When Diplomacy Fails . . . (28 page)

The whole process took twenty seconds, and the evictees drove madly, lest they disturb the crazy Earthies.

“We can’t stay here too long,” Jason said. “They’ll do some kind of scan, or DNA sweep.”

“Where do we need to get?”

“I would like to get to this area here,” Elke said, and projected a map on a mostly clean section of floor, while pointing.

“Why there?”

“Because I have enough explosives in the area I can simulate my own battle, and tie everyone up for hours.”

“Fantastic. So we should get there.”

Highland said, “I’m very impressed. I’d call it paranoid, but it seems to be very forward thinking.”

Elke looked at her coldly and said, “Next time a professional tells you she needs explosive, or even network keys, or a doccase full of cash, please believe her.”

“I will.” She nodded vigorously. This time she actually blushed a bit.

Shaman asked, “Are we going on foot?”

Aramis said, “Yes, but do we want to pretend to be locals?”

Alex said, “I don’t see that working long enough to bother with. Shoulder up, let’s move. How far can you jog, ma’am?”

“I can handle five kilometers at a normal pace.”

“Good. This will be shorter but a bit faster. Jessie?”

“I did track in school, but it was some years ago. I don’t do as much as I should.”

“Can you run a couple of kilometers?”

“Yes,” she agreed, sounding positive.

“Then let’s go.”

They went out the door, formed loosely around her and let her set the pace as Aramis led.

CHAPTER 23

ELKE HAD TO KEEP CRANING
to watch her rear quarter. They were unmolested across the street, and reached the alley. That felt less exposed, but the terrain was terrible, with uncollected rubbish heaped and piled. It wasn’t that it was filthy. It was that it was filthy, unstable and prone to shift and outgas methane, ammonia and rot smells as they clambered around and over. Above them, windows were dark caves that looked threatening even without hostiles.

Highland might be an obnoxious bitch, but she didn’t complain about rough conditions. No doubt boasting of it would be part of her next level of campaigning.

Then they were through, and onto another street. Traffic seemed normal enough here, though civilians drew back in the face of what was obviously a small military unit. Then someone recognized Highland.

Elke sighed for a moment and grabbed a stink gas grenade. She yanked the cord and rolled it left, then rolled another right, and one straight ahead.

The crowd screamed and drew away, except those closest, who tried to get closer. While not quite as potent as the vehicle mounted dispensers, the stench was so strong it was palpable, as slight whiffs drifted by.

Alex caught what she did before she said anything, and ordered, “Deep breath, sprint forward.”

She dragged in a breath tinged with that awful sulfur smell, and put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder to keep her moving briskly. Her eyes teared up as they passed through the fumes in front, but she felt it clear in the slight breeze, and they were soon in another alley, this one less disgusting but narrower, dodging between bins and tubs, piled debris and stacks of crates. It turned to the left and they followed it, then right again.

Aramis said, “We should be coming out onto the Plaza of the Caliph in a moment and . . . wait . . .”

Everyone ahead stopped and Elke moved up close in case she was needed. She checked behind again, hand on a device just in case.

Jason said, “And now we find out just how effective a wall between sectors is.”

Ahead was the broad, glistening curve of the Peace Wall. More trash leaned against it, including abandoned cars and boxes. Above that, it really did look like marble, but that featureless concrete extrusion was impenetrable to anything she carried. She could divot it, but . . .

“Move,” she said, and the team cleared her path, yanking Highland and Jessie aside.

She turned her back to Jason and said, “Spare cassette.” She indicated with her thumb.

“This isn’t a mine is it?” She had on occasion rigged an ammo cassette as a claymore.

“No, it’s loaded with spalling charges.” She took it as he pulled it out, swapped for the one in the weapon, then handed the shotgun to him. “You’re the best shot, make us steps.”

“Understood,” he said. He hefted the shotgun, chose a spot just over an abandoned van, and started shooting.

The charges were designed to punch through block. She’d had in mind opening a large hole by perforating a wall, or creating loops he could snipe through. In this case, the first shot impacted the wall seventy centimeters above the van’s roof, and blew a crater several centimeters deep and roughly conical. It would support a hand or foot. His next shot moved up the wall, then again. By the time he emptied the cassette there were steps within a meter and a half of the top.

“I can’t climb that,” Jessie said.

Aramis said, “Sure you can. Take it one step at a time, don’t look down, and try to ignore the bullets peppering the wall under your heels.” He had the harness from the bag Bart carried, and was stepping into it.

