Do Unto Others-ARC

  "Just go to school as usual," Jason said. "I'm posted here, Alex back at the house, and the rest will rotate with you at school or while traveling."

  "Very well," she nodded. "I have an invitation to a party for Friday. A semester opener. I didn't RSVP."

  "Good. I'm assuming you plan to attend?"

  "If that's acceptable, yes."

  "Miss, we're at your disposal. If you wish to go, we'll make it work. I just recommend never RSVPing and showing up at odd times, and not to everything, nor even everything that seems choice. It will make you less predictable. It might also give you a reputation as an even nicer lady for showing up at some of the less-regarded events."

  "That's good advice," she agreed. "Yes, this Friday is a go."

  "I'll plan accordingly."

  Bart, Aramis and Elke rose and went with her, Bart first through the door.

  Since the previous night, one of the elevators had been walled off and made private. That seemed to confuse her a bit. She gave a slight nod to Aramis.

  Yup, she knew enough engineering to grasp it. She was gifted in brains as well as in . . . well, he shouldn't think like that, in case he blurted something out at some point.

  A man from Cady's team, Adam Helas, stood near the limo. Everything was under both human and electronic security. Aramis was still a bit stunned himself, by the cost of all this. Money was no object. People said that. Few meant it.

  Bart drove along a couple of thoroughfares, and on manual. Always manual for this. No automated system that someone could hack was allowed to control the vehicle. In fact, Jason had gutted the controls quite thoroughly. There was supposed to be a regionally assessed fine for that. Either political connections were involved or the fine was just paid. What was money?

  In future, they might pull up in several locations from either direction for each location. Today, Bart simply drove past the front of the hall her first class was in, and braked.

  "Out now," Elke said, and was on the pavement herself in less than a second. Caron moved fast for a civilian, though they'd need to politely work on that. Aramis followed and Bart moved.

  Caron seemed embarrassed by the attention, but she took it gamely. As they left the vehicle, she managed an expression that was slightly haughty and partly casual with just a hint of amusement. She probably found it easier with only two guards, rather than the whole box, especially as Aramis held back and wasn't readily apparent.

  A "temporary" security elevation had existed for close to twenty years in England, based on a couple of earlier incidents. While it wasn't practical to search everyone passing through every time, what Alex rudely called "Security theater" existed to dissuade disgruntled students. Anything obviously a weapon would probably trigger alarms.

  So, Aramis walked through the atrium with minimal hardware, alongside Caron, whose doccase and comm were completely unremarkable, as if anyone would question her in the first place.

  Then Elke walked past the sensors.

  The scanner went schizo.

  It chimed, flashed and presumably showed a variety of hardware to the monitor station. Elke helpfully pulled out her stun baton and extended it grip first to the guard.

  As he started backing up, she pulled out a canister of incapacitance gas and held it out with the other hand, with a helpfully blank expression on her face.

  She said, "I didn't think you'd want these unattended on the scanner belt."

  "Ma'am! Please!" the old man said. He didn't seem like a former cop. Probably a career security guard. A relatively well-armed professional was beyond him.

  Elke shoved the baton into his hands, and pulled out her cuffs, then a small and legal knife that was nevertheless against campus "policy." She had a small extendable plastic baton, barely legal, as its only purpose was to physically beat on people.

  She handed over a small but practical arsenal, then extended her arms to be wanded. Aramis watched her cringe slightly as she was touched and patted. The mass of students stopped and stared for a few moments.

  With everyone distracted, Aramis turned, took Caron's arm and walked off. His own hardware was as objectionable to them, but forgotten in the mixup.

  A point had been made. Caron's bodyguard cared nothing for university policy.

  The unmade point was that Aramis had snuck in quietly.

  The next day, Elke would repeat the process. Whichever covert agent was assigned to the task would shortly have a full suite of non-lethal hardware in case things turned sour.

  The only downside, from Aramis' point of view, and he was sure from Elke's too, was that they were nonlethal.

  Though if Jason could accomplish a late-night survey, they might get around that limitation, too.

  In the lecture hall, Elke sat next to Caron, near enough to an exit for a hasty retreat, not close enough to be easily targeted. If there was a panic, Elke might have to disable a few bodies to make a hole for her principal. She understood that bothered some people, so she wouldn't discuss it. Aramis was within sight on the far end of another row. He could easily be present for lectures with credentials that marked him as an "examiner" from the British National University Board. The credentials were real, and examiners did sit in on occasion. The Board would be surprised to find Ripple Creek had acquired those credentials. So, in fact would the person who issued them, though not as surprised as the Board officer who had approved them without his knowledge.

  However, he couldn't walk into labs without being questioned and made, so he'd spend some time in other classes for cover, as near as he could manage to Elke and Caron. Elke knew she'd be stressed in a lab full of potential explosives and weapons and a principal to guard. She reminded herself that most people, even with the theoretical knowledge, wouldn't think to whip up a device on the premises, nor were most of them hostile.

  It was unfortunate that the old schools insisted on classrooms rather than remote learning, for some cultural reason. Though, it somewhat paralleled military training by keeping the students in a structured environment.

