by John Ringo
"No," the policeman in the lead said, holding up both hands. "Not a problem."
"I was on a medical emergency," Mike said. "You might talk to the guard and explain to him the term 'medical emergency.' I will now go move my car so that ambulances can pull up."
* * *
"Are you okay?" Mike said, sitting down by Lydia. He'd sent Genadi off with some money to arrange a hotel room with instructions to get a suite at the Hilton. Be damned if he was going to stay in any fleabag.
"She wouldn't wake up," Lydia said. "The doctor was very concerned. I left when they started to undress her. It was women doing it. The doctor promised there would be women present at all times, but I had to leave. She was very hot and she moaned but she wouldn't wake up."
"She had a lot of painkiller in her," Mike pointed out. "It hits some people that way. She'll be fine." As long as they don't screw up the anesthetic from her having Loritab in her. Or bungle the operation. As long as the appendix hasn't burst already and she doesn't die from peritonitis. Bad thoughts that he set aside.
"Will it be very long?" Lydia asked.
"Probably not," Mike said. "Pulling an appendix is a very straightforward operation. In fact, a doctor once did it to himself."
"How?" Lydia asked. "And why?"
"Traffic in Cairo is very bad," Mike said. "The doctor knew he had a swollen appendix and was going to the hospital but he got caught in a very bad traffic jam. So he removed it himself and then drove to the hospital. Now, I don't know that I'd want to do that, it would probably hurt like hell, but it has been done. So, you see, it's very straightforward."
"The Fathers will be very angry," Lydia said, looking at the floor. Mike desperately wanted to hug her, hell, he wanted to screw her, but he refrained.
"Because this puts the Family in debt?" Mike asked. "Or because I screwed up and didn't bring a chaperone?"
"Both," Lydia admitted.
"Well, on the debt thing, I warned them," Mike said. "I should have brought Father Kulcyanov in earlier, so we can get his heart checked. He's got a case of congestive heart failure if I've ever seen one. And as for the other, they can kiss my ass. If they're that worked up about it, I'll sell the land back to the bank at a loss and go find some other insular society to bug. And then they won't be able to throw their hands up in despair and say 'The Kildar!' " Mike finished, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Lydia smiled at that and ducked her head.
"You are very funny, Kildar," she said, looking up after a moment. "And very kind."
"I'm just trying to get you in bed," Mike said, then clapped his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, sometimes things like that just slip out."
"I am promised," Lydia said, primly. "To Oleg."
"Well, Christ, now I'm in trouble," Mike replied, thinking of the massive Keldara. "He's gonna break me in half!"
"He will not," Lydia said, patting him on the arm in comfort. "He likes you. He wants to be a leader in the militia."
"Well, I'm gonna see you two married if it's the last thing I do," Mike replied. "And with a passel of kiddies. See if I don't."
"Perhaps in summer," Lydia said, shaking her head, sadly. "There are problems."
"We'll work them out," Mike promised. "One way or another." He looked up as the doctor came in the room, still stripping off his gloves, which were spattered with blood.
"It is good," Dr. Platov said, nodding. "It was an inflamed appendix, yes, very bad. But it had not burst. She should be well. There is no infection of the bowel. Peritonitis, yes? None of that."
"Good," Mike said, more relieved than he was willing to admit. "Thank you, Doctor."
"She will stay here overnight for observation," Platov said. "Then can be moved tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow afternoon. I have placed her on what we call a priority regimen," he added, smiling ironically. "This will increase the cost, it uses German medicines instead of Russian, but you can be sure the bottles have drugs in them and not distilled water."
"I can afford it," Mike said. "When can we see her?"
"She is in recovery and it is well after visiting hours," the doctor said, yawning. "I would suggest that you find a room in town. Come back tomorrow not before eight. She should be awake by then."
"We'll see her tomorrow, then," Mike said, standing up. "I'm unsure of the customs and I hope this is not an insult. Is a gift in order? For a life?"
"Always," Platov said, nodding. "Make sure she is not sold to town by the damned Keldara. I did not work on her as hard as I did for her to be a whore. But if you are talking about money, no."
* * *
"Kildar, this is too much," Lydia said when they were shown to the suite. It really wasn't much from Mike's point of view. A small living room and kitchenette with bedrooms on either side. The furniture was 1970s chic. It looked freshly made, which meant some designer somewhere needed to have their head examined.
"Don't worry about it," Mike said, yawning. It had been a long day. "Genadi?" he called.
"In here," Genadi said from the left-hand room. He popped his head out and grinned. "I'd missed television."
"The boobtube will rot your brain," Mike said. "But I wonder if they get ESPN? I might be able to catch a game." He thought about the time of year and shrugged. "Never mind, the Superbowl's even over. Lydia, you get that one," Mike continued, pointing to the right-hand bedroom. "I'm sure the door locks. Lock it. There will be a bathroom and all that. Get cleaned up, long day tomorrow. Then get some sleep. We'll be getting up in about . . ." He glanced at his watch and blanched. "Two hours. So get some sleep fast."
