When Diplomacy Fails . . . (20 page)

Aramis said, “We’re just not the diplomatic type.”

CHAPTER 17

ALEX WOKE,
wondering if there’d be any complaints about an almost fight in an almost bar. It seemed the lieutenant was wise enough to realize he didn’t want the attention. There would be propagating rumors, though, some positive, some negative. There was nothing to be done about that. Some personalities just clashed. Ripple Creek had press visibility and a certain amount of notoriety. That led to fallout.

He and Jason had an appointment with Captain Das, then Highland had another promotional run later.

The whole point of zones on base was to hinder infiltrations and threats. They signed out of State, who were finally taking such things seriously under Cady’s management, but the military side waved them in. It seemed to vary on which troops had the detail. Aerospace Force was by the book. Marines was firm but polite. Army varied by nationality. The more troubled nations took it seriously. America, China and Europe, less so. At least there weren’t any locals this far in. MilBu was resistant to suggestions from BuCulture.

Not being stopped and cleared made things faster, but he’d rather be delayed and secure. The drive was short, but his brain ran through a lot of comments in that time.

At the Operations Building, they were expected, and a sergeant led them straight into Das’s office.

“Gentlemen, good morning,” he said.

“Hello. Thanks for seeing us.”

Das didn’t mention the rec center, and he would have, so it was a nonissue officially. Good.

“You’re welcome. I’m hoping you can offer some input.”

Jason said, “What do you have?”

Das said, “Here’s the weapon. It contains four unfired cartridges. They’re old style, with metal cases.”

Jason took it and Alex let him. He was the expert. He opened the breech as a precaution, then started examining it.

“It’s a shame I can never keep these things for my collection,” Jason said as he turned the weapon in his hands, rubbing, manipulating. “They’re always so interesting. This is a century old, give or take, a Bridemore Pocket Lion, and someone has stippled the grip by hand, filled it and grooved it. Then it’s worn mostly smooth. The barrel’s been replaced, and it was an aftermarket job. Someone milled the outside themselves, and the rifling looks electrochemically etched after a pantographic stencil laid it out. Cheap, but not very durable compared to forge-rifling or beam cutting.” He seemed to finally notice Das’s grin, and finished with, “Sorry. You were saying?”

Das said, “That’s farther than we’d got, and I’ll add that information in, with thanks. We also found the empty cartridges. The interesting thing is there is no residue in the barrel to indicate bullets.”

Jason nodded slowly.

“They’d definitely leave debris in this material. So it was fired with blanks?”

“It was fired with sintered polymer alloy of some kind I don’t remember.” He flipped up his desk screen. “Here, ‘Duralon particle-cast densiform.’ It’s about half the mass of lead, which is more than enough to cycle the weapon, but it would fragment to dust within a meter from twist rate.”

Alex said, “So someone was instigating a riot for the purpose of getting police brutality involved.”

“Have you seen the alleged wounds? Quite a few are self-inflicted. The cops were not gentle, but they didn’t do some of the stuff we’ve seen. There are razor slashes, bruises, chemical burns and the latter two had to be done ahead of time. So some group of masochists showed up with the intent of getting roughed up.”

Alex said, “We have the twofold problem of protecting Ms. Highland and not reacting in a fashion that can cause bad publicity when any attack might be real. That could easily have been real bullets. The odds of a hit are remote like that, but obviously the threat of worse exists.”

Das said, “She refuses to allow us to scan the crowds. Cultural sensitivity issues to their religious beliefs.”

She also may be hiding further instigations for PR, but this probably wasn’t one, because it backfired if so
, he thought. “It’s also not practical to search that many people when she wants a large crowd, and it would work against her stated policies, and the diplomatic issues. Of course, ideally she’d do everything only inside this compound surrounded by us. In the real world, however, she has to meet people.”

Das nodded back. “Well, I have to both investigate these, attempt to prevent them, and and try to get the locals to work with us. That’s more than a ‘both.’ ”

“I appreciate the information, Captain. We’ll do our own digging.”

