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. 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 gossip 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 video camera in front of her face. Didn’t seem all that happy though; the only video 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 that 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 lowercase 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 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 (Veterans 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; I’ve 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 a 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, 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 any more 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 wholeheartedly 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 of 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 dependents’ stipends, they’ll still be paying to help them. Take that, mother-fuckers!

So maybe I should have been paying more attention to the politics. Given the time and the inclination to think about it, I began to see where the VBS might want to keep its actions under the radar, so to speak. The VBS had announced itself as a political party even before I had joined, although that had no bearing on why I’d done it, and recent events could be inferred by even the most paranoid (I’m not paranoid; hell, I know they’re out to get me!) that the two major parties weren’t all that happy about it. For the last couple of decades, the Republicrats and the PP (Peace Party) had the country sewn up and just about evenly divided between themselves. I’m sure there were a few snickers and maybe even a scoff or two when the VBS announced its intention to compete in national politics with retired LGEN Carla Medford as their front woman. After all, it had no seats in either house of Congress, no elected state officials, and if you looked at its base of ten million war veterans, it didn’t seem to be much to worry about.

Of course, that’s before you consider the potential voters like those same widows, widowers, and orphans reaching the age of eighteen (quite a few). Then the numbers suddenly start to go up. It also doesn’t consider that every family that was touched by the war. Now all of a sudden, it didn’t seem like so much of a joke. What was yet to be seen is if the VBS could get its constituents to actually vote. But with eligible voter participation hovering at about twenty-five percent, a block of twenty to thirty million people who actually voted could make one hell of a difference. I’m not even going to go into the potential sympathy votes you might get from anyone who was touched by the war, which was pretty much everyone. Anyway, it really isn’t such a joke after all, especially with the midterm elections coming up next year.

I’m not saying the RDs or the PPs are scared or anything, but you don’t stay in power by letting the weeds of dissension grow in your garden. There have already been muttered whispers about trimming retired pay or increasing the length of combat required to receive it; there were some in the PP who were openly talking about rescinding the right of the vets to carry weapons. (Good fucking luck! They can have mine one round at a time!) I have to admit I hadn’t kept up with what was going on, but started thinking that maybe I should.

Anyway, if the VBS was starting to make noise that the fat cats could hear, it would account for why they wanted to be so low-key about what contacts they made and with whom. It certainly isn’t illegal to talk to veterans groups outside the US, and I wasn’t sure why they wanted to keep it on the need-to-know, but if they thought they were being watched, that would be a good enough reason for me. I don’t like anyone poking into my business no matter who they are, even if I’m not doing anything shady, which I’m usually not. I’m not a huge supporter of stupid rules or laws, but I don’t go out of my way to flout them either.

Of course, that begs the question of just how the VBS knew where I was going and what I was doing, let alone who I might know from my army days. Big Brother in New Washington may not be the only one looking over my shoulder, and I’m not sure I particularly like that either. I’m thinking I may have a question or two for Mr. Mayhem the next time I talk to him.

---

I landed in Cork right about 0900. Customs was little more than scanning my passport card on the way through security. I wasn’t packing for the flight. Ireland was a “no carry” country, and I’d sent my piece ahead along with the application for a carry permit to the Cork constabulary, and I was hoping to pick it up in a day or two, so being unarmed and identity confirmed, I was free to go.

Okay, nobody was there to meet me. Not a problem. I knew where they were supposed to be according to their schedule, and my baggage could find its own way to the hotel where the band was staying. So, after making sure my pers-comp was synced to the local net, I flagged an auto-cab and punched in the address.

In about fifteen minutes, the cab let me out in front of a building that looked like it had been a warehouse in earlier times and for all I knew, parts of it still could be. The street number was plainly visible over a modern doorway that looked distinctly out of place, but there was no other sign in evidence. Since the address matched where I was supposed to go, I decided to give the door a try and was a little surprised to find that not only did it open to my touch, it led me to a spacious and very empty reception area. Strolling, I moved over to the elevator (lift, I was in Ireland after all) and glanced at the directory posted next to it. Vid-Idiot Studios, 2^nd floor. Cute. Glancing around, I noticed a stairwell and decided to take the scenic route.

