GWOT VII - Hoteling

[drewkitty]

GWOT VII - Hoteling

Sometimes you get sent a message you can't refuse.

Other times you get sent a message you can't understand.

This appeared to be the latter.

The Chinese had decided either to swap facilities at the last minute, or lie about the actual progress of the construction.

The ambassadorial quarters weren't ready. In fact they weren't even drywalled. So we had no choice, in theory, but to put the ambassador and his staff up in the nice penthouse suite in the prestigious downtown high rise hotel.

Like hell. The ambassador got to sleep on a cot on the plane, in between screaming matches with Chinese functionaries in the airport conference room we had, ahem, borrowed.

I didn't get to sleep in the hotel either. Hell, I couldn't even set foot in it.

We didn't have space on the plane.

So guess who got to sleep in the construction site, with a picked crew of "logistics" (SDF) and a single ROC Marine to keep the Chinese honest.

We had a team of fixers with us. They were quite busy. Also spending California's money like water.

Have you ever taken apart a used porta-potty to find bugs? And found them?

So many new experiences the Chinese were sharing with us.

We'd found the best way to obtain food was not official channels, nor the disruption we caused when we visited stores, but to simply buy food from the endless throngs of street kiosks and carts, in passing.

That would get annoying after a while. I didn't care, meat was meat. But I wondered what a DNA test of this very well singed sausage would show.

The theory is that you don't do an enemy a small injury. But the Chinese were being incredibly petty with us. Power cycling on and off, understandable in a city wrestling with the aftermath of major war. But water being turned on and off from valves in the street?

I thought about posting a Marine over the valve. But that could be seen as what we call in diplomatic-speak an "unfriendly act." So no go.

Then there was our Internet access. The very definition of insecure, as most of it was through street-bought SIM cards. The technical team nicknamed our official high speed fiber connection to the Internet "Working Girl", for reasons that you might figure out on your own.

Finally I had to go take a shower. In the one hotel that would let us check in, you guessed it. So I got a room, for which I had to show my diplomatic passport. They wanted to keep it but I explained, hand on hip, that this wouldn't happen.

Police materialized around me when my suit rode back a little and showed my shoulder holster.

Things got loud.

"You have gun! Hands up!"

"Back off! I am a diplomatic attache of the Republic of California! I am authorized to carry weapons!"

Keeping my hands level at my sides.

"You give up gun!"

"Are you trying to start a war! Under the Vienna Convention of 1815 diplomatic officers and couriers are authorized to carry deadly weapons! I cannot be arrested and I am immune to criminal charges except for a major felony."

"Gun is felony!"

"I am not arguing with you! Call your officer! Call my embassy!"

It was a provocation, of course.

They knew damn well who I was, what the Vienna Convention allowed, and that they were pushing the limits of their authority. There were cameras, and behind those cameras analysts, and probably a psychologist who had read the Alviso Atrocity Trials transcripts.

Most people would be a little bit intimidated with seven submachine guns pointed at them.

Most people haven't been wired to a stretcher and rolled into a warm furnace.

If they could get me to break protocol, they could expel me from China. PNG. Persona Non Grata. Unwelcome.

I looked at the whole thing as a compliment, and had a new gratitude for the brief flap I'd had when touring the San Francisco Project.

The suggestion from the hotel that I put my handgun in their safe for "safety" being rudely rejected by all, I made my way up the stairs with my duffel bag, which hadn't been searched, and contained both my backup gun and my submachine gun.

I have a THING about elevators. I don't do them. Ever.

Made it to my room. Swiped the door. Green. Made entry, drawing the submachine gun as I did and kicking the door shut behind me. Locked it from inside, sort of since I hadn't checked the locking hardware.

Next time I use wet wipes.

There was a half-naked woman in the bathroom, just replacing the lid on the toilet tank.

"Hands up!" I directed as I pointed the subgun at her.

She started to shriek, stopped herself, and ineffectively tried to cover her ample breasts with her hands.

Oh. Honey trap.

I took my hand back out of the bag, where I had been about to press the EMER button on my secure radio and draw an armed response.

Then I slung the submachine gun.

"Officer. Cover yourself with a towel and get out. Leave me one, if you please. That is Californian for leave me a fucking towel."

Her assets were attractive but my duties forbade in several different ways.

She pouted slightly as she complied. She had no trouble at all with the door. Officer for sure.

A little intel speak. Officers are people who work for governments directly. Agents are people who take money to do work for people, sometimes governments but not always.

The Chinese had done half their homework. She hadn't been wearing panties.

I checked the lock, secured it as best it was able, stripped a pillow case, and rolled it up in such a way as to keep the lock protected from a fishing attempt from outside. Put a chair up against the door for warning from a key.

Then I checked the window - sealed as best I could tell - and every space in which a person could be hiding. Clear. There were still bugs of course, and cameras, especially in bathroom and bedroom. That didn't count the bug that had been clumsily half-installed in the toilet seat.

I thought about it. Shitting the bed would send a message, but one objective here was to get my DNA. The toilet was almost certainly trapped, for the same reason.

So I ran the shower water long enough to make sure it wasn't also trapped, did the necessary, mashed the results with my feet so they would go down the drain, then washed off my feet with the soap I had brought.

I didn't use their towel. I bagged it to take back with me, and used my own.

My shower was brisk and efficient, so I barely finished when the pounding on the door began.