Back at their quarters, the team discussed the updates, with drinks and snacks at hand.

Jason said, “We have her admission of instigation action for PR purposes. She knows we disapprove. We’d also play along, but it’s better if we’re deniable. ‘Better’ from her point of view, of course. So that’s one element that won’t directly be a real threat, but could be infiltrated.” In front of him was a timeline and chart of events they’d dealt with.

Alex said, “There are just too many factions. It could be her own employees’ union. Unlikely, but possible. There are three factions here who could afford those pros, who apparently weren’t that pro. Skilled wannabes.”

Aramis said, “There are enough groups who outright hate her. Some of the religious factions have declared moral war based on her visible support of Cady, and the rumors of her being gay.”

Alex said, “Yes, and Cady knows the score and is holding up. She’s more of a pawn than we are.”

Elke said, “I would assume that the actual hostiles will try very hard to get into her confidences, and would find out about the staged attacks. They’ll try to use those as cover.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Which is why I want Aramis to keep treating every threat like an invasion force and responding with violence. It will have a deterrent effect.”

The man grinned and said, “I cherish my role as a preemptive violence technician.” He grabbed a handful of cookies and started munching. He seemed to be recovering well.

Jason said, “Yeah, it keeps her safer and us safer. Nail any and all threats first, then ask questions if there’s anyone left.”

Bart said, “So we have friendly idiots, and unfriendly schemers who will make use of them. What about other groups?”

Shaman said, “I’ve seen some of this before. You must understand now you will never get inside information from the groups, especially as to how they ally. But, they will attack her so they can blame another group, or to claim credit and show their mettle. They’ll do so against her influence, or Earth’s influence, or because they don’t like some group she spoke with. That glove of hers was nauseating, but brilliant, I’m ashamed to say.” He slumped a bit and reached for his tea.

Elke said, “So any group who hates any other group might attack her for or against them.”

“If they think the cops will rough up their competition, yes. Then there are the gangs and their smuggling operations.” Alex sighed.

Aramis said, “Translation: no chart we can put together is going to help.”

“The idiotic thing,” Shaman said through tight lips with a tense face, “is that many of these groups had these same petty squabbles on Earth, and moved here to separate, but all moved here. Then they found the planet isn’t as conducive as they’d hoped, and are all stuck here in the temperate zone on one continent.”

“What is our approach, then?” Bart asked.

Jason said, “Attack all threats; try to coordinate with Das for intel from interrogations. If we can catch a live one without undue breakage, we ask the best questions we can then turn them in, undamaged, for the military to question further.”

“We can monitor residue,” Elke said. “Also, some of these incidents might take money. We can narrow down the focus on which groups would be willing to spend it, and have it available.”

“I want to follow up on her ‘dear friends’ and ‘former employees.’ They might have reason to hate her, or might be plants. Or just suborned, as happened with Caron and her servants.”

“That’s the ongoing problem in this business. We can keep someone safe locked in our dungeon with no contact. Beyond that, there are threats.”

Bart said, “I would also watch current events. Any large swings in the economy, or to any nations or groups, will affect her presence.”

“This is why BuState has its own security and its own intel.”

Aramis asked, “How is the intel from intelguy? Any good?”

“It’s not bad, but not great. I don’t know if that’s par for the course, par for him, incompetence, brilliance or deceit. We’re getting more from Das. Obviously, though, that’s directly military.”

“And her friend?”

“Yes, I will have to talk to her about him. Let me cue up standard spiel about how enemies may use friends for intel.”

“Do you think that’s going to work?”

“No, but I am required to try.”

He pinged a link to Jessie’s private line.

“JessieM.”

“Miss Jessie, it’s Agent Marlow.”

“Yes, sir, how may I help you?”

“I need to discuss a communication security matter with Ms. Highland. It should be in person, at her convenience.”

“Stand by, please.”

It was only a few moments before she came back on. “Ms. Highland says she can see you now.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right over.”

