Carnifex (38 page)

"Well, as for Adara," said the brother, Yeslam, "
that
job we should have done ourselves."

"Of course," agreed Bakr. "But the point is, we
didn't
. And someone did. The pattern is too obvious to ignore, someone is trying to make our family
extinct
."

"And they don't care how many others they kill to do it, either," added Abdullah, also a brother and one of only two of the clan to graduate a Tauran or Columbian law school, the other being the late Adara. "How many killed along with Mahrous? More than twenty, wasn't it? So there's no protection in more guards, or in hiding behind innocents . . . not that we're not innocent . . . of course."

"Of course," agreed Bakr, very drily. "Of
course
." Bakr's eyes went up, scanning the ceiling as if expecting a bomb to burst through at any moment. "And you are right, 'of course.' Normal, even abnormal, security measures are fine for normal, or only somewhat abnormal, threats. But this threat—and despite the fact that every murder has been different, I am convinced there is a single agency behind it—this threat will escalate to any conceivable means to make us extinct. He must hate us a great deal."

"Mustafa!" both Abdullah and Yeslam said together. "Who does not hate us after what Mustafa has done?"

"Mustafa is a hero!" insisted Khadijah, stepmother of Mustafa and prouder of him, by far, than she was of her own children. "He fights for the Faith! He does his duty by Allah and the people!" She left out,
unlike you sots who work, when you work, for mere money
!

"Silence, woman," Bakr commanded. "We allowed you here as proxy for Mustafa. But let me tell you, were he here, himself, I would cut him down like a dog and offer his head and his balls to whoever is trying to extinguish us in the hope they'd
stop
."

All went silent then, even Khadijah who was known to be something of a shrew.

"We should have more expert assistance with this problem," said Abdullah.

"My eldest boy has a son with the army," offered Bakr. "Perhaps we should invite him. Yes, let us invite him. But let us also begin to set up a secure base, here, and call the clan home from their travels."

"It would cost much gold," observed Yeslam.

Bakr nodded, but said, "Much good the gold of this world will do us if we're killed."

The deal had been complex in certain particulars. Malcolm, knowing how annoyed Carrera was with him, didn't fully trust him to go through on the deal once the gold was delivered. Carrera, for his part, absolutely didn't trust Malcolm to deliver the gold once his own troops were committed. It had led to a week-long impasse until Virgil Rivers had suggested a compromise.

"Send it in a carrier," he'd suggested. "Send the carrier with a full battalion of Marines to guard it. Carrera has enough firepower to make sure the carrier can't run off with the gold. The carrier, along with the Marines, has enough firepower to make sure that Carrera can't take the gold and then refuse to deploy. Given that his troops will be expecting to fight, he'll fight."

That had seemed fairly reasonable to both sides, though it had taken another week to hammer out a schedule to transfer the yellow bricks. In that week the nuclear aircraft carrier, FSS
Sarah Jay
, and its escorts had sailed to First Landing, where the bulk of the FSC's gold was stored, from its base in the state of Dominion.

The gold arrived at portside in something over five hundred trucks escorted by a full motorized infantry brigade. There were possibly even more members of the press there at the dock than there were Soldiers, Sailors and Marines, combined. Along with the press had come a small brigade of protestors. What the protestors wanted was anyone's guess, based on the signs they carried. Perhaps it was fairest to say that what they really wanted was publicity. Since the press was there . . . 

There was no press in attendance. Neither Jaquie nor Marta had anyone they wanted to impress back home. Indeed, both had, for very different reasons, excellent cause not to want anyone at all to know where they were or what they were doing.

Fosa had helicoptered over, along with Rodriguez's platoon of Cazadors and most of Chu's boat crew. Some of the men still sported bandages and casts. Jaquie looked for the machine gunner whose face had been burned but didn't see him. Presumably he'd been evacuated for the superior medical care available back home, ashore.

The captain of the
von Bremen
had had cleared a large open area on the ship's mess deck. Into it had filed the two honorees, the four other girls who'd volunteered to sail aboard the sadly sunken
Suzy Q,
most of the rest of the hookers, some of the sailors and Cazadors whose turn it was for R&R aboard Fosa's Fornication Frigate, plus Fosa himself and Rodriguez's and Chu's boys. There was room, if barely.

