When Diplomacy Fails . . .

  “So let’s get out on the road. If we’re early, we can stop and talk to people on the way, and put a soft face on some of this military stuff. That might deescalate things, and of course I’ll claim credit if it does.”

  Bart sweated in suit over armor in hot sun. It might be dim, but they orbited closer and the heat built up over time. Add in the clothing and it was uncomfortable. He could ignore the talking, and the slowness, but not the environment. Eventually, it became uncomfortable, and it was there now.

  Ripple Creek got these jobs because someone or someones wanted to kill the principal. They didn’t have to like the principal, though that was never a bad thing. It did help to have some empathy for the person for whom you contracted to jump in front of a bullet. However, in this case, none of them could claim to be a fan of Highland, and little about her gave them reason to change their positions.

  That didn’t make the job harder of itself, but it made it unpleasant at times. On the other hand, empathy with the enemy did make it easier to counter some threats.

  She is very brave with us, Bart thought. The woman kept making appearances, despite the threats, and yes, it seemed to help her political popularity. He didn’t like her, but she could manipulate. Anything that happened she pushed to her own advantage. She would probably make a competent SecGen in that regard.

  This memorial, though, was a wall. It was low at present, would be ten meters tall when finished, and a featureless extrusion. It was being sold as a fence between neighbors, but it was a wall. He wasn’t keen on standing against it, either. She had her mic and the cameras. They had Elke and Anderson behind the camera crew, Marlow and Vaughn on either side, he and Mbuto just barely in view, with glasses and hats to provide a little concealment, though Bart still felt very exposed in all ways. Outside of their line were some Marines, who had armor and helmets and were in much better kit for combat, even if their weapons weren’t lethal. That, and the awful camouflage that would almost blend in with some of the rubbish and graffiti. He was amused.

  It was one of the hazards of the job, wearing a marginally reinforced suit and hoping nothing big enough to defeat it came in. On the other hand, Marlow and Vaughn were even farther in and more exposed, if someone decided to go for the principal. Or if a riot started, as had been known to happen.

  Highland at least had a good speech writer, and was a decent presenter. If Bart could appreciate it through the language barrier, it must be effective in English.

  “. . . we should not see this as a wall dividing people, but as a joint effort in architecture, an agreement on boundaries, from which we can move forward . . .”

  Something fell, and his mind said it was tossed from over the wall. His glasses flashed a trajectory, but it was hand tossed, not projected. The laser hadn’t stopped it because it was not a balloon, too massive. It was a real threat.

  Bart stared down. It was a grenade, equidistant between Highland and himself. He was going to die, unless . . .

  The Marine on his left outside was a head shorter, and in reach. Bart grabbed the pull handle on the front of the man’s armor, swung and threw while jumping. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jason and Alex hurl Highland right and rear.

  The Marine landed on his back on the grenade, there was a crash . . .

  . . . and Bart woke up in hospital.

  It seems I survived, he thought to himself.

  He did a quick check. He could feel all his limbs, and feel the pressure of the bed and sheets against them, so nothing was missing. His entire body burned and stung, but it all seemed to be functional. He was thirsty and hungry. A glance at the monitor proved his neck still worked, and that his vital signs were normal.

  Alex said, “Well done.” He sat across the room on a chair. He rose and approached. Mbuto was with him.

  “Is everyone okay?” Bart asked. Then he said in English, “Is everyone okay?”

  Alex smiled and nodded. “Everyone is fine. That was inspired. You got the kid over the grenade and his back plate damped the blast into the ground. He took a little grazing frag to feet and scalp, as it rattled through his helmet, and severe bruising as he landed. You both went about four meters straight up.”

  Mbuto said, “You’re stung and flash burned but intact and in observation. They let the sedative wear off because there’s nothing wrong with you beyond the stun. Not even a severe concussion.”

  It confused him for a moment when the talking continued, and he realized it was Alex again. He looked that way.

