Better to Beg Forgiveness (12 page)

"You know what's scary?" Jason asked as he pulled into cool shadow and saw Alex and Aramis in back, looking casual.

"What?" Elke asked.

"These are U.S. soldiers. Anyone else would be worse."

"Europeans are still good," she said. "Also Japanese and Koreans and Turks. I agree on most of the rest. Those countries that are good are too few in number to deploy here."

"Right. That's part of it. The U.S. pretty much has to be along to make it stick. It's still frightening how bad things are. You always hear the old guys complaining about how much better they used to be, but it's true. Discipline, morale, and skills suck."

Elke shrugged. "That's why they pay us." She opened her door and stepped out.

"Yup. Though I'd rather consult and have better regular forces," he called as he did also.

"I agree."

Aramis was jittery excited, so as soon as Jason opened the back, he handed the crate over.

"Upstairs," he said. The kid grabbed the crate and moved. The young bastard was strong, that was for sure. Wiry, clean-cut handsome, highly intelligent, and a great shot. His only really bad trait was his ego. Of course, that sort of came with being good-looking, strong, and a damned good soldier.

Elke moved ahead, checking for foot traffic, while Jason followed, handling the doors. Aramis grunted with the crate but never put it down, even though it was close to forty kilos, a load even in point nine-two G. Alex slung the two duffel bags over his shoulders and shuffled a bit from the encumbrance. The only question was whether or not they'd be seen on video and if anyone would want to stop them.

Tech White called down briefly, and Alex clutched awkwardly at his mic. No problems, no worries, no, we don't need help, and a few painful minutes later they were back in their suite.

Everyone was eager.

"That's more like it!" Aramis said as he pried open the crate. "Three belt feds, a grenade launcher each, and some bammy bombs." That was a newer slang for hand grenades than Alex had heard. "Elke, can you even throw one of these fifteen meters to clear bursting radius?" It was a legitimate question. Most females couldn't. But his delivery was rude.

"If I have to. I generally hide behind hard cover up close, or soft cover at a distance. Like a dead Army puke. Or a living one, if I can't find a dead one." The grin on her face was not friendly, though it wasn't threatening death. She was just warning him that he'd crossed a line.

He looked about to say something, but Jason shook his head and said, "Don't," and he didn't. Smart move.

Jason turned to Alex. "How are we going to issue these?" he asked.

"I'm checking with Bishwanath. If he okays it, we'll be carrying the launchers mounted and have a machine gun here, one in the trunk and one in the passenger compartment. No luck on rockets, though?"

"No, I'll have to find another source. But hey, we're much better off now."

"Oh, yes. We can put out some fire instead of just stinging. Not a bad price, either." He frowned slightly. "So, palladium and local cash are nonstarters. UN marks and gold are preferred, it seems, and not sure on silver. Tobacco and booze trade well. Got it."

"I expect medicine and ammo would do real well, too," Jason offered.

"Yeah. They do so well they're banned and would get us jailed. Some logistics NCO got busted for that last month. He was getting food, capacitors, and luxuries his unit needed, like night vision and body armor. Then he got nailed anyway. Something about nonmedicinal drugs sneaking into the mix."

"Right." Yup. The Chain would overlook legitimate barter, until some asshole screwed it up with contraband. Then it all had to stop for at least a while. The moron in question had screwed things up for a lot of people.

"There is good news," Alex said. "Our gym is being set up. Came in on a Space Force logistics flight."

"Excellent. What do we have?" Shaman asked.

"Environment treadmills, so we have scenery to run with. Weights and tension machines and boards for push-ups and sit-ups. An interactive strike machine. Just the basics."

"At least we can do some exercise," Jason said. He didn't really care for exercise, but he cared for not exercising less.

"Yup. Down the hall on the right. The small function room."

Alex actually didn't mind the morning conferences down the hall. They were practical, which might be a first. Of course, most of the attendees were military, and not high enough rank to wax poetic. He was close to start time, and nodded to Tech White, Major Weilhung, and Mister deWitt as he entered. He grabbed a cup of real coffee, as opposed to the stuff that wasn't coffee but pretended to be that was served most places, and sat down. A moment later, Bishwanath arrived.

