Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC by Michael Z. Williamson
"Three minutes. Look sharp," he said. There was a clatter of weapons checks. He faced Bishwanath and said, "We're going to stick around as long you need us, sir."
"Glad to hear it," Bishwanath replied. "I like the professional and nonmilitary presence you offer."
"We try." And we'll keep trying. We are civilians. Of a sort.
The vehicle was pulling up in front of the rebuilt National Building. Bishwanath was going to address the council in its home space, which was big news. That meant it was likely going to be disrupted. Alex had everyone in hard armor, no matter how bulky, because they might have to throw themselves in front of any threats inside.
"Arriving," the driver said.
"Roger. Everyone stand by."
They vibrated to a stop and Jason grasped the latch. At Alex's nod, he opened the gate and let the hydraulics run it down. He didn't realize how hot it had been until he felt the breeze outside. They were all soaked with sweat.
They formed a block with Bishwanath in the middle and strode down the rough-textured ramp, standing up as they exited and giving him just enough clear space to wave. There was a cordon set, and a red carpet laid out for this occasion. Several councilmen were on the steps applauding, being seen, including Mister Dhe, who looked almost sober and regretting it.
"Go," Alex ordered, and they stepped forward and into the street.
An explosion rocked the air.
And the ground.
Jason and Bart hugged the President, shielding him front and back from any fragments. Aramis and Shaman maneuvered the huddle toward the ramp. Elke and Alex shifted around to keep the area clear, and backed in last, after the other five. A gale whipped through the streets, and drove dust into tiny bullets that stung and bit Alex's skin. The crowd disappeared shrieking, while the video crews turned their cameras toward the source of the blast, past the front of the APC.
As Alex closed the door, trash and litter roiled past in a wave. The armor clanked reassuringly into place.
The heavy armored vehicle was shaking.
"Holy shit, that was a blast. Elke?"
"There." She plugged in, zipped up her computer, and scanned the image on her screen from the vehicle's panorama. She pointed. "Building coming down."
"Fuck. I take it that's from a volunteer demolition agency?" Aramis asked.
"It's nothing I know about," Alex admitted. The building turned into a collapsing pillar of debris under a veil of smoke and dust.
"Back to the palace," Alex told the driver. "We're not going anywhere until it's safer. Shaman?"
"He's fine," Shaman nodded. "Sir, you're fine," he said.
"Yes, thank you." Bishwanath was pale, almost ashen. "I agree. I'll go back for now." He paused for a moment. "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate some company in my apartment for the time being."
He was admitting to being scared, and it was hard to blame him. The explosion had been beyond anything they'd ever felt and it had been close. Bomb? Missile? No way to tell yet.
Alex got on the phone. He had to dial power up enough he should have been able to reach orbit in order to get hold of a nearby antenna. Must be a lot of metal in the air, or static from the dust, he thought.
"Playwright here. I want to know what happened when you can. I understand military takes priority, but I have the President here. Yes, he seems fine." The conversation was largely straightforward, but it was aggravating. There was a procedure to follow, and he was on the list, but he had to wait his turn.
Then he called back to Massa.
"Explosion, big one, just nearby. One important note: Dhe and others were there. They're not the martyr type. So some outside agency was doing this."
"Makes sense. I'll start digging. Well done."
"We'll be at the palace. No one is taking this man anywhere for now. That's per me." He was very firm. Between shock, fear, and professionalism, he was not in a mood to argue.
"I'll back you up." And it was great to have a boss with similar experience and feelings.
Since Cady was on planet, maybe she had something, he thought, and called.
"Cady." Fuzzy reception still. Odd.
"Jace, Alex here. The shit just hit the fan."
"Oh?"
"I was hoping you had some rumors for me." Cady was in charge of the team guarding the BuCommerce facility and all the CEOs that went with it. She should have intel if anyone did.
"Only obscene stuff about leMieure and his assistants," she giggled.
"Whatever went off here was big. Several hundred kilos or more. It took out a building. Any rumors on stuff coming in?"
The young woman snickered. "Alex, stuff comes in here by the freighter load. I can easily get you drugs, caviar, food, diamonds, women . . . men . . . sheep . . . anything except weapons, armor, or field gear. Can you be more specific?"
"I'm afraid I can't," Alex admitted. "Please keep an ear out?"
"Sure will. Hey, did you know 'infantry' is not a perverse form of adultery? And now I know."
"Cute," he grinned. Bad joke. He'd heard rumors about Cady that were rather explicit, but she lent class to them. "Take care. Marlow out."
"Cady out."
They got back inside the palace in a hurry and cleared the vehicle in pairs, rolled through the military cordon, and shifted to inside posture, carbines slung and pistols out, as they moved upstairs to Bishwanath's apartment flanked by Recon troops. It didn't seem like a drill this time. It seemed real.