"Attention to orders," ordered the captain of the
von Bremen
, once everyone was assembled.

The sailors and Cazadors present stiffened to attention. The girls really didn't know what to do, but took their cue from the military men and stood a little straighter. All talk ceased.

Fosa walked forward to where Jaquie and Marta stood, flanked by Chu and Rodriguez. "Publish the orders," Fosa ordered.

Von Bremen's
captain read off, "Award is made of the
Cruz de Coraje,
in Steel, to civilian auxiliaries Jaquelina Gonzalez"—Fosa hung a ribboned cross around Jaquie's neck—" and Marta Bugatti"—he stepped right and did the same with Marta—" for gallantry in action in support of Legion objectives, aboard the auxiliary motor vessel,
Suzy Q
, on the 9
^th
day of September, 467, off the coast of Xamar. On that day, aboard that vessel, the awardees, noticing that a critical weapon station had been knocked out, of their own accord, and having no duty to do so, moved to restore it to action, manning it until forced to abandon it by the sinking of the ship. In the course of their action, one auxiliary, Jaquelina Gonzalez, suffered grievous bodily wounds but continued to fire until forced away by rising water, while the other, Marta Bugatti, saved both Gonzalez and . . . "

"I didn't do anything," Marta whispered to Fosa.

"You did enough," he answered. "Now shut up."

" . . . Cazador Barros, by that point incapacitated by wounds, from drowning . . . "

"But I . . . "

"Shut up," repeated Fosa. He glanced over at Jaquie and saw she was crying.

"Are you all right, Miss Gonzalez?" he asked.

She just nodded her head, sniffling.

Later, Fosa, Rodriguez and Chu sat with the two girls at a table in an isolated part of the mess deck. Fosa pulled two envelopes from his uniform jacket and placed one in front of each girl. Jaquie was still sniffling and paid no attention.

Marta took hers and opened it. Her eyes flew wide and she said, "This is a mistake. Our bonus for going on that boat was already paid and is in our accounts. This is . . . "

"It's a gift," Rodriguez said. "We took up a collection among my boys and Chu's. Quite a few of the others in the maniples, boats and ships chipped in, too. The skipper, here, matched half of what we raised from his discretionary funds."

"Besides," added Chu, "we know that Jaquelina wasn't able to work for the last few weeks. And that you lost time nursing her. Think of it, too, as recompense."

"But . . . "

"Shut up, Marta," Fosa said.

"Yes, sir."

"I made a call back home, to Carrera," Fosa continued. "He said he's got another yacht—this one purpose built—headed our way to replace the
Suzy Q.
He also agreed that I can form a permanent unit of women to serve as bait and to otherwise help out. It will have room for two corporals. You don't have to give us an answer right away, but if you two want in . . . "

The
Sarah Jay
stood in the harbor, surrounded by her escorts. From time to time, an elevator arose onto the flight deck bearing a small chest full of gold. On deck, the container was met by a mixed group of FSN and legionary officers. These jointly opened the chests. The contents were then weighed and inventoried before the chests were resealed with legion-marked seals. The pile stayed under the watchful eyes of both sides as it was loaded aboard one of the
Sarah's
helicopters. Once loaded, one officer from each service boarded the chopper and accompanied it to a portion of the airstrip that was under guard so tight ants crept between them nervously and on tiptoes.

From the strip, a chest or two at a time, the gold was taken to an old Federated States Army coastal artillery bunker. It was the most secure thing available.

"Screw that," Carrera muttered, watching the gold being trundled off. "We need something a lot more secure."
For this, and for the nukes, too.

"Sir?" Sergeant Major McNamara asked.

"It's just not enough, Top," he answered. "We need something like the Federated States Reserve Bank in First Landing."

"Dunno, sir," McNamara answered. "I t'ink wit' maybe t'ree or four divisions worth of troops we got plenty o' security as is."

