Tiger by the Tail (11 page)

“Works for me,” Morgan had replied. Checking his ticket, he saw the flight left in three hours. Fortunately, he always kept a light duty bag packed, and he had grabbed it, flagged down a motorcycle taxi, and headed for the airport. He’d lost an hour and fifteen minutes to the packed streets, and made it through security with ten minutes to spare.

The eighty-five-minute flight had been uneventful; it was only when he landed that things had started to get a bit—unusual.

He was met by a spectacularly beautiful young woman, with eyes so deep blue Jace thought he might drown in them if he wasn’t careful, and lush brown hair braided into a single, thick rope that was draped over one shoulder. She was damned young—if she was twenty, he was a Thailand whoremaster—and was holding a small sign with “J. Morgan” on it.

Jace walked up to the young woman, his six feet, three inches making her look up at his face.

“That’s me.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” the young woman said in accented English, but didn’t extend her hand. “My name is Martya. Our pilot would like to get underway, so unless you have any more luggage to pick up . . . ?”

“I’m ready to go.”

Martya looked around before leaning closer to him.

“Are you not carrying?”

The former Recon Marine kept his face deadpan.

“Weapons, drugs, or both?”

“Oh, I am sorry . . . I am not quite used to the language—”

“It’s all right, Martya, I’m not carrying anything.” He wasn’t crazy enough to try either, particularly in Singapore, where the drug laws made America’s look like a slap on the wrist.

“Is good. Follow me, please.”

“With pleasure.” Carrying his bag easily in one hand, Jace followed the slim girl out of Terminal Two, through the airport, and out the main entrance door, into the heat of an early Vietnamese fall. Outside the main building, she headed toward a cluster of hangars well away from the main runways. “Our helicopter is over here.”

“I’m right behind you.” Quickening his pace, Jace easily kept up with the smaller girl as they headed for a Eurocopter AS355 helicopter that was warming up as they approached. Another woman, dressed in cargo pants, T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses, stood at the passenger door, obviously waiting for the pair.

“Any trouble finding him, Martya?” she shouted over the din of the whirling blades. The slender girl shook her head as she climbed aboard.

“Copilot Tamara Wilson, former U.S.M.C! Pleased to meet another jarhead!” she shouted.

“The pleasure’s all mine!” he yelled back.

Tamara jerked a thumb at the passenger compartment.

“Climb aboard, I’ll stow your bag.”

“Can do!” Jace said as he stepped up into the rear of the aircraft, where his next surprise was waiting.

There were two other girls besides Martya inside, each as beautiful as she was. One was a stunning tiny blonde with perfect, milk-white skin who introduced herself as Xatia. The one beside her was freckled, but her skin tone, along with curly, bright-red hair, suited her emerald-green eyes perfectly. Her name was Tsira.

Besides a small seat for him, every other square inch of the passenger compartment was taken up by several cases of beer, a brand called Mountain Tiger. Jace had heard of it; some Eastern European microbrew, apparently selling like crazy in the States. Practically impossible to get in Southeast Asia, however.

“Everything all right back there, Captain?”

Jace looked toward the cockpit to see another woman on the stick. She was short and trim, with all the right parts in all the right places. He must have been staring, because her lips compressed into a thin line.

“Something wrong with the view, Captain?”

Jace scrambled to put on a pair of headphones. “No, ma’am, everything looks great from back here. I’m just wondering when I get to meet Auric Goldfinger.”

Tamara had gotten into the copilot’s seat in time to hear his remark, and both she and the pilot chuckled.

“Yeah, the Kildar gets that kind of reaction a lot. Don’t worry, Vanner will fill you in when we get there.”

“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he replied.
Especially not with this view
.

The two women completed their preflight check, and the helicopter lifted off smoothly and headed south, leaving the city behind and shooting forward over the endless South China Sea.

Settling back to enjoy the ride, Jace tried not to ogle the bevy of gorgeous babes surrounding him, which was hard work. They were also doing their best not to look at him, conversing in a language that sounded similar to, but not quite Russian. His list of questions for his old friend Vanner, however, was growing longer with each passing nautical mile.

What the hell is he mixed up in?
he thought.
And if this is who he’s working with, why the hell didn’t he contact me sooner?

