Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield (51 page)

“He's hacking again! Fuck!” A shot went off.

“No shooting! No shooting, you'll hit one of us!”

“Countermeasures, get control, cordon the area! Get us every reinforcement you can, seal us in!”

“If they get hundreds of people down here,” Danya muttered, “you can't hack all of them. We saw you get caught; you're not perfect. They'll get us.”

Ragi stopped. Took a deep breath. And turned around once more. Danya tilted his head to one side, so he could watch through slitted eyes, as Fed agents converged on the ruined car, weapons out and wary as though expecting the empty air to spring alive and get them.

“There he is!” yelled one agent, pointing his gun at another agent. The other agent looked astonished. “Get on the ground, get on the ground or I'll drop you!” Frightened, the other agent raised her weapon in defence. Crack! and fell to the road. Other agents turned their guns on the shooter.

“What the hell? You shot Carla!”

“There there! Put it down!” Another outbreak on the wreck's far side, agents screaming at each other. Another shot, and someone else went down, then everyone was hitting the ground, lots of yelling and confusion.

“Kill some more of them!” Svetlana snarled with eager anticipation. “Make them shoot themselves, can you do that?”

“I have no control over motor function,” Ragi said quietly. “I only control what they see. I think we have enough confusion for now. Let's go.”

He walked back down the road, past cowering pedestrians who might have come to help had not the shooting started. A couple of teenagers sheltered in a building doorway and stared at them passing—too young for uplinks, Danya realised, they saw everything. And here, sheltering beside a roadside tree…

“Hello,” said Ragi to someone Danya couldn't see, “you must be Kiril.”

“Danya!” Kiril exclaimed in fear.

“It's okay, Kiri,” Svetlana told him, “it's okay. Danya's a bit hurt, but he's okay. Ragi can make us invisible to the bad guys, so you come with us and we'll get Danya to a doctor.”

“Danya, the taxi tried to drive away with me in it!” Kiril said indignantly. “I made it let me out, but it didn't want to! And then I told it…”

“That's great, Kiri,” Danya muttered. He could really use a pain-induced blackout right about now. In the movies the hero always blacked out and woke up safe in a bed somewhere. That would be perfect. “Just hold Svetlana's hand and we'll go, huh?”

“You knew about the Supreme Court,” Sandy said to Ibrahim. “Didn't you.” They stood in an old library between tall rows of hardcover paper books. On Ibrahim's other side, Vanessa leaned against the shelves, hands in pockets.

Ibrahim pursed his lips. “I suspected. I have sources unknown even to Mr Shin.”

“In some ways Yadav's right,” said Vanessa. “The court can't do its job unless it's protected. When the guys whose job it is to protect them, and everyone else, start fighting amongst themselves, everything stops functioning. Supreme Court included. They took sides to protect themselves.”

Ibrahim sighed. Took a random title off the shelf and flicked to the contents page. Gujarat State Tax Law, Filed Casework, 2388 to 2389. Good chance they would not be interrupted in this stretch of the public library VR space. There was no real reason to lay it out like this in old book format, but some people liked the atmosphere.

“I'm like you in some ways, Vanessa,” Ibrahim said. “I did not start my career in security. I did odd jobs after school, then a doctorate in public administration.”

“I saw the ‘Dr’ against your name once,” Vanessa admitted. “You don't publicise it much.”

He gave her a solemn glance beneath arched brows. His natural expression among friends, somewhere between thoughtful intensity and mild bemusement. “My thesis was on the importance of theoretical structural foundation underlying all public administration. It was quite good too. And almost completely irrelevant to what I do today. When the prospect of war against the League began to look real, I realised that without victory there, nothing I'd focused on to that point mattered even a bit. We don't need a theoretical foundation, we need a secure foundation. Which, given the natural state of insecurity in all things, is quite a task. Thus my new calling.”

“So you sent me and Rhian in there without a warning,” Sandy surmised from his lack of direct answer.

“Would my warning have made your success or failure more or less likely?” Ibrahim asked. Sandy thought about it. And shook her head. “I know your capabilities, Cassandra, and I did not want to make you prejudge the situation. I may have been wrong. And our professional relationship, like it or not, is one in which I will sometimes place you in great danger.”

“I know,” said Sandy. She looked up at the high ceiling above the shelves. Wondering if this library space was based on somewhere real. It looked impossibly ornate, probably European. Someone's fantasy imagining of what a grand old library ought to look like. Getting here was relatively simple, now that the net was in chaos, thanks to Sandy's appeal on Rami Rahim's show. Whole chunks of the Tanushan network were now essentially unmonitorable, even by the GC. “It doesn't leave us with many options, does it?”

