The Kildaran - Chapter 52

(Reaction?  Comments?  Anything from seeing Vlad catch a bad case of lead poisoning???  Or the shooter's ID?

Seriously - I love comments, and try to respond to them all (eventually).  I have this set up so any comments go to my email, so will react to tech questions and 'oops you goofed' messages ASAP.

Now what?  Well, there are a few loose end.  Like a bachelor party.  And a wedding.

Adam]
CHAPTER 52

    The after-action report was gonna be a bitch.
    That was clear enough after doing the very brief hot wash, immediately after their return to the serai.  With combat sites scattered across fifteen hundred miles, only two of which were actively under their control, the simple logistics made doing it ‘right’ nearly impossible.  Zero chance to comb over them for missed data, or to properly sanitize the battle scenes.  Especially not Moscow.  No way in hell was he going to dare Murphy there, not until the uproar had settled from Putin’s death.
    As far as he was concerned, the mission was done.  Over.  The nukes were safely returned to better hands than before.  The money was in the works.  The men had gotten their steaks and beer and one hellacious ‘welcome home!’ party.  Everyone was happy.  Almost.  Upper still wanted more details, of course, and Katrina was insisting, loudly, to Adams that they would do it properly!
    Just as loudly, Adams was attempting to explain exactly what happened to all after-action reports.  How sooner or later they all ended up in the wrong hands, with a person who had no clue about the details of the situation.  They wouldn’t know the background, or the pressures faced at that moment of decision.  And sure as God made little green apples, they’d end up making every operator look incompetent, a criminal, or both.  Then they’d use the report to push their own agenda, or maybe a bit of petty revenge.
    He wasn’t using nice language, either.  He was shooting from the hip and Katrina was alternately blushing, nodding, and repeating what Adams was saying even more emphatically.  All along, she was cradling her M4, which she hadn’t set down for more than ten minutes since boarding the Backfire for the flight home.
    Mike listened to Guerrin promise that, as soon as he had his finished, he’d give a copy to Nielson for review.  Chechnya?  Not a prayer.  Pavel wasn’t up to the task yet, and Adams flat-out refused.  On this, Katrina agreed.
    “Screw them.  The job is done.  Pay us and leave us alone for a long, long time.  I want to get married, and I want to get laid, and I don’t much care about the order.  And if anyone tries to bother us before the honeymoon is over, I will personally shoot them in the nuts.”  She caressed her rifle.
    That left Moscow, and Cottontail.
    “No way.  What happened in Moscow, stays in Moscow.”  Mike was adamant.  There was no way he could prevent stories from being told - already, Vil’s marksmanship was becoming common knowledge, and Katrina was practically preening from all the attention she was getting - and that was bad enough.
    He did not need the notoriety that would arise if her role in Putin’s death was generally known.  Or guess how many death squads would be dispatched, if they didn’t just drop a missile on them instead.  Less personal but cheaper in the long run than trying to penetrate through the Keldara.  Even if it wouldn’t bring the wrath of the ultra-nationalist Russians down upon them, he didn’t know if the valley could stand Kat’s ego blowing up.  “They came after me?” he could imagine her saying.  “Oh!  I’m famous!”  That chilled him almost more than her need for retribution.
    At least there was one positive out of this.  Putin’s death had solidified the support for President Medvedev, stabilizing it immensely.  The fact that Putin had died as the hero/cowboy he had always pretended to be resonated with the Russian people.  And the stories from the witnesses all supported that version of the facts.  It was their story, and they were sticking to it.
    As for Cottontail - she was still at the Republican Clinical Hospital, waiting for J to recover.  He had begun to recover some movement in his extremities, but still required assistance to breathe.  His doctors were confident that he’d make a full recovery in time.  The anti-toxins had arrived, and were helping him progress, but it was still a lengthy process.
    Tamara was one of the few people Katya allowed in the room, and she’d taken a picture of the agent, sleeping.  She was head down on J’s leg, one hand clutching a pistol, the other a purple teddy wearing an orange-and-black kilt.  It was terribly cute, and frightfully scary, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to snap the photo.  Luckily, Katya was fully zonked from exhaustion, helped by valium in her apple juice.
    Mike wasn’t sure J would return to the Valley, though, which would be unfortunate.  He’d talked with Katya, upon returning from Moscow, and she’d mentioned J’s intent to end Katya’s apprenticeship.  What that meant for J’s future as the resident HumInt specialist remained to be seen.  It made Vanner nervous, though whether at the thought of losing J or having Cottontail as his primary agent Mike wasn’t sure.
    Putin’s death had made all the headlines.
    “Prime Minister Stops Nuclear Terror” - CNN
    “Evil Empire Has Soft Side, Saves Bakery” - Fox News
    “Elvis And Russian Save Moscow!” - Midnight Sun
    Okay, some were more accurate than others.  The best part was that none mentioned Georgia, or the Keldara, or the Kildar, or a mysterious Backfire flying in and out of Moscow.
    Chechnik had taken charge of the situation long enough for the ‘official’ story to be cemented in the public’s eye.  His men spent two days getting very, very drunk and vigorously laid, a minor expense Mike was more than happy to absorb.  Arensky had provided them with another concoction which he swore would blur all memories of the past week and supplied it to Chechnik before the bacchanalia ended.  This way even the most rigorous questioning wouldn’t be able to shake their stories from the party line.
    Mike had put Chechnik in touch with Sheik Otryad as a final favor to the man before he disappeared himself.  Chechnik could use a patron abroad, especially with the sudden demise of Putin, and Otryad could use a man who, all bitching aside, really knew the intelligence business.  Besides, the sheik owed him a favor after borrowing Shota, the Mules, the Four Blind Mice, Lasko, and tapping Mike’s former trainers to reel in McKenzie as well.  And Chechnik could use a pair of pilots with no conscience and knowledge of the unofficial southeast Asia flight routes.  It was a temporary arrangement, of course, but seemed perfect.  God save anyone who got in their way.
    Since the news had broken and they’d recovered the last nuke, the phones had been ringing off the hook, as well as all the secure cyber channels.  His responses had been remarkably similar to all.
    “NO!”
    “Fuck you.  No.”
    “Ask OSOL.”
    “Ask JSOC.”
    “Ask the Big Man, and he’ll tell you what I told you.  Fuck off.  You don’t have need-to-know.”
    Now, though, he had to deal with Major Hughes, and his boss, to whom he at least owed the favor of being polite.
    “Jack, if Pierson wants an after-action report, you can give him one.”
    “But, Mike, I wasn’t there!  Every time something interesting happened, you sent me somewhere else.”
    “Not all of it.  What about taking down the Emir?  You were there for that, weren’t you?”
    “So that’s what, one out of five?”  He held up a hand and started ticking off fingers.
    “First bomb, Groznyy.  We were where?”
    “St. Louis,” mumbled Mike.
    “So all the information I have is second- or third-hand.  That makes my boss so happy!  Second?  Kek-Usn - and, by the way?  I didn’t enjoy flying in a fucking Hind on top of three hundred kilos of Semtex, fuck you very much! - Kek-Usn, and the Emir, right?”
    “Right.”  Mike caught Adams rolling his eyes, and Katrina hiding a smirk.  He turned to face Jack more fully and doubly flipped both of them off behind his back.
    “That, I can do my job properly.  But then you send me back to Elista with a shitload of bombs that have lead aprons rigger-taped to them -”
    “You volunteered, Jack,” interrupted Mike.  More snickering.  He wanted to turn to say something really rude but Jack was still in full bitching mode and had caught his breath.
    “Yeah, whatever.  The point is, I spent the next eight hours welding lead plates onto live bombs.”
    “And your point is?”
    Hughes didn’t answer, just continued.  “I finally haul my ass back here and find out that I’d just missed a major battle between Rangers and Chechens!  Mortars, machine guns, snipers, bunkers, you name it, it was there!  And where was I?”
    “Screwing my harem manager?  I‘m sure Pierson would love details of that type of close quarters action.  What‘s that story going to be - diplomacy?  Tying down loose ends?  Or language lessons in pillow talk?”
    “That’s totally not the point!”
    “That’s not what she said.”  Nobody could hide their giggles any longer.  Jack blushed a little, but being a good Marine he pushed on.  Forward momentum for good or ill.
    “I had intended simply to lie down for an hour.  Next thing I know, my hands are tied to the bed and she’s blowing me!  What do you think I was gonna do?” Hughes said desperately.
    “Cum again?  I didn’t hear that last part,” Adams added in laughing.
    “Need better situational awareness there, Jack.  And Chief?  Unless you have something constructive to say, shut it.”
    Returning to the subject, Hughes said, “Fourth.  The action in the woods.”
    “That was personal between Cottontail, J, and Schwenke.  You’re welcome to interview any or all of ‘em.  I wouldn‘t recommend going to see J, though.  Only doctors and nurses Katya‘s personally cleared are getting into that room.”
    “Great, I have permission to interview a man on a respirator, a bitch I wouldn’t dare to piss off, and a lunatic whose body has disappeared.”
    “You have Oleg’s report,” Mike added helpfully.  “And you could give the President Kurt’s nuts.  I’m sure the crows haven’t touched them yet.  And if you make a little coin purse out of his sack, Katya might just be impressed enough to talk to you.”
    “Fifth and finally, Moscow.  But you send me to babysit a hundred-fifty kiloton bomb in a Hind - which is almost as much fun as Semtex, you know? - to a tiny, stinking port on the Black Sea.  There I get the third degree from some CIA degenerates who hadn’t been, let’s see if I remember this right: ‘briefed on the non-itineraried presence of an officered member of the United States Armed Forces in connection with transportation of nuclear deterrent products en route to the US for dismantlification and recycling pursuant to -’ some Executive Order I’ve never heard of.”
    Mike winced.  “Pure bureaucratese is hard to come by these days, especially around here.  I am truly sorry you had to endure that alone.  I should have sent the Chief with you.  He knows how to put a stop to that.”
    “Damn straight.  Only takes one round through the knee to set the rules of polite conversation and make them get to the point.  Just be sure you have a grenade in your other hand, just in case they don’t understand your accent.”  He was grinning like a shark.  Mike knew the others weren’t sure if Adams was telling the truth or just spewing bull.  That was part of Ass-Boy’s magic with the troops.
    “It was three hours before they were convinced I was who I said I was!  It didn’t help that your lunatic pilot and her equally-crazed crew chief were sitting back and laughing the entire time!  But the Company jerks couldn’t touch them because, somehow, they were carrying diplomatic passports.”
    “Just a little precaution,” Mike said.  “That, plus they were probably loaded for bear.  Bet she landed so her spinal cannon covered their little camp.”
    “Yeah, well, they made me pay for it.  So by the time we get back, I’m so stressed and wiped out that I crash again.  Just sleep, this time.  Not that she didn‘t try.  I woke up naked when I heard her calling for Kurosawa and his needles.  Nothing like it to get the tired out of your bones and make the urge to relocate your primary motivator!”
    “I know.  Stasia was complaining that you didn’t have the, ah, stamina she’s used to.”
    “After I wake up and flee the room, I find that you and your merry band of cutthroats have somehow gotten hold of a Backfire bomber and flown to Moscow!   I mean,  what the fuck?  Didn’t you think of waking me?”
    “Stop.  One second.“  Mike held up his hand.  “Honestly, Jack?  You really want to know?”
    “Yeah!”
    “Yes, I did.  But Stasia promised mayhem if I didn’t let you get a full night’s sleep, and over the next day and into the morning, when it was all going down, well, it was just so fucking chaotic, I just plain forgot.”  Mike shrugged.  Katrina fell off her perch and onto Adams, reclining in his comfy chair, from laughing.  Mike gave her a raised eyebrow.  She nodded and covered her mouth, but her whole body was still shaking.
    Adams seemed more engrossed in the pert little butt that was almost right in his face at the moment than the chance to joke at his best friend’s expense again.  “You know, I haven’t… talked to Bambi in a while.  A long while.  I think I ought to do that soon.  Real soon.  Right now, in fact.”  And he stood up, dumped the offending pert butt into the floor and strode out of the room.  “Don’t call me; I’ll call you.  Later.  Much later,” he called over his shoulder.
    “In any case, I wake up and you’re gone.  Kseniya let me into the Cave, so I was able to follow your progress and read your reports as they came in, but it’s not the same as being there.  Those girls edit the data on the fly.  They must have had it buffered by at least ten seconds, maybe more.  I can‘t read Georgian, but my Russian‘s real good, and those screens weren‘t matching at all.”
    “You’re absolutely right, Jack, it’s not the same.  It’s a lot safer.  And you‘re right, they probably were.  It‘s as much about sheltering them as anything.  If one of their husbands is deployed and gets injured, or worse, the data gets dumped into a buffer for Grez until she has a chance to counsel them in private, get relief and a Mother.”
    “The problem with that is there are all sorts of questions that nobody wants to give me a straight answer to.”
    “They’re pros.  Vanner taught them.  Mr. No-Such-Agency himself.  But I’ll help you out, if I can.  To a point.”  Mike noticed that Vanner and Grez had taken advantage of Adams’ departure to slip from the room themselves.  That was fine.  He just hoped they’d air out the Cave before heading to quarters; it stank like a mix of gym socks, stress, burnt coffee and overheated electronics.
