Ballan nodded slowly. And repressed a roll of the eyes that Singh completely failed to acknowledge that it was exactly such an unrepresentative bureaucratic structure that was currently implementing Operation Shield. On Nova Esperenza it was known as the GC lobby, politicians and interest groups, big businesses, professional lobbyists, all pushing not only at Ballan but at his senior staff. Sometimes it seemed their opinions mattered more than those of his own President, and he knew for a fact that at least half of his GC staff here in the building were selected almost person for person by the GC lobby, not by the Nova Esperenza President, nor the Parliament.
Those people were in turn representing a lot of people who were now very scared of a new war. Scared enough to start pushing very hard for amendments that made it impossible. And threatening all kinds of things to people who got in their way. The phenomenon was, as far as Ballan could make out, Federation wide.
“One more thing,” Singh added. “I'd like to request some of your best Operation Shield people to add to my personal security detail.”
Kresnov's threats would do that to a man, Ballan supposed. His own thudding heart beat a little louder. “I'm not certain that we have any to spare,” he said.
“You've got some. I see them outside.”
“The Grand Council has to rely on outside security personnel. Are there not sufficient people on Callay?”
“The best are all in the CSA,” Singh growled. “And no longer reliable.”
The door to the office opened, and the secretary put his head in. “Mr Ballan, Director Ibrahim is on his way in person.”
Ballan nodded, and the secretary left. “Ibrahim's coming here?” Singh asked, frowning.
“Says he has a compromise plan. A way out of the current mess.”
Singh's frown grew deeper. “That doesn't sound like Ibrahim. Be very careful of that man, Ambassador. He's full of tricks.”
Ballan smiled tiredly. “I'm aware of that. But I am an ambassador by training. Talking is what I do. If Ibrahim has something to talk about, that is how I move the ball forward.”
Agent Teo flicked Ibrahim a sideways glance from the driver's seat of their groundcar. “Sir, why exactly are we talking to Ambassador Ballan?”
Ibrahim's lips twitched, the faintest smile. “Chief Shin wishes to know, does he?”
“Not really, sir.” Agent Teo's voice, his normally calm demeanor, showed little. That in itself told Ibrahim that the young man was hiding something. Normally Teo was more expressive. “I'm just required to update my movements for FedInt's equivalent of tacnet.”
“Mr Teo,” said Ibrahim with faint amusement. “I understand you are a spy. I would not like to think that you are spying on me.”
Teo was wise enough to smile and say nothing.
They passed the security point between FSA and Grand Council grounds and descended the long ramp to underground parking. Ibrahim glanced at Amirah in the backseat. She seemed calm, observing the passing of parked cars, security staff, automated baggage servers, flashing lights.
Teo pulled up at the securest central elevators. More security eyed them leaving the car, heavily armed. “K13,” came Amirah's formulation on his uplink. “They've changed.”
“They must have considerable resources here if they can afford to place personnel on GC guard duty,” Ibrahim observed.
“Or maybe they're expecting something.”
They entered the elevator, three together, and watched the wall displays show them their moving location. They would emerge at the central ring corridor, main thoroughfare between major ambassadorial offices, high above the actual government chambers, which were on the ground floor, closer to the carpark. As usual in political offices, the real action took place well away from the most famous chambers.
Ten seconds. Ibrahim closed his eyes briefly and thought a small prayer. No doubt the many who served under him, and respected what wisdom he'd managed to accumulate, would expect something profound. For matters of judgement and wisdom, he may have managed such. But today was not a day for judgement and wisdom. Today would exercise more fundamental instincts. And so he offered his personal version of a prayer he understood to have originated amongst American aviation test pilots in the twentieth century.
“Please Allah, don't let me fuck this up.”
The elevator opened. His uplink activated once more—Chief Shin. “Director, I apologise for the intrusion, but I need to know the purposes of your visit with Ambassador Ballan as a matter of urgency.”
“And why do you need to know that, Chief Shin?”
