When Diplomacy Fails . . . by Michael Z. Williamson
They made their way directly into the main hall, which had been dressed up to make it look less like a gymnasium and more like a dressed up gymnasium. Highland’s box was the only one left, with seats for three. That was because no one had mentioned the Ripple Creek detail, which was a good thing, but it meant one of them standing.
Elke decided she’d stand. Even the glee of her new device working as planned might not keep her awake through hours of speeches. Besides, she’d be more visible for Highland that way.
Aramis hurt after twenty minutes of sitting in a chair. The seats were stiff, hard and apparently designed for appearance only. He made a gesture and swapped out with Elke. That would let him stretch and shift. It would be imperceptible to most people, but would be more comfortable. His shoulders hated him for those armrests. They were half numb, but only half, the other half a burning ache.
Standing, though, made him wonder if any of his kidnappers and antagonists recognized him. That caused enough fear, anger and introspection to completely wipe out any attention to Highland’s speeches, or that of others. That was the good part. The bad part was that after a half hour, he ached again, this time his heels and ankles.
Shaman apparently read it in his posture or tremors, and stepped in to replace him, letting him take a turn outside. The steady rotation also helped with alertness, made them less predictable, and let them do a partial patrol of the hall, though everyone else’s escorts tensed in professional paranoia as they passed.
Nothing substantive was done that day, and Aramis expected one of BuState’s staff experts would take over. Highland had been present to pretend Earth cared what any other planet thought, and to get face time for election.
As the forum closed, Alex had his phone out, and looked concerned. Aramis interrogated him by look.
Alex said, “We’re flying out. It’s not safe. The protests are now riots and turning into brawls. Battles will be next.”
Highland refused to hear it. “I must travel in dignity,” she said. “If I drove in, I must drive out. I won’t acknowledge a few protesters by diverting.”
“Ma’am, militarily I agree with you. Diplomatically I agree with you. As your security operations chief, I must insist on aircraft. We can blame a mechanical problem, or you can blame me.”
“Of course I would. But we’re driving.”
She probably saw Alex say, “Yes, ma’am,” nod and turn to comply. Aramis saw the unsaid, you egotistical bitch, and the twitch in his boss’s jaw.
So they trooped down to the vehicle apron, led fore and aft by local security, furnished by Emir Mudassir. They kept their distance. It was all a juggling act. Everyone here, of course, was trusted not to try to assassinate their peers, except that some few of them might, so everyone had guards in case of collateral casualties, and then the guards became a necessary status symbol.
The emir’s detail seemed quite happy to depart as they reached the broad vehicle park, which was ringed by wall, umbrella’d by transparent shield, and patrolled by three agencies, plus the Army. Lionel rolled up in the limo, and Aramis knew the man had not stepped foot out, unless he’d had a company relief. They’d learned not to trust anyone in this game—family, assistant, doctor, even bureau chief.
Aramis got the door, Highland and Jessie slid in, as Jessie tagged a churp about leaving the conference. He’d enjoy using that device for target practice, but she probably had a spare and possibly an implanted backup. They just had to deal with it.
Highland would have to deal with not taking the car.
The rioting had reached what they called Level Two. It was a plateau of random shouting, hurling, speechmakers and sheer mass of bodies that made progress impossible. Three vehicles ahead were stopped and not proceeding.
Alex dutifully and professionally had his phone out, but Aramis knew it was largely for Highland’s benefit.
“. . . That’s the assessment? Yes, I concur. Any response is likely to become violent. Letting them play themselves out is best . . . No, I expect any advance will result in casualties, both accidental, and planned by activists. It’s best not to play the game . . . Yes, I will so inform Ms. Highland. Stand by.” He turned from the phone and said, “Ma’am, they are scheduling or recommending aircraft travel for all participants. The Aerospace Force detachment has a Hummingbird transport lifter waiting. It can be here in ten minutes and will get priority.”
Aramis could see her teeth grind.
“I abhor this turn of events.”
“I would drive if we could, ma’am, but if the vehicles ahead of us won’t, then we’d be leading the way into a riot. It’s almost certain someone would get hurt, and you get blamed. I’m not willing to take a fall against my advice. I’m perfectly willing to take it for diverting. I’ll issue a statement accordingly.”
She spoke with icy clarity. “That won’t be necessary. Proceed.”
“By air?”
“Yes, as you advise.”
Aramis suspected it didn’t matter what Alex would take the blame for. She’d do as she pleased. Of course, that would lead to a grudge match. That could escalate . . .
Yeah, he wanted to be done with this mission, fast.
Highland did not like Ripple Creek. She’d been wary from the beginning, with good reason. When that incompetent but scheming snake in New York had assigned them—and she had no doubt it was the SecGen’s office that assigned them—she’d known it was to embarrass her, either by saddling her with their disregard for bystanders, or the bad press that followed them, or the way they’d choke down on her movements. So far, the smarmy fucker was three for three.
