Page 57 of Air Force One
“Miranda will be one happy little vegemite, totally in her element.”
“What do you think she’ll?—”
“Mike,” she stopped him. “I think we’ve got enough to worry about without her. She’s got Andi, Taz, Jeremy, and all the powers that be in her pocket.”
“Whereas we’ve got us.”
“I wish you hadn’t insisted on coming. This is going to be so damned risky…”
This time he was the one who shut her down. “It’s not open for debate. Besides, what are the chances of this working without me. Repeat after me…”
“Less than zero,” they said in unison.
But it didn’t stop him from trying to figure out how much more than zero their chances were together. Not much. Last time, when he’d let her go on a mission alone, he’d aged by years. That was never going to happen again.
50
“You’re back.” Max, as voluble as ever, set a pair of beers on the bar. His black t-shirt left his GSOF—Georgia Special Operations Forces—tattoos on clear display. Holly took a long drink from her beer and sighed happily.
Mike tasted his, a nicely hoppy IPA. “That’s nice. And, yep, we’re back.” He couldn’t quite believe it, but they were. Two years ago, at the time of their last visit to the country of Georgia, they’d all been a mess. Andi and Miranda had been apart for a year, which had been killing both of them. And Mike had decided to walk out on Holly and get a life before they killed each other. Damn but the world had changed.
The Bunker hadn’t. It looked no more reputable now than then. In World War II it had been an air raid shelter buried deep beneath Tbilisi, the capital city of Georgia. And probably again during Khrushchev’s purges in the 1970s and the civil wars twenty years after that. Now it was a chain of brick-arched rooms with a dance hall and stage at one end, the main bar and tables in the middle room, and a small kitchen that pumped out American and Georgian specialties at the far end.
“Middle of the night.” Past closing, there were only a few lights making pools in the vast shadows. Or maybe it always looked like this.
“Middle of the night,” Mike agreed, just like last time. And he felt every second of it, though it was still evening of some day or other back in the States.
Max’s gaze flickered up over Mike’s shoulder. Max had a small series of lights that indicated whenever someone was coming down the long staircase from the street to enter the bar. Mike didn’t bother turning to look.
“Inbound?”
At Max’s nod, Mike went and opened the door. As he did, Holly slid off her stool and disappeared into the shadows.
He recognized both of the newcomers. A glance at the bar revealed Holly reemerging from the shadows to head back to her stool. Her half shrug said that old habits died hard.
Soon they were all bellied up to the bar.
They caught up on the news in a few short sentences.
Pavle Rapava was fully installed as the head of the Georgian Intelligence Service. Max’s wife Tamar was Pavle’s chief assistant. But Tamar and Pavle’s wife were both deep in pregnancy, so wouldn’t be any part of this.
Tad Jobson, a retired Marine Corps helo pilot who’d chosen to stay behind on their last trip here, might as well be a local now. He’d married a Tbilisi chef and was still working as a consultant and trainer for Georgia’s small helicopter air force.
“Yep, my boys are on it,” Tad announced. “Last time you folks were here we had nine working helos and about as many pilots. We’ve got thirty of their thirty-eight airframes operational now, with another coming online next week. And I’ve got pilots coming outta my training program so fast I can’t make birds fast enough for them. Couple are damned good. Not Marine Corps good, mind you, but serious skills.” His broad grin said how proud he was of himself and them.
“Found your place in the world.” Mike didn’t turn to Holly, but wondered what their place in the world was. Miranda’s neighbors and on her NTSB team. He supposed that was enough to know for now. “Well done.”
“Thanks, bro. So what drags your sorry asses back to Georgia and is worth us getting out of bed for?”
“Bit of a rescue mission. We need some help.”
“Hey, you folks need anything, you’re talking to the right guys. Right, boys?”
Pavle’s careful nod said he’d learned a lot running the Georgian Intelligence Service. Max reacted just as little as Mike would expect—not at all.
Tad caught on and got serious. “So where is he? Downed pilot or something?”
“Or something. She is landing at sunrise. Needs to be gone by sunset. Needs to show up as dead along the way.”