There were many people in the gently curving hallway. Staffers mostly, a few senior. Here an Ambassador, flanked by several staff and security. All were looking at the passing FSA Director and his small entourage.
“Director,” Shin tried again, “we have reports of anomalous activity in the Western Delta. I think you should see this immediately.”
Ibrahim kept striding. “It can wait until after I have seen the Ambassador.” Another hundred meters around the bend. Amirah was linked to his communications, most irregular for personal security. She heard every word. Her stride was easy, her weapon comfortable on its shoulder strap.
“Director, please do not go any further. Something is going on.”
“Reaction,” Amirah said quietly. “GC primary defence grid just alarmed. It's still in query mode.”
Was Shin causing that? Ibrahim wondered, quickening his pace just fractionally. Or was he reacting to it?
Ballan came online. “Director, GC defences just went to phase one. There are reports of movement beyond the city perimeter, and orbital surveillance blackouts.”
“I'm watching that too, Mr Ambassador,” he said aloud. “Very curious.” Fifty meters.
“Phase two.” Amirah. “They're on us. Tell me when.”
A line of security appeared across the corridor, weapons out, a moving wall. Five of them. Thirty meters. “Go,” said Ibrahim.
Amirah opened fire. The line of five went down, crumpling, sprawled, a row of heads snapping back in quick succession, blood spraying. Ibrahim ran. He'd been fast once, in his youth. Now, he hoped merely not to be slow.
Amirah was firing behind now, staffers screaming, falling for cover. Approaching Ballan's door, Ibrahim saw more security farther around the bend, fired to keep heads down, and ducked right, into the Ambassador's waiting room. Most here were staff, frozen in horror, ducking, sitting, scrambling out of the way. But several were security staff, armed if not especially competent. Two were drawing. Ibrahim shot one, two-handed, center of mass only, and he fell back against a wall and slid bloodily.
The other scrambled about sideways, buying time as he pulled clear a pistol and aimed. Ibrahim pivoted, firing steadily, putting holes in the wall that finally reached the target, who took a bullet to the arm and side, and fell.
Ibrahim kept moving, past cowering unarmed staff and into Ballan's office. Ballan was risen from behind his desk, fumbling in a draw.
“Hands!” Ibrahim demanded, as more gunfire erupted in the room behind. Amirah had arrived and was now covering the entrance from counter attack. Ballan showed his hands, face white, arms trembling.
“My God, Shan!” he exclaimed, hoarse and shaky. “Why?”
“Because there has to be one who takes his vows seriously,” said Ibrahim. “Command codes to the Operation Shield matrix. Now.”
“I can't! They're embedded!”
“I thought as much.” Ibrahim shot him in the head. “Matrix codes embedded,” he announced with uplinks open, moving behind the desk, now blood-spattered. Stood over the ambassador's body, accessing the desk console, not expecting much. “Target is neutralised.”
“It should be enough,” came Verma's reply, leading FSA net tech. Behind him were a whole team, many of whom had planned the Pyeongwha operation. “Ballan was the key, without him the matrix is unstable. Get me a link in and we can get the GC mainframe.”
Ibrahim set about doing that. “Amir
ah,” he said, again relying on uplinks, though speaking aloud to avoid the difficulties of formulation under pressure. “This may take a few minutes. Situation?”
“Oh, just peachy sir.” Thunder of automatic gunfire from the room behind, the crackle and vibration of incoming rounds. Fortunately none of the GC guards had thought to notice her extra mags on the way in, accustomed as they'd become to her presence at Ibrahim's side. “They'll move the heavy stuff up soon. Then you'd better get away from those windows.”
The windows behind Ibrahim, now spattered with blood and indented with a single non-penetrating bullet hole, opened onto the central space in the GC Building's donut design. Soon enough there would be incoming fire from across that space, and while bullets would not penetrate the glass, explosives would.
“What happened to Teo?”
“I've no idea. I'm not Cassandra; I can't watch ten things at once.” And that was that, neither of them had any idea where Teo was, or what had happened to him, and they had no time to look. Most likely he'd been hit in the initial exchange of fire. Though with FedInt, anything was possible.