  The last term was eight weeks, and Elke would be busy most hours of most days. There were other females available, but it did make sense to keep their team as a unit, and they were among the best at this work. After the term, Elke would have enough time to buy some nice things, like perhaps those multi-frequency overlays for her glasses, or a couple of pairs of the Belleville pumps that flattened out to cushioned running shoes.

  She noted the time, realized there was only five minutes left, and she'd managed to completely ignore a lecture on environmental impacts and the growing glaciation. She could ignore one lecture a week in each class, and the work groups would be easier to monitor as she could walk around.

  As the tone sounded time, she rose and preceded Caron out the door.

  Right outside, someone called, "Caron!" and Elke turned while reaching for her remaining weapon; a pocket stunner Aramis had slipped her.

  Caron called back, "Mitzi! Cheers!"

  "Good to see you!"

  Caron looked cautiously at Elke while hugging her friend. Elke gave no indication. She wasn't going to prohibit such things, but she did not endorse them.

  Mitzi stepped back and said, "So, will I see you on Friday?"

  "Possibly. I can't plan ahead anymore. It depends on security issues." She gestured her head toward Elke.

  Mitzi turned and said, "Oh! Well, obviously you're welcome too."

  Elke smiled professionally and said, "Thank you. I don't make the schedule, but I appreciate the offer, if there is opportunity."

  "Great. Are you Czech, may I ask?"

  "From Hradec Králové," Elke said.

  "Oh, how pretty." She turned back to Caron. "Well, good luck."

  "Ta, Mitzi. And you."

  Chapter 4

  Bryan Prescot disliked the extra security as much as Caron. He wouldn't admit so, and he tolerated it because it was a good precaution, and as an example to her. He loved his daughter more than anything, and had even before Ashier
left. He'd thought it rather asocial of the woman to dump the child on him, but in retrospect he was quite happy. Caron seemed to be, too.

  Guards outside his office didn't bother him much; he kept the door closed. Chauffeurs and escorts were part of his life and had been for decades. A walking block of human bullet traps, though, seemed pretentious and silly. On the other hand, the building was named after him.

  Joe was waiting in the Prescot Tower atrium with his own, cheaper detail. They seemed perfectly competent, and Bryan wondered if he'd overspent. Still, it was all paranoia, and all possibly necessary.

  "Afternoon, Joe."

  Joe grinned. "Good afternoon. You saw my report?"

  "Skimmed it. It's just more money."

  "Just more money? You wound me! Half a percent here, a few quid there, another billion somewhere else . . . "

  "I'm impressed and grateful. It's just that after a while, they're just numbers. The important part is that we're now prepping the next generation of technological development for Caron to take over."

  "I suppose if you look at it that way. I still find challenge in it."

  "So challenge yourself, and accept everyone's gratitude for brilliant work."

  There was some jostling. The two teams had trouble interacting. Both recommended using just one contractor for all security. Bryan thought that was a good idea, but Joe could pout almost as well as Caron. He liked the team he'd had these last three months. They'd been with him while on Govannon, too, so they meshed well. The only real issue was when both teams got together.

  I should have ordered security for everyone, not just recommended he get some. It wasn't an issue until now. It might not be for long, though, since they were swapping off on mine oversight. Long term, though.

  Long term, the idea was not to need to live like a feudal lord. He sighed.

  "I wish we could do dinner as we used to. This is very aggravating. No offense to you, of course," he said to his entourage. Two of them smiled slightly and shrugged. So reticent.

  They had to take two lifts, but they were keyed and controlled, so they both reached bottom together. There was no underground for vehicles here, and no practical way to create one now. All the security people objected to that, but, while there were lots of things he could do by remote, holo and conference, some things did require a personal appearance, and the point of a headquarters was that the head was there.

  They stepped out, and across the lobby toward the file of cars under the awning, visible through the now even better armored glass. He approved of that. It protected employees and guests, too. The awning was to be made wider and closed off somewhat, starting next week. As long as the openness was kept, he approved. He didn't want it to look like a fortress.

  A waft of air blew past and outside because of the building pressure, so it was two steps before he smelt the city air. It wasn't as clean, but it felt more natural. He spent far too long cooped up. More time outside was what he needed.

  A moment later, he wondered what the hell was going on, as he was stuffed into the limo's seat, while people shouted and piled around him. The car ripped away as he choked for breath, was pulled upright and patted all over.

  "Sir, how are you? Any injuries?" Kent Ready, that was the man's name.

  "I'm fine," he insisted. "What the hell was that?"

  "Shots fired, sir. From the south. We're detouring north and will pick up the M One before turning toward Wales. We've called Metro and National."

  Shots?

  "I believe you," he said, and burned red. "But I honestly didn't hear a thing. I'm sorry."

  "That's why you hired us, sir."

  "How's Joe? And all your people?"

  "Everyone is fine, barring some scrapes from taking cover. Thanks for asking."

  "Thank you for protecting me, I suppose. I mean, you did, and I'm thankful. This just isn't something I learned the manners for." Shot at? Really?

  "That's fine, sir. We're out of the area and should be safe."

  Someone else said, "Metro is sending a chopper to overfly."