* * *

“Patrick, the helicopter with the girls and Mr. Morgan is inbound. Kacey estimates they will be landing in approximately five minutes,” Greznya reported.

“Sweet,” Patrick said with a nod. “I can’t wait for him to see the place and meet the Kildar. Hey, Adams, whatever happened to your guy?”

The master chief, who was enjoying a bottle of Mountain Tiger while sprawled on a couch, smiled lazily.

“It turns out that he wasn’t available for what we needed. But he has something that the Kildar will like very much.”

He refused to say anything more on the subject, even when pressed. Vanner just shrugged and joined Greznya on the aft deck, which had been reconfigured into the helipad. A few minutes later, the Eurocopter came into sight and passed over the fantail, looping around to approach from the aft for a gentle landing. Kacey Bathlick, the pilot, powered down the rotors, and the three female and one male passengers disembarked.

“Jace! Over here!” Vanner trotted out to meet his buddy, clapping his back in a hug. “How was the flight over?”

“Man, Singapore Air’s got nothing on these women!” Jace nodded at the three girls, each of whom smiled and nodded shyly back as Grezyna herded them inside. “You have
got
to tell me what you’re working on.”

“All in good time, buddy. First, why don’t you give me a hand?” Vanner walked back to the passenger compartment. “Grab a case or two—let’s get these babies on ice.”

Jace set his duty bag on top of two cases, picked them up, and carried them inside, trying not to gawk at the luxury yacht around him. The
Big Fish
was decked out in teak and white leather everywhere he looked. At least, everywhere that wasn’t taken up by unsmiling, solid, oddly good-looking men every few yards.

“Hand those off to Vanel and Edvin—thanks, guys,” Vanner said. “Come with me into the conference room, and we can catch up a bit. Greznya, please let the Kildar know our guest has arrived.”

Jace couldn’t help watching the young woman’s lush curves and pert backside as she strolled away, and let out a low whistle.

“Careful—that’s my wife you’re ogling,” Vanner said with a huge smile.

“No shit? Jesus H. Christ, congratulations, man! When did you get hitched?”

“That . . . is a very long story, most of which you don’t have the need-to-know,” Vanner said with a slight grimace. “This situation is . . . decidedly odd. But most things involving the Kildar are.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that name. Patrick, what in the hell’s going on here? Since when do you work for a Bond villain?”

Vanner led him into a plush room that had a long, oval table in the center, surrounded by several leather swivel chairs, each with an executive stationary set in front of them. A sweating bucket of beers on ice sat on the table.

“Drink first, answers second.”

Jace grabbed one of the bottles—it was another Mountain Tiger. He frowned at the wax seal on top, then grabbed a letter opener and carved the wax off. Uncorking it, he took a drink and almost gasped as the golden liquid hit his tongue.

“Goddamn, that’s good!”

Vanner nodded from his seat at the end of the table.

“It should be. That’s the real deal—the best-of-the-best Mountain Tiger beer, straight from the valley of the Keldara, in the Caucasus Mountains.”

“Okay, let’s see . . . Kildar, Keldara . . . wait a minute. I have heard of these guys. Are you working with those kick-ass fighters from Georgia? Something about pretty much putting paid to the last of the big Chechen militias? What are they looking for, an in-depth tour of Southeast Asia?”

Vanner leaned forward and opened a bottle of Mountain Tiger for himself.

“Close. Here’s what I can tell you . . .”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jace leaned back in his chair, drained his bottle, and set it on the table.

“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Sometime during the Byzantine Empire, a group of marauding Celts, for lack of a better term, was captured by the Byzantines and turned into the personal guards of the emperor. They were sent to what is now Georgia, to manage a remote tax post, and settled in this particular valley. The Empire falls, as they all eventually do, but no one tells the Varangians, who stay where they are and become farmers. They keep their customs and religion alive, and one of those involves the Kildar, a foreigner who’s their landlord-slash-warlord. These warrior/farmers have since been living in that particular valley for the past fifteen-odd centuries, until your Mr. Jenkins came along and starts rapidly bringing them into the twenty-first. Now he’s got roughly a company of ‘security specialists’ under his command, and, shall we say, helps out certain interested foreign powers when asked nicely. The women are gorgeous, the men are handsome, they’re all hardcore, and they brew a helluva beer. That about sum it up?”

