CHAPTER 4
JASON DIDN’T LIKE THE PLAN. Even inside the driver’s compartment of a nicely climate-controlled Improved Attack Resistant Personnel Carrier outfitted as an executive transport. He watched the putatively secure feed of the landing shuttle, and fidgeted. He sweated in his suit.
Tactically, everything was sound. The rest of the team would land with their principal in a few minutes. He had good leads in the area and an advance recon.
The strategic questions were what triggered his senses. BuState had security guards, and there was no spoken, outright threat to her at this point. Keeping it in house would make political and economic sense. The only reason he could come up with for using Ripple Creek was to make them some sort of cover. Either they expected threats of a level that would be politically infeasible to handle themselves, or they planned to toss the team to the wolves. Or both.
Of course, it was possible she was just using their image for political gain.
It seemed unlikely, though. They weren’t popular in the press, so she wouldn’t pick up votes from their presence. The perceived threat level, however . . .
In the compartment behind him were Agent Jace Cady and two of her people. It was possible to shimmy between the two areas, though not easily.
Cady always looked exotically elegant, and if you didn’t know she’d started out male, you’d probably never guess. They’d even adjusted her wrist angles, as well as her hips. If you watched, though, she had the residual habits of someone raised male.
Malcolm Lionel and Roger Edge were just suited goons to look at, but very good at their jobs. Malcolm was from Antigua, Roger very English.
“You seem agitated,” Cady said.
He said, “Yeah, and I shouldn’t be. Except there’s no good reason for her to use us.”
“It could be they’re both cautious and wanting distance. They can blame us for being excessive and have it forgotten in the news a day later.”
“True. I hope that’s all it is. We’re paid to take the blame.”
Cady said, “Well, our perimeter, their perimeter and all nonphysical perimeters are secure. I’ve got our own bugs in the commo, and they’ll shriek if anyone else touches the lines.”
“You always do a fine job. I’ve got no concerns about that.” He idly ran hands over the controls, eager to do something.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. I am worried about a less than friendly principal and unseen threats.”
“Of course. You’re also missing your accomplices.”
He smiled. “Yeah, Elke’s great company, and Aramis, even if still a bit cocky, is the man to have at your back. I like how the company has let us sort into teams and stick there.”
She said, “It works with five hundred employees. It wouldn’t work with five thousand.”
“Exactly. Though we wouldn’t be any more capable or earn any more, either. The smaller structure helps. Now I realize you’ve got me distracted from stressing out alone, and the lander’s on its final approach. Thanks.”
She giggled very softly. “You’re welcome. Guys, check weapons and prepare to open up.”
A moment later she said, “Jason, check your phone. Tag for Highland and live feed.”
“Uh? Okay.” He dug it from the pouch on his shoulder, spoke into it, thumbed it and let the feed load.
JessieM: We’re here on the ground with Ripple Creek Security. Alex Marlow in charge, looking ruff.”
JessieM: Agent Sykora, Ripple Creek bomb expert.—photo. Ms. Highland should be well-protected.
Oh, holy shit. Did she really churp their IDs into the seething morass of the nodes, openly and directly attached to the company and Highland? With current whereabouts?
“Good thing this vehicle is EM proof. It’s unfortunate there’s something wrong with the outside transmission antenna.”
Behind him he heard a ripping, cracking noise.
“You know, you’re right,” Cady agreed.
He’d need to arrange some sort of personal scrambler for them to wear, and they might want to consider something to obscure their faces.
Then they waited patiently while the gull-like white monster was ferried across the apron, hosed in a nimbus of steam that carried the dreadful heat away to condense and rain out in an oval a half kilometer downwind, and was prepared for debarkation.
A private signal chimed softly, and he kicked the ARPAC engine to life. IARPC was too clunky an acronym to pronounce, so it had been mutated.
He pulled in a broad curve, slowing more than he liked to get around a tug, a cargo can crane, and some other vehicle. The ground crew hadn’t been told to expect him and didn’t know how to react. They did the next best thing; stayed still and let him work it.
Once through those, he turned and backed, bringing the rear of the vehicle right up to the edge of the obligatory red carpet. She’d want to make a speech first, of course.
Alex untensed as the craft rolled out. He was always nervous on landing, for no other reason than that was when most problems were likely to manifest, and there was no way to do anything about them for those few minutes.