Cady’s people checked him in, and she was waiting at the desk she’d had installed in her parlor. Really, he wished she’d stop with the fake smile. Though it was probably both automatic and a matter of constant practice for her.

“Chief Marlow, what can I do for you?”

“Thanks for seeing me on short notice, ma’am. This is a secondary security concern, regarding communications.”

“Should Jessie be here for this, too?”

“She can be, but it’s not a technical concern.”

“Go ahead, then, what do you have?”

“This concerns Mr. Huble.”

“You can’t be serious!” she said with a half laugh, half protest.

“I have no reason to suspect him directly,” he said, to get that in there. “The concern is that any consistent, predictable communication outside can be compromised, either en route or at the far end.”

“We use PrivatProtocol.”

“I’m told that’s very good. I also know it can be compromised. That’s the first concern.”

“There’s more?” She seemed derisively amused, which wasn’t the worst possible response, but certainly not good.

“Mr. Blanding is connected to certain groups that would enjoy information about you.”

She laughed more nervously. “He would never offer information like that.”

“I wouldn’t suggest so, without knowing him. But, it’s entirely possible for someone to look for messages from you to him, and crack those. Especially while you are here.”

She looked thoughtful. “But it’s encrypted . . .”

“Anything can be cracked. Then, there’s what’s called traffic analysis. Knowing the volume and timing of messages offers keys, as does the sender and recipient.”

“I could send a lot more messages, about inane matters.”

“That is an excellent idea,” he said. It was a partial win against other threats, but it all helped. Deescalate one threat enough, you could focus on others.

He concluded with, “Do please add as much variety and randomness to those communiqués as possible. That will help all over.”

Meanwhile, he had another PR meeting to prepare for.

Elke’s position was that interaction with locals was always problematic. Factions made it worse. She hadn’t considered this day’s mission could top all that. They were flying to the event, which she was never very much in favor of. She liked control, and flying meant surrendering control to someone else.

In this case, the pilot was a local, of one of the factions.

Elke never screamed. She did, however, get roiling guts and sweats, and this did it.

They boarded at the military field, around Highland, into the cabin of a Emirates Aircraft EA6 Djinn. That was a so-so aircraft at best, outdated and at least half-used up, if it was here, and now piloted by a local.

She did everything as required, watching her sector, keeping position and distance from Highland, and putting a visual void over that aircraft.

Once aboard, she took a seat facing aft, fastened her restraints and donned helmet. She made a cursory visual check for any threats, then gave her attention to her sniffers and scanners. Jason would check also, and the military had done so when it landed. It was also politically inadvisable for their host to stage an attack, so he’d have made his own checks. Between them, the only threat that should remain was pilot error and shoddy maintenance. She shivered again.

Alex had a familiar expression on his face, and was looking at Jason. Jason gave a nod and a thumbs up. She translated in her mind.

If need be, can you toss this yokel out the hatch and land us intact?

Yes, no problem.

Somehow it didn’t reassure her.

“Intercom check. Playwright.”

“Argonaut.”

“Julien.”

“Babs,” she said in turn.

“Pirate.”

“Musketeer.”

“Witch and Black Cat accounted for. Pilot reports ready to lift.”

And they did, as Elke stared straight at the bulkhead.

Ten minutes into the flight she unfastened two suit buttons for ventilation. It was crowded and warm, faintly chemical, and not in the sweet way Comp G smelled, and the vibration hit a frequency that irritated her bladder and stomach. She was glad she’d not eaten or drunk yet today.

“A bit turbulent,” Jason said.

It was more than a bit, in her view. Of course, she didn’t like heights, altitude or movement anyway. The engine tone shifted periodically. That was perfectly normal, she knew intellectually. It still made her flinch.

It was only five minutes later that Alex announced, “Landing.” Though it took over 200 seconds to make the approach, gauge the winds and reflections, and put the beast down.

They were in a large compound ringed with low, but multiple walls and fences at comfortable distances, each in overlapping fields of fire. She could even draw the range markers. At least someone here understood basic tactics. Now as long as they respected Highland, or Ripple Creek, enough to not start trouble.