Better to Beg Forgiveness (41 page)

"I hope this works," she muttered.

"It will," he said. "Jackpot."

"What?" Bart asked.

Aramis pointed. "That building. Squad back from patrol, cleaning, showering, drinking. They aren't paying attention and there's a lot of weapons. They're probably cycling them back to the armory in loads."

"Good call," Jason said. "Distract them in front, load up in rear. Park over there behind that utility building." All the buildings were much the same: poured concrete blocks with slant roofs. Their military experience was all that let them quickly tell housing from utility buildings.

"Yes, but we'll also need to find explosive," Elke said. "I'll need that bottle of liquor now."

Bart handed it over.

The troops in question were cooking food—meat especially—over an improvised grill. Beer was present, and the few women were getting a lot of attention that officially couldn't lead anywhere but might, just might unofficially.

It was less than fifty meters from the open vehicle to the barracks. On a sunny day on post no one had any reason to expect serious security problems. Making up losses from one unit to another? Sure. Outright theft of major firepower? That wasn't a concern. Yet.

* * *

Elke smiled as she walked by in a shirt too snug and an expression too loose. The man officially guarding the rack alongside the building stepped around the corner as she glinted at him.

At once, Bart and Jason were on the weapons like dogs on a downed antelope. Eight rocket launchers and two machine guns disappeared, along with belts of ammo and several mines. There were always people loading or unloading weapons, so they weren't noticed by anyone else. If the rack guard hadn't stopped them, it must be okay, so the occupants of the adjoining barracks said nothing. It was a fair day, slight haze under a noon Bob, and everyone off duty was enjoying it. She sought that guard and kept his eyes on her with a sway of her ass.

"Are you going to get off in a while?" she asked, deliberately meeting his eyes and not watching her comrades.

"Another hour," he said. "Have we met?" He stared back, fascinated.

"Hello, Lucy Rabino, over at Logistics," she said and offered a hand. Logistics was going to get a lot of inquiries from this event. "Are they going to save you some meat?"

"Bastards better," he said. He was grinning and still staring.

"Do you want me to ask? I'll make sure they do, if I can get a sausage out of it." She was throwing innuendos left and right, but there was no time for subtlety.

"Sure, please," he said. "Will there be any of that bottle left?"

"Oh, I expect so," she agreed. "I've hardly touched it yet."

"Thanks!" he said. "I appre— Come back here with my rifles, you cocksuckers!" he yelled as his glance caught the happenings behind him. He'd missed the first load. This was the second.

Bart turned, made a gesture, and laughed. The plan was to play it as a prank, and not let them worry until it was too late.

"Recon rules!" he shouted. "You can buy them back with beer!"

"Assholes!" the troop returned. Some of his buddies were heading over, but the rest were snickering and pointing. They thought it was a score of bragging points.

Meanwhile, Elke slipped back, grabbed a drum-fed grenade launcher and edged around the building behind the crowd. One man made to stop her, but she handed him the bottle as she walked by, and just kept walking. He eyed the bottle, eyed her, shrugged, and said nothing.

* * *

Bart and Jason panted as they piled into the grumbly. They weren't young anymore, it had been a long day, and they'd grabbed an overload of hardware. Aramis nailed the throttle as soon as they were balanced more inside than out, and came out onto the street where Elke was at a sprint, grenade launcher at high port. She
threw
it at the open door where Jason was, who caught it awkwardly and hauled it into the back, while she dived into the passenger side through the window.

Her abused victim had a great view of her ass, framed by the window as the team drove off shouting obscenities.

"Back gate, fast," Jason said as he helped haul Elke in. He grabbed shoulder, breast unintentionally until she squawked, arm, and belt and got her fully inside. She tumbled from head down and ass up to sideways to right way and buckled in.

"Hand me that grenade launcher just in case," she said.

"In case of what, exactly?" Bart asked, but handed it over.

"If the gate is closed, we go through the fence," she said.

"We're going to die or go to jail for this," Jason said.

"That gives it some spice!" Aramis whooped. "Don't you feel alive?"

