Choosers of the Slain pos-3

by John Ringo

  “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.”

  “You’re sure?” Macnee asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Thomas replied. “We’ll start the roll-out in New York. This September.”

  “Ah,” Mike said. “No direct reference I hope.”

  “No,” Thomas said. “But when we run the ads, we’re going to have pics of police and firefighters with the beer. Between that and the pics of your spec-ops teams, the subtext will be clear. And we’ll just let the point lie that the extra you’re paying is supporting the War.”

  “And the girls,” Macnee added, smiling at the group around him.

  “We’re getting a good price?” Anisa asked in Georgian. She’d been snuggling up to Macnee but othewise keeping her head down during the negotiations.

  “Quite survivable,” Mike said in the same language. “It’ll mean, at a guess, about sixty euros per month per worker. A bit more for Mother Lenka and Gurum.”

  “Good,” Anisa said, smiling. “I might actually be able to afford a husband.”

  “And not go through the Kardane?” Greznya said, looking over at Mike and winking.

  “Oh, good point,” Vanda said, grinning.
“No one would want to avoid the Kardane now.”

  “So I save it for when we get married,” Anisa added, shrugging. “Nothing says that you cannot enter into Kardane just because you can afford the price!”

  “Oh, we so don’t want to go there…” Mike said, sighing.

  “What is this?” Macnee asked, looking at the cross-talk.

  “I was explaining that we’d be able to keep the brewery running at this price,” Mike said, shrugging nervously.

  “There was more,” Thomas said, grinning. “I could tell.”

  “You really don’t want to know,” Mike replied. “There’s a lot about the internal workings of the Keldara you don’t want to know.”

  “Anything that will affect the marketing?” Macnee asked.

  “Hmmm…” Mike muttered. “The Keldara are very… conservative. The girls are more or less owned by one male or another…”

  “We are not!” Greznya snapped.

  “You’re controlled by your father, who can…” Mike said in English and then switched to Georgian. “Let me explain this as well as I can, okay?” he said to Greznya fiercely. “I know American customs and where there are going to be friction points, okay?”

  “Okay,” Greznya said, frowning.

  “How old do you think Anisa is?” Mike asked Macnee as the girl leaned against him harder.

  “I’d put her at about twenty,” the fiftyish businessman said, shrugging. “I mean, that’s a bit young…” he added, nervously fingering his wedding ring. “But I’m not planning on…”

  “She’s seventeen,” Mike said, grinning as Macnee sat up and started to back away. “Don’t let it bother you and it won’t bother them. And what goes on in the suite, stays in the suite. But the point is that she’s working as an intel specialist and she’s a damned good one. Quite a few of these girls are married and the oldest is Greznya, who isn’t by the way, and she’s nineteen.”

  “Oh, my…” Thomas said, blinking hard.

  “The Keldara grow up fast,” Mike said. “Greznya is considered an old maid. Most of them get married around fifteen. These girls didn’t have electricity in their homes a year ago. Now… well they’re some of the best intel troops I’ve ever had the honor to serve with. Not to mention great models,” Mike added with a grin.

  “The girl in the pictures?” Macnee asked, frozen. “The redhead. How old?”

  “Fifteen,” Mike said, shrugging. “I checked the various laws; it’s legal. She’s dressed, so it’s not child pornography. And you won’t have to worry about a lot of information getting out about them, no matter how much interest. The Keldara don’t talk and the area they live in is a restricted military zone. The point to this brewery, and other things that I’m doing, is to get them an economic boot-strap into the twenty-first century; there’s only so much I can do alone. They need to earn it so they understand where it comes from.”

  “Okay,” Thomas said, looking at Greznya in even greater interest. “Where’d you learn to negotiate like that?”

  “In the village market,” Greznya said, shrugging. “When you have nothing, you learn to bargain for every kopek.”

  “I suppose there’s that,” Thomas said. “Well, this has been a fascinating evening, but if I don’t drag Colin off, he’s likely to get divorced and I can’t afford that.”

  “Spoilsport,” Macnee said, but he heaved to his feet with a sigh. “Ladies, it’s been fascinating to meet you. I don’t suppose we can visit?” he added to Mike.

  “You, I can get through the checkpoints,” Mike said. “Honestly, all that anyone who wants to get near the Keldara has to do is bribe the regular guards. But once you get to the area we enforce, nobody moves without my say.”

  “I think we’ll leave the ‘local warlord’ aspect out of the marketing,” Thomas said dryly.

  “Please do,” Mike said. “Among other things, there are various people who would like to put my head on their wall. And I mean that quite literally.”

  “Another thing to keep in mind,” Macnee replied. “We’ll be in touch with Gurum about delivery schedules. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  “Such as talk to Katya,” Mike said as Greznya closed the door. “Girls, it looks like we’re in the clover. But I’m not done. If you ladies could clear the suite and somebody ask Cottontail to stop by. And has anyone seen Chief Adams…?”

  * * *

  “You are joking, yes?” Katya said, her eyes wide as Mike finished explaining the plan.

