That next morning, ready to start their nonroutine schedule, Alex entered the common room after his briefing by secure vid with the higher-ups. He was tired already.
"Okay, we have another issue. . . ." He paused automatically, knowing there'd be groans. He waited while they tapered off. "BuState demands we make an attempt of nonlethal force."
He paused again. They noticed the box under his arm, of course.
"It's not that bad, guys. I spoke at length with a Mister Doug deWitt, and this is largely a public image issue. They want the appearance that we're ready to use nonlethal force, and if it turns out it's not possible, we can shoot the skinnies the way we should anyway."
"Yeah, but that image can get us killed," Jason said. "What happens when we're busy putting on a show while someone uses real firepower?"
"Gotcha covered," Alex nodded and grinned. They were going to love this.
He popped open the box and pulled out the baton.
"This comes from a company that specializes in police 'tactical' products. Corporate told them what our requirements were, and they came up with this, and I, personally, like it."
He raised the device, pointed it at Aramis, and gave him a moment to prepare, then pressed the button. The resulting flash was bright enough to overbear the daylight for a moment, and Aramis recoiled.
"Goddam!" he shouted.
"Yup," Alex agreed. "Two thousand lumens. In less than full daylight it'll stun someone to the ground. It's also a solid chunk of high-density polymer that can crush pipe," he said as he leaned into the kitchenette and cracked it hard against the worktable. Pieces flew. Not from the baton. "In case you need to hit someone. You'll notice the bulb end is serrated, so if someone tries to grab it they'll slice their hand up. You can also jab with that and then press again." He did so and an arc crackled between the crenellations. "If you have to, you can aim it—" He chose Elke this time, who stiffened slightly but nodded as he continued. "—and press." The stun function zapped and made her twitch in her chair, eyes rolling back for a moment before she shook her head woozily and recovered.
Into the appreciative silence he said, "And that's as nonlethal as I plan to get, thank you." He took another swing at the bench and left a depression in the slick polymer.
"So after we light them up and zap them, can we juice 'em a second time and then crush their skull?" Aramis asked. He seemed eager to try the concept.
"I believe that would constitute excessive force," Alex said. "We just want to be able to say we tried. Just be glad we have Mister deWitt at BuState. He's slightly to the right of Genghis Khan. How he got a job with those fluffy bunnies I don't know, but we'll take it."
"We have a schedule yet?" Aramis asked.
"Yes, we're escorting the President to make his introductory speech in four hours. Both the military and I suggested he do so from his office by camera. No go. He has to be in public." He didn't mention the argument he'd had over their weapons.
"Is the military coming along?" Elke asked.
"Yes, Elke. They have outer perimeter, we have up close. So our lives depend on them doing their job right." There were groans.
"At least they're Recon and not just maggots," Jason said.
Aramis was clearly getting ticked at the comments thrown back at him. "Jason, just what the fuck did you do in the military?" he asked with a stare.
"Knuckle dragging engineer, son. I dug the holes for us to die in." His own stare was confident and arrogant without being cocky. He was too experienced to be twitted, and seemed to like the sparring. "I knew my job and yours."
Aramis didn't respond. Any response would escalate things and get nowhere.
Alex did nothing, but waited to see if it would die there. It did.
"Recon is good, has a mission, and is keen on doing it. That's the best we can hope for. We're taking two vehicles for us, and will be together. I plan on fifth and sixth position on the way there; we'll randomize on the way back. First two cars will look like the official ones and have goons. Next two are Recon. Then us. Then more Recon.
"Any armor or real military vehicles in there?" Bart asked.
"Nope, this is a civilian mission. We'll all be in civvies. Body armor underneath, no helmets once we arrive."
"What is with helmets anyway?" Bart asked. "If we are being discreet, we can't wear them. If we are in public, we can't wear them. Needless weight."
"Well, just in case we do find a need, we have them," Alex said. "I won't require anyone to wear them, but do have them here. Elke, does that modified armor fit?"
"I'm wearing it now," she said. "And I still look like a girl. Though I would like a higher neckline, even under a suit."
"Is it a problem?"
"No, just personal choice in coverage. This will work. I have three small distractions in my pockets," she said, and slipped one out. It was a flat packet in the palm of her hand.
"A candy bar?" Jason asked.
"It was at one time, and it was delicious. Now it will give you heartburn," she smiled.
"That tiny thing?" Aramis asked, incredulous.
