When Diplomacy Fails . . . (13 page)

Elke and Bart were shooting, and he had targets ahead of him. He fluttered his finger on the trigger, pointing as he moved, treating them as moving targets to his subjective stillness. He shot four before any of them could fall. He got the last one right under his raised weapon and high on the chest.

Bart called, “Right blue clear.” Elke said, “Left blue clear,” very calmly. Alex said, “Left red clear.”

That left one man behind a bloody sack that was Aramis, raising a pistol toward Aramis’s head. Jason put a bullet right through the hand and gun, and a second two centimeters past Aramis’s ear, directly into the thug’s right eye. He convulsed with a gurgle and collapsed, his hooked left arm half-hanging on Aramis’s restrained body until he slipped free. Aramis gurgled too, and moaned.

“Right red clear. Babs sweep, Bart run a patrol, Playwright we need evac.”

Then the Recon team burst right in behind them, and stopped.

The captain stuttered for a moment, then said, “Well done, contractors. Barnes, help with their casualty.”

The combat medic was already three steps forward, his ruck unslung as he reached for gear.

Jason tried not to look at the ruined mess that was his young friend. Elke looked greenish behind her ears and around her mouth, but swallowed, squinted and stayed with it. Shaman ran forward with his pack. Jason decided he’d better at least look and see if he could serve backup.

The man was a beaten mess, though most of his insides still seemed to be inside, and intact. He might have died from trauma, but not from hypovolemic shock. If he’d died. Jason wasn’t sure if surviving this was positive. Gingerly, three people supported him, while one drew a knife and cut the tape restraints. They kicked debris aside and laid him down.

“Alive,” Shaman said. “Pulse weak but steady, breathing labored but adequate, no major head trauma.” He spoke all this as he helped handle the naked body. Aramis had great muscle tone, but it didn’t show now. He was just a flesh-colored mannequin, lacking any vitality.

There might not be major head trauma, but his jaw and cheeks were ugly. It looked like a slightly reduced form of the ancient Hawaiian execution, with most of the bones broken, to be followed by eye gouging and eventually shattering blows to the clavicles.

He had no idea why that had suddenly come to mind, except that . . . ah, right. Shaman now lived in Hawaii. The brain was capable of the most fucked up connections.

But they had him down and in a basket, with monitors. Sergeant Barnes was solidly professional, running an IV line at Shaman’s direction and checking for critical trauma or bleeding in the legs, then for spine damage. Shaman did the rest. Elke and Bart mumbled ill comments and pulled back to maintain a perimeter.

It stank. Aramis had leaked from all ends, sweated, bled. The building hadn’t been too clean to start with. There was now the stench of smoke and explosive debris, and he felt a tickle of dust catch in his throat.

Shaman sprinkled something, said, “He’s stable enough. Let’s depart.”

They backed out, with Elke screening them with smoke against any prying cameras. They left the bodies for the military to deal with. They could claim or blame as they wished.

Jason decided they would find out who was behind this. He’d make calls to acquaintances if need be. Then he’d pay a visit.

Outside, Bart watched with concern as they loaded Aramis into a military ambulance under dim red sunlight. Shaman jumped aboard and said, “I’ll see you on base.” Two troops slapped the doors closed and it rolled, joined in the convoy by two Grumblies and an ARPAC.

Without waiting for clearance, Bart slid into their vehicle, as Elke dove straight through the window. Marlow and Vaughn used the doors, but weren’t much slower. He counted four heads, then accelerated before the captain could complain about anything.

They drove back at race speeds, Bart slaloming through traffic, using horn and attitude to clear a route. They had an appointment with Highland, but also to make sure Aramis arrived safely.

Pedestrians here fell into two classes. Those who were very cautious and polite, and those who seemed suicidal. They would ignore the vehicle until it was on them, then skip aside barely enough that Bart felt the fenders brush their clothes. It would be bad to kill any. It would mean admin and delays.

