GWOT VII - Jedi Knights
Nov. 29th, 2020 07:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyWouldn't you know it.
Some asshole sets up an Embassy. Some other asshole immediately makes use of same.
"Come quick," the Embassy Security Chief directed. "Bring your subgun."
I got up from where I had been sleeping, on the floor on a blanket, grabbed the subgun and ran downstairs.
Brilliant lights shone on the Embassy grounds from the pair of heavily armed gun trucks. They hadn't done that before.
They also hadn't pointed heavy weapons at the Embassy before either. This was a major escalation.
Stage front, a man, Caucasian, bleeding from several places on his torso. He'd apparently parked a truck parallel to our fence, hopped on top, and crawled through the concertina wire on top of the fence. A neat trick for anyone. Clearly he had some training.
"I am an American!" he shouted.
I looked at him carefully.
"Attention to orders," I barked. Calmly, so calmly. "I am taking command of this."
I handed my submachine gun to the nearest "laborer," who fielded it expertly.
Barehanded, I searched our erstwhile defector. He seemd to expect this. He had a cell phone and some other electronic device I didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Who are you?"
"Fuck you, buddy, you've come to the wrong store. Identify yourself or I'll give you back to them."
"You wouldn't."
I thought about it.
"OK, you're fucked."
I punched him several times in sensitive spots, including his junk. As he flinched - note, not howled, I reached up and a Marine slapped a pair of flex cuffs into my hand. I cuffed his wrists and pushed him ahead of me.
Towards the gates.
He started to freak the fuck out so I tripped him a couple times, improving his demeanor and ruining his former good looks.
"I am a US NAVY SEAL," he shouted through broken teeth.
Thank you, asshole.
I lifted him up and propelled him further towards the entrance. Republic Marines started to help me push him forward. Their help was needed.
"Zhongui!" I shouted. "American! American Zhongui! Officer! I need an officer!"
We kept pushing him forward.
George was in the first rank, standing just beyond the courtesy constable. He looked at me, and at the situation.
"George! This man is American zhongui! Very very dangerous! Take him!"
We pushed him past the line on the ground and the Chinese immediately bum-rushed him, stripping his remaining clothes off and searching him.
The cell phone and whatever the other thing was were still back there. I went back to where someone was putting them in an evidence bag. At a look, they were handed to me. I went to the gate and handed them to George.
"Here. His shit."
George looked at me, looked at the American special warfare commando - still fighting, hopelessly, with his wrists tied - and handed the bag to someone wearing a shirt and shorts and pistol. From the way they took the bag and ran sideways at an angle, almost certainly a bomb tech.
"I don't know if he's for real, or this is a provocation. California doesn't care. He's not ours. We will report him to the International Red Cross Red Crescent as a American prisoner of war returned to Chinese custody."
George blinked.
I could tell he was re-evaluating a lot of things, in the glow of the gun truck spotlights.
He turned, snapped a command, and the gun trucks went on their way.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and turned to talk to all of his superiors who had shown up in the street.
Huge pile of folks, from at least four different agencies if I could appreciate the subtle differences in uniforms and insignia.
He was probably for real then.
I knew what zhongui were because I'd killed a few. Hadn't known it at the time.
As far as I knew, this was the first time I'd met a US Navy SEAL.
But I'd seen their handiwork, first hand, at Moffett Field in Sunnyvale.
I had one hope for his situation.
I hoped the Chinese would torture him.
###
Predictably, the Ambassdor completely lost her shit.
"You returned an American to Chinese custody?!?"
"We expelled someone who made unlawful entry into California territory."
"He was seeking asylum!"
"Tough shit. I didn't see a point in having a US Navy SEAL break rocks for ten years, that being the current penalty for unlawful entry to California territory by a prohibited person."
"How do you know if he is prohibited?"
"American special warfare commando."
"So?"
"I took command after the American raid on Sunnyvale. Hundreds of California troops killed in minutes. Miniguns and napalm if they were lucky, knives and garrotes if they were not. American special warfare troops are either enemy combatants or war criminals. I'm leaning towards the latter. Either way, this Embassy is no place for them.
