Choosers of the Slain

by John Ringo

  "There are at least twenty guards on duty at all times in and around the building," Parais continued. "And there are more than sixty working for the same clan in the area. All of them will come swarming at the first sign of a firefight. In addition, if it's apparent that it's not the regular authorities, such as they are, or another clan attacking, the other clans are likely to pile in. I'm not sure about reaction times, but you're looking at Mogadishu if it drops in the pot."

  "We need more intel," Mike said, shrugging. "We need interiors. We need to know where the DVDs are. We need to know where Natalya is. We can't even be sure she's still there. What about a ground-pen sweep?"

  "There aren't any tasked for that area at the moment," Pierson said. "I checked."

  "Bob, the President just made a special effort to stop by," Mike said with a sigh. "Retask."

  "That's not a simple action, Mike," Pierson argued. "I can't just pick up the phone and ..."

  "Yes, you can," Mike said, his face hard. "You pick up the phone, call your boss and say 'Hi, I need a ground penetration satellite retasked. Why? It's compartmentalized. But the President asked.' Do you really think he's going to ask the President if he really asked? And if he does, do you think the President won't back it? Hell, Bob, I shouldn't have even had to ask. We should already have the data."

  "I'll see what I can do," Pierson replied with a sigh.

  "I'll get it retasked," Parais said. "Easier and less questions if I order it. And you're right, this is a presidential directive mission. That's easily a high enough priority."

  "Preferably, we need people inside," Mike added, looking thoughtful.

  "Dracul?" Vanner asked.

  "Not if there are that many guards," Mike said, shaking his head. "The lack of intel is what's getting me. But I'm not sure how to get someone in the club."

  "We can get a girl in," Carlson-Smith noted. "The data from Rozaje included some internal e-mails of the clan. Girls go to Lunari from all over. All we have to do is pull a car up with the right words, drop the girl off and leave. The driver doesn't even have to be Albanian. Of course, that leaves her in a very bad spot. I'm not sure MI-6 has a female agent who would take that mission. Lunari is nearly as bad as Rozaje."

  "That's not an issue," Mike said, distantly. "I've got one. I just can't figure out how to get the intel out. She won't have a way to send out commo and she won't be able to just up and leave. Even if she can develop intel, it won't do us any good."

  "We might be able to offer some help," Parais said uneasily. "I was directly ordered to offer this technology but I'm not happy about it. It's highly classified."

  "Get over the pro-forma protests," Mike said, his eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

  "The tech is experimental," Parais said. "But we can internally wire a person for sound and video. Not very good video, but both. And it's almost untraceable. And for sure won't turn up on standard scanners."

  "How the hell do you do that?" Mike asked, blinking.

  "You hook it up to the optic nerve," Vanner said, watching the DIA secretary carefully. "You either preprocess there or send out a rough signal and process it somewhere else. I've read about the theory. Has it actually been done?"

  "Not on humans," Parais admitted. "We haven't been able to find an agent that will permit the operation. It's not without risks. Blindness for one."

  "You're thinking about inserting Cottontail?" Vanner asked.

  "Yep," Mike said thoughtfully. "We'll need a doctor who's willing to carefully explain the risks. Where would you do this?"

  "There's a special hospital in Virginia ..." Parais said.

  "Does she get Dr. Quinn?"Mike asked, laughing.

  "Been there, have you?" Parais smiled. "That's actually one of my charges. But that's where the procedure would take place."

  "We're probably on short time here," Mike pointed out. "The Albanians know what they have and with Rozaje hit they're going to do something about it."

  "The procedure is fairly noninvasive," Parais said. "At least from what I've been told. They go in through the nose for the video portion and there's only a very small implant in the mastoid for the audio. It's something like having a tooth pulled."

  "I'll have to pitch it to Katya," Mike said, frowning. "If she goes for it, we'll drop her off on our way through with someone to keep an eye on her after the procedure. How long for full recovery?"

  "A day or two at most," the DIA director said.

  "What about ... I dunno, security?" Mike asked.

