Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

“Okay. Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“Jason, where’s your safehouse? We’ll divert there.”

“It’s a safe room. Northwest.”

“‘Safe room’?” Highland asked. “As in an emergency retreat?”

“Not very secure, but no one should know it exists and we can keep jamming against scans. We can gear up there. I have some extra funds stashed.”

Jessie asked, “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, we’re heading through an area controlled by the Pure Shia. They’re looking at our lone vehicle rather angrily.”

Alex said, “I think it’s more hungrily. They have quite a few veterans who know how to operate one.”

“Good point. In either case, there’s no way around and I expect some trouble.”

“How’s the traffic?”

“Starting to get very tight. I can plow or crush light scooters. Actual cars will stop me.”

“Detour as needed, keep moving. We’ll need to swap out and abandon this. Elke, we don’t want them to get hold of it.”

“Fireworks it is,” she said, clearly cheerful.

Jason said, “It’s going to be soon. I’m on a secondary now, if I have to turn again we’re going to be hosed.”

“Roads aren’t wide enough?”

“No, they seem not to have taken advantage of the modern grid layout other than the main thoroughfares. They balkanized their neighborhoods on arrival and made a mess.”

Alex called, “Everyone ready for transfer?”

There were nods and rattles.

“Ms. Highland, Jessie, we are about to abandon this vehicle and commandeer another. It will be noisy. It may be a bit rough. Grab onto Elke’s pack, and Jessie, you onto Aramis’s. Keep hold as much as possible. There could be some bruising. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“What do you have, Jason?”

He took in the surroundings and reported. “I think we have a half a block. I see several good Mercedes we can use. I have a coder that should work on most of them. They’re common enough to get us farther out before another swap.”

“Sounds good. Do it.”

“They’re in front of a hotel. Elke, you’ll need to distract people.”

Elke stood swaying and took broad steps to the rear. “I have smoke, squibs and mild irritant.” It was about time she got to do her job. She gestured to Highland, who nodded a bit vacantly but did grab Elke’s harness.

He braked hard and she clutched a rail to avoid sliding forward.

“In five, four, three, two, one. Drop the ramp.”

Aramis hit the ramp release; it clanged to the ground. Shaman went first. Elke followed, skipping down the angle with Highland hanging on through a near stumble. Once in sunlight, she took station still half on the ramp, her body and the side armor protecting the principal.

Bart was right behind her, and went past at a brisk walk.

Shaman knew his stuff. He casually opened the car’s gullwing door, reached in before the driver could respond coherently, and dragged the man out by his collar. Bart slid into the driver’s seat and dropped the door. Elke shoved Highland loose, next to the passenger door.

The driver’s expression went from confused to irritated to angry, and he started jabbering in Arabic or Turkish or something, as Shaman zapped him with a stun baton. It was all still relatively quiet, but some bystanders had passed the surprise stage and were in the alarm stage. That was her cue. She thumbed a code, slid a package tab into it, then tossed it on the sidewalk. It whuffed into a cloud of smoke that obscured them from anyone on that side. She followed with a second thrown behind the car and in the middle of traffic.

Aramis came through with Jessie clinging to his back, bent over and making meep ing noises. Aramis dove in the back easily, Shaman helped shove Jessie in. Jason made a quick check, assumed the package in the ARPAC was Elke’s parting gift, and rolled in himself.

Alex grunted, “Elke, go.”

“Moving,” she announced for Highland’s benefit. At least the woman was trained well at this aspect. She moved well enough.

The crowd was starting to panic and point, though. Elke tossed squibs in two directions as Shaman steered Highland into the rear. She waited a moment for the squibs to start cracking in loud, echoey reports, and slid in, using her arse to shove Highland further back.

Alex came last. He rolled rather nimbly for a man of his age, over the quarter panel, and slid into the shotgun seat. He hadn’t finished closing the door before Bart had them in traffic with the throttle nailed.

“Your coder works,” he said to Jason.

“I thought the engine was already running.”

“The driver had a disconnect. He pressed it and looked smug. Then he looked concerned. Then he ceased looking anything when Shaman dropped him.”

Alex said, “Well done. Get us lost first.”

“Moving,” Bart agreed and took a turn.

Elke scrolled through her feeds, didn’t see something, and said, “Alex, we have a problem.”

“Talk to me.”

“Jessie’s update is not showing on the churp feed. I am seeing other feeds that look like her style. Did you say something about a trip to the Eastern Forest Reserve?”

Jessie looked confused. “No?”

Alex shouted, “The receivers. Jessie, give your phone to Elke right now!”

Jessie stuttered and said, “Uh, okay. Hacked?” She handed her phone over reluctantly.

Elke flipped it, popped the back, pulled the power cell, pulled the card and fumbled for a case. She had one in a thigh pocket she used to isolate circuits, but she was squashed next to the door and Jessie. It took considerable wiggling and arching, but she got it and placed the card inside.

“Yes, hacked,” she said. “None of this is going on local or system feed. Someone has control of the service, which is run by the Lezt family. They are either corrupted or conspirators. And oh, yes.” She clicked her detonator. There should be two warning pops to reduce casualties, a shame that, and then…

BANG, flash, thump.

She did love overpressure.

Highland seemed to come around to something at the mention of Lezt. She didn’t notice the explosion.

“It would take someone in UN Security Agency or Intelligence to order the nodes locked, even that minimal amount. It must be Lezt doing it for some third party.”

Jason said, “And that third party is UNSA or UNBI, working under orders from someone in your party.”

She shook her head. “I’m not convinced of that at all. You’re being dangerously paranoid.”

Alex said, “That’s my job. I’m paranoid so you don’t have to be. Regardless of who it is, they’ve set it up so they can get signals and you can’t communicate. We have spare phones, but we can’t waste them for Miss Jessie to churp notes. If they accomplish nothing else, they’ve cut your communications, and are masquerading as you.”

“I agree with that. How do we stop them and get control back?”

Jason said, “That depends on how they approach it. This just became an intel fight.”

Aramis said, “As I see it, and I’ve done publicity, they can play this at least three ways.” He ticked off on his fingers. “They can simply post reports, and compile B roll video, to show you having meaningless PR meetings with small groups. The locations will be vague, so you can’t be positively pinned down. That gets you out of the campaign eye. Or, they could have you say some odd, malicious or incriminating things to wreck your campaign. At the far end, they’ll try to locate and kill you.”

Alex said, “It depends on if they think slowing you will do the job, sabotaging you, or if they need you as a martyr.”

“We don’t martyr people in the Egalitarian Party,” she snapped.