    “Like who shot Gereshk, where is the bomb, and who shot Putin?”
    “That’s a bit more than a little.  I can give you the official version.  I think that some Private shot Gereshk, right after Gereshk shot Putin who was being a dumbass cowboy and crashed our op unannounced -”
    “Bullshit, Mike!  I can get that from CNN and Vremya!  Dammit, if I’m going to do my job, I need the truth!“
    Mike pondered this for a moment before replying.  “If I say it doesn’t go in your report, do I have your word that it doesn’t go in?”
    “Absolutely!  On my honor as an officer in the Corps!”
    “I don’t care about your honor.  If you lie to me, if you’re lucky, you end up in an unmarked grave.”
    “Not that I’m gonna lie - but what if I’m unlucky?”
    “I’ll tell Stasia she can’t play with you any more, and give you to the Mice.”
    “The Mice?”
    “Be afraid.  Be very afraid,” was all Mike said.
    “Never mind that.  I want the truth.”
    “Fine.  In no particular order?  Chechnik took charge of the bomb, and contacted our Ambassador to help arrange for secure transport to Novorossijisk.  Vil, one of my Team leaders, shot Gereshk after he took a shot at me.”
    “Hit you too!  Mike’s getting slo-ow!”  Katrina’s voice sing-songed out from under the table.
    “Took it in the armor, mostly.  Anyway.  Katrina did for Putin with a Makarov she’d taken off Gereshk’s body, after he told us he was going to kill us all and pin the entire thing on me and the Keldara.  Then he‘d take the credit for saving Moscow, even though they‘re the ones who‘d lost the bombs in the first place.”
    “The fuck you say!  Chechnik took the bomb?”  He didn’t even blink at the part about Putin and Katrina.
    “That’s it?  That’s all you have to say?”
    “Well, I know that the men you picked to lead your Teams can’t be any kind of slouch, so Vil’s shooting doesn’t surprise me.  And I spent a week with you and Kat; need I say more?  I also know she can shoot; I heard the Chief telling stories about her giving some guy‘s balls a close shave with her gun during a spring festival.”
    “So what are you going to tell Pierson?”
    “I think we can tell him that Vil took down Gereshk and that Chechnik took care of the nuke.”
    “And what about Katrina?”  She peeked over the table edge at the sound of her name.
    “I wasn’t there; nobody actually saw it, right?”
    “Nobody except Katrina.  Not even the Keldara behind her or next to her.  She always does have to have the last word.”
    “Do not!  And you’re going to pay for that!”
    “Anytime, sweetie.  Still, between the glare of the lights and her hip shooting, no one could really say anything with certainty.  It helps that Chechnik had his own hand-picked crew there, who were primed for a long, ah, ‘vacation’ in warmer climes.”
    “So who can I ask that would contradict Chechnik’s official view?  Dead men don‘t talk much, and I never liked that asshole anyway.”  Katrina beamed at Jack for that before settling into Adams‘ vacated chair.
    “Thanks, Jack.  That‘ll make things smoother.”
    “No problem.  I figure I owed you at least that.”
    “At least.  So, what’s next?”
    “Don’t know.  How long until the wedding?”
    “Twelve days, maybe?  The Festival isn’t a fixed date; it’s sometime between the first and third of May.  Besides, with all the traveling, I’m not entirely sure what planet I’m on any more.”   He pointedly stretched.  “I figure in the next couple hours I’ll either rack out or get acquainted with the floor.  The little minx isn’t doing much better, are you?”  Silence.  “Katrina?”  Jack snorted.
    Mike turned, following his eyes.  Katrina had curled up in the chair like a kitten, curled around her M4 protectively and snoring.  Snoring?  Oh, he so needed a camera now.
    “Know what you mean.  All the chopper rides, I feel like I’ve spent a week in a mixing bowl.  So a couple weeks, more or less?”  Jack spoke in a much quieter voice.
    “About that.”
    “Well, I have plenty of leave coming.  Unless the Colonel orders me back, I think I might just drop him an email and let him know I’m taking it.”
    “Why bother?  Just don’t say anything.  You’re on TDY to me anyhow; who’s to say when I plan to send you back?”  Mike smiled conspiratorially and dropped his voice.  “I need you to do something, a few things, actually.  Let‘s take a walk.”
    “Sure.”  Mike walked him out of the ready room.  Making sure nobody was nearby, he motioned for Jack to follow him through the kitchen into what he thought of as his backyard.
    “First, I want you to work with Qays.  If we’re picking up strays, they may as well be useful.”
    “Makes sense.”
    “This is what I want you to do with him…”
    Mike’s instructions for Qays’ training were very explicit and precise, if a bit strange.
    “I can do that,” said Hughes finally.  “And what’s the second thing?”
    “There are some special rounds I need, that I can’t have traced back to me or the Keldara.”
    “What are they?”
    Mike told him.  “The filler will be in a cooler, under the first bridge down from the dam.  Make sure you get to it in time and keep it chilled.
    With a surprised look, Hughes said, “And what are you going to do with those?”
    “I’m not doing anything, you are.  And this is what you’re going to do -”
    Shortly: “Did a sneak?”
    “Won’t you guess my name?” answered Mike.
    “No, I wouldn’t dare.  But you give the orders around here.”
    “Damn right.”
     “What’s all this about?”
    “Let’s just say that I think Vlad may have had something up his sleeve, and this is my insurance.”
    “Going to tell anyone else?”
    “That’s the other thing…”
===============================
    There were pluses to being a neo-feudal lord: nice house, freedom to do pretty much as he pleased, Keldara women to look at, a harem at his beck and call, a backhoe to dispose of any stubborn problems… And there were minuses: paperwork, security, paperwork, training, paperwork…  And, occasionally, he had to actually check in with his subordinates.  Otherwise, who knew what they’d charge into.  Or simply charge.
    Parts of the valley were supposed to be self-supporting or even money-makers.  Long-term, according to Meller, the valleys had the potential to become a major industrial and tech center, bringing major income to everyone who invested either labor or money in building it up.  But for now, he had to look after the few that were already completed.
    The dam had been a quick in and out.  Look at the dials, check cleanliness, listen to the hum of the generators and the rush of the spring waters.  They actually managed to export electricity this time of year due to the meltwaters.  It allowed Meller to run the system full out as a sort of stress test.  Mike would have rather read the memo than endure a twenty minute drive and thirty minutes of technobabble, but at least he’d been spared the full-on Powerpoint presentation and video.
    Now, on to something he was passionate about.  Beer!
    “Gurum!  How’s the brewery?”  Mike stood to shake the brewery manager’s hand, then sat again.  Gurum settled into the seat across the desk.
    “We have just finished expanding again.  Now we are a three hundred hectoliter plant!  Although we cannot, in all likelihood, expand beyond that.”
    “Why not?”
    “Tiger berries.  We’re running out of suitable land for the berries, and Genadi doesn’t feel that more acreage can be turned over for planting bushes.  Something about a cash crop versus a sustenance crop?”
    “I know what he means,” explained Mike.  “Two kinds of planting.  One is what you need to survive - wheat, beans, peas, vegetables.  Now, some part of that can be sold, and another part can be held over for the following year’s seeds, but most of it is simply turned into food.”
    “And the other?”
    “That’s the tiger berries, or soy, or any other plant you grow with the intent to sell or use in another fashion.  You have to have enough planted to make it sufficiently profitable, and you can expand it slightly if you’re willing to buy seeds every year for your food crops rather than store your own, but there’s a fine line.  You can’t eat money, after all, and in an area like this, so isolated it’s virtually cut off from the outside, you can’t simply run down to the market if you run out of milk.”
    “I see.  But could we not use land that is not needed for food?  The hillsides, perhaps, or some of the wooded areas?”
    Mike shook his head.  “Genadi has had most of the areas near the brewery already put to that use, but you run into other problems there.  Unless you’re going to terrace the entire hillside, it’s almost criminally foolish to strip the natural vegetation off slopes like we have around here.”
    “Too little ground cover and there’s nothing to hold the dirt in place when it rains; you will get mudslides.  And the same problem with cutting the trees.  Besides providing cover for the game you hunt, they’re natural snowblocks.  We have enough problems with avalanches without stripping the mountain flanks of trees, don’t you think?”
    “But without more tiger berries, we have nearly reached our production limit.”
    Mike shrugged.  “It would be nice to get more income through the brewery, but it’s not exactly essential.”  A thought struck him.  “Do the tiger berry bushes have to be in the Valley itself?”
    “No, Kildar.  They grow elsewhere, but not in the same quantities.  And Mother Lenka says that their flavor is different.  She makes a face whenever the subject is brought up.”
    “Hmm.  I wonder.  Right, here’s what I think you should do.  Go see Dr. Arensky.”
    “The Russian?”  Arensky’s eccentricities were known throughout the Valley.
    “I know he can be a bit odd, but he’s brilliant.  He’s also the only scientist we have locally.”
    Resignedly, Gurum said, “Yes, Kildar.  And what do I ask him?”
    “Bring him to other places the berries grow and have him take samples of the plants and the soil, then compare them to a bush and soil from the valley.”
    “Dirt is dirt, Kildar,” said Gurum, confused.
    “Trust me on this, it isn’t.  Just get Arensky to test them both.  If it comes out the way I hope, you may be able to plant elsewhere.  Also, ask Mother Lenka for a new recipe, for a dark beer.  It doesn‘t have to use the tiger berries, just be a good Keldara beer, strictly for export.”  He finished with a grin.  “There’s a demand for dark beer, and I think we should take advantage of that too.  If it fails, we’ll just buy or build a still and make it into vodka.  Drop a few berries into each bottle, call it Freedom Spirits, and we’ll be able to charge an arm and a leg for it.  Try to remember all that, but I’ll check in a few days.”
    “Thank you, Kildar.”  Gurum rose and left.
    Daria walked in.
    “Okay, Daria, before you tell me who’s next, make a note.  Get Gurum a PDA and some classes in its use.  It‘ll help him do his job better.  So who is next?”
    “He’s lost every PDA we’ve given him, Kildar, we think on purpose.  Or perhaps the boys are still playing jokes on him.  We can issue him another and track it, hope it remains in the area.  Other than that - that was it for today, Kildar.  But -”  She suddenly seemed hesitant.  “May I speak with you?”
    “Of course you can.”  Mike had a sinking feeling he knew what she was going to say.  He hadn’t forgotten her desire to leave; he simply wasn’t looking forward to it.
    “I… you remember our talk?” she began.
    This was it.  He steeled himself and gave her a genuine smile to calm her down.
    “I do, Daria.  You made yourself very clear.  I don’t want you to go, but I did ask you to stay only until after the mission.  The mission’s done, so anytime you’re ready -”
    “Oh, no, Kildar!”
    “No?”
    “I’ve changed my mind.  If that’s all right,” she added hastily.
    “All right?  Of course it’s all right!  It’s fantastic!”  He smiled broadly.  “So what brought this on?”
    “A few things.  I realized that, really, I am very safe here.  Protected.  Even though you have brought some troubles to the Valley, you have also done all you can to push them away.  I don’t know if I can find that out there.  The friendships.  The safety.  The…benefits,” she finished with a blush.
    “You can; it’s just a question of looking.”
    “And until I find it?  What then?  No, Kildar.  I learned long ago not to trade the gifts of today for the promises of tomorrow, for tomorrow might never come.  I have seen far too many young men for whom tomorrow never came, whose parents, wives, siblings would know only sorrow and not the joy of having him around.”
    “True enough,” agreed Mike.  “What else changed your mind?”
    “JP,” she said in a tiny, little girl’s voice.
    “Captain Guerrin?”  Mike couldn’t conceal his surprise.
    “Yes, Captain Guerrin,” she said now in a husky whisper, eyes dilated and nostrils flared as she said his name.
    “How did you find time to get to know him?  And so fast!”
    “I’ve been working with him the whole time he’s been here, Kildar.  Someone had to run interference for him, help him adjust and stay in contact with his commanders in America.  Naturally, he came to me, since I fill that role for you and he figured that I’d know how to help him.”
    “But - he’s still active duty!”
    “Not for long,” she answered.  “When he came here, he had less than two months.  Now it’s little more than one, and he says he can probably get something called ‘termination leave’ since he’s hardly used any of his personal time.”
    “Yeah, the Army’ll do that if you want to get discharged in place.  Doesn’t he have a family or something back home?”
    “No,” Daria answered.  “Nothing like that.  Before you ask, he hopes that you might have a place for him.  He said that you could use another full-time trainer, either for the Tigers or the Rams, and that you’d just have to pay him in beer.”
    “I don’t know if I can afford him, then,” joked the Kildar.  “Well, whatever reasons, you staying is good news.  Guess that means you’ll be moving out at some point?”
    “Perhaps,” answered Daria.  “Though my room is much more comfortable than the barracks he’s used to.”
    “Has he seen them?”
    “You mean, has he slept with me?  No, not yet.  He wanted to wait until I had a chance to talk to you.”
    “No wonder you’ve been so anxious,” he replied.
    That finally drew a blush.
    “Fine, fine.  My blessings or whatever on you both.  I’ll expect you to be professional when he’s around, though.  Mission faces and all that.”
    “Yes, Kildar.”  She twinkled.  “Just like you are with Katrina.”
    Dammit.