Behind him, he heard Alex speaking into his phone. “Cady, we’re coming in the back. I want to avoid any military debrief, and get out fast with Highland. I need two people to fill in. Thanks.”

He spoke louder. “We’re changing to suits fast—just clean up with alcohol gel. Lionel and Corcoran are filling in.”

“When is departure time?”

“This says she moved it up on us. Fifteen minutes from now. How far are we from the gate?”

“At this speed, about ten minutes.”

“Go faster.”

“I need a clearer path.”

Elke said, “Turn left up here, and I’ll take the top.” She slipped restraints, braced her feet and stood behind him.

He heard Marlow curse. Elke fired a short burst. Marlow fumbled with his phone. “Warning shots, we’re firing warning shots. No engagement. I understand policy. Circumstances dictate threats but not engagement.”

He clicked off the connection and said, “We may as well call the lawyers now. This is going to be a nightmare.”

The city thinned out and the route became narrower, but less busy. Bart rolled onto the fused shoulder to pass a driver who had a dopy look and was picking his nose.

At last he came to the outer perimeter that IDed the vehicle and let him past, the first slalom barricade, the scanners the military didn’t know they knew about.

“Cady’s waiting.”

“Understood.”

Even out here there was a military post, and patrols, but it was officially BuState jurisdiction. The troops on duty were lesser paid contractors who did a reasonably professional job. Cady waited at the third ring, and waved.

Bart slowed but didn’t quite stop. Cady vaulted onto the hood and grabbed a tiedown ring. He accelerated slightly. In moments they reached the berm, wire, tanglers and stunners that protected the fence, along with the manned machine gun and auto cannon that officially didn’t. Cady waved again, the outer gate opened, and they locked through to the inner berm.

There was Highland and Jessie, fidgeting and waiting. He slowed and turned. He pulled up on the next side of the building so as not to be seen.

The others debarked and he followed, all of them at a run. Cady spoke into her phone, “Lionel, Corcoran, go.” She pressed off and said, “They’ll meet her and calm her. We need to roll in four minutes.”

Jason zipped out of the blouse, kicked off his boots, dropped trousers and grabbed the alcohol gel, the soldier’s best friend when water wasn’t available, or not in time. It cooled the exertion he felt, and most of his sweat evaporated with it. Someone had laid their suits out. He grabbed shirt, threw on jacket, pulled on pants and used the thoughtfully placed shoehorn to slip into his already tied shoes. He could adjust everything in the vehicle.

They made it down in three minutes, stuffing shirts into waistbands in the elevator, and checking stunners and handguns. Cady and her men were outside, ushering Highland into the ARPAC. They followed her, and the four sprinted out.

Once aboard the vehicle, they were subjected to Highland’s random seething rage. Lionel and Corcoran had managed to get her seated. She half rose and stood in an uncomfortable crouch as she railed against them.

“I don’t know what you were playing at, sightseeing when I have a schedule to keep. I will be communicating with your headquarters to note a very unsatisfactory attention to the job.”

Jason kept a close eye on everyone. Elke had a faint expression of annoyance, which was bad. However, she was controlled, not fixed in place. Jason’s jaw worked. He was quite angry, but seemed to have tuned her out.

Highland, though, was managing to escalate herself. Jason wasn’t sure if there was any approach that wouldn’t piss her off.

“It’s fine to sit there pretending I don’t exist. It’s an admission of unprofessionalism . . .”

He checked his contact sedatives. She really might need one, judging from her vitals. Her pulse was over 120, and oscillating moment to moment. Her BP was edging into unhealthy territory. She was visibly agitated and trembling from hormonal overload. He wished Shaman were here. This was much more his tasking.

Perhaps a tranquilizer would be better. If she missed her speech, she’d only be that much more incensed.

However, she gradually tapered off, seeming to run out of things to say. As she did so, her vitals lowered. It would be a tense speech, but that might work to her favor. If, of course, she realized that.

