Paladin of Shadows 2 - Kildar Read online

  "They'd be insulted if you didn't," Genadi said. "But that doesn't fall in their shared duties so they'll have to be paid."

  "Of course," Mike said. "What about forming a militia? From the sounds of what Vadim was saying, the Keldara aren't pacifists."

  "Quite the opposite," Genadi said, chuckling. "They pride themselves on, well . . ." He paused again and shrugged. "They're not pacifists. In the spring they have tests of strength and wrestle to see who is best. The winner is called the Ondah and gets certain rights and privileges. Most of the men chosen to head the Families are former Ondah so people really strive to win. And there are old weapons stuck here and there. Sometimes we practice with them and we really practice with them. And you don't want to deal with an angry Keldara holding an axe. There is a technique to axe fighting and I think we may be the only people on earth that still practice it. If you wish to make a militia from the Keldara, they'll support it enthusiastically."

  "It's more than just getting handed guns," Mike said. "I was an instructor for American commandoes, what are called SEALs—"

  "Navy commandoes," Genadi said, his eyes narrowing. "I have heard of them."

  "If, and I say if, I form a militia, I'll expect them to train to American methods and standards," Mike said, his face hard. "That's a cultural thing as much as anything. It might require change in the way they do things, how they think about fighting. For one thing, it requires being able to handle it when someone tells you you're wrong and changing to the way that they tell you. Fighting and training with discipline. Will they be able to do that?"

  "I think so," Genadi said, carefully. "The Keldara . . . I think they can, honestly. They are disciplined. They're prickly about their rights and duties, but not that way."

  "Okay, I'm not going to promise anything to them," Mike said. "I don't think that it's good to make promises that you're not sure you can keep. But you can assume I'll make changes. The first is that you need some decent clothes. I'll take the cost out of your pay. And I've got to figure out how much to pay you and where to stash you until it's time to tell Otar he's redundant."

  "Be careful," Genadi said. "The man can be vindictive."

  "Well, I'm one person he won't want to cross."

  * * *

  Mike had stashed Genadi at the caravanserai, telling him to lay low, and settled back into the tavern in the meantime. The next evening he was contemplating his glass of beer, listening to Otar bragging, when he realized that there was one aspect of the village he'd neglected to check out: the brothel.

  He dropped a ruble on the table and walked out into the night, crunching through the snow as he walked down the street to the building Vadim had pointed out. He paused as he was leaving the parking lot of the tavern, then doubled back to his car, getting some materials out of it and putting them in a bag. Then he resumed his evening walk.

  When he got to the brothel he knocked on the door and was greeted by a short, fat man with a beaten look.

  "Good evening," Mike said in Russian. "I understand that this is a place a weary traveler can find friendship."

  "You must be the American," the man said, waving him into an entry hallway. "I am Yakov Belyayev. I have not heard your name?"

  "Mike Jenkins," Mike said as the man opened the inner door.

  The building was obviously a house since the entry area was a sitting room. There was one man in the room sitting on a couch with a gorgeous blonde on his knee. As Vadim had mentioned, the girls, three brunettes, a redhead and the blonde, ranged from very good looking to, in the case of the blonde, just spectacular. They also were, uniformly, young; the youngest looked as if she should be playing with dolls, not sitting around shivering in a teddy.

  "Very nice," Mike said.

  "You may have your pick," Yakov said, dispiritedly. "Business is very slow. It always is very slow."

  "You have very pretty girls for a slow place," Mike said, looking the group over. The blonde looked at him and lowered her eyes demurely but he'd gotten just enough of a flash to know it was a total act. The eyes that had tracked to him were as cold as a shark's, cold enough that they were a little frightening. Not just resigned cold but the sort of look you saw on someone who'd seen too much combat and discovered they enjoyed killing people and breaking things. Mike occasionally saw the same look in a mirror and knew it was the outward expression of something he didn't want to get involved with. The blonde was a flat killer waiting for her chance.

