Chapter 1

I never enjoyed flying overly much. It's not that I'm afraid of flying; I know as well as the next man that it's safer to fly than walk across the street for a beer but it is a pain in the ass. Going to the airport, checking in, surrendering your weapon, all that bullshit; it's just a pain in the butt. I'd rather take the Tube or drive but that's not easy to do if you're going transoceanic so as with most unpleasant things in life you just suck it up and soldier on.

It is slightly more comfortable than a troop transport at least and it gave me a little more time to study the files on my new clients; I say clients but that's not exactly true and I need to stop thinking that way or I might make a stupid gaffe when I can least afford it. I'm not a security consultant on this job, I am the security. Head of security that is, or chief as they want to call it. For six years I've been telling other people how they should be handling their security and now I get to be the one doing it. I guess we'll see if the high fees I've been charging were worth a damn.

Not that this should be a particularly difficult job ― on the face of it anyway. At least it should be interesting, unique anyway. Normally I develop plans and contingencies to protect corporations against physical and electronic intrusion but for the next three months I was going to be in charge of security for a band while they're on tour. That's right, a band. Live instruments, vocals and everything. It's been out of style for quite a while but seems to be coming back into vogue. I don't even pretend to know how the music business works but from what little I do understand singers and musicians make their money not by selling their music (with prolific copying the way it is, you sell one comp-chip and you might as well put it over the net for free), but by selling tickets and royalties.

Anyway I'd never heard of them before which is kind of a surprise because when I listened to a few of their tracks I found I really liked them. They're home-grown Irish, (which is why I was flying to Cork, Ireland to meet them) and play a sort of fusion of Irish folk, modern and retro rock. The old rock is becoming popular again although I'm not a huge fan even if I am a war veteran. I have nothing against it but I like my music a little softer, slower and more melodic. The boys in my company used to make fun of me for listening to my "pussy-fied" elevator music but that's all right, it was all in fun. I'm not sure I can describe the music I keep in my personal storage; most of it you can't even find anymore. I ripped most of it from music disks my mom and dad had while I could still find players for them. I doubt that I have the only copies of them but I'll bet I have one of a very few for a lot of them.

But that's neither here nor there; Irish Mist didn't play that type of music any more than Natalie Bernstead sings opera and again it didn't make any difference to me whether they sang high mass or just banged two coconuts together. I was there to keep them safe on stage or off; what they did on stage was their business.

It was an all female band and except for two sisters all were at least first cousins. Not only were they first cousins but their grandparents must have had a passel of boys because they all ended up with the same last name; Geallaigh. The Geallaigh clan as it were.

Rachael Geallaigh was their lead singer although she also played the tin whistle and mouth harp at times. She was a tiny little thing not even coming up to my chin at about 158 centimeters. But she sure had a powerful voice for having it come out of such a small package. Blonde and pretty as a morning sky she was also, according to the gossip sites, wild, promiscuous (this seems to be a bad thing in Ireland for some reason), obnoxious, opinionated, vain, selfish, overbearing and extremely talented. In other words not much different than most of the girls I've dated over the past seven or so years. The five girls had formed an equal partnership when they formed the band but Rachael, from what I could tell, was their undisputed leader. It would be interesting to see how much of this was bullshit when I met her. If it wasn't then I could already see where potential problems were going to be.

Niamh Callahan née Geallaigh was by contrast a complete opposite of her younger sister Rachael in almost every conceivable way. Two years older at twenty-six she was tall (at 182 centimeters a bit taller than I am, ) striking red hair, married, quiet and if the gab sites were accurate about as controversial as a warm cup of milk. No affairs, no parties and no outrageous drunken comments for anyone who stuck a mic or vid-cam in front of her face. Didn't seem all that happy though; the only vid-still that showed her smiling was one taken right after her wedding a few years ago. Well, not my problem; I'm in charge of security, not entertainment. She was what they called the percussionist and seemed to do a decent job of it from what I could tell for whatever that's worth.

Eimile and Shauna Geallaigh were two of the cousins. Born within days of each other they also were remarkably similar looking with long brown hair and shy sweet smiles; medium height and of medium build, they were pretty but not so much you'd swallow your tongue if you passed them on the street. If I had been told that two of the band members were sisters these are the two I would have guessed; in fact they looked more like twins than some actual twins I've met. They both played a variety of instruments including violin, harp and a number of others I couldn't identify without looking them up. I had a feeling these two weren't going to cause any trouble.

The third cousin I wasn't so sure about. Leanne Geallaigh was a horse of a different color and I don't mean just her looks. To begin with she didn't look anything like her Irish cousins. Her father had been stationed in the Chinese Empire in New Hong Kong (yeah, they call it the Chinese Republic but they're no more a republic than the Islamic Democracy of Arabia had been a democracy), married and had a child with one of the women he worked with. Leanne was small, only slightly taller than Rachael, and had that exotically beautiful Eurasian mix that is so enticing.