Bishwanath was shaking when they got there. Alex found it easier. He had to face the prospect of catching something. Bishwanath had to realize that every incident was intended to make him dead. Enough of that would make anyone gibber.
Alex said, "In pairs, four hours, Bishwanath's apartment. Second pair sleeps on the floor, armed. Third pair down in here, but awake. Cycle Rahul in on that, and Mister President, You Will Wear A Gun."
"Sir," they chorused.
"I do appreciate it, Agent Marlow," Bishwanath said, flushing now. "But I'm not sure it's really necessary. It was just an old man's fear."
"Sir," Alex said, facing him. "It's tactically easier for us to be here, and it makes us feel better about our jobs. We'll stay close unless . . . until the situation changes. It's no bother. Really. You're a good principal and we're well paid."
"I'll do as you say," he agreed.
His phone buzzed and he keyed it, had already said, "Marlow," before he realized he had a call.
"Marlow, this is deWitt, and I've got Massa at District on conference."
"Hello," said Massa.
"What can I help with, sir?" he said to both of them. Shit, this had to be big.
"I need Sykora on the line in private at once."
"Er, yes, sir," he said, then turned and snapped, "Elke! Dial in now!"
She fumbled with a phone, looking worried. "Sykora," she said.
"Marlow, disconnect please, and secure."
"Er, check." He clicked off. Wow. Something was going down.
Elke was saying, "I can. You'll have to talk to Marlow to clear it. Yes, sir." She turned back. "Marlow, dial back in."
He clicked for connection, waited, and said, "Marlow."
"We're borrowing Sykora. Maybe twenty-four hours. Hopefully not more. We need her expertise in explosives."
"Er, yes, sir." He didn't have much choice, but was being informed as a courtesy.
She was already packed as he disconnected, with her BOB—bail-out bag, containing all her professional gear. She wore only her pistol as a weapon, but did take extra body armor. Her explosives became a neat pile in the corner, along with assorted sundries she apparently figured not to need.
"Elke, what the hell?" Alex asked as he held up a condom. There were hundreds of them in her bag. Male condoms, female, dental dams. She wasn't a nun, but she couldn't be that active. "Trade goods?"
"For waterproofing caps, capacitors, and charges," she replied, looking slightly flustered.
"Oh." Yes, that made perfect sense, and
"I may not answer the radio. I'll be back when we're done looking at the explosion site," she tossed over her ear as she strode through the door. That was the only mention made of what she was being called for.
Jason and Bart were on guard in the President's apartment in full gear and armed with everything except rocket launchers. Rahul and Shaman were bedding down on the couch. Alex and Aramis were in the parlor, and Elke had gone prospecting. Meantime, Alex wanted more military and more contractors around the area.
Massa was eager. "I'll see if I can promote a courtesy supplemental force. Dockery's team is available, and they're long-range shooters. They can take position against possible mortar or rocket attack."
"Right, sounds good. Stand by, please," he said, because something just occurred to him. He coded another number.
A voice answered, "Aerospace Force Information Assets, Palace, Sergeant Arensberg." He knew the name. One of White's opposites.
"Sergeant Arensberg, Agent in Charge Marlow. I need to know how secure we are against missile fire here."
"We're fine, sir," was the reply.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely. We have a cone of satellite intel, a command-and-control bird, and we've got a disruption bubble overhead. The only reason your phone can reach outside is because of the antenna I've got set up at the back gate."
"Thank you," he said, much relieved. The information might not be true and might not be adequate, but from his knowledge, that meant they were doing everything they thought was effective. He'd check with Jason, though.
"You're welcome, and we appreciate the inquiry."
Dammit, those AF types were so nice. What the hell game were they playing?
He got little sleep, and Jason took his shift on guard. He wondered if he should get one of the surgically implanted phones that some execs had. This one was starting to make his ear canal itch.
He'd barely got to sleep when something happened at the door. He sprang up from the couch and jogged past Aramis and Jason to see what was up.
It was Elke. She looked exhausted and wrung out.
"You okay?" Jason asked as she came through.
"Yeah. Long day."
"Can you talk about it?" Aramis asked.
"A little," she said. "I don't see how they can keep it secret." She was stowing her bag and talking loudly to be heard.
"Keep what secret?"
"That explosion last night." And she was soaked with sweat and dust.
"Yes?" he coaxed.
"Nuke."
"Say what?" "Holy SHIT!" "You're serious?"
"Someone came up with a gravity triggered gun type compression weapon," she said.
There was silence, and then Jason asked, "Is that even possible?"
