Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Bart made a point of looking through the window before opening the door. Elke slipped through, bent down and did something. She walked around to the other side and repeated the motion. She stood up with a detonator.

Highland said, “Are you sure that’s saf-” and was drowned out as Elke hit the button and whatever charge she planted made a rumbling pop. She motioned for the door, and Bart reopened it.

Alex muttered. “I don’t care what the standards are, they will be made to fit Ms. Highland’s transport, at once, and they can install an extra triggered barrier instead. These things are outdated and simplistic.”

Aramis agreed. Simple was often better, but a barricade that defaulted to positive would work as well. If it failed to retract, they’d just detour, rather than being turtled.

Whatever Elke had done had crumbled the rise. Lionel eased forward, and after a scrape and rattle, they proceeded normally. She’d also apparently cut wipes for the tires.

Alex spoke into his phone. “I want that gone when we get back. That’s per me, Ms. Highland,” he glanced at her for assent, and she nodded, tight-lipped and flushed, “and Agent in Charge Cady… Well, right now, I’m speaking as District Agent in Charge. That’s the contract equivalent of Chief of Mission, Security.” There was a pause, then he said, “I appreciate it.”

To Alex, Highland said, “Thank you.” She said it smoothly and without rancor, and Aramis knew she was pissed.

As this was an official function, at least officially, the military escort pulled in front and behind. Two Grumblies, ten troops, two machine guns, except they were crowd control machine guns shooting rubber pellets and mild incapacitance agents. It was Aramis’s experience, on five planets so far, that nonlethal weapons didn’t deter threats, didn’t end threats, and often just irritated the threats or let them claim martyr status without the actual risk of being a real martyr. Still, it was better than nothing.

Lionel took a slightly convoluted route, but Aramis was easily able to follow it. He noted that.

“Alex, this route is too direct to suit me.”

“Understood. Got a suggestion?”

“Pull two blocks north and resume.”

“Sounds good. Lionel, did you get that?”

“Yes, sir, will do.” The man was strictly professional. He might not agree, but he’d accept the guidance without debate.

Of course, their terminus was known. There was only one gate in big enough to handle the limo. Alex said nothing, but Aramis noticed everyone shift slightly to make weapon access easier, so he stretched and did the same. Highland might disapprove, so they weren’t going to mention it.

The protest zones were a block shy of the forum, and weren’t supposed to be on the approach route. It was clear they were. Situated in vacant lots, they faced each other across the street. Whoever had set this up was an idiot.

Of course, there were several entourages in limos of different types. A convoy of three was just ahead of them, and one group pelted it with garbage.

Lionel said, “This traffic is too slow for safety. Should I divert?”

Alex said, “Yes,” as Highland said, “No!”

He diverted, pulling from between the escort vehicles, cutting obliquely across traffic, taking the left turn and accelerating. They went right past the protesters, who seemed to have brought all their kitchen trash with them.

Aramis observed. The crowd split in age between the very old and the quite young. It split between those in traditional Arab dress, and those in conservative younger dress. They would have religious or moral objections to some of Highland’s many policies, or those of the government.

Highland shouted, “This is my vehicle, my meeting and my mission, and you will do as I say!”

Alex was on the phone, hush hood up, talking to someone. Highland turned to Elke, who was carefully looking out the window and writing notes. She faced Shaman, who was checking his response bag for something. She faced Aramis.

He hadn’t moved fast enough, so he said, “Ma’am, this group knows who you are and doesn’t like you.”

She paused for a moment.

“Look at their makeup as we go,” he said. They were a block away by now. “They’re religious, mostly Amala, composed of quite young and quite old. That means they’re swinging back to the conservative side.”

Alex finished and said, “Lionel, go ahead and swing around. We should have an unobstructed approach. From now on, we’ll do our own staging.”

“Understood.”

Highland asked, “So what are you saying?”

“I’m merely observing that the two military vehicles marked us, they knew who you were, and we were unable to move.”

“I’m late, and it will show up as cowardice, with us pulling away.”

Alex said, “I can state we perceived your safety was improved by the diversion.”

“You’d better,” she said crossly.

“I’d rather do that than have to fight,” he said.

They were back around, as Aramis wondered at the insecurity or narcissism of someone who, with that much power, was concerned about being late. It seemed there was nothing to her but appearance.

Alex said, “The military escort will meet us as we turn back onto Amadi Street.”

The troops were waiting, and pulled in as they turned north again.

Which was just as the two groups of protesters started hurling debris at each other.

Lionel asked, “Alex, what do I do?”

“We’ve already been pelted. May as well go through.”

“Understood.”

Yeah, what was more garbage? Except it looked as if there might be rocks. Then fistfights broke out in both groups. The limo drew between them and took impacts, though it was doubtful even the larger rocks would damage the surface.

Then someone started shooting.

Alex said, “Get us out of here.” Everyone had hands under coats, resting on guns. Lionel threw them in reverse and sounded the horn for the follow vehicle to move.

Highland said, “I have to get to the forum. It is far more important than safety, and I thought this car was bulletproof?”

“Ma’am, it is, but they’ve escalated from protest to garbage to firearms. I’m not comfortable with the escalation. I’m diverting, we can reassess, and reapproach.”

“No. We’re continuing.”

Alex sighed. “It is your prerogative to continue at this point, ma’am. I will override you if we actually get engaged. I comply, under protest. Lionel, proceed.”

“Forward,” he said, and they accelerated.

Then stopped.

The crowd had broken through the barricades on one side, had swarmed the street toward the other group, but were now milling in the roadway, blocking movement.

Elke muttered, “How familiar.” She fumbled with something, which Aramis assumed was explosive.

He was amazed at how calm he felt. Apparently, enough firefights, a combat wound and a torture session had acclimated him to stuff like this.

The crowd realized the limo contained someone of note, then someone deduced that military escort implied a high-ranking Earth dignitary. In moments, people were shouting her name and rocking the massive vehicle on its suspension. Others were fighting them, pulling them away. They were presumably supporters of her.

The wrestling turned to punching, knifing, broken bottles and gunfire.

Alex said, “Lionel, disperse them.”

He nodded and hit a button. One of the new stench gases farted out from under the car. It was fascinating to see it work. It was so overpowering that everyone stopped their activity and ran aimlessly, smacking into vehicles, curbs, each other, crawling, stumbling to feet and running more. In twelve seconds the entire street was clear forty meters each way. Aramis smelled nothing. The same control had buttoned them up and they were now on canned oxygen.