  Alex said, “I’m reporting it up the chain because it was brilliant. We couldn’t have run far enough, had no cover to dive behind, and you got that Marine over it in under a second. Everyone survived with no more than minor scrapes, Highland has a heroic story for her followers, and we’re all alive. Thanks for saving my life, and everyone else’s.” He extended a hand.

  Bart took it carefully, shook, and glanced around as well as his position allowed. He made sure they were alone, and whispered, “Alex, I didn’t know he had a back plate.”

  Marlow’s eyebrows flared slightly. Mbuto choked back a laugh.

  “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t mention that,” he said.

  Alex left the clinic in a bit of shock. Certainly, they knew there was a risk of casualties. Aramis had taken fire before, and Elke had an arm beat up pretty bad in a fight. They’d risked toxic atmosphere, been too close to explosions, and of course, been shot at any number of times, as well as being gassed with everything from irritants to incapacitants. But this was the first time he’d had two men down in a mission. Aramis was lucky to be alive, and so was Bart, really.

  But that paled next to what Bart had just admitted. Yes, it was their job to save the principal. Yes, they’d do whatever it took to accomplish that. But had Bart actually admitted to using an allied troop as a meat shield? Had the man died, there’d be hell to pay. Though perhaps he thought it would get spun as heroism on the Marine’s part. Or perhaps Highland would spin it as an attack on her greatness and it would all get lost in the howling.

  Otherwise, Bart was a callous, calculating killer. Jokes aside, he wasn’t sure if he wanted that trait among his people.

  Still, they were all unhurt, the principal was unharmed, and the worst case would have been one dead Marine.

  The math still bothered him.

  Maybe it should.

  For now, he’d assume tactical brilliance on Bart’s part, and quick thinking over callousness.

  As they went out into ruddy overcast, Shaman seemed to pick up on the thought.

  “There isn’t time to be more than practical, sometimes.”

  “It’s better than the alternative,” he said.

  As he entered their quarters, everyone came through and looked up, including Cady.

  Shaman said, “He’s fine. They’ll release him tomorrow.”

  Aramis asked, “And the Marine?”

  “Yes, he’s a little worse for wear, but all superficial.”

  Jason said, “Report on Highland: hearing loss, almost certainly temporary, minor disorientation, no gratitude.”

  “Of course. And JessieM? The frag?”

  Shaman said, “It was a thrown pebble. Easily extracted with ultrasound and vacuum. The bone was treated with Ossifix. Next time she should wear boots.”

  “Good all around, then.”

  Aramis said, “And we were correct on the lethal escalation.”

  “Yes. But, we still don’t know either the local actor or the power behind it. I’d like at least one.”

  Cady said, “They’re conducting an investigation to try to find the local. It was a hand grenade, but thrown from a rifle with a blank cartridge, so they have that to work with.”

  “Archaic,” he frowned. “And someone who was good at ballistics. That does narrow it down, if they have any leads on who fits those criteria.”

  Elke said, “Highland asked me personal questions about fitting armor to her figure. So she’ll be better protected after this.”


  Jason said, “And she’ll blab that to the press to show how brave she is, so the next real threat knows they need a bigger bomb or a sniper.”

  Elke said, “That’s my assessment also.”

  Cady asked, “Did you get the news load?”

  “No.”

  “Stand by.” She cycled her phone and slid up the volume.

  “. . . Ms. Highland’s popularity is reaching giddy proportions as she fearlessly tackles Mtali. What started as a summit meeting has become a classic battle of courage that hints of a great strength of character. Could this be a hint of executive power?”

  She turned off the feed.

  Jason shrugged. “Like it or not, we’re helping her career.”

  Aramis said, “She’s helping her career. She could bow out any time. We’re just the muscle.”

  “It seems like we do more than that.”

  Alex shouldn’t be frustrated by now, but it happened with boring regularity. “Yes, we get blown up and abused, and blamed for it because we were asking for it, by protecting the target. But if we let her down, we’ll get blamed for that, too.”