The Kildaran - Chapter 51

[Finally, another chapter is ready!  Yes, I guess I've been slacking on the re-edits.  But, as it stands AT THIS MINUTE, I only have one additional partial chapter ready to revise.  After that, well, we'll see where it goes.

Down to the wire, here.  What's going to happen?  Well, Mike'll save the world, of course.  How, though, is a better question.  And what about the double-dealing Chechnik?  And does Putin have something nasty up his sleeve?  All these questions - and more! - answered in THIS CHAPTER!

So why are you reading this?  Go ahead!

Adam]

CHAPTER 51

    Gereshk was finally alone now.
    All his men received their instructions, and money, and had flowed out into the streets to mix with the commuters heading home.  They disappeared into the sea of humanity easily; modern, cosmopolitan Moscow paid them no heed at all.  He had bade farewell to the last and closed the heavy steel door, throwing the ancient bolt to a horrendous screech.  Small wonder it hadn’t been locked.
    The bakery was a good refuge.  It appeared that the owner was on vacation for a week, so he wouldn’t have to worry about an intrusion early in the morning.  That didn’t matter so much any longer.  All he needed was another day. Less, actually.  He planned to detonate the bomb at noon, the peak of the day, when the most people would be crowded into the city and the device could reap the maximum devastation, all for the glory of Allah.
    It would also make the morning news in America.  Another blow to the Great Satan, that even such a city as Moscow could be laid waste to by the defenders of the faith.  Pity he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it, but faith demanded martyrs, too.  His only regret was that he would not be around to see the chaos, destruction and death he sowed.
    Even if he’d planned to abandon the weapon - a thought which had occurred to him once or twice - that option was now gone.  The timing mechanism had been damaged in the firefight, so he would be forced into an alternate method.  More basic, less technical.  The irony didn’t bother him, that the product of the Russian’s technology should come down to this: man, hammer, bomb.  Wham.
     Fortunately, this warhead had last seen life with an impact detonator, which had remained intact through shipping and subsequent events.  One solid whack on the nose and the bomb should explode, bringing Allah’s wrath down upon the Russian infidels.
    Less than a day, now.
===============================
    The Cosmos 2224 was part of a now-defunct missile launch warning system the Soviet Union had placed in orbit.  Most observers assumed that it carried only visible spectrum and infrared optics, those being most useful for detecting the launch of any kind of spacecraft from Earth.  However, the Soviets had also installed a rudimentary gamma ray detector, to help distinguish between a nuclear threat and other satellites such as commercial birds or NASA’s shuttle fleet passing through its patrol area.
    Although the network was now inoperative, some of the individual satellites still had power and fuel remaining, and so continued their task of examining the planet below for anomalies.
    On this pass over Moscow, 2224 was active instead of sleeping.   The general mobilization of all resources had reached far enough down the chain to order it powered up.  It peered down from its lofty perch upon the bustling city.  Numerous gamma sources were noted, recorded, and transmitted down to its control station before it returned to its dreamless electronic sleep.
    Murphy couldn’t prevent it transmitting; he had too much else on his plate.  But it was a Russian bird, and so the Keldara lacked the same instantaneous access to the data as they had with most American satellites.  Thus, it was nearly thirty minutes before the unexpected and totally unlikely gamma hot spot was downloaded to their server.
    The action, and panic, when the alarms screamed more than made up for the delay.
===============================
    “Bozhe moi!”  The involuntary oath slipped from Lieutenant Sankovsky’s lips as his terminal lit up.  He fumbled for the phone.
===============================
    “We have found it,” announced Chechnik, closing his mobile.  “Off Khoromniy Tupik.  I’m having the data downloaded to you now, and the address.”
    “How far away?” asked Mike, already jogging towards the car.
    “Two kilometers, perhaps.”
    Inside the car, Anisa was already tapping at her tablet.  “Found it.  Location matches that of a - Kildar, it’s a bakery!  Called The Black Loaf!”  She called directions to Jitka, who dropped the car into gear, followed by the rest of the team.
    “Fitting place for a fucking blackass Chechen bastard,” growled Chechnik.
    “Ah, ah, ah!” scolded Mike.  “Remember, you turned him in, not the other way around.  Come to think of it, I want you to stay in the limo.  Out of sight.”
    “It is my duty -”
    “Stuff your duty.  I’m worried that, if he’s still holding a grudge after all these years, one look at you and he sends us all to Valhalla.  Second point, we‘re trained in stealth ops and in condition for it; you aren‘t.  You‘ll slow us down and potentially blow our approach.  So.  In the limo, voluntarily or not.  Your choice; I don‘t care.  We have plenty of rigger tape.”
    “I hadn’t considered that,” said Chechnik.  “Rigger tape not necessary.  I shall remain here and await your success.”
    “You seem very sure of our abilities.”
    With a very Russian smile, Chechnik said, “I am.  And if you fail?  I shall never know it.  One request, though, may I use my phone while I wait?  I would like to keep track with my office.”
    “No, but don’t worry.  We’ll leave you a tablet to play with,” consoled Mike.  “Something to keep you occupied.  Anisa, don’t we have one of the original designs?  The ones for Shota and the Mules before his little operation?” he asked in Keldara, hoping that Chechnik hadn’t mastered the dialect yet.
    “I believe so, Kildar.  I use it for entertainment.  It’s a wonderful e-book reader.”
    “You have some suitable ones uploaded?”
    “Oh, I think so,” she replied with a twinkle.  “How about The Chinese Outlaw’s Quiet Lady, The Parisian Heir’s Depraved Captive, and The Italian Millionaire’s Irrepressible Mistress?  Oh, and I think I have a copy of Scientology on there.”
    “That’s evil, Anisa.  I don’t even want to know why you have that last title.”  In Russian, he said to Chechnik, “I think we can make sure you’re not bored.”
    Traffic was a nightmare.  Although his Keldara were typical third world drivers, for such values of ‘driver’, there was little they could do with solid lines of cars and lorries blocking both sides of the road.  Even Chechnik’s help was only able to shave a few minutes off the total time, but soon enough Anisa announced, “Find a place to pull over.  We don‘t want to get any closer, in case there are patrols out.”
    “Teach your grandmother to suck eggs,“ said Jitka.
    That was the easy part.  They simply stopped where they were, traffic and parked cars be dammed, and unassed.  Horns blared, then died, as the impatient drivers took a closer look at the uniforms and the lethal-looking rifles.  Military actions were not uncommon in Moscow, and the populace had long since learned how to deal with them: avoid making a scene and leave the area immediately.  More than a few pulled as far off the road as they could, stopped, got out of their car and started walking.  Quickly.  When the shooting was over, they’d come reclaim their transport.
    Anisa, through her hacks into the planner’s server, had called up a blueprint of the bakery.  It showed four rooms, plus a bathroom: a large public space in the front, an industrial kitchen, an office next to the kitchen, and a storeroom across the rear.
    “Two entrances, here and here,” said Mike to the gathered troops.  “Only good line of sight is through the front; Sveryan, you’ll need to find a perch.  This location looks promising.  There’s an emergency ladder, but if it’s in the same shitty condition most are, you’ll need ropes and a grapple.  You brought the Barrett?”
    “Yes, Kildar, and the Mannlicher.”
    “Take the Barrett.  We might need the heavier round.”
    “I understand.  Penetration.”
    “And hold your fire until ordered!  We don’t know the situation; we can’t have civilian casualties.  But when I give the word, or you see action near the bomb - take the shot!  Through people, if need be.”
    Sveryan and Gregor Makanee, his spotter, headed out.
    “Vil, you, one squad and your heavies to the front.  Your second leads the other squad and bottles ‘em up at the rear.  Heavy assault entry.  If it‘s breathing when you go in, it’s not when you leave.  Do NOT shoot the bomb, and remember your assigned vectors.”
    “Yes, Kildar.”
    “Katrina, you, Adams, Arensky and the girls follow along.  Stay close but out of sight.  I don’t need my WMD expert or a big chunk of my Intel team at risk from a stray round.”
    “And why me, Michael?” asked Kat, anger at being behind the action evident in her voice and stance.
    “You’re there to keep a watch over them, you and the Chief.  I figure between you, any random muj won’t have a prayer.”
    “Oh,” she said, mollified.  “We can do that.  The Chief’s good enough to keep up with me.”  She dimpled.
    “And Chief?” he said, rolling his eyes slightly.
    “Yeah?”
    “ake-May ure-say at-thay e-thay ick-pray ays-stay ith-way e-thay ar-cay.  Tries to leave?  Oot-shay im-hay.  Understand?”
    “Got it.”  Chechnik would stay with the car, or he’d be shot.  Mike didn’t like surprises.
    “Anisa, can you shut down their phone and computer lines?  Without dumping the power?  That‘s step one in the official ‘Take Down Terrorists‘ playbook the Russians use, and I think that Geresk’s clever enough to figure it out.”
    “Give me a few minutes and I can.  Uh… How much of the network can I take down?”
    “As much as you need.  Get started.”  He turned to the teams.  “We move when she signals that they’re down.”
    The plan was simple enough.  Mike would do the initial approach as if a regular customer and eyeball the interior.  It was possible that the weapon had simply been planted in the store without anyone’s knowledge, in which case it was his moral obligation to clear any civilians.  It wasn’t likely, though.  Then it would be a hard and fast entry, nasty if there were hostages, but then it always sucked to be one of those.  They’d deal with that fallout after the bomb was recovered.
    More probably, the Chechens had taken over the bakery completely and were simply putting on a front, waiting.  If so, as long as the Russian Army didn’t screw it up, the Keldara would have the advantage of surprise.
    “Kildar?” said Grez, looking up from her own tablet.
    “What’ve you got?”
