by John Ringo
"The brewery apparatus is in transit at the moment," Mr. Brock said, waving to the rear. "As stated in the contracts, we had the vats and piping in stock. I am assured that locally manufactured materials are available for the barley bins. And, of course, the ovens are being constructed by the Keldara."
"The Keldara are very good at general construction," Mike said, nodding.
"I strongly suggest that you take Gurum's suggestion in regards to the annual convention," Herr Brock continued, stone faced. "It would be the perfect venue for your aims in regards to marketing. Time is, of course, short, but I am being assured that you are capable of managing the requirements."
"We're very adaptable," Mike said, nodding. "And we are used to short decision cycles."
"I am to look on the oven construction," Brokc said, nodding in farewell. "I look forward to further conversation with you, Mr. Kildar."
"It's just Kildar," Mike said as the man strode towards the back of the building again. "Vatrya?"
"Yes, Kildar?" the girl asked, her eyes wide and smiling.
"What did I just talk about?"
Chapter Seven
"You want to what?" Mike asked.
Gurum looked uncomfortable sitting in the chair across from the Kildar. But he held his ground.
"The convention for the International Association of Brewers and Brewery Distributors is this year in the city called Las Vegas in the United States. You know of this city, Kildar?"
"Yeah, I know Las Vegas," Mike said, sighing. "Sin City."
"I do not understand, Kildar?" Gurum said. "Sin City?"
"Las Vegas is in a state, like a province, that permits gambling and prostitution," Mike said, sighing again. "Its nickname is Sin City. It alliterates in English. So you want to, what? Have a booth for Keldara Beer at this convention? Do you have any idea what the logistics are for something like that? And where in the hell did this Brock guy come from?"
"Kildar, when you assigned me this task I was challenged by several problems," Gurum said, frowning. "The first being that I knew nothing about brewing. This is a woman's task in the Keldara and they guard their secrets closely. Mother Lenka was, of course, the person to work with on that. She has agreed to be the ... the brewmistress for the brewery and has been working with Herr Brock on the design for the initial brews. Herr Brock is with the Alten Brewery in Koblenz, Germany. Alten has its own small brewery going back to the 1800s, but it is also an international supplier of brewery equipment and materials. In addition, they have been most helpful in regards to marketing and shipment methods. At their suggestion, I inquired as to a ... booth it is called at this convention. The convention had a cancellation, so I was able to secure a small booth. It is in an outlying area, but quite functional for our needs. All of this I have managed to do within the budget you assigned to me, but to actually set up the booth and create marketing materials for it will require a higher budget."
Mike was stone faced through this recital but his lack of experssion was hiding deep surprise and respect. Gurum had taken his suggestions and run with them in a way that Mike, even with his experience of the Keldara, found amazing.
"Where'd you scrounge up Alten?" Mike asked, ignoring the question of the convention for the moment. He knew diddly about setting up a booth but he'd been to a couple of conventions where people sold gear that SpecOps groups used. All he really remembered about them was booth babes ... Now there was a thought.
"Alten was one of the three companies I contacted after an internet search," Gurum replied. "They were both the most helpful and, when I contacted previous customers, the one that seemed the most well liked and respected. Their prices were slightly higher, but Command Master Chief Adams pointed out that quality is often worth the extra money."
"And they're supplying ...?" Mike asked curiously.
"Almost all of our equipment," Gurum answered. "As well as marketing and distribution advice. They've built breweries in Europe and the United States but this is the first time they've done one in Georgia or the other Caucasus areas and they seem very enthusiastic."
"You've really taken this bull by the horns, haven't you?" Mike asked, finally smiling.
"I had some questions about it when I started," Gurum replied carefully. "You were ... busy with many things. I spoke to Chief Adams and he said that SEALs consider intiative to be a good thing. He told me to take as much initiative as I could. I have been careful with my budget, but it will take more to complete the plans and get distribution going."
