Reclamation (Book One of the Art of War Trilogy), page 36
‘... Yes, I’m meeting the President now at Halo Arch. He’ll be fully apprised then...’
Josette smiled to herself. She had timed it perfectly. Mary Johnson would receive her update from the EFFECT team that had blackworlded Iyadi and then transmit her findings directly to the President and Howarth. Josette had a window of perhaps ten seconds between those two sets of transmissions in which to make her move.
‘... All right... Johnson out.’
Josette covered the distance between her and the other woman in two seconds, and in a flash, deadzoned the room.
‘Oh, Josette, you bitch,’ were Mary’s last words, as Josette activated the gauntlet and slapped it to the side of the EFFECT agent’s head. She was still facing out the window when the needleflex scrubber scurried free of the glove in a silvery, hair-thin blur and slid into her brain like a pin through jelly. It immediately lanced into the component parts of her IHD and sucked them dry of data before the monofilament lattice expanded inside her skull and scrambled her brain to soup. The whole process took less than a second, in which time Mary had managed to crouch partway into a jiu-jitsu throw which would likely have seen Josette’s spine broken. Instead, she slumped forward as the scrubber slid back into the gauntlet, blood leaking from her nose and ears like water from a tap. She hit the ground with a bodily thump.
Josette stood very still for five minutes, hardly daring to breathe, but there was nothing – no alarms, no footsteps in the corridor, no suspicious or inquisitive calls. The scrubber had uploaded Mary’s IHD signature to the sprite; so as far as her digital presence across the full spectrum of UN nets was concerned, she was still alive. That did not free Josette from the painstaking responsibility of concealing Mary’s body, however. The building could, and would, detect a corpse fairly quickly.
She took a few minutes to review the deadzone. All of Mary’s inbuilt Death-of-Agent protocols had been easily contained by the sprite, which had in turn bounced them directly into Josette’s IHD. Most were the standard warnings and data purges she would have expected, but there were some highly encrypted personal messages, presumably to be sent on to her family. One priority message was a dossier on Josette herself and a smattering of mostly true theories about her helping to smuggle kaygryn political prisoners off a number of worlds during her time as Commissioner for Refugees. She felt a stab of adrenaline at that, but the suit had done its job, and there was no need for concern.
She transferred Mary’s IHD data to a compartmentalised section of her own and purged the sprite’s data banks. Then, checking the position of the other two warm bodies on the fourth floor, she walked back to the door, opened it and recovered her holdall. She locked the door behind her and polarised the glass panes.
‘Right,’ she said quietly to herself, eyeing Mary’s corpse queasily. She had not anticipated such a high volume of blood. It had soaked into the carpet in vast quantities, leaving a large wet red stain easily thirty centimetres across. Given that the President was already waiting on her, she also didn’t have time to clean it up.
She forced herself to remain calm. She knew the only way to ensure success was to stick to her carefully laid plans. She shed the sprite suit and put her own clothes and wig back on, then stripped off Mary’s blood-soaked garments and dressed her corpse in the sprite suit. The latter took a good twenty minutes, however, considerably longer than she had planned for, and by the time the first message came through from the President to Mary’s IHD, she had started to panic.
You’re late. We’re in bunker 5. Bring Josette with you.
‘Shit,’ she hissed, fumbling the sprite suit against Mary’s cooling skin. Misgivings were quick to cloud her judgement, but she beat them back with thirty seconds of quiet reflection and a long series of deep, calming breaths. She consoled herself with the fact that the course of galactic events was now well beyond her control, and there was nothing she could do except continue down the path she had started on. The murder she had just committed would dictate the pace of the next stage of the plan, but the conflict between the UN and the Ascendancy was already snowballing. All she needed to do was guide it in the right direction.
Once she was dressed, she checked her wig in the mirror and, licking a thumb, cleaned a few spots of blood from her cheek, then dragged Mary’s corpse into a cabinet, shoved it inside and deadlocked the door. She took one last look in the mirror, then exited the room and locked the office door behind her. She cancelled the deadzone almost as an afterthought, and was relieved to note, once more, that there were no alarms. A macabre thought of Mary decomposing inside the sprite suit for months suddenly popped into her head, and she quickly shivered it away.
