Choosers of the Slain

by John Ringo

  "It only transmits when a tickler signal comes from a satellite," Pareis admitted. "And I'll be surprised if even she can detect it."

  "You've tested these things for interference, right?" Mike asked.

  "As well as we can," Pareis admitted. "She'll need a day or two of testing and tweaking once she's out of recovery."

  "And then we hie ourselves to wonderful Albania," Mike said, snorting. "I take it we got the overheads?"

  "They'll be brought to you by officer courier as you're on your way home," the director said. "Along with an intel update. We still don't know if the girl is still there. They do ship them out, you know. Notably to Italy. And we've been afraid to put out feelers about her for obvious reasons."

  "She's still there," Mike said. "I can feel it in the water."

  * * *

  "How you doing?" Mike asked.

  The G-V was technically from a charter company, but it had been supplied by DIA so Mike figured it was something along the lines of Air America. The pilots were certainly reticent. Mike missed Captain Hardesty. Not to mention the stewardesses that had accompanied the flights over; he'd had to get his own drinks and it took some hunting and eventually resorting to forcing open a fixture with a screwdriver.

  "You were right about the fingernails," Katya replied, holding up her hands. The palms showed a line of small puncture wounds. "But there is a valve. However, I start playing with it when I get upset ..."

  "Which is most of the time," Mike said, looking at her and smiling. "You'll just have to learn some restraint."

  "I'm working on it," Katya said, blinking and shaking her head. "And I keep getting double images, one of them grainy. Like a bad TV set showing me what has just happened."

  "You need to work on locking that down," Mike said, pulling out the sheets of paper, liberally stamped with "Top Secret," which were her post-op instructions. "No fever when we left, which is good."

  "I'm sore in some odd places," Katya admitted.

  "Odder than normal, I take it," Mike said, carefully taking her hand. "You'll get used to it. Are you going to be okay—"

  "From all this?" Katya asked, withdrawing her hand. "Or on the mission?"

  "Yes," Mike said, crossing his hands in his lap.

  "I am going to get well paid," Katya said, smiling. "That is all that matters. Why this sudden show of concern, Kildar?"

  "Do you think I didn't care?" Mike asked. "From the beginning? Did you think I was just one of the users in your life?"

  "No," Katya admitted.

  "I suppose that makes me one of the suckers, then," Mike said, snorting.

  "Not that ... either," Katya said, at least sounding honest. "So I don't know what you are."

  "Because there are either users or suckers?" Mike asked.

  "Yes," Katya admitted. "So, yes, I must accept that you are a sucker. Certainly for giving me all these gifts."

  "Use them on the wrong person, and every agent on earth will have a termination contract on you," Mike pointed out.

  "So I must find the right men to use them upon, yes?" Katya said, smiling and working her fingers. "I look forward to it."

  * * *

  "You've got real problems," Nielson said, gesturing at the map. "You realize that, right?"

  "I know some of them, tell me the rest," Mike said, sighing and leaning back in his chair. He was glad to be back at the caravanserai; America had been almost a culture shock. The caravanserai really did seem to be home these days.

  "I won't go over the tactical issues," Nielson said. "I've been looking at what you might call operational issues. The entire area around Lunari is controlled by the Albanian gangs. You've got multiple checkpoints to pass to even get to the town. And forget inserting on foot across the mountains. First of all, egress would be a bitch. Second, that's the center of the clan power. You'd have a fight on your hands, from all the Albanian clans, from, basically, the time you cross the border. And it's not only their turf, they'll outnumber you a few hundred to one. I don't see doing a land ingress and egress."

  "Lunari is landlocked," Adams said. "You want us to fly in? The troops aren't trained in air-mobile operations. Or HALO for that matter."

  "Training on helicopter insertion and extraction isn't all that hard," Mike said. "But that begs the question; where in the hell are we going to get the helicopters?"

  "More than choppers," Nielson said, gesturing at the map again. "You're dealing with multiple sovereign countries surrounding the area. I couldn't find one spot that I'd like to do an assembly and extraction through."