  "The transmitters are frequency hopping and use burst signal compression," Parais said. "Very hard to detect and they're encrypted transmissions. The data won't get compromised."

  "I just hope the agent doesn't," Mike replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As soon as the unmarked plane landed in Vegas, Mike pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. Not surprisingly, he had a half dozen messages.

  "Gurum, it's the Kildar," Mike said, walking over to the waiting minivan. He nodded at the driver as he entered and just hoped the guy actually knew where he was supposed to be going.

  "Kildar," Gurum said, in a relieved tone. "I have arranged a meeting with a Mr. Robert Thomas and his partner Mr. Colin Macnee for this evening. In about an hour and a half. Are you going to be able to attend?"

  "Probably," Mike replied. "Driver? Time to the hotel?"

  "About twenty minutes, sir," the driver said.

  "Probably," Mike repeated. "If I'm there in an hour, the answer is yes. You checked out Thomas?"

  "Oh, yes, sir," Gurum burbled happily. "He was one of the people on my short list of potential distributors. I've had three other companies express strong interest in the line, but Mr. Thomas's company specializes in placing high-end beers in specialty stores and bars. I think that he is likely to be the best bet we have for a really good income from the product line."

  "Sounds good," Mike said. "I hope to see you in an hour and fifteen or so."

  "Oh, and both Daria and Colonel Nielson have been attempting to contact you," Gurum added.

  "I've got them on my cell to call back," Mike replied, sighing. "By the way, have you seen Chief Adams?"

  "No, Kildar," the brewery manager replied, puzzled. "I had assumed he was with you."

  "No." Mike frowned. "I haven't seen him since we landed. If you see him, tell him to give me a call, okay?"

  "Yes, Kildar."

  "See you in a bit."

  He hit the disconnect and looked at the other calls. One was a number he didn't recognize, one was from Nielson, another was from D.C. and the last was from Adams's phone. Ah-hah! The chief had finally checked in from whatever he'd been doing. He called that one first.

  "Daria."

  "Why do you have the chief's phone?" Mike asked.

  "I've been setting up our return flight," Daria replied. "I borrowed it from him while we were still on the plane. He seemed more than willing to give it up. Mr. Hardesty had to return for another charter and there was a hold-up on ground transportation in Georgia. I was calling, though, to tell you that Colonel Nielson wants to talk to you and that we got a call from a number in Washington that refused to leave a message. They stated that they were calling for Colonel Pierson, though and I took a number as well as giving them the number to your cell phone."

  "Thanks," Mike said. "Do we have transportation? Wait; Hardesty had all our gear!"

  "That has been handled," Daria said and he could practically hear the dimples. "I called OSOL and discreetly explained the problem. I suspect that the other call is about that."

  "Thanks," Mike said, sighing. "I'm going to have to read Hardesty the riot act, though. I've got to call Nielson. If you see the chief, tell him to call me."

  "I will, Kildar."

  "Kildar Caravanserai, Obreckta speaking, how may I help you sir or ma'am?"

  "Obreckta, this is the Kildar," Mike said, looking at his watch and doing the time in his head. "Is the colonel still up?"

  "Yes, Kildar," Obre
ckta replied. "Please hold while I transfer you."

  "Nielson."

  "Jenkins," Mike replied. "What's up?"

  "I dunno, you wanna tell me?" the colonel replied testily. "I think we should go secure."

  "Scrambled. Again, what's up?"

  "I got a call from the U.S. embassy stating that we were going to be receiving some 'training cadre' from the U.S. Army. You know anything about that?"

  "Damn that was quick," Mike replied wonderingly. "Expect three SF teams or so and some Rangers. Officially, they're going to be training the Keldara. Unofficially ... I'll talk about it when I get back."

  "Okay," Nielson said, sighing. "I'll start working on bunking."

  "The barracks is going to be cleared out," Mike said. "That's part of the 'unofficially.' "

  "I need to hear this, don't I?" Nielson replied.

  "Yep. But not over a phone. Even a secure phone. When I get back. Which will be on Tuesday or so."

  "See you then."

  He looked at the last number and dialed it as the minivan pulled into the reception area of the hotel.

