When Diplomacy Fails . . . (4 page)

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, and 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 ground 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.

Highland was putting on “professional” clothing, and JessieM was in the lounge, so now would be a good time to discuss that lingering issue.

“Jessie, I need to ask a favor, regarding Ms. Highland’s security.”

“Yes?” the woman asked, looking alert and interested.

“The constant media chatter decreases her safety. It means any threat knows her location to a close degree.”

She didn’t look indignant, exactly, but certainly put upon.

“That’s what I do—promotion. It’s expected. Ms. Highland’s ratings and electability depend on it.”

“I understand, but it also increases risk.”

“Well, that’s what you’re for.”

“I’m here to make things as safe as possible, and that media chatter makes things less safe. This is why I’m bringing it up.”

“It’s my job, and what she needs for this election cycle.” The woman was insistent and, as near as he could tell, clueless. He sighed mentally, while staying completely calm outside. He wondered if he could get a job as an actor.

“Can you at least wait until after an event before you note it? Or at least after arrival? The scheduled events are a known issue, and have multiple agencies for security. The impromptu events are where the threat is, and I don’t believe a lot of outsiders actually make it. Only those in the immediate area. Which means anyone arriving has a strong motivation, with an increase in the negative side.”

Chewing her lip, JessieM said, “I suppose. That’s a hindrance.”

“Yes, but it makes her, and you, more safe.” Had he put just enough emphasis on that? He wasn’t going to tell her she was dispensable, but if she perceived a potential threat, it might help.

“I will try, then,” she said. “A few minutes might be okay.”

“It all helps.”

Highland came through right then, and hurried over to JessieM, who plucked at lint, pulled a stray hair, and tugged a lapel.

“You look great, ma’am,” she said.

The cooloff cycle allowed the crowd to move closer, set up and take position. There was a red carpet unrolled from a large drum, a podium, flags, seat risers. The crowd included press, dignitaries from three of the factions and General Marsten, in charge of peacekeeping operations. They’d have to interact with him at some point. That would probably lead to some issues, they being armed, but under BuState, not BuMil.

A chime on the Ripple Creek commo algorithm sounded. Cady’s voice said, “Playwright, this is Desi. On location, sweep complete, green.”

“Desi, Playwright confirms.”

Purser Sergeant Valko stood at the hatch controls, and had Highland even learned his name? It seemed unlikely. She was fussing with her hair again, and didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.

Stepping around back, Alex drew the assistant aside and said, “Jessie, please don’t broadcast our departure. It would pinpoint our location on landing for any hostiles.”

“Of course not,” she said, sounding put upon. “I’ll wait until we’re ready for Ms. Highland’s statement on the ground. That’s all I’ve told anyone to expect, and that was thirty minutes ago.”

“Very good. Thank you.” That was a reasonable accommodation. He appreciated it.

Highland finally turned and looked at Valko. “I’m ready,” she said simply. He nodded and swiped his panel. The hatch popped, chuffed, raised and swung. From the hold underneath, a complicated mechanism rolled a flowing staircase. This was a BuState landing limo, built on a military lander chassis. It could take a pretty good hit, and was designed to look classy in austere environments.

The air was a little thin, but the gravity was light, so they should have no trouble operating. It was surprisingly clean air, and warm. There really hadn’t been much development here.

Highland knew enough to wait. At a signal from Alex, Bart and Aramis stepped through and waited.

She looked at Alex expectantly, lips parted, obviously eager. He gave it a few more seconds while Cady’s people swept for anything threatening.

He transmitted, “On your mark, Desi.” She and Jason would coordinate with military on the ground.

“Playwright, go.”

He pointed at Highland. She nodded back and stepped off, JessieM right behind her, and a hindrance they’d have to deal with. Bart and Aramis preceded her as a wall of meat, Elke and Shaman closed in behind, and Alex took the rear.

“Thanks, Olen,” he said to Valko. “Good to travel with you.”

The man smiled back. “You’re welcome, sir. Be safe.”

“That’s the plan,” he agreed as he stepped through and down.

The stairway really was nice, descending in a long curve and a slight sweep. It had sparkly highlights that looked like something exotic, but was only aluminum dust embedded in the polymer. The heat increased as they descended.

JessieM had sent her churp. Alex had his phone set to ping on her messages. If he couldn’t stop them, he could at least read and hear them.

We’re down on Mtali. Ms. Highland will start her greeting momentarily. Sorry for the delay. It was necessary for safety in this action zone.

“Action zone” was code for “war zone.” It wasn’t polite to use that word anymore. It was interesting, he reflected, how custom tailored language. Words came and went based on perception.

He reached the bottom as Aramis and Bart reached the podium and stepped aside. They had to leave her exposed in front for the cameras. They’d shield the rest, even though the bulk of the lander did much of that. The time you didn’t was the time someone exploited it.

The rain shield overhead was also ballistic protection. Between that and the mass of the crowd was a very small window she might be attacked through, and no buildings that had line of sight within three kilometers. They’d chosen this position to maximize safety, and of course, to have natural sunlight, or whatever it was called here, on her best angle. People imagined he was overpaid. They had no idea what this job entailed.

There was still the small chance of a remotely piloted vehicle. Any engine signature should be noted, but gliders were also possible, so they had jamming . . .

They didn’t think anyone hated her enough to shell the entire apron with artillery or rockets.

Cady’s men kept up a steady patrol and scan. Outside that perimeter, the military had a Recon unit watching things. Recon and Ripple Creek didn’t get along very well, but they could work together. Outside that, the Aerospace Force had a security and marshal squadron. Outside that, the locals had whatever security they wanted, and good luck to them.

The polished podium had been placed just so, for their security concerns, and for her presentation. The press were in a controlled area for safety, and to ensure they caught her at just the right angle of profile. Had politicians always been celebrities?

She stepped up, looked in exactly the right direction, and read from the scroll on the one-way screen in front of her.

“Thank you. It’s wonderful to be here, as we try to resolve differences in policies on a galactic matter, and between neighbors locally.” She paused, nodded slightly to acknowledge the applause that was being inserted electronically. There was no one close enough to be heard or seen. A camera pan of the spectators, watching her on remote video, would be merged in also.

“I look forward to meeting with all the factions, as we explore our common ground . . .”

He tuned her out. She was going to say absolutely nothing with a lot of words.

She didn’t take long. At least she was a professional speaker, and knew to stick to high points and a simple message. Or maybe it was the baking heat of the flightline. Either way, she finished, stepped back, and paused for a few photos from the hovering drones.

Those were a serious point of contention. Any drone was a potential bomb. Neither Ripple Creek nor BuState Security approved of them, or wanted to allow them. It was simply impossible to ascertain safety on them. However, media was a practical necessity, and a matter of Charter Freedoms. Instead, these were owned by BuState itself, controlled by one of Cady’s team, and the feed available to any news outlet. There was always a legal challenge demanding individual access, and it always failed, and the media always tried anyway.

Alex’s professional paranoia didn’t even like these. He had no direct control over them, so they were a potential threat, given the status of the principal.

In this case, they were safe. This time. They filled in around her.

He heard Jason in his earbuds. “Arriving, twenty.” He saw the vehicle and acknowledged.

“Roger.” Then, “Ma’am, our transport is over to the left.”

“I see it. I’m ready when you are.” It was nice having a principal experienced with security details. It simplified some things.