"Also, there is another consideration, Ambassador. I am under the strictest possible orders to make the Chinese see that there is a difference between California and America, at every opportunity.
"I would kill SEALs by the platoon-load if I thought that would help make the point. Or how many California cities do you think he's worth?"
The Ambassador knew that further words were wasted on me, and headed for the cipher room. Likely to ask again for my relief or replacement.
It was tempting to have our electronic intelligence people look at his stuff. But I could see no real benefit, and a great deal of potential suspicion, to releasing him but not his effects.
The next question was, where was the rest of his team? And their people?
Why was a nest of American special warfare commandos operating in the city?
Why were they so desperate to get one of theirs into what they thought was safety, or maybe just communications?
Why did he think that California would be his friend, to the point of initially fucking me off?
I asked the Embassy Security Chief, out of sight of the innumerable high resolution video cameras pointed at all outdoor parts of our Embassy.
"Is the SCIF up?"
"We think. We hope."
"I'm calling a meeting in 10."
###
The SCIF, Secure Compartmentalized Intelligence Facility, was a room within a room, made of parts brought from California. A 3 meter by 6 meter conference room, on a raised floor made of tiled pallets. The space all around it filled with white noise from speakers we had bought.
Following standard Collections protocol, we searched each other prior to going inside. Weapons, great, electronics, never.
Four attendees. Muah. The Embassy Security Chief. The Embassy Station Chief. The Embassy Systems Technician.
The ESC was in charge of the physical security of the Embassy and the protection of its personnel. Supposedly he reported to the Ambassador, but really to me. The Station Chief represented Collections, the Republic intelligence agency. He could probably have me killed, but would need a good story for the Governor. The Systems Technician was in charge of the electronic communications and security, and incidentally for the physical plant as well.
"Where's the Ambassador?" she asked.
"We don't need her," the Station Chief scoffed. The ESC and I nodded.
"Window dressing," I added. "Issues involving the host government and the California State Department are all hers. This was secret squirrel shit, an intruder. Beneath her lordly notice. Let's get started. Was he?"
The Station Chief passed around a paper printed photo. I looked at it and nodded. That's the guy. The ESC had more information.
"US Navy sailor, Special Warfare Team 1. East Coast SpecWar. Haven't heard from him all War. Last known to be on a training assignment in the 'Stans."
The thing about civil war is that everyone has friends. Pretty much all of the West Coast Navy had defected to California. Including the ESC, who had also been a US Navy SEAL prior to resigning his commission and signing up with the California Naval Militia.
That didn't make him this other SEAL's friend. If anything the opposite.
"The 'Stans. So this guy's been snooping and pooping for three years in China?" It was my turn to belabor the obvious.
"We took stills of his gear. The phone was cheap Chinese crap, like most of the phones in California both pre- and post-War. The other device was a Motorola satphone, military grade."
"So much for not having comms."
"Unless someone stopped paying their cell bill?" The technician wasn't joking. More than one Bear Force team had been left high and dry when INMARSAT hadn't credited the account.
I cut to the chase and shared my suspicions. Where were the rest of them, why in this city, etc. ad nauseum.
"Maybe he wanted to know something about our Embassy?" the Station Chief mused.
He was read in on The Secret.
The Technician was not. But she'd had her staff take detailed radiation surveys, pre and post California arrival. That would be the only external tell of what we had brought from California, if it were an ordinary fission or fusion device.
It wasn't. And that would be kill before I told you territory.
"I think we can rule out a provocation. Guy's way too valuable for that."
Everyone nodded. If he were a fake, or a defector, maybe not. But an actual commando who had been operating in China for years?
I need to be clear about something. It's a complicated world, and just because America was hard on Americans with Chinese appearances, didn't mean that China was. There were a number of American-looking (whatever the hell that means) people who were either 1) culturally Chinese or 2) known expatriates. Then during the War, there had been numerous defectors - yes, away from America, to China. Atrocities will do that.
So an adept special warfare operator could blend in, sort of, after a fashion. But constantly handicapped by pale skin and rounder eyes.
