“Performed well? They shot down everybody but the sultan!”
Bleindel considered his words as he measured sugar for his coffee and took a bite of an almond danish. He needed to strike the right note of reassuring Salem el-Fasi that things were under control and that he was committing to the right course of action, but he also needed to make the Gadiran understand that the opportunity was fleeting. If he expressed too much confidence or too little, the bey might wait to see how events unfolded. That would not be in Dremark’s interest.
“Bey Salem, the goal was not to kill Sultan Rashid,” he explained patiently. “The goal was to launch the attack.”
“What is the point of launching an attack that fails?” Bey Salem demanded. “Khouri merely warned Rashid that he needed to be more careful. I admit I am not particularly worried that Rashid might suddenly become more competent, but the Royal Guard is a different story!”
“The point, Bey Salem, is that we provoked an escalation. We wanted the Royal Guards to hit back at the Caidists. They provided us with exactly the response we hoped for. Oh, I would have been happy enough to see Sultan Rashid dead. Whoever took the throne after such a spectacular assassination would pretty much have had to launch an immediate set of sweeps and reprisals against the revolutionaries and Caidists. But it didn’t matter that much whether Rashid or his successor initiated that crackdown.”
“It may not matter to you, Mr. Bleindel, but it certainly matters to me,” Bey Salem retorted. “I can hardly assume the throne while Rashid’s still sitting upon it.”
“In that you are mistaken, Bey Salem. History is full of examples of rulers forced to abdicate by their successors.” Bleindel straightened and set down his coffee, ignoring the ache in his wounded leg. “If we manage this properly, the people will beg you to take power and restore order whether Rashid is alive or dead. And I assure you that the moment is at hand. Is it a few days ahead of schedule? Yes. Will that make a difference? No, it will not. Your positioning may not be optimal, but it is good enough—especially if you can arrange for part of the Royal Guard to stand aside or back you. By tomorrow there will be a need for a new sultan. That sultan should be you.”
“They will beg someone to step in,” Bey Salem muttered. He leaned back into the plush offworld leather of his couch. “I can think of three or four of my peers who might regard themselves as likely sultans, too.”
“Your likely rivals lack one key advantage you possess: the friendship of the Empire of Dremark. Even if several claimants move on the throne at the same time, we will back you, Bey Salem. All you need do is ask us to help restore order. I can confirm that you will have a full regiment of crack Dremish regulars on hand to cement your control of the capital.” That, of course, was the crucial fig leaf of legitimacy before the other great powers in the Coalition of Humanity. So long as one plausible governing figure emerged to request Dremish intervention, Bleindel’s countrymen would be able to respond with the necessary level of military support. In fact, Bleindel had quietly arranged lines of contact with a couple of Bey Salem’s most promising rivals so that Dremark could quickly shift its support to another Gadiran possibility if for some reason Salem el-Fasi suddenly became a liability … which el-Fasi did not need to know, of course. “As soon as you commit your forces to Operation Casbah, we’ll move to support you. But it must be today.”
“Your ships have that many troops on board?”
“And the orbital firepower to erase anything that gets in their way.” Bleindel studied the bey closely. “If you have any doubts or reservations, now is the time to back out, Bey Salem. From this hour forward we are on a timetable, and we can’t change course. Are you committed?”
The Gadiran noble met his gaze. The air of kind joviality he cultivated in public was nowhere to be seen; Bleindel read naked ambition and cold calculation in el-Fasi’s face as he weighed the answer. “My only reservation is the price for your assistance,” he finally said.
“There will be a treaty spelling out commercial access, military assistance, basing rights, and more,” said Bleindel. “We have plans for industrializing Gadira and expanding its offworld commerce threefold above what Montréal has been doing, and the first beneficiary of that flood of wealth and influence will be you. Yes, the Caidists will be outraged. We’ll give you the modern troops you need to solve that problem permanently.” He paused, taking another sip of coffee and allowing the bey to absorb his words before continuing. “All rulers are indebted to those who support them in power; I won’t try to tell you otherwise. But the Empire is good to its partners, Bey Salem.”
Bey Salem thought for a long moment. “So be it,” he finally said. “I will summon Colonel Idhari and consult with him about timing our actions to take advantage of the unrest in the capital.”
“Good,” said Bleindel. “Might I suggest that you begin by arranging for your forces to seize control of Oristani Caravan’s cargo before sultanate forces arrive? It should only take a few hours to ready the combat flyers for service, if you have trained pilots available.”
“I thought you intended those for the caids.”
Bleindel smiled. “We have now reached the point where it’s no longer useful to sponsor an uprising among the desert tribes. I would much rather put that firepower in your hands.”
The bey gave a small snort. “Of course. Yes, I will see to that. We’ll tell the Aquilans that we need to impound the cargo for evidence.”
“Good thinking,” said Bleindel. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. Time is running short, and I have things to see to in Tanjeer today.”
“Make sure that you are not seen with your revolutionary friends. It’s bad enough that I am connected to offworlders. If my fellow beys tie me to the support of the rebels, not even the friendship of Dremark will be enough to carry me into power.”
“I am the very soul of discretion,” Bleindel promised. “I’ll see you tomorrow or the day after in the gardens of El-Badi, and we will talk more about your alliance with Dremark. Until then, farewell.”
“Go with God,” Bey Salem replied. He stood and showed the Dremish agent to the lobby; they shook hands and parted.
Bleindel made his way to an elevator, leaning on his cane. In fact, it might someday be very useful to remind el-Fasi that the Dremish Security Bureau could provide the bey’s enemies with proof that he had armed the rebels for the purpose of providing himself a reason to assume power; he made a mental note to record that suggestion in his final report for Gadira. That was one of the reasons he favored el-Fasi as the most useful tool for establishing Dremish control of the sultanate. The bey was compromised, and he had too much to lose by turning on Dremark now.
The elevator whisked the agent up to the rooftop garage, where he’d parked a very fast private flyer. It was more than fifteen hundred kilometers to Tanjeer, and he needed to be there by midday. Moving awkwardly, he climbed into the driver’s seat, tossed his cane onto the seat beside him, and started up the engine. Then he roared out of the exit doorway, and began to put on speed. Even as he climbed away from Meknez, he switched the comm unit to its secure setting and keyed it. “SMS Panther, this is Consul Bleindel,” he said. “Put me through to Fregattenkapitan Harper, please. It’s going to be a busy day.”
19
Meknez, Gadira II
In all, Hector’s landing party captured twenty-four combat flyers in twelve containers, plus five containers filled with bombs, missiles, and heavy automag darts for the flyers’ onboard weapons systems, and three additional containers full of contraband small arms and ammunitions. It was enough to start a good-sized war, Sikander decided—which, when he thought about it, was exactly what someone was trying to do. It took hours to inventory the arms, but by noon Sikander decided that they’d done everything they could in Meknez. Time to turn it over to the locals—and perhaps get something to eat and a bit of sleep.