“Look, I know how it all sounds—I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen some of the stonework in the
caravanserai
. Well, that, and heard the lyrics of their songs during their festivals. They’re the real deal all right, and the Kildar . . . Well, it’s the best job I’ve ever had, and that includes working for Uncle Sam.”

“It all sounds way too crazy to believe.” Jace nodded at the empty bottle. “However, I’ve only had one of these, and you’ve never been a good liar. Therefore, I can only assume that when the impossible is removed, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth.”

“You got it, Sherlock. So, you interested?”

“Uhm, beer, girls and killing bad people? Hell,
yes
. Assuming I pass muster with your—Kildar, is it?”

“Right.”

Just then the door opened, and Vanner and Jace both stood up as an unassuming-looking man entered. He was fit, but fairly average-looking, standing about five-foot-ten, with brown hair and brown eyes. His demeanor, however, was that of a man who knew what he wanted, and would do whatever it took to get it done. Jace respected the type, as they were vastly preferable to the other kinds of commanding officers he’d encountered during his tours—mostly either REMF limp-dicks or ass-kissers; or ROAD pussies just marking time ’til they were back in the world.

“Mike Jenkins, this is Jace Morgan,” Vanner said.

Jace held out his hand, which Mike took in a firm grip.

“A pleasure, Mr. Morgan. Patrick’s been telling me a lot about you.”

“I hope I can live up to the hype. Seriously, it’s good to be here, and thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

“Have a seat.” Mike watched Jace as he sat. “Not fond of the high-and-tight, huh?”

Jace swept his straight black hair back off his forehead. “It was the only thing I didn’t love about the Corps. Besides, why advertise my former profession that openly?”

“Point. I trust Patrick’s been filling you in on some of the details of our operation.”

“Only what I need to know at the moment, sir. I assume more details will be forthcoming if we come to an agreement.”

“Correct. What do you think about the duty we’d like to hire you for?”

“Just to make sure I understand the mission parameters, you’re looking for a guide to the general region, someone fluent in the languages, customs, tribes, politics, and everything else. I’ve spent time in just about every country in the region, ranging as far south as Australia and far north as Mongolia. I’m fluent in Mandarin, Cantonese, Burmese, Hmong, Japanese, Thai, Malay, and Vietnamese. I’m passable in Samoan, Lao, Wu, Min, Montagnard, and Tagalog. Area dialects will be catch-as-you-can, since even tribes living next to each other may have almost completely different pronunciations. Don’t even get me started on real village dialects. Most of them are completely different languages. Those . . .
nobody
knows all of those.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “And I thought Vanner was a polyglot.”

“It’s a gift. And I’m half-Indonesian, thanks to my mother.”

“Works.” Mike’s jaw worked as he consulted his iPad. “Your personnel file looks great—Marine Corps Expeditionary Medal, Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal, expert across the board shooter. Four tours with Fourth Force Reconnaissance Company out of Okinawa before the unit was deactivated, mainly in Southeast Asia.”

“Yes sir, both white and black ops.”

“Very good, as we have been known to pop a few caps when the need arises. With Vanner’s recommendation on top of that, I’d say you’re perfectly suited for the opening. The offer is twenty-five thousand dollars, plus expenses, and tax-free, for approximately two weeks’ work. Bear in mind that we keep very odd hours, so you’ll probably spend most of that time on duty. What do you say?”

“On board, sir.”

“Then welcome aboard, both figuratively and literally,” Mike said, holding out his hand. “Vanner may have mentioned that from time to time I’ve had the opportunity to do certain favors for the U.S. Government. The details of any previous ones are unimportant, but you’ve probably seen YouTube videos on us.”

“Yes, sir, particularly the op near Russia. I’m looking forward to meeting the members of your team. Those are some kick-ass SOBs.”

A peculiar expression crossed Mike’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

“Good. We’re doing another favor for Uncle Sam right now, babysitting a package as it heads to its final destination. The contents are specialized computer boards, which is all you need to know at the moment. We have about two days before we make Hong Kong—have to swing by Ho Chih Minh City to offload the helicopter. I suggest that you use that time to get familiar with our people and draw your weapons and gear. Vanner will fill you in on any other questions you may have.”