She did eventually wind down, and upon arriving at the destination debarked and was gracious, at least to the press and her supporters, in public.

Twice Jason checked his phone with a surreptitious sweep of his glasses. Both messages were that Aramis was stable, and had improving vitals. Shaman mentioned various nano and pharmaceutical treatments. Beyond the cursory level, they were past Jason’s medical knowledge.

Otherwise, the event was without incident and they all traveled back in silence. Highland didn’t seem to be aware of Aramis’s and Shaman’s absence and no one seemed inclined to mention it. Elke for one napped leaning against the bulkhead of the ARPAC, her head rocking and swaying as the vehicle shifted.

They were all agitated on return. Cady had more people waiting, who immediately took charge of the ARPAC. Bart ran to the vehicle park and returned at once in a standard staff car. They checked out at the gate and headed straight to the military clinic.

Everyone seemed to know who they were, which had both bad and good connotations. Any semblance of anonymity was gone. For now, though, it got them through protocol quickly.

Shaman met them outside the Major Care Unit. That was a positive sign.

Shaman said, “Yes, he’s stable. He will certainly survive. He will almost certainly be fit to resume duties after treatment. There was quite an argument about the ground ebony powder I sprinkled on his pillow. I had to assure the doctor it was both a religious necessity for Aramis, and fully sterilized for medical purposes. I did not mention the garlic cloves in three locations. They are dry and should not present a problem.”

Jason still didn’t know if the witch doctory Shaman insisted upon was done seriously, in gleeful mockery of modern medicine, or as a cultural practice for his own comfort. It might be all of them. Or he just might figure it couldn’t hurt to toss the stuff in. Regardless of that, the man was a hell of a cutter in the field and a first class surgeon in the clinic. If he said Aramis was going to recover, that was the end of it.

After they had a collective sigh and swapped guarded smiles, he continued. “Whoever did this was very experienced. It’s large scale damage, but none of it is traumatic enough for lethality. My guess is they planned to leave him to rest a bit after this, possibly even treat the contusions and use anesthetics. After they wore off, the pain would be that much more palpable, but they’d only need to prod him to trigger it.”

“Sick fuckers,” Elke said.

“Very. However, that’s part of why he’s still alive.”

Alex asked, “When are you transporting off planet?”

Shaman almost smiled. “Oh, that shouldn’t be necessary. The damage is substantial, but superficial. The jaw and cheek repair will be complete in a week. The rest is just muscle bruising with some bone bruising. It will remain painful, but is entirely repairable.”

“That’s not the only issue. How is his mental state and is it fair to keep him in place after that?” Alex looked tense again.

Horace asked, “Is it fair to send him home?”

Alex paused, then nodded slowly. “I hadn’t considered that. Well, we need a substitute until he’s better either way. We can reassess then.”

“Most certainly. I will want his input, and to assess his emotional state before concluding a decision.”

“When will he wake?”

“I expect to bring him out of induced coma in about eight hours.”

“We’d like to be back then. Highland isn’t scheduled for anything else today.”

“Yes. In the meantime, my medical advice is for all of us to rest. We are approaching reduced functionality.”

Jason had something he needed to do, but he understood the advice. With a glance back at his wired and intubated friend, he turned to ride back to their lodging and rest.

CHAPTER 12

“HE SHOULD BE CONSCIOUS.
Aramis, are you there?”

He croaked. His mouth was full of . . . splints? He was splinted all over. Tubes, wires, stents that would be painful if he didn’t feel as if he’d been rolled under a tank.

That voice. It was Shaman.

“I . . .” He couldn’t get “am” out.

“You’re going to live. You are in a military hospital, so I’m using powders and potions to supplement their care.”

He could hear all around. Shaman. That was Elke shifting in a seat. Some troop in armor and weapon, the rubbing sound was clear, near the door. Just outside, someone said, “—Bed Nine, and fifty milligrams for, good God what happened to him? Um, fifty milligrams—”

So, I look dead, or worse. I’m alive, though, and not sedated on a transport off this rock.

