Better to Beg Forgiveness (33 page)

"Do not tell me that the Great Operators are not prepared to help Mister Bishwanath. You're just going to leave him here? If you're not packed in six minutes, you're getting left behind."

He stared for just a moment. No, it couldn't be a setup, he decided. Too complex.

"Bal, come on out. Everyone gear up. We're rolling."

Tension defused, they exploded into action. Shaman grabbed Bishwanath, everyone started shouldering the gear they already had, and at a gesture from Alex, Bart handed over extra ammo to the STs. There was no point in leaving any behind.

"What do you have?" he asked White. She was young and not as well trained tactically, but she was obviously plugged in on intel.

"I hope you're not surprised that I can still monitor your commo," she said, taking more stuff herself. She was quite laden.

"Okay, continue." He'd known she had a back door. Who else had heard it?

"It doesn't take much to figure out what your encrypted call said, when the Recon pukes suddenly start being evasive, refusing to talk to me, don't know where the President is, have to clear the building, et cetera. They're bailing on him, yes?"

"Yes."

"I asked about escort. They invoked orders and procedure and did it badly. They know they're pussies, but they won't argue the point with their bosses. Just when I was starting to think the Army actually had some people who were good for more than breaking things." She looked disgusted. "Fuckers."

He'd never heard her swear.

"Can't really blame them on that," he said. "It would be Weilhung's ass. His bosses are assholes."

"Bull. He can fake it. Shuffle people around, help clear the palace and the mob, damage cameras in the fighting. Right?"

Her three escorts weren't saying anything, but had the door covered. Occasional glances were all they gave to the debate.

"It's not quite that simple," Alex said. "But yes, they could."

"There's an Aerospace Force convoy coming through in a couple of hours. We're joining up with them. I reported fighting, invoked bailout procedures, and am implementing them. Obviously, any allied force is welcome to come with us.
I
have not been given any orders through my chain to abandon Mister Bishwanath. Of course, I've never been given orders to do more than coordinate with our forces." She looked a bit nervous about it, but clearly determined.

"Welcome," he said. "And thanks."

Bishwanath was too stunned to say anything. He'd lost his nation, his home, all his own people, and was now dependent for survival on mercenaries and renegade troops who regarded him as more worthy than their own orders or lives. He was still getting used to the idea that people could fight for more than their own group. These people respected him for himself, not for who he represented, and were going to risk their lives to take him to safety.

He managed a nod, and a "Thank you," and kept breathing so he'd stay responsive. His heart didn't like this, and his guts were churning. The stress was far beyond that of politics or combat.

"Can you handle a weapon?" Marlow asked.

"Not nearly so well as you can," he replied. "But I can operate one, yes."

"Hand him a carbine. Elke, how's it going?" Alex asked as she came back into the room.

"You want flames, boom, or discretion?" she asked, stacking all their computers and portables. She was going to destroy them. Tens of thousands of dollars of personal possessions they were going to destroy to keep secure. That equipment could run a major business here, but he was more important to them even than it was.

Bishwanath determined that if he did get out of this, his own life was forfeit. He could never repay a life debt. Especially as none of them had hesitated. The seven people who knew him slightly and the four he'd seen only in passing were throwing their belongings away and risking their lives and careers.

"Why?" he tried to ask.

Bart looked over at him for a moment, then said, "Because the people who play power games live for convenience instead of doing the job right. That is why they always make it bad."

The answer wasn't to the question he'd asked, but the corollary was there. These men, and woman, were more than mercenaries. Possibly no one could have their level of training without a regard for their own honor. They'd gladly kill people for money, but they were very selective about which people. Then, Miss . . . Tech White, and her three personnel were risking criminal charges and military misconduct even if they succeeded.

"Thank you all," was all he could say. He had to sit down. Too many shocks in one day.

Alex saw Bishwanath sit somewhat hard. The man was a bit pale and shaking, which was probably nerves but could also be medical. He flicked his eyes and Shaman stepped over that way with a nod.

