Kildar Page 5

  But that led to the question of the Keldara. If he bought the land he'd feel a very real sense of responsibility about a bunch of red-neck farmers. But, then again, there was that one farmer's daughter. . . .

  "Heh," he said after a moment, grinning faintly.

  "What?" Vadim asked, curiously.

  "In the U.S. military, one of the euphemisms for dying is 'bought the farm,' " Mike said, thinking. "I just used the phrase in my mind and realized what I'd thought. How big is that thing, anyway?"

  "About thirty square kilometers," Mironov said. "Including the mountainsides which are useless except for the wood on them. Excellent woodstands; you could make money simply by lumbering them off."

  "Last thing I'd do," Mike said distantly. "Although, there are a few spots that would make dandy ski runs."

  "I think we're a little remote for a ski resort," Vadim said, watching him.

  "I wasn't thinking about tourists, I was thinking about me," Mike said. "Just how stuck in their ways are the Keldara?"

  "They can be very stuck in their ways," Vadim admitted. "But . . . I did mention that the caravanserai is generally owned by foreigners. That person is referred to as the Kildar. The Keldara consider the current owner as their lord. Not one like Mr. Mironov, when he's working for the bank, but they even called the commissar the Kildar. They . . . tend to be more understanding about changes from the Kildar. He's just another in a string from their perspective. And, of course, you can toss them out on their ear if they anger you or don't do what you want them to. You even own the houses."

  "Crap," Mike said, thinking about what he'd seen in those houses. "Those places are hovels."

  "They're no worse, and in fact much better, than most homes in the mountains," Mr. Mironov pointed out. "And you have to be careful about changes; the Keldara are very prickly about debt. I suggested putting in gas heat and stoves and they asked how they were supposed to pay for it. They realized that it would mean being in debt to the bank and they flatly refused. The same thing happened with suggesting that they take loans to buy tractors. They have the right to cut wood in the mountains and some of their animals are their own, for which they have pasturage rights. They live within those constraints very carefully."

  "Okay, so let me get this straight," Mike said. "You want a million euros for a valley with Neolithic, okay, medieval-style farms, a run-down castle and pig-headed farmers."

  "There is a reason we haven't been able to move it, yes," Mr. Mironov said with a sigh.

  "And let's not forget the security situation," Mike added, grimacing. "Vadim, any idea how well those guys can fight? Could they be a militia?"

  "The Keldara rarely leave the valley," Vadim said, shrugging. "And they were specifically exempt from draft during the Soviet era; one of Stalin's odder legacies and one that was never explained. So there's no recent record to tell what they're like. However, during the Great Patriotic War many of them fought in the Red Army and acquitted themselves well. At least, so I've heard. There were quite a few Heroes metals sent home, posthumously, and a few that made it back with them. For what it's worth, the other groups in the mountains say they're the best fighters around. I don't know, personally."

  "Say that again?" Mike said, shaking his head. "Stalin exempted them from draft?"

  "Yes," Mr. Mironov said. "No one knows why. He wasn't even from around here."

  "Okay," Mike said, blowing out. "Let me take another look around. I'm not too sure about this. Buying a farm wasn't on my list of things to do this week."

  He left Vadim with the banker and went out to get his Mercedes unburied. It took about fifteen minutes but he finally managed to get it out of the snowed-over parking lot and through the drifts thrown up by the snowplow.

  He made his way back down the defile to the valley and drove along the road, looking out at the snow-covered fields. As he did he thought of the work that had been done to the road; it was an amazing undertaking if all they used was the draft horses he could see in the fields. And they were cleared before he and Vadim had driven down. Admittedly, he hadn't been up at dawn, but it was still impressive.

  He stopped the car at the far end of the valley and turned around, driving back towards town slowly. As he reached the turn for the caravanserai he followed his impulse and went back up. He drove into the courtyard and looked around, for what he couldn't tell. There was something about the architecture of the lower floor that was bugging him. The blocks of stone were uniform, about a half meter long and a quarter meter high. Many of them had carvings, especially along the base. Near the stairs there was one that had what might have once been Roman numerals. He realized that what he really needed was some tracing paper and a carbon stick.

  He walked into the caravanserai and through the foyer, examining the large formal dining hall and the massive, extremely messy, kitchen that supported it. He took a stroll through the harem quarters, just for the frisson. It would be easy enough to fill the quarters with girls from Eastern Europe. Not that he would; he'd come too close to his demons once. But it still had a bit of a tingle. The rooms had Soviet era military beds in them and Russian graffiti. Easy enough to fix. At least if he had a lot of visitors, he'd have somewhere to put them.

  He realized he was thinking in terms of ownership and grimaced. Buy the farm. Yeah, I bought the farm. It just had the wrong ring to it. Like speaking from beyond the grave.

  The house was wired for electric, which was something. The service this far out from major areas was probably spotty. Get that fixed with some big generators. Hell, there were three or four streams that would do for decent hydroelectric, which could be fed to the Keldara . . . And that lovely, lovely girl would finally have electricity. Maybe even running water.