He'd blown whatever covers he'd had, to get to the Embassy. SOP for a special warfare operative in trouble. But he'd been in three years of trouble, and perhaps didn't get the memo. California wasn't America any more.
We batted the ball around a little more, until someone interrupted. He'd had to turn off the white noise for us to hear him, banging on the outer doors.
"Um, the Chinese are giving him back!"
Say the fuck what?
###
No gun trucks and brilliant spotlights, but the tableau was otherwise the same.
Bound, hands cuffed behind his back with a different set of plastic flexicuffs, he glared at the gates. Held by the arms by his Chinese escort.
George had asked for me by name.
"We have determined that he is not a prisoner of war. He is an American and we wish to repatriate him to his home country. As we have no diplomatic relations with America at this time, we are asking California to make the arrangements."
Oh fuck that.
"Buy. Him. A. Flight. Russia-Vancouver-Quebec. The Quebecoi can give him a lift, or a kick, over the border. Or Hong Kong-Mexico City-Cuba and the ferry to Key West. It's what we'd do."
We still didn't have clearance for direct flights either China-California or California-Untied Snakes. We wanted the former but had no use for the latter.
We could send him back to Nevada via Susanville, then they'd take him on the bus to Reno and fly him Reno-Vegas-Denver. Or whatever. We didn't do direct flights to Reno or Vegas either.
"It would be a favor to our governments if you could take care of this individual quietly," George added.
I looked at him. We both had our most impassive game faces on.
If I'd had that as an order from the Governor, the 'take care of' would be find a rice paddy and shove him down with a pole between his shoulders until the bubbles stopped coming up.
I wanted an American special warfare commando around the embassy about as much as I wanted a nice case of VD.
"We can't fly him to California direct."
"We have conceded weekly flights direct to Los Angeles. If this man is aboard the first one."
Oh damn. Weekly flights. We had been asking only for monthly, and gotten rejected.
"OK," I reluctantly agreed. "But let's get that flight going right now. Air China?"
At my orders, the embassy security put a bag over his head so that he wouldn't see any more of the Embassy than he already had.
We parked him in ... the SCIF. I didn't want to show him our brig, and it wouldn't hold up to a special warfare commando.
We took the bag off.
"Holy shit, Simon, what the fuck are you doing here?" he asked the ESC.
"Shut the fuck up, prisoner," the latter said coldly.
"Petty Officer," I started, using the variation in his rank that would likely piss him off the most. "You are under arrest for unlawful entry to California territory. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to California legal representation. Be aware that unlawful entry carries a sentence of ten years at hard labor. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a California court of law. As a commissioned officer of the California Military Department, I am ordering you as an enlisted man to cooperate with your captivity, and warning you that you are bound by the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Further violations of the UCMJ can be punished as severely as the Code allows. I have executed men for violating the UCMJ. Don't make me execute you."
"What? What?"
He was shell-shocked. He grasped, barely, that he was in much deeper shit than he thought he was. But he still had that "I'm home now" look and feel to him.
"Look, James, this is a no-shitter. You're an enemy sailor and you're the center of a diplomatic incident. This fucker," Simon gestured to me, "has killed over three thousand American soldiers and Homeland troopers. He watched every single one get shot or strangle. He's also my boss."
James looked back and forth between us.
"I don't want to know anything about you or your story," I added coldly. "I don't care. We'll feed you and water you, I'll have the doctor take a look at you in a bit. You can read books and shit in a bucket. Leave this room and the next time we give you back to the Chinese, it'll be in pieces nine inches square."
I left. Simon knew his job. I had no doubt of his loyalty.
Someone went past me with the promised bottles of water and bucket with tight fitting lid.
###
"He fucking broke," Simon told me an hour later.
"Condense it."
"He was attached to a SpecWar cell sent to make trouble in Western China. The Uighur Revolt. They heard an American embassy had opened and he was sent with messages and encryption keys."