“Well, no,” Ibrahim agreed. “Our enemies control the Grand Council and the Callayan Government. We have friends in CSA SWAT, but they're immobilised, thanks to the Callayan Government's control of the CSA. Our own intelligence arm, FedInt, is up to its ears in Operation Shield, and their loyalties are uncertain.”

“I wouldn't say that,” said Vanessa. “More likely hostile.”

“Add to that the forces currently carrying out Operation Shield under GC orders were brought here by Fleet,” Ibrahim continued, “indicating large portions of Fleet are involved, probably in response to negotiations with League out at New Torah. If the orbital strike against the Maldaris is any indication.”

“You're saying we're screwed,” said Sandy.

“No,” said Ibrahim with certainty. “I'm saying our options are few. Far fewer than I'd hoped even yesterday.”

“I can think of one,” Sandy said solemnly. “But it involves popular uprising and blood on the streets. Led by myself, possibly a few others, volunteers…” she paused, to let that sink in, “…who hit the GC, possibly the Callayan government, and kill some people. Starting with Ballan and Singh.”

Even Vanessa paled at that. There was a silence at the sheer magnitude of it. “Sandy, that's political assassination. It's…”

“It's a violent coup,” said Sandy. “It's exactly what they've already accused me of. They put an awful lot of work into making it seem real. I'll finally give them what they want.”

“And then what? Fleet arrives in orbit, with more firepower than you can possibly handle, and kicks you out what, a month later?”

“A month in which we put the record straight,” Sandy replied. “Then let people decide what they think the truth is.”

“The essential question here is not whether Operation Shield is justified or not,” said Ibrahim, putting the virtual tax volume back on the shelves. “It's on the question of the amendments proposed by 2389 and its supporters. I can tell you all the psychological analyses will tell you the same—people will decide the former question based upon where they stand on the latter. Like watching a football game, if your team is accused of a foul, they're innocent. If the other team is accused of a foul, they're guilty. The nature of the foul itself is irrelevant.”

“Thank you, Mr Theoretical Foundation,” Sandy said drily.

“The problem with your proposal,” Ibrahim continued, “is that without a full revealing of the fraud that Operation Shield is, the political space that you will create is one with two opposing sides, separated in violent confrontation. That is how civil wars begin.”

“Moral question for you,” said Sandy with a deadly intent stare. “Is it worth a civil war to prevent a state, or a federation of worlds, from building a foundation of constitutional law based on dangerous lies? A foundation that may last hundreds more years, and lead to much larger wars, civil or otherwise, in the future? Or do we retreat in fear of conflicts and let our enemies use that fear of conflict against us and just hope that it never gets that bad?”

Ibrahim looked at her for a long moment. And took a long, thoughtful breath.

“Wait a moment,” said Vanessa in dawning horror. “We're not actually going to do this, are we?” Ibrahim and Sandy looked at her. “No! I'm not going to launch a fucking coup! That's the whole point, don't you get it? The point is that they're wrong! We'd never do something like that, any of us—if we do this, we just prove them right!”

“They were always right, Vanessa,” Sandy said quietly. Vanessa stared at her. “I wasn't planning a coup. But I was always capable. If pushed far enough.”

“Well, I'm not!”

“You are. You've not thought it through far enough.”

“Sandy! This is Tanusha! I was born here! I swore an oath to defend its government and I extended that oath to the Federation…”

“You did not!”

“And I'm not going to make a bloodbath in my own fucking city!”

“You swore an oath to defend the constitution!” Sandy shouted, eyes blazing. “These people just wiped their ass on the Federation and Callayan constitutions both, then set them on fire! You think you swore an oath to defend the
government
? Good God, Vanessa, you're not that stupid!”

“Stupid?”

“Governments are the first and primary threat to constitutions, and institutions like ours were designed from inception to be a knife at every government's throat! That's why they tried to take us out, don't you get
that
?”

“Sir!” Vanessa stared at Ibrahim. “This is your plan? Violent insurrection?”

“Last resort does not mean unthinkable, Vanessa,” Ibrahim said solemnly. “It means the last resort. I sent Cassandra and Rhian to the Supreme Court despite suspecting it was a trap because I wanted to be sure. But I think we're there. The last resort.”

“Sir…it's just not possible that the Federation can come to this!” Vanessa said desperately. “This is the Federation! We don't do that here!”

“And yet they've done it. To us, to everyone. We did not start the violence, Vanessa, that was them.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“It makes every difference. We are the speed break. The buffer that absorbs the impact of rapid change and colliding political forces. Our purpose is essentially conservative, an irony lost on 2389, who style themselves the true conservatives, restoring the original constitution and all. We preserve, we do not initiate. So it is here.”

