Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "Please sit, and get on with whatever tasks you have. Can I have some drinks brought? Ades? Fizzes?" He produced a small pod and flipped it open.

  "Could we get some tart lemonade and a sport ade, sir? That's very thoughtful, thank you." Alex wasn't going to serve his troops sweetened goo. That was on their own dime.

  "Absolutely." Bishwanath tapped an order into the handheld while Alex studied him. The man came from the local warring tribes, but knew several languages and was quite at home with modern technology. He seemed to understand the accepted courtesies of space-based society, as it was called, though it was hardly an accurate term. They were here in space on a rock that was a desolate hellhole.

  But Bishwanath was well above that. Dapper, even elegant in appearance, dark olive skin with graying hair, on a slim but healthy build, though shorter than Alex by several centimeters. The man was cultured, urbane, and sophisticated.

  "All I want to do," Bishwanath said, "is learn a little about you, find out what I can do to make your job easier, and if there's any support you need." He met Alex's eyes and seemed casually relaxed for any input. Diplomatic.

  "Well, sir, we have issues of travel, palace security, communication, support, and then our personal issues," Alex itemized as he thought on the fly. "Travel we'll be examining as soon as we can, both the vehicles and routes to be used, and our tactics will be predicated on whether the trip is for appearance, or if a discreet approach can be used. That's the realm of myself and Mister Vaughn."

  Vaughn stood from his gear and nodded at the introduction. He'd been stowing rifles and ammunition in a rack, after function-checking them and loading them.

  He said, "Yes, sir. I'll look over the vehicles and routes, and I'll assign our personnel where needed. I'll coordinate with the military convoys, and with your personal guards as needed."

  "Yes, my personal guards," Bishwanath said with a frown. "How do I say this diplomatically? You are far better trained than my palace guards, and I place more faith in your contractual detachment than their loyalty, if you take my meaning." At that moment, a servant brought in a broad tray with pitchers of lemonade, and electrolytic drinks, glasses, ice, and a plate of cookies.

  "Thank you, Rahul." He turned back and said, "And you may confide as you need to in Rahul. He's been my right hand for decades, even if he looks domestic. In fact, that is his greatest cover."

  "Ah, yes, sir," Alex said. "Make note of anything you need that the guards can't handle and I'll see it's taken care of without mention. A pleasure to meet you, Rahul."

  "And you, sir," the man said. He was fairly robust and broad but looked meek, until you saw his eyes. The man had been in some action. His voice was deep and a little gravelly.

  Bishwanath continued as if there'd been no interruption, as Rahul left. "Excellent, Mister Marlow. And Mister Vaughn."

  "Palace security," Alex continued as if he hadn't just been told the locals were full of leaks and potentially corruptible as neutrals or enemies, "breaks down into external and internal. The military has external, though we'll watch this immediate perimeter. Inside, it's the domain of Miss Sykora and Mister Mbuto."

  They stood. Elke was sweaty from shifting boxes of gear, mostly explosive. Shaman was carefully cleaning his hands from handling nonmedical gear. He did that almost constantly and without conscious thought.

  "I will be setting up monitors and reactive devices on several internal perimeters, sir," Elke said. She took a healthy gulp from a glass of lemonade. She gasped when done and said, "Even if we are not around, there will be defensive mechanisms. I would like to install some in your private apartments, if you will trust me."

  Bishwanath looked slightly tense, then fought it down. "How much eavesdropping is required?" he asked.

  "Sir, I will be happy to shut it off at any time on your order. If you need privacy for political or personal considerations, it's none of my business to monitor. At the same time, automatic systems should be armed, and you can override on a word if you need to. The more I can monitor from here, the better. I'm sure you're worried about publicity of secrets—"

  More likely publicity of girlfriends, Alex thought.

  "—but my system is programmed not to keep logs of that. You are welcome to come look for yourself anytime. But only you or one technician you escort, to keep my material secure."

  "And I would like to monitor your vital signs, and also air ducts, windows, and food," Shaman said. "Let me know of exercise and I can instruct it to ignore high metabolic readings. I would like to make periodic inspections of the quarters, and I will escort you on each trip. After any attack, I will examine you for external injuries. It is possible not to be aware of them."

  "Yes, I have had that happen," Bishwanath nodded. "I agree. Please pardon me. I'm not used to this level of attention and it feels not only odd but intrusive, even though I know it is necessary." He looked disturbed and sad, then resumed a professional mask.

  Alex recalled Bishwanath was married, but his wife would not be along until things stabilized. She was still on Earth as a moderately wealthy exile. Of course, that "moderately wealthy" had translated to "hugely wealthy" here. That had to be a lifestyle change.

  And that wasn't his concern. His concern was keeping this principal safe. How was Bishwanath dealing with the separation? That was something to follow up on.