Eyes were starting to drift that way, so he took control by saying, "What's our plan, and where is your convoy?"

"The convoy isn't coming directly to the palace. It's going to swing past—" She paused for a moderate explosion outside. "—about three kilometers from here, on the Esplanade of the Nations."

"Pisser they won't drive in to get you, eh?" Alex said. He realized it was bad phrasing as soon as he did.

She turned. "They have other intel and listening posts, a detachment at one of the lift ports and at the embassy, and a couple elsewhere. Are you suggesting the four of us in a minicar could not meet up with them through that rabble?" she indicated the window.

"And that answers the next question," Alex said. "One vehicle. Got another?"

"We do not, and any staff car would be a target," she said. "Also, the guards are securing those."

"What is your official bailout?" he asked.

"I slagged the intel and computers, told the other shifts not to come in here and to meet there, called, and reported. I have five thousand in UN marks and gold, and the four of us and one armed two-seat minicar. That is the bailout plan." She gave a curt nod. She was obviously a scared young lady, but she was going to carry out her duty regardless, and didn't seem bothered at the idea of killing anyone in her way. Untrained, maybe, but she could be counted on, if Alex made his guess.

"That's it?" he asked.

"That is the third bailout plan, per the manual," she said. "We already went through A and B and figured they were no good. But the manual does cover this so I'm sticking with it for now. It says to assist allied military, Bureau, and contract personnel if possible. Since I have not been ordered to do anything shitty, I'm on clear ground."

"But one minicar," he said. That was a staff vehicle, not a tactical vehicle.

"Right. I can't take you all. I could take the President."

"Call him Bal. And the problem is, I can't let him go detached. I'm in a serious bind if I do, contract or no."

"I understand." Yes. She understood. She wasn't going to budge.

"Can you detach your men to me and let me put mine with you?" he asked.

"Negative," Buckley said. He'd been silent if attentive until now. "Our transport, our assets, and we have to escort Tech White until she is secure, or prevent capture of the intelligence assets she has."

"Prevent . . ." Alex stared at her. Holy shit. Did that mean . . . ?

Yes, it did. The NCO didn't look happy, but he too looked determined to carry out his orders.

"So we travel together," she said. "You'll have to travel separately, though we can cover you if it does not interfere with our mission. That's pushing the regs, but I don't give a damn."

Alex nodded. "Bart, go down and get us transport. Jason, go with him. One at least, two if you can. Fast, goddamit, be fast."

"Sir," they said, and moved.

White and her escorts left. "I'll stay in touch by phone," she said on the way out.

Everything always took longer than planned. Alex had said three minutes. White had said six. Fifteen minutes later, they were still gathering gear. Elke made three trips back grunting under piles of explosive. Rahul returned with a cart and some personal valuables that could prove useful. Bart and Jason admitted there was nothing nondescript that fit their needs for transport. Most of the vehicles had been taken by palace staff. "We risk it in a Mercedes limo or we go on foot," Bart reported. "I like Mercedes, but here I think it would be an attraction."

"Damned straight," Jason agreed. "We're safer on foot. Blend into the mob."

"I concur," Alex said, reluctantly. He remembered last week's convoy. Damn. So how to get to the real convoy, the one with the weapons and free-fire orders . . . 

Weilhung finally called. "Marlow, I know you got the same orders I did. I know it sucks. Where is Bishwanath?"

"I have no idea, Major. Haven't seen him since I got called away for that phone call. Nor his assistant. I gather he figured what was going on and split back to his people."

"Don't bullshit me,
contractor
. Where is he?"

"Major, if I knew exactly where he was at this moment"—Alex was carefully facing away from the group and didn't know Bishwanath's exact location—"I'd tell you. There's a very good chance he's still in the palace. But I was ordered to stop guarding the President, and pulled. So I'm not guarding him. Look somewhere else."
I'm guarding Balaji Bishwanath who is not the President. So it's all true.

"Maybe I better come up and take a look myself," Weilhung said. His tone made it obvious he meant to come up in force.