"Not that many for much longer, Top. Maybe the equivalent of one left after we deploy."

"And t'at's anot'er t'ing," Mac scowled. "It ain't right, you taking off and leavin' me behind."

Carrera nodded, then sighed. "Tell me how many other people I can trust absolutely, Top. Parilla gone to politics. Kuralski back in Volga and he's going to link up with us just before we go into Pashtia. Kennison? Gone. Some of the rest of our original group gone and the rest in critical positions. Most of the first rate Balboans commanding cohorts,
tercios
and legions. Who have I got left I can trust absolutely, would you tell me that?"

"Miss Lourdes?" McNamara offered. "Oh . . . you meant people you can trust t'at can watch out for t'e Legion
and
Lourdes, didn't you? You one son of a bitch, you know t'at, boss?"

Carrera nodded. He didn't add,
And this promises to be one miserable hard fight and I don't want to lose you, too, old timer. I've lost too much already.

McNamara sighed. "Well, t'en, if I can go to t'e fucking war at least I can kick some hiney to get t'e boys out on time."

And with that Mac turned away and began to stride toward what was called "the Green Ramp"—though it wasn't a ramp at all—where a maniple of troops from Third Cohort, Second Tercio was preparing to board an aircraft heading for Thermopolis, just south of Pashtia.

The meeting was conducted in French as Janier still didn't deign to speak Spanish. In a way, it was comforting to President Rocaberti that the Gauls were so firmly arrogant. It boded well for the prospects of himself and his clan that the new masters he was trying to bring in would be likely to prove much more amenable, and give little more than lip service to concepts popular among the world's progressive circles.

The problem with the FSC
, the President thought,
is that they really believe their own propaganda. They not only believe it, they honestly expect people to fall in with their program. The Frogs are more practical. Indeed, while claiming to be in the forefront of cosmopolitan progressivism one can't help but note that they gave up their colonies in Uhuru only in name, and still retain control and economic dominance. Moreover, their servants, the presidents and prime ministers in those colonies, manage to do quite well, graft wise. There's no reason the Gauls won't continue that fine tradition here, once they're in charge.

Even the fact that Janier sat at the presidential desk didn't upset Rocaberti, though his nephew Arnulfo was plainly annoyed but it. It just went to prove that the Gauls could be counted on to rule.

Malcoeur conducted the briefing for the very small number of people allowed to attend. These consisted of the President, his nephew, one of his two Vice-Presidents, the ambassador from the TU, the ambassador from United Earth, the minister of police, and Janier and Malcoeur themselves.

"What the general has in mind," Malcoeur was saying, "is that we shall bring in election monitors from all over that part of the world sympathetic to our aims—our Uhuran colo . . . I mean, allies, the Tauran Union, United Earth, some of the more progressive-minded politicians and ex-politicians from the FSC, and perhaps a few of the more pliable non-governmental organizations as well."

Janier nodded and said, "I think we can count on these people to reject even the possibility that a party of militaristic fascist beasts could actually be elected, so they'll instinctively insist the election was tampered with, fixed. We can even arrange a few incidents to take place under the eyes of the monitors and the press, if necessary."

"That would be my department," said the minister of police.

"Even so," agreed Janier, casually stubbing out an awful-smelling cigarette. "It is extremely important that the Tauran Union appear neutral, if the rest of the plan is to work. Is it not possible, Mr. President, for your party to add to the turmoil?"

"Surely,
mon General
."

Malcoeur waited until his chief seemed satisfied with that answer before continuing, "With the support of an international community outraged at the fraud and violence in the elections, the President will be in a good position to refuse to abide by the results. At that point, the mercenaries are placed in the unenviable position of acquiescing or of starting a war. We believe, if the scale of the current deployment is as large as it seems, that they will feel they're in a very poor position to commence a war. Acquiescence, therefore, seems assured."

The minister of police
harrumphed
and said, "If you're wrong about that, Major Malcoeur, I feel I ought to tell you that my police are heavily infiltrated with ex-legionaries. I can only rely on a few of my units and all of those are in the city. The countryside, to include my own police, is heavily in favor of Parilla."