"Police! Diplomat open up!"

I dressed carefully, zipped my duffel bag almost but not quite shut, and slung it. Then exited the room right into the arms of the four officers.

This didn't fit their script. They had planned to talk with me in the room.

The pair of "logistics clerks" waiting halfway down the hall for me weren't part of their script either.

"Maid says you showed her your parts! We investigate!"

"Your mother showed me her parts! They were tiny but very male!"

Once he understood, another officer had to grab him to keep him from slapping me.

I would have slapped him back - with the pistol.

This was not a moment in which diplomacy mattered overmuch.

"We have pictures!"

"You take pictures of diplomats shitting in hotel bathrooms?"

I was watching for the flinch. Got him. Team leader.

So, since I was already up in people's armpits, I crowded against him and breathed into his face.

Western body odor is extremely offensive to Chinese people.

"Call. Off. Your. Goons."

He stood his ground.

"You go, you leave hotel now."

"With pleasure!"

Of course there would be another provocation waiting on the sidewalk.

If I took a cab, any cab, the driver would be Chinese police.

If I took one of our vehicles, I would mess up our logistics operation.

So I did what you just don't do in a strange city.

I started walking towards the exit and ducked right into the restaurant, and through it into the kitchen.

The chef started yelling at me. I didn't understand but "Who are you? What are you doing?" came through very clearly, as did the knives in his hands.

I bowed once and ran.

Out the loading dock, look around fast on the street, get on a bus. I fumbled some cash money at the driver, who made it disappear with no share for the fare box.

Get off two stops later.

I figured I had five or six vehicles and two or three dismounts in pursuit - but what I'd actually do if I were them is use the motorcycles or mopeds going back and forth all over the place.

Two of the vehicles betrayed themselves by dismount.

There's never a cab when you need one.

I wasn't playing by the rules, but I wasn't in close combat either. So stealing a car or a scooter would get me PNG'd.

So I cheated. I walked right past one of the dismounted officers and got in the vehicle he had just gotten out of.

"Taxi, take me to Chongzhou 1-2-4."

The flustered driver stared at me. This was NOT how his surveilled suspects were supposed to act!

"Now! Mish mish!"

He blinked and started driving. The other choice was to wait for his partner to come back and either get in the car or try to pull me out of it.

Then I saw a real taxi.

I opened the door while we were still in motion. The shocked police driver came to a stop. Wrong move.

I got out, I got in the real taxi, waved a fistful of euros at the real driver.

"Taxi, take me to Chongzhou 1-2-4."

He peeled out and made the money disappear.

The drive was rapid and efficient and untroubled except by frequently honking as he cut off other traffic. I gave him more money and walked up to the Republic Marine at the gate, ignoring the courtesy constable provided by the host government.

"Any trouble, sir? Oh...."

Several vehicles converged on the gate. I stood behind it.

As the crowd closed, the Marine drew his pistol to low ready. One of the laborers stopped carrying boxes and floated towards his oversize lunch box.

The constable put up a hand and the officers chasing me ignored him. He broke out in a flurry of Chinese, trying to do his job by keeping them out of California territory. They shouted back; later translation should prove interesting.

But when the first plainclothes officer started to cross the sidewalk, the Marine pointed his pistol at him and shouted.

"HALT! CALIFORNIA! HALT!"

I drew my pistol as well.

"California! STOP!" I shouted, with great presence of mind.

The third HALT gave permission to open fire.

"We are in hot pursuit of him!"

"I am a California diplomatic officer!" I retorted, as if it weren't obvious by the fact I had been let in and was armed on California soil.

"You are accused of rape!"

"Complain to my ambassador! I would not touch a Chinese woman if she paid me!"

As i suspected it would, the accusation caused him to fly into a rage. Half Chinese, half English, he started complaining about horrible Americans and their sexual habits with Chinese pre-teens.

I fired a round into the sky.

EVERYBODY STOPPED.

You don't do that. You DON'T do that. You don't DO that.

My first round had been a blank. Prudent when doing my sort of work, and horribly imprudent for any other reason.

They didn't know that.

"WE ARE NOT AMERICANS. Don't you EVER call me an American! EVER! Fuck America! America is what got us into this mess! I would never do what Americans did to this country, and also to my country!"

It was my turn for a rage strewn, spittle-flecked diatribe.

"You be angry at America all you want! We are NOT Americans. We are not AMERICANS. Do you get it? We did not nuke a hundred cities! We did not invade! Accuse me of a crime? Get your facts right! Then complain to my ambassador like a civilized nation!"

I holstered, much to the relief of the Chinese plainclothes police, who had actually strayed their hands towards their own guns. The constable had stayed on his post, frozen, back to me. Poor guy.

It was just too much work for a shower.

The Chinese intelligence officer had been cute though. Lively eyes. Clearly she'd looked forward to a touch of dalliance before helping entrap me.

Maybe when things calmed down.

But likely not.

With the literal fate of the planet in question, I couldn't afford distractions.

And before I'd submitted to physical arrest, I'd have had to tear the strip off the shock charge in the duffel and politely blown myself to pieces by throwing myself on top of it.

No need to kill anyone else. My body would tamp the charge nicely.

Every need to prevent that item from falling into Chinese hands. Or anyone else's for that matter, including most of our own staff.

The McGuffin was vital. Some nations and some people just can't afford to bluff.