“Yes, but I can play the part of a street whore,” Katya said, bitterly. “I have that down to an art.”
“As the Kildar has the bluff warrior down to an art,” Jay sighed. “Because he lives it. But you cannot play a Keldara woman, yet, nor the slightly different version you’ll find in Chechnya. And you must. This is the first part you must learn if you want to survive this mission.”
“Why?” Katya asked. “I go in, find the target, do what I can to prevent her being taken out and then we extract with the strike team.”
“And if anything goes wrong?” Jay asked. “The strike team gets intercepted? The mission is blown? Your cover is blown? What then? You’re out in the cold, honey. And they’re looking for a blonde whore.”
“Lots of blonde whores,” Katya pointed out.
“Then you know it all?” Jay asked, carefully.
“No, I do not, o master,” Katya replied. “Enlighten me o font of wisdom.”
“Sarcasm I can take,” Jay said. “Mulishness I can’t. You are out in the cold. The enemy is looking for a street whore. You cannot, yet, become a man in an instant. Who do you become?”
“One of the local women,” Katya replied. “They speak Georgian and Russian.”
“Can you mimic the accent?” Jay asked.
“Oh, yeah, sir, that I can,” Katya said in a provincial southern Russian.
“But you are not them,” Jay said. “You are not a teenage girl, frightened of these problem men all around. Probably raised Eastern Orthodox but surrounded by Muslims who consider her not much more than a whore because she doesn’t wear a burkha. At least her head will be covered. Flinching and skulking to get to market and back to the farm without being beaten or robbed or raped. Born on a farm, hardly seeing a town her whole life. Not even knowing what sex or rape really is most likely unless her father or uncle has broached her on a long winter night. Just that she can’t have either one happen or she’ll end up as… a street whore. You were born in a city, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Katya said. “How did you know?”
“Ask me again in two or three years,” Jay replied watching with interest as several of the Elders of the tribe gathered outside one of the houses. “But you won’t have to. Orphanage. First sexual experience there when you were… ten? The guy who ran the orphanage, the ‘orphan master.’ Somewhere in Siberia. Not Novy Birsk but close. Killed someone in the orphanage. Made it look like an accident. Probably not even someone who had hurt you, just someone you knew you could kill and get away with it. Tossed out at thirteen or possibly just sold straight to your first pimp. Shuffled south and east towards the Balkans. Left here because the whoremaster in town couldn’t find anyone stupid enough to buy you, no matter how pretty. Picked up by the Kildar as a necessity and he made a virtue out of it by using you as a spy. But he’s just another user to you, isn’t he?”
“How?” Katya said, softly.
“Again, ask me in about ten years,” Jay said as the Elders filed into the house. “But if you’ve been my pupil for that long, and you won’t be, you won’t need to ask. I doubt you’ll stay for more than a year more. If, when, you go out on your own, if you keep studying in about twenty years you will know. If I can get you to even mimic a Keldara in six months, really mimic, so I can find no flaw, cut six years off that time. Either one. But I’m not sure you’ll ever be good enough. You’re missing one very vital component for being a really good spy.”
“What?” Katya asked, confused.
“Empathy.” Jay said, looking at the house then up at the caravanserai. “Very important to a spy. Empathy gives you the ability to read below the surface. So see not only what is there but what is hidden.”
“There is no way to hide it,” Mother Mahona said. “She is smitten.”
“As is the Kildar,” Father Ferani said. Ferani was the oldest of the Fathers, somewhere in his seventies, shriveled by age but very hard. “Which is a pity.”
“I have always felt that this Kildar was… not good,” Father Devlich said. Tall and broad as Ferani was short he had dark red hair and a face lined by frowns. “He is not true Kildar.”
“He has proven his worth again and again as a provider and as a warrior,” Mother Makanee snapped. “The Kildar must, by rights, have both strength and the Soul of Battle. The Soul, though… ”
“Makes them vulnerable,” Father Kulcyanov wheezed. Though younger than Ferani he had led, if anything, a harder life and it showed. With lips and fingertips blue from congestive heart failure, everyone wondered how many more winters the old warrior would last. “I saw it in many of the best of my commanders. But it is what makes them the best. Without the Soul they are brainless bulls, unfit to lead a squad much less the Keldara. As much as we need the strength and spirit that the Kildars bring, the Soul has always been the hardest to find. This is a True Kildar. Whether he can manage to survive his trials, though, that is another question.”
“He is weak,” Ferani argued. “This… infatuation proves it.”
“What of Kiril in all this?” Mother Devlich asked.
“If need be, Kiril will be sent forth,” Father Kulcyanov said. “But I do not believe this Kildar will force that necessity. He has honor, this one. Strength, fierceness, honor and the Soul. It is a rare combination.”
“A weak combination,” Father Ferani said. “You will see. Every man has his weakness.”
“Just because you have them, does not mean the Kildar does,” Father Devlich said. “Some of us can keep our hands off other men’s wives.”
“Baaaaa,” Father Ferani replied.
“Do not start that again,” Mother Kulcyanov snapped. “Either of you. We must wait and see. If it is necessary, Kiril will be sent forth. We will speak to Colonel Nielson and ensure that he is sent to a proper place for a trained warrior. This is Tradition.”
“Agreed,” Father Devlich said, nodding. “Kiril is young. He will survive and even prosper. And a Keldara as Kildaran… ”
“Oh, yes, leave it to me to break it to Katrina,” Mother Ferani said, shaking her head.
“Katrina will be the least of our worries,” Mother Lenka said. She was not usually included in such Councils. She knew why she was here for this one. “If you send Kiril forth and present Gretchen to this Kildar, he will probably send you all forth. Bide your time. The final toss is yet to be played in this game.”
“Okay, I’ve briefed you on this,” Mike shouted over the roar from the freefall simulator. “Now I’ll show you.”
The vertical wind-tunnel was a fairly massive structure. Mike had had one hell of a time getting one in any sort of short timeframe; they usually were built in place over a couple of months. As it was it had taken three precious days, and damned near a half a million dollars, to get it to the valley of the Keldara. And that didn’t include the Georgian military heavy lift chopper that brought it from the airport.
Designed to be loaded on a trailer, the system was hardly state-of-the-art. The enormous sound generated by the older style trainers had become an issue in all developed countries so they were going relatively cheap. If you could call two hundred thousand dollars cheap.