They were certainly competent at keeping threats away, even when they lost a man. Still, the Army had gotten him back for them. It hadn’t softened their attitude. Minor protesters were not a threat. She half expected the goons to follow her to the bathroom. In the meantime, they used stink gas, gunfire, explosives and vehicles, and had killed a newsworthy number of nobodies who’d follow Highland’s career like zombies. She was quite sure that had been the reason they’d been sent. The Special Service knew to intercept bullets and keep quiet. These trigger-happy clowns seemed to enjoy shooting people, and she was fairly sure their weapons did not have biometric locks. Not working ones, at least.
She would be in need of a new biosculp when this was over, and that before taking office. They even saw Jessie as a potential threat, not to mention Huble.
So it was time to pull in some favors, have the mercenary bastards marked as what they were. She could then separate herself, be magnanimous and fair, and regret it as they went down.
She just had to keep Cruk’s publicity people from covering them against her. So perhaps a call to Blanding was in order, to find some nonprofit group who could sue on behalf of the low-class rabble they’d blithely shot.
The next load that flashed made her grit her teeth and growl. She wanted something to bite, to chew, to rip with her jaw.
People wondered why she hated the common morons the Equality Party attracted. It was because they were morons. Enthusiasm didn’t equate to competence or even usefulness.
The slogan was, “Let’s position Joy on top!”
It was on flash buttons, on shirts, on hats and pennants.
Even worse, at a rally in Bangladesh, a crowd was chanting. The reporter waxed eloquent about the turnout numbers, but behind her it was easy to hear, “Joy on top! Assume the position!”
It might be enthusiasm and lack of familiarity with English idiom. It might be unintentional idiocy. Or, it might be the work of some shill from Cruk’s camp or even Hunter’s. And yes, his name was most certainly part of why she wouldn’t team with him. “Joy/Hunter” would have made this even worse.
It had to be stopped. Morons would ignore spelling errors, or even inadvertent insults. But a catchy phrase with innuendous potential would linger for years. She screened a quick message.
Huble: Cease and desist these moronic fuckers at once.
I want those
Spend the money to make sure they are destroyed.
Then she moderated it slightly, because it just might get cracked in transit. Polite in all matters, she reminded herself.
She understood why so many of her . . . well, no, they weren’t peers, but competitors, took offers from the multinationals. The power was less visible, but that gave leeway to behave more casually.
But she would beat that classless buffoon. It would take a few phone calls . . . which she couldn’t make from here. That twelve-hour delay was infuriating.
CHAPTER 15
ALEX KNEW THIS WAS A GOAT ROPE. All he could do was keep roping.
He entered their quarters, which were covered by two of Cady’s people.
Marlin said, “You’re secure inside, sir.”
“Thanks. Outside?”
Roger Edge said, “Nothing that we can discern.”
Jason said, “I’ll check,” as he unshouldered his coat, slipped arms through his harness, cleared his pistol before reaching the door to his quarters, and tossed the whole ensemble on the bed.
Alex likewise took his coat off, unsnapped the armor, and said, “Elke, I’ll want whatever feeds you have. In an hour.”
It could be done faster, but they all needed to hydrate after a sweaty ride, standing for hours in a hall and a flight back. Then they needed bathroom breaks, to reconstitute gear, and save files, make notes, debrief themselves. There were several reasons they got paid as well as they did, and the long hours were part of it.
Jason reported secure. Everyone summarized their notes.
“Elke, what do you have for us?”
“She’s angry,” Elke said. “Just as she told us, she thinks it will be seen as weak. Here.”
She started a playback from a video feed in Highland’s quarters. It wasn’t good video, but even the BuState intel people hadn’t found the devices. Nor was he sure what Elke used. If found, he’d deny it, she’d get “counseled,” the lawyers would apologize, and they’d go right back to doing what they’d been doing.
Highland said, “Cruk is going to be the cause of my breakdown. Or rather, his handlers are. That retarded African buffoon is beyond a puppet.” She strode around, distorted slightly from the correction algorithm on the near spherical lens. She had a glass of something, half-drained already, and her biometrics seemed to indicate some sort of tranquilizer.
JessieM sat on the couch, looking a bit tense but unafraid. She said, “It hasn’t affected you negatively yet. They’re reporting that the unrest caused the entire conference to divert to air.”
“Yes, so I personally am okay, but BuState looks like bumbling idiots. That’s why we got rid of leMieure. I can’t be seen in any comparison to him.”
“Of course not. But you present better. Your intro went over well, and your followup release says you regret that further progress couldn’t be made through intransigence and the stress of the civil unrest. I noted the unrest was due to economic and societal inequality, and that you wanted peace for all groups to pursue their joint destiny.”
Interesting. JessieM wasn’t just a lackey. That was a pretty well-phrased release, done on the fly. He looked at the others, they looked back and nodded. It was understood.
“Good. I need to distance myself from Ripple Creek before they take a fall.”
“I’ve been churping that you would rather have BuState security. This change is due to the administration.”
“We can’t blame them! They’ll come back on us.”