"Not as alive as I do after a good beer and a fine blow job," he said. "Sorry, Elke."

"No problem, I agree," she said.

"It's been less than three minutes. Think it's safe to go through the gate?"

"Change vehicles? Split up?" Bart suggested.

"Or just say FIDO," Jason said. "Fuck It. Drive On."

"Drive on it is," Aramis said.

They made it through three of the four weaving barricades on the exit before someone came running toward them shouting.

"Just smile and wave, boys," Jason said, and did so.

Then they were through.

Behind them, Security seemed unsure. A military vehicle with military personnel had run out the gate. They had military weapons. The report was that pranksters had taken hardware from another unit. They were outside now, and a firefight wasn't a good thing to have on the street. Then, they
were
military, and that wasn't a cool thing to start . . . 

By then it was too late. Aramis took a corner, another, and a third, and slipped into a long line of traffic of which every tenth vehicle or so was military.

"So far, so good. Now we head back."

"And then we have to decide how to get out of here," Bart said. "We're still in hostile territory and have just abused our friends."

In ten minutes, a car behind blinked its lights twice. "We're here," Alex's voice came. "How's it look?"

"We're good if you are." Casual. The radio lingo was very casual. Anyone scanning the net should decide they were civilian workers.

"Follow us to dinner," Alex said, then pulled up and passed them. He and the others were in a much newer enclosed truck. Aramis was pretty sure it hadn't been purchased. It looked like another contractor vehicle. That made sense. Contractors hated reporting thefts, and the military gave them low priority anyway, as they were just basic transport, not military gear, and it was largely deemed an insurance issue.

He led along one of the main routes, with military vehicles going both ways. It took serious balls to drive a stolen vehicle with stolen weapons as a solo, not part of a convoy, and act as if everything was cool. It was working, though, and damn, was it a rush. Jason was chuckling, Bart quiet but smiling, and Elke snickering. They had a hard time keeping serious expressions, because they were so blatantly in trouble if they got caught.

Shortly, they pulled into another cheap motel, this one a long row of little boxes, the type of place where six men of various races and a woman would be taken as an illicit party, a criminal enterprise, or government agents making a woeful attempt at camouflage. They'd be watched by the locals, but they would not be reported, if Aramis guessed correctly.

The others swarmed his grumbly and looted it for everything removable in seconds: weapons, tools, first aid kit, and the second capacitor. Elke brought out empty packs and bedding that were used to camouflage the stuff for transfer into the room and the other vehicle.

Then Jason jumped into the grumbly with Aramis while Bart grabbed the new vehicle.

"Follow me."

In short order, they abandoned it in a seedy neighborhood and swapped to the new one. Aramis kept his hand on his pistol. It was that kind of neighborhood, all burned-out stores and houses converted to something else, with little going on save drinking. He figured the grumbly would be stolen or spare parts or ransomed back within the hour, and leave a confusing mess for anyone to decipher. Of course, an in-depth scan for DNA would identify the occupants. Bishwanath would not show, though, so it would be taken as simple theft by the team. Since they could legally travel through BuState or Mil, that would mark them as having gone criminal, likely over some black market stuff. He didn't envy Alex the job of explaining this afterward.

"Well, that would appear to be significant," Weilhung said to deWitt. Both were seated at terminals with a screen set up in front of them. Two intelligence troops and some contractor from BuState were helping sort through information.

"Money spent, military vehicle hijacked, and base raided for weapons. Certainly significant," deWitt agreed. "What do we make of it? You're the military expert."

Weilhung clouded for a moment then realized that deWitt meant it earnestly, not as a slam.

"Well, there are similarities between me and Marlow, but considerable differences, too. We're talking background, training, and current mission and assets. I see this going one of two ways. Either they're trying to set Bishwanath up somewhere with guns and money to be a local lord who won't be noticed. That means eventually he'll send for his family and we can track him that way. He's not the type to abandon them. Or else they're gearing up to find a way off planet."