I suppose your view of the Uighur Revolt depended on whether you knew one of the million Uighurs that the pre-War Chinese had been keeping in tiger chairs and cages, or had any sympathy for the Chinese farmers and bureaucrats sent to civilize them who had so spectacularly and bloodily failed.
"Potential for being turned?" Stranger things had happened.
"None."
"Let's fly the asshole out. I suppose we'll have to use a courier up on it."
The Department of State Diplomatic Couriers were fairly new to their jobs. But DSDC delivered.
Air China had booked a flight leaving tomorrow. Half the seats were governmental;' they were opening the Los Angeles consulate. Note: not embassy. And it was a good month early too.
This would be considered promising progress in a normal diplomatic context.
But I knew time was precious and the pace was picking up.
The other seats sold out within minutes. The Embassy itself was lucky to get four. Three DSDCs and James. He and his courier would be seated as far apart from the other pair as possible.
LA had a flight to Palm Springs. Palm Springs had a bus to Vegas, heavily screened by the Nevada State Police. From Vegas Simon could make his own way back to his home country.
"Do you need to talk to him again?" I asked.
"No, sir, and I would prefer not to."
"I have the same preference."
We briefed a DSDC on James and left it to him and the SDF logistics people.
###
I did accompany the convoy to the airport. In a different vehicle, of course.
I didn't want to take any chances on any drama interfering with his prompt departure from the scene.
As is common diplomatic protocol, the Californians - and our escortee - were boarded prior to the other passengers being boarded. American and his escort at the very rear of the plane; our couriers at the front.
I waited until I had actually seen the plane take off, with my own eyes.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
###
George was waiting in what had become his standard position outside the embassy gates.
His body language said that he was becoming more comfortable with the courtesy constable who had so memorably been bugging my room the one time I had stayed at the hotel.
I thought about warning him, but it was his lookout.
"Welcome back," George said. "How did it go?"
I thought about it.
"Uneventful, for once."
"How did you know he was zhongui?"
"He told me."
"And yet you kicked him out?"
I spoke with naked sincerity. Both George and the constable shivered.
"I wish I'd killed him."
I walked past into the Embassy, oblivious to everyone's stares.
Some asshole sets up an Embassy. Some other asshole immediately makes use of same.
"Come quick," the Embassy Security Chief directed. "Bring your subgun."
I got up from where I had been sleeping, on the floor on a blanket, grabbed the subgun and ran downstairs.
Brilliant lights shone on the Embassy grounds from the pair of heavily armed gun trucks. They hadn't done that before.
They also hadn't pointed heavy weapons at the Embassy before either. This was a major escalation.
Stage front, a man, Caucasian, bleeding from several places on his torso. He'd apparently parked a truck parallel to our fence, hopped on top, and crawled through the concertina wire on top of the fence. A neat trick for anyone. Clearly he had some training.
"I am an American!" he shouted.
I looked at him carefully.
"Attention to orders," I barked. Calmly, so calmly. "I am taking command of this."
I handed my submachine gun to the nearest "laborer," who fielded it expertly.
Barehanded, I searched our erstwhile defector. He seemd to expect this. He had a cell phone and some other electronic device I didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Who are you?"
"Fuck you, buddy, you've come to the wrong store. Identify yourself or I'll give you back to them."
"You wouldn't."
I thought about it.
"OK, you're fucked."
I punched him several times in sensitive spots, including his junk. As he flinched - note, not howled, I reached up and a Marine slapped a pair of flex cuffs into my hand. I cuffed his wrists and pushed him ahead of me.
Towards the gates.
He started to freak the fuck out so I tripped him a couple times, improving his demeanor and ruining his former good looks.
"I am a US NAVY SEAL," he shouted through broken teeth.
Thank you, asshole.
I lifted him up and propelled him further towards the entrance. Republic Marines started to help me push him forward. Their help was needed.
"Zhongui!" I shouted. "American! American Zhongui! Officer! I need an officer!"
We kept pushing him forward.
George was in the first rank, standing just beyond the courtesy constable. He looked at me, and at the situation.
"George! This man is American zhongui! Very very dangerous! Take him!"