Okay, so I forgot that in a number of these older buildings, the second floor is actually what we would call the third floor, but thank goodness I’m not in such poor shape that one extra landing made any difference. Again, the door opened easily, and I found myself in a fairly grungy and dimly lit hallway. I could feel more than hear music ― at least the lower end ― reverberating from my left, so that’s the way I headed. The thrumming got a little bit louder as I progressed, and I have to say I wasn’t all that impressed by the soundproofing. About halfway down, I was finally intercepted by a big, burly, and I might add rather smelly boy who stuck his head out of an open doorway.

“Hey, where you off to, wanker?” he shouted.

“Ludwig Beethoven, Gaelic Vids,” I sniffed. “I’m here to assess the band. You wish to view my credentials?” I asked, snaking my hand into my jacket as if to retrieve them. Now, about this time, I would have had my 5mm pointing directly up his snout if our roles had been reversed, but all he did was wave his hand and plop his fat butt back down on a stool and turn back to watch a game on the holo tank sitting in front of him.

“Naw, ya studio geeks can do what ya want, I suppose.”

I took about three more steps before another voice challenged me.

“Randy may have little desire to review your credentials,” came the deep and deceptively calm voice. “But I do.” I turned and looked up into a pair of steel-grey eyes without a hint of amusement in them. “And I’ll thank the gentleman if he would reach for them very slowly.”

Using my thumb and one finger of my left hand, I lifted my jacket away from my body, slowly, just like he asked, not so much because he was being polite but more because of the 5mm service pistol pointing directly at my chest. Normally, I would have found this unsettling, but right then, I actually felt a bit relieved. Snaking two fingers into the jacket pocket, I pulled out a card and handed it to him.

Glancing at it, the pistol never moved. He looked back down at me. Did I mention he was about five or six centimeters taller than I was?

“It would be interesting to hear how a ‘Players Club’ card from the Casino Royal in Atlantic City would verify your employment in what I am willing to gamble is a fictitious recording company. Especially when one is a long-dead classical composer,” he looked down almost disapprovingly. “But then we will probably never hear that story, will we, Major Leforge?”

“I hope not, Colour Sergeant Magaoidh,” I grinned and dug out my true Ident/Passport card. “I have no idea what I would have said, but I’m sure it would have been witty and quite believable.”

“Quite,” Magaoidh didn’t smile, but he did raise his eyebrows slightly. Without looking, he pressed my Ident card against the perscomp attached to his belt, and it gave a satisfied little beep. Smoothly, he handed my card back to me and reholstered his pistol in the underarm rig under his jacket. “Welcome aboard, Sir,” he said, holding out his hand.

“My pleasure, Colour Sergeant,” I answered, taking it. “We’re all civilians now, Magaoidh. You can just call me Martin or Leforge; I answer to both.”

“Of course, sir,” he said, and I’m sure I saw just a little glint of amusement in his eyes. “Your kit is all taken care of? If not, I’ll have one of the lads take it round.”

“Back at the hotel,” I assured him. “Or at least I hope it is.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, stepping aside and waving me through. “I’m thinking you’ll want to meet the lads and the lasses soon enough.”

“As soon as possible,” I nodded. “I take it we have all the principals here?”

“Aye,” he nodded back. “The ladies are in the studio. Caoimh is in the control room; I’ll take you there. Mac and Faolain are around the back. Begging your pardon, sir, but you threw us a bit loopy when you came up the stairs. The lads were securing the vehicle and the route in case we needed a quick departure. I’ve alerted them; they should be up shortly.”

“Good. I’m doubly glad,” I chuckled. “First, that I caused a bit of commotion and second, for your reaction. I know you and your people are professionals, and I’d hoped something like this would happen. By the way, who’s the useless baggage out front?”