“Sir, you were the one lecturing that we had to hold back until we had proof!” Vanessa reminded.

“Proof would be lovely,” Ibrahim admitted. “It's quite possible our lack of action is the reason it cannot reveal itself, as the enemies of proof hold all the levers.”

Vanessa blinked, staring at him. “Or was that just an act? To throw everyone off, in case there were leaks?”

Ibrahim's heavy-lidded eyes gave nothing away. Vanessa swore to herself and looked about in exasperation.

“Letting them get away with it,” Ibrahim said carefully, “is not a viable
defence of the constitution. Security is not results, Vanessa. Security is process. Results are for historians. Soldiers do not decide results. Soldiers fight. Allah decides.”

“Well, then you and Allah have a problem,” Vanessa retorted. “Because you're talking a military coup, and we're not the military! We're the FSA, we've precious few resources left, and the actual military, the Fleet, is still in orbit over us! What are we going to use, harsh language?”

“If so,” said Sandy, “you're on point.” Vanessa glared at her.

“My harshest assessments of the Federation's governing structure,” Ibrahim said quietly, “I've never published, nor even mentioned. If they'd been known, I'd never have been given this position.”

“You saw it coming,” said Sandy.

“I have sources,” said Ibrahim. “Sources even Chief Shin does not. Sources I share with no one, not even you. This system has always been dysfunctional, we've just never noticed the dysfunction until now because circumstances have never pushed its limits far enough to force a system failure. But I've taken precautions, ever since I took the office.”

“Assets?” Sandy asked. Hopefully.

Ibrahim nodded. “Let me show you.”

President Vikram Singh entered Ambassador Ballan's large Grand Council office, assistants and bodyguards remaining outside.

“Mr President,” said Ballan, coming to shake his hand. “Good of you to come. Refreshments?”

“No thank you, I can't stay long.” Singh settled his broad self into the waiting chair. “Trouble in Parliament. Opponents to Operation Shield are moving to table censure motions; we're expecting a concerted assault over the next week.”

Ballan took his own seat with a frown of concern. “Can they succeed?”

Singh made a face and shook his head. A big, serious man with a thin beard and imposing charisma, despite his infrequent smiles. His turban was dark blue to match exactly his expensive suit, no flashy colours for the President of Callay. “They've had a sudden shot of courage with all this protest and mess in Tanusha. But the popular support isn't there, and soon they'll realise it. The Callayan public has never gone for this sort of thing, protest politics, agitation.
We are a population of professionals, everyone is expected to do their job efficiently, not break windows and make trouble. They're at least fifty votes short, and they know it.”

“Good to hear,” said Ballan. “Thank you for all your help on this. It couldn't have been done without you.”

Singh waved the thanks away. “Putting Ibrahim in charge of the FSA was stupid. The man considers himself a law unto himself, it was always going to make trouble. I've been speaking with some of the ambassadors involved in this—Callayan ambassadors, you understand, on behalf of their world governments, not the Grand Council—and we'd like some sort of guarantee that the selection criteria for FSA Chief is strengthened.”

“What sort of person would you prefer?”

“Someone who respects the primacy of elected bodies,” said Singh with certainty. “No one elected him. I daresay if he was put to a vote, after all he's done to promote Kresnov and her little gang of subversives, he'd lose by a wide margin.”

Ballan kept a straight face. Singh was an intelligent man, but like so many intelligent men, once elected to high office, he put on a fair impersonation of a blustering fool. Talk of popularly electing intelligence chiefs was ludicrous.

“And Director Chandrasekar?” he asked instead. “How is he holding up to the pressure?”

“There's no sign his little mutiny is going anywhere.” Singh folded his hands on his middle, tugged his suit jacket. “Could use a little more useful Intel there though, we're not getting much from the CSA. Our only other source of Intel is the SIB, and they're bloody useless. Ibrahim was right about that much.

“Where are we on the amendments? I need those amendments passed, Allessandro. Once they pass, I'll be able to point to an achievement in the whole mess, a means of preserving Callayan independence from Federal overreach. Which is damn hard to do right now with Federal overreach shooting up my city,” he nodded sourly to the windows, another tuck at the jacket, “and shutting down my security agencies. But I can turn it to my favour once the amendments pass. I can point to this as a real example of what I'm trying to protect us from, and say never again.”

Again, Ballan let pass the measure of the man's smallness. All he needed Singh for was to keep the domestic agencies, particularly the CSA, in line. And to assist in keeping all network codes open to Operation Shield and the Grand Council. Which reminded him…