"Works," Mike said. "I'm gonna flake out most of the trip."

"And Miss Rakovich," Hardesty added. "I will endeavor for a smooth take-off and climb-out."

"Thank you," Anastasia said, buckling herself in. She had rarely flown and did not enjoy the experience.

Especially any "unexpected" movement.

"Off we go again," Mike said, taking her hand as the engines started.

"At least this time I've gotsome idea what is going on," Anastasia said. "And are we going to 'play'

again?" she continued, coyly.

"Oh, a bit more than the last time," Mike said, smiling but not looking at her. "Definitely. I'm not sure a blow-job counts for the Mile-High club. I want my stamp."

Anastasia continued to hold his hand as the plane taxied to the runway and then took off at which point it clamped like a vice. True to his word, Hardesty was taking it smooth and easy. A Gulfstream, as lightly loaded as this one, could point darned near straight up and Hardestyloved to fly at the edge of the envelope. But he also was both professional and considerate. If Mike, who apparently didn't care, was the only one on board they'd have taken off like a fighter climbing out of a bombing run. With Miss Rakovich on board, he took it easy.

Anastasia, nonetheless, kept her eyes tightly closed and hand clamped until they were at alt.i.tude and flying smoothly. Then she took a breath, opened her eyes and released her death-grip.

"You really don'thave to travel with me, if you hate it that much," Mike said.

"I want to," Anastasia said, shrugging. "I want tosee . But I fear as well. I won't say I'll get over it but I'm not willing to let the fear stop me."

"Oorah,' Mike said, quietly, smiling at her. "Take not counsel of your fears."

"Yes," Anastasia said. "And on that score... I want to talk to you about... Gretchen."

"Oh, Christ," Mike said. "I thought the hareem manager wasn't supposed to get jealous."

"I am not jealous," Anastasia said, evenly. "But... You're acting different. I can tell something happened.

Beyond the slight...issues that occurred in the middle of your encounter.I have noticed. I'm not sure how many others."

"It was the chocolate mousse that gave it away, wasn't it," Mike said. "I'd never waste chocolate mousse unless I really cared, right?"

"How badly are you affected?" Anastasia said, refusing to take the bait.

"Oh...pretty badly," Mike admitted. "Pretty d.a.m.ned badly. Pretty f.u.c.king badly. Pretty much head over heels in love with one of my team member's fiancee."

"I was afraid of that," Anastasia said. "How are you going to handle that?"

"Not much choice, really," Mike said. "I just go on. Kiril and Gretchen get married. They have one of my kids. I try very hard not to treat her, him or it any differently than any three other Keldara. I just...try to forget."

"You won't," Anastasia said. "There are other...ways."

"Sure," Mike said. "I could ask the Fathers to dissolve the bonding. I could throw my Kildar weight around and have her. No question. Then I'd stomp all over their d.a.m.ned culture and p.i.s.s off a bunch of men with guns, one in particular. Kiril is as smitten by her as I am, you know. I, frankly, don't know where Gretchen stands."

"I didn't have time to investigate that myself," Anastasia said. "I suppose we'll find out when we get back.

There is...another way. David and Bathsheba, yes?"

King David was best known for creating the first rule of gunfights, "always bring a gun," by defeating Goliath with a range weapon while poor Goliath was armed only with an over large knife. But he was very nearly as famous for falling in love, more like l.u.s.t, with one of his soldiers' wives, Bathsheba, then sending said soldier, one Uriah, to the front lines so he'd get offed. While bringing a gun to a gun fight was the sort of thing Mike wouldalways do if he could, the latter...

"f.u.c.k that," Mike said. "No f.u.c.king way. I'd rather p.i.s.s the Keldara off honestly than dishonestly.

They'd see right through that. No, I need to just keep keeping on. I'll get over it."

"Seeing Gretchen day after day, year by year?" Anastasia asked.

"Hey, she'll get old," Mike said, smiling with only his mouth, his eyes closed and his jaw flexed.

"Probably gain weight. t.i.ts will sag. I'll get past it. In time." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Say about a century."