She walked briskly down the hall, sending a cursory reply from Mary’s IHD to the President about being delayed, then turned into the stairwell and retraced her steps. This time, however, she exited via the main doors and out into the unseasonably warm evening sun. There was an unmanned cruiser waiting for her at the top of the boulevard, a sleek black shuttle that would take her back over Arrengate, past Whiteport and over to Fleet Command Halo Arch. She climbed into the hold via a trio of steps, strapped herself in and within minutes was speeding over the turbulent, roiling waters of the East Sea.
Once she was comfortable, she opened the dossier which Mary had been preparing on her. It detailed the last thirty years of her career, focussing heavily on a number of investigations into her department regarding trafficking. Josette smiled to herself. The time with which the report was concerned was when Hadan’s Reach was still biting hard. Using the official refugees register and a clandestine network of sympathisers, her office had managed to smuggle over twenty thousand kaygryn political prisoners, spies and dignitaries out of kaygryn countries and off kaygryn worlds, and the resultant campaign of what the UN had termed ‘terrorism’ had been a direct consequence of that same network arming and organising these kaygryn into cells and seeding them across the galaxy. Mary’s report speculated that Josette had had a personal hand in organising and funding this campaign of sabotage, and Josette had to admire the woman’s investigative skill. Indeed, she regarded the operation as the highlight of her personal and professional life – though that particular accolade was soon to be eclipsed.
The rest of the dossier concentrated on theories about Josette’s career path, including her time spent in the Xeno Aid Office, her time as Commissioner for Refugees, and finally her UNIS secondment, which had, for the last six months, been spectacularly and deliberately bad at tracking down kaygryn wanted by the Ascendancy. It was that ineptitude which had piqued the interest of EFFECT in the first place, or at least that of Mary Johnson. Fortunately for Josette, a quick scan showed no sign of the dossier having been sent. She ran a special deletion program that erased all trace of it and burned it from Mary’s Implant Hard Drive. She spent the rest of the journey staring out the window as the vast city of Arrengate sped below, chased by the flat, emerald plains surrounding Halo Arch.
The Fleet Command building was, in her opinion, considerably more impressive than Solar Ops HQ, formed of a great white pillar jutting free from the surrounding plains like a giant’s shinbone, crowned with a vast box of concrete and glass bristling with antennae. At its base, beyond the field of FTL communications satellites, the grass flats were divided into vast quadrangles, each centred by low-orbit elevators anchored into the ground via enormous, high-tensile cables and surrounded by hundreds of landing platforms, runways, hangars and arms depots.
A blurt of data chatter passed between the cruiser’s VI and the air traffic control VI, and the shuttle banked with a gut-churning swoop to its assigned landing platform at the base of the main building. Josette stepped out into the warm evening air at a brisk pace and jogged up the stairs to the entrance, filtering out the sounds and smells of a busy spaceport and the dizzying view of the Halo Arch. Focus was everything; she couldn’t afford to let her concentration lapse for even a second.
She pushed through the entrance and had her IHD direct her through the lobby to Bunker Five. Guards clad in blue-and-white Mantix suits stood everywhere, cradling their railguns, ambling about in twos and threes. Holos lining the walls provided near real-time updates on the conflict with the provar and flashed constant reminders of the security situation and the need for heightened vigilance.
After several security scans and a manual search which roundly missed the needleflex scrubber, she made it into an elevator which smoothly and rapidly descended four hundred metres to the presidential command bunker. Even ensconced within its metal walls, she could not escape the news broadcasts. The latest detailed the nuclear attacks on Sonato Go, the Kansubashi Empire’s second largest port and naval muster, by the Ascendancy Home Fleet. Deaths were estimated to be in the tens of thousands; the loss to the Empire’s war effort was inestimably vast. The formal withdrawal of the UN’s closest ally from the conflict was now, already, all but guaranteed.
The elevator arrived with a smooth hiss, and she stepped out into another short hallway bright with warning markers. A brisk walk brought her to the guarded doorway, and a final check preceded her entrance into the bunker proper.