It was impressive how fast the locals had abandoned the area and turned it into a dump. The team was unmolested as they crossed the street, which served as a ring road, as in a walled town in Europe. It was quite clear to within five meters of the wall, then the debris started. The van was a shell, stripped of engine, wheels and seats. The windows were gone, reused no doubt, and likely someone would be along soon for either body panels, sections of them, or to salvage the polymer plate for some other use. In the meantime, it got them three meters off the ground, leaving only five meters above Bart’s head.

“First,” Elke said. It wasn’t that she liked heights. She didn’t want to think about heights, and going first left less time to fret.

The craters were deep enough, though tight on her boots. That could be a problem for Bart and Shaman, with the boats they wore. She shrugged and kept climbing, reaching in with gloved hands, gripping hard and placing each foot carefully. It was like climbing a very narrow ladder with no gaps between rungs.

Also, with incoming fire. She flinched as she heard it. It wasn’t well aimed, nor was it in volume, but she had no cover.

With that distraction, though, she made it to the top of the wall, oozed over and clung there. It was just over a meter wide, it was ten meters down the other side, and there was less debris. The government had insisted there were no spikes atop the wall. Technically, that might be true, but it was very rough and jagged where the polymix had stretched and shifted inside the mold as it set. The nearest buildings were a hundred meters away, and the terrain in between was razed urban rubble. An entire street of buildings was gone.

With a loud hiss of gas jets, Aramis bounced up, facing her.

“This is why they pay us those big dollars,” he said with a grin, as he rolled onto the ledge.

“Yes,” she agreed tightly.

From out of his ruck he drew line, swore as it partly uncoiled and tangled, then got it laid neatly in front of him. He pulled out a clamp that looked specifically made for the corner, and clipped it on the near side. It came loose when he tugged, but after two more sets, it remained in place.

“Down fast,” he said. “The rest are coming.”

She nodded, took the line, wove it over her shoulder, hip and crotch into an improvised abseil, and shimmied over the coarse, abrasive edge. Her brain buzzed and thudded because of that single clamp holding her, but she started walking down. The rope cut into her flesh through the fabric, she desperately wanted to dump the ruck, fearing its mass might push her total past some limit and dismount the clamp. She also needed to pee worse than ever, and the shotgun kept jabbing her heel.

Ten seconds later she was on the ground. She crabbed sideways two meters, hunched down and unslung her shotgun.

This area was a bombed-out mess. There were few people, and fewer as those people realized armed troops were encroaching.

There was no cover, though. This had been the other byway of a large road, and the crumbled remains of a curb were nine meters ahead. Another ten meters or so led to shorn foundations and infilled basements, with some structural steel projecting upward. Clumps of weeds were reclaiming the land. The hundred-meter gap to the nearest buildings didn’t reassure her. That was a short range for rifles, but a long range to run.

She felt better once Jason zipped down next to her. Highland was lowered but managed to walk herself rather than drag. Jessie kicked a bit but came down, though her expression indicated complete terror. Horace dropped a bit too fast and grunted as he landed. Bart landed hard enough to create seismic waves, but seemed unbothered. Aramis looked graceful.

“Lowering,” Alex said in her ears. She looked up to see the rucks. They still had them? Good, but still.

Then Alex slid down last. He stretched until his feet reached shoulder height for Bart, who stood underneath to support him. Then, reaching far up, he cut the line. He hopped free, Bart caught him and slowed his descent in a squat, and they were all down, with hard cover behind.

He said, “This won’t stop the springblades, if they’re determined.”

“No, but it will stop that round of allies, temporarily.”

“Aramis?”

Aramis said, “Twelve degrees from magnetic north, we’ll shelter in that building for a quick reassessment. Move in three teams.”

*  *  *  *

Aramis always got a bit of thrill from the chase. It was probably a bad habit, but he preferred it to the alternative of crippling fear.

This, though, was a bit more than a chase. They were in the middle of three angry groups who’d shoot even if they didn’t know who Highland was, and especially if they did, with at least one group of assassins following. They were using the battling factions as a shield against the hit team, who were using the factions as concealment to get closer. All in all, this would be hilarious to watch happen to someone else. Aramis had a starring role, though.

He shivered briefly. Death was no longer the worst thing that could happen. If it came down to it, though, he’d kill as many as he could and save one round. It was for damned sure the army wouldn’t save him without political prodding, which Alex couldn’t do anymore, Highland was unlikely to, and Corporate was unable to. This was some serious shit.

Still, gloves off meant he could shoot back, and the threat level wasn’t any greater than before. He, they were just aware of it now. That was the difference.