It would take several more minutes for the craft to maneuver to the departure area. There was no modern gate here; they’d have to cross open apron. That was a prime time for an attack because it was a clear, predictable window. He was ready for that. Before then, though, the craft would have to cool a bit, then be hosed down, so the remains of the incandescent passage through the atmosphere didn’t roast them on exit.
Highland was putting on “professional” clothing, and JessieM was in the lounge, so now would be a good time to discuss that lingering issue.
“Jessie, I need to ask a favor, regarding Ms. Highland’s security.”
“Yes?” the woman asked, looking alert and interested.
“The constant media chatter decreases her safety. It means any threat knows her location to a close degree.”
She didn’t look indignant, exactly, but certainly put upon.
“That’s what I do—promotion. It’s expected. Ms. Highland’s ratings and electability depend on it.”
“I understand, but it also increases risk.”
“Well, that’s what you’re for.”
“I’m here to make things as safe as possible, and that media chatter makes things less safe. This is why I’m bringing it up.”
“It’s my job, and what she needs for this election cycle.” The woman was insistent and, as near as he could tell, clueless. He sighed mentally, while staying completely calm outside. He wondered if he could get a job as an actor.
“Can you at least wait until after an event before you note it? Or at least after arrival? The scheduled events are a known issue, and have multiple agencies for security. The impromptu events are where the threat is, and I don’t believe a lot of outsiders actually make it. Only those in the immediate area. Which means anyone arriving has a strong motivation, with an increase in the negative side.”
Chewing her lip, JessieM said, “I suppose. That’s a hindrance.”
“Yes, but it makes her, and you, more safe.” Had he put just enough emphasis on that? He wasn’t going to tell her she was dispensable, but if she perceived a potential threat, it might help.
“I will try, then,” she said. “A few minutes might be okay.”
“It all helps.”
Highland came through right then, and hurried over to JessieM, who plucked at lint, pulled a stray hair, and tugged a lapel.
“You look great, ma’am,” she said.
The cooloff cycle allowed the crowd to move closer, set up and take position. There was a red carpet unrolled from a large drum, a podium, flags, seat risers. The crowd included press, dignitaries from three of the factions and General Marsten, in charge of peacekeeping operations. They’d have to interact with him at some point. That would probably lead to some issues, they being armed, but under BuState, not BuMil.
A chime on the Ripple Creek commo algorithm sounded. Cady’s voice said, “Playwright, this is Desi. On location, sweep complete, green.”
“Desi, Playwright confirms.”
Purser Sergeant Valko stood at the hatch controls, and had Highland even learned his name? It seemed unlikely. She was fussing with her hair again, and didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.
Stepping around back, Alex drew the assistant aside and said, “Jessie, please don’t broadcast our departure. It would pinpoint our location on landing for any hostiles.”
“Of course not,” she said, sounding put upon. “I’ll wait until we’re ready for Ms Highland’s statement on the ground. That’s all I’ve told anyone to expect, and that was thirty minutes ago.”
“Very good. Thank you.” That was a reasonable accommodation. He appreciated it.
Highland finally turned and looked at Valko. “I’m ready,” she said simply. He nodded and swiped his panel. The hatch popped, chuffed, raised and swung. From the hold underneath, a complicated mechanism rolled a flowing staircase. This was a BuState landing limo, built on a military lander chassis. It could take a pretty good hit, and was designed to look classy in austere environments.
The air was a little thin, but the gravity was light, so they should have no trouble operating. It was surprisingly clean air, and warm. There really hadn’t been much development here.
Highland knew enough to wait. At a signal from Alex, Bart and Aramis stepped through and waited.
She looked at Alex expectantly, lips parted, obviously eager. He gave it a few more seconds while Cady’s people swept for anything threatening.
He transmitted, “On your mark, Desi.” She and Jason would coordinate with military on the ground.
“Playwright, go.”
He pointed at Highland. She nodded back and stepped off, JessieM right behind her, and a hindrance they’d have to deal with. Bart and Aramis preceded her as a wall of meat, Elke and Shaman closed in behind, and Alex took the rear.
“Thanks, Olen,” he said to Valko. “Good to travel with you.”
The man smiled back. “You’re welcome, sir. Be safe.”
“That’s the plan,” he agreed as he stepped through and down.
The stairway really was nice, descending in a long curve and a slight sweep. It had sparkly highlights that looked like something exotic, but was only aluminum dust embedded in the polymer. The heat increased as they descended.