We pushed him past the line on the ground and the Chinese immediately bum-rushed him, stripping his remaining clothes off and searching him.
The cell phone and whatever the other thing was were still back there. I went back to where someone was putting them in an evidence bag. At a look, they were handed to me. I went to the gate and handed them to George.
"Here. His shit."
George looked at me, looked at the American special warfare commando - still fighting, hopelessly, with his wrists tied - and handed the bag to someone wearing a shirt and shorts and pistol. From the way they took the bag and ran sideways at an angle, almost certainly a bomb tech.
"I don't know if he's for real, or this is a provocation. California doesn't care. He's not ours. We will report him to the International Red Cross Red Crescent as a American prisoner of war returned to Chinese custody."
George blinked.
I could tell he was re-evaluating a lot of things, in the glow of the gun truck spotlights.
He turned, snapped a command, and the gun trucks went on their way.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and turned to talk to all of his superiors who had shown up in the street.
Huge pile of folks, from at least four different agencies if I could appreciate the subtle differences in uniforms and insignia.
He was probably for real then.
I knew what zhongui were because I'd killed a few. Hadn't known it at the time.
As far as I knew, this was the first time I'd met a US Navy SEAL.
But I'd seen their handiwork, first hand, at Moffett Field in Sunnyvale.
I had one hope for his situation.
I hoped the Chinese would torture him.
###
Predictably, the Ambassdor completely lost her shit.
"You returned an American to Chinese custody?!?"
"We expelled someone who made unlawful entry into California territory."
"He was seeking asylum!"
"Tough shit. I didn't see a point in having a US Navy SEAL break rocks for ten years, that being the current penalty for unlawful entry to California territory by a prohibited person."
"How do you know if he is prohibited?"
"American special warfare commando."
"So?"
"I took command after the American raid on Sunnyvale. Hundreds of California troops killed in minutes. Miniguns and napalm if they were lucky, knives and garrotes if they were not. American special warfare troops are either enemy combatants or war criminals. I'm leaning towards the latter. Either way, this Embassy is no place for them.
"Also, there is another consideration, Ambassador. I am under the strictest possible orders to make the Chinese see that there is a difference between California and America, at every opportunity.
"I would kill SEALs by the platoon-load if I thought that would help make the point. Or how many California cities do you think he's worth?"
The Ambassador knew that further words were wasted on me, and headed for the cipher room. Likely to ask again for my relief or replacement.
It was tempting to have our electronic intelligence people look at his stuff. But I could see no real benefit, and a great deal of potential suspicion, to releasing him but not his effects.
The next question was, where was the rest of his team? And their people?
Why was a nest of American special warfare commandos operating in the city?
Why were they so desperate to get one of theirs into what they thought was safety, or maybe just communications?
Why did he think that California would be his friend, to the point of initially fucking me off?
I asked the Embassy Security Chief, out of sight of the innumerable high resolution video cameras pointed at all outdoor parts of our Embassy.
"Is the SCIF up?"
"We think. We hope."
"I'm calling a meeting in 10."
###
The SCIF, Secure Compartmentalized Intelligence Facility, was a room within a room, made of parts brought from California. A 3 meter by 6 meter conference room, on a raised floor made of tiled pallets. The space all around it filled with white noise from speakers we had bought.
Following standard Collections protocol, we searched each other prior to going inside. Weapons, great, electronics, never.
Four attendees. Muah. The Embassy Security Chief. The Embassy Station Chief. The Embassy Systems Technician.
The ESC was in charge of the physical security of the Embassy and the protection of its personnel. Supposedly he reported to the Ambassador, but really to me. The Station Chief represented Collections, the Republic intelligence agency. He could probably have me killed, but would need a good story for the Governor. The Systems Technician was in charge of the electronic communications and security, and incidentally for the physical plant as well.
"Where's the Ambassador?" she asked.
"We don't need her," the Station Chief scoffed. The ESC and I nodded.
"Window dressing," I added. "Issues involving the host government and the California State Department are all hers. This was secret squirrel shit, an intruder. Beneath her lordly notice. Let's get started. Was he?"
