The Hundred Gram Mission (17 page)

"We have a legacy?"

"Of course we do. A muddled but dangerous group, determined to expel the Chinese. They will train others, who in turn will train still more. There are three hundred
million
Moslems in Indonesia. How can a Chinese space elevator ever be safe?"

He poured his son some tea. "A united army with one leader is very effective. That is why our enemies fight that way. But a single, large, group is vulnerable to decapitation strikes. The US in particular is good at doing this to us. That’s partly why we need partners rather than being able to do everything.  We can’t do our work if we’re dead. And if we do die, others will carry on our teachings."

Wahlid frowned.

"You don’t seem convinced."

"Father, what is the point? You said it yourself. An organized and united army can fight effectively and achieve victory. What you’re saying instead, is that chaotic violence is better.  That’s ridiculous.  I think you’re just trying to dress a failure, as a success. No one else will call you out for that, but I will."

Father and son locked eyes.

"The Taleban and ISIS each fought as unified armies for a time. They took whole countries. And then they were smashed. Meanwhile, even as the Americans celebrated killing Bin Laden, Al-Qaeda’s children expanded his struggle, ten-fold.  You don’t have to accept this, Wahlid. A drone doesn’t care what you think. It will swat you, like a fly. But swatting flies becomes pointless if the whole meal starts rotting."

"A ‘rotting meal,’" Wahlid folded his arms and shook his head. "That ‘meal’ you’re talking about
is the Moslem World
. Our entire mission is to resist technologies that reduce their suffering. Don’t you think we have a duty then, to make sure that suffering is as short as possible?"

Kareem’s fingers whitened around his cup. "Again, this argument from you."

"We are in private. I can and will say what I like."

"People are pathetic creatures. They will sell out their freedom and futures to anyone who can bribe or bully them. Moslems are no different from anyone else. The ecological travails of this century,
correlate directly
with its passion for Jihad. The only arguments that compel are hunger and thirst. Think about that! This century is the first real chance since the Khans, for an Islamic state. A true, great, pan-Islamic state, free from the pressure of Western power.
This chance is entirely fuelled by human misery
."

"I think about that every day."

"You have taken up the cause, Wahlid. You contribute to that misery."

"I think about that too."

"All that suffering is for nothing if we do not win. Of those before us, under European colonials. Those who died against the Americans, when this war started. New technologies will take root, the masses will be bribed, and this chance may never come again. We are
committed
now Wahlid, we must see this through to the end."

"And we are the ones who decide this?"

"Yes. People like you and me. We have decided it, and it’s done."

Wahlid threw up his hands. "Let’s get back to talking about Hisham."

Kareem sighed. "I had hoped you were paying attention. Forget Hisham. Stop thinking short term. Trying to achieve A, B, and C in a given time is how our enemies think."

"Can we just get back to Hisham?"

"Just
listen
to yourself. Aren’t you impatient and upset over Sudan?"

"Yes!"

"Exactly. It is the same for our enemies. They set themselves schedules, budgets, time tables. These are all limits on what they’re willing to expend. When things go wrong, they become impatient, they feel they have failed. They become discouraged, their publics want their troops to come home from the war they ‘cannot win.’

"We don’t set limits. That’s how you win against a superpower, you keep fighting till it’s done. Do you follow? Please tell me you follow. You are my son, how can I lead when people can see my own son disagrees with me?"

"If you want me to agree, you can start by explaining to me why Hisham is being rewarded."

"He is not being
rewarded
. Making contacts with groups is what he
does
, boy.  Sri Lanka is a perfect meeting place. It is next to India. It’s tourist-focused and welcomes visitors, especially from the Middle East. The Sri Lankan police are underpaid and undertrained. He will assess the Indians. If he feels they are worthy, he will discuss targets."

"Targets? You mean Lakshmi Rao?"

"Not just her. Her wounded assistant is doing talk shows now. They are using this to make a case for more orbitals and resources. Sympathetic policy makers are also coming forward and making statements. Many are Indian."

"You want to kill everyone who wants to send refugees to space?"

"Not everyone. Just enough to make it look like we want to. Remember, the whole point of this exercise is to throw off the AI now studying us. To throw them off the trail of Black Fire."

"Can I go too?"

"What?"

"Can – can I go too?"

"Wahlid! This is not a holiday!"

"You want me to think long term? Then there is no point my training with Faisal and the others. I can shoot, I can clear rooms, I can make bombs. But I don’t know how to find and cut deals with allies. If that’s how things should be done, then I want to learn. Send me with Hisham."

"I’m sorry, everything is already prepared. Hisham will be going alone – you can go next time."

"Are you sure? I’m happy to do all the extra prep work myself."

"I’m sure, Wahlid. I want you here, working with Faisal. I want you liaising with the cell on the E2 Orbital."

"I can contact them from anywhere in the world. I can do it from India."

"And I would rather you focus on bigger, more important things. Remember, our real work is Black Fire. Work you have a part in."

"They are just Internet wankers."

"I know it is not very exciting work, but it is what you should be doing, all the same."

"Faisal made contact with them, shouldn't he be managing them?"

"Faisal is too old, he needs your help with them. You connect well with other young people. Now, how is it coming along with the Internet wankers?"

"They want to declare a Caliphate, in space."