  "Most of the girls are local," the man admitted. "I could sell them to the Chechens, I suppose, and sometimes I think I should. They eat more than they make most of the time. But it is the only business I know."

  "The blonde?" Mike asked, curiously.

  "Katya," the man said, sighing. "She was on her way to Eagle Market. I don't know how she ended up here. The man wanted to sell her for too little money for me to pass up. Spectacular, no? She could make good money in Bosnia, but she is here where all men can afford is a few kopeks. I have tried to sell her before, for her own good, but no one would take her. I don't know why, she is beautiful. And quite well trained. You like her?"

  "Pass," Mike said. "Besides she's with someone."

  "That is Marat, my doorman," Yakov said with another resigned sigh. "Why I have a doorman I don't know; I always answer it."

  "Being polite," Mike said quietly, turning away from the girls, "I understand there is a bit of problem with, well, body bugs."

  "It is hard to keep the girls clean," the man said, shrugging. "Hot water costs money, you know. And the price they want for the shampoos, it is terrible."

  "I see," Mike said, sighing. "Is there somewhere we can talk, quietly?"

  "This way," Yakov said, walking slowly to the back, his head down. He led Mike into the kitchen, which was dirty and deserted. Mike wasn't about to eat anything cooked in the place, that was sure.

  "I'm going to be staying for a while, as it turns out," Mike said. "The weather and all. And I'd like to have my ashes hauled, but not at the cost of lice and bedbugs and fleas. Not to mention the pox."

  "No pox," Yakov assured him. "The girls all use rubbers."

  "As you say," Mike said, not looking at the kitchen. "The point is," he said, starting to pull out stuff from his bag, "I'd be willing to front you the material to clean the girls up. Hell, I'll even pay you a few euros to make sure they have access to hot water and to make sure they use it. I'll be a major patron of your . . ." he paused and choked at the words "fine establishment," " . . . house. If the girls are clean. If not, I'll just stick to rosy palm and her five fingers." By this time he'd laid out six bottles of lice shampoo, bedding spray and pubic hair cream. "Do we have a deal?"

  "You are giving this to me?" Yakov asked, frowning.

  "Yes," Mike said. "And if I find out you resold it rather than using it, you won't have to worry about losing money. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes," Yakov said, nodding dispiritedly.

  "And make sure the girls have all the hot water they want," Mike said, pulling out a hundred-euro note. "This stuff works on first use. I'll be back in a day or two. If I see lice, I'll know you double-crossed me. You don't want to double-cross me."

  "Some of the girls may be . . . resistant," Yakov argued.

  "You're a pimp," Mike said, standing up. "That's your problem."

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was three days before everything was arranged. He picked Genadi up on the morning of the third day, having him wait in the back seat of the Mercedes while Mike went in the bank. It was a lovely clear day, the last storm having just cleared off and leaving the sky a washed blue.

  In Mr. Mironov's office he found Vadim and Otar waiting, the latter looking puzzled.

  "Mr. Jenkins," Mr. Mironov said, standing up as he entered. "All of the transfers have been verified." He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers and slid them across the desk. "This includes an up-to-date inventory of all the materials entailed on the farms. That includes, by the way, the Rove
r of the overseer."

  Mike glanced at the inventory and then nodded.

  "And the deed?" he asked.

  "Here," Mironov said. "You sign here, taking possession, and I sign below, turning it over for the sum of one million euros. I took the liberty of escrowing that in one of our accounts and on your signature it transfers."

  "Works for me," Mike said, thinking about the interest the bank had probably accrued. He doubted he was going to see it. He signed on the line and then slid the paper back to Mr. Mironov.

  "And that is that," Mironov said with a sigh of relief. "You are now owner of the Keldara farm and all it entails, including the caravanserai."

  "Thank you," Mike said. "Mr. Tarasova, Captain Tyurin, I think we should go inform the Keldara that they have a new landowner."

  "You've bought the farm?" Otar asked, surprised. "I hadn't known you were even interested."

  "It seemed like a good deal," Mike said. "Could you perhaps drive ahead? I'd like to talk to the Keldara."

