When Diplomacy Fails . . . (3 page)

He slid his hand up, and traced her lips with a finger, a physical confirmation for his eyes, while trying to decide what to do.

Ayisha wrapped an arm around Caron and clenched, and clutched for him with the other. With the taboo broken, he collapsed on them and stopped thinking, in a burning, melting rush. He was beyond drunk, beyond lost, and only a thread of control remained, a glowing, sparkling line amidst the waves of fog in his brain.

Then two warm mouths collided on him and his brain jolted in disconnect.

He wasn’t sure if he was the first to scream.

It didn’t end with that, and he never got past it all feeling like a dream, an hallucination, an unreality that he couldn’t wake up from and didn’t want to.

An hour later they stopped, gasping and sweating and with unfocused eyes. Caron kissed Ayisha sloppily, then him, then bounded off the bed and into a kimono. She headed for the kitchen, as Ayisha headed for the bathroom. Ayisha came back with cool, damp towels. Caron returned with three glasses of tart limeade and a bucket of ice.

They wound up sitting in a triangle, and he gauged them. They seemed comfortable enough, neither fawning each other nor shying away. They grinned when they made eye contact.

Even if he wanted to tell anyone, no one would ever believe this.

“Thanks much,” Ayisha said as she accepted a glass.

“You’re welcome,” Caron replied. “I’m feeling dehydrated. And worn.” She ran a hand through her dark, tangled waves of hair.

Shortly, he was massaging Caron’s feet with mint lotion, while Ayisha braided her hair, and they talked about chocolate. Aramis liked it darker, but wasn’t an aficionado, really. Caron was, and could readily afford to be, and took a quick trip to the kitchen for several high-end mixes.

Ayisha didn’t seem to have any complaints about the weekend. She tried nibbles of five different mixes, and fed the balance to Caron, whose head was in her lap.

“I’m not sure about the hazelnut,” Ayisha said. “Wonderful, but I like the effect of straight chocolate. This is too good to blend.”

“I like the contrast,” Caron said. “Also the Guatemalan pure with the bare hint of jalapeño. I always wondered about that.”

“It’s all good,” he said, to say something, trying to ignore her feet on his belly. “Some is better than others, depending on mood.” He didn’t say that he couldn’t tell much difference in his current state.

“Well, I suppose,” Caron said, sat up and reached behind him to the table. “Ayisha, do you know what Aramis really likes? Ice cubes.”

He could have wrestled them both off if he tried, but why?

When he woke the next morning, he was alone. He clutched around as Caron called from the desk, “It’s okay, I gave her a ride home.”

“I’d hoped she’d say goodbye.”

“She did, about an hour ago. Don’t you remember?” She rose and came over.

He didn’t. Damn, they’d worn him out.

Caron was dressed in a business pullover and blazer, and even that was sexy as hell on her. She had literally everything, and all the sorrow that went with it, not to mention her murdered parents, psychotic uncle, and occasional assassination attempts. Would she rather trade her beauty or her money for a normal life? But she was who she was.

“I have to report in soon,” he said.

“Well, be safe,” she said, taking his hand as he rose from the bed. “I’ll expect you in one piece, and ready for dinner when you come back.”

“I’ll do my best,” he agreed. Yeah, getting busted up was not on his list. He stretched.

“The weekend was great,” she said with a grin. “I don’t promise I’ll ever do that again. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“No worries,” he said, blushing a bit now. Yes, she looked amazing face down on another woman, but it required the right woman, right time and place, and right mindset. “I’m glad I was there for it.”

“So am I. Thank you, Aramis, for being here for me. Be safe,” she insisted again, firmly and with finality.

“I will,” he said.

Her smile broke to a concerned frown as she turned. She probably hadn’t wanted him to see that.

A half hour later, her goodbye kiss was warm, but hesitant. They definitely had something. That was a complication.

That, and he probably should have mentioned to Ayisha that the security detail was definitely watching via camera. They were utterly professional about it, but probably enjoyed at least some of it.

He wasn’t sure if the regret was a reaction, or something deeper.

