I repeat my congratulations on your handling of the Vanderberg-Ralfieri Affair. Your prompt intervention prevented potentially enormous problems and did much to preserve our position. I must now urge you to more actively utilize your overall command authority to force the matter to a hasty conclusion.
Matters in Geneva are progressing more quickly than I had hoped or expected, and it is essential that we complete our expected victory on Juno in the shortest time possible. I have received numerous communiques from General Ralfieri advocating a defensive campaign to maximize our supply and reinforcement advantages over Taylor and his army.
As you are aware, such a strategy is politically impossible at this time. I suggest you assume more direct command of the field forces, deferring, of course, to General Ralfieri’s tactical decisions (to the extent they support our political objectives and requirements).
It is of crucial importance that the battle on Juno be completed, and Taylor’s forces destroyed, in no more than one month. If the campaign lasts any longer than that, our plans will be placed at grave risk.
I trust you understand the importance of this communication.
“This is the third operative to disappear, Alexi.” Samovich sat behind his desk, his face twisted into a frustrated grimace. His plush office offered sweeping views of the Swiss countryside in three directions, but he wasn’t noticing any of it. All he could see was trouble brewing everywhere. The final dance for the Secretary-General’s Seat had begun, and he knew he had to be at his best. Every second. It was the highest stakes game imaginable. The prize was the ultimate power over all mankind. The alternative to victory was almost certainly death.
“Is it possible they are being bribed rather than killed?” Alexi Drogov sat opposite Samovich, his hand wrapped around a heavy crystal glass. The drink was seltzer water with a large slice of lemon. Drogov was a world class drinker, capable of downing enough vodka to kill most men, but he realized as well as Samovich that he and his old friend were in the opening stages of a deadly battle. One that required him to be at his sober best.
Drogov didn’t seek political power. His wants and needs were far baser and simpler. When he wasn’t killing someone, he preferred to spend his time bedding Swiss girls, preferably blonde and, when possible, 2 or 3 at a time. He didn’t want the political position Samovich craved, but he knew his life of comfort and decadence was guaranteed only as long as his close associate was on the Secretariat. Without Samovich’s power, Drogov would have a much harder time living his chosen lifestyle. He’d have to waste time seducing his women, rather than simply picking them out and dispatching security forces deliver them to him, pliant and willing under pain of their families being sent to reeducation camps. And he’d have to find a way to pay for the priceless truckloads of the very best vodka and brandy that pulled up to his compound on a frighteningly regular basis.
If Samovich’s rival prevailed, Drogov knew it could quickly get worse than losing his supply of expensive liquor and captive women. He might find himself on the run, fighting to survive in a world turned suddenly hostile rather than drinking and fucking the days away in his lakeside villa.
“Anybody can be bribed, my friend.” Samovich leaned back in his chair and sighed. “But these were agents with top clearances, long-service men I hand-picked. Li might have gotten to one of them, but I find it difficult to believe he flipped all three.” His expression was hard and angry, but Drogov could see the frustration and bewilderment there too. “I am not a fool. I employ the usual guarantees of loyalty. They all have weaknesses, families. None of them could doubt how I would respond to betrayal.”
“Still, whether he killed or flipped them, his people exposed three of your top agents in short order.” Drogov’s tone was grimly serious. “Even if none of them were turned, the effectiveness of his security is worrisome.” He paused. “Perhaps it is time to eliminate Secretary Li once and for all.”
Samovich sat quietly, staring back at Drogov. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s a risky move. If it gets traced back to me, I’ll lose most of my support on the Secretariat.” The one inviolable law of UNGov was the sanctity of its ruling class. Killing a member of the Secretariat would be an unprecedented move. “Worse, if we got caught in a failed attempt, it would hand the Seat to Li. And probably send both of us to an unpleasant execution.”
Drogov let out a loud exhale. “You’re gambling either way. If the fucker’s catching all your spies, it means he’s on full alert, and then some. It’s only going to get tougher to get to him.” He paused. “And what are you going to do if the battle on Juno drags on? Stalemate is almost as bad for you as defeat.”
