“Mike… ” the president said then paused again. “How far do we let it run?”
“No where,” Mike replied. “Hit it the moment it goes into play. Right then, right there. If I am still in play and on site, I will specifically request it.”
“That’s your own position,” the Secretary of defense pointed out. “Close counts with nuclear weapons, Mike. I’d hate like hell to have a nuke in play, but I’m not sure it’s worth taking you out. We’ve got strategic room to stop it.”
“Sir, as I said, I have information that you do not,” Mike replied. “My… judgement is that if we cannot absolutely secure this weapon at the point at which we know it is going to be, that a special munition be used to ensure that it does not go into play. And it has to be a special munition. It can not be a standard munition. That would be worse than not hitting it at all.”
“You said ‘weapon’, not nuclear weapon. It’s not a nuke,” the Secretary of Defense said, definitely. She had cut her teeth on Soviet disarmament negotiations and knew WMD backwards and forwards.
“Neither confirm nor deny,” Mike replied with a death’s head grin.
“I’ll get back to you on this,” the president said, looking at his own monitors. “With either a yes or no. If it’s a no, it’s a definite no. Who’s going to coordinate for the predators and such? That we can guarantee.”
“I’ll work that through our CIA liaison,” the Secretary of Defense said. “Based upon Mr. Jenkins’ recommendation, though, you have my assent and recommendation. His argument about the cover story is a valid point. We can blame it on the terrorists. And if he is willing to nuke his own position, and his own people, to stop this ‘weapon’ then he has thought this through carefully.”
“I’m not worried about blame,” the president said. “I’m worried about killing a friend.”
“Don’t, Mr. President,” Mike said. “Make that the last thing on your mind. Because no decision you’ve ever made is as important as this one.”
“Minuet?” the president said, as soon as Mike cut his connection. “You have a clue what he is talking about I’d guess.”
“I think the Russians let a biological out of their labs,” Minuet said, thoughtfully. “An infectious one and deadly. That is his point about not using a standard weapon. As standard weapon would have the possibility of breaking containment and spreading the biological. A nuke will sterilize the area.”
“That’s what the Russians don’t want us to know,” the Secretary of Defense said, angrily. “I can see why. Those stupid bastards.”
“And if Mike wants to keep his relations with the Russians we can’t let them know that we even guess,” Minuet pointed out. “However, we don’t know that that is actually what is going on.”
“Explain,” the president said.
“It is probably accurate,” Minuet pointed out. “But it is what Colonel Chechnik knows or has been told and then what he has chosen to tell Mike. Probably he was told we’re looking at some sort of infectious biological. Mike, from his SEAL training, is well versed in biologicals. If it were, say, anthrax, he would not react this way. However, he is also a well known personality within a small group. The Russians may have anticipated his reaction and told him it is a nasty bio weapon so that he would, in turn, scream to us for help. They may be simply interested in ensuring that Dr. Arensky is taken out of play. A nuke would certainly do that.”
“For now, I am giving provisional authority,” the president said, tightly. “But when this mission goes down, I want all three of us up and alert. I am going to have to make moment to moment decisions on release. Ensure that all the communications are in place for that.”
“Shota, I want you to listen to me carefully this time,” Adams said, trying not to sigh.
Shota was probably the biggest Keldara there was and just about the most massive guy Adams had ever known. He was even bigger than Russell, the former Ranger who had been a trainer up until he went back to the World. Shota was over two meters in his stocking feet, broad as a fucking house and most of it slabs of heavy muscle. The guy had shoulders that, literally, filled a door. Unfortunately, while not all big guys were dumb, Shota typified the stereotype. At least Russell had had two brain cells to rub together. Not more than two, mind you, he was a Ranger, after all. But two. Shota would be a perfect point guy for entry if Adams could ever teach him to count as high as five.
“It’s really really easy,” Adams said, slowly. “You go through the door and take five steps. Not four, not six. Definitely not one. Understand? Five. Count them with me. One… Two… ”
“One… two… three… f… ” Shota said, his brow creasing.
“Okay, try it this way,” Adams said, turning him to parallels the wall of the shoot house. “Walk with me. One… two… three… four… five steps.”
Shota nodded and looked around. “I stop here? Room’s over there.”
“NO, you’ll be in the room,” Adams said. “Just do the steps again. One… two… three… four… five! Got it, do it again… One… two… ”
Adams had him take five steps, his weapon forward, over and over again. Then he had him trot it. Finally, he was pretty sure the big ox had got it.
“Okay, now we’re going into doctorate territory,” Adams said. “You point your shotgun at the lock of the door. When I give you the word, you blow the lock off. Then you kick the door open. When it’s open, then you take your five steps, got it?”
“No,” Shota admitted.
“Follow my actions,” Adams said, pointing his M4 down as if at a doorknob. “Follow me.” He ran through the sequence seven times with the massive Keldara following his moves. He’d ensured Shota’s weapon was unloaded before they started so he even had him dry fire.
“When you get to the end of your five steps, then you look for valid targets. What’s a valid target?” They’d drilled this one mercilessly in training, so Shota got it right off.
“He got a weapon in his hand,” Shota said. “You shoot the guys with the weapon.”
“In your sector,” Adams added.
“In my sector,” Shota said. “I do my sector. Padrek, him do his sector.”
“What don’t we shoot?” Adams asked.
“We don’t shoot no girls,” Shota said, carefully but fast enough it was clear he understood. “Less them got weapons. We don’t shoot no kids, even if them got weapons. We don’t shoot no men not got weapons.”
“By George, I think you’ve got it,” Adams said. “Okay, troops, let’s load ’em up and try this! Through that door at a run!”
“The Keldara are a fascinating people,” Jay said.
He and Katya were parked on a wall watching the small Keldara village. Both were dressed in local clothes and to a casual observer blended in. Jay was not a casual observer. As Katya reached a hand up to fiddle with her top he held up his hands with index fingers crossed.
“You’re dead,” Jay said. “You are a Keldara woman. You have worn those clothes your whole life. There is no reason to fiddle with them. Very few women will adjust anything in public unless they are very uncomfortable with the clothing. Street whores will, I’ll give you that. And if you’re at a formal dress dinner with a large number of women unaccustomed to formal dress, you must fiddle from time to time. And walk badly in heels. Very important. Walking badly in heels, if you normally don’t, is a very difficult skill to learn. But you are not playing the part of a street whore or a female more accustomed to jeans than gowns. So you’re dead.”