so some of it was saved.
He distributed diagrams of the Martian capital building to each of the team leaders, assigning them positions to take up when the time came. 'Team B,' he said. 'You will be guarding the rear of the building in case she tries to flee. Team C, you'll be covering the front. Team D, you will split into two elements and cover the side entrances of the building in case she tries to come out that way. Team A, which I will be personally leading, will enter the building itself for the takedown. You outside teams, in addition to sealing the building from her premature exit, you will also be keeping the streets clear of greenies. I don't expect any resistance from the MPG troops that guard Whiting since we have a federal warrant, but I would expect resistance from any greenies that happen to see us leading her away. So keep a sharp eye out for that.'
'How sure are you that the MPG troops won't resist?' one of the men asked at that point.
'The MPG are technically part of the WestHem armed services,' Mitchell responded. 'They won't be happy that we've come for her, but I seriously doubt that they would disregard a federal warrant for her arrest. If any of them
Everyone seemed satisfied with this and the subject was dropped. The briefing went on for another twenty minutes and then the men were dismissed to go suit up. They retired to the locker room and donned their raid gear. Heavy Kevlar armor vests were put over their torsos and black helmets with FLEB stenciled in white were put upon their heads. They strapped on their weapons belts, which contained their 4mm pistols as well as extra rifle ammunition and handcuffs. Steel-toed combat boots were put on their feet. The picture was completed by the addition of M-24 assault rifles loaded with sixty round magazines. Because it had never been thought necessary in the environment within which they operated, they had no combat goggles. Aiming would have to be by the old- fashioned method if a battle occurred and tactical displays and mapping software would have to be looked at on their PCs.
Once suited up they walked out to the building's parking area and boarded four of the black panel vans. The vans all had multiple dents and scratches from rocks and bottles thrown by angry Martians over the past several months. There were places where the paint had been scraped off and reapplied to cover anti-fed and anti-Earthling graffiti. And of course, since the incident of the Molotov cocktail a few weeks before, all of them now had metal bars across the windshields to keep a repeat of that incident from happening.
With Mitchell and his team in the lead van, they pulled out of the parking area and onto the busy street that was teeming with Martians on their way to work. They turned right and started heading for the capital building thirty blocks away. The Martians, as always, were deliberately slow getting out of their way and many of them raised their middle fingers or grabbed their crotches in contempt. Spit flew whenever the van passed close enough for someone to hit it and several times there were thumps as cans or bottles slammed into the sides.
Most of the people on the street had no idea where the federal vans were going or what they were doing. But a few people did and they were on their PCs to other people before the vans were even out of sight of the office.
General Jackson was waiting in Laura's office with her when his PC buzzed, indicating a high priority message. He unclipped it from his belt and flipped the screen up, seeing the face of Major Sprinkle, head of intelligence. 'Talk to me, Tim,' he said.
'Four vans just left the FLEB office five minutes ago,' he said. 'They're heading your way. We didn't get a good look but it's probably safe to assume that they're coming in platoon strength.'
'Any chance that they're just heading out for their normal raids?' Jackson asked.
'There's always that chance,' Sprinkle replied. 'But they don't typically head out to normal raids with that many troops. Even the biggest takedowns they do usually only require half that much. Also, this deployment fits with the information we received yesterday. My guess is that this is it.'
'That's my guess as well,' Jackson said, feeling his heartbeat pick up a few notches. 'Keep your assets in place until we know for sure. If it is them, things are gonna get real busy in a hurry on this planet. If it's not, we'll just have to wait some more.'
'Right,' he said. 'Continuing to observe. Keep me updated.'
'You'll be one of the first to know,' Jackson promised. He signed off and put his PC on the desk.
'They're on their way?' asked Laura, who was looking a little haggard this morning due to the fact that she was living on less than an hour's worth of sleep.
'It looks like it,' he told her, picking up a combat computer and fitting the microphone and earpiece into place. 'And we're ready for them. They won't get anywhere near you.'
She nodded, chewing her lip a little nervously. She had always known that Martian resentment towards their corporate masters was something that would not need much fuel to whip into a frenzy. That frenzy had been achieved. But now, in order for them to support an open revolt against those masters, they needed a single, outrageous act to rally behind. The various massacres and mass arrests that had been taking place all over the planet were outrageous of course but, strangely enough, they could not provide quite enough impetus to compel them to act. Something else was needed, something that would unite everyone behind the cause and the corporate Earthlings, in their glorious predictability, were now providing that something. They were attempting to forcibly remove her from office with trumped-up charges, charges that most of the Martian people, with their cultural intelligence and common sense, would recognize for what they were. The moment was now at hand. Everything, her entire career, her entire life, had all come down to this day. It was time for the most dangerous game to begin.
Jackson realized what the stakes were as well. The plan for the next twenty-four hours was something he had come up with years before in its base form and had been modified and re-modified dozens of times since. It was now time to see if it was going to work. He instructed the combat computer to patch him in with Lieutenant Warren Whiting's security detail. The computer complied, taking less than a second to do so.
'Warren here, General,' he said, his voice calm and professional.
'It looks like they're on their way, Mike,' Jackson told him. 'Intelligence reports four vans moving in, probable platoon strength. More than likely they will not all come inside.'
'Both the inside and the outside teams are in place and ready,' Warren said. 'We should be able to handle them easily.'
'Remember,' Jackson warned, 'get a look at the warrant and the indictment before you do anything. If they don't have it with them, don't let them in.'
'Understood,' he said.
Laura listened to all this with interest, part of her knowing the her security platoon was one of the best in the business, but part of her worrying that the FLEB agents might get in anyway. 'How many men do we have around the building?' She asked Jackson once he signed off the transmission.
'One hundred and twenty,' he told her. 'Warren and his regular platoon are covering the lobby and they'll take the agents that come inside. We also have two platoons of the regular infantry that we quietly called up last night along with the special forces guys. They were briefed in on what was happening early this morning and they've been placed under Warren's command for the duration of this operation. They're hidden in the adjacent planetary office buildings. They'll take the FLEB guys that deploy to guard the exits.'
'Did any of them have a problem with their orders?' she wanted to know.
'Not a single one,' he said. 'In fact, they all seemed rather enthusiastic about them. You're in good hands. This is what I've been training these guys for all these years.' He turned Laura's computer terminal towards him. 'May I?' he asked her.
'By all means,' she said.
'Computer,' he said to it, 'get me building operations.'
'Building operations coming on line,' it said.
The screen cleared and a moment later a scruffy, unshaven face appeared. A look of annoyance at being interrupted was upon this face until he got a good look at the person calling. 'General Jackson,' he said, surprised. 'What can I do for you?'
'You can shut down the blast doors on all floors except the lobby level,' Jackson told him. 'Do it immediately and shut down the elevators as well. Let anyone who is on them get off at the next floor — as long as that floor is not the lobby — and then don't let them go anywhere else.'
The maintenance supervisor looked a little taken aback with this request. That was understandable since it