"Yes," Anastasia said, her hand creeping downward. "I'm sure you will. But if it happens at all, I know only one thing to speed it."

Mike tried not to shake his head in chagrin. He trulywas in love. Probably for the first time in his life. It was true that that sort of thing could hit like a lightning bolt. But it was, also, apparently true that a stiff p.r.i.c.k has no conscience.

Chapter Eight.

"Where is my daughter," Arensky said as the van drew to a stop.

"Nearby." The man who had been "handling" him had not been introduced and had not offered a name.

He just told Arensky where to go, or more often simply grunted and pointed. "And if you'd like us to send you some pieces it can be arranged. Or pictures of her being raped by a dozen men. Out. Into the building. Don't look around. Don't make eye contact if anyone is nearby. Just get out and go in the door."

Arensky's face tightened but he did as instructed, picking up the briefcase containing the "samples" and exiting the van. The "building" was shabby, made of roughly dressed stone with a slate roof and small, wooden shuttered, windows. The interior was dark since the shutters were closed. There was a trickle of light coming in from around the shutters and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. When they did his face tightened even more.

"Ah, Dr. Arensky, come in."

"Sergei," Arensky replied, walking to the table in the center of the room and setting down the case.

There was the table with a couple of rickety chairs, two metal beds without mattresses and a gas camping stove. Other than that the room was bare. "Where is my daughter."

"In a nearby town," "Sergei" said, calmly. "She is unharmed, guarded by my men, tended to, I might add, by local women. Frightened, but I have a.s.sured her that as long as you cooperate she will remain that way. And I so a.s.sure you. I will arrange for you to talk to her, briefly, very soon. Not in person, you understand. We have, now, to wait. You will wait here. She will wait there. When the transfer is completed she will be moved to where you are going."

"So she can be used against me by your employers," Arensky spat. He started to take off his coat but refrained; the room was colder, it seemed, than the out-of-doors. Much colder than the stuffy van.

"My contractors, yes," the man said.

"Sergei, this is madness," Arensky said, again, with desperate resignation. "What is in there..." he added, pointing to the case, "that is death as you cannot possibly imagine. If that gets out, if these Islamic black-a.s.sesuse it, it is the end of the world. Not only their enemies will die, you will die, everyone you know will die. The f.u.c.kingworld will die."

"Everyone dies," Sergei said, standing up from the chair. "Everyone dies eventually. Societies die.

Species die. The weak make way for the fit. If it is mankind's time to die, then die it will. Besides," he added with a grin, "I've been inoculated. And so have all of my men."

"Inoculation doesn'twork with this," Arensky said, slumping into one of the chairs. "Nothing does. And it lingers ."

"For what I am being paid for this job, I can retire to a remote island staffed entirely by willing women,"

Sergei replied, shrugging. "I can restart the human race single-handed. Every man's fantasy, yes? Gregor will see to your needs," he added as the morose guard entered the room. "And in time, if you're very good, you can hear that your daughter is well."

"Madness."

Mike had to admit that he was ready to get out of Georgia. He enjoyed the various perks of being "Kildar" but he also missed modern civilization. He'd been "deployed", as he thought of it, for over a year. It was time to get back to the World.

But as he considered the traffic outside the window he had to admit there were more benefits to being in Georgia than he'd remembered. Tbilisi could get some traffic jams, but nothing like DC. And he was going to have to put up with all that protocol bulls.h.i.t and probably ritual d.i.c.kbeating.

The car had been waiting for them at the airport, a discreet government luxury four-door, like a thousand others in the city. A "ride-along" had met them at the exit from security, handled the bags and whisked them to the car.

There wasn't anything they could do about the traffic, though.

"Anastasia, honey," Mike said, looking at his watch. "I'm running on short time. I've got a meeting at the Pentagon in about an hour. Given the traffic..."

"Should you go directly there?" Anastasia asked. "I will be fine."

Mike suspected that was true. A person doesn't get dropped off at the White House and then just get left.Somebody would make sure she went where she was supposed to. If she looked as if she was wandering, at the very least the Secret Service was going to step in. But that was thelast thing he wanted to happen.