* * *
Mike was sitting on a chair down the hall from Irina's room when the Ambassador Wilson entered the corridor, followed by a couple of functionaries including one of the hospital administrators.
"Hi, Mike," the ambassador said, sitting down next to him. "Really, Administrator, I'm just here to talk to my friend."
"If there's anything we can do for you, Mr. Ambassador . . ." the administrator said.
"Not a thing I can think of," the ambassador answered, smiling. "I'm just going to talk to Mike for a bit and then head back to the embassy."
"If you need anything," the administrator said, "have one of the nurses call me. If there are any problems at all . . ."
"I will," Wilson said, smiling. "We'll be fine."
When the administrator had left, Wilson looked over at the former SEAL.
"So, any problems you need fixed?" he asked, chuckling.
"Why do the words 'follow the money' come to mind?" Mike asked.
"Because we dumped about six million dollars into this place three years ago," Wilson replied. "Most of it went down the usual corruption rathole, but some of it stuck. The surgical suite your friend was fixed up in for example. And we've got an ongoing cross-training program for doctors. They like us very much, yes?"
"Yes," Mike said, smiling faintly.
"So, how's the Keldara militia going?" Wilson asked.
"Slowly," Mike admitted. "I've got the equipment. I'm waiting on the trainers. Time."
"Napoleon," Wilson replied. " 'Ask me for anything but time.' Did you really beat up a guard?"
"Took away his peashooter," Mike admitted. "And, okay, lifted him up by his collar. I didn't hit him, though."
"All good," Wilson said. "Spreads the myth of the American. In general it's a problem, but in places it's quite useful. You should have tipped the policemen, though."
"Arrange it and bill me," Mike said, tiredly.
"And the president wants to meet you," the ambassador added.
"Just what I need," the former SEAL said with a groan. "Georgia's I take it?"
"Svasikili," Wilson agreed, nodding.
"I still don't have a suit," Mike pointed out, hanging his head in his hands.
"There are tailors in Tbilisi," Wilson said. "Hey, that alliterates."
"I've seen the suits they make," Mike said, sitting up. "Yours is nice, where'd you get it?"
"Harrowgates on Bond Street," Wilson said, turning out the lapel.
"Think they do house calls?" Mike asked, yawning.
"You look like hell, Mike."
"Two hours sleep," Mike said. "And the sort of stresses I'm not used to. And I can't believe a bed in a God damned Hilton would be that uncomfortable. The designers should be shot. No, that's too good for them. Hung up by their balls over a shark tank and handed a rusty knife."
"Get some rest," Wilson said, standing up. "If you haven't got have your health, you haven't got anything."
"An ambassador who watches The Princess Bride," Mike said, smiling. "Will wonders never cease."
"And I can walk and chew gum at the same time," Wilson said, nodding as he left.
* * *
Mike was half asleep when he heard a throat clear.
"Kildar?" a woman said.
Mike looked up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, to see a Keldara woman loaded with parcels standing in the corridor. She could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty but she still had some of the same lean good looks as Irina overlaid with years of stress and wear.
"You would be Irina's mother?" Mike asked, standing up and yawning.
"Yes, Kildar," the woman said, nervously.
"I'll take the bags," Mike replied. "She was awake the last time I checked. She's down the hall, second door on the left. I'll take the stuff back to the hotel. When you get thrown out, visiting hours are almost over, get a taxi and come to the Hilton. I'll arrange for the doorman to pay for it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Kildar," the woman said.
"On the being alone with Irina and Lydia," Mike said. "I'll take it up with the Fathers. There will not be a problem or there's going to be a huge problem. For them. Don't worry about that."
"Very well, Kildar," the woman said, unhappily.
"I'll see you at the hotel."
* * *
"Thank you for calling Harrowgates of Bond Street, how may I help you?" a chipper female voice said.
"There are problems in life that cannot be solved by throwing money at them," Mike said, philosophically. "And then there are problems that can. I'm trying to figure out which this is. I'm in Georgia, the country not the state, and I need a suit to meet with the President of Georgia day after tomorrow. How much money do I need to throw that problem to get one of your suits by then?"
"Sir," the woman answered, tautly, "we have a number of clients and at the moment our wait time is . . ."
"Ten thousand euros?" Mike asked. "For one suit? I'll arrange a business jet to fly in one of your tailors or whatever . . ."
"Haberdashers, sir, please," the woman said. "And, frankly, some of our suits sell for ten thousand euros . . ."
"I'll skip the bidding and go straight to thirty, then," Mike said. "I'm medium build. Around a forty-four-inch chest, about thirty-four waist. Thirty-inch inseam and sleeves, more or less. I'll put him up at the Hilton. Fly out, get me fitted, fly back. Anything you have around my size and in decent style. Thirty thousand euros. And I'll need some more, I guess. Figure that out later."
