Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Had he really been nailing the little whore? Or was she an opportunistic bitch making up stories to cash in?

Either way, that was a one-two punch to the guts of that condescending cunt Amelia. This, right after Huble’s operatives had promised she’d ride out the trouble. She was a spoiled, frigid, diamond-digging cunt, and this should wreck her to more sleeping pills and sedatives. In two weeks, they could claim that was an ongoing problem, and that should be the end of that campaign.

It was back down to her and Cruk.

Damon Huble appreciated Highland’s employ. She paid promptly from her not insubstantial personal accounts, her campaign funds from her legion of jabbering idiots, and occasionally, from money shifted from her position accounts. She always repaid that promptly, which would help in any kind of political dispute, but he had warned her once that it was illegal to pierce that veil, regardless of repayment. Official funds were official. He’d warned her. Once. Highland didn’t like being told things she didn’t want to hear, regardless of legality, but for several reasons he needed to cover his own ass. No campaign or administration lasted forever, and any number of suits and charges were possible. Any smart staffer covered all angles.

Really, it was a delight to perform these tasks for her. They were a challenge, a puzzle, and their resolution always satisfying. They were more satisfying the more artistic the result. He was especially proud of this one.

She’d covered all costs from a discreet, completely legal account filled with donations from her special fans. He’d kept it thirty percent under his original estimate to her, fifteen percent under his own private estimate. The payments were all tagged for perfectly legal processes and promotions to three companies neither of them owned. They had total deniability of any impropriety.

In addition, he’d been able to tell another client that he’d accomplished their task at the same time, and pocketed only a consultancy fee, no operations costs. Completely legal, and they were more than happy to make that payment by anonymous transfer through Sealand, Ceres and Breakout Station Bank in the Grainnean system into his anonymous account groundside.

Politics was the one game where every player wanted to leverage every other player. And if he could use the funds of an inevitable loser-Highland-to support the campaign of a certain winner-Cruk, the Secretary General, then so much the better for all involved. Except for Highland, of course, once the campaign folded. Or if not, once the legal charges started.

But he had warned her. Once.

Hepgard would be very happy. No doubt the bonus he was paying would also be reflected in Hepgard’s own account. There was plenty to go around. On Earth, he was sure the SecGen benefited, but wasn’t going to ask. The end result was to soften up Highland so he could get that position. It would probably be a decade, but he’d get the appointment. And if she did win, she might appoint him anyway, with plenty of dirt to use on her in return. Thuggery on Mtali, dishonesty with government money in her campaign. A good start, but it would take more.

Franklin Lezt sat in another hotel, awaiting Hepgard for followup. He’d had two stiff grape vodkas already. He really wasn’t sure if the man got it.

He watched the scrolling news feed. It was almost at that critical point, and that meant playing the trump.

A knock on the door indicated Hepgard, and he buzzed the man in, set the interference and did not offer him a drink.

“So now she’s at twenty-eight percent and climbing,” he said at once.

Hepgard said, “That’s just reaction to Hunter being effectively quashed.” He looked around for a seat for himself. There wasn’t one, on purpose. He sat on the bed instead.

Lezt said, “Yes, but she keeps climbing.” He gripped his drink and the arm of the chair.

“Guy, my techniques are proven. She’s just molecularly coated against shit.”

“It seems like it.” He wanted to be angry, but Hepgard was right. It should be working. Just nothing stuck to her. That little twitch personal she had, JessieM, was both a brilliant spinster and very popular. How could anyone hate a college girl turned promoter, who had no perversions, drinking problems, whatever? It seemed her only purpose in life was to ping inane messages around the nodes, and she was brilliant at it, and now getting paid.

He said, “The first thing is, do not touch JessieM. No matter what. She’s a favorite pet and it will only be seen negatively.”

Hepgard nodded. “Agreed. Do you have something specific in mind for the other?”

“It’s time she made a personal sacrifice for her party.”

“Guy…” Hepgard stopped.

“Yes, that’s what we’re down to. She cannot break thirty percent!”

“What is it with you and that number?”

The man didn’t know, and he’d have to be told. Lezt took another heavy swallow, winced and looked up. “At thirty-two percent, it’s established by the election commission that she can have Special Service security freely as a campaigner. She’d only have to pay transport costs for her own people. No Ripple Creek, still with BuState security, free military resources on request, all government. If she goes down for anything in front of the SecGen’s personal guard, he takes the hit.”

“I thought that didn’t take effect until ninety days out?”

“That’s for anyone over five percent. It’s twenty percent at a hundred and twenty days, thirty-two percent at one eighty, which is next week.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” Hepgard was wide-eyed at the implied but not directly stated subject of assassination.

“My boss has agreed to the same elements used for that… apprehension.”

Hepgard snorted. “Which doesn’t seem to have worked. They didn’t kill the man, and he’s back at work. Highland benefitted by ignoring it. They’ve demanded more money and got it.”

“In this case they’ll be available to encourage her into an area where some very bad people will be outraged at civil society and very violent. So sad, but she tried so hard, let us remember her as we move on. Your job is to find that location, prep it, ensure everyone is in the right state of mind, and let me know. Keep in mind there’s about twenty-six hours of delay round trip.”

“And you want this in a week?” Hepgard looked very unsure. That was a nice score, but he better get sure in a hurry.

“I do. Why are you still here?”

Hepgard turned and walked to the door. As he closed it behind himself, Lezt heard him mutter, “Fucker.”

And Franklin Lezt had just enough of a recording to ensure that any claims against him would take down the SecGen, as well as BuInt.

Jason stretched in his chair. He needed more exercise. He didn’t like exercise, but he disliked not exercising more. However, as assistant team leader, he had administrative stuff to handle, and some specifics to follow up on. He was worried about Aramis, but the man did seem to be recovering properly. Still, the intimate details were going to be a problem for the man, and he wanted to do what he could to help.

Which was what the first tagged message was about. He opened it, let it decrypt, then decrypted the decrypt.

Aramis sat across the room, occupied with some kind of work of his own-charts, maps, something. He wasn’t going to come see the screen, was what mattered. That established, Jason screened the message.

“Dear Jason,

“Thank you so much for keeping me informed. Aramis is a good friend, and yes, I was worried about him, about all of you, in fact, after you treated me so well during a very trying time.

“I have no specific information on who might be the threat to you or your charge. These things are generally discussed in private, completely off record, and the government responds to my ignoring most of its actions by ignoring me in return.