"This tiny thing," she confirmed, "will remove a limb within a meter. Bright flash. Loud bang. Much smoke. I have another that will bounce across the floor and make four small detonations mimicking mortar fire, and one other that is just a tremendous flash. We will take suntan from it."
"Excellent. I'd say stick with the first one for now."
"I will do so. Should I deploy it on arrival, or wait for orders?"
"Wait. We'll see what happens. Can you sleight-of-hand it if needed?"
"I could also plant it and recover it later, if it is outside."
Alex pondered that. Any lurking around without orders or some justification would draw attention. They could justify going in early. Not hanging around afterward. The security profile would change before the next trip, so it would be shaky to claim it.
"Hold it for now."
"Yes, sir."
Tech White came up, with Sergeant Buckley guarding her and some flunky named Wilson. Wilson was an older AF master sergeant, and motherly in a bitter fashion. She fussed over their appearance, criticized their shirt fronts and gloves. The process was three minutes in when Elke said, "Sergeant Wilson, can you advise me on this?"
"Hmmm? What is it?"
"My collar. It's not standing right."
"Oh, I see . . ." While Wilson fumbled, Elke shot a sly grin to Alex and the others and mouthed, You owe me, silently. The men grinned. While Elke still looked female in her tailored suit, even with the body armor, the gear underneath made her look about ten kilos heavier, all muscle, and the glasses and earbuds made her look not at all dainty.
But Wilson worked at some faint wrinkles, lint, and creases, and by the time the fussing was done, it was time to leave.
"First gig, let's make it a milk run. Tech White, please lead the way."
"Yes, sir. President Bishwanath is waiting." She held doors and Buckley acted as extra security. He handled his gear well, Alex noted. He hadn't said anything to anyone so far, any time they'd met him.
The team waited outside the door while Alex entered to see Rahul prepping Bishwanath, in detail. The President was impeccably dressed in charcoal gray, a genuine Saville Row suit that must have cost a month's wages for a contractor. He looked nervous, but only normal stage nervousness. He didn't seem afraid of violence.
Weilhung was in the suite with him with one soldier he didn't introduce. Both were dressed to fight and had minimal gear strapped on and accessible. They had carbines slung muzzle down. They clashed with the President and the fine appointments of the room, done in earth tones and cool tans of wood and leather.
Meeting Alex's eyes and nodding, Bishwanath said, "I am ready. Can you please review for me?"
"Yes, sir. We'll be taking two vehicles in the middle of the motorcade. I'll be in with you, along with Weil and Anderson. The others will be in the vehicle ahead. They will dismount and clear a path to the entrance. I will confirm, and we will move out behind you as they come to take the front. Once inside, we will wait in your vicinity, rotating as needed and patrolling likely threat areas. Departure will be similar. Major Weilhung's soldiers"—he indicated with an inclusive wave—"will also be in the convoy and on-site. They will provide what we call proactive force against potential threats. We are more reactive if there is a problem. I don't anticipate any, but am prepared.
"I see you have your briefcase and umbrella. Later on, we'll need to review and practice using those, sir, if you don't mind. For now, please do bring them and do your best if there's an incident." The umbrella was made of ballistic cloth and the briefcase unfolded to hang in front as additional torso armor.
"Excellent." Bishwanath nodded. "Then I am ready. Please lead on." He nodded to Rahul and Weilhung and started to move.
The team formed up on him as he moved through the outer parlor, and guided on his steps by the time that door was reached. By the end of the hallway they were pacing him. They took the stairs tactically, for practice, one pair moving down to each landing with pistols still holstered and batons in hand, then falling in behind as the entourage passed.
The motorcade waited in the archway outside the long corridor. The drivers were Recon soldiers in suits. Theirs were not as confining and pricey—they only had to look good at a distance. The soldiers inside the compartments would not be in suits, but in urban battle gear.
Situated just inside the door was the clearing barrel. Elke drew her pistol, slipped the muzzle into the gasketed opening, and fired one round. Between barrel and weapon muzzle chamber, it made only a heavy slamming sound, not a sharp report. She reholstered it and grabbed the door as Shaman function checked his. In turn, each of them fired one test round. The weapons were top of the line and Jason had flogged them over. A live fire test before each maneuver still made sense.
Elke and Shaman held the doors open. There was a light breeze as cool air rushed out and down under the summer heat rolling in above, the thin dryness a palpable thing. Bishwanath exited with Aramis ahead and Bart and Alex flanking, with Jason bringing up the rear. Jason moved around the body of the formation to get the limo door, and Elke and Shaman filled in behind it. Aramis stepped inside the vehicle, followed by Bishwanath. His other two personals climbed in with him and moved to front and back seats, Jason closed the door and checked it, then stepped in behind the others as they circled the limo for the car ahead of it. Elke had the door and climbed in behind him.