She didn't get the mountains of publicity her little blonde cousin did but there was enough to give the impression she was not the demure introvert the other three appeared to be. She was the same age as Rachael but either didn't have quite the flair for controversy her cousin did or was much better keeping it hidden from the eyes and ears of the nosy newsies. I know I shouldn't make assumptions about people, especially if I haven't met them personally, but I'm only human and do it anyway. Leanne struck me as the kind who could be trouble, the lower-case T kind where you end up muttering to yourself wondering if you were going crazy as opposed to Rachael who was probably the capital T kind where you didn't wonder if you were crazy; you knew it. Although with her it probably wasn't called crazy it was called homicidal. Leanne was the keyboardist and could apparently play anything you could push with a finger.

Connor Geallaigh, Rachael and Niamh's older brother, wasn't part of the actual group. That is he didn't play an instrument or sing; he was their "manager." Again I hate to make snap judgments but from his employment history (extensive, varied and normally short-lived), if he wasn't the idiot brother your parents made you hire because he couldn't keep a job anywhere else I'll eat my hat. From the gossip sites it certainly appeared he thought himself quite the ladies man although most of the "ladies" he seemed to get caught with impressed me as being the type anybody could pick up with loose change from underneath a table at the local pub. It was a good thing I was hired by the tour promoters because I had the feeling if I had to deal with this dickhead regularly on an employer/employee basis one of us was going to die. Considering the fact that I had spent over four years doing just that and he hadn't. (How he escaped the general conscription I couldn't guess. Oh, that's right, Ireland didn't have conscription during the war. Officially they were "neutral" although from what I understood on a per capita basis just as many Irish volunteers served in the British and American armies as did our conscripted ones. Their government may not have wanted to be involved in the war but the Irish people as a whole didn't seem to have a problem sticking it in when they knew it was needed.) The outcome of that little set-to wouldn't be much in doubt.

The promoters had hired four security personnel along with me, all Irish and veterans of the British army. Two were rangers; we would have called them privates, one corporal and a colour Sergeant. The rangers and corporal had a couple of years' combat experience each and the colour sergeant had six which was impressive as hell! They all appeared to be good men but none of them had much experience in private security from what I could tell. That wasn't optimal but then we weren't supposed to be guarding the president or prime minister, just a gaggle of girls in a band. Hopefully the most dangerous thing we'll have to deal with will be an overzealous fan looking for an autograph. Something told me this was little more than a dope-dream; you don't hire the kind of talent the promoters did and spend the coin they had to, to keep rabid fans at bay. I never did get a truly in-depth threat assessment from the promoters which didn't give me a warm fuzzy but the gobs of cash they threw at me overruled any common-sense objections I might have had.

After reviewing my new assignment for the twentieth time and feeling relatively comfortable that I knew as much as I could for the time being I was beginning to settle back in my seat when my implant warned me I had an incoming call. Like most officers during the war I'd had an implant installed allowing me to connect to my unit's combat AI (Artificial Intelligence.) The AI program I had installed in my pers-comp was an idiot compared to the army one but at least it allowed me to connect directly via implant as well as doing other rudimentary functions. I indicated acceptance for the call and a small holo of a rather rugged looking individual appeared just above the pers-comp screen.

"Major Leforge, I presume?" the lips moved but the words formed in my head. I knew who it was: Daniel Mayhem. Mayhem and his team were a legend in the service. I had never met him personally either during or after the war. He was UN Special Forces and played in the Central American theater while I was a regular US army grunt and did my thing in the Mid-East sandbox. I understood he settled in the Tampa area after the war while I spent what little time I did at "home" in Savannah. I have been a member of the VBA (Veteran's Benevolent Society) for about six months although in a very inactive role so I did know who he was. Rumor was he lived through the entire ten years of the war in active combat and so did most of his team. That's not legendary, that's mythical! If half — no, strike that — if a quarter of what was said of him was true he was nobody to fuck with!

"Captain Leforge, actually," I smiled at him. "The major was just brevet for the last six months or so of the war and that was long ago. I'd prefer Martin and Daniel if that is all right. This is Daniel Mayhem, is it not?"

"I see my disreputable reputation has preceded me again," he chuckled. "Yeah, Dan is fine. I'm sure you're wondering what in the hell I'm doing calling you now."

"Hmm ... It has crossed my mind," I answered. "I am a member of the VBS but I have to admit I haven't been very active; been on the road too much lately."

"Yeah but you signed up close enough to the beginning," he nodded, "and we understand. Somebody ought to do something constructive now and then and better you than me."

"Unfortunately my pension barely pays for toilet paper let alone the pot to piss in," I laughed. "What can I do for you?"

"Are we secure?" he asked.

"Reasonably," I shrugged. "As you can tell we're talking via my implant and your signal is scrambled. Unless someone can read your lips and nobody here is awake that I know of, we should be fairly secure." At the time I had assumed his AI was "shaking hands" with my AI to scramble and unscramble the message. I was wrong. His AI had taken over my AI and put it to sleep. Everything we did and said was going through his AI alone. Not particularly germane to my story but shocking as hell when I found out about it later. That's something only a really hot combat AI with a really good operator should be able to do, especially without either me or my own AI knowing about it.

