Shadow of Freedom

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I don’t need this kind of shit, General,” Svein Lombroso said unpleasantly. “I could go out and fuck everything up by the numbers myself without paying you and the rest of the Guard such obscene amounts of money! Hell, I could probably even have gotten Guernicke killed without you, if I’d really tried!”

“Would you rather I’d let the bastards walk away after taking out Braddock’s entire régiment?” General Olivier Yardley’s tone was rather pointed, Lombroso thought. Which probably had something to do with the fact that she knew she was irreplaceable…at least for now. “It was a no-win situation from the outset, Mister President. Once they got in and had Guernicke in their possession, we either gave them what they wanted, or we lost her. And you told me not to give them what they wanted.” She shrugged. “So I didn’t.”

“Goddamn it!” Lombroso snarled. “This makes what happened last month look like a frigging picnic! And when Trifecta’s home office hears about this…!”

“We didn’t move in until Frolov personally okayed it,” Yardley pointed out, and Lombroso’s jaw muscles clenched.

He started to tell her exactly what he thought of that threadbare excuse, then stopped. First, because it wouldn’t do any good. He could chew her ass out all he wanted, and it wouldn’t pour the blood back into Tyler Braddock’s slaughtered men or put Georgina Guernicke’s shattered head back together again. And, second, because she had a point. The standoff had lasted for over three T-days before Christianos Frolov, the assistant planetary operations manager for Mobius, had—as Yardley put it—“okayed” the assault. In fact, he’d effectively ordered the assault in a demonstration of manly determination that would probably go down well with his corporate superiors after he got done spinning his report properly.

And which just happened to put his ass in Guernicke’s chair, the president thought grimly. Well, she always was a pain in my ass, anyway. And we’ve got Frolov on chip telling us the standoff was costing Trifecta millions of credits every day and that it was time we got in there and took the Tower back. If somebody back on Old Terra wants to chew me out over that one, I’ll just dump it on their own golden boy.

Who knew, it might even do some good. And it might not, either.

“All right,” he grated in a marginally calmer voice. “I’ll give you that one. But I still want to know how the hell this happened in the first place. You and Braddock got fucking reamed. How?”

“Because no one saw it coming,” Yardley told him frankly. She glanced at Friedemann Mátyás. “We didn’t, and neither did the MSP.”

“Friedemann?” Lombroso gave the commander of his secret police a rather harder glance than Yardley had, and Mátyás frowned.

“Olivia’s right; we didn’t see it coming,” he confessed. “We’re still trying to get someone inside the MLF. So far we’ve almost pulled it off three times, and I’m running short of volunteers, given what happened each of those times.” He showed his teeth briefly. “The problem, Mister President, is that this is the best organized opposition group we’ve faced yet. They’re good.” He shrugged. “I don’t like admitting it, but they are. And so far they’ve always been smart enough to avoid high-profile challenges like this one. Our estimate at MSP—and I think from Olivia’s people, as well—is that they’re really still in the infrastructure building stages. They’re building membership, laying in caches of weapons, and setting up their communication chains.”

He raised his eyebrows at Yardley, who—despite their long-standing rivalry—nodded sharply.

“That’s been our impression in the Guard,” she agreed. “It’s one of the reasons we’ve both been arguing that we needed to nip these people in the bud, before they get themselves fully organized, Mister President.”

“Well, if they’re so damned smart and if they’re still so unprepared for major operations, what the hell was this all about?” Lombroso demanded. “I can’t think of a more ‘high-profile challenge’ than murdering Guernicke in her own office! And how the hell did they get inside in the first place?”

“We’ve identified what was left of the body of the guy we’re pretty sure was the mastermind,” Yardley told him. “His name was Kazuyoshi Brewster, and he was telling the truth. He lost his entire family in the May Riots.” She shrugged again. “We’ve only been able to identify six other members of his team. Five of them lost their entire families or at least their closest family members the same time he did. Obviously, Brewster was a damned good planner, but what really made the difference was that all of them had apparently decided they had nothing left to lose. They just wanted to do as much damage as they could before they went down, and I have to admit they did a damned good job.”

“‘A damned good job,’” Lombroso repeated, glaring at her.

“Well, they did,” she responded. “And the fact that they didn’t care whether they got out or not meant they were prepared to take chances nobody except a bunch of suicidal nut cases would’ve considered for a moment. That’s why we never saw it coming—this time, at least. We’ve beefed up security across the board on off-world corporate offices.”

Lombroso glared at her for a moment, remembering an ancient cliché about locked barn doors and missing horses. Or was it cows?

He brushed off the irrelevant thought and inhaled deeply.

“So tell me how this changes our situation,” he commanded. “You first, Olivia.”