"If you insist, just call from outside and knock. We're getting pretty antsy waiting for transport."

"Yeah, I'm sure. You haven't even called for transport yet."

Well, that was an interesting admission, Alex thought.

"I have plans for transport," he said agreeably. "Thanks for asking. So I don't need to take your offer." The offer hadn't been made. Shit. Weilhung had been a straight shooter and a decent guy, but he did have to follow his orders and he did have to protect his own ass, literally and politically. Now they were certainly not allies, even if not quite enemies yet.

"I'll be up shortly."

As the carrier dropped, Alex checked his own phone was off and said, "Well, that just fucking sucks. How fast can we move?"

"Not too fast. There are firefights on the palace grounds now," Jason said.

"Really? Excellent. Elke, can you make them a door, right now?"

She turned to her computer, plugged in her phone. She checked to make sure he was serious, tapped in a password, a filename, another password, and hit Return. There was a sharp bang from two floors down.

"Awesome. Can you still collapse the staircase?"

"Not as effectively, but yes." She tapped in a bit more and the floor shook with the next report.

And the phone rang.

"Marlow."

"You cocksucking bastard, I am going to fucking deal with you," Weilhung said. He was careful enough not to make an actual threat, but he was pissed.

"Major, now is not the time. The palace is taking fire and we've had two explosions in this wing. You might want to consider evacing now and not worry about us. We'll be fine."

"Yeah. You're a son of a bitch, Marlow. You have been a constant pain in my ass from the word go, and I wanted to get along. You've got your wish. You're on your own. I can't and won't risk any of my men to check up on you."

"Is that all?" Alex asked.

"Almost. Good luck."

Carrier dropped.

So, Weilhung was not going to be an active hostile. That didn't mean he might not decide to apprehend Bishwanath if he saw him. Noted.

The phone rang again. "Snow White here," she said. "How are you, Streambed?" White and Creek. Good.

"We're fine. Go ahead."

"We heard explosions. Are you able to make rendezvous?"

"We should be. The explosions were outgoing. The local guards seem to be putting up a fight." It was an absolute lie and piece of misdirection to anyone listening.

"Do you have transport?"

"The basic kind," he said. Did she . . . ?

"We're secure on this channel. We're on foot, too," she said. "Someone chopped the locks on our vehicle and took it."

If there was one skill the locals seemed to possess, it was bypassing locks through brute force.

"It's only a couple of klicks. Are we going together?"

"We're in the basement heading up," she said. "Come down and meet us at the Informal Entrance?" she asked.

"Agreed," he said. "We'll be there."

He closed the phone, checked radio, and got acknowledgment back from everyone.

"We're on foot," he said. "Rope for rappelling, one ruck each, one carried personal bag you may have to abandon. Marching order as given, break out the Medusa. Jason . . ."

"No drones, the network could be compromised or hacked."

"Yes. We're risking it with these." He tapped his earbud. "I don't see an alternative, though."

Since White had admitted being able to crack their encryption, that meant any video they had might not be secure. It wouldn't do to have potential hostiles locate their principal by their own gear.

Alex started shuffling cash, split it into six stacks with a handful of bullion. "Everybody take one," he said. "We can pool it again later, but in case we don't all make it, the survivors need assets."

"We will make it," Bart said. He sounded confident.

"I think so too," Alex said with a grin. "Take the money."

Aramis and Bart pried open the crate next to the arms locker and brought out the Medusa. As combat equipment went, it was bulky, cantankerous, and horribly inefficient, which was why the military didn't use it. Of course, it was also intimidating, loud, and put out a lot of fire, which is why it was perfect for a mob.

Bart donned the headset, shrugged into the harness, and started tugging at straps. Aramis plugged and wired everything in until Bart nodded.

"I am good," he said. He looked like some mad scientist with a helmet wired into his brain, wearing bizarre spectacles and carrying a footlocker on his back. The Medusa needed a large operator. Also, it took practice, as became apparent when a weapon popped out above his shoulder while he was setting recognition protocols.