  As Otar left, Mike looked at Tyurin and shrugged.

  "You're ready?" he asked.

  "And eager," Tyurin said, grinning. "And thank you for the consulting fee. My wife appreciates it even more."

  "I'm sure I'm going to be doing plenty of consulting," Mike said. He'd already arranged with Mr. Mironov to have five hundred euros a month drawn out and prepared for the police official. When in Rome . . .

  They walked out to the parking lot and headed down the pass, Mike driving his Mercedes and Vadim his Rover.

  By the time they got to the Keldara village, the people were streaming out of their houses and gathering in the open area at the center. Mike parked well to the rear and got out, leaving Genadi in the car.

  "Keldara workers," Otar said, standing on a stone dais that looked like a mounting stand. "I have important news. The valley has a new owner." The overseer gestured grandly at Mike and raised his hand, getting a ragged and dispirited cheer. The day was clear and cold and nobody particularly wanted to be standing in the snow. But Mike sensed that they'd have been just as wary of cheering the overseer if he'd told them it was free beer and beef for the next year.

  Mike stepped up on the dais next to him and looked around at the faces of the people. Most of them had put two and two together and knew he was the lost American that had picked up . . . whatshername in the snow. With the exception of the children they looked . . . wary.

  "People of the Keldara," Mike said in Russian, since he didn't speak a word of Georgian yet. "I had merely intended to live in the caravanserai for a time. But with the caravanserai comes the valley. As you take your rights and duties seriously, I take mine seriously. And I will discharge one of them now."

  He turned to Otar and clapped him on the back.

  "Otar Tarasova, you have run these farms well for many years," Mike said, smiling. "You have done well by their owner and treated the Keldara with fair openhandedness." The latter had been tough to translate into Russian, but Genadi had helped him, laughing the whole time. "The years have been heavy upon you and you are worn by toil. Which is why I think it's time that you retire."

  "But, Mr. Jenkins . . ." Otar said, his face sliding from beaming smiles to ashen.

  "Not with nothing," Mike said, reaching into his jump bag. "In the United States, it is a custom that when you retire you are given a watch. This is the best watch I could find in Alerrso and I hope that when you look at it you always think of the good days in the valley of the Keldara." He handed him the watch and then dipped into the jump bag again, pulling out an envelope. "And so that you can buy your own farm, here is a small token of my gratitude. Furthermore, you may keep the farm Range Rover in token of my esteem."

  He helped the shaken man down and into the arms of Captain Tyurin. who led him over to the old, battered Rover.

  "People of the Keldara," Mike said, loudly. "Three cheers for Otar Tarasova! Hip, hip, HOORAY! Hip, hip, HOORAY! Hip, hip, HOORAY!"

  Mike kept the cheers up, dispirited as they were, until the former overseer, accompanied by Tyurin, drove out of the compound and towards town.

  "Now that that jerk is gone, I have another overseer you might recognize," Mike said, waving to the Mercedes.

  There was a buzz of excited conversation as Genadi stepped out of the car and over to the stand.

  "This is your new overseer," Mike said, waving at Genadi. "I understand that there is some water under the bridge. It's over as of now. Genadi, in matters related to the farm, speaks with my voice. I know nothing of farming. I was a warrior, a commando, for the American military. Then I was a maker of communications gadgets. When it comes to farming, I will trust in Genadi to make the decisions. If you seriously disagree, and can explain why, you may meet with both of us and lay out your reasoning. But it had better make sense to a five-year-old, or I'll go with Genadi's opinion.

  "I spoke a moment ago of rights and responsibilities. I understand that you have your opinion of what those are. In general, we see eye to eye so far. But I will make a few statements. I am not a farmer, I am not a Keldara, I am not a Georgian. I am an American and I was an American fighting man. We have what we find to be our responsibilities. I can't think like a Kildar, whatever that is. All I can do is think like an American fighting man. So I'll lay down a few rules that are going to violate your customs as I know them.

