Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield (44 page)

“Well,” he said, and took a deep breath. “It must be really important. I mean
no one
uses Kiril's uplinks; I didn't even know Ari could activate them. And he's right, Sandy will kill him.”

“Maybe he had no choice,” Svetlana said urgently. “Maybe he's in trouble.”

Well, stating the obvious, Svet. But he didn't say it. “And he wants us to go to Director Ibrahim. But we can't just call him because Ari would have done that himself if he could…and Ari's so good at everything network, if
he
can't get through, no one can.”

Except maybe this Ragi person. Whoever that was. But it made sense, because as he understood it, what was happening was a takeover of the Federal government. Not the local Callayan government, that was big enough…but the
Federal
government, the Grand Council. The place that ran
everything
. And if you controlled that, surely you could control the network in ways that even someone like Ari couldn't. Ari was like a car on the road or a cruiser on a skylane, but the Feds controlled the roads and skylanes. And could deny access however and to whomever they wanted.

“So how do we get to Ibrahim?” Svetlana wondered. “I mean, we can't just catch an air taxi, right?”

“No one can land at FSA HQ without clearance,” said Danya. “I mean, we could probably get it if we asked, being Sandy's kids, but they're after Sandy…they're saying she was leading the coup.”

“Yeah, right!” Svetlana snorted.

“No, the Feds will grab us before we get halfway there.” Or shoot us down, was the less pleasant version. “We could try to sneak in, but security will be everywhere, and we kind of stand out. I mean, they know there's three
of us, they know our ages and genders, they see us three together they'll figure it out.”

“But why do they want us?” Kiril asked. “We're just kids. And Ari said they can't trace that message.” Smart Kiril, always understanding just enough to get him into trouble.

“We're Sandy's kids, Kiril. They've accused her of leading a coup. We know that's bullshit, they won't want us telling anyone, they need to prove she did it.”

“But she didn't!”

That Kiril and Svetlana were so certain was predictable. Danya wasn't so sure. He loved Sandy, but loving someone didn't mean you trusted they'd do everything right. And he hadn't known her that long, really. But voicing those doubts here served no purpose.

“They're liars, Kiril,” he explained. “They need everyone to believe they're not liars. We know they are, so they won't want us talking to anyone.”

“Maybe we could go to the media?” Svetlana wondered.

Danya shook his head. “None of the media like Sandy, they wouldn't believe us.” And they'd make us into the story, he thought. Sandy was always worried about that, it was why the media knew so little about them. Poor little brainwashed kids, believing their GI foster mother was a good person when she was really a monster.

“So if we can't go to any of the HQs ourselves,” Svetlana said slowly, thinking as hard as Danya had ever seen her think. “But we can't use the net at all because the Feds will find us.” And she brightened. “We have to find Ari! Ari can find anyone, right?”

Danya shook his head, gnawing a nail. “If he could find us, he wouldn't have sent that message. Like you said, I think he's in trouble. In fact, I think maybe he's…” but he didn't know that. And wouldn't say it, not just for his siblings’ sake, but for his own. And Sandy's. But sending vital information to Kiril seemed like the desperate last act of someone about to run completely out of options. “I think maybe he's gone to ground, so no one can find him,” Danya finished.

“Then who?” asked Kiril.

Danya thought hard. Sandy had friends in the underground…many of whom she'd lately suspected were becoming less keen to help her. The Feds
would be watching all of them, and besides, Danya didn't know them well enough to guess which were real friends. In Droze he'd discovered all too often how people who were friendly when it was safe for them became less so when it wasn't.

Sandy also knew people in civil rights, lawyers and the like, helping on various GI asylum cases…but she hadn't been in contact with them since she'd been back, and he'd gathered some of them were kind of upset with her. Ditto various GIs in Tanusha with whom she was always friendly but no longer regarded as “one of the team,” as she'd heard Sandy once put it in conversation with someone else.

“There's Poole,” he considered aloud. “But he's a CSA-trainee and the CSA are locked down.”

“There's Detective Sinta?” Svetlana suggested.

