Backshot (19 page)

“Any problem?” Sergeant Daly asked.

“No, just checking.”

“Let’s move, we want to be well away from here by sunrise.”

Nomonon stepped out at a brisk walking pace. The tunnel was wide enough for a man to walk without brushing the walls.

Kindy paused a couple of seconds to look at the control panel at the foot of the hole. In infrared it also showed sign of six buttons being used. It took only a five-key sequence to open and close the entrance, and he wondered again what the sixth key might be used for.

Watch Office, the Cabbage Patch

Private Second Class Handquok’s head jerked up at a chime and he shook his head. He blinked at the bank of displays. Most of them showed the same unchanging views that had been boring him to sleepiness for two hours. Then he saw an unexpected red light. He checked the monitor matched to the telltale, but saw only the expected darkness under the trees of a moonless night. He leaned forward and tapped the light with a fingernail. It stayed red.

“Hey, Sarge?” he called.

“What’s up?”

“Look at this. The telltale says the tunnel’s outer door is open.”

Sergeant Oble, the sergeant of the guard, leaned over Handquok’s shoulder and looked at his displays. Sure enough, the indicator light for the outer tunnel door said the tunnel’s door was open. The monitor didn’t show anything because it was too dark.

“Hit the infra,” he ordered.

Handquok flipped the toggle that switched the exterior security camera from visual to infra. It was long enough since sundown that most of the built-up ambient heat from the ground and the rock slab door had radiated away; the differences in radiation were too slight for Oble to tell if the slab was in place.

“Try the tunnel cameras.” Oble’s jaw dropped when the monitor showed the lights in the tunnel were on. The lights were motion activated, but nobody was there!

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s wrong.” He rushed to his own desk and slapped the panic button.

Alarms sounded in the barracks and the officers’ quarters.

The Cabbage Patch

It was just as Nijakin had said, the inner end of the tunnel was on the east side of the power plant and was unsecured. Unlike the outside end, which ended in a vertical, the inside end of the tunnel had a stairway leading up to a short corridor to the exit; eight Marines were able to stand back to belly in the corridor.

Corporal Nomonon looked both ways, then signaled all-clear into the all-hands circuit. Second squad ran past him and turned sharp left to race to the communications tower. Nomonon stepped through the door on the side of the power plant. Sergeant Daly followed him.

“Let’s go,” Daly said. He and Nomonon sprinted the short distance to lab three. Sergeant Kindy and Lance Corporal Wazzen followed right behind them, racing with Lieutenant Tevedes. Tevedes put on an extra burst of speed at the end and reached the door to the lab just ahead of Daly. Tevedes turned his head and grinned at the squad leader, unmindful that his grin couldn’t be seen inside his chameleoned helmet. He reached for the doorpad and pressed. The door silently swung open and he led the way inside.

Once the door was securely closed behind them, the Marines projected a combination of infrared and low level visual light to see by.

The part of lab three they were in looked like an assembly shop. Tubes of various sizes, up to seventy-five centimeters in diameter and seven meters long, were stacked against two walls—Daly didn’t see any of the two-hundred-centimeter diameter tubes Nijakin had mentioned; he wondered if the machinist had been wrong or lied to him. Or maybe the bigger tubes had been removed. Rows of bins ran the length of the room’s central area. Between them were matrixes, some of which held tubes and other parts from the bins in partial assemblage. Daly sucked in a breath. The partly assembled things looked like barrels for advanced artillery pieces or rocket launcher tubes.

“That’s it,” Tevedes said through his speaker. “Set your charges.” He headed for the exit to tell Gunny Lytle to deploy second section for security and get the rest of first section ready to set their charges. He’d have to wait until the
Admiral Nelson
was back above the horizon before he could send the go code to the sniper team in New Granum. Daly directed his men in setting their explosives. Nomonon and Wazzen set theirs to do the most damage to the parts stored along the walls while Kindy set his to the building’s main structural supports. Daly set his own under the bins in the central area. Second squad ran to the communications tower while second section poured out to take their defensive positions; fifth and sixth squads went north to secure the area facing Lab One, the housing area, and the STOL field. Seventh and eighth squads went south to secure the approaches from the barracks. Lance Corporal Thalia of seventh squad was the first Marine to reach the southeast corner of the power plant. He collided with a soldier carrying an assault gun and both of them crashed to the ground. Floodlights sprang on in the guard towers and swiveled to probe into the compound. All they revealed was the compound’s own garrison; the flaming bolts from the Marines’ blasters didn’t need the floodlights to be seen.