    “I found their website.  Apparently, this bakery closes at two every day.”  It was well after that.
    “Shit.”  That made things simpler, in some ways, and more difficult too.  If they were closed, he couldn’t just walk in and look around.  They’d be going in blind, or nearly so.  On the plus side, they wouldn’t have to worry about customers, and there might not be any workers around.
    “Okay, change of plans.  I’m going to enter through the back and look around, then signal.”  Nods all around.  “Set teams for entry.  God eyes, any watchers?”
    “Negative, Kildar.  No guards visible, nothing on thermal,” answered Gregor over the radio.
    In the failing light, Mike re-dressed.
    No camo or makeup.  Button-down shirt, coat, slacks, and he was a moderately successful businessman on his way home.  The dark suitcoat‘s pockets concealed a couple of Vanner’s toys, diminished the bulk of his Kevlar vest, and his Browning was in a holster under his arm.
    Getting back into his casual sneak mode, he walked around the block to the storefront and passed by, totally disinterested in dark windows.
    He didn’t see any movement in his pass, but that didn’t mean anything one way or another.  He walked to the end of the block and doubled back quickly, ducking down an alleyway before he returned to the frontage.
    Another alley, wider, led past the backs of the stores, obviously for deliveries.  He shed the coat, shirt, and shoulder holster.  He thought about shedding the vest, too, but decided reluctantly to keep it.  He had to put it under the t-shirt, though, and that was going to be uncomfortable. At least it wasn’t summer in the sandy-ass desert.
    The Browning got tucked into his pants and hidden under the t-shirt, and the micro video system looked like a smart phone.  In fact, that had been one of the design considerations.  Now, he was just a worker taking a shortcut.
    He stopped before crossing the window set into the steel door.  He placed a hand on it.  Solid.  The lock looked easy enough; he’d been forced to renew his picking skills with Mouse’s presence in the house.  He had to be better, it was his competitive nature.  No signs of wires for an alarm, though they could be mounted on the inside, though it was unlikely.  Still, he had tools for that, too.
    Kneeling, he threaded the fiber-optic camera under the door jamb and peered at the view.  Nothing but sacks to the left, doorway ahead, and - bingo!  Nuclear warhead, one each, partially crated for transport.  Was the top open?  He’d have to risk the window.  The peek didn’t reveal anyone inside the storeroom.  His senses on high alert, he moved.
    The camera was pulled back out and lifted to window level for an instant, capturing a quick view.  He studied it.  Poor resolution or no, he could tell that the back room was empty, so he risked a longer view.
===============================
    “What are you doing?” asked Jitka suspiciously.  Chechnik had retrieved his phone and was about to make a call.
    “It is getting late, and my wife expects me for supper.  I simply wish to call and tell her that I am delayed.”
    Jitka looked thoughtfully at him.  No phone calls, that was the order.  But a man, facing death, with family…  He relented.  “Very well, but I need to listen.”
    “Of course,” Chechnik replied easily, dialing Putin’s number.  After a single ring, it was answered.
    “Chechnik?  Where are you?”
    “Hello, dear!  Sorry, I’m going to be late getting home.”
    Putin had spent fifteen years on active service in the KGB and quickly deduced the situation.  “Has he found the bomb?”
    “Yes, of course I’ll be home tonight.  It’s simply a matter of wrapping up some work.”
    “Excellent!  I am on my way, with the troops you had briefed.  You did brief them?”
    “Yes, yes.  Very soon.”  Of course he had briefed them.  Hand-picked them, too.  Called in many favors, and would owe many more if he lived through this.  It meant that he could rely on them, at least.
    “Good.”  Putin hung up.
    “Love you too.”  He ended the call before the electronics witch could think to query his phone for the call’s actual location.
===============================
    Fifteen minutes of random observations had revealed no movement inside, so Mike decided to risk picking the lock.  The mechanism itself was almost childishly easy, but age had nearly frozen the tumblers in place.  Gently, slowly, he turned the tools, straining to hear the slightest scrape or groan of metal.  Millimeter by millimeter, he felt it retract.
    After what seemed an eternity, the bolt finally finished slotting home.  Mike took another look through the window, gripped the door handle, tensed, and pulled.
    The door moved about a quarter-inch and froze.  Barred.  That took another five minutes of finessing with fishing line to lift and lower it before tying the line to the door handle to keep it from dropping.  Silence was his ally.  “Can you guess my name?” he sang quietly as he pushed against the door.
    “Damn!” he swore under his breath.  He felt the first tremors of resistance from age.  Maybe the door was warped, too.  That’d figure.  Probably should’ve gone with the explosives entry, but too late now.  Besides, he was stubborn and determined to see it through his way.  Truth be told, he was enjoying the challenge.
    He patted his pockets, hoping to find some sort of lubricant.  Graphite, silicone, anything.
    Shit.  Nothing.
    No time to search, or wait.  And he really didn’t need the jokes that would come with the Kildar asking for some lube.  Wherever the Chechens were, they could come back at any moment.  He had to hope that they hadn’t left anyone behind to guard.  They could be in evening prayer, making peace with their god.  Fine.  He’d introduce them.
    With a surge, he yanked the door open.  One single screech of protest was all the door emitted, though, and he was through and in front of the bomb.
    Nothing.  No sounds, no movement.  He stood on the balls of his feet, poised to move in any direction.  He knew his men were preparing to make entry and back him up.
    He stood and looked down into the box.  Yes, that was it.  Big, dull grey metal casing, open at one end - open?  What was going on with that?  Curiosity aroused, he looked down.
    Ah.  A hole in the box he hadn’t noticed told the tale.  The timer must’ve been hit, and they were trying to rig an alternate…
    The shot hit him in the left shoulder and spun him around.  Fuck!  He’d taken just a second too long, forgotten the first rule of engagements: do your job, let others do theirs!  He lingered at the bomb when he should have cleared the room and moved, leaving it for others.  That was the fucking plan!  He was getting old, rusty, or maybe just distracted.  Too much shit going on.  Too much to think about.  All this while he continued the spin the bullet had started.
    One man, dressed in faded Russian fatigues, holding an old Makarov PM 9mm.  Dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin.  Medium build.  A couple scars Mike could just see in the semi-darkness.
    “Away from Allah’s vengeance,” snarled the man, gesturing.
    Carefully, Mike inched away from the box.  Could he play innocent?  No, probably not.  “I’m moving,” he said, activating the sub dermal transmitter.  “It’s just you and me.”  He clicked his teeth three times.  That was the ‘balls to the walls’ signal.  “All Father!” he heard in the earpiece.
    “Faster!”
    He inched a bit further, out of the entry lanes and lines of fire.  He didn‘t need to be blue on blue again.  It took him away from the bomb, and that’s what the man wanted.  Get him talking, keep his attention for a few more seconds.  “How are you going to set it off?  The timer’s smashed to shit.”
    “Coming,” said Adams in his earpiece.  “Thirty seconds.”
    “You won’t be around to see it, infidel!  You and the rest of your city will be a glorious beacon to the faithful!”
    “My city?  I don’t think so.  I’m not from here.”
    “Keep him talking.  Vil’s working on the front door.”  Just blow the fucker! he wanted to shout, but couldn’t.
    The muj was confused but the pistol didn’t waver.  “Kiev.  St.Petersburg.  Wherever.  You have no business being here and will pay for your presence.”
    “I don’t think so,” contradicted Mike, still not moving any farther.  It might piss him off, but he had to keep him focused on the immediate threat.
    “Ten seconds,” said Adams.  “Fuck.  Car.  Twenty.”
    “No?  Who will save you?  Your Christian god?  Your Jesus?”
    “No.  But where has Allah gotten you, Gereshk?  You are Bursuk Gereshk, yes?”
    “How do you know my name?”  He took a threatening step towards Mike and away from the device.  He was now perfectly in line with the door.
    “Does it matter?  I know your name, like I knew the late Emir.  Haven’t you wondered why you weren’t contacted?  Or are you too stupid to realize that you’ve failed?”
    “The Emirate will never fall!  Allah has revealed it to His servants!”
    “Like Ibrahim?”
    “Yes!”
    “Ibrahim’s dead too, and he was a fake.  He lied to you all.”
    “Five seconds.  Stand by to drop on my signal.”
    “No!  Ibrahim was the best of us!”
    “Now he’s just like the rest of you - dead.  You’re it, Gereshk.  The last one.”
    “Then I shall fall a martyr!”
    “Drop!”  Mike spun and fell to the floor.
    Gereshk lunged forward towards him, pistol raised, but Mike was no longer there.  Getting shot was one way to get rid of the rust.  The adrenalin pumping through him made Mike move faster than the muj’s eyes could follow in the shadows.
     Three shots rang through the storeroom.  All three rounds penetrated Gereshk’s back and emerged perfectly in the sniper’s triangle, below the throat and above the breastline, shredding the heart and lungs and spraying Mike liberally with blood.  Gereshk’s body collapsed to the floor, just shy of his goal.
    He spat blood.  Not blue on blue, but close.  Still, a miss was as good as a mile, or some similar shit.
    Vil lowered his rifle.  “Sorry, Kildar,” he said apologetically.  “Towel!” he yelled over his shoulder.
    “No problem, Vil.  Nice shooting.”  He reached down and pulled the Makarov from Gereshk’s outstretched hand.
    “I’ll take that,” said Katrina, crowding in.  “I can use it for practice.”
    “Sure,” Mike said, bemused.  He flexed his shoulder.  There was a little grating inside, but no extra wetness, or the pain that came with full penetration.  The vest had caught most of it.  From the front, he could hear Vil’s men bitching about not being able to use their demo packs and not having enough targets.  He ignored them, and the pain.  There’d be enough chances for them to wreak havoc.
    “Okay.  Let’s get this packed up and ready to roll.  We’ve got a long trip home!”
===============================