It was a finely choreographed dance routine. Except that this one was designed to take, and took, the President from the palace to his car with no immediate notice, in the space of too few seconds for most shooters, and with most of him covered by bodies.
Jason called on radio and said, "We're buttoned up."
"Rolling," Alex agreed. "Driver, we're ready. Major Weilhung, at your call."
Weilhung said, "Roger. Rolling."
Once moving, Bishwanath said, "Agent Marlow, I am very impressed by how your people work. It's like being inside a machine designed to protect me. I appreciate it."
"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure they know. Are you ready for your presentation?"
"Yes, I am. Oddly, stage fright doesn't bother me anymore." He chuckled.
The trip wasn't long, and Alex plotted the route on his handheld, tracking civilian and military vehicles, air cover, and nearby assets. He knew Jason and Elke were, too. It was habit and training more than precaution. There was no reason for a military convoy to get lost, and the area was saturated with troops. When his eyes ached from the small screen, he took another look at the limo. Roomy, tall, lots of luxury features, armored enough for any small arms and some support weapons. While not a tank or APC, it was far better than anything smaller. They had "minimal" weapons aboard—enough for an infantry fireteam.
"Incoming fire!" someone said, snapping him alert. Then he heard some pops. Bart had his pistol out, cradled in his lap, hands covering it for control and discretion. Aramis was a moment behind. Alex reached for his, but paused with a hand in his coat and decided to use his radio instead.
Clicking his transmitter to Weilhung, Alex said, "Sounds like light arms and normal harassment. Concur?"
Weilhung replied, "I agree. Hostiles do not appear to be targeting us directly, nor accurately. I'm watching it and continuing on mission profile."
Nevertheless, Alex checked his pistol under his coat again, and noticed Aramis and Bart kept theirs out for now.
Despite the sporadic fire, there were no actual direct hits. The trip proceeded well enough. Just more skinnies shooting it out for macho factor.
"Stand by," Alex said.
"Check," said Jason. Transmitted information was kept minimal. They all knew the drill; commo was just to coordinate.
Shortly, they pulled up in front of the Civic Center, which was the only public building in the district large enough, still intact and with the proper dignified presence to be used for this meeting. The Senate Building, the Federal Courthouse, and the National Building were all rubbled ruins.
There was a crowd here, Alex noted without surprise. Mostly media, some supporters, a few opponents. He briefly considered a comment to Jason, but Jason had done this before and knew what to do.
"We'll wait for them to clear the route, then proceed," he said while looking at Bishwanath. He also meant it as a discreet reminder for Aramis, on his first high-profile mission.
The vehicles stopped. Local police had the plaza clear, which made Alex frown. Not the most reliable support. Shaman and Elke got out and each took one side of the line, walking up toward the entrance. Jason stood by the car as cover. Assorted dignitaries and suited Recon got out of the other vehicles and began walking in. At this point, no one should know where Bishwanath was.
Then Elke and Shaman were walking back, and Alex's radio said, "Clear" and "Clear." He nodded and Bishwanath and the others tensed slightly.
Jason stood by their limo and opened the door, letting a wave of hot, dry air rush in. Bart got out first, then Aramis. Alex nodded to the President's attentive gaze, and Bishwanath stepped out behind them and started walking. Alex hopped lightly out behind him, Jason closed the door and fell in, then Elke and Shaman came back and alongside. They were halfway up the long, tessellated walk before anyone recognized him, and inside before there was any response more than a few shouts.
Perfect. It was a nice omen and a good first impression to be absolutely flawless.
Almost flawless.
The Civic Center was under control of the military, specifically, the Army. There was a checkpoint manned by bureaucrats in uniform, not five meters inside.
Officially, they were Recon, too, but it took only a glance to determine they lacked the skill set or intellect of Weilhung's people.
"Mister Marlow, hi," one of them said, without looking up from the screen. She offered a hand perfunctorily, which he shook to avoid friction. "You can check your batons and sidearms here, and there's a waiting area set aside for you. I'll have you escorted."
"There is going to be a problem," he announced. His voice was on the loud side of conversational, and he recognized that. Deep breath. Don't kill the flunky. Yet. He was also sweating in the cool, dark foyer.
"Sir?" At last, the sniveler looked up.
