“I’ve been called out of town,” Mike said, shaking his head at her expression. “Try to keep your hands off the trainers while I’m gone, okay?”
“Yes, Kildar,” the girl said, nodding.
“Is Cottontail giving you any trouble yet?” he asked.
“No, Kildar,” the girl said, looking at him in a puzzled manner.
“Odd, that,” Mike said. “I guess she’s biding her time. I may be gone for a week or so. You just listen to Mother Savina. She’ll manage things ’til I get back. If there are any questions she can’t answer, get ahold of Sergeant Heard, she’s the senior female militia trainer. Questions?”
“No, Kildar,” the girl said.
“Good girl,” Mike said, sighing. “I need to get going.”
“Chatham Aviation, Gloria speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi, Gloria, it’s Mike Jenkins again,” Mike said. “I don’t know if you recall me chartering…”
“It’s been the talk of the office for the last year, Mr. ‘Jenkins,’ ” the receptionist said, giggling. The quotes on the name were evident in her voice.
“Great,” Mike said. “I hope it stayed in your office. Look, I need another charter. I don’t suppose Captain Hardesty is available?”
“As a matter of fact he is,” Gloria said. “And as far as I know the discussion hasn’t left the office. I certainly haven’t talked about it; our clients’ actions are considered privileged for very good reasons. Your travels were rather… interesting, however. Other than that, I won’t discuss it over the phone.”
“Maybe another time,” Mike said, chuckling.
“Where are you this time?”
“Georgia,” Mike said. “The country not the state. I’ll pick up at Tbilisi Airport and be going to Uzbekistan. A layover there and then back. I need to see a man about a harem manager.”
“In your case, Mr. Jenkins,” the receptionist said, the humor in her voice evident, “I won’t even bother to guess if that’s the real reason you’re going to the Stans. When do you need the jet?”
“Yesterday?” Mike asked. “In other words, as soon as possible.”
“Captain Hardesty will be in the air in an hour or so,” Gloria said. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Jenkins.”
“The same, Gloria,” Mike replied. “Nice dealing with professionals.”
“Steinberg.”
“Jenkins,” Mike replied. “Go scramble code seven.”
“I’m on,” Steinberg said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jenkins.”
“I need a very discreet conversation with your opposite number in the Uzbek embassy. Can that be arranged? I’ll add that it’s a private matter rather than purely business.”
“Sure,” Steinberg said. “What you need to start learning is that at this level, personal and business are interchangeable. Want him to call you or vice versa?”
“If he could call me, soon, that would be good,” Mike said, stuffing the sat phone into his jump bag. “I’m hoping to head to Uzbek sometime today.”
“Any business reason you’re headed for Uzbekistan?” Steinberg said, curiously.
“Nope,” Mike assured him. “Purely personal. I’m hoping he can arrange a discreet conversation for me with someone there. I need some advice and contacts.”
“I’ll call him as soon as we get off the phone,” Steinberg said. “But you’ve got me curious.”
“It’s a long story,” Mike said. “And one that needs to stay very close to the vest for the time being. In other words, not to be discussed with your bosses. Personal, as I mentioned.”
“Okay,” Steinberg said. “Talk to you later.”
“Come on out to the house,” Mike said. “We’ll hoist a few.”
“I’ve heard of Keldara beer,” Steinberg said. “That’s a pretty good invitation.”
Mike was in the middle of discussing what had to be done while he was gone with Nielson when the sat phone rang.
“Jenkins.”
“David Wangen,” a male voice said. “Scrambler code nine, please.”
“Go Scramble,” Mike said, punching in the code.
“Mr. Jenkins, I’m the intelligence coordinator for the American embassy in Uzbekistan,” Wangen said. “Bob Steinberg suggested that you needed something and indicated that it was worth my time to help.”
“I don’t know about worth your time,” Mike said. “It’s purely personal.”
“Anyone who can pick up the phone and call the President is worth helping, Mr. Jenkins,” Wangen said, chuckling.
“I haven’t talked to the boss in… months,” Mike said. “And for reasons that are going to be really obvious this is something I’d rather never get to his ears. So, Mr. Wangen, exactly how discreet are you?”
“If it’s not a matter of national security I can be very discreet,” Wangen said, curiously. “What’s the problem?”
“I inherited a damned harem,” Mike said, rolling his eyes at Nielson who was grinning. “The reasons are complicated and I’ll explain it when we’re together, if you want. But I need a harem manager. One of the guys I got for training the locals said that there are a couple of guys around Uzbek that have traditional harems. I need to talk to one of them about where in the hell you get a harem manager. I’m not going to try to keep a bunch of teenage girls in line myself. I don’t have a big enough club around the house.”
“My heart bleeds,” Wangen said, chuckling. “My wife is pushing fifty and going through the ‘change.’ But I know a guy that fits the profile. I’ll give him a call. When are you planning on coming out?”
“I’ve got a plane on the way from England at the moment,” Mike said. “I figured I’d be there by tomorrow morning. Sometime tomorrow work?”
“Probably,” Wangen said, hesitantly. “I’ll have to call the sheik and check on his schedule.”
“I can hang out for a day or two,” Mike said. “I just need to be back by Saturday.”
“That can be arranged,” Wangen said. “Let me give the sheik’s people a call and see what I can arrange.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, hitting the disconnect. “The plane’s on the way. Given how long it takes to get to Tbilisi I probably should be leaving,” he continued to Nielson.
“We’ve got it handled,” Nielson said. “Take off. You realize you’re running away from a group of teenage girls?”
“Oh, certainly,” Mike said, standing up and folding away the satellite phone. “Women are the root of all evil. And teenage girls haven’t learned to use their power for good. There is a reason that harem doors had bolts on the outside.”
“I need to get a helicopter,” Mike muttered as he bumped over the road to Tbilisi.
“Pardon, Kildar?” Vil said. Mike had brought the Keldara along to drive the Expedition back to the caravanserai. But he wasn’t about to trust him to actually drive with Mike in the car. The Keldara had many traits Mike had come to admire, but their driving style was pure third world.
“I said I need to get a helicopter,” Mike replied. “This road is awful. But maintaining the damned thing in the valley would be a pain in the ass. And taking the Expedition means the reaction team has to use one of the Family’s. Stop by the Ford dealer and tell him we need two more SUVs. They don’t have to be Expeditions, Explorers would do, but they have to be four wheel. And black or red.”
“Yes, Kildar,” Vil said. “May I ask a question?”