"I think we can arrange something sir," the woman said after a moment's pause. "If I could have your name and how you're planning on paying for this . . . ?"
Chapter Ten
"President Svasikili," Mike said, shaking the President of Georgia's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you." The president was a round man, slightly shorter than Mike, with a firm handshake and affable smile that stopped at his eyes. Typical third world politician in a nominal "democracy" one each.
"And you as well, Mr. Jenkins," the president said. "Might I present General Umarov, the Chief of Staff of the Army."
The meeting was taking place at the presidential palace, an ugly structure that dated to the Soviet period. Since the president of Georgia regularly had to travel in a massive convoy to prevent assassination, it was a security and ease measure for him.
The American ambassador traveled in nearly as large of a convoy, but he was, apparently, more expendable. As was Colonel Osbruck, the senior American military attaché. They were both present and everyone nodded then proceeded into the conference room.
"Do you think there will be a thaw, soon?" the president asked Mike after everyone had gained their seats and tea was served. The woman doing the serving was a serious looker, like a supermodel, and had a sway to her that said that more than tea was available. The tea was served in traditional glasses with metal holders. These were silver and transmitted the heat of the tea straight to the handle making it too hot to hold. It was a silly design and Mike had always wondered what idiot came up with it in the depths of time.
"You'd know better than I, sir," Mike replied, quickly setting his tea down and waiting for it to cool. "This is the first time I've been to Georgia."
"I do hope it warms up soon," the president said. "My old bones hate the winter. When I retire I'm going to move somewhere very warm."
Possibly straight to hell if an assassin gets through, Mike thought. Svasikili had run on a platform of cleaning up the graft and ending the war in Ossetia. Since then negotiations had been stalled, the Ossetians were terrorizing western Georgia, the Chechens eastern Georgia, and taxes seemed to disappear into a black hole. The hole, of course, was called "Svasikili's cronies" and funds to prop up his primary voting base, which was among organized labor. The military, despite the conditions, had just sustained another cutback. At least part of that was in fear that they'd perform a coup. It wouldn't work out, it never did, but Svasikili had to know that if the military took over, he'd be lucky to leave with his shirt.
"But in the meantime, I'm forced to try to make bricks without straw," Svasikili said, sighing. "This country is impossible to govern. Dozens of different interests, all vying for power, the clans in the mountains always feuding, the Ossetians, the Chechens, just impossible."
"Lovely place, though," Mike pointed out. "It's why I decided to settle here. And the people are very nice as well. The Keldara are grand fellows."
"So it was the beauty of the country that caused you to settle here?" the president asked.
"And the women," Mike admitted, smiling at the joke. "The Keldara beer isn't half bad, either."
"I can call for a beer if you would prefer," the president said, waving at the untouched tea.
"This is fine, sir," Mike said, picking it up despite the handle and taking a sip while glancing at the ambassador. He wasn't trained or interested in diplomacy at this level but he was afraid he'd just insulted the country of Georgia by not sipping the damned tea. "I've become quite a tea drinker since moving overseas."
"The question, of course, is why an American would want to settle in Georgia," the president said, nodding at the comment. "There are less than a thousand American ex-patriates in the country and almost all of those are here for one company or another. There are a scattering of people who just find this country conveniently inexpensive. But you are not short of money. Your ambassador has assured us that you are not wanted by any international agency. So the question is why you would want to settle down here. Especially in that forsaken wasteland of the Keldara. Then there's the question of why you are forming a little army out of them."
"Hardly an army," Mike pointed out, glancing at the ambassador again. He should have been briefed on what this meeting was about beforehand but he felt a general trend. "They will constitute about a company in size and be designed for small-unit operations. Just a mountain militia."
"A remarkably well-armed and equipped mountain militia," General Umarov interjected. "When the request came through to expedite the end-user license we, of course, complied. We are as worried about conditions in east Georgia as the Russians. But when the actual lists started arriving we became . . . somewhat concerned. Your simple mountain militia will be better equipped than the Presidential Commandoes."
"I discovered when I was a SEAL that good equipment helps," Mike said. "It's not everything, though; you have to have good training. And, I'm sorry to po
int out, they're probably going to be better trained than your commandoes as well." He didn't have to look to know that the ambassador had just winced. "I don't think that it would be fit to do less and they're going to need that training to do what they'll have to do to suppress the Chechens.
"However," he added, as the general opened his mouth, "they are, as I said, less than a company. And they are training for open field, small unit actions. I know that there is always a fear that a particular group will . . . oh, become the tail that wags the dog as we say in the United States. The Keldara are going to be training in a way that makes that fundamentally unlikely."
"Explain," the president said, holding up a hand to cut off the general's retort.