“Ima sleep,” he muttered. He didn’t know if they could hear him. He was alive, though. If he hurt it meant he could be healed. He felt tears well up and run hotly from the corners of his eyes.

It meant what he and Caron had was complicated. He could never tell her about this. Or could he? He knew he felt fuzzy and was falling asleep.

Alex had a coded message waiting. He downloaded it to his connectionless module, ran it through three decryptions, and read it.

“I support you, but there’s a lot of press. Lawyer arriving tomorrow. Try not to frag any officers before then—Meyer.”

That was expected, but reassuring. Was the lawyer from Earth, or someone they’d tagged locally? Actually, for future reference that was something they should plan for. They really did need legal intervention regularly.

At least they had that. The military were simply hogtied by laws, regulations, instructions, policies, guidances . . . he felt sorry for them. That captain had trod a very delicate line in Aramis’s recovery.

He wiped the read message and sent back, “Need further leads on potential hostiles to principal. No significant leads, all speculation.”

In the meantime, they’d hold their own war council and discuss that issue.

But first, the next message said Highland wanted to talk again. He took several deep breaths, reminded himself how much money he made and that Aramis was alive, then walked through to her apartment.

Without preamble, she shouted, “Marlow, you will fucking explain what happened this morning. Why was I delayed, then stalled, then hindered from my transport? Why were you late?”

She really doesn’t know
, he thought. That did mean they’d been discreet.

“Ma’am, Agent Anderson was kidnapped while on assignment. We took a few hours to locate and recover him, in a joint mission with the military. Our intelligence indicated he was likely to be murdered if we didn’t respond at once.”

She seemed taken aback, and at a loss for words. It was an entire ten seconds before she said, “Okay, then I will excuse you. However, I expect you will inform me before any of these missions take place.”

Not a chance in hell, but I’ll smile and nod
, he thought, as he said, “I understand, ma’am.”

“Exactly what assignment was he working on?” she asked.

“He is tasked with mapping, which includes reviewing escape routes to determine their quality. In addition, he stockpiles gear where we can reach it in a hurry while traveling.”

“You mean ‘weapons’?” She looked suspicious and angry again.

“Not generally. Food, water, local cash and clothes. We are usually carrying weapons, but if a vehicle gets damaged or otherwise compromised and must be abandoned, we need to have support logistics.”

“Very well. You can go.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, turned and left.

At no point had she either asked how Aramis was doing or expressed concern about him. There was no point in being angry. She probably wasn’t aware of him as a human being. People were just numbers to her, or potential votes, or exploitable counters.

He didn’t have to like her, but it would help if she wasn’t actively antagonistic to them.

Once he got back to their quarters he said so.

Bart said, “Perhaps you should treat her as an obstacle. Assume she will hinder at every turn.”

He twitched his eyebrows and said, “You know, that’s very logical. I hadn’t thought of it, but it makes sense.”

Elke said, “You will have to juggle the diplomacy of not calling her a self-aggrandizing, hatchet-faced narcissist, while working around her, but I am sure you can do it.”

“Indeed. She really can’t hear in here, right?” he said, looking at Elke.

“She cannot, nor can anyone else. It is possible Intel has snuck something past me and Jason, but I can’t see them sharing with her.” She stretched, hands in her hair, then working her shoulders gently. She was a bit bruised and battered from the day’s events.

Jason said, “Unless there’s a profit in it for them.”

Alex cocked his head. “We can’t rule that out, though there’s no existing pattern of it, that I know of.”

“That, and you can see how the BuState rep reacts.”

He checked the time. “Yeah, he’s coming up now. Can we clear this room?”

Jason said, “I’ll go check on Aramis and relieve Shaman.” He grabbed a day pack and left the room.

