Backshot (8 page)

“Your ice cream? If you won’t, Marcus, then—?”

“Help yourself, Madam President.” He nodded indulgently. Chang-Sturdevant scooped the strawberry into her own bowl. “All these carbohydrates will ruin my girlish figure, Marcus. I’m really disappointed that you aren’t protecting me from them.”

“Well, madam, the fact of the matter is, the fatter you get the more I like it, because the more of you I see the better.”

“Marcus, I’ll give you precisely one hour to stop flattering me like that!” Chang-Sturdevant laughed. She finished her—and Marcus’s—ice cream and wiped her lips. She stood. “Well, Marcus, let us go into the lion’s den and see what the beasts have cooked up for us.” Berentus bowed deeply and gestured toward the door. Before going out Chang-Sturdevant paused and turned to her Minister of War. “Marcus, do you know why I love luxury food like ice cream so much?” Marcus shook his head. “Because when I was a girl, growing up, you know what we had to eat most meals? Hot dogs and boiled potatoes, Marcus, that’s what the Changs ate. And now that I’m President of the Confederation of Human Worlds, I am never again going to eat that slop!”

Office of the Chief of Staff, CIO

“Anya, my dear! Come in, come in! Please have a seat.” Somervell Amesbury stood, a beaming smile on his face, gesturing toward an empty chair. “I have some extraordinarily good news for you!”

Anya took the offered seat.

“How long have you been with us at the headquarters now, Anya, ten years?”

“It’ll be ten years this summer, sir. I’ve been with CIO for a little over twenty years.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve been reviewing your performance appraisals recently, Anya. You’ve never fallen below ‘Exceeds’ in all your Critical Elements. A record you can be proud of.” “Exceeds” was the highest rating a CIO employee could get on their efficiency reports. “You’re a grade twelve, Step—” He fumbled with her personnel record.

“Step ten, sir.”

“Ah. Yes.” There were fifteen grades in the general schedule for CIO employees. “Steps,” there were ten of them, were within-grade pay increases similar to the longevity pay military personnel received, and Step Ten was the highest within-grade pay increase authorized. Grades higher than fifteen were classified as “Senior Executive Service,” the equivalent in pay and protocol to general or flag officers in the military systems. The Director and the Deputy CIO were political appointments, confirmed by the Confederation Senate; the CIO Chief of Staff and the various Directorate heads at the headquarters and certain station chiefs were Senior Executive Service appointments filled by career civil service personnel. “Well, it’s time you stepped up. We have a thirteen position coming open and I’ve recommended you to fill it.” A grade thirteen was the equivalent in pay and protocol to a lieutenant commander in the military service. Anya smiled. “Where, sir?”

“Um, the R-76 Quadrant Desk. You know that Hammond Means is retiring, don’t you? Today’s his last day. Will you accept the position? You’d be senior analyst on that desk, Anya, and if you do as good a job there as you’ve done in your present position, I see a directorship in your future, perhaps even station chief somewhere, if you wish to go back into the field.”

“I’m very honored, sir, but—”

“But what?” Amesbury knew what was coming.

“Well, there’s a lot going on just now regarding Atlas and I thought with my experience I might be more valuable to you on that desk. I saw the dispatch that just came through. Can’t I stay in my present job until the business there is resolved?”

Amesbury cursed to himself. The director hadn’t wanted any of the analysts to see that message. “I appreciate your concern, Anya.” He smiled benevolently. “You’re a true professional and that’s the reason we’re transferring you to R-76.” It was not lost on Anya that now she was being ordered to accept the new position. “The director has decided to handle the Atlas case personally,” Amesbury continued. “No reflection on you or your colleagues, of course. You start in R-76 tomorrow morning. Take the rest of the day off.” He rose and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Anya.”

Anya took Amesbury’s hand. “Thank you, sir.” She knew it would do her no good to argue. She also knew she was being offered the plum assignment to keep her quiet. The director was about to pull something. What Anya Smiler did not know was what she would do about it.

CHAPTER NINE

Office of the President, New Granum, Union of Margelan, Atlas

Jorge Lavager stared intently at the Army Chief of Staff. “I want you to tell me, General Ollwelen, that you had nothing to do with this,” he said, in a deceptively quiet voice. Ollwelen knew that when his friend talked that way he was consumed with ice-cold anger. Lavager shoved a set of 2-D images across the table. Ollwelen recoiled. They were of the badly beaten body of Gus Gustafferson, the GNN correspondent and CIO agent.