There was a loud explosion, followed by a drawn out crashing noise as second squad brought down the communications tower.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Office of the President, New Granum, Union of Margelan, Atlas

“Dammit, they’re after you!” General Locksley Ollwelen exclaimed after he’d read the message flashing on Jorge Lavager’s screen.

“Eh,” Lavager made a dismissive gesture, “since when hasn’t someone been after me, Locker?”

“Dammit, Jorge, get security in here to see this thing.” Lavager only shrugged. “Jorge, either you get al-Rashid in here or I’m going to do it for you! You know who this Alfa Sierra is, don’t you? You know this is no hoax, don’t you? Get him in here. Now!”

Lavager sighed in resignation. “Get al-Rashid in here right now,” he told his private secretary. Within moments Lavager’s security chief was standing in front of him. “Franklin, read this.” Lavager leaned away from his viewscreen so the security chief could read the brief message blinking there: YOU’RE NEXT. ALFA SIERRA.

“FTL Union?” al-Rashid murmured and shook his head. “Is it a hoax, maybe?” He looked questioningly at both men. Lavager shrugged, but Ollwelen shook his head firmly. “A threat? This came via FTL Union using their commercial codes? They must know who sent it, sir, I’ll run a check.”

“Don’t bother. I know who sent it. Did you notice where it came from?”

“Yes, Fargo. Is this ‘Alfa Sierra’ a friend?”

“Yes. Franklin, if it’s who I think it is, this message comes from someone at the Central Intelligence Organization, and it means my life is in danger.”

Ollwelen snorted.

Al-Rashid nodded. “We think Gustafferson was murdered. Paragussa too. Both probably by a hired assassin working alone. I sent you a memo—”

“I was copied on it. Jorge, did you read the damned thing?” Ollwelen demanded. Lavager held up a hand. “I got the memo, gentlemen. I’m not worried about me. I can take care of myself. But what about the Cabbage Patch? If anything happens to that facility, I may as well be dead. I’ve been planning a visit out there all week. We agreed on today, now you seem to be trying to talk me out of it.”

“The Cabbage Patch is well protected, sir. And under the circumstances,” he gestured at the message, “I strongly recommend you don’t take any rides in the country just now.”

“Convince me.” Lavager leaned back in his chair and lit a Davidoff. He could always work his way through the most difficult problem if he had the help of an Anniversario. “Have one?” Al-Rashid declined the offer but Ollwelen, still frowning, took one. Lavager nodded at a chair and the security chief sat down.

“The physical security at the Cabbage Patch is state-of-the-art, sir. We’ve taken into consideration the vegetation, reshaped the terrain for security, and established three-hundred-and-sixty-degree boundary barriers. The entire facility is surrounded by fencing consisting of a mix of razor wire in concertina rolls and dual-facing aprons. The concertina is five rolls high and six wide. The apron is three meters high and set at a forty-five-degree angle.”

“What’s the strength of the security detachment?”

“A light battalion of specially trained infantry, more than three hundred and fifty troops at any given time, depending on training, sick call—you know, the usual excuses.”

Lavager nodded as he lighted his cigar. “What do you have as anti-intrusion measures?” He offered a light to Ollwelen.

“A layered defense. First there’s a two-meter-deep moat all around the facility studded with tungsten-steel spikes. Then there are infrared sensors with a minimum illumination of five microwatts per square centimeter in bands up to 1.1 microns measuring three centimeters above the ground. We have fence-mounted sensors that can detect bending of light waves caused by climbing, cutting, or lifting of the fencing materials. There is also a buried sensor line that can detect changes in a generated electromagnetic field caused by attempts to walk, run, crawl, or leap through the sensor field. There are clear zones that extend ten meters on both sides of the fencing. At the entry control point—there’s only one—the same cleared zone both inside and outside the gate. No vegetation within a radius of a hundred and fifty meters outside the fence is allowed to grow any higher than twenty centimeters. Even the drains are protected, none of which offers an opening large enough for a human, and they are sealed with welded grills.”