  Kent shook his head. "Negative. If they want to, I want them not to."

  "Understood."

  Bryan asked, "You don't trust the Metropolitan Police?"

  "Sir, I don't trust anyone."

  Alex, Cady and Ramon Jukov sat in the command center. What had been fliptops and portable communication gear was now built onto the back of the house, a modern, military-looking and -armored sore in contrast to the old stone. It was a useful retreat if there was time.

  Alex was stressed because there were real world threats.

  Jukov said, "It's relatively easy from my end. We can surround Bryan around the clock and it doesn't matter if the stockholders don't like it. The threats, though . . . "

  Cady pointed at the armored roof and said, "We have this. I'm coordinating on the apartment and his office, of course. But school and travel are the weak points."

  Alex said, "So, looking at it again, we have no general perception of animosity. There are the usual activists opposed to corporate whatever, but they don't tend toward more than annoying protests. The public doesn't really care about the family or the business, they're just one of those names in the news. There's no activity that would draw a lot of attention personally. But, we have two threatening notes, one delivered personally to the front door of the company HQ, and one message forwarded to a private account. Either one could be a crank. Both together in short order indicate some kind of intent, even if it's only to cause distress."

  All three of their phones rang simultaneously with one of the control center's bands.

  "Shit!" Alex said, echoed similarly by the others. That almost certainly meant . . .

  Cady answered and flipped to speaker.

  "We're all three here," she said.

  "Shots fired," came the report. "Two shots fired at Bryan and Joseph outside HQ. No injury, no contact, local police found unmarked weapon on rooftop."

  "Unmarked?" Alex asked.

  "Unmarked and antique. Well over a century old, rifle firing metallic cased rimmed rounds."

  "Clever enough," Jukov commented. "Untraceable, lethal, disposable."

  "Response?" Cady asked.

  "Both principals in limo, tag team set up, dispersal, standard plan."

  "Understood. Keep us informed, use my code."

  "Will do."

  The three stared at each other for a second, and Alex could feel the tension trickle through the room.

  "So," Jukov said, "We have hostile action. Potentially lethal, though not very effective. We can't assume the intent is just intimidation, so we have to escalate."

  "The last shots fired at executives or ranking politicians in Europe was fifteen years ago," Alex said. "So this is serious enough."

  Cady said, "Well, as I noted, I can reinforce facilities more and have further patrols and flights, but we have limited cleared personnel, even if Mister Prescot allows. Personnel, though . . . "

  "They won't hear of pulling her out of school. I'll have to make other plans," Alex said.

  "On the bright side, I expect our advice will be heeded a bit more," Jukov said.

  Chapter 5

  The next day, additional security measures were put in place. Caron was publicly escorted by Elke and Bart, and Jason found a reason to skulk around after meeting with the dean and head of security. Elke felt better with backup. Security wasn't about pretending to be nice. Security was about providing force.

  After a visibly uneventful day, Shaman showed up in a limo, swapped seats with Bart, who then drove to a pre-arranged appointment even Caron didn't know about. The car passed through three rings of London, paying a heftier fee each time to be allowed access to the roads, and pulled up in front of an old building with a simple brass sign, "Fashion by Joy."

  They flowed out of the vehicle and straight through the door, and up to a first floor, meaning second floor outside of Britain, studio behind a glass and brass entrance that would stop some
artillery fire.

  Joy Alexander awaited, with two of Cady's men who'd swept her shop earlier.

  "Welcome," she said, with a gracious sweep. "You must be Miss Prescot."

  "Please do call me Caron. I've of course heard of you, Ms Alexander."

  "It's a privilege to provide you with a wardrobe."

  "Yes, I appreciate it." Caron looked puzzled. "I wasn't aware I was getting more."

  Elke sat back where she could watch the polarized windows and the door. With Bart outside and Aramis looking for threats across the street, she felt safe enough. All she had to do was watch and listen, as Caron got fitted for an entire wardrobe. This wardrobe would be classy, upscale, and loaded with useful tools in case of further incursions or attacks.

  Joy Alexander would never be considered pretty. Elke had seen her on TV, and she dressed well enough for her figure, and wasn't unattractive. She was just rather plain, short and a bit overweight.

  Still, it was not obvious. The woman really did know how to dress, which was why she got paid as much as she did. This line of clothing was specifically for clients like the Prescots, and had been designed with the aid of several experts in the field.

  "First, we're going to update your accessories," Alexander said. She opened up a real but probably lab-grown leather jewelry case the size of a doccase, and unfolded the inner partitions.

  Caron looked on with interest at the show. Elke kept professional eyes on it and the room.

  "That's a lot of sunglasses," Caron commented.

  "You'll wear them from now on. Ten styles and colors to suit any outfit. Do you ever wonder why celebs wear them?"

  "I assume to hide their faces, disguise them somewhat."

  "That, and hide their expressions, and these are also self-polarizing enough for one of the military's flash bang grenades, or camera lights, or even some incendiaries. They're ballistically proof against pistol fire or some shrapnel. They all have built in transponders for location tracking, which your security team will be able to follow. They have a laminate frequency shifter to improve your vision in low light."

  "So I should wear these inside as well?"