"I'd figured that the budget really only covered research," Mike said. "Okay, tell me about the convention."
"I have never attended such an event," Gurum admitted. "I have, however, contacted a company that is in the business of setting up for such events. They have supplied suggestions about what we would need. Some of them they can provide; others we need to provide ourselves. They assure me that they can set up a ... 'turn-key' booth, but we must have certain marketing items prepared in advance."
"Lots of marketing items," Mike said musingly. "Folders, brochures, posters, freebies. I'm not even sure how many of each we'll need."
"In addition, we will need beer," Gurum said, seriously. "Genadi has a lawyer who is handling the farm's legal issues. I have contacted him and gotten permissions to export a batch for marketing purposes and more permissions to import it to the United States. He also obtained permissions for us to import the brewing equipment and a grant from USAID in the amount of $50,000 for the brewing equipment."
"That's a damned big grant," Mike said.
"It was a matching grant," Gurum said uncomfortably. "We agreed to provide $25,000 and they doubled the money."
"And what is seventy-five grand going to buy us?" Mike asked curiously.
"All of the brewing equipment to set up a one hundred hectoliter plant," Gurum replied. "In fact, we're going to have to do some charging internal to the Keldara to expend it all."
"Run that one by me again?" Mike said, confused.
"There is more money in the grant than we actually need for equipment and materials," Gurum said, carefully. "Therefore, we are also using the grant money to pay the Keldara for their work and some is set aside for initial capital before we get a cash flow going."
"You've been talking with Nielson, too, haven't you?" Mike added, grinning.
"Yes, Kildar," Gurum replied with a nod.
"Okay, approved," Mike said. "Top to bottom. And I've got a few ideas about the booth I'd like to bring up ..."
* * *
"Hey, Vanner, didn't you buy some whiz-bang photograhy gear as part of your 'I wanna be a super-spy' package?" Mike asked as he strolled into the intel shop.
"If we have to do HUMINT work, we're going to have to have cameras, Kildar." Vanner sighed. "I bought a pretty good Nikon setup and a few lenses, yes. Your point?"
"I need to borrow it...."
* * *
Mike wasn't, by any stretch, a professional photographer. But he'd taken a couple of courses his first time through college and enjoyed them. And there were some subjects that were just purely photogenic.
He'd taken the Expedition down to the valley where the troops that weren't training were hard at work in the fields. The Keldara males, still picking rocks in areas and checking on the progress of the barley, were good for a few dozen shots. But it was when the girls came out with lunch that he really got started.
About a third of the girls from the compound carried baskets with loaves of bread and rounds of cheese poking out from under colorful cloths. The rest, however, were carrying buckets brimming with ice and ceramic beer bottles.
"Lydia," Mike said, walking over to the group, "I need to get some photographs of the girls so we can make up some advertising stuff for the brewery."
"I understood all of that except the last part," Lydia said, smiling.
Mike thought about that for a second and then shrugged helplessly. He hadn't considered that the Keldara had so little access to modern technology and cul
ture that the concept of "modeling" was outside their worldview.
"You know that Gurum is planning on trying to sell the beer at a convention in the United States?" Mike asked.
"Yes," Lydia answered as the girls, and most of the guys, started to gather around.
"Well, we won't be selling it by the glass or bottle," Mike said, frowning in thought. "What we will be looking for is someone who will buy it from us in large quantity and then sell it in the United States. That's called a distributor. What we will be doing is looking for a distributor, a good one that will give us the most money for our beer we can get. With me so far?"
"I can handle even larger words, Kildar," Lydia replied, batting her eyes at him. "Two, even three syllable."
"Very funny," Mike replied. "You asked. Okay, so to find the best distributor, we have to have people notice us. There will be hundreds of small brewers like us at the convention, all trying to get the big distributors to notice them. So, how do we get the distributors to notice us, rather than the other brewers?"
