Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel Read online

  "He's good, though?" Sandy asked.

  "Sure. As Intels go." As if Vanessa, a SWAT grunt, would either know or care. "Word is Kazuma's the guns, Ari's the brains. "

  Kazuma, Sandy noted, was still watching them. A moment's concentration, and Sandy could detect the active scan from across the room, monitoring the fact of their silent conversation if not the words. Contact, as Kazuma registered Sandy's counter scan. Smiled again, curiosity gleaming in narrow, dark eyes.

  "So, people," Ibrahim said, and all conversation abruptly ceased. Ibrahim never spoke loudly. His quiet, impenetrable cool and effortless authority ensured that he never needed to. "You've all seen the prelims and studied the details. Let's get to the business. Agent Ruben."

  "Um ..." Ruben rubbed his brow with his good hand, a nervous, energetic mannerism. "... fine. Okay. The um ..." Another rub, and a twitch at his smart collar. "... the group at the hotel were Christian Vanguard. They were formed about six years ago, breakaway from an independent sect that in turn broke away from the main Tanushan Mormon Church three years before that ... that's the, um, Central Mormons, not the East Delta Mormons ..." Another fidget at his collar, confronted by blank stares and frowns. "... I know, it gets confusing, I swear they pick up their bad habits from the Hindus."

  "Which bad habits would they be, Agent Ruben?" came Personnel Administrator Tirupati's interjection from down the table, a raised eyebrow wrinkling the red spot upon her brow. Ruben looked up directly for the first time, a sudden, unapologetic fix of intelligent dark eyes.

  "Fragmentation, disorganisation and general ideological chaos." Deadpan, but Sandy got the distinct impression he was pulling Tirupati's leg. "It catches, you know. Every religious organisation that has arrived on this planet from the founding has split itself at least four ways over the subsequent period ... it's a very Hindu state of affairs."

  "Typical Indian shambles," someone else commented. Tirupati realised she was being made fun of, and smiled benignly. Sandy did a fast mental count, and arrived at seven Indians or part-Indians around the table. Minorities making fun of the majority, she'd gathered, was acceptable sport. Only when it turned the other way around did the risk of offence become serious.

  "Now, I and ... my colleagues," with a nod to Kazuma, "have been watching Christian Vanguard for some time now. Their threat assessment was always quite high. Their leader, Claude Christophson, has been a regular on the cult-net for the last three years. Psych had him tagged as a risk almost immediately ..."

  "Psychopathic?" asked Intel analyst Pangestu. Ruben's eyes registered mild surprise.

  "Um, no, actually. Cattalini insists he's borderline sociopathic, but I think that's a stretch in a heavily religious society already suffering this degree of delusional removal. Most of these guys are just linear thinkers with a persecution complex. But then I think that pretty much sums up Christian radicals everywhere ..."

  Uncomfortable shifting in several of the seats down the long table. "Or Jewish radicals, for that matter, Mr. Ariel Ruben," added N'Darie from the far end, with telling emphasis.

  Ruben coughed, and scratched at the back of his head. "My people don't, um, have a persecution complex, Assistant Director. It's just that everyone's always out to screw us." Some people grinned. Some did not. Ruben barely appeared to notice. "The point is that while the type is pretty rare, it's not so rare that you won't get a lot of them in this city's population profile among 57 million people."

  "Your critique of the SIB's last SCIPS on the matter was considerably more robust than that," Pangestu reminded him. A SCIPS, Sandy recalled, was a Statistical Crime Intervention-Prevention Survey. Typical analyst's jargon-ese, ignored by all but those who compiled them. Ruben restrained an exasperated half smile, it turned into a wince.

  "Abi, I've seen more attempts to statistically quantify this city's predilection for various kinds of criminal activity than I can remember ... I mean, religion doesn't even matter much to most people. South Asian theology is mostly inconsistent, anyway, the interactions between various ethnic groups, language groups, philosophies, religions, histories, generation gaps, backlashes, historical nostalgia, politicisation .. He shook his head in exasperation. "... you can't quantify it. You'd be nuts to try. If I deal in broad generalisations, it's because any attempt to quantify the minutiae will immediately be contradicted.