“We also have a strategically emplaced system of bunkers and towers, all with interlocking fields of fire,”

Ollwelen interrupted. “Then there are minefields, surveillance cameras, and anti-intrusion devices spread out around the facility up to a kilometer in every direction. The devices are under constant monitoring and maintained on a regular schedule. They’re accessed by a secure system of tunnels that can be used only by technicians who know the cipher codes, which are changed daily at different intervals.”

“What if somebody comes in from the air, using military hoppers or some sort of high-altitude, low-opening paraglide device?”

“No problem, sir. The grounds are studded with pylons to impale aircraft, parachutists, and the like. And the facility is also protected by continuous foot patrols of heavily armed guards, and there is always a quick-reaction force on call in case of emergencies. That facility is virtually impenetrable by a raiding force, sir. What we need to worry about is someone on the inside. But all our people out there have passed the most rigorous security checks. Nossir, the Cabbage Patch is secure. I guarantee it.”

Lavager drew on his cigar. “Franklin, nothing is secure from men who are daring or desperate enough to get through your screens. There is a flaw in your system somewhere,” he gestured with a finger, “and I want you to find it.”

“Buddha’s drooling lips,” Ollwelen cursed, “that’s just the point I’ve been making about your personal security all along! Only I already know what’s wrong with it: You don’t have any!”

Al-Rashid exchanged glances with Ollwelen and then said, “Very good, sir. But what about you? This message,” he nodded to the FTL Union message still blinking on the screen, “is about you, not the Cabbage Patch. Can’t I convince you to increase your guard, to stop these late-night visits to Ramuncho’s and restrict your public travel and appearances? I could arrange for a double. It is only common sense for a head of state to take these simple precautions, sir. I’m begging you—”

“The man is speaking perfect sense, Jorge!” Ollwelen exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair and jabbing his cigar at Lavager.

Lavager regarded his Minister of War and his head of security carefully. “Locker, Franklin, I hear you. But no. I am not going to be a prisoner in my own country, in my own house. Franklin, you keep up your guard, but be discreet about it. You’ll just have to adjust your security to meet my personal idiosyncrasies, that’s the way I want it to work. Gentlemen, I repeat, there is no security system that can’t be breached, and there is no one in any government who is indispensable either. I am expendable. You protect the Cabbage Patch and I’ll protect Jorge Leberec Lavager.”

“Dammit, Jorge, you’re like the man who wouldn’t fix the leak in his roof because it didn’t rain that often!”

Lavager laughed. “I know, Locker, I know, and why bother to take a bath; you’re only going to get dirty again?” He chuckled but was silent for a long moment, looking intently into the cloud of tobacco smoke in front of his head. Then: “Franklin, I’m going out to the Cabbage Patch as planned. I told you both to set this up last week. I hope neither of you called ahead and warned them I was coming. Today’s the day. But I want to arrive there like anybody else, unannounced, drive up to the gate and see how alert the sentries are, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t understand, in light of this warning, sir. I recommend air transport if you really must go out there today.”

“No. We’re driving. Franklin, as a security man you should know it’s always a good idea for the boss to pull a surprise inspection. I want to see things for myself. I want to see if there’s a chink in your armor.”

“But—?”

“Jorge! You may be right, but leave it to Franklin here to fix the problem! No damned reason for you to go running out there!”

“Yes, there is. Those inspection tunnels: They’re your Trojan horse. Now gentlemen, let’s get a move on.”

Al-Rashid hurried off to arrange transport. “I need to go back to my office at the ministry, Jorge,” Ollwelen said as he stood to go. “Need to get something there before we depart. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.” Lavager casually nodded his okay. Back at his office Ollwelen made a call.

The Medina Farm, Between New Granum and the Cabbage Patch, Union of Margelan, Atlas

Fifteen-year-old Gina Medina was alive because she wasn’t home when the men came for her family in the night. They took them all, including the farmhands who lived with the Medinas, into a barn and killed them there.