SWAT grunts dropped whatever else they were doing and crammed around the ready room screens, recent tactical surveys overlaid with the big transmission from FSA overriding all channels. They could have watched on personal uplinks, but somehow the situation compelled them to cluster, fighting for space in unarmoured tac gear.
“…act of high treason,” Ibrahim was saying. It was a recording, of course, Ibrahim would be busy right now. But recorded live to lense. “The Federal Security Agency, charged with the duty to protect the Federation constitution at all costs, commands that all personnel currently engaged with Operation Shield shall stand down and offer up their weapons for immediate confiscation. Failure to do so will result in elimination by force.
“All sitting members of the political faction known as 2389 are henceforth declared under arrest until cleared of charges. All Grand Council sittings and procedures are suspended until further notice. Callayan President Vikram Singh is henceforth under arrest upon the charge of complicity in high treason against the Federation. He will present himself to Federal Security Agency forces or risk all possible consequences.”
“Holy fuck!” someone shouted, unable to restrain it longer. “They're going to fucking kill him!”
“Quiet!” demanded Captain Singh.
“…Callayan citizens of Tanusha, please remain indoors for your safety. Shortly you will observe why. I know some of you may wish to participate—please do not. Leave this matter to the professionals. We in turn shall be answerable to your lawful and democratic demands soon enough. This message will now repeat.
“I, Director Shan Ibrahim of the Federal Security Agency, officially charge those commanding and facilitating the fraudulent assumption of command known as Operation Shield with an act of high treason.”
Singh swung on them all. “Condition red!” he shouted. “Everybody move!”
Half left at a sprint. The other half stared about in confusion. “Why?” one asked. “Are we joining in?”
“No,” said Singh. “But Operation Shield might think we are and hit us first to be sure.”
“But if they see us mobilising, they will think we're joining in!”
Singh's grin was evil. “Then we'll tell ’em we're joining in to help.”
Sandy and Vanessa stood atop a nondescript residential tower in Powgai District on the western edge of Tanusha. There amidst rooftop parking and a small garden space with a children's slide and swings, they watched the attack coming in. It was low, fast, widely spread, and entirely tactical. No strategic targeting, no hardpoint infrastructure. Tanusha itself was not being assaulted, just cleansed.
“Whoa,” said Vanessa, watching through AR glasses, locked into a growing-strength FSA tacnet that was now beyond the GC's ability to interfere with. “That's Vita Formation. Quad sixteen's on a diamond spacing. Fucking clearance pattern.”
“Here we go,” said Sandy, watching the same thing but without glasses, seeing the first missiles fire. Out in the dark above the jungle perimeter, flares lit in multiples, accelerating fast, dividing and dodging as they came. Then hissed by, rapid staccato thuds of sonic booms, WHAM as one rushed directly overhead, both women turning to watch it go. Sandy nearly laughed. She couldn't help it—she was many things, but she was this too, always this, this rush and buzz like an adrenaline junkie on a roller coaster, or a rock metal fan at a huge concert. Combat reflex reddened her vision, and she felt like she could just explode with energy.
Boom, b-b-b-boom, b-boom! A spread of detonations amidst Tanushan towers. Like nothing this city had ever seen before. “Airburst, they're just flushing.”
“Gonna be a fuck of a glass bill,” Vanessa murmured. Sandy glanced at her. She looked taut with anxiety, pale and drawn. Tight. Sandy wondered what all those augments felt like at times like these; Vanessa said they ached sometimes.
“Yeah, well,” she said offhandedly, “glad you're not coming.” Vanessa looked at her. Sandy looked her up and down.
“Who said I'm not coming?” asked Vanessa.
“Your doctor, for one.” More missiles tracking, ten Ks south, picking up speed before zooming into the city proper. Multiple detonations.
“I'm fine in a suit, the augments don't strain at all.”
Crackle and contact on audio, someone on tacnet established a link. “Hello, Cassandra, I've a fix on your position, please confirm?” Sandy recognised the voice immediately.