“The Feds were after her even before all this happened,” Danya replied. “She'll have gone to ground, if they haven't got her already.”

“This sucks!” Svetlana exclaimed in frustration. “This is supposed to be a good place, how can the Grand Council go around grabbing and killing everyone they don't like?”

“They say they're responsible for a coup,” Danya explained tiredly, slumping against the wall by the window. “Or an attempted coup. So they get everyone and say they had no choice, the coup was just about to happen. Like that time you punched Hanny Graham in the nose, then said he was just about to hit you so you had no choice.”

“Well, he was!” Danya raised a skeptical eyebrow. Svetlana huffed. “I bet you he was. I was sure of it.”

“It's called a preemptive strike, Svet. And if you make up a big enough tale about the thing you were preempting, you can excuse pretty much anything, without the other person actually having done anything.”

“Hanny
was
going to do something, he was balling up his fists like this, and…”

“Hey, look!” Kiril cut her off, pointing to the room display, flashing images with the sound off. There was a picture of Sandy, from back when she'd had longer hair. It was in the corner of a larger image, a house on fire, surrounded by fire trucks. The image divided, back to a studio, a commentator behind a desk.

“…
now confirming the sensational news that Commander Kresnov was personally piloting this cruiser when it flew into a house in Claremont, killing three occupants, including a small child. Officials will not confirm whether Commander Kresnov has been confirmed killed in the incident, but we've all seen the footage of the A-12 combat flyer crashed in nearby Claremont CBD. Officials will neither confirm the cause of that incident, but eyewitnesses and some emerging security vision indicates at least two gunships chasing and shooting at someone on the ground, followed by one of them being destroyed…and again, I'll repeat that this is just speculation at this point, but the speculation is that that gunship was destroyed by Commander Kresnov. No civilians were killed or injured in that shooting, which is quite remarkable given how built up the area is, and how little concerned Commander Kresnov appears to have been about civilian casualties in this firefight, using these populated buildings on the ground for cover
.”

“What the fuck is she supposed to do?” Svetlana yelled at the screen. “Stand in the open and let them kill her?”

“Shush, Svet,” said Danya, staring at the screen.

“They make it sound like she started it!” Svetlana protested. “They attacked
her
! And it's not her fault if her cruiser lands on someone after they shoot it down!”

“I know, Svet, quiet!”

“
…trying to get an official response from Director Ibrahim of the Federal Security Agency…our viewers will of course recall that Shan Ibrahim was previously the Director of the Callayan Security Agency, before being transferred in controversial circumstances to head the Federal body following the abrupt resignation of former Director Diez four months ago…
”

“Is anyone here stupid enough not to know that?” Svetlana asked. “I know that and I only just got here.”

“Yes, plenty are that stupid,” said Danya. “Now quiet.”

“
A short time ago a spokeswoman for Ambassador Ballan of the Office of Intelligence Directorate gave this brief statement to the media
.” A woman's face appeared, before many lights and cameras. She spoke. “
It saddens us greatly to learn that Commander Kresnov was behind this despicable plot. We'll be releasing records, intercepted communications between the Commander and various of the other plotters. We're confident they show just how central she was to the entire affair. Given her capabilities, it was with great regret that the OID concluded it had no choice but to eliminate the Commander in the opening moments of Operation Shield. The results
of that strike are as yet inconclusive, and we ask you all to be patient as we investigate further into the Commander's status. Thank you
.”

And departed, ignoring the shouted questions of reporters at her back.

“Ha!” said Svetlana. “They didn't kill her; if they'd killed her they'd be shouting about it! They know damn well she killed their gunship instead, and now she's going to kill all of them!”

“No, she won't.” Svetlana and Kiril looked at Danya in surprise. Danya was nearly surprised himself. But suddenly, he found himself increasingly sure of what was going on…or at least, of what he had to do. “Killing people won't change the situation in the GC, Sandy will have to prove this is all a setup. You do that by being smart, not just by killing people.”

“I bet she kills a few of them,” Svetlana said hopefully.

