Shadow of Victory - eARC (55 page)

“Mister Ankenbrandt,” Terekhov acknowledged as he and Helen took their seats and Westman sat back down. “I’m sure you and Mister Westman had a very interesting conversation about beef. I’m not entirely sure why he thought I should meet with you, though.”

“Actually, Commodore,” Ankenbrandt replied, “I didn’t ask to speak to you specifically. I told him I needed to speak to the senior Manticoran naval officer here in Montana.”

“And I figured the chance of me gettin’ him in t’ talk t’ Admiral Gold Peak in any kind of a hurry ranged somewhere from short of slim t’ none,” Westman put in. “’Sides, I figure someone as suspicious and ornery as you’d make a pretty fair first-stage filter.”

“Suspicious I’ll give you,” Terekhov said with a smile. “But I don’t think a Montanan ought to be throwing around words like ‘ornery’ where anyone else is concerned. Come to think of it, that’s probably truer for some Montanans than for others!”

“Point,” Westman acknowledged with a smile. “On th’ other hand, I still don’t have any damned idea what it is Mister Ankenbrandt wants t’ talk to a senior officer about!”

Terekhov considered him for a moment, then turned a cool blue gaze upon Ankenbrandt.

“I’m certainly not the senior officer in Montana at the moment,” he said. “On the other hand, if you want to talk to her, I’m afraid you’ll have to convince me first. So what’s this all about?”

“That’s a…complicated question, Commodore,” Ankenbrandt replied, and glanced sharply in Helen’s direction.

“Ensign Zilwicki is my flag lieutenant.” There was an edge of frost in Terekhov’s voice. “I don’t propose to send her to sit at the kiddies’ table while the adults discuss serious matters.”

“Sorry.” Ankenbrandt colored slightly, and his tone sounded genuinely apologetic. “It’s just that—Well, the truth is I guess I’m nervous—scared as hell, really—about this whole thing. And I never expected to encounter so much of your Navy here in Montana.”

“Then why did you come here?” Terekhov asked.

“Actually, what I was supposed to do when I got here was to send a prearranged, coded message on to Spindle,” Ankenbrandt said. “No one in Mobius expected Admiral Gold Peak to actually be here, in Montana, when I arrived. This information needs to get to her absolutely ASAP, and when I realized she was here, I also realized this was the best opportunity to get it delivered. And my…superiors were paying pretty close attention to the rumors coming out of the Quadrant after the Battle of Monica. They briefed me on everything they knew about it, and that suggested to me that Mister Westman here might be able to…facilitate contact with her.”

“Why not go directly to the Navy? Or to someone in the Montana system government?”

“Because my initial contact with Mister Westman could be covered by my employer’s instructions to find a source of beef here in Montana,” Ankenbrandt replied reasonably. “To be honest, I’m not fully comfortable about talking to two uniformed RMN officers in a public place, but Mister Westman insisted I had to…pass muster with you before I’d have any chance of reaching Admiral Gold Peak. Things are moving so fast in Mobius that I decided I had no choice but to take the chance.”

“Why?” Terekhov asked. “No offense, Mister Ankenbrandt, but what could events in Mobius possibly have to do with Admiral Gold Peak?”

Ankenbrandt looked acutely unhappy. He sat for several seconds, playing with a steak knife and staring down at the light reflected from the flat of the blade. Then, finally, he drew a deep breath and looked back up at Terekhov.

“I know you won’t have been briefed on a single thing I’m about to say,” he said. “Admiral Gold Peak will have been, though.”

“And?” Terekhov prompted when the other man paused again.

“I represent…a group in Mobius which has been discussing certain things—very quietly—with a…representative of your Star Empire,” he said slowly. “In the course of that discussion, we were promised support—naval support—under certain circumstances.”

The soft background music made the silence around the table even more profound, Helen thought. That silence lingered for a dozen heartbeats before Terekhov leaned back in his chair.

“Naval support,” he repeated carefully, and a tense-faced Ankenbrandt nodded. Terekhov pursed his lips, then tilted his head. “You’re right, this isn’t anything I’ve been briefed on. So, before we go any farther, let me be sure I understand what’s being said. You’re telling me the people you represent—other than the Trifecta Corporation, that is—are planning some sort of action in Mobius that will require outside naval support and that the Star Empire of Manticore’s promised you that support?”

Ankenbrandt nodded again.

“I can only assume, then,” Terekhov said softly, “that you’re talking about some form of…active uprising against your own system’s government? And you’re saying Manticore’s offered you actual direct, open support for that?”