  "Now ... Vanguard are right on the fringe, the far lunar-right, but they're not crazy. They're just extreme. It's an extremist culture we've got here, in some sections. The diversity ensures it, the fragmentations just bounce off each other, push each other further to the brink, and of course infotech means everyone's a fucking expert ...

  "Why that gathering?" Ibrahim interrupted calmly. "Why Progress Party? Why those senators?"

  "Article 42," said Pangestu immediately. "Killing two Progress Party senators and a Progress rep would put a big dent in the probreakaway numbers."

  Ibrahim looked at Ruben, who was shaking his head.

  "No, that's not how they think. They're not thinking of the numbers. They don't like the system and they're not prepared to play that game. They don't like it, don't trust it, and don't really understand it. It's a statement. Allesandra Parker was there, Arjun Mukherjee was there ... all the people who represent high-power, big business biotech, all the people who'd most like to see the biotech restrictions lifted. It was a big, moral statement. They think they're doing God's work to smite the evildoers and save humanity from the corruption of unnatural technologies and soulless machines."

  Flicked a brief glance at Sandy. Sandy gazed back, eyes unblinking.

  "How can you be so sure?" Pangestu appeared in an argumentative mood, his stern, angular Indonesian features etched in a serious frown. "Like you said, these groups aren't stupid. The infiltration and assault as outlined by your own report was expertly done and suggested some serious expertise. If they can do that, why can't they figure out the present state of the Article 42 debate, figure the numbers required by either side for the pre-referendum vote, and work out who they need to kill in order to affect the outcome? It's a conscience vote, An, the politicians aren't just going to vote along party lines, so we can't just count on Union Party's numbers carrying the day as usual ... that means some of the core Progress Party people become convenient targets. Kill a few Progress Party pollies, you lessen the breakaway vote dramatically."

  Sandy watched Ruben as he listened, chewing absently on a fingernail. He had, she noted with interest, a curiously absent, unflappable demeanour. A purposeful blandness. But too purposeful. As if hiding an implacable intellectual drive that burned just beneath the surface. And he shook his head to Pangestu's assertions, abandoning the fingernail.

  "No, no, if they kill senators or congressmen, there's an immediate by-election ..." Tapping the table with a fingertip for emphasis. "It'll only put the vote back a few weeks and they haven't finalised a date yet anyway, no big deal. Plus the politicians' vote is just a preliminary on whether or not to submit it to a popular Callayan vote and under what terms ... it's the popular vote that determines the final outcome. Christophson's not stupid, he knew that. He was just doing the good old-fashioned terrorist thing-scaring people into voting the way Vanguard wanted. Or as he saw it, reminding them of God's wrath."

  "The by-election could cause a constitutional crisis, it's all untested under emergency legislation," Pangestu retorted. "That could hold up the vote itself. What makes you so sure that has nothing to do with it?"

  "He told me."

  Pangestu didn't reply immediately. No one did. His frown grew deeper.

  "Who told you?"

  "Claude Christophson." Very mildly. "Old buddy of mine, we go way back. About a month ago, just after Article 42 was tabled for debate, he told me that any attempt to directly alter the technical process of the vote by violence would be pointless, that the only thing that could work would be to appeal to people's greater moral instincts, the aspects of people's humanity that transcended the technicalities o
f the process."

  "Claude Christophson made a direct threat against this world's elected representatives a month ago," N'Darie said disbelievingly, "and you neglected to tell anyone?"

  "He didn't make a direct threat, he was speaking hypothetically." With utter disregard for the Assistant Director's bluntness. "And I did tell someone, I filed a report."

  "Lost among how damn many hundreds of Intelligence reports ..."

  "If people don't read my reports, I can't help that." Meeting her gaze calmly down the full length of table. N'Darie glared back. "People who value my reports tend to prioritise them for reading. Those that don't ... well, they can set their own operational priorities. I'm in no position to dictate to them what they ought to find important."

