Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

“Um…”

In minutes he was very carefully monitoring four double boilers heating over the induction coils of the range. Elke had several tubs full of goo, which seemed to be plasticizing. Aramis wasn’t an expert on explosive, but he knew that hexamine, nitrates, phosphates, acids and ionized metals led to stuff that went boom.

“How is the soap and chlorate?” she asked.

He carefully drew a spatula from each and gauged the runoff. “Fully liquid,” he said.

“Good, I’ll take them.”

One tub was a gray mess of ammonium nitrate and some liquid booster. One was a translucent greenish mess. One was white.

“Dare I ask?”

She indicated without flicking the gray stuff off her gloved hands. “Low-order plastique of potassium chlorate and petroleum gelatin. Improvised but unstable dynamite of nitroglycerin in ammonium nitrate base, which I will entube. The semi-crystalline stuff is RDX. You’re going to help me take rifle cartridges apart and place them in the copper tubing, using the propellant and chlorate mix, as priming caps.”

“How unstable is ‘unstable’?”

“Just don’t get in an accident on the way back, and don’t inhale the fumes.”

They’d shopped most of the day, and cooked most of the night, with the kitchen curtained off and the outside windows curtained as well. There was enough light leakage to indicate occupation, and Jason had set controllers to cycle the lights on a randomized but standard schedule to indicate habitation. There was not enough visibility for anyone to spy on them.

Aramis realized how tired he was.

“Money and determination,” he muttered.

“What? Oh, yes,” she said, obviously distracted. “I need explosives for my part of the mission. I will have them. These will suffice until I can find better materials. I’m quite sure a construction site will have what I need.”

“Are we actually resting before we leave?”

“Do you need to?” she asked, quite seriously. “Return trip should be under an hour.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. He squinted through the curtains. “I just wanted to confirm. It looks dawnish out there.”

“Yes, so it does,” she said, and glanced at her watch. “Oh five twenty-seven. Highland has a movement in four hours. I suppose I have what I need for now. I’ll destroy some of the partials and stow the rest, tragic as it is to waste material.”

“You can buy more. Money’s not an issue.”

“Money is not the issue,” she said as she carried the first tub into the kitchen and placed it in the sink. “Wasting material is the issue. Explosives are supposed to detonate, not flush down the drain.” She sighed as she turned on a trickle of water.

In five minutes, she had a large box neatly filled with devices and claylike blocks, and a bag of the improvised caps, including some with electrical leads for remote or keyed detonation.

There was no traffic on the stairs, though sounds and smells indicated residents awake and preparing for work. Aramis smelled tea, coffee, pastries, some meat that was probably not pork, given the cultures here. There was occasional music and news chatter. All in all it was quite homey and reminiscent of a century long passed. Earth buildings had much tighter soundproofing and seals, and audio was always focused or through personal devices.

He led outside, since Elke was hindered with the box. A couple of backpacks would have been easier, but far less discreet.

Elke placed the box carefully in back, and slipped in with it. Aramis ignited the turbine and pulled slowly out into the rising traffic.

They were two kilometers down the road when his phone chimed.

“Musketeer,” he said.

Alex said, “Are you carrying smelly stuff?”

“Uh, maybe?” he looked back at Elke, who said, “Fumes are outgassing, yes.”

Jason cut in on the other end. “Their sniffers have it, reporting a threat, and they’re responding.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The official mil types.”

“Response?”

“We’re calling Das. We’ll try to clear it. Stand by and out.”

“Will travel and stand by, out, waiting.” He twitched his eyebrows, felt a flush and said, “That’s not good,” to Elke.

“They have better sensors than I anticipated. I should have triple wrapped and sealed.”

“They’d find it sooner or later.”

“Car coming up fast behind,” she said. He heard her fumble with weapons.

“Pursuit? Police?” He glanced at the rear screen.

“Armored sedan, looks semi-official,” she said. “I wonder if they’re plugged into the milnet.”

“Not good. Evading.” He swung the wheel to send them straight down a side street, thankful there were no zone controls to worry about here.

However, that sedan braking hard in front of them wasn’t in his plans.

“Entrapment,” he said, amazed at how cool he sounded. There was an alley on the left just past. He flung the car into a turn, gunned it, fishtailed twice and went down what was apparently a service lane, slaloming through trash and pallets.

Elke said, “I’m loaded, tell me if you need support.”

“I expect so, soon. Call for backup.”

Mild precombat nausea gripped him, and fatigue didn’t help. He was out the alley, back onto a street, but it was crowded and slow.

Elke said, “Hostiles attempting to herd us. Request backup soonest.”

“Working. We have your location, keep your line open.”

“Line open, roger.”

No good. They were penned in by traffic, and there were men getting out of a car thirty meters back. He wasn’t going to find an opening.

“Proceed on foot, we need a bughole,” he said.

Elke was out the door in a second, wearing her backpack and with the box looking a bit lighter. Good woman. A moment later a sharp bang accompanied a brilliant flash and a directional cloud of smoke. She pulled alongside him.

“Did you secure the car?”

“I did not boobytrap it but it is locked. The burst was just distraction.”

“Hostiles?”

“Delayed, but there are some ahead.”

“I see them,” he said. “Move into a building.”

“This one.”

It was a closed office that hopefully had a rear exit, or a roof, or some way to barricade themselves while backup arrived. Aramis reached the door at a sprint and kicked it. The latches shattered and they were in.

“That wouldn’t work in a more modern world,” he said, as they dodged between dividing walls.

“Two distractions behind us, set for vibration.”

“Not lethal?”

“Allies may come.”

“Roger. No upstairs access I can see. Out the back.”

There was clattering behind them, then a bang, and another.

Elke stepped aside and let him take the lead. He flipped the latch, kicked the door open and slipped through, raising his pistol.

His brain exploded inside his skull and he went down.

Bart drove, though usually he was in a limo, not a Grumbly. The rotary-diesel was turning fast enough to have a smooth hum, not a grumbling lope. They were in a hurry.

As he understood it, they were also in violation of contract.

Their mission was Highland’s safety. Cady’s mission was compound security. Recovery of missing personnel was properly the military’s tasking. However, that would take time, and they knew Aramis’s and Elke’s location now.

Elke’s voice came through the channel. “Musketeer is down, probably captured.”

Bart felt chills. That was bad. Peripherally, he saw the others swapping glances.

Alex asked, “Understood. Are you covered?”

“I have created a safe zone.”

That sounded bad, too.

“We’re arriving in six minutes.”

“I can hold- BANG!” her voice cut off with an explosion, but the signal was still live. “Do hurry, though.”