“I swear to God, Jorge, on my honor as an officer, that I had nothing to do with this!” Ollwelen croaked.

“I didn’t say to kill him, I said to ‘get rid of him,’ General,” Lavager gritted.

“Y-Yessir!” Ollwelen stuttered. “I spoke to your public affairs minister, Jorge, after what you said at dinner, and told him it was your desire to declare G-Gustafferson persona non grata and deport him. I swear! You can ask the minister.”

“What about this Paragussa out at the Cabbage Patch? I suppose that was an accident?”

“Goddamnit, sir, I’ve told you once and I won’t tell you again, I had nothing to do with either of those deaths! Gustafferson was the victim of a mugging and Paragussa met with an unfortunate accident. Now if you really believe I had those guys murdered, Jorge—” Ollwelen’s face had turned red and his eyes flashed with anger.

Lavager raised a hand. He believed his old friend. “Locker, who was the English king who had the Archbishop of Canterbury assassinated?”

Ollwelen thought for a moment, “Henry II, I believe.” He slumped in his seat and passed a hand over his forehead.

“Yes. He just happened to wish out loud in the presence of some henchmen that he wanted someone to rid him of the Archbishop and the fools went out and murdered the old boy, thinking they were doing the king a great service. Henry had to do penance for his loose talk, didn’t he? Well,” Lavager sighed, “this,”

he gestured at the grisly images, “will be blamed on me. You can count on it.”

“Well, I don’t see how—”

“You don’t? That’s why I know you didn’t order it, because nobody could be so dense they could possibly miss the implications! Look. Gustafferson was an agent of the CIO, Paragussa was a source, they met just minutes before Gustafferson was murdered, and next day Paragussa was found dead out at the lab.”

“Um.” Ollwelen swallowed nervously. “Well, we’re presenting Gustafferson’s murder as a simple robbery gone wrong, and so far the media hasn’t picked up on Paragussa’s death.”

“Yes? Are you sure? Nobody robs a person and then beats him into an unrecognizable pulp. And the media doesn’t matter here, you’d better believe the CIO knows all about Paragussa too.” Lavager ran a hand nervously across his own forehead. “How much did Paragussa know?”

“Not much, I’m sure. Everything’s so compartmented at the Cabbage Patch that no one person knows everything except the director and a handful of others, all of whom have been thoroughly checked and are under constant surveillance. He could only speculate.”

“Wars have started over speculations too many times to count. How much could he have speculated, Locker?”

Ollwelen shrugged. “He might have been able to make some shrewd guesses, Jorge, but as to what we’re really up to out there, no, he could not have figured it out. He might have concluded we’re building some kind of powerful weapon but—”

Lavager thought for a moment. Something was not right here. He did not believe Gustafferson was the victim of a robbery any more than he believed Paragussa met with an accident. But if his people didn’t commit the murders, then who did? Was he being set up? Why? By whom? He shook his head.

“ ‘Building some kind of powerful weapon’ you said? That’s all Gustafferson would have needed for a great story. Everybody’s wondering what we’re doing out there, chief among them the Central Intelligence Organization. Now their spy and his informant are dead. Voilá! We had them murdered to shut them up. And once people begin to believe that, then why did we shut them up, they’ll ask? Yes,” he nodded, “we’re working on something really big out at the Cabbage Patch and it isn’t a new brand of fertilizer, it’s some kind of damned doomsday weapon, that’s what they’ll all conclude. I mean after all, nobody’s going to believe anyone killed that little muckraker over something small, Locker; in very high places they’ll be thinking he was killed to hide something.”

Cabinet Room, Office of the President, Confederation of Human Worlds, Fargo, Earth

Madam Chang-Sturdevant recoiled in horror at the images of Gus Gustafferson’s mutilated corpse.

“Do we really have to see this?” Marcus Berentus snorted, gesturing at the gruesome images before them.

Privately, J. Murchison Adams was very pleased with the graphic display of the murdered agent’s body and the effect it was having on the President. The images were creating just the atmosphere he wanted.