    Fifteen minutes later, the trucks had been maneuvered through the alleyway and the bomb safely loaded.  The impact detonator was separated from the bomb, in a different truck, in fact.  No chance of accidental detonation.
    They were outside debating what to do with Gereshk’s body.
    “Fuck ‘em.  Leave it to rot,” was Adams’ opinion.
    “It’s not fair to the shopkeeper,” said Vil, the voice of reason.  “He didn’t ask for this.”  The letters for the owner’s vacation had been found among the papers on the desk.
    “I think -” began Mike, but was interrupted.
    “Drop your weapons!” blared a harsh electronically enhanced voice.  They were suddenly, shockingly illuminated by floodlights.  How had they snuck up on him, and who were they?  Russians, for sure - but whose?
    “No!” Mike said to Vil, who was beginning to raise his rifle.  “They’ve got the drop on us.  Let’s see if we can talk our way out of this.”  Taking out his pistol and catching each Keldara’s eye, they all, reluctantly, lowered their weapons to the ground.  Even Katrina placed her precious M-4 at her feet.  Her eyes promised murder, though.  And it probably wouldn’t matter who.
    “Better.”  A figure, backlit, moved toward them.  The stride proclaimed pride, and cockiness, at the same time.  It was the stride of a man assured of his place in the world, and the power at his command.  It was a stride that screamed, ’Incoming asshole!’ to both Mike and Adams.
    “Michael Jenkins.  Kildar of the Keldara, leader of the Tigers of the Mountains.  What a pleasure to see you again.  I am pleased to tell you, you and your men are under arrest.”
    “Vladimir.”  Mike’s voice dripped venom.  “Did your lackey tell you where we were?”
    “Oh, no, no need for him to tell me anything.  We simply tracked in on his phone.  He’s been a good soldier today.  Perhaps to make up for other mistakes, but I didn‘t take any chances.”
    “I see.”  The fury in Mike’s eyes boded ill for Chechnik’s future.
    “So.  You have completed your mission, yes?  Retrieved the last bomb, and now like all good mercenaries you are going to skulk off into the night?  I think, not.”
    “We’re not mercenaries, Putin.  We’re simply helping out.”
    “And being very well paid for it, yes.  All a matter of semantics, and totally irrelevant.  You see, I’ve just captured a nuclear terrorist.  That ought to help when I run for the presidency again in 2012 - ‘Vladimir Putin, Savior of Moscow‘.  Has quite a ring to it, doesn‘t it?”
    “I don’t care if you take the credit,” ground out Mike.  “Take the bomb, too.  Be a hero, even though you let my men take all the risks and do all the bleeding again.  We’ll just be on our way.”  He turned as if to go, ignoring the arrest declaration.
    “No!  Not the stupid Chechen you gunned down,” Putin clarified.  “You.”
    “What?”  He had to be fucking kidding!  He locked eyes with Adams and nodded.  This could get very bloody, very quickly.
    “You were behind it all - the hijacking, the plotting, the emirate.  All an elaborate plot to reap millions of dollars in blood money and take your revenge on Chechnik and me.  You were going to allow this last sap to detonate his weapon in Moscow, murdering millions of innocent people, all to have your vengeance.”  Putin seemed to glow as he wrote his own copy.
    “Very pretty story, Putin.  One problem.  None of it’s true.”
    “No?  And who will contradict me?”
    “Besides me?  And the United States government?  And my entire staff?  Gee, Vlad, you’ve really got me there.”  
    “Nobody believes the Amis when it comes to the Motherland.  And you and your staff will all be dead, so I really can’t see the problem.”
    “Dead?”  Oh, this was not on.  Maybe Lasko should have taken the shot he wanted.  Too late for that now.
    “You didn’t think I would leave you alive, did you?  After what you did to me?  Pity to waste such beautiful women,” he added, staring at Anisa, Grez, and Kat.  “But whores are cheap.”  Mike turned to glare at the bastard.  He was going to take them down, hard, as soon as Putin spike the order.  The hand behind his back flashed a signal to his men.
    Death and glory.
    “Colonel, are your men ready?”
    “Yes, Minister,” said Chechnik, emerging from the shadows.
    “Good.  Farewell, Kildar.”
    A single shot from behind him broke the night.  Putin looked down at the red stain spreading on his shirt.  His mouth formed a surprised ‘O’, then blood gushed from his mouth down his chest.  He tried to lift his hand to wipe away the offending mess as his legs collapsed.
    “Who..?”  He fell to his knees.  “I had you,” he burbled, and dropped on his face.
    Unseen hands cocked unseen rifles.  The Keldara reached for their rifles, or pistols, or even grenades, as they prepared for their invitation to Valholl.
    “Stop!” boomed Chechnik.  “Rifles at port arms!”
    Mike was totally bewildered.
    Chechnik walked forward, nudged the Prime Minister with his foot.
    “Is he alive?” said Mike.
    “I sincerely hope not.  I don’t think I could survive him contradicting my story.”
    “What story is that?”
    “Why, the Prime Minister, in a valiant attempt to defuse a case of nuclear terrorism, had his life taken by the vicious terrorist who was then killed by the troops Putin had wisely brought with him.  Isn’t that correct, Lieutenant Sankovsky?”
    Putin’s aide stepped up.  “Exactly as you say, Colonel.  Private Andrei Tomachek dispatched the murderer of our heroic Minister.”
    “Vil!” called Mike.  “Give Chechnik your gun.”  Wordlessly, Vil complied.  “Now the ballistics will match.”
    “One more thing.  I need the weapon that killed Putin - I have to plant it with Gereshk‘s body.”  Chechnik turned to someone behind Mike who everyone had ignored heretofore.
    He wasn’t really surprised at the shooter.  At first, he’d thought it was Adams’ work; he always carried at least two backups, and was a steady man in the clutch.  But no, he was just smiling and muttering.  Not a militia man; he knew the sounds of all their weapons.  Maybe one of the Intel girls?  Anisa was more than capable of handling herself.  No, not her either, he could hear her talking quietly with Grez.  That left just a little redheaded ball of chaos.
    Katrina.  Her light footsteps were unmistakable.
    Giving up a gun in an ‘iffy’ situation?  To a man she knew - knew! - that Mike held in contempt?  He braced himself for the next shot.
    It didn’t come.
    Instead, to Mike’s utter surprise, Katrina just walked forward, wiping the handle and trigger of the Makarov.  She handed it to the Colonel.
    “Pity.  I’d so wanted a souvenir.”
===============================
    They had to leave the nuke behind as well.  “We can’t very well have Putin the martyred hero with no proof, can we?” explained Chechnik.  Mike couldn’t disagree.  He wondered how Chechnik had pulled it off.  It distracted him from the pain as the impact wound on his shoulder was tended.
    “And what happens to you?  There’s going to be consequences, you know,” Mike inquired.
    “Undoubtedly.  Between Sankovsky and I, we should be able to hold any summary judgment at bay long enough.  As it turns out, these are my hand-picked men, not the late, lamented Prime Minister‘s.  A little something I‘ve been keeping quiet since your sniper missed -”
    “He didn’t miss.  He hit the ordered target.”
    “No matter.  Since his encounter with the sniper, shall we say?  In any case, now is as good a time as any, I suppose.”
    “For what?”
    “For me to take up my retirement.  After all, I’ve just endured the terrible trauma of seeing my Prime Minister murdered; I’ve devoted my life to the service of the state; and it will conveniently clear up any loose ends.  And these men have endured years of virtual slavery in the Army, with very little compensation.  I think someone ought to address that situation.”
    “So what are you going to do?”
    “I had thought of going to America, but so many of my fellows have done so that it’s lost the appeal.  So, I rather fancy Thailand.  Bangkok, in particular.  I’ve heard that there are opportunities for men who have information and the guts to use it.   Some time on the beach will do the men a world of good.  Put any second thoughts to rest.  Then, a mild heart attack will prevent my return home, even if they should try to recall me to duty.  After all, this job is a killer.”  He nudged Putin’s body with his boot.
    “After Pankisi, I never thought I’d say this, but - Thank you, Erkin.”  Mike held out his hand.
    Chechnik took it.  “And after Pankisi, I never thought I’d hear it.  You’re welcome, Michael.”
    “After things settle down, if you’re ever in Georgia, drop by.”
    “What about the ‘other’ list?”
    “I’ll make sure you’re off it,” Mike said with a smile.  “But call first.  Just in case.”
    Adams wasn’t quite as happy.
    “That nuke is worth over a quarter of a billion dollars, Mike!  You can’t let them walk away with it!”
    “Yes, I can.  First, Chechnik is right: he needs the bomb to prove his story.“
    “What about the pony bomb you have buried with the DVDs?“
    “Good thought.  One problem.  It ain’t here.  If I’d had it with us, that would work.  I don’t, so it won’t.“
    “Send Hardesty back.  He can be back here in three hours.“
    “And how long do you expect Chechnik to keep the fact that the Prime Minister of Russia - Prime Minister, Ass-Boy! - is dead under wraps?“
    “We do have control of the local network, remember?  Nothing‘s getting in or out of here until we say it does.“
    “Second, our job was to recover the nukes - we did that.  Sure, it‘s not with the others, but at least it‘s back in the proper hands.”
    “So they can lose it again?”
    “Don’t think that’ll happen.  A little birdie said that security is going to be supplemented on any US-bound convoys.”
    “Believe it when I see it.”
    “And  third - did you forget about the Emir’s little stash?”
    A dumb look came over Adams’ face.  “Shit.  You know what?  I did.”  A grin gradually spread.  “I can see how that might change things a bit.”
    “You think maybe?”
    “What stash is this?” Kat asked.
    Mike whirled around.  “Okay, who’s been teaching you sneak?”
    She pointed.  “The Chief.  He said he’s not as good as you, but that I’m a natural.  Hiro‘s given me some pointers too.  I don‘t have to think about it any more, it just happens.”
    He faced Adams.  “You didn’t.  Tell me you didn‘t.”  He rested his face in his palms, just for a moment.  Bad enough with the Mice sneaking around; what was going to happen if a Kat went hunting them?
    “I did - she is!  Damn, your kids are going to be tough to keep track of!  Besides, serves you right.”
    “Whatever.  You just earned yourself diaper duty, Uncle Ass-boy.“  He raised his voice.  “Vil!“
    “Kildar?“
    “Get the bomb out of the truck and let’s get home.  Beer and steaks when we get home.”
    “Now that sounds like a hell of a plan,” agreed Adams.