Samovich sighed. “I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands and rubbed his temples. “It feels reckless going after him directly. If Keita and Ralfieri can get me a victory soon, I’m sure I can get a majority on the Secretariat. I can bring Li up on charges, even if they’re bullshit, and get him expelled from his Seat.” He looked up at his friend. “Then we can take him out with no real consequences.”
“It comes down to the fight on Juno.” There was heavy skepticism in Drogov’s voice. “And wars tend to drag on longer than expected, especially when the other side is a veteran force under the command of a military genius.” He stared right into Samovich’s eyes as he spoke.
No one on the Secretariat had dared to speak of Taylor’s true abilities before, for fear of sounding disloyal. But Drogov put it right out there. Jake Taylor was a natural leader, and now, courtesy of UNGov and the Supersoldier program, he was one with superhuman abilities and total recall. Samovich imagined Caesar or Alexander or Napoleon, but with iron constitutions and absolutely perfect memories. Instant recall of every soldier under his command, each scrap of ground he’d passed, the capabilities and weaknesses of every weapon system. Could he be beaten? Even by a force more than twice the size of his own?
“We need to pour everything we can into the fight on Juno. Damn the rest of the Portal worlds. I need to strip the veterans from the other planets and send them to support the Black Corps. I will bury Taylor and his people with enemies, however many it takes to destroy them, whatever the losses. All that matters is victory on Juno.”
Drogov sat impassively. Certainly, more resources sent to Juno would increase the chances of overwhelming Taylor and his people. But there would be damage too, losses on other worlds - lower order disasters than a victory by Taylor certainly, but still reverses Samovich’s enemies could use against him. Could pouring forces through the Juno Portal win the battle there before the damage elsewhere became too problematic? Drogov decided it would probably be a close race. He was just about to say so when he heard a deafening crash.
The explosion ripped through the wall, sending chunks of debris flying around the office and shattering the floor to ceiling picture windows. Drogov reacted first, diving over the desk and pushing Samovich to the floor. “Under the desk,” he shouted as he shoved his friend with one hand and pulled out a machine pistol with the other. “Stay down, Anton. Don’t move.”
The reflexes of a career assassin took over. This was an attempt on Samovich’s life; he was sure of that. He whipped his head around to both sides, scanning the room. Fuck, he thought, the windows…they’re coming through the windows. An instant later he saw the shadows outside, descending rapidly from above.
He jumped up, grabbing the desk and pulling hard, tipping it over to shield Samovich from the approaching assassins. He jumped over the desk himself, but too late. Three cables had dropped down outside the shattered windows, and the attackers were already leaping in the room, firing as they did.
Drogov caught a round in the leg as he leapt behind the desk. He felt the adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream as he pulled himself up, ignoring the pain from his wound. He held the auto-pistol over the desk, emptying a clip to spray the area with fire. The assassins were in the open. He knew that advantage would only last a second, and he intended to make it count.
He didn’t dare raise his head to see if he’d hit anyone, but there was only one gun returning fire. I must have gotten two, he thought. His satisfaction was short-lived, though. There were shadows descending from above the window again, more assassins about to leap into the room. He slammed another clip into the auto-pistol and fired just as they came into view. He watched as all three slipped from the cables and dropped, one of them making a brief effort to grab onto the window frame before he too slipped and fell almost a kilometer to the ground below.
There’s one at least still out there, he thought, just as he saw the grenade sail through the air and land behind him. He dove to the side, shoving Samovich harder into the space under the desk as he tried to take cover himself. He heard the doors swinging open, Samovich’s security firing on full auto as they poured into the room. An instant later there was a deafening blast…then pain. He tried to raise his head, to see what was happening. But he couldn’t. Then the blackness took him.
“I cannot express my joy at seeing you safe, Secretary Samovich.” Li’s words sounded sincere, his voice tinged with equal parts sympathy and outrage. “We have had our differences, but when the Secretariat itself, or any of its members are threatened, we must stand together as one.”