Kareem frowned. "Are they serious?"

"Somewhat."

"Steer them away from this."

"It's just nonsense."

"No actually, it isn't.
[xxxviii]
  Black Fire doesn't need that kind of distraction. Have you got them to the point that they would accept something from you? Something you post them?"

"Yes. But I think we should send it through one of their family members on Earth. A parcel will stand out though. I doubt mail to space will be cheap."

"Our Chechen friend Zakayev has perfected a dust-like delivery mechanism."

"Dust?"

"Just send them a card. We can dust it. Nothing will show up on an X-ray."

"How will they activate Black Fire without special equipment?"

"Zakayev is working on it. In any case, I need to be able to trigger activation, from here on Earth. "

"I thought you wanted the cell members to activate it."

"Yes, they will of course have that control."

"Shouldn't it be under their control, entirely? Us having control from down here, puts them at risk. How could we ever know when it would be safe to activate? It makes no sense, Father."

"I will do nothing that endangers them."

Wahlid frowned.

"Wahlid, I will not allow them to come to harm. You have my word."

Evan Stockwell, Suyin Lee, II

Indonesia, Central Kalimantan

"So Stockwell, do you get the feeling that they don't really want us around?"

Evan Stockwell looked up from his steaming bowl of noodles. It was Ramen Night in the PLA cafeteria. Every night was Ramen Night.  At nearby tables officers laughed and talked loudly in Mandarin. The civilian engineers were more discrete, all wearing their ID badges. Stockwell and Pirello sat alone. They wore visitor badges that read
Tianguo De Jieti,
"Heaven’s Ladder."

"I’ve felt that way since we stepped off the plane," he replied. "I really couldn’t care less, I just wish they’d let us do our jobs. Or at least let
me
do my job."

Pirello sipped her canned soybean drink. "You’d think they’d at least quid pro quo after we IDed the dead Arab."

"We haven’t given them anything actionable. Al-Rawi kept a low profile and shows up in just a few airport photos.  His travel history is too thin – he probably changed his identity, at least once. He’s just a grunt: from village, to training camp, to warzone."

"Yeah but we gave them
something
."

"Hey," he held up a pork ball with his chopsticks, "they give us free food."

"Are you done?"

"I’ve been done. This is just stress eating."

"Come on. Let’s get back to work. Maybe you can dig out something new for the evidence wall."

"Actually, I want to make a little detour today."

"What’s that?"

"Let’s go look at
their
evidence wall."

"You know they won’t let us."

"Yes. But let’s see if they can
stop
us."

She frowned. "I don’t think Likavec will care for that. I
know
that Lee bitch will kick your ass. You’ll get put on a plane, maybe me too. Most likely you’ll just get into an argument and the door, and then leave in a huff. It won’t help matters, Evan. They have to come to us, when they’re ready."

"I say nuts to that. Come on, Pirello. A great, big, supercomputer thought it would be nice for us to come by. Maybe share a century’s worth of knowledge and experience fighting terrorists. That computer isn’t here right now, and we’re being sidelined. If they’re just wasting our time, put me on a plane right now. I have work to do. And I hate this food. This,
this
is supposed to be Chinese food? Where’s the Crab Rangoon?"

"Crab Rangoon isn’t actually Chinese."

"If I can connect the dots on this, they can damn well make it Chinese!"

"Lieutenant Colonel?"

She tapped her mike, "This is Lee, go ahead Sergeant."

"We have a problem in the command center."

"What is it?"

"The Americans have barged their way in."

"
What
?"

"They won’t leave. I tried to throw them out. Shall I call the Military Police?"

"No, I’ll take care of this myself."

"I’m arresting you for espionage."

The uniformed analysts in the command center had long since stopped working. They watched the interlopers instead, a keen little man and his menacing bodyguard. He asked questions in broken Mandarin they weren’t allowed to answer. He produced a thumb drive just as Lee was storming in.

"Well before you do that, what’s this?" He pointed to large hologram. It showed computer generated heads of several men. A man standing beside it looked at her, his eyes wide.

"Meng! Did you tell him anything?"

"No Lieutenant Colonel! Not a thing!"

"Then why are you acting like you did?"

"See, now I know this is important, ‘cause you’re talking in Mandarin. These guys," he wagged a finger at the hologram. "These are the terrorists you just took out, yes? And this one here, that’s Sukarno, the guy who lost his head? These DNA facial reconstructions are very nice by the way. I thought only ours were this good."

"Only ours
are
this good," said Pirello.

"Damn you Meng!"

"I didn’t tell them the technology was stolen!"

"With a face as guilty as yours, you didn’t need to!"

"Look, I’m not the counter espionage police. I don’t really care how you got this tech. And to be fair, if you’ve stolen it from us, we probably already know you did."

"We do," said Pirello.

"But what I need Lieutenant Colonel, is for you to let me have these reconstructions."

"Why would I do that?"

Stockwell opened his mouth, but then checked himself. 

"You want to do that," he started again, "Because then I can have our people take a look. I notice you have a lot of pictures of some of these guys, especially Sukarno. Some really strange angles here, by the way. Especially that one," he pointed. "No way that was taken from a CCTV. Hey you want to spy on the Indonesians with thousands of microbot drones, you go ahead. That’s not my business. I don’t care how you got these photos, but I need them too."