“Yes,” Ankenbrandt said tersely. Then he grimaced. “Nobody in Mobius expected to need to contact you this soon. It wasn’t supposed to happen for months yet. But last month what was supposed to be a peaceful political demonstration—President Lombroso announced new elections several T-months ago; it was only supposed to be window dressing, but some people actually took him seriously—turned ugly. In fact, it turned damned ugly.” The unremarkable-looking man looked far less unremarkable, as hatred twisted his expression. “Lombroso turned Scorpion tanks loose on them,” he continued harshly. “Casualties were…heavy. And some of our people had smuggled some of the antitank weapons your people’ve shipped in to us into positions covering the demonstration. So now we’ve got hundreds of civilian dead and wounded and the Presidential Guard knows someone’s managed to get modern weapons past Customs.” He shook his head. “Under the circumstances, we think Lombroso’s going to call in OFS and Frontier Fleet, and when that happens, we’re going to need that naval support.”

He met Terekhov’s eyes levelly.

“We’re going to need it badly,” he said, very, very quietly.

Chapter Forty-Nine

“So,” Lucinde Myllyniemi snuggled up against Rufino Chernyshev, her head on his shoulder, and her breath was warm on his ear. “Now that I’ve had my wicked way with you, are you ready to tell me what’s been on your mind all night?”

“You realize that if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” he said, stroking one hand down her flank, and she purred.

“Nonsense,” she told him. “I’m far too valuable an asset.”

“Oh, in so many ways,” he agreed with a smile. Then his expression turned more serious. “Actually, there is something I need to brief you in on, although I hadn’t really planned on doing it under these circumstances.”

“Well, I don’t have any problem mixing pleasure with business.” She nipped the lobe of his ear.

“So I see.” He smiled again, then rolled up on an elbow to look down at her. “The thing is that Alpha-One’s authorized Operation Houdini.”

Myllyniemi went very still, eyes even darker than usual, and he let her absorb the implication. Despite her senior—and completely trusted—position as one of the Alignment’s more senior agents, she had no idea Albrecht Detweiler even existed, far less who he might be. She did know where “Alpha-One” stood in the Mesan Alignment’s hierarchy, however, and that was all she needed to know to understand what she’d just been told.

Operation Houdini was the codename for the systematic removal from Mesa of everyone inside the Alignments’ “inner onion.” Altogether, that probably came—although it was only an estimate on her part—to fewer than a hundred thousand people…at the outside. Vastly more people belonged to the Alignment, but none of those other people knew the Alignment’s true purpose and objective.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be as simple as just loading all of them aboard passenger liners and sailing off into the sunset. She knew that, too. Among other things, there was plenty of physical evidence which had to be erased if the secret was to hold. At the same time, the inner onion had been planning for precisely this moment for the better part of a hundred and fifty T-years. She’d had to know at least that much because of her position in the Manpower hierarchy. But from Chernyshev’s tone…

“I take it there’s a certain…time pressure?” she said slowly after a long, thoughtful pause, and he nodded.

“Yes, there is.” His voice was considerably more serious. “Without going into a lot of details that you don’t have the need to know, the Manties and this ‘Grand Alliance’ with Haven are likely to kick the ever loving crap out of the Sollies a lot more quickly than we’d originally anticipated. Mind you, it’s a long way from a given that Manticore can actually beat them. The League’s so damned big that it’s awful hard for me to visualize a situation in which the Manties both militarily defeat it and manage to impose any sort of lasting peace terms. Even assuming our long-term plans succeed almost perfectly, there’s still going to be a Solarian League, and it’s still going to be bigger than the Star Empire of Manticore. If the Manties hammer it hard enough to make the Mandarins in Old Chicago actually knuckle under, there’s going to be a hell of a lot of revanchism rolling around inside it, too. So whether or not Manticore wins an immediate military victory, sooner or later the Sollies are going to be back—this time with matching weapons—for another round.”

Myllyniemi nodded. She’d known the broad terms of the Alignment’s ultimate strategy. Again, it was something she’d needed to know to make intelligent decisions when she couldn’t seek direction from above. She knew precious little about the details, for excellent reasons, but she was aware that the Alignment intended ultimately to place itself in the position of powerbroker between the remnants of a greatly diminished Solarian League and its primary interstellar competitor in order to play the two of them against each other. The assumption—up until the last twenty T-years or so—had been that the League’s probable competitor would be the People’s Republic of Haven.

That had undergone just a bit of revision lately, of course.