Samovich nodded to his rival. “Thank you, Secretary Li.” You lying motherfucker, he thought, but he kept it to himself. “I appreciate your support, and I agree with you completely. Whatever our disagreements, we must stand together when the sanctity of this great body is at stake.” He held up his neatly bandaged arm. “Fortunately, my injuries are quite minor.” He stared directly at Li. “And my security was able to capture one of the would-be assassins alive. They are questioning him now.” It was a bluff – all of the attackers were dead. He watched Li’s reaction carefully, but his rival was silent, maintaining a solid poker face. Samovich wondered if he could read anything into the lack of a response.
“When I find out who is responsible for the attempt on my life…” – his voice became emotional and he paused an instant, sucking in a mouthful of air – “…and for the murder of my very good friend, Alexi Drogov, I will make a full report to this body along with my request for a Secretariat Warrant of Execution against all conspirators.”
There was a flurry of nods rippling around the room. Li bowed his head toward Samovich and stared across the table, his expression one of apparent sympathy. “Of course, Secretary Samovich. An attack on any of us is an attack on all of us. I will be the first to sign the Warrant when the perpetrators of this heinous act are found.”
Damn, he’s good, Samovich thought, forcing himself to offer a smile to his enemy. No wonder he’s given me so much trouble. He hadn’t expected Li to confess, but there wasn’t a glimmer of guilt or doubt in the Chinese politician’s expression, not even an instant of hesitation. It was going to take a lot of digging, and probably some luck too, if he was going to expose Li as the mastermind behind the assassination attempt.
“If you are feeling well enough then, perhaps we should begin the session.” Li’s eyes glanced to the empty chair at the head of the table. It was the first meeting of the Secretariat he’d attended without Raul Esteban presiding. Unavoidably detained…that was the word from the Secretary-General’s staff, and his absence was driving them all to wild speculation. Was Esteban just having a bad day? Or was he near death? Would the final power struggle begin sooner than they had all expected?
“By all means, Secretary Li, let us begin. First on the agenda is the status of the combat on Juno.”
“I have heard our forces there suffered a severe reverse.” Li spoke up before Samovich had a chance to continue. “Also, I am told there was some dissension among our own personnel.” He stared across the table at his rival. “Is the campaign experiencing difficulties, Secretary Samovich?”
“Indeed no, Secretary Li.” Samovich could play the game as well as Li. “There was no reverse, merely a diversionary attack intended to cause enemy attrition. A successful operation by any measure.” It was a lie, but Samovich’s voice was utterly convincing. He knew no one really believed what he was saying, but his performance was strong enough to deflect any open challenge. For a while.
“What of the dispute between General Ralfieri and Inquisitor Vanderberg?” It wasn’t Li this time; it was Simon Yardley, one of his cronies.
They’re well-rehearsed, Samovich thought, holding back a sigh as he did. “I believe the reports you may have seen are in error, Secretary Yardley. Indeed, the general and the Inquisitor were simply discussing strategy, and it was misinterpreted as a conflict.” It’s going to be a long afternoon, he thought wearily. A long afternoon.
Samovich stepped into the brightly lit room. He was deep beneath his villa, in a sub-level that didn’t officially exist. No building plans anywhere showed the subterranean complex, and only Samovich’s most trusted subordinates and henchmen had ever seen it. It was his secret refuge, accessible only through a heavily camouflaged entrance, one shielded against all detection devices.
He turned and looked at the large bed at the other end of the room, positioned near a bank of machines. “You look pretty good for a corpse.” Samovich smiled as he walked toward the bed. Alexi Drogov was propped up on a pile of pillows. He was ghostly pale, and he had heavy bandages on his chest and head. Two IV lines were attached to his arm. One was filled with clear fluids, but the other was attached to a strange machine, and it was filled with a sickly yellow liquid. The patient looked like he was in rough shape, but he was very much alive. Contrary to the belief of everyone in UNGov.
“If you think this is good, you need to get out more.” Drogov’s voice was hoarse with fatigue, but otherwise he sounded normal.