"We have the best beer?" Greznya asked, smiling. Greznya was one of the older unmarried females, a tall redhead with bright blue eyes and pert if small breasts, who normally worked in the intel section. Recently, Vanner had started breaking the intel girls down and assigning them to work with specific teams. Apparently Sawn's team was on field duty. So the girl had gone from running an intercept and analysis section to hauling bread and cheese to the field. On the other hand, she didn't seem to mind.
Mike considered the answer and then caught Katrina's eye. The little minx would have the answer he was looking for he was sure.
"Katrina, how do you get the boys to notice you?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Sway your hips?" Katrina replied, grinning. "Look them in the eye? Pout your lips? Drop one shoulder? Put your hand on their arm? Then they'll carry your water and you don't have to."
"Minx," Greznya said with a smile.
"Katrina, however, is right," Mike said, seriously. "We want the distributors to notice us. We will build some displays for the booth that have the 'look' of the valley of the Keldara, we will have bright signs and we will have pictures of pretty girls. Oh, and we will have pretty girls giving out free tastes of our beer. Some of you will go to the convention and serve beer, smiling all the time. But before that we have to make things to give out that have pictures and information about our beer. And for that we'll need pictures," Mike finished, holding up the camera.
"Of pretty girls?" Katrina asked. "Then just take them of me."
"Quiet, you," Mike growled. "I will. But first I want pictures of all the girls. Girls with beer is a good thing for sales. So line up and smile."
It took more than that. The Keldara women were trained almost from birth that they shouldn't use their looks as a weapon. And they were very camera shy at first. But after Mike got a couple of good photos, and was able to show them to the girls using his laptop, they got into the spirit of the shoot.
The best image was towards the end of the shoot, when he had all the girls line up with their buckets in one hand and the other wrapped around the shoulder of the girl next to them. Most of them were holding a bottle in their off-hand and he'd managed to get a decent expression on every face. The boys, thankfully, were more interested in the shoot than they were in food for the time being and didn't so much as grumble about their lunch being held up.
When the food and beer had finally been served Mike discreetly grabbed Katrina and pulled her aside.
"When you get back to the house, have them call me," Mike said. "I'd like to get some shots of you later today. But have your mother call me and set it up."
"Very well, Kildar," Katrina said, batting her eyelashes at him. "But I can go now. There is less to carry back than we carry to the field."
"Okay, but we're going to go by the brewery and pick up a chaperone," Mike said. "I know just the one to use."
* * *
"Hello, Mother Lenka," Mike said as he ducked his head in the still-under-construction brewery. "Could I have a moment of your time?"
"There is something you need to know about sex, Kildar?" Mother Lenka cackled. "Or is it brewing?"
"I need a chaperone, actually," Mike said, leading her out into the sunshine. "I'm going to take some photos of Katrina for the brochures for the brewery. But I'm sure as hell not going to go off alone with her."
"And you think that I'm a chaperone?" Mother Lenka said then started laughing so hard she choked. "Oh, Kildar, you tell such good ones!"
"You're just the chaperone I need, old crone," Mike said, grinning and leading her over to the Expedition. "You're an older, married female. Wholly respectable ... sort of."
"Not even close," Mother Lenka said, still gasping for breath. "They will assume that you just needed coaching with the young one!"
"No, they won't and you know it," Mike said. "But when I ask her to do some of the things I'll need her to do for the shots, you won't so much as bat an eye. Could you imagine if I asked her to suck the foam off the top of an open beer bottle in front of, say, Mother Kulcyanov?"
"She wouldn't even know what you were trying to suggest," Mother Lenka said, giving him a toothless grin. "But I understand. Assuredly I will chaperone you, young man. And if you need any suggestions ..."
"I'm sure we'll do fine," Mike said. "But I do need to pick up some supplies."
* * *
He'd spotted the location while checking out the Keldara doing patrolling ops. It was a quiet little dell, with a small waterfall surrounded by trees. There was a wide grassy area that at the moment was filled with late spring wild flowers and the light was just about right.