“The problem,” Chernyshev continued, “is that, given what happened in Spindle, it’s obvious the Manties’ military advantage is even greater than we’d projected. And when Haven decided to throw in with them instead of finishing them off while they were vulnerable, our attack on their home system—and, yes, that was us, in the unlikely event that you’d failed to figure that out already—isn’t going to buy all the advantages we’d hoped for. Oh, it was still worth doing, but we’d really have preferred for Pritchart and Theisman to use the opening to take the Star Empire off the board once and for all. Instead, they’re supporting Elizabeth, and it’s likely that’s going to embolden the Manties to push their military advantage even harder rather than to pull in their horns. In particular, our analysts suggest Admiral Gold Peak’s just as bloody-minded as her cousin…and perfectly ready to use however sharp a sword she needs on any Gordian Knots that come her way.”

“Like Mesa,” Myllyniemi said.

“Exactly. And that’s particularly bothersome now that we know Zilwicki and Cachat got home alive and took one of the scientists from the Alpha Center with them. That’s not only what inspired Pritchart’s brainstorm; it raises the question of what she—and Manticore—are likely to do now that the Alignment’s intruded into the light.”

“I see the logic,” she said, reaching up to lay one hand along his cheek. “If we have to rush Houdini, though, it’s going to be…messy.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed grimly. He let himself slide back down, laying his other cheek against her breast, and his eyes were shadowed. “The Green Valley attack offers an opening I don’t think anyone’s happy about, but we’re going to use it anyway.” His lips tightened. “I know the Manties’re telling the galaxy Zilwicki and Cachat had nothing to do with the park explosion, and I’m willing to concede they didn’t actually plant the bomb themselves. But those seccies goddamned well wouldn’t’ve had the damned bomb in the first place if not for them. I’m looking forward to paying them back for that. In the meantime, though, there are going to be more strikes by ‘Ballroom terrorists’ here on Mesa. We can use the explosions to ‘disappear’ a lot of the people we’d otherwise be pulling out more gradually and simultaneously erase a lot of physical evidence.”

“That sounds like a lot of collateral damage,” she said unhappily.

“Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen,” he said even more grimly. “I don’t like how high the body count’s going do be. I’m pretty damn sure Alpha-One doesn’t like it, for that matter. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be effective, and the Manties aren’t likely to give us enough time to do it any other way.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“Under the original Houdin plan, you’re scheduled for the third extraction flight,” he said more briskly. “Obviously, that’s subject to change, depending on how the original plan is modified. In any case, thought, you’re going to have to coordinate with pulling out our people on the Manpower board as well. That’s one reason I’m telling you about it now.”

She nodded silently, and he smiled suddenly, lifting himself on his elbow again and cradling her face between his hands before he kissed her slowly and lingeringly. Then he pulled back, still smiling, and she smiled back, despite the ghosts in her eyes.

“And in the meantime,” he said softly, “why don’t you and I find something to distract ourselves from business?”

* * *

Commander Tremont Watson, Frontier Fleet, tried very hard to keep his unhappiness from showing as SLNS Oceanus decelerated toward orbit around the planet Mobius. As a general rule, he was rather proud of belonging to Frontier Fleet—an organization which actually did useful things—rather than Battle Fleet, but at this moment he wished he was almost anywhere else in the galaxy than in Oceanus’ command chair.

“Coming up on the mark, Sir,” Lieutenant Gillespie, his astrogator announced, and he nodded.

“Thank you, Sandra,” he said briskly.

“And what we do now, Sir?” Lieutenant Commander Fred O’Carroll, his executive officer asked very quietly in his ear.

“And now, Fred, we find out exactly what Brigadier Yucel has in mind.” He smiled thinly. “I can hardly wait.”

* * *

“Carlton! What the hell are you doing here?!” Kayleigh Blanchard demanded as one of the Mobius Liberation Front’s riflemen escorted the tall, rather narrow-shouldered man in Landing City Police Department uniform into her command post. “For that matter,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “how the hell did you get here without being shot?!”

“And good afternoon to you, too, Kayleigh,” Captain Carlton Carmichael replied sourly. “Nice to see you.”

“Well, of course it is…I guess,” Blanchard said, reaching out to shake her old boss’ hand. In fact, he’d once been her partner, before his promotion and her resignation. “But my questions stand. How did you get here? And why?”

“I walked across Cloverdale Boulevard waving a white flag,” he said. “I think Lieutenant Collins was under the impression I intended to negotiate a prisoner swap and then come home again.” He smiled thinly. “She’s going to be disappointed.”

“And once he got to our side of the street,” the suspicious looking rifleman said, “he asked us to deliver him to you. By name.” He shrugged. “If he’s got a tracer on him, he swallowed it—or stuck it up his ass—and none of our scanners found it.”