CHAPTER 3

BART SIGHED.
The trip up to orbit was the usual spine-grinder. It was possible to run at lower acceleration, but it used more fuel. That raised costs. They could have larger couches, same story. He always felt imprisoned by the close confines of the seats, and they were either sticky or coarse, depending on the covering. He never complained out loud, though Jason did, and it was amusing to hear complaints about shuttle seats from a man who would very casually return fire in combat.

Next to him, Aramis seemed caught in thought. He was not as cocky as he had been. Some of that was maturity, which also meant less edge. Still, he seemed introspective, not worried. Everyone assumed his relationship with Caron was intimate, but he’d never said, and his expression was thoughtful.

Elke and Shaman both had seemed their usual calm selves, but they were seated behind him and he couldn’t tell. Alex was never relaxed, but never stressed. He was seated diagonally ahead, and had something encoded out to work on.

On their first mission, he’d had more executive protection experience than the others. They were all catching up now. Still, he went through mental exercises on procedures. It would probably again be his task to teach the principal the necessary movements for evacuations and relocations, though she might already know some of that, with her background. He also considered how her personality might clash with theirs. She was strong willed.

There were incidents in her background. It was one thing when a principal wanted more freedom than safety allowed. It was entirely different when they didn’t like consulting with their detail, or ignored them.

Then there were potential threats, with a high-ranking bureaucrat and former assemblyperson who had made numerous people and groups unhappy. Fortunately, most of the more violent ones didn’t have a significant dislike of her or a threat record against her.

Though it was often the quiet ones.

In the BuState compound on Mtali, Jason stretched out knots. He’d found the worst, most frustrating aspects of the job possible: Ignorance.

Not that people were ignorant, though he was sure a lot of them were. No, it was that they ignored him.

He had scaled responses for any contingency, from polite greeting, diplomatic request, urgent demand, rude insult, angry threat, punch to the face, shoot in the face, to “call Elke.” Some issues here were simply not responsive. The people in question refused to respond to him, or acknowledge him in any fashion.

That was the most aggravating response possible. He could accept a “no,” though he’d certainly try to manipulate it to a “yes.” He could appeal up the chain as was indicated by the urgency of the matter. Completely ignoring him put him in a helpless corner.

He couldn’t use any violent means at this juncture. His lesser means were being ignored. He didn’t want to call Corporate. He was supposed to be able to handle this, and if he wanted promotion he certainly had better. Their response would also be delayed, and watered down by distance.

He had connections, and he had some responses. Cady’s team had landed the day before, and were busy securing the Ripple Creek section of the diplomatic compound, which was the Minister’s residence and their adjoining apartments. That went smoothly enough; the military, contractors and agencies had no choice but to do as the BuState letterhead demanded.

There were mild complications with Highland’s assistant deputy chief of staff, a position he wasn’t even cognizant of. It seemed the man’s task was to handle all the routine requests from Very Important People with Something to Say to the Minister, and scheduling of meetings with such groups, around the stuff Highland and her deputy chief of staff, who was on Earth, scheduled first. Magerin Rausch was a nice enough guy, spotless background, and on the list to be admitted with minimal hindrance. On paper, his credentials were impressive. How much of that actually meant something, Jason didn’t know. He was also filling in as Protocol head, and in that capacity they would need to talk to him.

“Good morning, Agent in Charge Vaughn,” he said as Jason entered the area. He was always perfectly polite.

“Mr. Rausch, good morning. How are you?”

“I like this planet in a lot of ways,” Rausch said. That was ironic. He was Jewish, and this pit of despair was full of people who’d kill him in a second. It did have nice sunrises, though, ruddy and streaked with clouds.

Jason said, “It’s not bad. As to our hopefully final clarifications, I reviewed all your documents. We will try to pass everyone with a minimum of delay, after checking for weapons and other threats. By the time they get to you, they should be cleared. Agent in Charge Cady is responsible for the perimeter, and her second team will be at the doors inside. You will need to let her know, so she can let them know, on anyone to admit. They will still need either pass or escort from you, or to show ID and be on file.”