  Few people realized there was a necessary rapport between guards and their principals. You had to learn their mannerisms, quirks, how they'd respond to requests, demands, being slammed to the ground for cover, how to motivate them to keep their morale up in a crisis. A polite, intelligent, and friendly charge made it easier, but it was possible and just as important with a jerk you hated, as long as he understood you'd do your job.

  Bishwanath was easy, so far, but any VIP at this level had to be hiding secrets. Alex didn't need to know those secrets, but he did need to have a feel for the man.

  "And what of Mister Weil and Mister Anderson?" Bishwanath asked.

  "They're our youngest and toughest, sir," Alex said, without adding, and most expendable. "They'll be close in, and prepared to carry you if needed, block you from harm, aggressively protect you from threats. At the same time, we are specialists in our fields but each cross-trained to some extent. At any moment, the operator on scene or seeing a threat may take charge, and we will follow those orders until circumstances resolve. So if Mister Anderson locates a threat outside while I'm still in the car, you can expect that I will do as he tells me as far as reacting and responding to it."

  "And you'd like me to do the same, you are saying," Bishwanath said with a nod. He didn't seem bothered by the idea. In fact, he seemed glad of the discussion. Good.

  "Exactly, sir, and I appreciate your understanding. It helps us do our job."

  "We should talk again, then, when I have time. In the meantime, I think we should look over our upcoming itinerary as soon as we can."

  "Excellent, sir." Alex waved and everyone moved in close. He noted with approval all now had body armor, carbines, and pistols, and were assembling commo rigs. They'd do everything in that basic gear except shower, for the duration of the mission.

  Bishwanath opened up his doccase and started fingering commands. He had the latest style that worked on finger movement without any actual contact with keys, and wasn't popular because it took a lot of sensitivity and training to operate. That was another sign that he was comfortable with modern, even futuristic tools. The device clashed with his glasses and archaic suit.

  "These are times, locations, and purposes," he said. "You'll notice several are to smaller venues to meet with tribal leaders. I cannot insult them by demanding they be disarmed. Your Bureau of State would like me to not make those appearances, but I must."

  Alex cringed. Yeah, he had issues with that. Huge ones. He glanced around. Elke was grinning, probably at the thought of gadgets and explosives. Aramis seemed to like the idea of being Billy Badass to the peasants. No doubt he could clobber several of
them at once, but the idea was to avoid engagements when possible.

  Alex said all he could. "We'll manage. Do you have body armor yet, sir?"

  "I do, but could use advice on it."

  "Mister Weil will work with you. That's his field." In part because he'd done more actual close-in bodyguarding as opposed to combat missions. That would not be a good way to phrase it, however.

  "Thank you," Bishwanath said, and Bart nodded.

  "My pleasure, sir. I think I shall enjoy your attitude in contrast to some of the celebrities and corporate managers I've protected."

  CHAPTER 3

  Bishwanath left an hour later. They knew his approximate itinerary for a week, and it was a packed one, and had learned some details about him.

  "So, how's everyone feel on this?" Alex asked.

  There wasn't any hesitation. Bart had the most experience as an actual bodyguard and said, "Good man. He won't cause a lot of problems or pull an attitude that I can see."

  "I also will work well with him," Elke said.

  "No problem," from Aramis. "He's honest and open."

  "He is a bit reserved in my area," Shaman said. "I will need to watch him, but I don't expect him to hinder me treating him."

  Jason said, "Things look so good as far as he's concerned, I expect everything else will be screwed up beyond belief."

  Alex nodded. "Good principal. We have most of our gear. The military has made contact. All we have to do for now is our job. Let's finish."

  There were nods and the work of setting up resumed.

  "These are severely nice digs," Elke said, the odd word choice garnishing her accent.

  "Yes, they are," Alex acknowledged. They each had a small but comfortable room, two shared bathrooms, and the common room decked out as conference or reception room with a living area near a vid console. He sighed and said, "Aramis, take your feet off the table, please. If you need a foot stool, there's one over there."

  "Hell, boss, they'll charge it off as wear and tear, no big deal." But he did comply, removing them from a very expensive octagonal table turned and carved from wood, and putting them down on a hand-stitched rug that had to have taken years. The issue was more a matter of the item's location than value. Still, feet didn't go on furniture. As long as he complied, the talking back was a quirk. Irritating, but a quirk.

  Getting settled in was a major operation. Weapons were now scattered about, though that "scatter" was intentional and precise, putting them within easy reach of anyone, anywhere in the room. Those weapons either had safety circuits disabled, or were programmed to recognize any of the team's grip or DNA to activate. Civilians and politicians insisted on the "safety" interrupts to prevent "criminal use." Criminals destroyed those circuits on stolen weapons, and professionals did so whenever they could get away with it, laws be damned. The circuit might work the first time 499 times out of five hundred. But Murphy said it was that five hundredth time your life would depend on instant operation.

  "Nothing like legal and diplomatic bullshit to fuck things up," Aramis said. "I want my fucking knife."