He parked the Expedition on a narrow dirt logging road and led the two up to the dell then went back to the SUV for his equipment and the bucket of beer he'd appropriated from the brewery.
"Okay, Katrina," Mike said, handing the girl a bottle of beer and positioning her by the waterfall. "What I want you to do is think of just how wonderful Keldara beer is and when you look at the camera I want you to look at it as if it's the most wonderful thing in the world."
"Make love to the camera," Mother Lenka said, somewhat sadly. "That was what I was told when I would model. Think of the camera as your lover."
"I didn't know you modeled," Mike said, glancing over at her as he considered the light and made some manual adjustments to the Nikon.
"I've done many things you would not think I had, young one," Mother Lenka said, then laughed again. "And many that even you would not believe!"
"Mother Lenka is my role model," Katrina said, holding up the beer bottle and giving the camera a smouldery look. "Like this?"
"That's a start," Mike said. "Work it, babe."
Chapter Eight
Mike hit the answer button on his phone and threw the estimates for the convention booth costs on the desk. He hadn't realized it would be that much. Just getting electric run was a minimum of two hours at $175 per hour. Thank God he didn't need internet connection! At least the photo shoot had worked out well. He had some killer shots that had been worked into three different brochures and a poster of Katrina that was sure to be a big hit. But the more he looked at the rest of his plans, the more he realized he was going to need some pull in D.C. ...
"Go."
"Kildar, there is a call from the United States," one of the Keldara women said over the speaker phone. "An officer in the State Department."
"Put it through," Mike replied, picking up the handset. Speak of the devil ...
"Mr. Jenkins?" a cultured voice said a moment later.
"The same," Mike growled. The only thing worse in the U.S. government than IRS agents, in his opinion, were the Northeastern Liberal brahmins that ran the State Department. And this guy sounded like a classic case.
"Mr. Jenkins, my name is Wilson Hargreave Thornton, I am a desk officer for the Moldava section in the State Department."
"I don't suppose that's located in Minot, North Dakota, is it?"
Mike asked. Moldava was the poorest country in Europe, with no major exports except blonde hookers. It was hardly the France desk.
"No, Mr. Jenkins," the man said, laughing dryly and quite falsely. "The Moldava desk is hardly Siberia. It has had some serious action of late. And it's about that that I wish to talk to you. I was asked to do a favor for a senior member of the legislative branch. However, I've exhausted my sources in this matter. When I so informed him he, quite out of the blue, asked if I knew you and if I would contact you for him. I will say you're a hard man to find."
"I like it that way," Mike said.
"So I understand," the man said, chuckling again. He had the dry chuckle of a person who had had their sense of humor surgically removed but tried to act as if it was still intact. "I would like to ask you to come to Washington for a few days and meet with the member I was referring to. He needs someone with your ... background."
"I don't think so," Mike said. "I don't go around taking orders from 'senior members of the legislative branch.' I don't even take them from senior members of the executive branch."
"Mr. Jenkins," Wilson Hargreave Thornton said seriously, "you have many enemies both internationally and, frankly, within the government. Having a senior senator that owes you a favor is in your best interests. I might add that the senator has already been instrumental in helping you. I believe you recently received a grant from the International Monetary Fund?"
"Yeah," Mike said, grimacing. "I'd thought they were being pretty friendly with the taxpayers' money."
"Nonetheless," Thornton replied, clearly smiling.
"And what the hell does a senator have to do with the IMF?" Mike asked.
"Mr. Jenkins," the State Department officer answered, chuckling, "there are senators and senators. And then there are the ones that can quietly suggest that stalled paperwork be unstalled. Or, for that matter, permanently stalled I might add."
"My ... background is generally lots of dead bodies," Mike said bluntly, ignoring the implied threat. "Senior senators have a remarkable way of forgetting past favors when bodies turn up."