"No, I'm going to the House," Mike said. "I'll make sure you're settled. But I'm going to have to do that as quickly as possible and then scoot."

He knocked on the divider, not knowing quite which control worked it, then leaned over the seats.

"Okay, I need some cards laid down," Mike said. "Secret Service or just drivers?"

"DOD transport," the rider said.

f.u.c.k. Mike wasn't sure what that meant.

"I know diddly about your group," Mike said. "But I've got a problem and it's a secure issue..."

"Your cover is Mr. Michael Ford," the rider said. "A businessman currently working a start-up business in Georgia and a former fundraiser for President Cliff. Also a personal friend from long back, something about baseball." He reached back and handed Mike a folder. "I was wondering when you were going to ask."

Mike flipped through the doc.u.ments and nodded.

"Thanks," he said. "My brief on this was lousy."

"You're welcome, Mr. Ford," the rider said. "We're going to be driving you to your next destination.

Given the traffic you're on short time for the meet at the White House. I'll ensure that Miss Rakovich has an escort but I'd suggest that you cut any conversation at the House as short as possible. And for your general comfort level, I'm former CAG, the driver is a Green Beanie and from your utter cluelessness and tan I'd say either SEAL or Recon."

"Glad to finally be back in the warm," Mike said, chuckling as the divider went back up.

They rolled up to a side entrance to the White House and the rider got out to open Mike's door.

"Your luggage will be taken care of Mr. Ford," the former Delta said. "You've just got time to shower and change if you need to."

"Love to," Mike said. "Even a Gulfstream gets kinda rank after a twenty hour flight."

Mike took Anastasia's arm and led her to the door where he was greeted by an aide and two uniformed Secret Service. He did the ritual dump of keys and spare change then walked through the scanner followed by Anastasia. He'd left all his knives and guns behind, much to his chagrin.

The aide nodded to them as soon as they were through the security screen.

"Mr. Ford," the man said, smiling and shaking Mike's hand. "Miss Rakovich? I'm Thomas Johnson. I understand you are in a hurry so I'll show you to your rooms. I'm aware that Mr. Ford has a priority meeting but the First Lady would like to talk to you for a moment before you leave."

"Of course," Mike said. "I'd love a shower, though."

"Not a problem, sir," the man said. "We installed plumbing back in the early 1900s."

Mike was surprised at the size of the room. He'd only ever stayed in Camp David which was cramped enough but this room wasn't much bigger than one of the harem girls' rooms at the caravanserai.

But then he had to think that the White House was built back in the days when large rooms weren't made unless they were ballrooms. In summer, big rooms were not much cooler than small and in winter they were impossible to heat. Ballrooms were kept warm in the "season" as much by dancing bodies as by the roaring fires.

The service, though, was first rate. Somehow, the White House staff had managed to get their bags up to their room, unpacked, everything put in drawers or hung up and toiletries in the bathroom, before they'd gotten to the room. And probably every bit of it had been swept by the Service for threats.

"Honey," Mike said, shaking his head, "you need to be taking notes."

"I am," Anastasia said, clearly just as impressed. "I wonder if I can hire anyone away."

"I'm getting in the shower," Mike said, stripping off the clothes he'd been wearing since yesterday.

"I'll do your back if you'll do mine," Anastasia said, unzipping her dress.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Mike said. "But what the h.e.l.l. Pierson can wait."

"It's not Colonel Pierson I'm worried about," Anastasia said. "You're supposed to meet the First Lady."

"Weare going to meet the First Lady," Mike said. "So do your makeupfast ."

The shower had, alas, involved a minimum of grab-a.s.s and Anastasiacould dress and put on makeup fast when she had to.

So in no more than thirty minutes they were back out of their room, Mike in a suit and carrying a briefcase while Anastasia had changed into a different dress, this one a light blonde color just a shade darker than her hair.

"This way, sir, ma'am," Johnson said. "The First Lady is in the Green Room."

"Amanda," Mike said when they walked in the room.