  He walked out of the house, whistling.

  * * *

  "I'll take it," Mike said after he'd been ushered into Mr. Mironov's office and the secretary had left. "I'd like some help and a few conditions, however."

  "What conditions?" Mironov asked. "And how will you be arranging payment?"

  "There's more than enough in Zurich Mercantile," Mike said, sliding over a slip of paper with his account number on it and a release code. "Go ahead and arrange a transfer of three million euros. One will go to pay for the farm, the other two into an operating account. I'll probably need more in time, but that will do for starters."

  "Very well," Mironov said, looking at the number as if it were fairy gold.

  "I have some arrangements to make, separate from the sale," Mike continued. "So until the final papers are signed, I'd like to keep my interest quiet. Will that be a problem?"

  "Not in the bank," Mironov promised. "I'll have the papers drawn up this afternoon by Mrs. Chizhova; she's very discreet. When the transfers come through, the place will be yours."

  "Until I'm ready, I'd like the sale to remain quiet," Mike noted. "I suppose I need to go talk to Captain Tyurin."

  Chapter Four

  He eventually found the captain in the tavern, playing a game of cards with a few of the regulars. Tarasova and his cronies were already ensconced by the fire and well into their beer. Mike ignored them as he made his way to the captain.

  "Give me a moment of your time, Captain?" Mike asked as the round drew to a close.

  "Of course, Mr. Jenkins," Vadim said. "I was losing anyway."

  "I'm shocked, shocked to find gambling in this establishment," Mike said, chuckling.

  "You enjoy Casablanca as well?" Tyurin said, following him over to a table in the corner.

  "I was wondering if you'd modeled yourself on Claude Rains' character," Mike admitted.

  "A bit," Tyurin said with a sigh. "The price of being a powerless officer of the law is flouting the law. Even Inspector Renault had more forces than I."

  "Well, good news," Mike said. "You've a new source of income."

  "You're going to buy the farm, as you put it?" Vadim said, smiling sardonically.

  "I am that," Mike replied. "But there are several thing
s I'll need. Some of them are legal, normal and proper. Some of them may be legal and some I suspect are illegal."

  "Let us start with the legal ones, shall we?" Vadim said, smiling again.

  "I need a new overseer," Mike said, quietly. "One who knows the Keldara and who knows farming. Preferably modern farming. And not a loud-mouthed dirtball. I can tell I won't get along with Otar."

  "Genadi Mahona," Vadim said, just as quietly. "He is actually one of the Keldara. He took his degree in agronomy at the University of Tbilisi then returned. He tried to get Otar to change some of his practices and got forced out of the homes. He works in the mill as a laborer at the moment."

  "Figures," Mike said, sighing. "Okay, I am not an agent of the United States but I am a former SEAL. And a SEAL instructor moreover. I'm not going to just sit here and let the Chechens have anything they want. Besides working on the farms, I'm going to try to turn the Keldara into militia. For that I'll need arms."

  "The problem is one of funding," Vadim said, shrugging. "I can register them as a legal local militia. But finding the funding for weapons is another thing."

  "Funds are available," Mike said, dryly. "But what about obtaining them? How do we get them here?"

  "You're serious?" Vadim said to a nod, "If you are, it is simple enough. I put in the order through the Georgian government for whatever you wish. You pay the supplier and it is shipped to us."

  "Not through a central armory, right?" Mike asked. "I'd like to get everything I pay for."

  "No, straight to us," Vadim replied.

  "Anything?" Mike asked. "RPGs? Mortars?"

  "They are a bit more sticky about heavy weapons," Vadim admitted, frowning. "Are you forming a militia or an army?"

  "Say a well-armed militia," Mike said, grinning. "What about nonfirearm material? Electronics, uniforms, that sort of thing?"

  "That will be less of a problem," Vadim said. "There is a very large surcharge on imports, but equipment for a militia is exempt. There is paperwork; I know how to file it."

  "And what about farming equipment?" Mike asked.

  "Again, it is exempt from import duties," the cop said, frowning. "How much are you planning on spending?"

  "A lot," Mike admitted. "It's worth it to have a functioning farm and a functioning militia. With the sort of technology they're using, most of the men are tied to the farm. If I can bring in some equipment to free them up for training, especially serious training, it will be worth it. Speaking of which, can I bring in trainers? I don't want to do it all myself."

  "That can be arranged, as long as they are not here to engage in combat," Vadim pointed out. "That would make them mercenaries."

  "What about if I get stuck in a combat situation?" Mike asked.

  "I think the American military puts it well," Vadim replied, smiling. "Don't ask, don't tell."

  "And on that subject I believe we need to come to some accommodation?" Mike asked.

  "A reasonable one," Vadim admitted. "A few hundred euros extra a month would be nice. But, frankly, just having the area somewhat secure would be wonderful. Anything they can do beyond that would be tremendous."