  "Yeah." Alex agreed with him totally on that. Celadon wasn't stable, so they'd entered through a starport in Salin's other nation, Kaporta, which was where they were officially operating from. The local laws there prohibited large knives, as well as axes and shock batons. There'd even been an argument over "guards" having lethal weapons rather than crowd-control types. However, the lethal hardware was corporate issue, so it had reluctantly been cleared. The knives, tomahawks, and batons they'd wanted for close quarters had all been put in bond until their departure, as a "courtesy." It was a courtesy none of them appreciated. They'd been able to bring some of their folding knives, the smaller ones.

  That and the tension with the Army weren't a good sign of how this operation would go. There'd be more territorial infighting than shooting of targets, if Alex's guess was correct.

  One of their items was an upright "wardrobe" that was a rotating arms locker. Much of their support gear was within. Pistols were loaded and placed butt out on racks where they could be easily grasped. They were stowed near ground level. Doctrine held that one used a pistol to fight one's way to the rifle one should have had all along. Ground level made them accessible while diving for cover.

  Above those hung rifles and a machine gun. There were spaces for more machine guns, but they had only been authorized the one. Alex would be making connections to acquire more hardware. Each of them was proficient with American, European, Chinese, Russian, and Brazilian Federation weapons.

  Once everything was checked and unloaded, Alex called Tech White again.

  "How may I help you, Agent Marlow?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. She wasn't a ma'am, but more smoothing. You were never wrong to call an AF member "sir" or "ma'am." They liked their politeness. "I'd like to look around, and if Major Weilhung is available, I'd like to go with him so we can discuss our protective strategy."

  "I'll give you a contact list and put you through," she said.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the two commanders were patrolling the palace, and the entire EP team was out separately, except for Bart who was guarding the entrance to the President's quarters proper. Alex had debated bringing him along too, but they didn't want to suggest to the military that any of their EPD duties could be taken over by soldiers. That type of bureaucratic authority grabbing that had happened before.

  Alex and Weilhung both carried two floor plans, one on computer, one on paper. At each door they made notes and marked distance, then entered to mark windows. Lots of those windows had been blown out in fighting. They were now being repaired. Because the locals were largely unskilled and unreliable, the work was being done by military engineers and contractors at Earth taxpayer expense. Not that there was any guarantee there weren't infiltrators among the contractors, who might plant sensors, beacons for missiles, or just an outright bomb, but the odds were against it, and odds were part of the game.

  "Obviously not made to make our job easier," Weilhung commented.

  "Yeah. Pretty, but not well-defensible," Alex said. "What do we do?"

  "All we can do with the politics," Weilhung said with a twist of an eyebrow. "I have good people on regular patrol, I've got cameras and sensorwebs coming. I have regular but handpicked sentries at all entrances, and you saw the vehicle barricades."

  "Yeah. What about those indigenous guards? Our principal doesn't like them much himself."

  "Oh, you saw them," Weilhung said, with a smirk that turned into a grimace. "They're trip wires. Best they can be."

  "And an invite to test the rest of the defenses. I expect some action," Alex said.

  "Right. They also look like shit in the press. Wonderful setup. It's going to be a long job."

  "I'm going to work on our setup," Alex said. "This floor and the apartments. That's as far as we should get from our principal."

  "That makes sense," Weilhung said. "I'll finish securing the rest."

  "Right. I'll be in touch."

  * * *

  Overlapping with that discussion, the EP team was out in rotating pairs, assessing and taking photos, then planning defensive movement and positions around what they had. Every exit, window, cubby that could be identified was checked, marked, and regarded. While Alex kept the grunt busy, Jason figured it was his job to get things done quietly. "I can lay a gun here and cover the loading dock," Jason said of a small service restroom that was largely nonfunctional and very remote. Likely, it had been abandoned for years.

  "Is it better than that shielded balcony, you think?" Aramis asked.

  "Not as good of cover, but much less obvious, and allows an enfilade."

  "Yup. Mark it."

  "Got it."

  The palace wasn't excessive, but was as large as a typical hotel. In fact, it appeared to be built on the same frame, with a fancier shell stuck over it. The dressed stone and carved points were all attached to the aluminum trusses that supp
orted it. With conference rooms, guest suites, and the President's personal area, all down long hallways, it was easy to see the shape. That private area was being stripped of the previous occupant's décor and belongings, which were variously being sold, taken to museums, or recycled, meaning "looted," and being refitted for the new administration. The team went through everything they could find to look for traps or threats, and to set up potential escape routes and defenses.

  * * *

  "I don't like those stairs," Elke said. "Far too open. I'd like to mine them."

  "Mine them how?" Horace Mbuto asked. The two of them were together. He had worked with Jason and Alex before, but Elke was new to him.

  "To collapse from the top. We have better ways out. Stairs need to be wide enough for us, not much wider or narrower. I want to equip all the narrow ways with fragmentation, and the wide ones to be taken out of the picture. That leaves us the elevators if we have escort, the six staircases that work best for us, and the roof or window slides."