The Station Chief passed around a paper printed photo. I looked at it and nodded. That's the guy. The ESC had more information.
"US Navy sailor, Special Warfare Team 1. East Coast SpecWar. Haven't heard from him all War. Last known to be on a training assignment in the 'Stans."
The thing about civil war is that everyone has friends. Pretty much all of the West Coast Navy had defected to California. Including the ESC, who had also been a US Navy SEAL prior to resigning his commission and signing up with the California Naval Militia.
That didn't make him this other SEAL's friend. If anything the opposite.
"The 'Stans. So this guy's been snooping and pooping for three years in China?" It was my turn to belabor the obvious.
"We took stills of his gear. The phone was cheap Chinese crap, like most of the phones in California both pre- and post-War. The other device was a Motorola satphone, military grade."
"So much for not having comms."
"Unless someone stopped paying their cell bill?" The technician wasn't joking. More than one Bear Force team had been left high and dry when INMARSAT hadn't credited the account.
I cut to the chase and shared my suspicions. Where were the rest of them, why in this city, etc. ad nauseum.
"Maybe he wanted to know something about our Embassy?" the Station Chief mused.
He was read in on The Secret.
The Technician was not. But she'd had her staff take detailed radiation surveys, pre and post California arrival. That would be the only external tell of what we had brought from California, if it were an ordinary fission or fusion device.
It wasn't. And that would be kill before I told you territory.
"I think we can rule out a provocation. Guy's way too valuable for that."
Everyone nodded. If he were a fake, or a defector, maybe not. But an actual commando who had been operating in China for years?
I need to be clear about something. It's a complicated world, and just because America was hard on Americans with Chinese appearances, didn't mean that China was. There were a number of American-looking (whatever the hell that means) people who were either 1) culturally Chinese or 2) known expatriates. Then during the War, there had been numerous defectors - yes, away from America, to China. Atrocities will do that.
So an adept special warfare operator could blend in, sort of, after a fashion. But constantly handicapped by pale skin and rounder eyes.
He'd blown whatever covers he'd had, to get to the Embassy. SOP for a special warfare operative in trouble. But he'd been in three years of trouble, and perhaps didn't get the memo. California wasn't America any more.
We batted the ball around a little more, until someone interrupted. He'd had to turn off the white noise for us to hear him, banging on the outer doors.
"Um, the Chinese are giving him back!"
Say the fuck what?
###
No gun trucks and brilliant spotlights, but the tableau was otherwise the same.
Bound, hands cuffed behind his back with a different set of plastic flexicuffs, he glared at the gates. Held by the arms by his Chinese escort.
George had asked for me by name.
"We have determined that he is not a prisoner of war. He is an American and we wish to repatriate him to his home country. As we have no diplomatic relations with America at this time, we are asking California to make the arrangements."
Oh fuck that.
"Buy. Him. A. Flight. Russia-Vancouver-Quebec. The Quebecoi can give him a lift, or a kick, over the border. Or Hong Kong-Mexico City-Cuba and the ferry to Key West. It's what we'd do."
We still didn't have clearance for direct flights either China-California or California-Untied Snakes. We wanted the former but had no use for the latter.
We could send him back to Nevada via Susanville, then they'd take him on the bus to Reno and fly him Reno-Vegas-Denver. Or whatever. We didn't do direct flights to Reno or Vegas either.
"It would be a favor to our governments if you could take care of this individual quietly," George added.
I looked at him. We both had our most impassive game faces on.
If I'd had that as an order from the Governor, the 'take care of' would be find a rice paddy and shove him down with a pole between his shoulders until the bubbles stopped coming up.
I wanted an American special warfare commando around the embassy about as much as I wanted a nice case of VD.
"We can't fly him to California direct."
"We have conceded weekly flights direct to Los Angeles. If this man is aboard the first one."
Oh damn. Weekly flights. We had been asking only for monthly, and gotten rejected.
"OK," I reluctantly agreed. "But let's get that flight going right now. Air China?"