  "I hope you're not just throwing this out as an insoluble problem," Mike said, sighing. "Because we can't use U.S. assets for this. Not a one."

  "Not insoluble," Nielson admitted. "But it's going to be very expensive."

  "How expensive?" Mike asked. "And what's your plan?"

  "There is a group in Russia that supplies heavy lift choppers," Nielson said, tossing Mike a brochure. "They mostly work on relief operations and oil operations in remote areas. They went in with the Marines in Dali, which is where I first heard of them. When you said the Keldara were going to have to hit Lunari in force, I started looking at the problem and saw the solution pretty quick. And I've had some very quiet conversations with them about the problem. They're willing to provide enough choppers and pilots to get us in and out. But ... they figure it's going to be a hot LZ. And then there's the problem of being identified. So they want two million, minimum, for the mission. Plus recoup costs on any aircraft lost on the mission, to be escrowed in a Swiss bank account controlled by a neutral third party. The vig on that is another mil. But there's more."

  "Crap," Mike said, shaking his head. "Three mil for insertion? We need to get our own helicopters and crews."

  "Maybe," Nielson said, shrugging. "But the rest is expensive, too. You see, you can't take off from any of the countries around or nearby. Nobody is going to miss seeing a spec-ops group boarding military helicopters. And most of the area around has Albanians that are going to report it to the mob. Then there's just the diplomatic implications. So you're going to have to come in from the sea. You can't take off from Italy, which is the only place in range of a Hip helicopter, so ..."

  "We've got to lift from a boat," Mike said, sighing. "How much for that?"

  "Three hundred thou," Nielson said, throwing the full budget brief on the table. "But that includes picking up the Hips, moving to Albanian waters, launch, recovery and taking the Hips back to Georgia."

  "Well, even if I can get the senator to geek, that's it for a profit on the mission," Mike said with a sigh. "I think I'll call D.C. and tell them that I'd like a combat bonus. Because we are going to lose people."

  "And we'll have to depend on these helicopter pilots not to fuck us?" Adams asked.

  "You got a better plan?" Mike asked.

  "Yeah, call some of the 'trainers,' " Adams said. "One to ride on each chopper and a group on the boat."

  "Maybe," Mike said. "But we have to get started on this now. Nielson, get that portion moving right away. Vanner, tactical intel?"

  "We got reads from ground penetrating radar on the brothel and the surroundings," Vanner said, shrugging. "So we've got an interior. The building is three stories of concrete with two stories of wooden addition on the top. There appears to be a basement as well—"

  "Which is where the DVDs are going to be located," Adams predicted. "We're going to be fighting our way in and out."

  "We can get the troops familiarized with the building by doing a mock-up," Mike pointed out. "But we still don't know where any of the targets are located for sure."

  "The DVDs are likely to be in a safe," Nielson pointed out. "Anybody know how to crack a safe?"

  "Not I, said Cock Robin," Vanner replied, shrugging.

  "Gimme enough demo and I can move the world," Adams said, raising an eyebrow.

  "We want them back intact," Mike said. "We need somebody who actually knows how to open a safe. Nielson?"

&nb
sp; "One safecracker coming up," Nielson said, sighing. "We don't even know what kind of safe."

  "Then find one who can think on his or her feet," Mike said.

  "I'll take that one," Carlson-Smith said, smiling. "I'll simply give Drake over at MI-5 a call. I mean, he's the fellow who keeps an eye on fellows like that. And MI-6 has people who train in such as well."

  "Thank you," Mike said. "What are the Italians going to say to a bunch of helicopters taking off for Albania? Or the Albanians for that matter?"

  "The Albanians have shit for coverage on that coast," Vanner said. "They're not an issue. We'll have to stay out of Italian territorial waters until we're done. Or ... I hate to suggest this, but we can take some copies of clips and present them to a couple of people in the Italian government. After that, I don't think they're going to say much at all."