"How likely are they to pull that off? I served decades ago," deWitt admitted, which was not too surprising—he had a good, professional attitude that smacked of soldier, but it was also rare for a bureaucrat to admit to getting hands dirty. That he said so was a mark of trust. "But I'm not as up to date on a lot of this gear as I'd like to be."

"There is no chance they can get any ship we control, which is anything leaving this continent," Weilhung stated as a fact. He was sure of that, because no matter what one thought of Aerospace Force, they did have very strong security measures around their ships.

"So you expect them to hide out here? Maybe set him up, then either go private locally, or scream for help and say they never saw him? Plead misunderstanding?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Weilhung said. "Neither option makes sense or is viable. They shot themselves in the ass as soon as they started this." It was true enough. He wasn't going to mention the other option. If those crazy fuckers really thought they could get across planet and hijack a ship there . . . well, they'd probably die in the attempt, but he'd grant them the professional courtesy of allowing it. You didn't rat out a troop who was doing something spectacular and likely to become a legend.

"Right," deWitt said. "So, let's assume they do plan to get off planet eventually, to some stash Bishwanath or his allies have. Because staying here does not make sense."

"I would agree, sir," he said.

"And let's assume they do want to hide him. Here, he has no assets. Off planet, he can hit his bank accounts and transfer holdings before the UN moves to freeze them. Being even a 'dead' head of state gives him some advantage there. He might lose half or more, but he can still be a comfortable exile, as opposed to dead."

"I can't fault him for wanting that. I'd guess his best bet is just to quietly disappear and never even hint that he's around. He's not young. Another thirty years and it won't matter, and he's old enough to be patient."

"So if I wanted to get off planet and knew everyone was looking for me," deWitt reasoned, "I'd find another way off planet. Something that didn't involve UN ships or military perimeters."

Damn
, but the man was good.

"That . . . wouldn't seem any more viable than the other options," he cautioned, trying to dissuade enthusiasm for the plan.

"What are the chances of them deciding to head for Kaporta?"

He paused for a moment. "Sir, I'd never attempt it if I didn't have to. But if they think they have to . . . I can't say the odds are good."

"That's not what I asked."

Damn
.

"They might. They've been crazy and resourceful so far."
And, God, I wish we had a thousand troops like them
. "It's unlikely, but feasible."
And I will do everything I can to convince BuState that it's the last thing they'll do
.

"I'm going to add it to the list, then," deWitt said.

His expression made it clear he didn't like doing so, either.

* * *

In the hotel, the team held another strategy conference. Horace was exhausted from the events of the last day, and he hadn't even been part of the raid on base. The younger ones seemed possessed of limitless energy, but he knew they'd collapse soon enough.

"We're going to Grainne Colony," Alex said from the back wall where he could watch the door. "We can use the laissez-faire system to get us where we need where we can do it with cash and smooth talking, whereas on Earth we'd run into bureaucrats and guards, and even Elke doesn't have that much explosive."

"You shame me in public," she commented. "But are probably correct." She sat where the now stolen vid had once been. There were no local stations anymore, anyway. Around her were tens of disassembled grenades and rockets. The filler was mostly standard Smitherene with booster layers she sliced off. Horace cringed every time she scooped some into a small pan she was using to melt it and recast it into bricks and conical breaching charges. She also had a few kilos of Composition G salvaged from flex mines.

Jason picked up the brief. He and Alex had plotted this at length, at least ten minutes, while Horace and Aramis had moved gear into the room and secured it. Jason had also spent that time with Elke's help, destroying the transponder on the vehicle and trying to change enough signatures it wouldn't be found before parking it behind the row of shacks called the Plaza Hotel. That gave at least some measure of distance in case of attack, while keeping it within reach.

Jason also watched the front of the room, from the corner of the bed and wall. "So we need to get onto a shuttle into orbit. That can be done with money. Then we need to get hold of a gig and get to a Grainne-bound and Grainne-registry ship. We know the ship. We have a tight schedule or else we'll be left hanging and will probably be IDed by the UN Space Guard or Aerospace Force."