They all stood to attention, and of course he asked them not to, and they'd both keep playing their manners. Rituals were comforting. They sat back down around the long table. Alex wondered why there was wood grain to the artificial material. There were much nicer patterns possible by not pretending injection molded plastic was walnut.

Bishwanath wore an odd expression, part elated, part disturbed.

"Mister Marlow, I have changed my official bodyguard," he said, directly and without preamble.

"Sir?"

"The drunken rabble you've seen outside are gone. I have replaced them with more professional hires."

"Oh, good." He looked at deWitt. There was obviously more going on here.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Alex, Major, and so is the President," deWitt said. "The improvement comes with some strings."

"Hit me," he said.

"What are we facing?" Weilhung asked.

Bishwanath's voice was so melodious and pleasant, even when he relayed bad news. The man was a natural politician. "The new hires are from three different clans. This was to promote the idea of cooperation. None of them are from my clan. This was to show that I trust other groups. However, I cannot say that I am thrilled and comfortable with this, my press releases to the contrary."

"Understood." Right. Reality took another bite as maneuvering took center stage.

"Awkward, but good to know," Weilhung offered.

"Also," deWitt said, "besides the obvious potential for interfactional violence, they still aren't up to the standards we'd like. They can be bought, and they lack the training of you or the Recon unit." He nodded to both leaders. "Hell, they aren't even up to the standards of regular infantry. You can't bet your life on them."

"It is entirely possible," Bishwanath said, "that they will rout, accept a bribe, or prove unable to offer the protection they claim. That latter is most likely. They may also brawl amongst themselves. I don't expect them to do more than brawl, having given their words, but fighting is considered both manly and recreational. I don't trust them, but I must pretend that I do for diplomatic reasons."

He paused for a moment, hesitating. Then he said, "To be fair, my own clan would not prove to be as well trained." He seemed embarrassed.

"Sir, I will not be under- or overestimating anyone if I can help it," Alex replied. "I do appreciate the info, and will keep it under advisement."

"There's another thing," deWitt said.

"Yes?"

"Officially, they are trusted. Therefore, they will be trusted to handle patrols and security. Including incoming vehicles."

Weilhung started. "Oh, no! Hell no! Not a fu— dammit." He looked
pissed
again. "I'll deal with that as I have to," he said, sounding sheepish and offended.

White said, "I have security issues with our intel equipment, sir. It can't be left unattended and can't be left accessible to people not cleared and clearanced by Aerospace Force." She looked as uncomfortable as the others. Despite her low rank, she spoke easily enough at high level. This was obviously a problem for her.

"Right," Alex agreed. "I propose an authorized personnel list for access to different areas, and badges. We can discipline and boot them if they get into needed-for-duty areas."

"Excellent idea, and I will endorse it," Bishwanath said.

"Yeah," Weilhung said. "I'll have to limit some of my people, but they've been exploring. Can't blame them, and ordinarily a good thing, but this helps."

"Good," Alex acknowledged. Yes, that was better. Not having even Recon skulking around meant he could better deal with security and Elke could wire more mines. He didn't have a problem with that at all.

And what was White's function? He wasn't sure if he could trust her or not. Did she work for Bishwanath, the UN, the Army on a share program, or some private AF operation? Or a combination?

She was the most inscrutable of the bunch, and it unnerved him. She was not a combatant, she was more than an admin type, clearly some kind of intel. She was of low rank but high position. She wasn't sharing information with him generally, so what was her function?

White felt his gaze and stared back, emotionless. No, not quite. She made a quick appraisal of whether or not he was a threat and what type, then seemed to rule him safe and ignored him. She was the junior military person here, but she obviously held some strings in addition to her position. What strings, though?