  "That's a very slippery slope," Mike said after a moment's thought. "Let's see if the Brits can convince the Italians to look the other way," he added, looking over at Carlson-Smith.

  "It might help to have a pic at least of that Ital general ..." Carlson-Smith pointed out.

  "Do it," Mike said with a sigh. "But let's try to limit that. Otherwise we'll become a target just like Lunari. Adams, get started on the mock-up. Nielson, get the freighter moving and get those choppers down here. Russell will take point on training for insertion and extraction with the chief in overall charge of the tactical training. Mr. Carlson-Smith ..."

  "I suppose I have a plane to catch," the MI-6 agent said with a sigh. "I very much hope that the next time I come to visit that you do have your own helicopter. These roads are torturous."

  "So does Vanner," Mike said, frowning.

  "Say again?" Patrick piped up.

  "We need to get Katya inserted, now," Mike replied. "You're going to take the Sawn intel team and monitor. You know what intel we're looking for. Turn over the shop to Lilia for the time being. Take a fire team of Keldara shooters from Team Sawn with you for security."

  "So I'm going to be sitting in the woods for the next week or two?" Patrick asked. "Cool."

  "Hell, no," Mike replied. "What gave you that idea?"

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Katya stepped out of the car when she was told, her head down, and headed for the door, lifting her head just long enough to get a good look around. Camera above the door, one of two apparently into the same building, another camera there. More on each end of the street. Windows up the wall, barred. One guard on the door. That should be enough.

  The two men who had driven her across the Macedonian border were hired thugs and had picked up some fringe benefits on the drive; she had a fading bruise on her cheek from her one protest about that. According to plan there was supposed to be a backup team out there, somewhere. But she'd anticipated getting hit. A lot. A slap on the face wasn't anything to cry about and she hadn't, just sucked him off as he'd told her to. She'd really wanted to jam her new nails into his scrotum and watch his face as he bled out, but she'd resisted.

  She'd also resisted clenching her fists. The packet was loaded, although until she manipulated the valve in her palm it shouldn't squirt out. But she'd been told the poison was "fast acting" and didn't have an antidote. It was also unlikely that she'd be able to use it more than once.

  She had been consigned to hell for at least a week. She needed to save it for when it would actually do some good.

  But if they thought she was going to do this mission without just one slaver choking out his life at her hands, they were very stupid people indeed.

  "Get inside," the man on the door said, opening it and moving to slap her.

  "No, I'm going," Katya said, whining, ducking her head and scooting through the door ahead of the promised slap.

  "This the new bitch?"

  The room beyond was dark with only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a table with some men playing poker, a few girls sitting on laps and more men along the sides.

  "Katrina or something," one of the men said, standing up and walking over to her. "Look up, bitch, I want to see your face. What's your name, bitch?"

  "Katya," Katya said, quietly. "They call me Cottontail."

  "Are you?" the man asked, pulling up her skirt and brutally ripping off her panties. "Hey, the carpet matches the curtains."

  "Good looker," one of the men in the shadows along the wall said. "She's only going to make a few euros here, though. Send her on to Italy."

  "We need to know that she knows her job, first," the man standing in front of her said.

  "I am good hooker," Katya said, looking down at the floor again and ignoring the torn clothes. "I was hooker in Ukraine. I know my place."

  "We'll see," the man said, picking her up and throwing her on the table. "And we'll see how tight that pussy is," he added, unbuckling his belt.

  "Just as tight as it was before you, Greva," another voice laughed.

  Katya ignored it and thought about scratching. Just one little scratch ...

  * * *

  When the last dick had pulled out of her ass, a man rolled her over and slapped her. There had been quite a few of those as well.

  "I'm Boris Dejti and you are ...?"

  "Katya," she whispered, working her mouth. There was only a little blood from a split lip, but she'd really like to spit. She also knew she'd be hit harder if she did.