"Good, because we have a favor to ask of you," he continued.

"I'll do what I can, but I'm on my way to a job even as we speak so I don't know what or how much I'll be able to help you."

"We'll see," he nodded again. "I understand you were in pretty tight with a good number of the British brass while you were in the sandbox." One of my assignments during the war was as liaison between the British and American field staffs in Iran. Circumstances being what they were, I actually ended up being in charge of HQ security for one of the British generals for about five months. The Brits seemed to really like their HQs close to the action for some reason and it was an interesting (read terrifying) experience. I probably saw as much combat during those five months as I had the previous year which had not been slow by any stretch of the imagination.

"I knew quite a few of them and we still exchange birthday greetings and such," I admitted reluctantly. "I suppose some of them would remember me."

"Seeing how you were recommended for the Victoria Cross and were actually awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, I think somebody would remember you," he chuckled.

"Yes, well, a lot of people got medals for just doing their jobs," I said uncomfortably. "How did you find out about me being recommended for the VC? That's supposed to be secret."

"We have ways," he shrugged. "Anyway we were hoping if you get some time over there if you could look up a few of your old contacts and talk to them about the VBS. I understand they don't have anything exactly like us but they do have something similar. We're interested in talking with them about topics of mutual interest. We're not asking you to negotiate anything with them, just start a dialogue. If they're interested we'll give them a contact for further discussions later."

"Sure, if I get a chance," I shrugged. "I wouldn't mind seeing a few of the fellows if I can."

"Good, I'll send you the information and contacts," he added. "Well I guess I've taken up enough of your time."

"It has been my privilege and honor to talk to you," I smiled.

"Sure it has," he chuckled and then turned his head to one side and said, "Shut up, Mike! Some people have manners, you know!" Turning back he muttered and shook his head, "Want to buy a slightly used sergeant for cheap? Hell! I'll even give you Darlington here but I have to warn you the upkeep will probably break you. Ouch!"

"Sergeant Michelle Darlington?" I asked. "I've heard she's gorgeous but a little too dangerous for my taste. I like my women to be kick-ass hot but I rather it not be my ass getting kicked."

"Ah, now you've gone and done it," he moaned. "She's going to be fucking insufferable for at least three days now. Shit! She's already strutting and preening around here like some damned vid star! This is your fault so I think it's only fair you should come here and fix it!"

"Sorry, Captain," I shrugged. "Your personnel are your problem. Besides a beautiful woman like that wouldn't even look twice at a regular old schmoe like me; anyway I'm going to be gone for about the next three months."

"Christ, you just keep it up, don't you?" Mayhem wailed. "Do you know how long it's going to take me to get that size twenty ego back into that size six body? I'm signing off now before you can do anymore damage! You'll get the info soon, thanks. Mayhem out." With that the holo image faded out. I had to smile; he seemed like a regular guy. And no for your information I'd never met the infamous Sergeant Darlington but I have seen vid-stills of her with Mayhem and she really is quite good looking if you like your women tall, fashion model slim, hot as hell legs and knows how to kill you about forty different ways. Well, three out of four isn't bad.

I settled back in my seat to ponder this little bit of surprising news. Not so much that the VBS would want contact with their counterparts in Briton. Actually that made a lot of sense, there undoubtedly were a lot of parallel interests between the different groups. The British military has had similar organizations for a long time although theirs were usually based along regimental lines rather than national ones and the VBS was a national organization with very strong local chapters. Still I can assume there would be much to discuss especially with the political climate deteriorating around veterans issues in the US. It seems the larger and more vocal the VBS became, the more the New Washington establishment attacked it. Looking for allies outside the US may not help but it couldn't hurt.

But why the secrecy? Why not just flip on a vid and call the Brits? Having contact made face-to-face seemed so ... clandestine. Was there something I didn't know? Well that's silly; of course there was. In fact the list of what I didn't know pretty much stretched out to infinity so I suppose I should be a little more specific and say, What didn't I know about this situation?

True, I'd been a member of the VBS for a little over six months. Not a particularly active member other than paying the voluntary dues but I try to read the news blurbs they send out and stop in when I'm in town, which isn't all that often. They fit me politically although I certainly wouldn't call myself politically active and I whole-heartedly support the good works they've been doing with the widows, widowers and children of my fellow service members who'd been killed during the war. The fact is I give more to that fund than I do anything else; at least they're really doing some good. The government just hands out credits and at that it's just barely enough to keep them alive. Now of course they're even grumbling about that and the support is becoming less and less every year. I wouldn't be surprised if pretty soon it'll be nothing. Of course I make a pretty good living on my own so I can't say I really need the pension they give to anyone who has over four years combat experience so I just have mine deposited in the Widows and Orphans fund. It kind of makes me happy to know even if the assholes in New Washington cut off the dependent's stipends they'll still be paying to help them. Take that, mother-fuckers!