“Umpf,” Attorney General Long grunted. He’d seen worse in his long career in law enforcement. “This guy didn’t die in a mugging, you can bet your ass on it.”

“Madam, I do sincerely regret that I must show you this horror, but after you’ve heard Mr. Gustafferson’s report, you will see that all is not well on Atlas and we must do something about it.”

“Gustafferson was working for you?” Commandant of the Marine Corps Aguinaldo asked. “Mr. Adams, isn’t that a little damaging for the image of your agency as an objective intelligence agency, recruiting members of the media as agents?” Aguinaldo grinned. Everyone knew GNN’s reporting was just about the most biased in the galaxy. Adams’s lip twitched in the tightest smile as he nodded affably at Aguinaldo. “General, we get our intelligence any way we can. Besides, who ever believed the media isn’t above a little spying of their own? Surely no intelligent person believes they’re above bias. Gustafferson didn’t have an unbiased bone in his body, but he was a damned fine agent.”

“He doesn’t have an unbroken bone in his body, either, judging from those pictures,” Long commented sourly.

“I was wondering when someone was going to get him,” said Army Chief of Staff General Blankenship. The President threw him a sharp glance, his ears reddened, and he slumped disconsolately down into his seat.

“Gentlemen! No more of these remarks, please. Now, Jay, get on with your presentation,” the President said sharply.

“Madam President, you’ve seen the pictures. The New Granum police are handling the investigation of Gustafferson’s murder as a mugging gone wrong. But we have incontrovertible evidence it was a planned execution. He was executed because he knew too much about Jorge Lavager’s plans and Lavager had him murdered. I beg you to listen to a recording of Gustafferson’s report made shortly before he was killed. It arrived only yesterday via Beamspace drone.”

“Is this going to make me lose my lunch, Adams?” Chang-Sturdevant asked sourly.

“It is very upsetting, Madam President, but no, it’s nothing like—like—the images. But please, everyone listen carefully.”

For the next few moments Gus Gustafferson’s voice, along with that of the CIO station chief on Atlas, filled the Cabinet Room. When the transcript was done everyone just sat there quietly for a long moment. Chang-Sturdevant broke the silence at last. “All right, gentlemen, what do we do about this?”

“Ma’am.” Admiral Porter sat up straight in his chair. “We have come prepared with a plan to put a stop to these shenanigans—”

“They’re hardly ‘shenanigans,’ Admiral,” Chang-Sturdevant interjected.

“I mean these hideous plans of Lavager’s,” Porter went on quickly. “We favor an immediate and direct response, Madam President. We have a corps-sized army unit standing by, and the ships to get it to Atlas within a few days. We’ll swoop right down on New Granum and put a screeching halt to Lavager’s government. Turn him over to the AG for the administration of justice. My staff has prepared the following brief, ma’am, which I would like to present—”

Chang-Sturdevant held up a hand. “Mr. Berentus, when was the last time the Confederation mounted an invasion force against a member world?”

“Diamunde, ma’am,” Berentus answered immediately.

“Diamunde. Yes, that was several years ago, wasn’t it, Admiral Porter?” It was obvious to all that she considered the chairman’s plan for an invasion of Atlas little more than his looking for an opportunity to exercise military force, something admirals and generals loved to do, like surgeons who’d gladly perform a major operation to correct a hangnail just because they just loved to cut on people. Besides, a successful planetary invasion would “wet down” Admiral Porter’s recent promotion from Chief of Naval Operations to Chairman of the Combined Chiefs. “General Aguinaldo, are you in favor of this invasion plan?”

General Anders Aguinaldo glanced over at Porter and said, reluctantly, “No, ma’am, I am not. But we discussed it, all the Chiefs did, and the consensus was to ask for an invasion. I did not think at the time, nor do I think even after what we’ve just been presented, that the evidence for a full-scale military intervention is compelling. But I’ll support Admiral Porter if that is your decision, ma’am, even though my Marines are really spread pretty thin right now.” He paused, reflecting.

“Well, Anders, we weren’t going to rely on the Corps—” Admiral Porter began, but Chang-Sturdevant cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“Do you have something more to add? she asked Aguinaldo.