  “I am joking, no,” Mike replied. “We’ll talk with the doctors about it and if you absolutely say no, then the answer is, no. But you won’t be able to just walk into Lunari and back out. And even if you walk in, we won’t know where you are. This way, we can track you constantly and be ready to pull you out.”

  “I agreed to do this for twenty thousand euros,” Katya said, angrily. “But not to get cut on beforehand. I will probably get cut enough in Lunari.”

  “Do you want more money?” Mike asked, shrugging. “I will promise you this, if the surgery goes bad I will put you in a very nice place and set you up for the rest of your life.”

  “I won’t be able to see it, yes!” Katya snapped.

  “Tropical paradise, guaranteed,” Mike said, seriously. “Servants and all the rest. How much do you want for this?”

  “The same either way,” Katya replied tightly. “If I do this operation, we are done. I get very much money and a nice place someplace warm. I’ll make my own way from there.”

  “Done,” Mike said. “There might be some requirements to tell them how things are going after the fact. Can you handle that? Among other things, it would mean that you’d have the U.S. government taking care of at least part of your medical.”

  “Probably,” Katya said, frowning. “But I still want the tropical island.”

  “Agreed,” Mike said, smiling. “So, to be clear, that’s a yes?”

  Katya paused for a long moment and then shrugged.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll point one thing more out, though.”

  “What?” Katya asked.

  “You’re going to be wired for sound and video the rest of your life,” Mike said. “Admittedly, it will be a limited number of people that can access it. The U.S. government is probably going to be showering you with money to try to get you to do other ops. You’re going to be the world’s top super bug until they find somebody else crazy enough to do this. And with your looks and… training I’d be surprised if you couldn’t get in about anywhere.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” Katya asked, her brow furrowed.

  “I’m a fighter not a lover.”

  “And I’m a killer, not a lover,” Cottontail pointed out, with a purely evil smile.

  * * *

  Mike was tapping his foot, watching the Keldara take down the last of the display.

  The convention was over, the troops were packed, and he still hadn’t heard from Adams. He was beginning to think that maybe the redoubtable former SEAL had run into a mugger or something. Maybe he should call the damned morgue. Or, hell, face it, the chief might have just decided that being around Mike wasn’t conducive to long life and prosperity. Although he’d been making more money with Mike than he’d make doing virtually any job for which he was trained and prepared.

  “Kildar,” Gurum said, diffidently. “We have all the gear packed. It is time to go.”

  “Where in the fuck is…” Mike started to say and then stopped as he saw Adams wander around a set of booths that still hadn’t been taken down. He was noticeably weaving and appeared to be in lousy shape. Mike wasn’t sure what… Oh. Hell. He’d forgotten about Adams and Las Vegas. He shouldn’t have, but that last weekend had been a long time ago. And, frankly, Mike didn’t remember most of it.

  “Been on a bender, Ass-boy?” Mike asked maliciously, as soon as he was sure that Adams was suffering from a hangover and not malaria.

  “Oh, Go’,” the chief replied, leaning up against a booth a
nd stifling a belch. He scratched under a, apparently new, Hooter’s T-shirt for a moment and contemplated the scenery blurrily. He also had picked up a pair of Bermuda shorts, somewhere, that were at least a couple of sizes too large. They appeared to be belted with string. “Wha’ day is it?” The words were distinctly slurred.

  “Monday,” Mike said. “The day we’re leaving.”

  “Good,” Adams said, trying to stand to attention. “I ma’ mo’ment.”

  “Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Mike asked, putting his hands on his hips. “That you made movement? You’re supposed to be my second-in-command! You’re not a fucking meat anymore, Chief!”

  “How ’bout, ‘Viva Las Vegas!’?” the chief replied and belched again. “Or, ‘I ha’ a rea’y fuckin’ good fuckin’ ti’e’? Wha’ I can rer’mem’er of it.”

  With that, the chief slowly slumped down the side of the booth until he was flat on his back on the convention hall floor. Then he began to snore.

  “I’m tempted to send him home in the container…” Mike muttered.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Mr. Jenkins,” the doctor said, nodding and looking over at Katya. “And you would be, potentially, Patient Number 7194.”

  Mike had sent the rest of the Keldara back to Georgia along with Chief Adams, Vanner and Carlson-Smith, who seemed to be permanently attached to their collective hip until the mission was complete. He had stopped in Virginia, however, to stick with Katya for the procedure and ensure she was taken care of. He still wasn’t sure where the hospital was; the drive had involved the normal closed van. Just “somewhere in Virginia” down in the flat-country. He couldn’t place it within a hundred miles.

  “Wow, lots of casualties, lately,” Mike said, smiling.

  “We do not, in fact, increment by patient,” the doctor replied. Mike had to assume he was a doctor, since he said he was. But the usual plaques were distinctly missing from the bare walls of the spartan office. “Otherwise people could make a guess such as you just made as to casualty rates among black units. The total number of patients operated upon by this hospital is as secret as their individual identities.”