“That’s surprisingly easy. There are stories that Ripple Creek are very tough to deal with.”

“It’s our job to be tough with threats and potential threats. Anyone cleared through the Minister and yourself will be deemed a nonthreat, though we’ll be ready to respond if that changes. You can always ask for them to have a courtesy escort, which means we’ll smile and shake hands and make them feel we’re at their service. We won’t shoot them in the back unless they make a clear, definite, health- or life-threatening move toward the Minister.”

“I do appreciate your dry sense of humor.”

I appreciate that you think I’m joking.

“Well, that’s the personal interaction issue. We all have maps of the facility and the relevant areas marked. Just keep any guests, junior staff, housekeepers or others out of those areas, and we’ll do the rest. We try to be polite to everyone, just let us know of any specific titles or addresses.”

“I will do so.”

Really, it shouldn’t be too bad. They had a military perimeter, a BuState perimeter, the building entrance, controlled elevators. By the time anyone got to this level of the building, it would be a nonissue. Likewise, the Colonial Liaison Office, the stand-in for an embassy, wasn’t their problem.

The military remained a problem. Even the Intel office had passed the buck until he hinted at going over them. Then they’d assigned a captain. Captain Das seemed competent and helpful, but was hamstrung by other duties and limited authority. At the same time, he was earnest, and going over him wouldn’t create any friends, might hurt the man’s reviews, and wasn’t likely to yield anyone more helpful or able.

He tabled that as Cady came in.

“Afternoon, Jace,” he acknowledged.

“Hi, Jason. Do you have anything on the perimeter fence request? I still need to know what software they use to monitor those lines.”

That issue. He said, “Yeah, I put in a third request to Colonel Goran. They’re still ignoring it. I’m sure they’ll respond when it’s too late for us.”

“I know you’re working it. It’s just very aggravating.”

“I have said exactly the same. What’s our status?”

Cady shrugged. “I can’t approve the fence. I do have our barriers in place inside. They won’t allow explosive.”

“Elke may have something to say about that.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” She giggled. “We wouldn’t keep getting in trouble if they’d just let us do our job.”

He grinned. “Unfortunately, we can’t use that as a marketing blurb.”

“Well, not officially. Though in the right circles, it would work.”

“Heck, we don’t need advertising. ‘Ask President Bishwanath or Ms. Prescot.’ It’s hard to argue with results.”

“Indeed. Perhaps we should unionize for better bargaining potential.” Her face was serious.

“I can never tell when you’re joking.”

“Good. I do appreciate our small arms arriving. Any word on the body armor?”

Sigh. That issue. “Somehow, the weapons were ‘diplomatic’ but the armor got tagged as ‘military materiel.’ Held up in Aerospace Force storage until local and BuMil ‘inspect’ it. I sent another request to Colonel Goran on that, too.”

“An operations officer who doesn’t bother with operations.”

“Yeah, though he has plenty of time to smoke, play cards at the O club and organize cookouts.”

“I have my updates here,” she said, handing over a ramstick. They never sent anything through a network they didn’t own, if they didn’t have to.

“Great. I’ll beat on them as best I can. The good part is that the more falls in place, the less targets for my irritation still exist, so I can apply more loving attention.”

“I’d almost say you enjoy the fight.”

Right then a klaxon sounded, the emergency light on the wall flashed, and Jason’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it to see, “REAL. ATTACK IN PROGRESS, SEEK SHELTER.”

He and Cady swapped looks, then jogged for the door. He heard an explosion high overhead. It cracked and boomed.

From the second floor, they bounded down the stairs and out, passing two men and two women coming in. Landscapers. The two mercenaries headed toward the compound entrance. It was secured, the two guards on duty nestled into their reinforced gatehouse. There weren’t many people about outside, but those few were trying to get inside.

Jason checked his watch. Almost a minute. Granted, there were fewer BuState people than military, but they were mostly accounted for, while the base still swarmed, and much of it wasn’t mission critical. Those people should have been sheltered in seconds.