50 COUNTRIES!

WOW!  What a huge number!  I could never have imagined in the beginning that this would be read by people in FIFTY countries around the world, but there it is!

And the country that put us over?

Saudi Arabia!

Welcome!

The Kildaran - Chapter 50

[So originally, this was the final chapter - not THIS chapter precisely, but the book ended with chapter 50.

Not so much any more.

After some serious editing and revising, the book now ends with 53 chapters.  Of course, it may get longer - we've been splitting some of the longer chapters down.  Somehow, I don't think the last two chapters will get too much splitting, though.  Too much, too continuous. 

Anyway, hope you're enjoying the ride.  Any comments are, of course, welcome.  You like the new Backfire?

Adam]

CHAPTER 50

    On the ground at Vnukovo, Mike was still goggling at the time.  Seventy-three minutes.  They hadn’t even changed time zones, which led to the pleased realization that, whatever happened, he wouldn’t have to deal with jet lag.
    As they taxied toward their parking spot, well away from any commercial terminals, Vanner was already on a phone with - someone.  Russian, by the sound of it.  Made sense.  He motioned Mike to wait.  The plane stopped at their designated area.   Mike could see the ground crew looking up, slack-jawed.  He smiled.
    “I need the card,” Vanner mouthed silently, hand over the mouthpiece.
    Wordlessly, Mike handed over the Titanium card.  He heard the words “fifty thousand rubles” and “two hours” before Vanner started reading off numbers.
    The call was soon over.
    “What was that about?  And you do know the Russians are the number one credit card thieves after Nigeria, right?” asked Mike after reclaiming the card.  No point in leaving temptation with Vanner.
    “Soundproofing.  While we were in the air I did some research, found a firm that does that kind of thing.  They’ll come out to Vnukovo, do the job on site.  Seems that they have some extra tiles, supposed to go in the first class section of the 747, that they‘re willing to give up on the cheap.  And I wouldn‘t worry about them stealing the card; I hacked into their system before calling.  They try to access it for anything besides this little transaction, it all blows up on them.  Plus, a Brit owns the company; Bridgewater vouched for him.”
    “Just don’t let them tear the plane apart.  We might be leaving in a hurry,” warned Mike.  “If they’re on board when we boogie, they come with us.”
    “I’ll brief ‘em when they board,” assured Vanner.  “Might have to promise a bonus, then.”
    “That’s capitalism.  What else?”
    “I think Watson’s already arranged for refueling, through a separate cover account.  Don‘t want Putin to know about our little surprise too soon, though I don‘t know what we can do about the crew.  A security team might be a good idea.”
    “Arrange it.  You stay here, handle the bird with those two.  Stay in touch.”  By now Mike was the last one on board.
    “Good luck.”
    Mike snorted.  “Or something.”
===============================
    “He’s here?!” bellowed Putin into the phone.  The vein in his forehead throbbed visibly.
    “Yes, Minister.  He and a team of Keldara, and some specialists, landed at Vnukovo a few minutes ago.”
    “And in a fucking Backfire!  Where did they get that?”  The spittle reached across the meeting room table.
    “Apparently, the Georgians are being very cooperative,” was his bland reply.  Privately, he admired Jenkins’ balls at flying a former Russian plane into Moscow, especially a bomber.
    “Did nobody know they were coming?  Why wasn’t I informed?”  The voice had turned to ice, and he even looked calmer.  That meant trouble.  Other experienced staff members quickly and quietly vanished, remembering places far away they needed to be that instant.
    “Minister, I was just informed myself that they arrived, they were in the air less than an hour.  It completely took us by surprise.  With the search going on, communications have been somewhat chaotic,” said Chechnik, carefully ignoring the first question.  It was fortunate that he’d chosen to call this report to the Prime Minister; if he’d been present, he doubted he’d survive the spittle.
    “And we’re sure that Jenkins is here?” persisted Putin.
    “Yes, Minister.  Along with members of his command team, and a few Keldara warriors.”
    “The warriors don’t matter,” said Putin, suddenly thoughtful.  “Jenkins does.  I want him followed - no!  I want you with him at all times.  Go and meet him.”
    “But, Minister, someone has to coordinate the search -”  Chechnik didn’t feel that he ought to mention that Jenkins had already imposed that condition, but to not protest wouldn’t be believable.
    “No excuses, Chechnik!  You have a deputy, yes?  And he is capable of this?  Or should I have him shot for incompetence as well?“  Chechnik didn’t see any point to replying.  “You will take a homer and meet with the Kildar.  I will know where the bastard is at all times, do you hear me?”  The Or else was unsaid; the throbbing vein added its own punctuation to the threat.
    “Yes, Minister.  May I ask why?”  A homing device.  That was going to piss Jenkins off.  Maybe he ought to warn him once out of earshot of Putin’s pet dogs
    “No, you may not!  Suffice it to say that I do not intend to let him interfere in Russian internal affairs again with impunity!”  Putin allowed a horrible smile to cross his face.  “I have special plans for that - that - cowboy!”
    Cowboy.  That was rich.  Putin was a rodeo clown; Jenkins, a skilled operator.  But he allowed none of that to color his tone.
    “Yes, Minister,” Chechnik answered to a dead line.
    This didn’t sound promising.
===============================
    Gereshk and his men evaded the patrolling squads easily.  They were ordered to search buildings, not vehicles, so the battered lorry passing through the city streets raised no alarms, even though one Geiger counter screamed when it passed by.  It knew that a gamma source was nearby.  The soldier holding it looked around quickly.  All he saw were parked cars and one receding truck half a block away, so he hit it.  Twice.
    The alarm died away.  He assumed that it was simply malfunctioning and chose not to say anything to his squad leader.  They‘d already been chewed out for surging into a dentist’s office ready for a firefight.  Even though Higher wouldn’t admit to it, they’d all heard of the other squad’s fate, and to a man had resolved that wouldn’t happen to them, no comrade!  It wasn’t a game or exercise any longer.
    The patrols in the Komsomolsky district were all moving from the center of the city towards the periphery, so Gereshk ended up closer to his enemy’s heart than when he began.  He passed three more foot squads, and had even shadowed an army truck along an avenue for a while, before he settled on a new location.  A small bakery off Khoromniy Tupik, with a ‘closed’ sign on the door, seemed to be the perfect safe house.  For now.  Unless the patrols began to double back, but no point in inviting Shai’tan‘s mischief.
    The back door was only secured by a simple latch bar.  A surreptitious knife raised it out of the way, the age-stiffened door was quickly forced and the bomb brought in.  Nobody noticed another truck making a routine delivery.
    The room to the rear was a storage room; fifty kilo bags of flour lined both concrete walls.  Crockery, filled with starter culture, perched precariously above the sacks.  The next room in was the kitchen.  An ancient brick oven, still warm from its last use, stood in one corner, though no wood or coal was set up for the next day.  So - nobody was expecting to bake tomorrow.  Or they were simply lazy; that was always a possibility.  They’d find out soon enough.
    Large dough mixers and industrial-sized ovens crowded the space, so the bomb was left in the back.  The front, lined with plate glass, was small and dark.  There was plenty of bread for the men, if a bit stale.  Between that and the leavings in the walkin, they could make a soup.  That would settle the men down.
    Gereshk felt secure once the lorry was moved, parked a block away.  It was small, perhaps, but he didn’t have as many men any longer.  The sturdy concrete walls would prevent any unwanted intrusions, and the relatively lightweight wooden roof was built to allow for adequate ventilation.
    Wood, which stopped gamma radiation not at all.
===============================
    The sedans the Russians had provided were roomy enough, if somewhat old.  No matter, they would do.  Mike would have preferred old, heavy Army trucks.
    He wanted that high vantage point, able to see beyond the car immediately ahead.  He could use them to bulldoze through traffic, if he had to.  And, since Padrek and his Team had been left behind, if he needed to force an entry, well, three to five  tons of rolling steel made one hell of an entry.
    Anisa and Grez already had their systems up and running, getting a continuous feed from The Cave and Stella.  “Anything, ladies?” asked Mike politely through the back window.
    “Some details about the firefight earlier.” answered Grez.  “Looks like the Russians pretty well got slaughtered.  They’ve recovered thirteen bodies, only two of which weren’t Russians.”
    “Any ID yet?  Even tentative?”
    “No.  They’ve cut back dramatically with their radio chatter, almost as if they knew we were here and wanted us dependent on them.  Either that or someone’s just being a fucking asshole.  One or the other.  I do have an address, though,” she finished sweetly.
    “Sounds like a place to start.”  He stepped away.  “Let’s move them out!”  He waved to the other four sedans.  The Keldara drivers responded with single beeps on their horns.
    The drivers provided with the cars were huddled together by the plane, hulked over by a patently unhappy Keldara warrior selected to guard them.  They’d made the mistake of assuming that they would be doing the driving for the Keldara.  Mike had quickly disabused them of that notion.
    To prevent any unwanted distractions, he’d had all their cell phones and radios collected while Anisa and Grez swept the sedans for monitoring devices.  It had only taken one would-be driver being hauled bodily from the wheel, turned upside-down, and shaken, before the other four produced their own devices poste haste.  That one driver was now secured with rigger tape; Adams promised that he wouldn’t go anywhere, and that he might even keep his hair.  Well, except for that one stripe.
    He  climbed into the limousine the Russians had provided, noting that it was a Mercedes and the driver had been replaced by Jitka, followed closely by Arensky, Adams, and Kat.  RHIP.  It was the nicest one, after all.
    “I didn’t like that plane,” announced Kat.  “It’s too noisy!”
    “Vanner’s working on that,” assured Mike.  “But yeah, it’s not a 550.  Tolegen, you’re our WMD expert.  What do you know about this particular design?”
    Settling back into the seat, Arensky began to recite.  “The RDS-46.  A warhead, precisely, not a bomb.  It was never designed to be dropped on a target by a plane, but rather delivered by an ICBM.  The SS-6 Sapwood, it was called by the West, but it is properly the R-7 Semyorka.”
    Even though he was impatient, Mike knew better than to interrupt the expert in full lecture mode.  Sometimes, you had to bite the bullet.  Besides, he’d be able to take it out on some poor muj bastard soon enough, he felt.  They’d find the bomb, he was sure of it.  Then they’d have to get out of the city without getting dead.  That might be tougher.  He tapped Jitka’s shoulder, and the impromptu caravan pulled out.
    “Nominal yield is five megatons, achieved through the Teller-Ulam method where a small fission device is used to trigger a larger fusion explosion, which in turn triggers another fission reaction.  Typically, a RDS-46 would have either an impact or altimeter trigger, depending on whether it was intended for a ground or air burst.”
    Mike had to ask.  “So it needs to be at an altitude to function?”