  "And if we prioritised every report about every person who threatened violent action against Article 42 ..." Kazuma spoke up for the first time, ". . . you'd all be swimming in them up to your ears."

  "Already there," someone muttered.

  "Ari," Intel Director Naidu intervened, "what's your risk assessment of the religious extremist groups in general at this point? And what do you think we can learn from this attack?"

  Ruben nodded thoughtfully for a moment, as if mildly thankful to receive what he considered a useful question.

  "Umm ... unfortunately the risk is pretty high right now, ninetyfive per cent of them are all hot air, but considering how many groups there are, five per cent still adds up to a lot of trouble. Mostly they're focused on the public supporters of advanced biotech, or anyone deemed sympathetic to League causes ... most high-level stuff should be safe, though. There's not much expertise out there in hard-target infiltration, just the kind of bureaucratic screw ups we saw at Kanchipuram."

  "How many more attacks do you think we could see?"

  "From nutter-wallahs?" Which was Hindi-English slang for religious loonies these days, Sandy had gathered. "I'd guess two or three a week at present." Silent disbelief from around the table. "Infotech and tape-teach mean it's real easy for your average Mr. Citizen to make bombs and reasonably sophisticated trigger mechanisms these days. That's the main concern, plus acquiring the skill and knowledge to assemble and use them. And, of course, with the end of the LeagueFederation war a year ago, there's suddenly a surplus of guns on the black market."

  "So what do you think is the best proce-"

  "Wait, wait." Ruben cut off the new question, as if abruptly troubled by something. "I think I have to say at this point that most of this stuff is just pointless nonsense, a few crazies taking their Messiah-complexes out for a spin around the block ... I don't think we can afford to lose sight of the main game here, whatever the media want to get upset about."

  "I'd say firefights and suicide bomb attacks in major industry get- togethers is a fairly serious occurrence, Mr. Ruben," N'Darie said incredulously.

  "What is the main game, Ari?" Naidu asked calmly, ignoring the Assistant Director, as he usually did.

  "The main game," Ari said, with an emphasis that might have been sarcasm, "is Article 42. Politics. Big, humungous, colossal, mind- blowingly huge politics ... It's not every day that Callay has a vote on whether or not to break away from the Federation. We're a powerful world in the scheme of Federation economics, everyone's upset by this. That's why they're all here, why we've got representatives from every damn planet, political organisation, major corporation and media network in Federation space cramming up all the five-star hotel rooms in Tanusha of late, holding all these talkfests all over town that stretch our security so thin we'll soon have knuckle-dragging gorillas from every pea-brained "fuck the government" organisation strolling through the front doors with auto-cannon slung over each shoulder.

  "A few loonies who think Jesus Christ wore camouflage is nothing compared to all that. They're just a circus show for the usual fireworks on the evening news. They're a ... a cultural pressure valve, just letting off some steam. The main concern is what they're talking about at all these damn parties-just now I saw Allesandra Parker and Arjun Mukherjee in the same room together. You want to guess what they were talking about in there? Business deals and insider tradingParker tells Mukherjee all she knows about where her political opponents might be vulnerable, Mukherjee uses contacts and financial influence to twist the arms of their support base. Everyone's looking for opportunities to blackmail everyone else into voting the way they want them to vote, or to influence the direction of the ongoing debateeven if the vote goes against them, the breakaway faction are still going to put a lot of influence into what they want the shape of a new Callayan constitution to look like ... or even a new Federation constitution. That's been gaining strong ground lately. Given how badly the Feds showed they can screw any member world they like lately, there's now a push going on to rewrite the entire Federation system.

  "This kind of thing is where the real action is, and with things so chaotic right now, my main concern is that we'll miss some piece of subtle foul play that will affect the outcome of the vote. Then if further investigations reveal the foul play, confidence in the entire voting system will be undermined, and whatever conclusion was reached will collapse-through the lack of a perceived mandate-and then we're all really in the shit."

  "He's right," Director Ibrahim said calmly before anyone else could respond. "Whatever the outcome of the vote, the public both here and throughout the Federation must be able to have faith that the outcome is both fair and accurate. All the camel trading and shady deals going on right now are not conducive to producing such faith."