  Aramis said, “I do love the size of those checks, though.”

  Jason said, “So do I, but there are easier taskings, and I can roll this experience into those, and my land is paid for. Nor am I young anymore.”

  Aramis said, “Hell, I’m not young after that.”

  Jason looked serious again as he said, “I’m glad we got you, brother.”

  Alex said, “Are we concluding three threats?”

  “I think so,” Jason said. “One seeking harassment. The MO was different on the ones she staged. One is seeking to kill her as efficiently as possible, and one is very sophisticated, still largely not identified.”

  Alex sighed. “Well, we’re going to earn our pay from here out.”

  CHAPTER 19

  A LIMO WAS NOT JASON’S PREFERRED VEHICLE, even for a trip to the Colonial Liaison Office. Anymore, he wanted the ARPAC every time, even if it was less comfortable.

  Highland’s visit covered personal business relative to the election, making official interviews with several press outfits. They weren’t allowed in any military or BuState location, and Alex had refused to certify any private location. The CLO was acceptable to everyone, so all that remained was to track the mileage and time for charging back to her campaign. How many accountants did it take to do all this?

  They were out in a light but chill rain, on their way back. The trip out wasn’t eventful, but that wasn’t unexpected. The trip back was when everyone would have had time to learn her location, set up OPs and be in position for anything.

  Highland and Jessie actually talked in front of them at this point. Though of course, the limo was quieter than the ARPAC.

  “So, just about thirty percent, with Cruk down to forty-eight, Hunter at ten and I’m not even going to dignify the rest with recognition,” she said.

  Jessie said, “One of the trends has you at thirty-two by week’s end.”

  “I can call in at once then,” she said, “or give it time to stabilize and for the public to demand so.”

  “I like that better,” Jessie said. “You respond to the electorate.”

  “Yes. We’ll need to leak it. Can you do that,” she looked up at Jason, who kept looking out the window, “through one of your secondary feeds?”

  “Of course! Angela DuMont is an ardent supporter.”

  Jason wondered when Special Service took over. At some point, a candidate becomes “viable” and protection was extended to them. That should be soon.

  Right then Bart braked hard and swerved slightly.

  Jason looked forward in a hurry. Alex was shotgun, but he wanted eyes on target. There were three men blocking the street after apparently having jumped out in the rain. He watched as the leftmost one disappeared under the limo.

  Bart swore, swerved and braked, though he was taught not to. He was also under orders to protect the stupid to some extent.

  The man went under the front of the limo in a double thump, then a bump, and a rev of lost traction.

  Highland asked, “What was that?”

  Bart said, “The wheelspin? Probably his face. Brains are pretty slippery.”

  In the rear inside screen, Highland gagged and Jason grinned. Bart kept his smile very tight.

  Jason said, “I really don’t like limos and this is why. We’re obvious as a stripper in church, but not as armored as we should be. Firing angles are limited.”

  The car accelerated quickly, and Bart wove between vehicles, first with wide margins, then with near misses, then close enough to catch on protruding edges. Brushing scrapes sounded every few seconds.

  Highland screeched, “Slow down! Each of those hits is a vote lost and money that will have to be paid out!”

  Bart ignored her totally. His job was to move and maneuver. He took a turn and kept going. He slowed a little, scanning the rear to see if there was pursuit. Alex caught his eye, but gave no indication of objection. He kept driving.

  He felt the rumble, then heard it. He kept his eyes ahead, but let them draw images from the screens.

  They were being chased by a tank.

  More accurately, it appeared to be an old Mod 46 Assault Vehicle, with the articulated plate wheels, but as he was driving a car, that was effectively a tank.

  WHAM!

  Especially with the 35mm gun on top. He leaned into an evasive turn as the shock wave and projectile cracked overhead.

  Alex shouted, “Aramis, up top, target the mechanicals! Elke, we need a disabler! Jason, do we have any rockets?”