High overhead, another rocket sought to fall, only to be splattered into fine debris. A brilliant flash and crack of artificial lightning shook the sky in its wake. He couldn’t tell the incoming airframe, though it was on the larger end of short range stuff. The counterfire was definitely a combination of laser and particles. The laser marked the target for any physical followup, applied energy to it, and opened a plasma sheath. The particles ripped along that sheath and punched holes in the weakened missile.

Interesting. The military had refused to comment on air defense, even though it applied directly to Highland’s safety. He’d seen a Cobra antiaircraft battery. The core buildings were around an improvised courtyard, and the missiles were hidden within, camo mesh and glittery distortion shields around them, that didn’t hide them from engineers with experience building landing fields. Apparently though, the Cobras were backup to the Sentinel Dual Array. He was glad to see it.

Cady said, “It seems they have a lot of trust in their air defense, or a contempt for the local artillery.”

“Any kind of counterbattery going out?”

“Not that my sensors can detect. Though if it’s distant enough, they may have something more local to it.”

“Or they may just be too snobbish and decadent to actually return fire.”

“Earth culture? Snobbish and decadent?”

“Yeah. A stretch, I know.”

“In other observations, I see that the perimeter fence became live, the gate is locked, but there’s no supplemental forces, we remain unquestioned even though our presence and observations could theoretically be intel or terminal guidance.”

She paused and he picked up. “The building has not been locked down. I bet our ID won’t be checked on entry.”

“Well, that makes my job easier,” she said. “The local contractors aren’t present and the State weenies are useless. Why don’t we have Marine guards anymore?”

“It was deemed ‘Amerocentric.’ Everyone should have a chance. These are Egyptian.”

“Even by Egyptian standards, they are sub par.”

“So it’s all up to you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, and giggled again. “I’d like Elke to consult with me once she’s here.”

“I’ll relay that.”

The flight was comfortable enough, Alex thought. From the shuttle they’d embarked on a cruise liner that was privately owned by BuState, operated by contract and civil service crew, almost all of them veterans. That didn’t negate the possibility of attempts on their principal, but it did reduce the probability and change the factors.

Still, it was nice to be comfortable while assessing threats. They each had a stateroom with frills and real wood paneling, which was ridiculous, and felt really odd during maneuvers, but the privacy and minimal but real space was something he appreciated. They’d once traveled all six in a bunkroom, on constant watch. This was nice.

However, he didn’t trust the security protocols, nor the risk of anyone snooping, so they rotated between staterooms to discuss business, and did so by hand-writing notes to pass around and then shred. The contrast between state of the art ship and pencil on paper was amusing.

Alex expected trouble at some point. They were hired for that reason. He didn’t expect an attack just yet, but political sniping would probably start early on.

Eight days later, they were in system and prepared to transition to protection taskings. He had four of five shooters behind him, with Jason doing recon on Mtali, groundside. They were in what passed as a boardroom for this ship, on sparse but adequate furniture, as unarmed as anyone else. It was a policy brought about because of the risk of damaging the ship and causing leaks, even though the vessel was rated for meteorite impacts at ungodly velocity. Policies were usually based on emotion, not facts, and impossible to argue with.

He stopped musing as the hatch swung. One of BuState’s guards was first, then the slight-looking redhead who was the assistant to Joy Herman Highland who came next, all 1.7 meters of her, projecting an attitude three meters tall, all of it bitch.

The BuState security detail looked all too happy to hand her over. One of them came over, presented a tablet to be signed, then nodded as he turned. The four of them left with barely a mumbled goodbye.

That left it all up to Alex, which, while it had downsides, also meant he didn’t have to argue with anyone except the principal. He expected that to be enough of a chore.

“Minister Highland, I’m Alex Marlow.”

She smiled cordially enough, though it was a politician’s smile. It was as real as her hair color and probably her breasts.

“Thank you, Mr. Marlow,” she said, as she extended a hand. He recalled that she insisted on the appearance of manners. He took it firmly but not too hard.