  "Go upstairs and find a bed," the man said. "Then get your ass out on the street. You owe me six hundred euros tonight. That's to pay off your debt. I bought you and if you want free, you have to pay me ten thousand euros. Of the six hundred, one hundred goes towards your debt, the rest is the interest. You owe me twenty euros a day for your bed, and ten euros a day for your food. Anything else you can keep. If you give it to me, though, it pays off your debt quicker. You understand?"

  "Yes," Katya said, still quietly and keeping her head down. It was the usual deal with bastards like this, but even more usurious than usual.

  "We're all friends in this town, we know whose girls are who," Boris continued, grabbing her hair and twisting her head up painfully. "You try to run, somebody in this town will bring you back to me. And then I'll take the skin off of your body in little strips, you understand?"

  Just one little scratch.

  "I understand," Katya whimpered. "I'll be good. I'll be a good whore."

  "Get to work, bitch."

  * * *

  She hobbled upstairs, sore in a way that she'd almost forgotten. It was a soreness that soaked at the soul, like the foul taste in her mouth, a soreness in every pore of her being and certainly all three holes that would fit a penis. She'd also lost some of her muscle control in her mouth in the time with the Kildar. She hadn't had to constantly serve men, there. Her jaw ached along with the rest of her.

  There were guards where the concrete steps gave out and the wooden ones started and she began to see a few girls around, looking out of the curtained rooms on either side of the corridor. They all looked very sick. She guessed that you'd have to be very sick not to work in this place. There were a lot of girls here. Finding this stupid Natalya bitch wasn't going to be easy.

  She poked into rooms, seeing the few posessions of the girls by or on most of the matresses strewn on the floors, until she came to one about halfway down on the fifth floor. There was a mattress there, like the others with no sheets and plenty of stains. And a small blanket, all the concession to survival offered to the girls in these parts.

  The other mattress in the small room had stuff by it. She knew that the girls would steal anything of value, even the least little cosmetics, which was why she had hardly anything. At some point she'd find a place to hide stuff down on the street.

  No, she wouldn't have to. She wasn't going to be here that long. But should she anyway? Yes, stay in cover ...

  "Katya, you read?" Vanner whispered over the radio in her head.

  "Uhmmm ...?" she hummed. She'd tried the subvocalization thing but wasn't really good at it, yet.

&nbs
p; "We're in place," Vanner said. "Video and audio are coming through ... surprisingly clear. You hang tough. The teams are on track to be here. Sorry there's not a damned thing I can do until then. But we're here."

  "Hmmm ..." Katya said, rolling her eyes. Vanner was such a dick. He-Man hero, hiding in some hotel. And watching everything that happened to her, but not feeling it. He was probably stroking off to the video.

  "Just wanted you to know I was here," Vanner said.

  "HMMM ..." Katya practically screamed.

  "Got it. I'll shut up."

  She tossed her bag on the bed and went back down the stairs; she had seen a sign for a bathroom down there.

  The place was filthy and stinking, no surprise. But it had some hot water and she washed her face and soaked the bruises for a moment. Then she slipped a comb out from under her dress and combed her hair, making herself marginally presentable.

  Time to go hang it out on the meat rack.

  * * *

  "Mikhail," Vanner said, looking over at one of the bored Keldara security team. "Time to build the cover."

  The team had inserted as individuals, each of the men bringing one of the Keldara girls with him along with their gear and taking individual rooms at the Hotel Albana. When they were all in place, the gear had been moved to Vanner's suite and everyone had gathered there and remained there, the girls taking turns monitoring Katya while the shooters just cleaned their weapons and were bored.

  But if a group of men didn't get it on a little in Lunari, questions would be asked.

  "So, how do I do this?" the team leader asked, setting down the SPR from which he'd been wiping imaginary dust.

  "It's not that hard," Vanner said. "Go get your car, drive around town, pick up a girl and take her back to your room. Let nature take it's course after that."

  "Don't worry, Mikhail," Greznya said, grinning. "What happens on the mission, stays on the mission. I won't tell your mother."

  * * *

  She was already late for the first pickings around lunch and there wasn't much traffic. And she had a lot of competition.