“Well, after examining Brewster’s equipment, it’s obvious someone’s managed to stockpile even more off-world weapons than we thought. Given all of the deep cover informants we’ve got out there, that says more than I want to hear about how good the MLF’s security is. I know Friedemann’s just pointed out that we haven’t managed to get anyone inside the MLF itself, but we damned well ought to have enough surveillance system and human intelligence sources out there to at least be able to spot modern weapons moving in quantities like this.” She shrugged. “We didn’t.”

Lombroso suppressed a desire to throttle her. Strong as the temptation was, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, what she’d just said was self-evidently true, and at least she’d had the nerve to say it.

“Friedemann?” he said, looking at Mátyás.

“Olivia’s right. We’ve always known they were better than anyone else who’s come along, but I’m beginning to think we’ve underestimated them for some time, anyway.”

Lombroso jaw muscles clenched as he glared at the two of them. They were his senior security officers. It wasn’t a case of “we’ve underestimated” the MLF; it was a case ofthe two of them underestimatingthe terrorist bastards, and he considered pointing that out. Unfortunately, it would have accomplished exactly nothing.

“All right,” he said once he was certain he had his voice under control. “So you’ve underestimated them.” He emphasized the personal pronoun only very slightly, but Yardley’s hazel eyes glinted with anger anyway. Mátyás had better control than that, probably because he wasn’t the one in the primary line of fire at the moment. “Obviously, it’s time you stopped doing that. So how bad does the situation look now?”

Yardley’s eyes didn’t soften. For a moment, she seemed to hover on the brink of something rash, but apparently she realized no one was genuinely irreplaceable when it came down to it.

“I’m not really certain,” she admitted levelly. “Things are clearly escalating since the riots last month. My best estimate is that the MLF leadership doesn’t want to escalate, though.”

“What?” Lombroso interrupted. He stared at her in disbelief. “They just fucking wrecked Trifecta Tower and killed Guernicke! Nobody’s ever done that kind of damage to use before!”

“Brewster and his team did,” Yardley acknowledged. “But there was no MLF statement about the attack until it was all over. And even then, their ‘Commandant Alpha,’ whoever the hell he is, didn’t claim direct credit for it.” She shook her head. “I think Brewster and the others put this together on their own. They were obviously MLF, because nobody else’s that good, and as far as we know, nobody else has the kind of off-world weapons support they seem to have. But I don’t think Commandant Alpha or the rest of his cadre knew anything about it before we did. And I don’t think they’d have okayed Brewster’s plan if he’d asked them to authorize it, either.”

Lombroso shook his head.

“I’d think those bastards would be getting behind and pushing for all they’re worth!” he said. “What the hell makes you think they aren’t?”

“Because they’re not ready,” Yardley said flatly. “That’s what Friedemann and I have been talking about. They’ve got some modern weapons on-planet, yes, but not anywhere near as many as they want. We’ve confiscated around a hundred pulsers—total—so far. Most of them aren’t new, but they’re all in first-class condition; it looks like they’ve been refurbished as needed by some very competent armorers. But we’ve been picking them up in ones and twos. Frankly, most of them got grabbed because someone just pretty much stumbled over them, and Brewster’s team is the first one we’ve seen armed entirely with military-grade pulse rifles. I think they’ve got more of them than we thought they had, but we’re still picking up substantially greater quantities of old-fashioned chemical-powered firearms. So they’ve made an off-world connection somewhere, but they still don’t have enough modern weapons to go around. And without more modern firepower, they’re going to be at a significant tactical disadvantage in any confrontation with us, much less any Solly intervention battalions. They know that.” She shrugged again. “That being the case, my analysts say the leadership cadre can’t be in favor of opening the dance this early.”

“Then what the fuck is going on?” Lombroso demanded. “We’ve got transit bombings, ambushes of isolated security forces, and more acts of minor sabotage and cyber attacks than I even want to think about. All in addition to what happened to Guernicke, of course!”

“I think Olivia’s right, Mister President,” Mátyás said unexpectedly, and Lombroso looked at him sharply. “I think what we’re seeing here is primarily a more or less spontaneous reaction to the May Riots, not a planned campaign by the MLF,” the secret policeman continued. “It certainly was in Brewster’s case, and I don’t see any reason to assume it’s not for the rest of these people, either. And it would explain why we’re seeing this now, when all indications are that the MLF is still in the building stage.”

“The short version is that they feel provoked,” Yardley said in a flat voice, meeting Lombroso’s eyes levelly. She’d recommended relying solely on infantry for crowd control during the protests, but the president, irked by the challenge coming at him from some of the senior ranks of his own political party, had wanted a more visible and more intimidating deterrent. Well, he’d gotten that, hadn’t he?

He looked back at her for several seconds, then he grimaced angrily and strode across his office to look out the window at downtown Landing.

All right, he admitted to himself. So maybe the Guard overreacted when it started taking fire. Hell, no ‘maybe’ about it, Svein, and you damned well know it! They got out of hand, but it’s hard to blame them for wanting to make an example out of the bastards who’d opened fire on them. Not the kind of behavior you want to encourage, is it?