Two minutes later, Mr. Gillette, with BuState intel arrived. Bart let him in, and Alex decided against any searches for now. They wanted the man as comfortable and agreeable as possible. Alex would have Jason and Elke sweep it again later, just in case. The table had a well with water, sodas and snacks.

“Good to see you, sir,” he offered.

“And you.” Gillette took the offered seat and grabbed a water gratefully. “Thanks for this,” he said with a nod.

“Long day?”

“Yes, I forget to drink, or I drink too much coffee. Ice water is refreshing. So what can I do for you?”

“Before we start, let me say this is in person for confidentiality. We should be secure in here, and welcome any additional precautions you wish to take.”

Gillette nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m fine for now.”

“Very well. We’re trying to build a threat matrix for Ms. Highland. Any hostile or potentially hostile groups or significant individuals.”

“Ah, ‘significant individuals.’ Well, that’s the complication.”

“Go ahead.”

Gillette leaned back and said, “Well, obviously, in her duties, she does things that help or hinder any number of companies, to the detriment or benefit of others. Their interests, though, are limited to financial. Some will donate to her campaign, some to her opponents, this will change as the platforms and odds stabilize closer to the election, and some will split their bets and contribute to more than one.”

“Of course. Do you think any of them would contribute to a physical response? Whether intended to harm, scare, or attract notice.”

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s not impossible, but none have done so in previous elections.”

“Right. Though there was speculation about Mr. Crindi’s death.”

“There’s always speculation. He died, his wife ran in his stead, and she was dumped by the electorate on the next cycle. She accomplished little. Hardly a worthwhile endeavor.”

Alex nodded. That was mostly how he took it. However, that had helped swing party numbers. He wasn’t sure how much benefit that had been, but if it suggested to him it was a potentially viable method, it might suggest it to others. And Gillette was readily aware of the incident.

“Then what about well-trained or financed kooks without economic interests?”

“It’s impossible to rule out, of course, but hundreds of anonymous threats come in weekly. A handful are deemed credible. Every few weeks one turns up someone violating the law. Twice they’d actually started overt action.”

“And groups here?”

“Yes, here is the interesting part,” Gillette said, running a hand through his hair. “The Amala don’t like her at all. She’s female, powerful, publicly called her husband out over that waste disposal vote last year. However, they’re generally not wealthy enough to do anything, and have poor access to communication, due to cultural factors.”

Alex heard that as,
They’re backward savages who hate technology
.

“Go on, please,” he said.

“There are certainly members and subfactions who’d like to harm her. We expect that to be more along the lines you’ve seen—rocks, sticks. They might consider an explosive device.”

“Okay. We can monitor that.”

“The Sunni like her, generally. The Shia perceive her as favoring the Sunni and don’t like that. Some have been very vocal about it. The Mowahidoon, the Baha’i and Sufis have nothing against her. They’re very modern and productive. The Coalition Christians run on a spectrum from disliking any woman in office, to disliking her policies. They aren’t friendly but are no more actively hostile than anyone else. A few outliers.”

“That leaves the Faithful group.”

“Yes, those people. Actively hostile, though they tend to seek to instigate incidents so they can sue.”

“Which has happened already over our response.”

“Expect more of that. They’ll do anything to get attention.”

“What about credible threats, though? Not them?”

“No. We’re at a loss. Obviously, there is at least one element. We don’t know who. You were brought in to offer protection while we devote resources to observation and deduction,” he said.

Interesting. That was pretty much an admission they were being spied on. They’d need to review their procedures and make ongoing checks for surveillance.

“So you’re pointing at the Amala as potential physical threats, and the Faithful as hostile distractions.”

“That’s how we interpret it, yes.”

“So who tracked, kidnapped and tortured my man?”

“We don’t know,” Gillette said. He seemed genuinely troubled and embarrassed.

“All right,” Alex said. “We’ll coordinate with other agencies and share what we find.”
Pursuant to massaging it ourselves first, and not sharing details we need
. “Can you do the same?”

