Michael Williamson: When Diplomacy Fails…

“See you then,” she said, with a devastating twitch of her eyebrows.

“Bye.”

Yeah, that was great. So, his regular woman, who he had to pretend didn’t exist, told him to bring along the quick fling that had picked him up.

His plan had been Ayisha one night and Caron the next, though he wasn’t going to say so. Now, it looked as if he’d be playing the gentleman at least one of those nights, if not both, right before shipping out. There was more than enough room at Caron’s “estate” to give them all their own wing, never mind a room. He just couldn’t see how he could be with one and not slight the other.

His only hope was for Ayisha to say no. He screened her.

“Well, hi!” she said. She was a little flaky, but honest and intelligent and fun. Right now she had fiberoptic highlights in her hair and a top that was shaded to match her skin. She was obviously clothed but looked nude.

“You look great,” he said, and he meant it, though he said it largely to be polite.

“Thanks. What’s up?” “My job moved up to Monday early, so this weekend is going to involve some packing, too.”

“Okay. Can I help?”

“Probably not. It’ll all be battle gear.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, with wide eyes.

“It’s fine. We carry it all as a precaution, and there’s no particular risk. It’s just not stuff anyone can really help with.”

“Ah, right. Secret.”

“Not really,” he said. “Just complicated and specialized.”

“We’re still doing something, though, right?” Her smile promised something. He ardently hoped he’d find out.

“Something, yes, but I’ve got an invite to England. You’re invited as well, if you like.”

“I’d love to!” she said. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“I’d say one nice conservative outfit and something for Sunday. We’ll be back late, I think. Oh, and a suit for travel.”

“Can you afford this?”

“A friend of mine is covering it. A woman I know,” he admitted.

“Ah,” she said, with a glimmer of comprehension. “Well, it sounds interesting. I’ll be there.”

Luckily, they weren’t serious enough for her to get jealous. Instead she was interested.

Unluckily, Aramis would have to juggle two scorching women and play an entire hand of gentleman cards. That couldn’t be a good start to a high-stress mission.

Alex picked a lodge owned by the TanCorp conglomerate for staging. They were a very professional group, valued discretion, and Ripple Creek had no contracts with them; they had their own, quite respectable security, and their own star system-Grainne, actually. He sent out notices through anonymizers. There really wasn’t any secrecy, but enough vagueness slowed down the intel gathering necessary to confirm anything. That, and when possible, messages sent openly were ironically safer. There were so many messages, and so few reasons to search them.

He let the car drive him down a sunny North American 95, off into the Appalachians, and into the site. He ignored the highway in favor of compiling packing lists and schedules, and studying their principal. He had a rough briefing package, but whoever put it together had different objectives. It contained a modest amount of personal information, but not enough data to determine threats or even objectives those threats might aim for, other than “politician.”

He took a break and enjoyed the scenery in the mountains-hills, really, after sixty million years of erosion. Besides, he couldn’t work well with the vehicle swaying over the switchbacks and around hilly curves.

Upon arrival at the site, he flipped to manual, slowed and stopped for security. After they scanned and approved his car at the real iron gate, he followed the map around more twists, fountains and flower beds, to the log-built cottage on a small pond. It wasn’t cheap, but it was reasonable secure, and it would be approved on the invoice.

As requested, there was no staff. He climbed out with his bag, punched in the reservation code, and stepped inside. Nice. It was clean and plain, easy to sweep for bugs, and had just enough furniture to be comfortable. There were three sleeping rooms, a porch, and a loft overlooking the common room. It also had a fully stocked bar in the kitchen nook. He left his bag on the coffee table and mixed up a Clubbed Seal-Arctic Club whisky and club soda on the rocks, a mound of fluffy coconut and a bloody red splash of grenadine.

It was only a couple of hours before another car pulled up, and Bart Weil and Elke Sykora jumped out. She was above average height for a woman, but Bart was near two meters, and towered over her. They each had a personal bag, and a rolling softside trunk with the non-restricted battle gear they’d take. Alex’s gear was due to arrive as cargo the next day. Horace “Shaman” Mbuto would arrive late tonight, Aramis would show up for departure, and Jason would meet them on site. It wasn’t how he preferred to do things, but staggering them out was less obvious. Even using this site made it seem less like an off world mission, if anyone was watching.

Bart nodded and put his gear in a room. Elke took the loft, where she had a good, clear field of view, and fire. That was like her. She was always surgically precise and her gear spotlessly clean.

Bart came back through then, to the kitchen, grabbed a liter bottle of hefeweizen, and with a look for assent, sat on the couch and sprawled.

“It is good to stretch,” he said.

“I imagine. I get uncomfortable. You must be crunched.”

“It’s worse in armor. Can we talk before the others arrive?”

Elke came through with a glass of juice, though he suspected she’d doctored it with liquor.

“We can. If we’re not secure here we’re in trouble anyway. And I’ll still ask Elke to do a scan.”

“It’s secure,” she said, holding up a box he knew generated interference for most bugs. She wasn’t as expert as Jason, but she was more than proficient. They had enough layers.

He said, “We’re protecting a high-ranking UN bureau official out of system.”

Bart asked, “Are there specific threats?”

“Some. We’ll be able to cover those during transport. We’re traveling together.”

Elke asked, “What restrictions do we have on weapons and gear, and rules of engagement?”

He understood she was asking if she could have explosives. “Unknown yet, but I do know the usual security contingent are armed.”

“Then why us?” Bart asked.

“The threat level is perceived as higher than typical.”

“So the free market is better at protecting the government than it is at protecting itself.”

“Fundamentally, yes.”

“Very amusing.”

“We’re going to Mtali for the Environmental Summit and some other meetings,” he said.

Bart raised his eyebrows. Yes, if they were up to date on newsloads, that pretty well gave away who the principal was.

“Perhaps I will like this person,” Elke said. “I respect ruthlessness.”

“We’ll have to see. The public presence is not very nice, but people are almost never how the media present them, and of course, we don’t know how much is done as a public image.”

Bart said, “Alex, you are hedging your bet.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I expect we’re not going to be on great terms. We’ll see.”

Elke said, “I don’t need to like the principal. I just need to be able to do my job. This seems less of a problem than last time.”

“We won’t have time to run physical practice, but I do have sim programs we can play through. Bart, I’ll want you to take lead on this.”

“Is Aramis joining us?”

“A bit late, yes. There are political reasons.”

“Ah. Those.” The big man nodded understanding without expressing emotion.