tell, she is actually on very good terms with her family and immediate friends. They do well from her existence, and her will calls for most of her money to go to several causes, not personal inheritors. I would look for anyone who might have connected recently and has influence, and also anyone who profits from her demise. Not her family, but certain competitors, or businesses who stand to improve their position if she’s out of the way. It’s also possible for agencies to act that way, though she’s mainstream enough I can’t see her threatening enough cuts or profile changes to trigger that. Of course, someone scheming enough could manipulate others into setting up a complicated trap. I’m confident you’ll hinder that, but it could get messy and I want you all to be safe. Cocktails here when you return.

I’ve taken the liberty of informing Aramis’s recent paramour of his safety first, incident second, with most details redacted.

“Thank you again, my trusted associate.

C.

He hadn’t expected Caron would have much, but she’d certainly be looking now, and she deserved to know Aramis was okay.

The list of people who’d be happy with Highland out of the way, though, was huge. Most were not able to connect here, but enough were that was a fruitless pursuit. It would take a graph that could weight each of them on several factors, several locations, timeframes, all in several dimensional arrays. There certainly were ways to set that up. He had no idea how. Elke might.

Nor was it certain only one group was targeting her. In fact, it was certainly more than that, even if some hurled nothing but invective and the occasional piss-filled water balloon.

In the meantime, they had another escort for another speech. He did have to respect Highland on that point. There weren’t a lot of votes here, but she was angling for every one she could get, and she did hold up against threats. She probably figured enough small blocs of votes could swing the election, and it was entirely possible she was too self-centered and snobbish to really grasp threats.

“Ready, Aramis?”

“Yes.” The man seemed calm, prepared and relieved to be back at work. Good. Though Shaman indicated he had occasional nightmares and was taking medication for sleep. Still, work was good therapy, and they worked best as a team.

The military had relented on the test-firing issue. The team had their own clearing barrel in their wing, in a well-insulated and deadened alcove, with extra fill to trap bullets. Officially, there was a ventilation system for toxic gases, because Cady, Alex and the BuState facilities engineer said so.

They approached the drum, Alex said, “Escort Team, performing function check,” and waited for the computer to acknowledge and flash green.

“Please proceed,” the waveform voice said.

Alex pointed his pistol and fired, checked the cycle, then repeated with his carbine. He stepped aside for Jason.

Jason never flinched when shooting, but in these quarters, even with earbuds and deadening panels, the volume was painful. Still, it was good prep and practice for combat. He let the anticipatory tension build, then drain, slipped the muzzle into the tube, and fired. The shockwave rolled over him. He reholstered, slung the carbine around, pointed, and fired.

Yes, that got the adrenaline rushing, just enough to heighten senses. He was well-primed for the mission. Not for the first time, he thought that the test fire served to check the shooter as well as the weapon.

Fergus Hendry from Facilities arrived as Bart checked his weapons. They trooped to Highland’s apartment, and Alex knocked.

“Minister Highland, we’re ready,” he said.

As always, he was polite. They worked well as a team. Alex was always polite. Jason could defuse trouble with humor. Of course, he could also exacerbate it when that served better.

Highland and Jessie stepped out to join them.

“Good morning, gentlemen, lady,” she said, also polite. They all pretended.

Hendry walked into the room to keep it occupied and secure, and coincidentally to sweep for bugs other than theirs. Jason had no idea if he planted more, or even knew about their own. He didn’t need to know.

Minutes later they were in the ARPAC and rolling.

It was likely an easy mission. She wanted to meet with some factory workers, have lunch, ask their opinions on climate, as if they were likely to have useful input, or she cared, or any other politician cared, or would do anything about it if they did. Or if they could. It was a camouflaged campaign stop.

For Highland, the ARPAC was so she could play the hero. For the team, it was an easy security improvement. It was a harder barrier. It also now had a honey pot next to the rear ramp, with a rudimentary curtain.

If it were up to them, they’d use the ARPAC for every mission. The limo looked political, but even its armored bulk wasn’t close to this beast. Politicians lived by image, though, and Highland was a slave to that unless and until she won SecGen, and probably after that.

Elke was glad to have actual weapons and not just nonlethal. More and more, society sank into decadence and avoided the practicality of just killing people who caused problems. Nonlethal force took repeated applications, and often failed to sufficiently terrify those who needed kept in place.

Highland was annoying. It was obvious to Elke she was the kind of woman who actually would like to use force when needed, but was afraid of the political repercussions. Still, she might be a better option than the effete soft-skin now occupying the Earth Mansion. On the other hand, Cruk certainly liked throwing troops around, and had at least signed off on the team’s presence, at least by proxy.

In the meantime, she had a job to do, and hopefully to enjoy.

As tough as an ARPAC was, rolling around the city in it made them a slow target. The two Grumblies on detail made it obvious it was a VIP mission, not a combat mission. That changed the profile of the threats. There were always threats.

The trip was short enough, since most of the industry was near the ports. The airport, river port and railhead all ran together on the west side, connecting to the rest of the continent. It scared her, because she knew what she could do to that infrastructure with a carful of explosive. They really needed better security, given the factional disputes. It was certain every group had a blaster good enough to accomplish that task.

