“And groups here?”
“Yes, here is the interesting part,” Gillette said, running a hand through his hair. “The Amala don’t like her at all. She’s female, powerful, publicly called her husband out over that waste disposal vote last year. However, they’re generally not wealthy enough to do anything, and have poor access to communication, due to cultural factors.”
Alex heard that as, They’re backward savages who hate technology.
“Go on, please,” he said.
“There are certainly members and subfactions who’d like to harm her. We expect that to be more along the lines you’ve seen-rocks, sticks. They might consider an explosive device.”
“Okay. We can monitor that.”
“The Sunni like her, generally. The Shia perceive her as favoring the Sunni and don’t like that. Some have been very vocal about it. The Mowahidoon, the Baha’i and Sufis have nothing against her. They’re very modern and productive. The Coalition Christians run on a spectrum from disliking any woman in office, to disliking her policies. They aren’t friendly but are no more actively hostile than anyone else. A few outliers.”
“That leaves the Faithful group.”
“Yes, those people. Actively hostile, though they tend to seek to instigate incidents so they can sue.”
“Which has happened already over our response.”
“Expect more of that. They’ll do anything to get attention.”
“What about credible threats, though? Not them?”
“No. We’re at a loss. Obviously, there is at least one element. We don’t know who. You were brought in to offer protection while we devote resources to observation and deduction,” he said.
Interesting. That was pretty much an admission they were being spied on. They’d need to review their procedures and make ongoing checks for surveillance.
“So you’re pointing at the Amala as potential physical threats, and the Faithful as hostile distractions.”
“That’s how we interpret it, yes.”
“So who tracked, kidnapped and tortured my man?”
“We don’t know,” Gillette said. He seemed genuinely troubled and embarrassed.
“Allright,” Alex said. “We’ll coordinate with other agencies and share what we find.” Pursuant to massaging it ourselves first, and not sharing details we need. “Can you do the same?”
“We will,” Gillette agreed.
And no doubt with the same provisos, he thought.
Alex said, “And these harassment attacks. What are those about?”
“We presume those are to goad a response. It’s essential you not overreact to those.”
“We try not to, but it’s impossible to tell a paint balloon from a grenade in the time it takes someone to throw one.”
“I understand,” he said, though Alex got the impression he only understood as a mental exercise, not as the recipient of something potentially hot, fast and lethal. “But that’s the officially suggested response.”
“I concur. It’s just hard to implement in a fraction of a second, while guaranteeing Ms. Highland’s safety. Are you able to tell me if she’s planned more demonstrations to promote her stability under fire?” Damn, and I said that with a straight face, too.
Gillette shook his head. “Not that we can tell, and we officially advised her against doing so, as it opens up a potential window and leak.”
Okay, so the guy was a chair-warmer, but at least he was an astute and educated chair-warmer.
“Alright, then we’ll do what we can,” Alex said. “And swap what information comes our way.” After we use it first. Ripple Creek understood allies. It just didn’t have many, and fewer that were reliable.
Jason noted when Aramis shifted again. The rebuilding nanos had some effect. Swelling was down considerably. He now looked like a broken human rather than a bloated roadkill.
“Aramis, it’s Jason, I’m here.”
“Yes,” the man mumbled. Jason was surprised he could talk with his jaw in that shape. Sonofabitch. that had to redefine pain.
“No need to talk if you don’t want to. We’re taking turns watching.” He didn’t mention losing sleep or being worried. They all volunteered for this and stood shift as well.
Aramis managed actual speech. “I’ng conshus. Hurd like heww. Goan ngake ih, tho.”
“Good. I know you are.” Now, yes. Yesterday, thirty percent. Damned good medical work, and the man had a serious constitution.
“Had do figh through fain.”
“Yeah, you mentioned Caron a lot in that context,” he advised. In detail. Though it didn’t sound like a fair trade.
“Ah, shid.”
“Don’t worry. The docs don’t know who she is, and we won’t talk. If that got you through it, good. You’re unreal. Anyone else would be dead, but you’re just too brutal for it.” He wanted to keep the man’s morale up, and keep him tracking on anything real.
Aramis sounded a bit strained, but said, “Ih had this insane, flyne, crazy feeln. The indenzdy. Ih uz aww I could think of. I ngus ve a ferverd.”
It took Jason a moment to translate “I must be a pervert.”
He said, “You’re alive, it worked, no need to be ashamed at all. You probably shouldn’t tell her, though.”
“Yeah. I’ng goan ve quie for a whi. Ngusic? Case or cuve.”
“Probably not at the moment. I’ll call and ask. Alex and Shaman will hear my notes and recordings. They’ll be destroyed soonest, per policy.” Actually, policy said any communication related to a government operation should be kept, and he was fucked if his friend’s personal issues were going to be archived.
He was just glad, and amazed the man was alive.
On his glasses, Shaman’s image hand signed approval, and sent a text confirmation for record. “Shaman says okay. I’ll look for a music load,” he said. Also, a second blanket to cover the man’s groin.
It was possible his brain had completely rewired pain as arousal. Was it important enough to discuss with Shaman? Maybe.
Bart arrived, and he rose and stretched. They didn’t need to sit watch, but they wanted to, and Aramis should appreciate it.
Back at the billet, Alex met him at the door.
“Jason, I have a specific instruction for you, which is not an order.”
“Oh?”
“I have no authority to require this, but as your boss and your friend, I am telling you not to look at any news or comments regarding the attack on Aramis. Best case, you’ll want to smash things.”
Jason sighed deeply. “Yeah, I can imagine. That’s good advice, and I’ll give it a few days to age off the list. We’re all mercenary scum and deserve anything that happens to us, yes?”
“If that was all, I’d be happy. The depths that ‘tolerant’ people will sink to never cease to amaze me.”
“Okay, then I’m already pissed enough and will avoid it further. Thanks.”
There was an emotional toll to being an unemotional mercenary scum.
Alex was drained. Lionel and Corcoran were reliable, but they weren’t part of the regular team. Shaman was back most of the time, but still checked Aramis twice a day. They’d been painted and egged again, and now he had another brief with Captain Das.
“Good morning, Captain,” he said as he arrived. He wanted to be polite, but he didn’t want to call anyone in the military “sir.” It was too easy for them to take it as subordination.
“Good morning, Agent Marlow,” Das returned. He probably had the same guideline in mind. They were polite, courteous and supportive of each other, while recognizing that they might have to diverge on strategy at any moment.
He asked, “Were you able to get the packet from BuState intel?”
“No, I was not. They won’t release it.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. I was briefed in person and there wasn’t even a recording or a release.”
“Therefore that briefing never took place.”
Alex took a moment to ponder that. Shit. He’d missed that.