  "You can't just secure a position like that," Mike said, shaking his head. "You have to know what is going on in a bubble around you. Which means intensive patrolling. I think that some of the changes I'm going to make will shake the Keldara to their core. But they'll be good changes. Where can I find this Genadi character?"

  "Finding him will not be so hard," Vadim said. "He works at the mill and lives in a building at the edge of town with about a dozen other workers. Meeting with him without everyone in town hearing about it will be harder."

  "Can you or one of your men, one that doesn't talk, pick him up and meet me outside of town?" Mike asked. "I'd say at the caravanserai but that would be a bit obvious."

  "There's an old patrol house up the road at the pass," Vadim said, pointing south. "Around eight PM?"

  "Works for me," Mike replied. "Thanks for the help."

  "I don't care for Otar either," Vadim admitted.

  * * *

  Mike had a fire going in the stove by the time a battered police car pulled up. The drive up to the post had been much harder than down to the valley; he wondered that the old battered Trebia had made it at all. A man got out and looked around, then walked through the door of the small patrol post as the car pulled away. He was in his twenties, wearing old and soiled clothes and the weathered look of a farmer. But his light skin, blue eyes and bright red hair betrayed him as a Keldara.

  "Siddown," Mike said in Russian, gesturing to a folding chair he'd brought from town. He'd been reheating tea on the stove and poured a cup. "My name's Mike Jenkins."

  "Everyone in town has heard of you," the man said in passable English. "You got lost and Katrina saved you."

  "Is that how it's told?" Mike said, smiling. "I didn't even know her name. And I think it was a matter of mutual help. I think she would have died in the storm."

  "So do I," Genadi said, looking at him over the rim of the cup. "But you nearly got her in a lot of trouble."

  "Why?" Mike asked.

  "She was alone with a man," Genadi said, shrugging and setting down the cup. "She was nearly sent to town over it. That is what they call selling girls into slavery."

  "Is she going to be sent to town?" Mike asked.

  "Not over that," Genadi said, sighing. "Not yet, anyway. Do you understand why women are sent to town?"

  "Because they get caught with men that they're not married to?" Mike asked, frowning.

  "That is a direct cause," Genadi said, his brow furrowing. "But . . . I took an economics class in university and we talked about this. Women in low-tech agrarian societies, and that means all of the Georgian mountains and most of Russia, have very little economic worth. You know this?"

  "I suppose," Mike said, interested. He'd sampled the fruits of the economic situation, but never really gotten into why so many women from Eastern Europe, of their own accord or not, ended up in the sex trade.

  "They cannot do as much as men on a farm," Genadi said, shrugging. "So they don't bring in as much money. But they cost nearly as much in food and shelter costs as men. So they are . . . if there are too many women, they are excess to needs, yes?"

  "If you say so," Mike replied.

  "There are none of the usual jobs that women can do just as well as men," Genadi said. "And even where there are, men are preferred. So women have little worth both in the agrarian and industrial areas. But the Chechens that come here, they will pay what is very good money for the women. As much as a half a year's pay for a man. This is money that the farms need. So they sell their daughters. It is an old custom and so normal that no one in the mountains really thinks there is anything wrong with it."

  "I do," Mike said. "I hope like hell they haven't sold Katrina or there's going to be words at the very least."

  "She has not been sent to town," Genadi said, definitely. "I talked to her brother only yesterday. But I think she probably will be sooner or later. And maybe it would be for the best. Katrina is one of those that doesn't do well in the Families."

  "Like you?" Mike asked.

  "Oh, I did well enough," Genadi said, shrugging. "Until I told that bastard Otar that running wheat three years in a row on the same field was idiotic. I think I shouldn't have used that word."

  "It's true, though," Mike said, frowning. "Even I know that."

  "The valley is large but only specific fields are well suited to wheat," Genadi said, furrowing his brow. "He was being pushed for more income, and wheat is an income generator. But so is soy, especially now that there's a mill in Tbilisi. The transport cost eats up a bit, but not much. But he didn't want to listen. Wheat is what he knows, that and oats and potatoes. Even peas, though he doesn't have an eye for a good hybrid. Really, he's not a very good overseer. He just talks a good line to Mr. Mironov. And blames his failures on the Keldara."

  "Do you think you could do a better job?" Mike aske
d.

  "Is that what this is about?" Genadi said, raising an eyebrow. "A job interview?"

  "And picking your brain," Mike admitted. "I want to buy the caravanserai. Unfortunately, it comes with the valley. I don't really need the valley, but if I'm going to buy a farm, I'm going to do it right. And I could spot a bullshitter from across the room. The question is, are you any better? I don't know a plow from a sickle so I don't even know the questions to ask. And I don't know what the Keldara will stand for."

  "Well, they'll do most things that you ask in reference to running the farm," Genadi said, carefully. "If it cuts into their stores for the year, though, they'll balk. You understand the setup down there?"