Maybe not, yet the better part of three thousand casualties, two thirds of them fatal, hadn’t gone down well with the régime’s opponents. And the Trifecta Tower attack had obviously enheartened the people already furious over the “May Day Massacre.” It might be unlikely that there were any more Brewsters out there, prepared to make what amounted to suicide runs against high visibility targets, but that wasn’t keeping a hell of a lot of other people from striking back in less spectacular fashion wherever and whenever they could, and their efforts were gaining momentum.

He glowered down from the window at the boulevard where the Scorpions had gone on their May rampage. Physical damage from that little episode was still easy enough to see, and the rebuilding efforts were one of the favored targets for the saboteurs who seemed to increase in numbers every day. He’d been hearing about that from his transstellar sponsors, too. They wanted their buildings back up and running, and they weren’t especially shy about pointing out how much the May Riots had cost them in damages and lost profits.

He thought about leaning closer to the window, looking up Trifecta Boulevard towards the emergency vehicles and construction equipment clustered around the ruins of the parking garage where an entire regiment of his elite troopers had been entombed. He didn’t think about it very hard, though.

“So you saying this is mostly freelance?” he asked, never turning away from the window. “That it isn’t the MLF, just some of its members who’re too pissed off for the leadership to control?”

“That’s my analysts’ read,” Yardley agreed, and Mátyás nodded in agreement.

“So what do we do about it?” Lombroso wheeled to face them once more, clasping his hands behind him. “Do we back the pressure off in hopes things will quiet down again, at least some, until Verrochio’s intervention battalions get here? Or do we try to bring the hammer down harder?”

“I think that depends in part on whether or not the battalions are really on their way,” Yardley replied. “Is it your impression they are, Mister President?”

“I think they almost certainly are,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Xydis wouldn’t have gone as far out on a limb promising she’d ask for them if she didn’t expect to get them. And let’s face it, we’ve always known that if she’d really asked for them before, they’d have been here a long time ago. Besides, she attached her endorsement to my messages to Commissioner Verrochio. I don’t think she would’ve done that if her own messages weren’t urging Verrochio to do the same thing. For that matter, even if she wasn’t then, she damned well is now that we’ve lost Braddock’s regiment! As for how long it’s going to take them to get here”—he shrugged—“your guess is as good as mine.”

“If that’s the case, then I think we should hammer them now—hard,” Yardley said. “I think failing to hit them whenever and however we can, especially after Brewster’s escapade, is only going to further embolden them, and I don’t think ‘restraint’ is going to cool any tempers on the other side. The best we might accomplish would be to get them to back off enough to let the MLF leadership reassert control, and, frankly, if there really are Solly Gendarmerie intervention battalions on the way, backing off is the last thing we want them to do.”

“Excuse me?” Lombroso’s expression was perplexed, and she shrugged.

“Mister President, the MLF is the best organized batch of malcontents we’ve ever faced. They’re tightly compartmentalized and—usually—highly disciplined. That’s one reason we’ve had so much trouble penetrating them. But if the present provocations are spontaneous, not ordered from above, then they’re probably going to be less meticulously planned and executed than the MLF operations we’ve seen in the past. That increases our chances of catching them at it and maybe scoring a few successes of our own. Taking some live prisoners we can…talk to at our leisure, let’s say. Pushing them into hasty, ill-conceived, wildcat attacks—and, no, I’m not putting Brewster into that category, but it’s the best way to describe this other, smaller crap—can only increase their vulnerability. It’s bound to generate confusion, and Friedemann’s people are a lot more likely to be able to get someone inside or crack one of their communications lines open if they’re trying to control their people on the fly. For that matter, even if we don’t manage to break a single cell, any operations they mount are going to pull them further out into the open, at the very least. If we can suck them off balance, get them to expose themselves where we can get at them—especially if they don’t know the intervention battalions are on their way—they’ll be a much softer target for whoever Brigadier Yucel sends to kick their asses for us.”

Lombroso frowned thoughtfully. He’d never considered the problem in those terms, yet now that he thought about it, Yardley’s recommendations actually made sense. In fact, they were more imaginative than he was accustomed to hearing out of her.

“If that’s the case, should we expand our own offensive operations?” he asked after a moment. “Turn the heat up even further?”

“I don’t see where it could hurt,” Yardley said. “And, to be honest, there are some agitators and so-called ‘newsies’ out there who’ve been giving the MLF one hell of a lot of aid and comfort, especially since the May Riots. I’d like to have the opportunity to entertain some of them, too. And whether we go after them now or later, we’re still going to have to break a few necks in the end. Might as well make a start on it now.”

Lombroso nodded, then turned back to the window once again, lips pursed. He thought about it for perhaps a minute, then shrugged.

“All right,” he said grimly, “go do it.”