“Probably a few,” Danya agreed. “But whatever Ari sent to Kiril, it's important to help prove this is all a setup. If we're going to help Sandy, we have to get that information to someone who can help.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. But I want to start by finding out who this ‘Ragi’ person is, because if his uplinks are based on the same technology as Kiril's, he might be the only guy who can still talk to everyone on the net.”

Tacnet showed Poole that they were flying very low, and very fast. Which would be interesting for the pilot, because CSA SWAT's emergency lanes privilege couldn't be working, so how they were doing it without crashing into people, Poole didn't know.

Captain Arvid Singh was having a harsh conversation with someone back at HQ, probably Director Chandrasekar himself, but no one could hear exactly what because Singh's faceplate was down, and the conversation wasn't registering on tacnet. The rest of SWAT One were crammed onto bench seats in full armour, fists gripping supports and some standing to make room for four medtechs, their gurneys, and other equipment. Poole was not the only GI—the other was Patrick, a 41 series now a permanent member of SWAT One, having passed all training and acquired citizenship some months back. After hearing what had happened to the base down in the Maldaris, pretty much every GI in SWAT had volunteered, but Singh had selected Poole as his plus-1 and left in a rush. Fair bet that Chandrasekar was not happy, but no one had waited long enough to hear his opinion.

“
Okay
,” said Singh, using tacnet com to be heard above the roaring engines and rattling equipment as they bumped through Tanusha's humid air. “
ETA two minutes. We don't have a feed on the crash site because the Feds aren't sharing and they've banned media overflights. But there's a crash on the L35, two badly injured, we're pretty sure one is Agent Ruben, not sure who the other passenger is.

“
The CSA charter says we have medical jurisdiction on all of our people, but the chatter from the civvie ambulance that just landed suggests they're taking both to Arora General, where the Feds have cordoned off the top floor to treat all the other people they've shot. Be warned what you're getting into here, legal advice is murky, CSA SWAT has been suspended, so technically we're not supposed to be flying, but then this is an emergency medical rescue, and to the best of my extensive legal training, I can't see how suspending SWAT suspends the CSA charter, given the rest of the CSA is not suspended.

“
If you don't want to dismount, that's fine, possibly we'll all get arrested at some point. But removing our people from our care is an
assault on the CSA charter, and an assault on the CSA charter is an assault on Callayan security. These guys are Federal security. Fuck Federal security, if they want to step on us, we'll step on them harder. Let's get our people back.
”

Poole suspected the bit about “extensive legal training” was a joke; there were stories about how Captain Singh had once been considered the SWAT trooper least likely to achieve anything significant, only to prove everyone wrong when the heavy shit started seven years ago. But he couldn't tell if his colleagues were smiling, their faceplates were down, systems tuned into tacnet and hoping the damn thing wouldn't collapse on them once they were down. Probably why Singh wanted him along, Poole thought, gripping his handhold as they jolted through another three-G turn. An independent thinker with few qualms about pulling the trigger, his training reviews were all in agreement. Singh wanted another GI who wouldn't freeze if tacnet crashed, and the fact that he'd chosen Poole suggested he was in no mood for talking nicely.

Then they were slowing. Poole could tell the nacelle pitch was changing by the changing note of the engines, a vibration that made the interior hold rattle and throb.

“
Hello, anonymous Federal authority
,” Singh addressed them. Poole guessed that was humour too, the unfunny kind. “
This is emergency CSA dustoff, we're here to pick up our people according to the constitutionally approved CSA charter, please assist.
”

“
Negative CSA dustoff, we register your vehicle as a SWAT flyer, SWAT is currently suspended by order of OID, return to base or be considered in violation.
”

“
Hello, Federal authority, only a nuclear strike will nullify CSA charter, so unless you're prepared to nuke CSA HQ, I suggest you prepare to assist.
”

No reply, as the flyer flared, Gs pressing them down, a disorientation of inner ear and balance as they swung about and dramatically lost speed.