JessieM had sent her churp. Alex had his phone set to ping on her messages. If he couldn’t stop them, he could at least read and hear them.
We’re down on Mtali. Ms. Highland will start her greeting momentarily. Sorry for the delay. It was necessary for safety in this action zone.
“Action zone” was code for “war zone.” It wasn’t polite to use that word anymore. It was interesting, he reflected, how custom tailored language. Words came and went based on perception.
He reached the bottom as Aramis and Bart reached the podium and stepped aside. They had to leave her exposed in front for the cameras. They’d shield the rest, even though the bulk of the lander did much of that. The time you didn’t was the time someone exploited it.
The rain shield overhead was also ballistic protection. Between that and the mass of the crowd was a very small window she might be attacked through, and no buildings that had line of sight within three kilometers. They’d chosen this position to maximize safety, and of course, to have natural sunlight, or whatever it was called here, on her best angle. People imagined he was overpaid. They had no idea what this job entailed.
There was still the small chance of a remotely piloted vehicle. Any engine signature should be noted, but gliders were also possible, so they had jamming . . .
They didn’t think anyone hated her enough to shell the entire apron with artillery or rockets.
Cady’s men kept up a steady patrol and scan. Outside that perimeter, the military had a Recon unit watching things. Recon and Ripple Creek didn’t get along very well, but they could work together. Outside that, the Aerospace Force had a security and marshal squadron. Outside that, the locals had whatever security they wanted, and good luck to them.
The polished podium had been placed just so, for their security concerns, and for her presentation. The press were in a controlled area for safety, and to ensure they caught her at just the right angle of profile. Had politicians always been celebrities?
She stepped up, looked in exactly the right direction, and read from the scroll on the one way screen in front of her.
“Thank you. It’s wonderful to be here, as we try to resolve differences in policies on a galactic matter, and between neighbors locally.” She paused, nodded slightly to acknowledge the applause that was being inserted electronically. There was no one close enough to be heard or seen. A camera pan of the spectators, watching her on remote video, would be merged in also.
“I look forward to meeting with all the factions, as we explore our common ground . . .”
He tuned her out. She was going to say absolutely nothing with a lot of words.
She didn’t take long. At least she was a professional speaker, and knew to stick to high points and a simple message. Or maybe it was the baking heat of the flightline. Either way, she finished, stepped back, and paused for a few photos from the hovering drones.
Those were a serious point of contention. Any drone was a potential bomb. Neither Ripple Creek nor BuState Security approved of them, or wanted to allow them. It was simply impossible to ascertain safety on them. However, media was a practical necessity, and a matter of Charter Freedoms. Instead, these were owned by BuState itself, controlled by one of Cady’s team, and the feed available to any news outlet. There was always a legal challenge demanding individual access, and it always failed, and the media always tried anyway.
Alex’s professional paranoia didn’t even like these. He had no direct control over them, so they were a potential threat, given the status of the principal.
In this case, they were safe. This time. They filled in around her.
He heard Jason in his earbuds. “Arriving, twenty.” He saw the vehicle and acknowledged.
“Roger.” Then, “Ma’am, our transport is over to the left.”
“I see it. I’m ready when you are.” It was nice having a principal experienced with security details. It simplified some things.
The ARPAC pulled up at the edge of the apron. It would have been legal and simple to roll all the way in, but Highland had insisted on a walk for visibility. Cameras continued to hover far back. So, theoretically, could snipers.
With a whine of power takeoff, the ramp lowered smoothly, and Jason stood there waiting, along with Cady and two of her men.
“Welcome to Mtali,” Jason said as they approached. He smiled and seemed very glad to be together with his friends and teammates again.
“Ma’am, Jason Vaughn is our technical specialist, crosstrained as a paramedic.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said with little emotion.
“Jace Cady is Agent in Charge of the Facilities Security team,” he said, and introduced the tall Asian woman.
Highland paid attention now.
“Oh, Ms. Cady. So very good to meet you at last.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I appreciate the opportunity you offer, to work with you.”
“Thank you.”
The effusive commentary had to be political, but unless . . . no, that had to be it. Highland knew Cady was trans, and wanted the political points, but wasn’t going to say so, because any mention of trans status was rude and gauche. It would be funny watching her try to juggle the conflicting issues if it didn’t make him ill to watch his friend being treated like a pawn over a very personal issue.
He stopped musing when he heard the rattle of machine gun fire. Long burst. Mid caliber.