They pulled up streetside, where local cops had marked a clear zone. She watched Alex for cues, nodded to his point, and dropped the hatch just slow enough not to slam it on the road. Bart led the entourage, she took tail end after the rest, as the troops and local police formed a cordon around the vehicle. That didn’t thrill her, but she’d planned accordingly. The device she left on the bench would be harmless unless someone entered the cabin, and the rear-facing camera she’d mounted up front would give her notice.

The engagement was well familiar to Bart. He led the way down the ramp, through the pathway left by police, and into the building. One of the BuState protocol people was just inside, next to the president of Wataniya Engines, Arul al-Harun Bawani, which didn’t sound like an Earth Arabic name. They fought over silly things here, and that was after leaving Earth because they couldn’t get along there.

Bawani had one assistant and one guard, both male, in Western suits but with keffiyeh. The atrium was mostly clear. Building security, and three of the military detail, plus two of Cady’s people, strode around the upper balcony. Everything was near-transparent crystal, supported by black stone a bit like marble. The floor tiles were pale gray of similar material, with gold veining. Yet if he remembered Aramis’s map correctly, a kilometer away were slum shacks of leftover wheels and packing materials.

Highland stepped forward, and he noticed she was wearing a glove. She wasn’t going to actually touch his hand.

“Mr. Bawani, thank you for meeting me,” she said as she offered her hand.

He reached out and shook it long enough for the photographer to get a grip and grin shot, then said, “Madam Minister, you honor us with your presence.”

“I’m glad to be able to visit such a forward-looking facility . . .” she said, and Bart tuned it out. He would listen for keywords relevant to her safety. The political talking was not of interest.

An honest assessment of the factory was that it was decades out of date. Colony worlds either had substantial investment backing, or lacked. This one lacked. There were still advantages to being off Earth, but they faded against the negatives.

In this case, JessieM’s constant feed of content probably helped. Highland’s supporters and fans, for she had both, could see the equipment, see her interaction, and the small scatterers they all wore now should prevent anyone seeing them clearly. The major risk would be a disgruntled employee, probably easy to stop, since the details of this event had not been promoted. It was unlikely anyone would blow up others to get her, though anything was possible.

“If you will all come this way,” the production manager said in reasonable English, “we can show Minister Highland the production floor. You will all need protective wear.”

Jason tapped his ear and said, “That’s covered, but we would appreciate head protection.”

“Of course.”

The hats were bump caps only, and Bart had to completely unfasten the tensioner to fit it on his head. He suspected most of the safety, and likely the security, was similar. Visible, but not substantive. That was notable.

As they walked along the floor, the workers paused and looked to see who the VIP was. Most of them wore basic coveralls; a few supervisors wore robes. It was probably as caste-ridden here as anywhere else they’d been, but it was harder to tell, except for the management in suits.

Most line workers seemed happy enough for either the distraction of the visit or the presence of the Minister. He didn’t foresee any serious threat.

A tiny window opened on his glasses. He reached up and made the slight adjustment that broadened it. It was a note from Jason and a news load that showed a crowd gathering outside. It probably wasn’t JessieM’s fault. The word would have gotten out anyway. Still, crowds were problematic at best. He wondered what their instructions would be, when Highland said to the work group, “It’s been very nice to talk to you, and I welcome your inputs. But I must reluctantly beg your indulgence for another meeting.”

Some of them understood the English, others waited for the interpreter.

They formed back around her, as much to protect her from adoration and delay as potential threats. He and Aramis took point, both as meat shields, and because Aramis had his own map, in case of any issues.

Roger Edge and the NCOIC of the military detail stood near the front door.

Edge said, “There’s a sizeable crowd out there. A hundred or more. Some are friendly, some antagonistic.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Highland said.

Bart thought that completely stupid. He glanced back at Alex.

Alex said, “Ma’am, that isn’t necessarily going to be positive. It depends on—”

“—on demographics,” she cut in. “I have some experience with this, Agent Marlow.”

“‘—so we’ll give you some space and be prepared if you need us,’ I was going to say,” he said.

“Very well.”

That established, Bart waited for the door, then led the entourage outside.

The exit was greeted with cheers and calls. The banners were mostly Arabic, though a couple looked Turkish, and one in English read, “Back to Earth with the Harlot of Babylon.” He had no idea what that was about. The crowd didn’t seem violent, but there were surges and ripples, and clutching hands from those closest to the police line. Three press people had cameras in a prime location, clearly having prepared for this eventuality, and Highland approached them. It might be okay. It certainly seemed routine to her and them.

“Thank you for coming out today,” she said into an offered mic, which was wired into a PA. “I’m glad to see my supporters, but I am also glad to see those with concerns and issues. This is the type of interest and activism we need, if we are to progress . . .”

This speech sounded much more earnest and productive than the canned platitudes inside. She might pull this off. He waited and watched his sector, though the police seemed to have most of the eager crowd controlled and restrained. Some of these people were aggravated, but none of them seemed violent enough for an immediate threat.

Then he heard a pistol shot.

Yes, one never could predict.

Elke heard the report. This time it was real gunfire. She identified it as a pistol, and swung her shotgun up as Shaman and Alex shoved a gawking Highland down the sidewalk and under the vehicle skirt. The principal was covered, so she dialed for recon, shot a round over the crowd, and ducked and rolled.