    “Oh, no, not at all,” answered Arensky, not at all disturbed by the interruption.  Intelligent questions, he could tolerate.  After all, it allowed him to expound further.  “Those are simply the most common triggers, and either one can be simulated on the ground.  For example, hitting the detonator with a large sledgehammer would activate an impact trigger quite nicely.”
    Mike gulped as Arensky continued.  “Or, if you had the altimeter type, you could simply adjust the detonation setting.  Say you knew you were two hundred feet above sea level; you’d just manually set the trigger to detonate below two hundred feet - it works on air pressure, you see - and it would detonate almost immediately.  Even if you don’t know your altitude, you can simply dial it down until you found the proper setting.“
    “And how would you know the setting was right?  Is there a tone or a light or something?“
    This wasn’t a smart question, and Arensky’s irritation showed.  “No.  It would explode.  Once it was armed, of course.  Either way would require a martyr, as well, so perhaps that’s not the method they would choose.”
    “Or maybe exactly the method,” said Adams quietly.  Mike nodded agreement.
    “It would be quite simple to attach a timer, however, allowing for the perpetrator to escape.  Radio triggers, or based on cellular phones, are also fairly easy to assemble.  If any of these men had experience with IEDs, for example in Iraq, or Afghanistan, then they would likely be familiar with the set-up.”
    “What kind of damage would a bomb like this do to Moscow?”
    “Five megatons?  Let me see…”  He pulled out a calculator that looked like it was a refugee from the seventies and started punching furiously.  A minute later, he looked up.  “Assuming optimal yield, the fireball would be up to two kilometers across.  Terrain, building density, those would alter the pattern, of course.  Everything within that would be - should be - instantly vaporized.  Everyone closer than about five kilometers would almost certainly be exposed to a fatal dose of radiation, even if they survive the blast effects and the thermal bloom.  The proteins in the nerves simply cook and stop working.  Quick, at least.  Probably the best, as you’d be dead before the blast hit you.  Those protected from the radiation would almost certainly perish from the thermal bloom.  Horrible way to go.  Oh, certainly there would be some scattered survivors - Hiroshima showed us that - but they would be very rare exceptions.”
    “Buildings would be severely damaged, if not destroyed, up to thirteen kilometers away.  And the thermal bloom would cause third-degree burns, or worse, within twenty-five kilometers.  It depends on how direct the exposure was at the moment of detonation.  Once the fireball and pulse hit those closest, they‘d be past caring anyway.  It is those unfortunates in the twelve to twenty five kilometer ring that would suffer the most.  The burns would be painful, but not immediately fatal.  The radiation, too, would eventually kill them, but not swiftly.  And they would almost certainly be caught in the firestorm, which could easily double the casualty rate even among those who might have survived initially.  In short, Kildar, I would estimate the thought of this device going off as a Very Bad Thing.”
    Mike blanched.  “Fuck me running.  I knew nukes were bad, but this is one motherfucking big bastard.”
    “We’d better not be around when this goes off,” said Adams.  “At least we’re lucky one way.”
    “Lucky?” scoffed Mike, incredulous.
    “Yeah.  An airburst would fuck up the city even more when it went off.  At least when a ground burst goes off -
    “We’d better not let it go off,” retorted Mike.  “How do you know so much?”
    “I didn‘t sleep through all my briefings.  Your thing is women, mine‘s nukes.  I figured that I‘d better know all I could about them, cause sure as shit one fine day my Team would be sent off to try to get one back.  Thought I got past that when I retired, guess I didn’t.  But we have got to get this thing back, Mike.  I can’t emphasize that enough.”  With that, he leaned back and seemed to sleep immediately.
    Mike knew better.  He was simply getting his game face on, facing down his demons.  He had them, just as Mike did.  It didn’t help that one of Mike’s was sitting next to him, wiggling her ass, trying to get comfortable in full kit.  He so didn’t need her here now.
     “What can you do about disarming it?” he asked Arensky.
    “Disarming?  My dear Kildar, there is nothing I can do about that!  Not once it’s armed, at least.  Oh, I can dismantle the detonator assembly easily enough, but I haven’t the training to actually disarm it!”
    “Fuck me twice.  Chief?”
    “You expect me to know how to pull the plug on a nuke?  Keep dreaming, buddy!  I studied them, yeah, but what they can do, not how to take one apart.  All I know is don‘t cut the blue wire.  The blue wire is a lie.”  Adams laughed harshly.
    “So where are we going?” asked Jitka over his shoulder.  “We are approaching the center of Moscow, and I do now know these roads.”
    Kat turned her tablet to face them.  “A warehouse in the Komsomolsky District of the North-Eastern Administrative Okrug.  Ulitsa Panteleevskaya.  Belongs to a company called Delfa, but there’s nothing current in their database.”
    “The company legit?”
    “Yes.  I think the building was simply picked out at random.  Jitka, straight here, then the next left to the overpass.  Then I‘ll tell you what exit to take.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and turned his attention back to the road.  Pedestrians beware!
    “Grez said that some details were becoming available?”
    Kat looked at the tablet.  “Yes.  It appears that a squad was doing a routine sweep, and almost literally stumbled across them.”
    “Any survivors?”
    “Only the one posted outside who ran.”
    “He’ll need to be available to question.”  Whatever Mike was going to say next was lost as his phone trilled.  He glanced at the display and snarled.  “Chechnik,” he muttered.
    “What?” he snapped, answering.  As pissed as he was at Chechnik for his past decisions, he was twice as pissed at Putin.  After all, Prime Minister and Puppet Master were very much alike.
    “You are in Moscow now?”  Rhetorical, but he’d answer it.
    “Yes, you know that.”  Time for word games, then.  Pay attention.
    “Yes, I did.  I have been ordered to accompany you and give you every assistance you need.”
    “Bullshit, Chechnik!”
    “I swear, Kildar, the order to accompany you came directly from Prime Minister Putin himself!”
    “And why should I trust the word of a lying prick about another lying prick?”
    “Please, Kildar!  I have my orders!  I can explain more - later.”  There was a just-perceptible hesitation between the words.  “I would be more convenient for us both.”
    Mike relented, remembering the conditions he‘d imposed on Chechnik.  “Well, if you’re with us, at least I’ll know you’re not screwing us over.  Fine.  Meet us - where was the warehouse, Kat?”
    “42 Ulitsa Panteleevskaya.”
    “You hear that, Colonel?”  Let him wonder why he’d used his rank this time.
    “I shall meet you there in twenty minutes,” came the reply.
    “Make it an hour,” said Mike.  “We want to look it over first.”
    “Very well, Kildar.  An hour then.  I am sure I can find someone else to screw over, as you say, in that time.  Perhaps a mother with small children.”  Mike hung up.
    “You trust him?” asked Kat.
    “Not a bit.  But there’s a saying: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.  And I want Chechnik as close to us as possible.  Once we find that nuke, he‘ll either keep us out of the line of fire, or make a good meat shield.”
    Katrina seemed satisfied with that answer.
===============================
    The warehouse was surrounded by a company of soldiers from the 2nd Guards Motor Rifle Division, although it looked like they had been ordered not to enter the building.  Someone had, though.  Bloody heel marks showed where the bodies of some of their men had been dragged out.
    Mike looked around for an officer, finally finding one with the three small silver stars of a senior lieutenant on his fatigues.
    “Pardon me Senior Lieutenant…?” he asked in English, playing the part of the ignorant American.
    “Chopiak.  This is a crime scene; you will have to move along.”
    “I think you are expecting us, Senior Lieutenant.  Michael Jenkins, and the Tigers of the Mountains?”
    A glimmer of recognition lit in Chopiak’s eyes.  “The American specialist, yes?  I was briefed by Colonel Chechnik himself!”
    “Yes.”
    “Please, one minute.  I get my Captain.”  Switching to Russian, Chopiak yelled, “Pasha!  Tell Captain Skipetroff the Ami and his lackeys are here!”  A private dashed off.
    Mike could see the fury in Kat’s eyes.  In Georgian, he said, “Calm down.  It can be useful to not admit we understand them.  It‘s a trick the Russians used to use to their advantage; let‘s turn it around on them.”
    “Lackeys!” she spat in the same language.
    “It does seem we’re not entirely welcome, doesn’t it?  Funny, that.  You can accidentally spike that asshole‘s foot when you walk by, if you like.”  Katrina smiled, sunshine on a rainy day.  Apparently she approved of that, too.
    An officer was approaching, obviously Skipetroff.
    “Gospodin Jenkins?  Captain Alexi Skipetroff, 2nd Guards,” he began in better-than-average English.  “I was only quickly telled of your arrival.  My Senior Lieutenant, he was briefcased by Colonel Chechnik.  I was making sure of problems looting.  The troops, they wish to expand their pay, you understand?”
    “Thank you, Captain.  Yes, we’re here to examine the scene.  Will there be any problems with that?”
    “No problems from my men, but the building is very unwell uplit.”  Katrina tried not to giggle at the officer’s mistranslations as he tried to match English with the VIPs.
    “You have some portable lights, perhaps?”
    “None now, maybe some later.  Difficulties dropping them here.  The men, they are hunting overnighter.  No food, no water, no rest.  And now it is getting heavy with automobiles, making slow the trucks.  Very badding fuck problem.”
    Katrina was almost laughing now, and turned away to cover her amusement with a cough.  Skipetroff looked on disapprovingly.
    “You bringing girl here is bad idea.  Very much blood.  Take care not to up-Kuzma on the signs.”
    “Of course not,” assured Mike, as the mangling continued.  “She will not upchuck.”
    “Good.  Is a bad place for a pretty girl.”  Without another word, Skipetroff returned to his men, saying, “Milenki!  Follow the bitch with a shovel; when she pukes, make her clean it up!”
    And on that note, the Keldara entered the warehouse.
    Skipetroff wasn’t kidding.  The entrance wall was liberally splattered with blood and bits of bodies, marking the impact of the Chechens’ rounds.  Mike didn’t spare the luckless soldiers so much as a glance, however, passing through them to examine the other end.
    “Vil, nobody gets in or out without my say-so.”
    “Understood, Kildar.”  A gesture, and Georgi Makanee and Nicolai Mahona positioned themselves at the door.
    “Who has the Geiger?”
    “I do, Kildar,” said Hadar.  Their version was much smaller and considerably more advanced than the Russians’ issue.
    “I want you up ahead.  Sweep the area.  We need to know if the bomb was here or if this is just Murphy fucking with us again.  Dr. Arensky, please accompany Hadar and help interpret.”  The two men moved forward.
    “Anisa, did you bring your camera?”
    “Of course, Kildar.  You want pictures of the dead men uploaded and sent through our facial recognition programs?” she said tartly.  The two muj bodies still lay where they fell, unlike the Russians, and, better still, their faces were untouched.  It looked as though one had been shot in the back and the front - deliberate?  Or just a friendly fire fuck-up?  He looked more closely.
    Ass and lower back.  Yeah, that would make you jump right up, incoming fire be dammed.  Sucked to be him.
    “Yeah,” Mike said.  “Ought to know better than to tell you your job.”
    “Yes, you should,” she agreed, and began taking pictures.  Definitely too much time in the Cave.  The half-hour sleep she’d caught on the flight had only served to make her grumpier.  Just great.
    Mike walked back to the Russian bodies.  “Chief?  What do you think?”