There was nothing wrong with Highland’s reflexes. She took two leaping steps in the general direction of the vehicle and dove behind a portable shield set for that purpose. Only he’d not imagined it would actually be needed.
That’s why they pay us, and why we do that, he thought. Elke and Bart were closest, dove down with her, and readied to sprint up the ramp on either side of her.
He pointed and shouted, “Contact left!”
Jason shouted, “Suppression. I need some kind of suppression!” Elke didn’t have any explosives, no one had anything but light arms, and someone with a machine gun had them pinned.
Then as fast as it had started, the hostiles disappeared.
That was good, since they were alive and apparently unhurt. Just out of view, Shaman patted Highland down, and he knew that from the surprised yelp everyone made the first time that happened. It was bad, because they had no idea who the threat had been, and it was probable that others would follow.
Aramis made it into the ARPAC in two leaps, braced feet on either side of the turret station, yanked and slammed the charging handle on the cannon, and opened fire in methodical but rapid shots.
Highland started screaming.
“Stop! Stop shooting! Get down, you militaristic asshole!”
Aramis turned and stared, but didn’t let go of the weapon.
“They’re gone, and I don’t want any bad press. Get down!”
Aramis glanced at Alex, who nodded. He shrugged and climbed down.
Highland lowered her voice, but not her intensity. “The whole point of a rating event is lost if someone gets hurt.”
There were two ways to interpret that, but Alex keyed on the proper words, then replayed it again, both mentally and via his recorder, to be sure that’s what was actually said. It was too surreal to anger him now, though he knew it would shortly. In the meantime, he wanted to triple check.
“Ma’am, please clarify for me. That attack was a fake, set to help with your image?”
“It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s about presentation. Poise and confidence are critical to any race, or to any presentation. I needed to start this off on the right foot.”
“Yes, ma’am, but I need to know about these things.” He hadn’t heard any cracks pass by, so either it hadn’t been aimed this way, or they’d been blanks.
“I didn’t know if you were trained enough as actors to be believable. It works better if it’s unstaged.”
Yes, this was a waking nightmare. “It doesn’t really, ma’am. We can act appropriately, and without warning, our default appropriate response could have gotten someone shot. That won’t help your ratings.”
“It depends on whom, and that’s what my publicists are for. That was just a show with some blanks. They’re not even real guns.”
Well, this mission had hit the bottom of the shaft in a hurry, and was now starting to dig.
“Ma’am, let me reiterate that we are trained, contracted and expected to use lethal force if necessary. That’s based on our threat assessment. I strongly caution against these kind of displays. There will be enough legitimate threats.”
“Yes, but presentation is critical. I’d rather not be attacked, but if so, I of course plan to develop the event to demonstrate my core competencies.”
Alex thought that “exploit” fit better than “develop.”
He said, “Elke and Jason are both very skilled with cameras, for intel and promotional purposes. I am quite willing to make their footage available after it has been examined for tactical purposes.”
Highland considered a moment, and replied, “Very well. I suppose I can arrange for Jessie to take charge of that if and when it happens.”
“Thank you for your understanding. That will help us a lot.” He’d also make very sure that footage was edited to blur anything intel-worthy in the background. Jessie appeared to have little restraint on what she loaded.
Highland continued, “You have to understand, part of the reason I was sent here was to lower my visibility during this stage of the campaign. This is a remote area, none of the key geographies care if these peasants kill each other, and I need to be able to maintain visibility, and boost my ratings.”
“I can see that, ma’am, and we’ll do what we can to assist. Please keep us in the loop. We’re here for you.” Within reason. This bitch would actually stage a battle for vid ratings. Unbelievable.
Alex understood the pressure she faced. He was not, however, going to assist with her campaign, even if it would make protecting her easier. There were some things even a pig wouldn’t do. He did need to learn about this, though, and work with it. That’s why he was getting paid more than most top surgeons.
It didn’t seem like much of a deal. After all, that was probably why they’d nixed Elke’s explosives.
At least they had an armored vehicle for transit. Clearly now, Highland wanted that for its imposing presence and the implication of great danger. However, this at least worked in their favor for protection purposes.
There were cutouts in the contract to separate them from a client who refused to cooperate sufficiently. The problem was, those criteria were vague, though he had the final say, and their job was to protect the bitch, not play rules lawyer, there would be repercussions if they did so. Why this type of client? Because they paid a lot of money, which is what it came down to.
There was a lot more to being a mercenary than people outside the business realized.