‘About damned time,’ the President growled as she stepped through the door.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she replied, making a show of being out of breath.
‘No matter. Sit down.’
The President gestured to the large, round table where the rest of the Joint Chiefs were sitting. Alistair Frost smiled at her warmly, while the rest simply regarded her. John Garrick was making some kind of attempt to narrow his eyes, but she ignored him.
‘We are running through the Xhevegan contingency with the rest of the Joint Chiefs,’ the President said, indicating the active holo hovering over the table in front of her. ‘Frost and Howarth agree that now is the right time.’
Josette nodded slowly, then held up her hands. ‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ she said and adopted a serious expression.
‘Where is Ms Johnson, by the way?’ Aurelius asked no one in particular. He checked the time. ‘We need her here. She was supposed to be here half an hour ago.’
‘She is still in SOC, as far as I can tell,’ Howarth said. ‘There is no record of her having left.’ Josette’s heart rate spiked as he briefly caught her eye. She clasped and unclasped her sweaty hands, then silently berated herself for being so ridiculous. She had carried out the plan perfectly. Howarth had no idea. He was good, but he wasn’t omniscient.
‘Did you see her there?’ the President asked her directly.
‘No,’ Josette said, too quickly. She performed a small shrug, once again chastising herself for being so obvious. She was very quickly learning how difficult it was to conceal one’s guilt.
‘Anyway,’ Garrick said through gritted teeth, mercifully drawing the attention of the bunker’s occupants away from her. ‘You were telling us how you fooled half the galaxy?’ He was looking at Frost, who in turn looked across to Howarth. The commander cleared his throat.
‘Yes is the answer to your earlier question. The bomb that was planted in the Voscmark was placed there by my men, acting on my direct orders. We knew the Xhevegans were being watched round the clock by the provar legation. Since Xavanis and Folgana – and in fact all of them, to a greater or lesser extent – were reporting directly to the Ascendancy, there was no way we could have smuggled them offworld without being seen.’
Garrick’s lip curled. ‘Well? Carry on,’ he said, spreading his arms. ‘Tell us all how you did it!’
Josette watched as Howarth came close to rolling his eyes, then stopped himself. ‘We used refraction-shielded explosives. Most Xhevegans were extracted to a safe house on Vhalyssia, then to Zhaash, then offworld.’ He shrugged. ‘The rest were not briefed and had to be killed for identifiable body parts. We have zhahassi who will affirm that the entire legation was killed. EFFECT teams and our Xhevegan specialists are holding orbit over Folhourt.’ He turned to Aurelius. ‘They await presidential authorisation.’
Garrick expressed his frustration by smacking the table top with an open palm, the report of it rapping through the bunker like a gunshot. A moment later he buried his face in his hands. Pike and Scarcroft looked no happier about the situation, and McKone’s face was a rictus of distress.
‘We... feigned the deaths of the Xhevegans on Gonvarion?’ Scarcroft asked after a while, his raven-like features creased downward in distaste.
‘Yes.’
‘And pinned it on the provar?’
Howarth inclined his head. ‘We allowed that conclusion to be drawn.’
‘And the kaygryn skarls? Did we ever make any progress with them? Did we even try to?’
‘The skarls were killed in a vehicle collision thirty kilometres from the Voscmark,’ Howarth said.
‘Yes, we all saw the news,’ Garrick sneered. ‘Or were they blackworlded?’
‘Actually, they did die in a vehicle collision, during our pursuit,’ Howarth said, sounding irritated. ‘Believe me, there is nothing I would prefer than to have them on a blackworld right now. I make no bones about it.’
‘You nearly killed my man,’ McKone said. The tone of his voice immediately drew everyone’s attention. Josette had never seen the old diplomat look so angry before; he was practically shaking. ‘Yano.’ He waved a finger at the EFFECT man. ‘He was impaled on a provari caldar because of you.’
‘With respect,’ Howarth said reasonably, ‘he was supposed to be at dinner.’
Garrick evidently didn’t care about Yano. ‘Never mind any of that,’ he snapped, letting his hands clatter to the table. ‘What in Christ’s name do you plan to do with these Xhevegans now you’ve got them?’