“That’s okay, Kai. I know him. I’ve known a long time, in fact. Although,” she added a bit pointedly, “I’m still waiting to find out why he’s here.”

“I’m here because Ochoa told me Petulengro’s just informed him there’s a Gendarmerie intervention battalion on its way into orbit,” Carmichael said grimly, and Blanchard’s jaw tightened. Colonel Grigori Petulengro headed the LCPD’s Security and Intelligence Branch; Major Ashton Ochoa commanded the Criminal Investigation Branch, which made him Carmichael’s direct superior. “Petulengro’s a weasel,” the police captain continued flatly, “but Ochoa’s always been square with the troops—you know that. So I figure he’s telling the truth. And I also figured that you had to be on the other side somewhere. So you need to tell whoever’s in charge that this Brigadier Yucel’s brought along a batch of Solly Frontier Fleet ships. I don’t think she brought them just to look pretty, and after the way you’ve been kicking Lombroso’s ass for the last couple of weeks, I doubt he’s likely to be a big fan of moderation, either. Under the circumstances, I think you’d better get on the com and let your people know what the hell is likely to come down on their heads sometime real soon now, Kayleigh.”

* * *

“Thank God you’re here, Brigadier!” the fair-haired, beefy-faced man on Francisca Yucel’s com screen said. “My God! It’s been a nightmare for the last two weeks! Where have you been?!”

“I appreciate your concern, Mister Frolov,” she told Trifecta Corporation’s Mobius planetary manager. “And I assure you Commissioner Verrocchio dispatched us the moment Ms. Xydis’—and President Lombroso’s, of course—dispatches reached him.”

“Couldn’t you have gotten here any sooner?!” Frolov demanded. The man had small, brown eyes that rather reminded Yucel of an Old Terran pig. “Do you have any idea how much damage these lunatics have done to Trifecta’s assets? Not to mention all of our employees who’ve been killed or injured!”

That last sentence had the feel of an afterthought, the brigadier thought. Not that she had any problem with that. She understood her job, but vast though her contempt for the Verge’s neobarbs might be, it was entirely possible that her contempt for transstellar flunkies like Frolov ran even deeper.

It would’ve been a very close run thing, at any rate.

“Obviously, I’ve just arrived, Sir,” she told him. “I’m still in the process of gathering information. Once I have it, I assure you, we will take action.”

“What sort of ‘information’?”

“Mister Frolov, I need to know what the situation on the ground is before I can do anything about it,” Yucel explained as calmly as possible. “And, with all due respect, I really need to speak with President Lombroso’s government, as well. As you know, the request for OFS support came from his office.”

She emphasized the pronoun, holding Frolov’s gaze, and those piggy eyes blinked as she reminded him of the official reason—and Trifecta’s fig leaf—for her presence.

“Oh! I mean, of course! I only—”

“Ma’am, I have President Lombroso for you,” her com officer interrupted politely.

“I’m afraid I have to go now, Mister Frolov. I’ll keep you informed.” Yucel killed the connection before Frolov could respond and turned to the com officer. “Put him through.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

An instant later, President Svein Lombroso appeared on her display. He looked far less spruce and well-groomed than his official file imagery, she noted, and the same was true of the crowd of men and women in the conference room with him. She recognized Angeliki Xydis, Frontier Security’s representative in Mobius; General Olivia Yardley, the Presidential Guard’s commander; and Friedmann Mátáys, the CO of the Mobius Security Police. She didn’t have a clue who any of the others were, and they didn’t matter anyway.

“President Lombroso, I’m Brigadier Francisca Yucel,” she introduced herself crisply. “I’m here on behalf of the Office of Frontier Security in response to your request for support with a full intervention battalion. In addition, I’m accompanied by four Navy destroyers and the light cruiser Oceanus. How may the Solarian League assist you, Sir?”

* * *

“Yes, Augustus?”

Estelle Matsuko, Baroness Medusa and Her Imperial Majesty’s Governor for the Talbott Quadrant, set down her teacup with a smile as Augustus Khumalo appeared on her com display. Early morning sunlight spilled into her spacious office, and the remnant of a small omelette and accompanying croissant sat on the blotter in front of her. Her staff had given up attempting to break her of her habit, acquired during her days on the planet Medusa, of eating breakfast at her desk. She was far too set in her ways to change…especially when she could gaze out of her office window across such a gorgeous stretch of ocean.

“You’re up early,” she observed, and he smiled back in acknowledgment. He was not what some deplorably perky people persisted in calling “a morning person.”