“We will,” Gillette agreed.

And no doubt with the same provisos
, he thought.

Alex said, “And these harassment attacks. What are those about?”

“We presume those are to goad a response. It’s essential you not overreact to those.”

“We try not to, but it’s impossible to tell a paint balloon from a grenade in the time it takes someone to throw one.”

“I understand,” he said, though Alex got the impression he only understood as a mental exercise, not as the recipient of something potentially hot, fast and lethal. “But that’s the officially suggested response.”

“I concur. It’s just hard to implement in a fraction of a second, while guaranteeing Ms. Highland’s safety. Are you able to tell me if she’s planned more demonstrations to promote her stability under fire?”
Damn, and I said that with a straight face, too
.

Gillette shook his head. “Not that we can tell, and we officially advised her against doing so, as it opens up a potential window and leak.”

Okay, so the guy was a chair-warmer, but at least he was an astute and educated chair-warmer.

“All right, then we’ll do what we can,” Alex said. “And swap what information comes our way.”
After we use it first
. Ripple Creek understood allies. It just didn’t have many, and fewer that were reliable.

Jason noted when Aramis shifted again. The rebuilding nanos had some effect. Swelling was down considerably. He now looked like a broken human rather than a bloated roadkill.

“Aramis, it’s Jason, I’m here.”

“Yes,” the man mumbled. Jason was surprised he could talk with his jaw in that shape. Sonofabitch. That had to redefine pain.

“No need to talk if you don’t want to. We’re taking turns watching.” He didn’t mention losing sleep or being worried. They all volunteered for this and stood shift as well.

Aramis managed actual speech. “I’ng conshus. Hurd like heww. Goan ngake ih, tho.”

“Good. I know you are.” Now, yes. Yesterday, thirty percent. Damned good medical work, and the man had a serious constitution.

“Had do figh through fain.”

“Yeah, you mentioned Caron a lot in that context,” he advised. In detail. Though it didn’t sound like a fair trade.

“Ah, shid.”

“Don’t worry. The docs don’t know who she is, and we won’t talk. If that got you through it, good. You’re unreal. Anyone else would be dead, but you’re just too brutal for it.” He wanted to keep the man’s morale up, and keep him tracking on anything real.

Aramis sounded a bit strained, but said, “Ih had this insane, flyne, crazy feeln. The indenzdy. Ih uz aww I could think of. I ngus ve a ferverd.”

It took Jason a moment to translate “I must be a pervert.”

He said, “You’re alive, it worked, no need to be ashamed at all. You probably shouldn’t tell her, though.”

“Yeah. I’ng goan ve quie for a whi. Ngusic? Case or cuve.”

“Probably not at the moment. I’ll call and ask. Alex and Shaman will hear my notes and recordings. They’ll be destroyed soonest, per policy.” Actually, policy said any communication related to a government operation should be kept, and he was fucked if his friend’s personal issues were going to be archived.

He was just glad, and amazed the man was alive.

On his glasses, Shaman’s image hand signed approval, and sent a text confirmation for record. “Shaman says okay. I’ll look for a music load,” he said. Also, a second blanket to cover the man’s groin.

It was possible his brain had completely rewired pain as arousal. Was it important enough to discuss with Shaman? Maybe.

Bart arrived, and he rose and stretched. They didn’t need to sit watch, but they wanted to, and Aramis should appreciate it.

Back at the billet, Alex met him at the door.

“Jason, I have a specific instruction for you, which is not an order.”

“Oh?”

“I have no authority to require this, but as your boss and your friend, I am telling you not to look at any news or comments regarding the attack on Aramis. Best case, you’ll want to smash things.”

Jason sighed deeply. “Yeah, I can imagine. That’s good advice, and I’ll give it a few days to age off the list. We’re all mercenary scum and deserve anything that happens to us, yes?”