  "We should lock them all up and feed them dinner through a slot," Vanessa muttered. Some laughter and wry smiles from around the table. Some of it, Sandy reckoned, a touch patronising of the pragmatically minded SWAT lieutenant who always thought of the most brutally direct solution to every problem.

  "I had considered enforcing something similar," Ibrahim replied in total seriousness, "but neither the CSA charter, nor Callayan law, nor indeed Callayan public opinion, will allow it." The smiles faded. "Ari is correct in his general assessment that there is far more at stake here than the lives put at risk by various radical parties. The future of the Federation is in question. It is to influence that outcome that the radicals are motivated in the first place-they are reactive, not proactive. They do not determine the agenda. The people who do determine the agenda-the politicians, business leaders and other VIPs-they are the focus. The better we understand those processes, the better we can predict the reactions of the radicals."

  Sandy flicked a wary sidelong glance up the table at N'Darie. The expression on her round, African face was sour. Ibrahim was agreeing with Ruben. Not everyone around the table, evidently, found that to their liking.

  The meeting went for another half hour, with much discussion of underground organisational structure, the cultural scene in general, and the latest shifts in funding, rumours and tipoffs. It was so very complicated, and there seemed no way any security organisation could seriously expect to monitor it all, let alone contain it. Just figure the general flows, and concentrate on those bits that were most important. And that, Sandy guessed, was Ruben's speciality. He knew the whole underground scene so well, and appeared to have contacts everywhere. It seemed a very unorthodox method of operation, for any government operative. But at the Kanchipuram Hotel, at least, it had worked.

  "Agent Kresnov," Ruben said as the meeting was dismissed, and people rose from their chairs, "can I have a word with you?"

  She was not particularly surprised. Given his reputation, it was somewhat surprising that he had not introduced himself earlier.

  "Um ... I gotta get back," Vanessa told her with a flat glance at Ruben. "Tac drill in forty-five remember, don't be late."

  "No, mother." Which she'd thought would be funny, but Vanessa gave her a very strange look. Then slapped her on the arm and left, following the rest of the agents out the main doors. Ruben and Kazuma remained behind.

  "So you're, um, getting invited to general briefings these days?"
Ruben looked and sounded a little nervous, she reckoned, with mild surprise. Leaning on the back of the Director's seat at the end of the table, as if pleased to have that occupying his usually expressive hands.

  "It was Naidu's idea," she replied, mirroring his pose behind her own chair. Not so much of a lean, from her smaller height, just a loose folding of arms upon the headrest. "Ibrahim backed it. And Vanessa's pretty much head SWAT behind Krishnaswali now, so she'd have to turn up anyway, but it's still nice to have her here to explain things to me."

  "And do you, um, still need that? Explaining?"

  "Occasionally." Watching him with expressionless curiosity. Unblinking. Some straights, she knew, found that intimidating. Which she was discovering to have its advantages. Particularly when she wasn't sure what someone wanted of her. Someone, in this case, whom she suspected of having a very strong agenda of his own. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

  Ruben licked his lips, dark eyes darting briefly away.

  "He's just looking for an excuse to meet you," Kazuma said lazily from the other side of the table. "He's just like all these technogeeks in Intel, he's got a huge crush on you." Sandy raised an eyebrow at her. Ruben's look was more incredulous. Kazuma just leaned against the wall and smiled, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her sleek leather jacket.

  "Thank you, Ayako," Ruben told her, "helpful as always." Kazuma inclined her head, gracefully.

  "Do you?" Sandy asked him. Ruben grinned. A faint shade shift of facial temperature showed her his blush. Only faint, though.

  "I don't have your photograph stuck to the inside of my locker, if that's what you mean ..."

  "I could tell you a few Intel geeks that do," Kazuma interrupted, and it's not stuck there with adhesive, I can tell you."

  "Ayako," Ruben said with his usual quizzical sarcasm as Sandy repressed a grin, "do you have to make a complete and total mess of every conversation I try and start?"