Aramis said, “Translation: no chart we can put together is going to help.”
“The idiotic thing,” Shaman said through tight lips with a tense face, “is that many of these groups had these same petty squabbles on Earth, and moved here to separate, but all moved here. Then they found the planet isn’t as conducive as they’d hoped, and are all stuck here in the temperate zone on one continent.”
“What is our approach, then?” Bart asked.
Jason said, “Attack all threats; try to coordinate with Das for intel from interrogations. If we can catch a live one without undue breakage, we ask the best questions we can then turn them in, undamaged, for the military to question further.”
“We can monitor residue,” Elke said. “Also, some of these incidents might take money. We can narrow down the focus on which groups would be willing to spend it, and have it available.”
“I want to follow up on her ‘dear friends’ and ‘former employees.’ They might have reason to hate her, or might be plants. Or just suborned, as happened with Caron and her servants.”
“That’s the ongoing problem in this business. We can keep someone safe locked in our dungeon with no contact. Beyond that, there are threats.”
Bart said, “I would also watch current events. Any large swings in the economy, or to any nations or groups, will affect her presence.”
“This is why BuState has its own security and its own intel.”
Aramis asked, “How is the intel from intelguy? Any good?”
“It’s not bad, but not great. I don’t know if that’s par for the course, par for him, incompetence, brilliance or deceit. We’re getting more from Das. Obviously, though, that’s directly military.”
“And her friend?”
“Yes, I will have to talk to her about him. Let me cue up standard spiel about how enemies may use friends for intel.”
“Do you think that’s going to work?”
“No, but I am required to try.”
He pinged a link to Jessie’s private line.
“JessieM.”
“Miss Jessie, it’s Agent Marlow.”
“Yes, sir, how may I help you?”
“I need to discuss a communication security matter with Ms. Highland. It should be in person, at her convenience.”
“Stand by, please.”
It was only a few moments before she came back on. “Ms. Highland says she can see you now.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right over.”
Cady’s people checked him in, and she was waiting at the desk she’d had installed in her parlor. Really, he wished she’d stop with the fake smile. Though it was probably both automatic and a matter of constant practice for her.
“Chief Marlow, what can I do for you?”
“Thanks for seeing me on short notice, ma’am. This is a secondary security concern, regarding communications.”
“Should Jessie be here for this, too?”
“She can be, but it’s not a technical concern.”
“Go ahead, then, what do you have?”
“This concerns Mr. Huble.”
“You can’t be serious!” she said with a half laugh, half protest.
“I have no reason to suspect him directly,” he said, to get that in there. “The concern is that any consistent, predictable communication outside can be compromised, either en route or at the far end.”
“We use PrivatProtocol.”
“I’m told that’s very good. I also know it can be compromised. That’s the first concern.”
“There’s more?” She seemed derisively amused, which wasn’t the worst possible response, but certainly not good.
“Mister Blanding is connected to certain groups that would enjoy information about you.”
She laughed more nervously. “He would never offer information like that.”
“I wouldn’t suggest so, without knowing him. But, it’s entirely possible for someone to look for messages from you to him, and crack those. Especially while you are here.”
She looked thoughtful. “But it’s encrypted…”
“Anything can be cracked. Then, there’s what’s called traffic analysis. Knowing the volume and timing of messages offers keys, as does the sender and recipient.”
“I could send a lot more messages, about inane matters.”
“That is an excellent idea,” he said. It was a partial win against other threats, but it all helped. Deescalate one threat enough, you could focus on others.
He concluded with, “Do please add as much variety and randomness to those communiques as possible. That will help all over.”
Meanwhile, he had another PR meeting to prepare for.
Elke’s position was that interaction with locals was always problematic. Factions made it worse. She hadn’t considered this day’s mission could top all that. They were flying to the event, which she was never very much in favor of. She liked control, and flying meant surrendering control to someone else.
In this case, the pilot was a local, of one of the factions.
Elke never screamed. She did, however, get roiling guts and sweats, and this did it.
They boarded at the military field, around Highland, into the cabin of a Emirates Aircraft EA6 Djinn. That was a so-so aircraft at best, outdated and at least half-used up, if it was here, and now piloted by a local.
She did everything as required, watching her sector, keeping position and distance from Highland, and putting a visual void over that aircraft.
Once aboard, she took a seat facing aft, fastened her restraints and donned helmet. She made a cursory visual check for any threats, then gave her attention to her sniffers and scanners. Jason would check also, and the military had done so when it landed. It was also politically inadvisable for their host to stage an attack, so he’d have made his own checks. Between them, the only threat that should remain was pilot error and shoddy maintenance. She shivered again.
Alex had a familiar expression on his face, and was looking at Jason. Jason gave a nod and a thumbs up. She translated in her mind.
If need be, can you toss this yokel out the hatch and land us intact?
Yes, no problem.
Somehow it didn’t reassure her.
“Intercom check. Playwright.”
“Argonaut.”
“Julien.”
“Babs,” she said in turn.
“Pirate.”
“Musketeer.”
“Witch and Black Cat accounted for. Pilot reports ready to lift.”
And they did, as Elke stared straight at the bulkhead.
Ten minutes into the flight she unfastened two suit buttons for ventilation. It was crowded and warm, faintly chemical, and not in the sweet way Comp G smelled, and the vibration hit a frequency that irritated her bladder and stomach. She was glad she’d not eaten or drunk yet today.
“A bit turbulent,” Jason said.
It was more than a bit, in her view. Of course, she didn’t like heights, altitude or movement anyway. The engine tone shifted periodically. That was perfectly normal, she knew intellectually. It still made her flinch.
It was only five minutes later that Alex announced, “Landing.” Though it took over 200 seconds to make the approach, gauge the winds and reflections, and put the beast down.
They were in a large compound ringed with low, but multiple walls and fences at comfortable distances, each in overlapping fields of fire. She could even draw the range markers. At least someone here understood basic tactics. Now as long as they respected Highland, or Ripple Creek, enough to not start trouble.
Bart and Aramis debarked first, she was last, being female and not the principal. She knew some women who’d be incensed over that. It was Alex’s order, and how things were done here, so she did it.
The Most Beneficent Mohammed Saliman al-Khazra actually greeted Highland in person. His own entourage was clearly a factotum and six guards in silly uniforms, with pompoms on their boots, pointy hats with neck cloths, and pink piping on white tunics and shorts. At that, it was better camouflage than the army issued.
He even spoke respectable English.
“Madam Minister, you grace my humble abode with your presence,” he said with a nod that wasn’t quite a bow, combined with an extended hand.