The three Army officers were another matter. Alex knew politicians when he saw them. These were them. He'd been read the riot act over Elke "stealing" a weapon, and a protest had been filed with BuState, quashed, and was now being appealed. They didn't want to let that go. There were ongoing disputes over guarding Bishwanath, and insistence that the military could handle all of it.

And he was required to be polite to these gentlemen, if they could be called that, out of both courtesy and a need to get the job done.

"I must prepare for some video conferences. If you gentlemen will excuse me?" Bishwanath said. Everyone stood to attention and waited while he departed.

As soon as the door closed, the temperature seemed to rise.

Colonel Weygandt said, "Mister Marlow, we need a chart of all your explosives and other booby traps in the palace, and keys so we can disable them until the appropriate time. It's not safe to have them armed constantly, even if they could be a useful tool in certain circumstances." His tone made it clear he didn't think they were useful at all, but in fact scared him.

" 'Agent' Marlow, please."

"I didn't realize we were being formal," the man sniffed.

"
Agent in Charge
is formal," he corrected. "
Agent
is just a courtesy, like
sir
or
sergeant
. It is my rank. Then, approval for information release on presidential security can only come from the President." He kept his face neutral, but was guiltily enjoying torquing this clown.

"Oh, no. We're not playing that crap!" Weygandt smacked his fists on the desk as he stood. "You will by god give us that information or I'll see you're pulled and charged with obstructing a military operation!"

"Sir, that information is on a need-to-know basis. Approval for variations is myself and the President, depending on who's asking. You do not need to know that information, as you will not be in that wing of the palace. Major Weilhung"—he nodded to his military counterpart, who gave him an ugly look—"has that information pursuant to his duties, conditional on not releasing it. If I suspect the information is compromised, I will have to have the devices relocated."

"Marlow, I'll send a munitions disposal team up there to clear them out if you don't try cooperating."

"I'll arrest them and hold them for trial, assuming Major Weilhung allows them through. You can argue with Mister deWitt over the authority."

DeWitt saw the eyes on him and said, "BuState, MilBu. Palace is a civil facility. I've got to back Agent Marlow up on this." The man really looked as if he needed a drink. The day had barely started but he was already having to piss on fires.

"I'll keep piling brass on you until you toe the line," Weygandt said.

"I don't take orders from the military. Military discipline applies per our contract. That does not put you in chain of command. Our District Agent for this nation can give me orders, or the President, for whom I work. Not you." He'd been a bit shaky, but dammit, this was getting fun. Weygandt looked ready to pop a vein.

"Do you really think that tribal drum-thumper is in charge here? You need to seriously consider who . . ." Weygandt seemed to realize he'd crossed the line.

"Who is in charge then, sir?" Alex asked and stared at him. Everyone else did, too.

Alex realized he also had gone where he shouldn't. It wasn't a secret that several groups were trying to control Bishwanath for the UN's benefit. That sort of thing had happened before elsewhere, but such things were never discussed, even among the parties involved. And half of those present were not involved.

Weilhung looked disgusted at Weygandt's lack of control. DeWitt fidgeted for a moment, then controlled it. Tech White was still inscrutable.

Alex said, "I'll relay all the information that is needed, and I'll make sure the President knows of your interest. If he says so, I'll keep you in the loop." It was a tense moment, with everyone trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

Alex at least knew why the requests for support weren't coming through. Someone didn't care. They didn't care enough that they deliberately weren't going to help.

Weilhung didn't like briefings. He'd rather be doing stuff. That his current rank and position required lots of meetings was a dark spot in his career. He envied the contractors in some ways, but wasn't about to switch. He couldn't say why other than being stubborn, and out of a certain amount of national pride, though the unifying of the major Earth militaries was a real bite in that. Still, he fought for someone or something, not for a buck. Already he'd seen that the contractors had no respect for any rules they didn't like. Like the worst of the new troops out there, only unable to be called to account, and paid highly despite it.

That meeting done, he was needed at once with the damned legal staff. They were called an "Operation Policy and Procedure Council," but they were lawyers. Their only concern was keeping the UN or the Army from being sued or seen badly in the press. How many troops died for that image, they didn't care.