Gina’s love for the wilderness saved her life. She’d gone into the woods in the late afternoon with her dog, Roland, entered the secluded glade deep in the forest that was her secret refuge, and smoked thule until she fell asleep. It was long after dark when she awoke. Gina loved the forest. There were no creatures inimical to humans on Atlas except other humans, so wandering in the woods was totally safe, and the long walk home in the dark with Roland by her side was the perfect ending to her day. Her parents had long ago accepted Gina’s wanderings and, as long as she pulled her weight on the farm, they let her go with a parental shrug of the shoulders. And she did carry her weight on the farm. Next to the forest, she loved growing things best. But what she discovered when she got back to the farm that night was horror beyond her wildest nightmares. Later she could not remember much of the rest of the night, the discovery of the bodies of her parents and the farmhands, the destruction of the vehicles and the communications system. Dimly, she realized if she was to find help she would have to walk the twenty kilometers to the next farmstead. And what if whoever did this came back?

The sun was well up when she spotted the pall of smoke over her father’s farthest cornfield. She knew what to do about that.

En Route from New Granum to the Cabbage Patch

It was a brilliant day in New Granum, warm, sunny, clear, blue skies. “A perfect day for a ride in the country!” Jorge Liberec Lavager exclaimed, breathing in the fresh morning air. He looked at the gardens growing around the buildings on Executive Center. “Farmer’s delight, eh, Locker?” he slapped Locksley Ollwelen heartily on the back.

“My dad was a distiller,” Ollwelen said glumly.

“Yeah, I can see that by the red in your eyes, Locker. Had a bit too much of that old family bourbon last night, did you? Bad news when you got back to your office?” Ollwelen smiled weakly. He did look a bit peaked and shaky just now. “You should have invited me over.” Lavager chided his minister and then laughed.

Lavager was in an excellent mood that morning, despite the warning message and the opposition of both Ollwelen and Franklin to his trip, but he’d been looking forward to it all week and the weather was cooperating beautifully. They were standing in the shade of the main entrance to the government building, waiting for Franklin al-Rashid to join them with their transportation and security detachment.

“The hell with waiting, Locker, let’s take my car and just you and me, we’ll drive on out to the Cabbage Patch,” Lavager said suddenly.

“But—”

“Come on, we’ll show up out there like tourists, lost and asking for directions. See if they can recognize us. Besides, we convoy out there and everyone’ll know we’re coming. We might as well make an announcement in the media.”

“Jorge, you can’t just, just—” He gestured in frustration. Lavager laughed again. “I know. I’m a prisoner in my own land. Well, I thought I’d try.”

Three heavily armored landcars rolled to a halt at the bottom of the steps below where the pair stood. Several burly security officers, followed by al-Rashid, piled out of the vehicles and rushed up to Lavager.

“Follow us, sir,” one of them said. The others surrounded Lavager, their eyes never resting on him but roaming all over the landscape, looking for signs of possible danger. They protected him with the bulk of their own bodies.

“You see why I don’t like this security business, Locker? I already feel an attack of claustrophobia coming on.”

“You ride in the second vehicle, sir,” al-Rashid ordered.

“Wait a minute, Franklin, do we really need all this security? Nobody knows where we’re going. Dammit, I wanted to arrive out there as inconspicuously as possible!” He gestured at the three large cars and all the guards.

“Sir, this is just standard security for a head of state.”

“Well, I resign then! As of this moment I am plain Mister Lavager!” Al-Rashid looked at Lavager in astonishment, his mouth half open.

Lavager shrugged. “Oh, all right. I know, I know. But no, if I’ve got to put up with this farce I’m riding shotgun in the first vehicle. If you aren’t the first dog in line, the view never changes, eh Locker? We learned that on those long forced marches when we were lieutenants, right?”

Ollwelen started. “What?”

“Locker, what
is
the matter with you this morning?”

Ollwelen grinned sheepishly. “Well, Jorge, you riding in the middle car is to protect you from roadblocks in the front, and vehicle attacks from the rear,” Ollwelen protested. “I need to ride in the first vehicle to support the fire team.”