  "OSOL, Captain McGraffin speaking."

  "Jenkins."

  "Go scramble, please."

  "Be aware that I'm in an unsecure area."

  "Oh." The officer on the other end of the line paused for a moment. "Your materials are going to be sent to your home base via military transport. Clear enough?"

  "Clear enough," Mike said.

  "Your oh-so-efficient secretary informed us that she had already secured a charter aircraft to return your personnel. Do you need anything else?"

  "Not at this time," Mike replied. "And I'm not sure about the wisdom of using mil craft for moving the materials. I'll discuss it at another time."

  "Understood," McGraffin said. "Anything else?"

  "Negative. Oh, one thing. I'm missing a man. My second in command, actually. Anyone heard from Adams on your end since we landed?"

  "Uh." There was a pause as McGraffin clearly checked his paperwork. "Negative on that, Mr. Jenkins."

  "Thanks," Mike replied, frowning. "Out here."

  Mike hadn't even realized that he'd navigated his way to the elevator by instinct.

  And he still wasn't sure who'd sent the driver.

  Or where his second-in-command had got to.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  "Kildar, it is very good you are here," Gurum said nervously as Mike entered the suite.

  The penthouse was more of a two story town-home, much more spacious than any apartment Mike had ever owned. Daria had mentioned getting a deal on it, but he was pretty sure the penthouse was costing more than the convention space. With thick carpeting, original paintings on the walls and antique or designer furniture, it seemed far too luxuious for his needs. However, one of the Keldara girls had been over it for security and determined that the conference room, which was entirely interior with no external walls or windows, was set up very much like a secure room. And the rest of the security on the suite was similar. There was one door and anyone approaching the door had to traverse a long corridor for which there was a security camera. The suite was clearly designed for use by paranoid executives and movie stars, which made it well suited for Mike.

  "What's the status, Gurum?" Mike asked, his brain still filled with the problems of the Lunari mission.

  "Mr. Thomas will be here shortly," Gurum replied. "But not on time. He just called and he's running a little late. I am thinking of starting with a bid of two euros per bottle, freight on board at P'Otly, ten euros for the keg."

  "Let them open," Mike replied. "And go for everything the market will bear. We should have brought Mother Lenka with us; she'd screw them without their even recognizing it. And get ... Greznya and Anisa up here right now. They're going to charm the socks off of these guys for us."

  "Are you sure, Kildar?" Gurum asked. "Women aren't usually ..."

  "Gurum, you've done an excellent job," Mike said with a sigh. "But you really need a lesson in how to sell. If I had set it up in advance, one of the girls would be doing the entire sell and you'd just be there to close and do the paperwork. Get Greznya and Anisa right now. And Chief Adams if anyone can find him ..."

  * * *

  "Mr. Thomas," Anisa said, as she waved the two businessmen through the door. "It's a pleasure to see you again. And this must be Mr. Macnee."

  She'd barely had time to get dressed and fix her makeup but she knew she was looking good. She'd borrowed a short skirt, too short really, from one of the "rescue" girls and had purchased a pair of high heels during the mission. A light blouse, a small string of pearls and she was ready, as the Kildar had put it, to slay them.

  "Call me Colin," Macnee said, smiling. He was a short man going bald who had opted for the shaved skull look. "You must be one of the Keldara booth girls I heard about."

  "Watch her," Thomas said, jovially. "She's one of their militia girls, too. She's probably packing."

  Anisa smiled thinly and shook her head. Now she was really ready to slay them.

  "Not in here," she said, laughing as honestly as she could manage and showing them into the suite. "The rooms down the corridor are held by the Keldara. When you came down the corridor you were identified in advance and swept for weapons. Mr. Macnee is carrying a small clasp knife in his right pocket. You, Mr. Thomas, have a license to carry a concealed weapon issued by the state of Pennsylvania. You scored a forty-five out of fifty on your last qualifying shoot. Your registered handgun is a Sig Sauer .40 caliber. A very popular choice I might add. I prefer the H&K USP .45 myself, but the Sig is a nice weapon."

