“Are you Mr. Jenkins?” a heavyset man asked, plopping down on the stone bench the Keldara had installed along the wall.
“Yes?” Mike said. “And you are?”
“Bob Thomas,” the man said, holding up an electronic device that looked something like a PDA.
“I’m not sure what that is,” Mike admitted. Gurum had handed him one early that morning, but Mike had parked it behind the booth.
“It’s my card,” the man said, smiling. “I guess you lost yours?”
“No, it’s in the booth,” Mike said. “So we trade cards with that thing?”
“That’s how it’s supposed to work, yeah,” Thomas said, grinning and putting it away. “Your information is on your badge, too. But you’re the brewery owner?”
“Co-owner, sort of,” Mike said, shrugging. “I set it up as a way for the Keldara to build capital. I supplied the funds and the land, they’re supplying the labor and knowledge. I think we’re splitting the barley and hops. It’s pretty complicated.”
“How?” Thomas asked. “And why’s an American backing a Georgian start-up brewery?”
“The Keldara are sort of my retainers,” Mike said, frowning. “I know that’s a weird way to put it, but it’s the closest to reality that I can find. I own the land they live on, their homes and most of their tools. And I can’t sell it back to them, either, legally. They also like it that way; it’s custom for them. Anyway, I bought this farm and it came with… retainers. So I built the brewery mostly to give the women some income. They don’t have any the way that things are set up now.”
“What about the men?” Thomas asked, frowning. “If you’re talking about tenant farmers, the men aren’t going to have much income either.”
“Ah, well,” Mike said, quirking up one cheek. “There’s a brochure about the Mountain Tiger Militia in there, too.”
“I read it,” Thomas said, his brow furrowing. “I thought it was a joke, all that about defending the valley from Chechens and stuff.”
“Not at all,” Mike replied. “The men get paid as part of the militia. Some of the women, too. Actually, what you’re looking at is mostly a militia team. The girls that are chatting up the customers are intelligence specialists. Most of them speak two to three languages and are experts in electronic intercept or intelligence analysis. The men are militia members, at least as well trained as American Rangers and all of them with combat experience. They lost a member just a few days ago.”
“And they’re selling beer?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side.
“And they’re selling beer,” Mike agreed. “So that they can get some income into the valley that’s not dependent upon the Kildar. That being me.”
“And if they get so successful they’re independent of the Kildar?” Thomas asked.
“Then I’ll still have a very nice house in a very nice valley,” Mike said, grinning. “And part ownership in a very nice brewery.”
“So what do you do, Mr. Jenkins?” Thomas asked. “Where’d your money come from? And how’d you end up in Georgia?”
“Well, if I told you that I’d have to kill you,” Mike said, then laughed. “Seriously, I was a SEAL, then I started a company that made classified communications widgets. That was before 9/11 and I made money but not world class. Then, after 9/11, the widgets got very important and I got bought out by a major defense contractor. After that I didn’t have much to do. I didn’t want to start another company so I travelled. While I was travelling I literally got lost and ended up in Brigadoon, so to speak. And here we are.”
“Starting up a brewery isn’t cheap,” Thomas said. “You made that much money selling to the defense contractor?”
“Close enough,” Mike said, shrugging. “Most of the stuff I’ve done, including the widgets, has been classified. I was sort of serious that I couldn’t explain where all the money came from. But the brewery had some help from the IMF as a matching grant. And the barley is, more or less, free. Ditto the hops and the other ingredients. We’ll have to buy some extra stuff but not much. And the labor is cheap to set up. If we can get a fair price for the beer, we’ll make money. The Keldara will make money. It will take me a while to recoup my investment, maybe more time than a lot of investors would like. But I’m in it for the long haul and it’s mostly for the Keldara.”
“You like them,” Thomas said, gesturing with his chin at one of the girls who was chatting with two guys, both of whom had the expression of pole-axed oxen.
“They’re damned good people,” Mike said, thoughtfully. “Damned good.”
“And the girls are pretty, too,” Thomas said, grinning. “Where’d you get the model on the poster?” he asked, gesturing into the brewery. In pride of place over the bar was a poster-sized pic of Katrina. She had a bottle of beer that was foaming over and her lips were pursed to sip off the excess. The caption was “Are You Tiger Enough?” Mike was pretty sure that when that got back to the elders, and got explained to a few of them, he was in for a very tough conversation.
“Katrina Makanee,” Mike said, grinning. “She’s Vanda’s… cousin or something. I took the picture.”
“You’re kidding,” Thomas said, his eyes wide. “I figured you had it shopped out.”
“Nope,” Mike said, still smiling. “I took all the pics in the brochures and the posters.” The pic of the girls lined up with their bottles had been made into a banner that fronted the entire display.
“You’re a man of many talents, Mr. Jenkins,” Thomas said. “My partners and I would like to meet with you and your manager this evening.”
“Up to Gurum,” Mike said, wondering what was happening out at Nellis and when he’d be called out there. “He’ll set up the schedule. I may not be available; I have some other business going on here in town.”
“Well, I hope we’re able to meet,” Thomas said, heaving himself to his feet. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Thomas paused and looked at the booth, shaking his head. “They really have to fight terrorists?”
“We had an attack by a short battalion, about two hundred, a month ago,” Mike said, gesturing with his chin. “The guy heaving a barrel was one of the snipers. The girl chatting with that guy in the blue shirt was on a mortar. The redhead serving beer was handling the communications. So… yes.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I say we can use that,” Thomas said, thoughtfully. “Beer drinkers tend to be patriotic. ‘Buy Keldara beer and you’re helping kill terrorists.’ ”
“And various other bastards,” Mike said, thinking of the most recent mission.
“Kildar,” Daria said, walking over. “There is a call from the suite. You have a call there.”
Which was where the secure phone had been installed. Game time.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Mike said, nodding at Thomas. “I hope to meet you later.”
“Good luck in your other business,” Thomas said, nodding in farewell then turning to Daria with a smile.
“Jenkins,” Mike said, leaning back in the seat.
“Mike, there’s a jet waiting for you at the airport,” Pierson said. “We need you out there by three.”
“Can do,” Mike said, sighing. “Why three?”
“You’ll see,” Pierson said, cutting the connection.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nellis Air Force Base was one of the most secure bases in the United States. Plunked in the middle of thousands of miles of just about nothing, the base was called “Dreamland” since it was the center for testing the most advanced concept aircraft in the world. It was from Dreamland that the entire stealth series of aircraft had been envisioned, designed and produced.