“Ma’am, Mr. Gustafferson’s report said the Cabbage Patch facility is being used to develop a crop-killing fungus. But what I can’t get out of my mind is the facility’s history as a weapons research center. Gustafferson as much as said his conclusion wasn’t confirmed yet. In whatever we do, we have to take into consideration the fact that the Union of Margelan might have a new weapon we know nothing about and have no effective defense against.”

“I understand,” she said, then turned to the Attorney General. “Mr. Long?”

“No, no, no, Madam President. A covert action is what we need here, not an invasion force. General Aguinaldo is right, there’s not enough evidence to support the Admiral’s plan. We need to know more—particularly if there are new weapons involved.”

“Jay?”

Adams smiled to himself before he gave his opinion. He really didn’t care how Lavager was removed, so long as he, as Director of the CIO, got the credit for starting the operation. He gave a mental shrug and thought,
Sometimes you’ve got to goose the goose.
“I think something must be done and soon, Madam President. Lavager must be neutralized, and however that is done is fine by me. I would urge discretion, however. Perhaps breaking down the door, as Admiral Porter recommends, is a bit too much.”

“Marcus?”

“Send someone in there to find out exactly what Lavager is up to. I think this is a job for Marine Force Recon.”

“Gentlemen?” she asked her advisors. They all began talking at once. She held up her hands. “All right, gentlemen, all right, that’s enough. Here is what we will do. General Aguinaldo, send a Force Recon team to Atlas to conduct up close reconnaissance of the Cabbage Patch. Find out what they’re doing there. If Lavager is preparing to extend his power by starving the member worlds of the Confederation, I shall authorize any, I repeat, any, operation to remove him, up to and including assassination.

“Admiral Porter, keep that corps-size force at the ready. General Aguinaldo, send out the word. AG, see what precedents we have for filing murder charges against a head of state. Gentlemen, thank you all for your hard work, you in particular, Jay. CIO has come through again. Good morning to you all.”

R-76 Desk, a Week Later

So that’s the plan? Anya Smiler wondered, sitting at her cubicle and reading the report Murchison had filed on his meeting with the President. They were going to send in a reconnaissance team to see what Lavager was doing. The Chief had generously offered the expertise of the CIO’s laboratories to analyze whatever the team found. It was nearing the end of the day. Well, she didn’t feel like going home. She opened the file of recent dispatches from the R-76 Quadrant. It was the usual stuff: recent economic statistics on the various worlds in the Quadrant, analyses of recent political events on different worlds. Nothing she wasn’t familiar with. She exited the file and sat staring at her console, wondering what was happening back on Atlas.

Anya Smiler possessed not only a very brilliant mind but also a photographic memory, an invaluable tool for an intelligence analyst. She had the highest security clearances and sat on a good number of task forces so she had access to a lot of extremely sensitive intelligence information. She wondered if she knew any of the current staff at the embassy in New Granum. Using passwords and codewords from her Atlas assignment, she called up the personnel roster for the embassy. And got in! Someone had forgotten to remove her from the access list. Each CIO station chief reported regularly on the embassy staff and official visitors; information about their personalities, their shortcomings as individuals, their assignments, the purpose of all official visits to embassies from off-world government officials. Often the information contained in these reports could be used to get unwilling staffers to cooperate in clandestine operations, but it is the very nature of intelligence types to collect information for its own sake, because one never knew, even the most inconsequential fact could some day prove useful. Names and faces flashed across Anya’s screen. She didn’t recognize any of them. She scrolled down to the listing of recent notable arrivals and departures. Suddenly she saw a face she recognized among the recent visitors. It belonged to someone calling himself Heintges Germanian, “courier.” He had arrived the day before Gustafferson’s murder and departed the day after. The face was an ordinary one, but she recognized it at once because it belonged to someone she’d seen before, a man named Wellers Henrico, not Germanian. He’d visited the embassy at New Granum when she was assigned there and that time, too, his visit had been a very short one. He had arrived at New Granum just before the bungled assassination attempt on Lavager, the one that had resulted in the death of Lavager’s wife, and he’d left immediately afterward. On that occasion “Henrico” had also been a courier sent to deliver high-priority messages that could not be left to an FTL drone so his brief stay had seemed perfectly normal. But why the name change? Was it coincidence that twice he had arrived just before and then departed just after an assassination? That sinking feeling that had been sitting on her stomach for days suddenly became very acute.