Elke and Jason went first, coaxing Jessie with them. He and Bart took Highland, and he had to admit, she bore up reasonably well. She wasn’t Bishwanath, who’d been an actual veteran. She wasn’t Caron Prescot, who could have been a spoiled brat but turned out to be a very courageous woman. She was far better than most politicians or celebrities, though.

The building was structurally sound, and had a few panes of well-crazed polycarbonate left in it. There were even small sections of carpet and a couple of chairs inside the lobby. It had been some kind of small office building, probably rather high in rent, in its past.

The rest came over in a dodging, shifting rush, and they had cover and concealment again.

Alex said, “Aramis, map.”

He laid down his phone and pulled out the plastic roll.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing.

“This is a less nice neighborhood.”

“That’s understating it, but we’re separated by the wall and by culture. This is an Amala area.”

Highland said, “We’re in Amala territory? They’re very antagonistic to me. Why did you do this?”

“They won’t look for you here, and it was the safest physical location under the circumstances. We’ll be moving constantly.” He said. He did want to keep her involved and mentally busy.

Shaman asked, “How are we going to maneuver the hostiles into place?”

Aramis said, “I’ve thought of that. Look here.” He pointed at the map.

“We’re here. The Amala are hostile. If we flee east we wind up in moderate Sunni territory—fairly safe. They hate the Amala. North is Sufi. They don’t like her but won’t go out of their way to attack. Northeast, at that point just a kilometer away, is Covenant of the Lord, and they are crazy and will try to attack both us and the Amala, if we can goad them into it. That will draw the Sufi in to keep their border secure if nothing else, which yields a three-way fight, which means the military has to show up to break it up. While that’s going on, we can be active against those Security Agency guys.”

Highland said, “You are seriously proposing to start a war?”

It was fun to tell her, “The war has been going on here for fifty years. I just propose to escalate it.”

She was definitely insecure now, completely out of her comfort zones.

Alex said, “If we can tie them all up, they’ll prefer each other to you. That’s the survival strategy. And now it’s time to move.”

“But—” she sputtered in protest as he took her elbow and “suggested” she move. She was on her feet and walking before her brain shifted gears.

Alex said, “Elke, Jason, find us transport.”

The two strode faster and pulled ahead.

The building filled a block. Their route through it was circuitous, due to rubble from collapse. It also had a complicated floor plan, having been refitted several times since its original construction. Owners changed, uses changed, factions changed . . . he stepped over the remains of a block wall, then through a framed doorway in an extruded wall barely in evidence. At least they’d have cover, concealment and distraction if attacked here.

Ahead, Elke and Jason walked out into sunlight. The red glow resembled that of a perpetual sunset.

The rest of them reached the door a few moments later, to find the two had acquired a box van. A man hurried away, and Aramis was fairly sure he was pocketing a large wad of scrip as he did so. Likely some bullion was involved, too.

They clambered aboard through the side hatch of the cargo box, and the stench hit them. This was a trash hauler of some description. It smelled of rot, piss, moldy socks and putrefying something. He gagged, and sat Highland down on a seat. It was quite literally a wooden dining chair, old style, well-scarred, stuffed into the corner.

The one opposite was a dilapidated office chair, unpowered. Both might clean up as valuable antiques, if anyone bothered, and if any potential buyers would care.

They all gasped for breath. The box was enclosed, hot, humid and some of those fumes had to be toxic.

Bart said, “I will open the back enough to kick trash out.”

Alex said, “I’m not sure on doing that.”

Bart said, “I am. The vapors are not safe. I smell mercaptan, sulfides, some alkynes. It must go.”

Alkynes? Really? Or was he lying just to make sure they could clear some out, because it smelled that bad? Either way, Alex didn’t protest.

Aramis clutched at Highland’s chair as Jason took a corner fast. He didn’t complain because there must be a reason, but Highland almost slid off the chair into a bag of goo.

Bart and Shaman kicked and shoved stuff out, using boots and carbine muzzles. No one wanted to touch anything.

Then a round came through the box, up high, downward angle from the rear.

Alex shouted, “Unass and take cover!” as Aramis grabbed Highland’s arm and moved for the rear, or tried to. Jason braked hard, and he was pinned in place. Then braking stopped and he bounded toward the rear, tangling, dancing, and just avoiding a leaking puddle of diapers, canned peas and something really nasty.

Shot from high rear had to be the BuInt assholes on the Springblades. They were really pissing him off, and it was personal.