"Absolutely," she said. "They have an old fission reactor in Kaporta. It is reliable, doesn't put out as much energy as fusion, but it is simple. It is designed for enrichment for building shipboard power units, too. Someone was taking bits of HEU—enriched uranium. They are digging to find out how much now."
"I thought that stuff was accounted for?"
"Yes, but if a ship contracts a packet and doesn't use it, where does it go? That's one of the problems with private corporate craft."
"Which every second-rate nation has now, to prove they're players," Alex said.
"But how does a gravity triggered bomb work?" Shaman asked.
"Device," she corrected automatically. "Forty kilograms of HEU with a ten-centimeter tungsten carbide reflector milled at a local machine shop. If it can be assembled faster than forty-eight milliseconds, it has a better than fifty percent chance of reaching critical state. In this gravity, a five- to six-meter drop would give it a good go. Fission would be suboptimal and incomplete, but potentially greater than ten kilotonnes yield. A very dirty device. Perhaps two percent efficient, and the rest highly radioactive fallout."
"Forty kilos?" Bart sounded pained. "That's a lot of Gott-damned metal."
"Several loads, yes," she nodded. "They're trying to figure out who's been ordering it and not using it."
"But is that what we heard yesterday?" Jason asked. "Big, but not possibly big enough for a nuke."
"Right," she said with a nod. "It didn't achieve proper fission. Partly because they tried too hard. They added explosive to the gun to propel the assembly, and encased it in a building with enough concrete to shield it from detection. But the shot was a near-failure. The conventional detonation wave tumbled the upper hemisphere, and it struck at an angle and sheared. They got neutron emission, and it went critical but not supercritical. Add that to a lack of gas injection or implosion or any other nice thing like tamper or a well-designed pit, and it fizzled."
"Technical crap aside, what yield?" Alex asked.
"We estimate about three hundred tonnes," she said. She looked straight at him.
"Thr— so they got a third of a kilotonne by doing everything wrong?" That was a pretty spectacular failure.
"Yes. The good news is, we don't believe they have enough material to try again soon. Most of the material is still in that building. It was shot down into a subbasement and scattered underground. Though some of it is contaminating the rubble that was thrown."
"Is there bad news?"
"It's in the press," she said with a downturned lip, pointing at the screen where "Breaking News" flashed. "And it can and will happen again. A slightly better design in a truck by the palace would have vaporized us."
Bishwanath finally spoke. "If you feel unsafe and wish to cancel our contract, I will completely understand. Taking fire in transit and during an attack where backup is expected is one thing. Sitting with me on a nuclear weapon you can't do anything about is another."
There was brief silence and stares, then Jason shrugged for the rest and said, "Dead is dead. Bullet at long range, explosive up close, nuke across the street. There aren't any good ways of going."
"That's very brave and philosophical of you," Bishwanath said. "But we are speaking of a nuclear weapon."
"We'll stay," Aramis said. He looked very subdued and unsure, but his determination was clear. "A nuke isn't as bad as some other things."
* * *
Bart was on duty in the President's apartment waiting for his partner. Elke cleaned up and came right back on shift. He wasn't sure he blamed her. He couldn't sleep now, and he hadn't been dealing with a nuke. Not directly.
She nodded and finished gearing up. She didn't look feminine once clammed in and in a helmet. She did look deadly, though, with her shotgun slung.
"Elke, demolitions is your job, but how do you know about nukes?" he asked softly. Bishwanath was actually dozing at last.
"I was trained as a nuclear qualified munitions disposal technician," she said.
"Impressive," Bart said. "It strikes me that you should do something that pays better than just EP."
"I do get paid better than EP," she said.
"Oh."
Everyone had just assumed she was one more blaster in a field that had one for every twenty to fifty regular operators. They got a small bonus for the skill, and another for each "event" they dealt with, either setting or disposing of explosives. If Elke was a nuke, she had to be making a fortune.
Of course, for that money, all she had to do was crawl into a hole with some illiterate amateur's attempt at a nuclear device and assess or remove it as called for.
Maybe that wasn't such a great contract after all.
CHAPTER 18
Alex took over guard the next day, after he had crashed for ten hours. He felt guilty about it, but he'd needed it after hours of prep, dealing with a nuke, hours of conference and more maneuvering.
He'd just started to grab his armor when his phone buzzed.
"Marlow."
"Get in a private location for this discussion," Massa said.
"Stand by," he agreed, and left the room. Elke raised an eyebrow at him. He r
"I'm secure," he said, once he was in his empty room with a security oscillator up. The gear on the desk and his baggage on the floor were the only signs of occupancy. The room was neat and decorative and he was afraid of disturbing anything.
"Please state for the record," deWitt said. Alex hadn't realized this was another conference call.