“I haven’t. It’s stated as due to necessity, and I blamed the Liberty Party for refusing to accede to a reasonable budget, thus forcing this on us.”
“Good. We’re all friends here, and I greatly respect our faithless and fearful leader. Once we’ve cleared decks and are ready for the caucus, then we’ll pile on.”
“He’s going to expect that.”
“Of course. The trick is not to come across as too competent. If he has to throw resources at it, he looks like a bully. Passive aggressive strategy.”
“Ma’am, should we be discussing this out loud?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s fine. Mr. Gillette swept this place right before we came in. Didn’t you get the churp?”
“I did not.” JessieM looked somewhat nonplussed at being left out of that discussion.
“Yes, he’s got us covered.”
That was interesting, Alex thought. Had he done a half-assed job? A good job, but not good enough? Or was he a mole for someone?
“Elke, are you sure no one else has a feed from there?”
“I am.”
Jason said, “So am I. Aerospace Force was able to check on Bishwanath as a colonial power. BuState has made it very clear they won’t allow outside agencies, and I’ve checked. If the military got anything, it would mean someone’s neck. So if someone is even trying, it’s without permission and a hostile act. Then they’d have to go through Cady to do so. Nor did we find anything. Probability, then, is very low.”
“Understood, but low is not zero.”
“Of course. All a matter of odds.”
They stopped as Highland said, “. . . will need to get moving on Ripple Creek. They are going to save me, just not the way those bloodthirsty retards imagine.”
Very interesting, and unnerving. If she’d toss out the R word, and planned to take them down, then this was very interesting.
“I’m glad she underestimates us.”
Aramis said, “I know the military does. We’re deemed second raters. Hell, I used to think so, until that first mission. I suppose civilians have even less grasp of what we do.”
“She’s been around the track, though. She should know better.”
Shaman said, “BuState security are very much expected to take fire, and to not hurt bystanders. It’s not hard to do that among a largely disarmed population that isn’t minded to cause major violence. We come in when there is major violence in the paradigm. Then, she’s been shuffled out here for a reason.”
“So, is this possibly a deliberate assassination attempt?”
“Setup, perhaps. It could be a combination of things. Comply with letter of the law regarding security. Arrange to embarrass each of us—Ripple Creek and Highland, and take out either one if opportunity presents.”
Alex felt a chill.
“Yes, that does fit. Not only does everyone in the equation hate her, they also hate us.”
Bart said, “And now we know.”
“Indeed. Well, our tasking is to keep her alive. I am not bothered at the concept of pissing her off to do so. Whether she gets elected or not is not our concern. I would enjoy aggravating whoever comes after her. And if we confirm who’s after us, we do as we need to.”
Elke smiled that warm, creepy smile and said, “I love you at times like this.”
“Yes, well, let’s see what message she sends, if we can.”
The next morning, it was necessary to sit in conference with Ms. Highland, Mr. Gillette and Captain Das to discuss threats. Das came up to see Alex first.
“Are you ready, Agent Marlow?”
“I am,” he agreed. “I’m eager to swap intel.”
“Same here, though it often seems we provide them more than they do us.”
Alex took that as a suggestion that Das wanted more from him, too.
“It can seem that way, though circumstances do change.”
“Certainly. Some agencies like to receive more than they give, especially at budget time.”
Yes, that was a hint that Das didn’t trust Gillette either.
Das continued, “Though of course, the military’s relationship with BuState is quite solid.”
But not Ripple Creek’s. Yes, they were always an outsider, to everyone. Alex knew that.
“We’ll make it work,” he said.
When they entered Highland’s office, she fairly cooed.
“Captain Das, so good to see you.”
Was she trying to score with him?
Gillette said, “Captain Das, Agent Marlow, how are you this morning?”
Ah, pleasantries. They didn’t really want to know, so Alex said, “Good enough,” and left it at that.
JessieM was an accomplished press flak, but her duties apparently included coffee. He accepted a cup, though he wasn’t likely to drink it. He was also quite wary of her presence. She was not cleared, that he knew of, but was a personally hired shill, and he knew she couldn’t be trusted with any modicum of privacy.
As they sat, he looked at Gillette, who gave the barest nod of acknowledgment. So, no one trusted Highland, but he couldn’t officially say anything about his boss.
Highland sat down and said, “I wanted to say I do understand the necessities of flying yesterday, and bear no hard feelings.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said simply. If she wanted to accept an apology he hadn’t made and wasn’t going to, fine. As long as the bank transfer cleared.
Das said, “While the situation was unfortunate, we hoped it would offer an opportunity to identify either individuals of interest, or refine our understanding of groups.”
“And what did you find?” Gillette asked.
“Not much that is conclusive, but we are building a database. Eventually it will yield results.”
Unspoken was whether or not he’d share those results with BuState, contractors, or even his own people. Sometimes, intel served best by not being released.
Gillette asked, “There’s nothing you can share at this point?”
Das spread his hands and said, “We have identified two groups friendly to Ms. Highland who may have, through an excess of enthusiasm, presented so as to alarm others.”