  “On it.”

  “Working.”

  “No, BuState operations refused to allow it.”

  Alex replied, “Then snipe the vision ports.”

  “When I can.”

  The passengers said nothing, just whimpered a bit. He couldn’t blame them. Bart accelerated right to the intersection ahead, then brake-turned hard into it. The AV had to scrape to a stop on the pavement, pivot and resume. That slowed it a lot, but Bart had pedestrians and cluttered traffic to deal with. He’d run someone over if he had to, but he’d rather not have to.

  Out the roof, Aramis hammered away with the autocannon. It was a big enough gun to need actual cases, and they clattered over the shell of the car, a few bounced inside to ping against each other.

  “I’m not going to do anything to him with this,” Aramis said. “The armor’s too heavy.”

  Bart took them between two cars, scraping and bumping both aside. Pedestrians jumped, screamed and cursed, but the shrieks spread the message to others, who cleared the route. Except, of course, for rubberneckers. Two, just ahead.

  He leaned on the siren, and one jumped back. The other craned in closer, then stood defiantly, and finally jumped, as the car clipped him.

  Behind, a car moved to fill the gap in traffic, the driver oblivious, and the AV rolled right over it. Plastic splintered and crushed, and the driver’s arm thrashed out the window before hanging limply from the wreckage.

  Someone really wanted the bitch dead.

  Elke said, “There will be collaterals.”

  “There already are. The AV is crushing its way.”

  Alex said, “Do it.”

  “Aramis, take this and hit the driver compartment.”

  “Got it,” he said, hefted it for weight and stood.

  “Fire in the hole,” she said in a lovely voice, as Aramis stood and threw.

  It was one of her rugby-ball things. Bart watched it arc back in a perfect spiral, impact right over the compartment, and erupt. If he guessed right, it squashed enough to be a platter charge, and shattered the hatch.

  The AV veered to the left, high-centered over another car, and stopped.

  Alex said, “Keep moving, evade and evacuate this area.”

  “Rolling,” he agreed, the tension in him easing a little. There were more bodies to deal with now.

  Alex said, “Good thing
we’re on our way home.”

  Aramis said, “The events seem to be providing intel to people, and it’s usually prescheduled events.”

  Alex said, “Discuss later. Roll, eyes open.” He sounded forceful.

  “Rolling,” Bart reiterated.

  Behind, Alex spoke into his phone. “Captain Das, we were attacked by what looks like a Mod 46 . . . Yes, I am serious. Driver tried to run us down, ran over several civilian vehicles and pedestrians in the meantime . . . that’s about our grid, so yes, that would be it . . . You should move fast. There could be evidence and we don’t want it to go missing. Excellent. Sorry to bear bad news. Marlow out.”

  Jason wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep doing this. At some level, people should figure out Ripple Creek would stomp on any opposition. But, they kept getting bigger, more dangerous taskings. There wasn’t much room for error.

  Alex was tied up with lawyers, BuState, the military and the ambassador.

  It was interesting that the ambassador had no problems with them. He was technically under Highland, and then under the SecGen. His word would have them off planet at once. But either Highland wanted them for deniable cover, or she approved, or the SecGen was insisting they stay there.

  Was her boss worried about her, worried about what would happen if she died, or trying to embarrass her?

  That was one set of questions of many.

  Two minutes later, Alex burst into the suite with Das.

  “Jackpot,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Got this from the remains of the driver that Elke and Aramis liquefied.” He held up an armored data stick.

  Jason took it carefully. It appeared to be intact.

  “Anything on it you’ve found?”

  “Just the arrival time written on the outside.”

  “Yeah, that narrows it down to a few people. Let’s see what’s on it.”

  “I’ll help,” Elke said.

  “Absolutely.”

  He stuck it into his system, let Elke remote in, and they went at it.

  Everyone stared at them, but in a few minutes, Elke snorted in disgust and said, “This isn’t even grammar school encryption.”