    “Stupid fuckers never had a chance,” said Adams, shaking his head and looking up from his examinations.  “Doesn’t look like they came in ready at all.  No NODs, hell, two of the silly shits still had their 74s on ‘safe’,” he said disgustedly.  Taking a flashlight, he pointed to the far walls.
    “See those shot patterns?  They were firing blind from a south-eastern facing door.  Sun behind them, out-fucking-lined them, just like being on the range.  Didn’t give their eyes a chance to adjust.  Bunched up like a bunch of sheep instead of spreading out and seeking cover.  NCO shouldn’t known better, maybe he did.  His body’s gone, but you see the blood pattern?  He was targeted, not just shot at.  Means he was seen as a threat by someone over there and deliberately taken out.”
    “The muj weren’t much better,” he continued, shining the light on the entrance wall.  “At least they knew what they were aiming at.  And then there are those last three - or first three, you could say.”  He pointed at the bodies closest to the door.
    “See that?  All shot in the back.  Someone knew his tactics and sent a squad around to hit ‘em from the front door while they occupied them.”
    “Perhaps someone who spent a couple years at MCTS, you’re thinking?”  
    “Could be,” admitted Adams.  “Somebody knew his shit, at least.”  He rolled over a body.  “Pretty good grouping on this one, and three shots right through the target.  Same blooding as from the NCO‘s missing body.  So either this bunch has two leaders thinking, or one guy took ‘em both out.”
    “Definitely better than your usual class of muj,” agreed Mike.  “That means he was here, and the Russians spooked him.”
    “I’d say he was trying to hunker down and let the sweep pass by, but something tipped them off,” Adams said, turning over another body.  “And I think I found it.”  Below the cooling corpse of Lavrenti, who would never get another blow job from Drysi, was the Russian Geiger counter, still clicking quietly.
    “Kildar!”  Hadar’s shout called them back across the warehouse.  He and Arensky were examining the reading on their counter.
    “What’ve we got, Doctor?”
    “It was here, Kildar,” said Arensky.  “And recently, too.  Perhaps as little as two hours ago.  The vestigial gamma decay regression function -”
    “Was it damaged?” Mike asked hopefully, interrupting the technobabble.  Getting it from Vanner was bad enough!  If the firefight had hit the bomb and disabled it, they had all the time they needed.
    “Probably not.  The readings are consistent with a sealed casing.  No hot spots, no fragments, no spalling.”
    “Damn!  Okay, then why didn’t the satellites pick it up?  Was it too well shielded or something?”
    “Not quite,” answered Grez, walking up to the group.  “It was shielded, but not like you think.  See the ceiling?” she asked, pointing up with her flashlight.
    “Yeah?  What about it?”
    “I wondered the same thing, so went up and looked.  The roof is covered with lead sheeting to make it waterproof.  These old concrete roofs are prone to cracking, so are typically sealed with lead.”
    “So the gamma rays got stopped cold.”
    “Were blocked by the roof, yes.  Loki’s hand was at work here,” she said.
    “The Trickster favors nobody.  Only the finger of Skadi shall reveal the truth among the lies, though it will bring pain to those it illuminates.”  Kat’s voice, dreamy and ethereal, cut through the darkness.  The Keldara froze as one, and Anisa and Grez made complicated gestures.
    “Not now, Kat,” muttered Mike.  “Grez, Anisa, stay with her until she comes out of it.”
    “What was that about?” asked Adams quietly as the men walked away, leaving Katrina with the two women.
    “She has these visions - had one while we were in the States, actually, and it scared the piss out of me, Jack and Stasia,” he said, memory returning of Kat’s warning.  “She said, then, that Loki - he’s the Trickster, you know - would be coming for me, that I needed to be pure of heart when he did.”
    “And you believe this shit?”
    Mike shrugged.  “Don’t know if I do, but she - they - sure as hell do.  We just have to deal with it.  You know enough about the Keldara to know just how Viking they really are in mind and spirit.”  With a mental shake, he continued.  “Okay.  Keep ‘em working, get every scrap of information you can off the bodies.  I’m going to talk to our helpful Captain Skipetroff, see if I can interview the one that got away.”
    “Got it.  Okay, Keldara!  Stop gawking and get your asses back on task!  Yevgenii, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with that stick?  Didn‘t your mother raise you any better than that?”
    Skipetroff was outside the door, stymied by Georgi and Nicolai, who were doing their best imitations of statues - immobile, impassive, and seemingly uncomprehending the vicious stream of curses the Guards captain was hurling at them.  A stream which halted abruptly when Mike emerged.
    “Jenkins, please move your men.”
    “No.  I need to talk to the survivor.”
    “I am confirmed to be examination with you, not preparing to stand outside!”  In Russian, he called to his men.
    “No.  Where’s the survivor?  He’s supposed to be available for me.”
    “You are guest here invited by yourself!  If I am entering the building to want, then am I going!”  Skipetroff pulled out his sidearm.
    In a lightning move, Mike had the Yarygin Grach out of Skipetroff’s unresisting hands and pointed at the stunned captain.  The now-empty hand clutched the air in frustration.
    Switching to fluent Russian, Mike gave up the game and let the man have it. “Listen to me, you puffed-up, pompous, pathetic excuse for an officer!  I am here at the direction of the President of the United States and the invitation of Prime Minister Putin himself!  I am here to do a job, and unless you want to spend the rest of your career watching icicles grow in Vladivostok you will produce the man I need to speak with now!  Do we have an understanding?”  To emphasize his point, Mike cycled a round into the chamber.
    “Da, da!” said the Russian.
    “Good,” answered Mike, lowering the Grach.  “You go get him.  I’ll wait here.  And when you bring him back, you can have your little toy back,” he said, waving the pistol.
    Five minutes later, Skipetroff returned with a very nervous private.
    “Don’t worry,” said Mike in Russian.  “I just need to ask a few questions.  Captain, your gun.”  He handed the Grach back to Skipetroff, butt first.
    Skipetroff raised the gun quickly, thumbed off the safety, and pulled the trigger.  Much to his surprise, the barrel of the gun dropped to the ground, followed by the empty magazine, firing mechanism - the only parts left in his hand were the trigger, guard, and butt.
    “Problem, Captain?” asked Mike innocently, dropping the main spring, bullets, and a few lock pins on the ground.  “Get lost.”  To the openly-grinning soldier, he said, “What’s your name, son?”
    “Grisha.  Grisha Aleksandrovich Pumpianski, 2nd Guards Motor Rifle Division, Company -”
    “Grisha’ll do.  What do you remember, Grisha?”
    “Sergeant Feliks was leading the squad…”
    In a very few minutes, the story - at least as much of it that the lucky soldier knew - was told.  It was clear that he had no idea what had happened inside the building, or what had been found.
    A man-shaped shadow, thrown by the fading afternoon sun, fell across them.
    “Chechnik!” said Mike without looking up.  “What rock did you crawl from under?”
    Grisha jumped to his feet and saluted.  This was a Colonel from the Security division.  They made families disappear.
    “As you were,” said Chechnik.  “Kildar.”
    “Nicolai!” Mike called.  “Over here!”  The Keldara trotted over.  “Search this prick.”
    Grisha looked shocked, and started to react, but Chechnik held up a restraining hand.  “It’s quite all right.”  He extended his arms.
    Moments later, Nicolai handed Mike a cell phone.  “That’s all, Kildar.”
    “Smart, Chechnik,” said Mike unwillingly, pocketing the phone.  “Mind if I hold on to this?  No?  Thanks.”  Adams finally emerged from the warehouse.
    “We’re about done here, and - where the fuck did he come from?”
    “Putin’s whipping boy?  He’s been sent out to make sure we don’t stick our noses where they don’t belong.”
    “Can I shoot him?” asked Katrina, raising her M-4.
    “No, Kat, not yet.  We’re on his turf.  It just wouldn’t be good manners.”
    “Quite amusing,” said Chechnik to Mike.  “It’s not me I’d be worried about.”
    “What?  You thought she was kidding?  Redhead, Colonel.  Un-fucking-predictable.  So you best stay on her good side.  Which means me, and my troops.”
===============================
    The men and gear were quickly reloaded, and the tiny convoy pulled away.  “Where to?” asked Jitka.  He was clearly enjoying driving the Mercedes instead of a truck.  He’d never sat in a car so comfortable!  And the armored glass, and vehicular armor, he felt safe, even here in the center of Moscow.  The dark-tinted windows gave the limo a dangerous appearance, and the traffic faded out of his way.  Cars like that were VIP, military, or Bratva, and that meant men with guns.
    “I don’t want to just drive in circles, but I don’t know my way around Moscow like I used to,” admitted Mike.
    “May I suggest?” said Chechnik, calmer than Mike expected.
    “You can suggest,” said Mike.
    “There is a park nearby, Buman gardens.  It is central enough for you to move from quickly, large enough to conceal all the vehicles.  And the traffic should subside in a half hour or so.”
    “May as well.  Chief, when we get their, get the troops fed.  Water, coffee or tea only.  No beer.”  He didn’t have to see Jitka’s face to know he was scowling, however briefly.  Beer was like blood to the Keldara, but a situation like this, he needed his men totally straight.  They could double up after.
    Chechnik faced forward and guided Jitka through the traffic.  Once stopped, the discussion resumed around a table outside.  Tea was steaming in cups before them.  The people wandering through the gardens would make eavesdropping more difficult, if they could get past Vil‘s perimeter.
    “So what do we know?”
    “The bomb’s here,” said Adams.
    “It hasn’t been here long; the residual radiation was dissipating quickly,” added Arensky.  “Not long enough to create a permanent footprint.”
    “It was definitely Chechens,” said Anisa.  “We have positive ID for both men, but neither were listed as known associates of any rebel group.”
    “That means nothing,” Grez explained.  “They could have been new recruits, or simply more cautious and discreet than most.”
    “They’re being led by someone with experience,” continued Adams.
    “And we know why the satellites didn’t pick up the bomb.”
    “The roof.  Chechnik, do you think you can get information from your assessor’s office, or whoever is in charge of building and development?”
    “Perhaps.  What are you thinking?”
    “While we wait for another satellite pass, we should see what buildings used lead in their roofs.  That might narrow down the search.”
    “I will see what I can do.  My phone, please?”  Mike handed it over.
    “Anisa, how long until we get another pass?”
    “There’s one overhead now,” she answered.  “We’ll have the data in just a few minutes.”  Her fingers were flying over the tablet’s surface.  “Need to allow time for the Russian filters to do their work.“  She looked at him as if asking to cut through the song-and-dance and simply steer the bird herself.  He gave a minute shake of his head.  Thank the gods she wasn’t one of the Mice; they’d have three or four birds parked in geosynchronous already.  Wouldn’t that be a joy to explain?
    “What are you doing?  Instead of what you wanted,” he asked in Keldara.
    “Seeing if there’s a back door into the Moscow City Planner’s mainframe,” she answered in Keldara.
    Mike shook his head ruefully.  “Tell me again why I’m bringing you into the twenty-first century?”
    “To rule the world, of course,” said Grez easily.

Apology

I know, the post is late.  I will have it up tomorrow (Thursday) evening - doing a stretch of four consecutive shifts at work, close, open/close, open again - which ends tomorrow.

So I will be posting the next chapter then.

Adam