“
Okay, guys
,” Singh said calmly, “
let's keep it nice and low key. Medics off first with me, Poole and Patrick on the flanks, everyone else defensive perimeter. No aggressive moves, no weapons raised, keep it casual and be prepared to shoot anything that moves on my signal.
”

The rear ramp went down, and the medics were rushing out with their gurneys, with light armour more to help them carry gear and move faster than for combat. Singh, Poole, and Patrick went with them, walking rapidly along the wide expressway in the early dawn, just twenty meters short of where a
twisted lump of metal that might once have been a car now lay amidst a rain of debris.

Emergency crews were already there, a fire truck with several firemen in armoured suits not too different from SWAT's, bending and pulling at wreckage with gloved hands, another with cutting tools. Even now one body was being eased out, limp and bloody…a woman, and bending in amongst the firemen was a uniformed cop, looking alarmed.

At the approach of CSA medics, Feds made a line between them and the wreck, four armoured, another six plainclothes, weapons ready, several more running in from where their cruisers had just landed farther up the road. Singh held up a hand for his guys to stop short, then gestured at the cops around the perimeter of the wreck. The cops were now in furious conversation, the one who had checked the just-removed woman pointing back to her. And saw Singh gesturing and came walking briskly over. Not running, not with all this twitchy firepower around, and the shrilling howl of an A-12 circling somewhere around the perimeter.

“Brother,” said Singh, shaking the cop's hand, faceplate still down. In the noise of flyer engines, cruisers, and cutting tools, no moderate conversation would carry much beyond Poole and Patrick. “Captain Singh, SWAT One.”

“That's one of ours,” said the cop, with no interest in what Singh was doing here, risking a firefight at an accident scene. Pointing back to the wreck. “That's Detective Sinta. We're getting word the Feds wanted her in connection with the coup, now they just fucking blow her up?”

“Okay, listen,” said Singh. “First, cover your mouth when you speak or they'll read your lips. The guy she's with, that's one of ours, Agent Ruben, he's best friends with Ibrahim from Ibrahim's CSA days, got it?” The cop nodded. “Ibrahim wants Sinta, Ibrahim doesn't buy this coup bullshit, that's the word. Sinta knows something that could sink them. You let Sinta go with these guys to Arora General, you might never see her again.”

“They're saying they'll arrange access for us…”

“Buddy, when I say you'll never see her again, I don't mean some procedure will block you for a week. I mean bullet in the head. You get me?” The cop's stare was fearful. “If we get her, you can come see her immediately. They look badly hurt, we've got no time for some legal pissing contest. Just get ready to hit the deck.”

The cop nodded shortly and walked back to his colleagues. His stride was a little shaky, the way untrained straights got when adrenaline overload hit their system. Another few seconds, someone would pick that up and give them away.

Singh beckoned Poole and Patrick closer. “Don't kill anyone; we'll need a couple of hostages so they won't shoot us down on the way back.”

Poole shrugged. “Cool.” And to Patrick, “One high, one low?”

“You go high,” Patrick acknowledged. “Armoured targets first.”

Poole nodded and jumped. Powered armour didn't help a GI much, probably slowed him down if anything with weight and mobility restriction, but he didn't want to get higher than four meters, hanging in the air any longer with a totally predictable trajectory would get him shot.

He put down two of the armoured troops with short bursts in the legs, shots clustering to overload and fragment the armour, then switched to single fire as he fell, and the other two armoured troops fell to Patrick, pulling a pistol left-handed and firing with both hands as his feet hit and knees took the impact with barely a jolt. Feds fell everywhere, clutching arms, legs, knocked spinning by the sheer force, others diving for cover, Poole letting them go and running instead to one of the wounded plainclothes, flinging him over a shoulder, then walking backwards.

The CSA medics were running at the wreck, pushing startled firemen and civvie medics aside, wrestling a body off one gurney and onto another. “Go go go!” Singh was yelling, taking the wounded plainclothes off Poole's hands even now. A Fed agent popped out from behind a flyer's undercarriage to fire, Poole put a round through his arm, then put more fire into some grounded cruisers farther off to keep heads down.