At my orders, the embassy security put a bag over his head so that he wouldn't see any more of the Embassy than he already had.
We parked him in ... the SCIF. I didn't want to show him our brig, and it wouldn't hold up to a special warfare commando.
We took the bag off.
"Holy shit, Simon, what the fuck are you doing here?" he asked the ESC.
"Shut the fuck up, prisoner," the latter said coldly.
"Petty Officer," I started, using the variation in his rank that would likely piss him off the most. "You are under arrest for unlawful entry to California territory. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to California legal representation. Be aware that unlawful entry carries a sentence of ten years at hard labor. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a California court of law. As a commissioned officer of the California Military Department, I am ordering you as an enlisted man to cooperate with your captivity, and warning you that you are bound by the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Further violations of the UCMJ can be punished as severely as the Code allows. I have executed men for violating the UCMJ. Don't make me execute you."
"What? What?"
He was shell-shocked. He grasped, barely, that he was in much deeper shit than he thought he was. But he still had that "I'm home now" look and feel to him.
"Look, James, this is a no-shitter. You're an enemy sailor and you're the center of a diplomatic incident. This fucker," Simon gestured to me, "has killed over three thousand American soldiers and Homeland troopers. He watched every single one get shot or strangle. He's also my boss."
James looked back and forth between us.
"I don't want to know anything about you or your story," I added coldly. "I don't care. We'll feed you and water you, I'll have the doctor take a look at you in a bit. You can read books and shit in a bucket. Leave this room and the next time we give you back to the Chinese, it'll be in pieces nine inches square."
I left. Simon knew his job. I had no doubt of his loyalty.
Someone went past me with the promised bottles of water and bucket with tight fitting lid.
###
"He fucking broke," Simon told me an hour later.
"Condense it."
"He was attached to a SpecWar cell sent to make trouble in Western China. The Uighur Revolt. They heard an American embassy had opened and he was sent with messages and encryption keys."
I suppose your view of the Uighur Revolt depended on whether you knew one of the million Uighurs that the pre-War Chinese had been keeping in tiger chairs and cages, or had any sympathy for the Chinese farmers and bureaucrats sent to civilize them who had so spectacularly and bloodily failed.
"Potential for being turned?" Stranger things had happened.
"None."
"Let's fly the asshole out. I suppose we'll have to use a courier up on it."
The Department of State Diplomatic Couriers were fairly new to their jobs. But DSDC delivered.
Air China had booked a flight leaving tomorrow. Half the seats were governmental;' they were opening the Los Angeles consulate. Note: not embassy. And it was a good month early too.
This would be considered promising progress in a normal diplomatic context.
But I knew time was precious and the pace was picking up.
The other seats sold out within minutes. The Embassy itself was lucky to get four. Three DSDCs and James. He and his courier would be seated as far apart from the other pair as possible.
LA had a flight to Palm Springs. Palm Springs had a bus to Vegas, heavily screened by the Nevada State Police. From Vegas Simon could make his own way back to his home country.
"Do you need to talk to him again?" I asked.
"No, sir, and I would prefer not to."
"I have the same preference."
We briefed a DSDC on James and left it to him and the SDF logistics people.
###
I did accompany the convoy to the airport. In a different vehicle, of course.
I didn't want to take any chances on any drama interfering with his prompt departure from the scene.
As is common diplomatic protocol, the Californians - and our escortee - were boarded prior to the other passengers being boarded. American and his escort at the very rear of the plane; our couriers at the front.
I waited until I had actually seen the plane take off, with my own eyes.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
###
George was waiting in what had become his standard position outside the embassy gates.
His body language said that he was becoming more comfortable with the courtesy constable who had so memorably been bugging my room the one time I had stayed at the hotel.
I thought about warning him, but it was his lookout.
"Welcome back," George said. "How did it go?"
I thought about it.
"Uneventful, for once."
"How did you know he was zhongui?"
"He told me."
"And yet you kicked him out?"
I spoke with naked sincerity. Both George and the constable shivered.
"I wish I'd killed him."
I walked past into the Embassy, oblivious to everyone's stares.