“Well, the entire Secretariat thinks you’re dead, my friend.” Samovich smiled as he walked toward the side of the bed. “Everybody thinks you’re dead. Except a well-chosen few…and none of them will leave here until we’re finished with what needs to be done.”
“I have a pretty good idea of what has to be done, but I’m not exactly in top condition right now. You’ve got to deal with this situation long before I’ll be back on my feet.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “Who’s your second stringer for pest control?”
“Don’t be so skeptical of modern medicine, my friend. We live in wondrous times.” Samovich smiled. “Do you feel a tingling feeling?”
Drogov nodded. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. What the hell is that? It feels like it’s coming from the IV.”
“It is. It’s nanotech, the same stuff the Supersoldiers have. Although your nanobots are being produced outside your body and manually injected. It’s fixing you up…a hell of a lot faster than anything else could. You’ll be on your feet in two days and almost 100% in a week.”
“That’s amazing.” There was surprise in his voice, and some disbelief. He’d believe the prognosis when he saw it happen. He forced a tired smile. “And my captive doctors? They must be some serious specialists. I hope they don’t mind being stuck down here 24/7.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll walk out of here wealthy men and women. It’s all been arranged.” Samovich shot his friend a devious smile. “They have a lot to gain from your complete recovery. And a lot to lose if you’re not ready for action in time.”
Drogov nodded slowly. “I hope you’re estimates are right. Then I will take care of that fucking worm, Li. I’ll have him in a hole in the ground in no time.” Samovich’s rival was more than just an enemy now. Drogov knew how to respond to a failed assassination attempt.
“No.”
“What?” There was genuine surprise in Drogov’s voice. “After what he tried to pull?” He paused for a few seconds. He knew Samovich’s political scheming was moving at full speed. But this was more than politics. It was life and death. And that was Alexi Drogov’s game. “Anton, it’s too dangerous to leave him alive. What if he tries again?”
“That’s a risk, Alexi, but one I think is manageable. My security has been tripled, and Li has to lay low for a while. He’s already suspect, and he can’t risk getting tied to another assassination attempt.” Samovich sat on a small chair next to the bed. “No, we’ll take him out if we don’t have a choice, but only if we have no other options. What I really want you to do is try to get me some proof he was behind this attempt. If you manage that, he’s done. I’ll have a Secretariat Order for his execution in a day. And that will be the end of Mr. Li.”
“I’m not a detective, Anton. You know what I do, what I’m good at.”
“I know indeed. And don’t underestimate the value of your skills. You can grab as many of his people as you want, roast them on spits if it helps. Just leave Li himself alone. Every eye on the Secretariat is looking my way, waiting for a revenge attempt. But they’re not going to see one. I’m going to turn this back on that piece of shit…and I’ll lock up the votes I need to succeed Esteban.” A wicked smile crossed his lips. “And then we’ll escort Mr. Li to a shallow grave somewhere.”
Drogov nodded. He always enjoyed watching Samovich think. His friend had a master politician’s mind; he was a manipulator without compare. But Drogov had the expertise in understanding threats, and he knew if he was Chang Li, he’d try again. As soon as possible. The Secretariat might dislike attempts on its members’ lives, but that didn’t mean they were immune from fear. If Li managed to get rid of Samovich, Drogov didn’t doubt he’d quickly seize total control, and no one would dare challenge him on anything. They might whisper in the shadows, but they wouldn’t do anything. If his friend had a weakness, it was giving his colleagues credit for more intellect and courage than they possessed. Drogov knew Samovich and Li were the only two on the Secretariat with any real balls, other than Esteban. And the present Secretary-General was a dead man walking, no longer a factor in the struggle that had begun for the succession.
Drogov pulled himself up higher on the pillows, wincing at the pain the motion caused. “That all sounds good, old friend.” He paused, taking a deep breath as he fixed his gaze on Samovich. “As long as he doesn’t manage to take you out before we get it done.” He figured the odds on that were a coin toss.