And turned to look out at the hovering A-12, now at a full stop with racks extended…but what was he going to do, use heavy weapons on a cluster of his own wounded people?

The medics were running back now, heads down, but no fire pursued them, those Feds not shot having seen what happened to anyone who tried. Captain Singh walked, his armoured stride supporting a wounded agent over each shoulder, his two GI troopers retreating backward behind him, weapon in each hand. One wounded man reached for a weapon lying nearby; Patrick shot it away from him.

The defensive perimeter troops pulled in, then Poole and Patrick jumped aboard just as the flyer lifted, ramp closing, nose dropping as it thundered at full power and roared away.

“
That A-12’s right up our ass
,” said the pilot, and Poole looked, seeing the ramp hadn't gone up completely, probably Singh figured it was better whoever chased was reminded of the Feds now aboard. Sure enough, the gunship was barely a hundred meters behind, just to one side and above their slipstream, full weapons deployed and unable to use them. Whoever was in charge of this back at OID would be looking through its visuals, real time, fuming at the CSA flyer that had defied their grounding and apparently their expectations, judging from how they'd gotten away with it.

Seated alongside the two gurneys, equipment, and medics treating their patients, now including two wounded Feds, Captain Singh took off his helmet, giving the A-12 a good look at his face, thin beard, patka turban. Popped some gum, handed some to Poole as he removed his helmet too, and accepted, then tossed some more to Patrick who did the same.

“When I was first assigned to Commander Rice's SWAT Four,” Singh shouted at Poole over the roar and howl of engines and wind, “back when she was just an LT, she told us that in psychological standoffs, sometimes you just gotta be a bigger pain in the ass than the other guy!”

“Well, she'd know!” said Poole. Singh laughed. “I think that job description suits me! Jason Poole, CSA SWAT, pain in the ass!”

Singh smiled. And pointed to the gunship following them, attracting its attention. Raised a middle finger at it. “Why you think I'm so good at this job?”

Landing at CSA HQ was even more intense. Waiting for them at the edge of the pad was Director Chandrasekar, arms folded, smart jacket and sleek hair blown about by the downdraft, grim as death. The medics wheeled past at a run, gurneys and patients on their way to intensive care and surgery. Singh and SWAT One followed at a walk, their Captain first, helmets off. At Chandrasekar's back were other agents, Investigations, various specialties, all armed and tense.

“Agent Varghese!” Chandrasekar yelled above the declining shrill of engines. “Place Captain Singh under arrest, remove him of armour and weapons, and take him to holding!”

Singh pulled his pistol and chambered a round. But did not raise it. The agents backing Chandrasekar were very reluctant to raise theirs, seeing how outgunned they were. “Sorry Vargie!” he said. “You do that, I'll put you down!”

“Captain Singh!” Chandrasekar fumed. “This is dangerously close to mutiny!”

“Maybe it is!” Singh snarled. “What you going to do about it, hairpiece?”

Chandrasekar stared. Hell of a question. Poole could see him thinking. The agents at his back were good men and women, real professionals, but combat was not their specialty. SWAT's was. And if SWAT rebelled, who in the CSA would stop them? Not only did they lack the will, they lacked the capability.

The pad doors opened once more as Lieutenant Widjojo walked out, a small man in his service jumpsuit, unarmed, cigarette in mouth and a cup of coffee in each hand. Commander of SWAT Six, no less. He walked straight onto the pad, past his primary boss, and up to Singh, his second but more immediate boss. Handed him the coffee, utterly nonchalant.

“Sorry, boss,” he told Chandrasekar. “I did a year of constitutional law. CSA charter doesn't get annulled just because chain of command says it does. If chain of command breaks with constitutional practise, chain of command is broken, that makes
you
the top link in the chain. At which point you stand for us, and they can go fuck themselves. Ibrahim wouldn't have made that mistake.”

“Ibrahim isn't here,” Chandrasekar retorted. “And you break with
this
chain of command, your career is over.”

“Which brings me to my second constitutional point,” Widjojo added, tapping cigarette ash onto the pad. “Fuck you.”