“Rishi!” she laughed. Even Vanessa grinned. “How the fuck are you? We thought you were dead!”
“A few of the Director's people came to us in the middle of the night and told us to move,” Rishi explained. “All of us. I didn't know who to trust, but I recalled you said the Director would never betray us.”
“Yeah, he can be a devious little bastard though.”
“Okay, I'm fixed on your location, full tacnet access coming through now.” It unfolded across Sandy's overlay vision, IDs and status of units, like she was in command. All the names, all the GIs from Droze and Chancelry, all the ones resettled in the Maldaris, Ibrahim must have seen Ballan's move coming, God knew how. And moved a good chunk of FSA spec ops arsenal out of FSA HQ well before it was locked down. He must have had some secret hiding places, rendezvous spots out there in the jungle somewhere…wow, she thought, as the scale of it hit her. Ibrahim must have been implementing this just after he was appointed Director, no way was this a rushed, last-second job. Had Ballan been entirely wrong to suspect someone, somewhere was moving forces covertly for possible action against the GC? Surely Ibrahim was too smart to have inadvertently triggered the very thing he'd been protecting against? “I see Commander Rice is with you too, I'll get two suits to you in a minute.”
Sandy glanced at Vanessa. More sonic booms thumped and crashed. Vanessa made a face. “Not like I fucking get to choose,” Vanessa muttered. “I knew that when I signed.”
“If you can't do it,” Sandy told her, “sit it out. Don't worry about me or Rhi, we love you for life no matter what.”
Distant airbursts half-lit Vanessa's profile. “I know,” she said. And turned as the first return fire came back. “SX2s. Now we're in the shit.”
They were met halfway by counter-fire, more airbourne detonations across a wide front, several close enough that suddenly cover seemed like a good idea. From down the sides of the resi building, Sandy heard people shouting and yelling—civilians, staring out at the fireworks with what sounded like a healthy mix of fascination, terror, and excitement. On the net somewhere, Ibrahim's message was repeating. Stay the fuck inside, you fools. Preferably well away from the windows.
With a howl a combat flyer was upon them, coming up from beneath and rotating, rear hold opening and all black, not a single light showing. With it, utterly silent beneath the roar of engines, the first hopper suit, a flare of jumpjets, a low trajectory between buildings, seeking a new grounding point. Then another, well bel
ow…and suddenly one flared and landed on the rooftop beside them, a massively automated, almost insectoid armour, huge cannon mount on one arm, triple-barrelled launcher diagonally across its back, pivoting even now as tacnet made new targeting assignments, just in case something came its way. The visor popped to show a familiar face.
“Coming?” Kiet asked her.
“Two minutes,” said Sandy, even pleased to see him. “You in command?”
“No, you,” said Kiet. “If you want it.”
Sandy grinned dangerously. “Oh, sure. Chancelry HQ, Tanusha, Federation Grand Council, why not?” Kiet did not smile back, but his eyes did, with fire.
Sandy leaped to the flyer's rear ramp and could not resist turning to catch Vanessa as she landed too, utterly unnecessary as it was. The flyer held four hoppers, they were nearly twice the size of regular armour, and ten times the weight, any more than four, and a smaller flyer wouldn't get off the ground.
Her hopper's core was already humming when she got in, someone had aligned the fittings to her size and shape, folding in on her legs as she wriggled them in, then settled her seat on the crotch and wrestled her arms in like hauling on a giant metal overcoat, all while the flyer fell for the ground away from the vulnerable rooftop. The restraints grabbed her at the necessary points and fastened tight, an embrace she'd always found vaguely erotic, a few FSA girls laughed that if the machine just vibrated a little more in the right spots they'd marry it. And all this power was more than a little orgasmic.
Legs sealed, then arms, a wriggle of fingers to get the gloves humming, then the torso sections sealed with a final, tight yank of harness that pulled pelvis hard onto saddle, any slippage there and you'd bounce inside like a nut in its shell. Men did not look forward to that manoeuver, but women hardly minded.
Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield Page 48