  "As I mentioned, Anisa and Greznya are much more than just pretty faces," Mike said, walking over to the two businessmen and holding out his hand. "On the beer side, I use them for datamining and analysis."

  "And in your other business?" Thomas asked, trying to get back in control.

  "I use them for ... datamining and analysis," Mike replied, smiling.

  "How many enemies are in the building." Greznya said, slithering to her feet. She'd opted for one of the sleeve dresses. With her long legs and moderate bust, it worked very well. "What type of weapons. Location of information, hostages or targets to be extracted. That sort of thing. I'm Greznya, the intel team leader."

  "All that stuff about a militia in the brochure is for real?" Macnee asked.

  "Yes," Mike said as Anisa went to get them drinks. "It's for real."

  "We can use that, you know," Macnee said seriously. "Beer drinkers tend to be more patriotic than the wine types. 'Every beer you drink helps in the war on terror, so drink up' sort of thing."

  "Not that I hadn't thought of it."

  Mike said, smiling.

  "You said they'd already had some combat action," Thomas replied as Anisa handed him a drink. He took a sip and then looked at it.

  "Elijah Craig," Mike said, smiling. "I believe bourbon is your tipple?"

  "Datamining," Thomas replied, shaking his head.

  "Yes," Mike said. "And, yes, they've engaged in combat actions. Including ones that, minorly, made the news. Greznya?"

  "AP picked up on the attack on our valley," Greznya said, sliding a printout of the AP wire across to the businessman.

  "Were you there?" Macnee asked, leaning over to look at the sheet of paper.

  "I was on the communications end," Greznya said.

  "And intercept," Mike added. "We knew they were coming before they did. You see, we believe in doing our homework."

  "And does that extend to the beer side?" Thomas asked, setting down the paper.

  "In the main," Mike said. "We know we can get a distributor for Mountain Tiger. We just want the best distributor we can get. Frankly, you are high on the list, but not the top."

  "In other words, we have to sell ourselves to you?" Macnee asked, smiling.

  "You could put it that way," Mike replied.

  "And the ladies are here to ...?"

  "The ladies run the brewery," Greznya said, smiling.
"Brewing is a woman's secret among the Keldara. And, thus, we're going to be making most of the money from it. So ... say we're here representing the interests of the Keldara women," she finished, leaning back and crossing her legs.

  "A brewery run by beautiful women that fights terrorism," Macnee said after he regained his voice. "My hands are getting sweaty just thinking about the marketing."

  "Are you sure that's what's making them sweaty?" Mike asked, gazing at Greznya in surprise. He knew that if one of the Keldara mothers was present, Greznya would be halfway out of the clan.

  "No," Macnee admitted. "What were you thinking of as terms?"

  "Five euros per liter, delivered at P'Otly," Greznya said, smiling and batting her eyes. "We also will supply the special ceramic bottles for discerning customers."

  "Out of the question," Thomas snapped after he'd actually processed the information. "We can't sell it for anything like a profit on this end at that rate! We'd have to charge ten dollars a bottle. No. More! That's ... impossible."

  "It is what is called an opening bid," Greznya said, smiling and recrossing her legs as she shifted on the couch. "I'm sure you have some reasonable counter ..."

  * * *

  "Three euors per liter, freight on board in Georgia," Thomas said, shaking Greznya's hand and doing the same with his head. "We'll figure out a way to get the market to bear. Am I nuts?"

  "If you are, so am I," Macnee said in a dazed tone.

  "Contracts," Mike said, sliding them across the table. "They're taken from the standard contract that the AABA recommends. There's some wiggle room. And we'll supply the first ten thousand liters at one euro per liter along with six thousand ceramic bottles at fifty cents per bottle. You might want to look for a better supply on those, if they meet the Keldara standards."

  "Will do," Thomas said, shaking his head again as he looked over the contract. For all the daze he appeared to display at the effect of the girls, more of whom had drifted in, all dressed to the nines as they found out that the negotiations were going on, he read the contract carefully. "We can do this. We will do this. And we're going to make lots of money doing it."