"Unless the President releases us, we are staying with him. And we do not disarm." There. Calm and straightforward.
The response was one of those smug, condescending grins he just wanted to smash with the baton.
"Mister Marlow, this facility is under military control, and safety is guaranteed—" Alex flicked his eyes at Elke and made a bare shake of his head. She smiled and crinkled her eyes, but nodded the same way, no more than a half centimeter. She would not give lie to that statement. Yet. "—and it's best for everyone's safety if we keep control of all weapons. You understand of course."
Bishwanath wasn't happy, and was in fact, getting angry. This was his nation, but both UN BuState and the Army seemed to think he was a puppet to push around. They denied that status vociferously in the media, but went right back to setting his schedule and "advising" him and shuffling him around like a flunky.
He wasn't going to say anything yet. He wanted to see how Marlow handled it. Was Marlow another puppet, and would he accept the role? Was his loyalty to BuState, Bishwanath, or himself?
Marlow seemed moderately agitated. There was a pause that lengthened, while the officious little twit stared in growing confusion.
"It's 'Agent' Marlow," Marlow said. "Not 'Mister.' And my contract isn't with the Army or BuState, it's with the Office of the President of Celadon, which is the Honorable Balaji Bishwanath. I take orders from him, or from my chain of command. So if you can reach my District Agent, or if Mister Bishwanath concurs, we'll check our gear."
"Very well, if you wish to be formal," the woman said—she came across as a "woman," not as a "soldier." She still hadn't stood up from her desk. Meanwhile, people were milling about. Bishwanath saw three District Representatives from the capital, two others from outskirt regions, and Mister deWitt from BuState, who was looking rather amused at the exchange.
But then the . . . soldier was addressing Bishwanath. "So will you please relay our request to your contractor, sir?" She made the word contractor sound like a cross between "pet dog" and "maid." And since Bishwanath's mother had been a maid for most of her life, he really got annoyed.
"I will not," he said. He waited for the confused look to return, then grinned. For a moment, he saw Marlow's face, which was also grinning.
"But, sir, Army policy—"
"This is not an Army function," he replied. "This is a formal meeting of the District Councils and myself. The Army's function is to keep outside threats outside and away."
"But we've taken control of this building," the woman said stupidly. She'd already lost the debate and didn't have any grasp of it.
"It is a civic building, and falls under the Office of the Mayor," Bishwanath said. "As Executive, he answers to the Executive Branch. That is me. If he gave you such authority, I am revoking it. Did he?"
"Er, well, lieutenantcanyouhelpme?" the woman said, turning.
The lieutenant was already standing behind his poor, outgunned sergeant. However, the question was one he hadn't been prepared for. "Er . . . I don't know if he did or not, sir. To be honest."
"Well, it's quite simple," Bishwanath said. "If he didn't, your presence here is not authorized. If he did, I can countermand it. Now, for the sake of good relations, getting started on time, not making a scene, and not interfering with the Army's ability to perform its mission, I will allow you to stay. I see no need to change a plan that's working in the middle. We shall discuss who has what jurisdiction afterwards." Yes, indeed, we shall. You bastards.
"And in the meantime, it pleases me to have Agent in Charge Marlow and his team escort me to my booth, and to sit nearby. I also believe their apparent civilian presence will improve the perception that I am actually in charge here, and not a mouthpiece for the UN SecGen and Assembly . . ." He paused a moment, watching the expressions of embarrassment, discomfort, and anger, before concluding, ". . . as some have implied in the news."
The lieutenant actually looked relieved. Possibly not having to put his name on the decision?
"Very good, sir," he said with a slight sigh as he exhaled a held breath. "I'll relay that at once to—"
Bishwanath didn't wait to find out who he planned to ask to be the next obstacle. He turned and said, "Agent Marlow, gentlemen, lady, please escort me."
Then he turned his back on the Army and walked past the booth. He was quite confident that . . . and yes, there they were. The team was around him again, in a perfect square, guiding off his steps. Miss Sykora was slipping what had to be some kind of small explosive back into her pocket.
He grinned. No, he had not been intended to be a sovereign, only a figurehead. But that was changing. Oh, yes. The mobs, gangs, and clans had been warring over this land for a hundred years. He didn't like the waste and suffering from that, and he was damned if the UN was going to add its different, more evolved, but still corrupt influence to the mix.
Behind them, the Army was having a shouting match over who had authority, and who might be prevailed upon to destroy their career by stopping Bishwanath. He smiled. Now if only the negotiations ahead would go as well . . .