  "One: No women will be sent to town. I understand that sometimes there are too many women, that sons are needed to run the farms. Fine. We'll figure something out. But sending women to town violates my honor. You touch that honor at your peril. I have worked very hard to save women on occasion. I will not see any of the women of the Keldara sold to town.

  "Two: No person will go hungry. Not the old, not the young, not the men, not the women. You fear debt. I can understand that. I will tell you a story.

  "I had a friend whose grandfather was the owner of a store in a small town like Alerrso. He died, as old men do, and my friend went to his funeral. After the funeral an old farmer, from a situation like your own, came up to him and told him that he was going to miss my friend's grandfather. 'Why once,' the man said, 'I was surely low on money. And I asked your grandfather for ten dollars as a loan. He told me he'd never ask for that ten dollars as long as I paid him a dollar a week. I've been paying him a dollar a week for the last few years and he never did ask for that ten dollars back.' "

  Mike nodded as there were a few snorts. It appeared that not only was his Russian comprehensible but they had similar ideas of humor. Both were good signs. The faces of the people were beginning to thaw.

  "The story was to show you that I understand your fear of being in debt," Mike continued. "But I'm not a commissar or a Kildar, I'm an American fighting man. I can only think of you as my troops. And you do not let your troops go hungry if you can avoid it. This, too, touches my honor. You will violate it at your peril. If I find that people are going hungry and I have not been told, I will take the most severe action. One way or the other, we will work it out. If I say there is no debt, there is no debt. If Genadi makes a mistake and there is too little food, there is especially no debt. I think that you'll find the changes we will make will ensure that no one will go hungry. But if we are wrong, I will assume the responsibility. And for that there is no debt.

  "Third. Medical care. Right now there is none in this valley. I will see what can be done about that. But medical care, as of now, is my responsibility. For that, there is no debt. We will need to figure something out in the long term. But until we do, there is no debt. If anyone needs serious medical care, tell me and I will move heaven and earth to get it to them.

  "A wise old general once said that you should never promise your troops anything you can't guarantee. I think you'll see some changes for the better but I promise nothing. You will have to see what I deliver and make your minds up about me on the basis of that. It's cold and you've been standing out here too long. I'd like to meet with the senior members of the Six Families as soon as possible, p
referably in one of the houses where it is warm. I thank you for listening to me and hope to get to know each of you as time goes by. Now let's get inside!"

  * * *

  The men gathered around the table ranged from probably in their fifties to one that looked to be seventy. But he was a tough old bird, short but as hard-looking as the mountains that ringed the valley. He'd taken the seat at the far end, opposite Mike, as his due as senior.

  "Genadi," Mike said to the overseer at his right. "I think introductions are in order."

  "This is Father Makanee," Genadi said, pointing to the man on his right. "He is head of the Makanee family." Father Makanee was medium height with brown hair and eyes and broad shoulders. He was just about the youngest of the "elders." His hands looked like hams. He nodded at Mike warily.

  "Father Devlich," Genadi said, pointing to the man to Mahona's left. This was the man Mike had met on the night of the blizzard. He, too, was watching Mike warily, but nodded.

  "Father Devlich I've met," Mike said in Russian. "But we weren't introduced. A pleasure to see you again."

  "Kildar," the man said, nodding again.

  "Father Mahona," Genadi said, pointing to the man on Mike's left. He had short-cropped blond hair shot with gray and a graying beard. Another nod.

  "Call me Mister Jenkins," Mike said, smiling.

  "Father Shaynav," Genadi said, continuing to the man across from Devlich. He was in his sixties with red hair gone almost completely gray and a gray beard that hung to his chest. He watched Mike with interest, though, out of bright blue eyes. Mike noticed that he looked more like Genadi than the man who had the same last name. Either there was some fooling around going on or he didn't understand the family structure.

  "Father Kulcyanov," Genadi said, leaning over to point to the second to the last man. Kulcyanov had once been hugely big, Mike could tell, but time and age had shrunk him. He looked in worse health than the man at the end of the table.