It was Frost who fielded that one. ‘We received intelligence – years ago – of a faction on Folhourt,’ he said. ‘In a nutshell, they’re seeking to overthrow the Ascendancy and install something akin to a pro-UN autocracy.’ He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the looks he was getting. ‘We have it on solid authority that they have gained considerable traction within the Ascendancy, as well as with Home Fleet elements. All they require is someone to light the fuse, and they are confident that they can oust the regime in a matter of months.’
A deadly silence gripped the bunker. Scarcroft, his eyes the widest by some margin, made an incredulous noise. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Alistair? What preposterous intelligence is this? Hell, to what end? With our involvement we stand to lose everything, even if your sources are telling the truth!’
‘Our sources have been thoroughly vetted. The pro-UN faction will not make a move without UN involvement.’ Frost’s voice was strained. ‘Our presence on Folhourt will demonstrate our commitment to their cause. We will be supported by all of Xhevega as well. Without our involvement, it is likely that key players will lose their nerve.’
‘There is no commitment to demonstrate!’ Scarcroft exploded, throwing his hands up. ‘This is ludicrous! You mean to embroil the Ascendancy in civil war through our direct involvement? Is that the nub of it?’
Frost was withering. He ploughed on quickly, trying to get out the rest of the plan before his nerve failed. ‘We plan to insert the Xhevegan provar into the Zecad and support them in taking and holding it. The Ascendancy will not risk attacking their holiest relic. We will hold it to ransom while the coup progresses.’
Scarcroft sat dumb, simply unable to muster any more incredulity. Even Pike’s eyes were wide – aggressive, gung-ho, nuke-a-continent Pike. Garrick looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
‘We have never heard of an organised opposition movement on Folhourt,’ Pike said after a long pause, his voice thick with doubt. ‘I would like to speak to these sources of yours myself.’
‘The intelligence is sound,’ Howarth said hotly, affording Frost a sideways look of contempt. ‘Sedition is rife within the Ascendancy, we just never see it. Highly placed provar sympathetic to the UN will turn the tide of popular opinion in a matter of weeks.’
‘Weeks? Jesus Christ, Karl, I really thought you were smarter than this,’ Scarcroft boomed. ‘This is your contingency? A suicide mission?’
‘That’s enough, Fleet Marshal,’ the President snapped, breaking his reverie. ‘We have been reliably informed by the Xhevegans that they can give us Folhourt on a plate. Given the incumbent galactic instability, now is the perfect time to strike. UN opinion has never been so universally against the Ascendancy. We have all the home support we need.’
‘Just because the people want it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,’ McKone said quietly. ‘I abhor this proposition. I think you are a fool if you persevere.’
‘Oh, shut up with your damned proverbs,’ Aurelius moaned tiredly. He waved his hand. ‘Actually, you’re done. Go. You failed me on Gonvarion. You undermine me at every turn. Leave now, before I have you hanged.’
United in astonishment, the rest of the bunker’s occupants watched in silence as McKone stood up stiffly, turned on his heel and left the room without another word.
‘Gentlemen, I will give you the nub of it,’ the President said as soon as the door closed, jabbing a finger into the table for emphasis. ‘The Ascendancy is the shadow on the wall. They are always there, they are more powerful than us, and they hold far too much traction both politically and militarily. This may be the best and only opportunity we ever have to rid the Tier-Three community once and for all of its greatest threat, and I mean to seize it with both hands.’
‘Sir, we are talking about turning the most powerful civilisation in the galaxy in on itself. Civil war will hurt the UN as much as it will hurt the Ascendancy.’ Pike was talking as earnestly as Josette had ever heard him talk. It was a disconcerting experience. The man was as pro-war as they came. ‘The Home Fleet is only one part of the Ascendancy’s strength. Think of the crusade fleets. All they have to do is turn one around and we are finished.’
‘The crusade fleets are already stopping,’ Howarth said, drawing himself up. ‘Sixteen has been bleeding momentum for twenty hours. Our deep space relays have confirmed it. Two others show similar signs.’ He fixed Pike in the eye. ‘If we do not act now, we will be overwhelmed within a fortnight.’
