Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

“I can very much suggest that you look inside for threats. I know that’s what happened to me, but it’s not uncommon. However, from all I can tell, She is actually on very good terms with her family and immediate friends. They do well from her existence, and her will calls for most of her money to go to several causes, not personal inheritors. I would look for anyone who might have connected recently and has influence, and also anyone who profits from her demise. Not her family, but certain competitors, or businesses who stand to improve their position if she’s out of the way. It’s also possible for agencies to act that way, though she’s mainstream enough I can’t see her threatening enough cuts or profile changes to trigger that. Of course, someone scheming enough could manipulate others into setting up a complicated trap. I’m confident you’ll hinder that, but it could get messy and I want you all to be safe. Cocktails here when you return.

“I’ve taken the liberty of informing Aramis’s recent paramour of his safety first, incident second, with most details redacted.

“Thank you again, my trusted associate.

“C.”

He hadn’t expected Caron would have much, but she’d certainly be looking now, and she deserved to know Aramis was okay.

The list of people who’d be happy with Highland out of the way, though, was huge. Most were not able to connect here, but enough were that was a fruitless pursuit. It would take a graph that could weight each of them on several factors, several locations, timeframes, all in several dimensional arrays. There certainly were ways to set that up. He had no idea how. Elke might.

Nor was it certain only one group was targeting her. In fact, it was certainly more than that, even if some hurled nothing but invective and the occasional piss-filled water balloon.

In the meantime, they had another escort for another speech. He did have to respect Highland on that point. There weren’t a lot of votes here, but she was angling for every one she could get, and she did hold up against threats. She probably figured enough small blocs of votes could swing the election, and it was entirely possible she was too self-centered and snobbish to really grasp threats.

“Ready, Aramis?”

“Yes.” The man seemed calm, prepared and relieved to be back at work. Good. Though Shaman indicated he had occasional nightmares and was taking medication for sleep. Still, work was good therapy, and they worked best as a team.

The military had relented on the test-firing issue. The team had their own clearing barrel in their wing, in a well-insulated and deadened alcove, with extra fill to trap bullets. Officially, there was a ventilation system for toxic gases, because Cady, Alex and the BuState facilities engineer said so.

They approached the drum, Alex said, “Escort Team, performing function check,” and waited for the computer to acknowledge and flash green.

“Please proceed,” the waveform voice said.

Alex pointed his pistol and fired, checked the cycle, then repeated with his carbine. He stepped aside for Jason.

Jason never flinched when shooting, but in these quarters, even with earbuds and deadening panels, the volume was painful. Still, it was good prep and practice for combat. He let the anticipatory tension build, then drain, slipped the muzzle into the tube, and fired. The shockwave rolled over him. He reholstered, slung the carbine around, pointed, and fired.

Yes, that got the adrenaline rushing, just enough to heighten senses. He was well-primed for the mission. Not for the first time, he thought that the test fire served to check the shooter as well as the weapon.

Fergus Hendry from Facilities arrived as Bart checked his weapons. They trooped to Highland’s apartment, and Alex knocked.

“Minister Highland, we’re ready,” he said.

As always, he was polite. They worked well as a team. Alex was always polite. Jason could defuse trouble with humor. Of course, he could also exacerbate it when that served better.

Highland and Jessie stepped out to join them.

“Good morning, gentlemen, lady,” she said, also polite. They all pretended.

Hendry walked into the room to keep it occupied and secure, and coincidentally to sweep for bugs other than theirs. Jason had no idea if he planted more, or even knew about their own. He didn’t need to know.

Minutes later they were in the ARPAC and rolling.

It was likely an easy mission. She wanted to meet with some factory workers, have lunch, ask their opinions on climate, as if they were likely to have useful input, or she cared, or any other politician cared, or would do anything about it if they did. Or if they could. It was a camouflaged campaign stop.

For Highland, the ARPAC was so she could play the hero. For the team, it was an easy security improvement. It was a harder barrier. It also now had a honey pot next to the rear ramp, with a rudimentary curtain.

If it were up to them, they’d use the ARPAC for every mission. The limo looked political, but even its armored bulk wasn’t close to this beast. Politicians lived by image, though, and Highland was a slave to that unless and until she won SecGen, and probably after that.

Elke was glad to have actual weapons and not just nonlethal. More and more, society sank into decadence and avoided the practicality of just killing people who caused problems. Nonlethal force took repeated applications, and often failed to sufficiently terrify those who needed kept in place.

Highland was annoying. It was obvious to Elke she was the kind of woman who actually would like to use force when needed, but was afraid of the political repercussions. Still, she might be a better option than the effete soft-skin now occupying the Earth Mansion. On the other hand, Cruk certainly liked throwing troops around, and had at least signed off on the team’s presence, at least by proxy.

In the meantime, she had a job to do, and hopefully to enjoy.

As tough as an ARPAC was, rolling around the city in it made them a slow target. The two Grumblies on detail made it obvious it was a VIP mission, not a combat mission. That changed the profile of the threats. There were always threats.

The trip was short enough, since most of the industry was near the ports. The airport, river port and railhead all ran together on the west side, connecting to the rest of the continent. It scared her, because she knew what she could do to that infrastructure with a carful of explosive. They really needed better security, given the factional disputes. It was certain every group had a blaster good enough to accomplish that task.

They pulled up streetside, where local cops had marked a clear zone. She watched Alex for cues, nodded to his point, and dropped the hatch just slow enough not to slam it on the road. Bart led the entourage, she took tail end after the rest, as the troops and local police formed a cordon around the vehicle. That didn’t thrill her, but she’d planned accordingly. The device she left on the bench would be harmless unless someone entered the cabin, and the rear-facing camera she’d mounted up front would give her notice.

The engagement was well familiar to Bart. He led the way down the ramp, through the pathway left by police, and into the building. One of the BuState protocol people was just inside, next to the president of Wataniya Engines, Arul al-Harun Bawani, which didn’t sound like an Earth Arabic name. They fought over silly things here, and that was after leaving Earth because they couldn’t get along there.

Bawani had one assistant and one guard, both male, in Western suits but with keffiyeh. The atrium was mostly clear. Building security, and three of the military detail, plus two of Cady’s people, strode around the upper balcony. Everything was near-transparent crystal, supported by black stone a bit like marble. The floor tiles were pale gray of similar material, with gold veining. Yet if he remembered Aramis’ map correctly, a kilometer away were slum shacks of leftover wheels and packing materials.