“Randy,” Magaoidh almost sneered. “One of Connor’s hooligan friends. Used to be he and the other lot of wasters were what passed for security for the lasses, although I’m not sure who was here to protect them against this lot. We’ll probably see a few of them rolling in when they’ve sobered up a mite.”

“And begging the Major’s pardon again,” he continued. “But the lads and I have been doing private security for the last few years, but this is a new one for us. Do you know what we’re even doing here?”

“Actually, no,” I glanced at him in surprise. “I was hoping you would know and brief me when I got here. I was contracted two days ago and told where to go and to get there double-time, but not the actual nature of the threat.”

“Hmm...” Magaoidh frowned.

“Well, we’ll just muddle through until someone lets us know what the hell is going on,” I shrugged as we stopped in front of a door. It had a window in it, and I could see one man sitting at a long, very complicated console looking out into another room. Behind him, another three men were standing at ease. I recognized the other three members of the security team from their holos.

“Ah, the lads made it back before us. Good,” Magaoidh stated and then pointed to the door lock. “Your prints should already be in the system, Major. How about you give it a go and see if it’s working?” Placing my thumb on the lock scanner, I heard a satisfactory click and pulled the door open, waving the colour sergeant through ahead of me.

“Major Leforge has arrived,” he announced as he entered, and instantly the three standing at ease snapped to attention and said, “Sirrah!” Whellan Faolain’s hand even came up halfway in salute before he dropped it sheepishly.

“As you were, gentlemen,” I chuckled and walked over to them, shaking each of their hands as I addressed them. For the time being, I ignored the man at the console. I could hear he was talking to someone using jargon that had no meaning to me.

“Brian Caoimh, Whellan Faolain, James MacGio ... MacGeeli ... Ah...”

“MacGiolla Phadraig,” he helped me with a grin. “Most just be calling me Mac.”

“Then I suppose it will be Mac for a little while until I learn how to pronounce it correctly,” I smiled. “Now, gentlemen, as I was telling Mr. Magaoidh just a minute or so ago, we are all civilians now. I know our countries did a pretty good job of beating us into the molds of soldiers, but there’s no rank here now, just professionals hired to do a job.”

“Begging the officer’s pardon, sir,” Faolain interrupted. “But do you know just what our job is here? Nobody in this crew seems to have the foggiest, sir.”

“I’m afraid I don’t either,” I shrugged. “I’m sure someone from the production company will tell us soon enough. Until then, we’ll concentrate on perimeter control and anti-personnel interdiction (just a fancy way of saying bodyguards). As soon as someone can download what you have to me, I’ll look it over, and we’ll meet to discuss it.”

“Fucking hell, Flynn!” came a voice over a speaker from behind me. I turned and saw there was a large glass window in front of the console. I could see a number of the band members sitting or holding instruments, with one petite blonde standing in the middle with her hands balled up in fists on her hips. “Get your head out of your arse, ya fecking eejit! Ah, still got this buzzing in my ear and can’t hear a flipping thing!”

“Sorry, Rache,” the man at the console said. “Can’t find anything on the board, but I’ll try looking again.” The man thumbed a control and muttered, “Fucking bitch!” He must have noticed me looking at him because he grinned sheepishly and said, “Sorry, mate. The Queen of England there has me in a bit of a lather this morning.”

“Is she usually this ... ah ... aggressive?” I asked, returning his grin.

“Naw,” he shook his head. “Must have been on a bit of a tear last night, and she’s in a wicked mood. She’s just spreading the pain around ‘til her medicine sticks in.”

“Rache, give ‘er a go now. See if that’s better,” he said, turning back to the board and flicking the switch again. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t touched anything other than the com button.

“Better,” came the sniffed reply. “Ah, don’t know how anybody can expect me to sing with this fecking buzzing in my headset!” Flynn glanced at me and winked, which caused me to chuckle.

“How about we run through this set a time or two and then take a break?” he said to the window. “Got a Yank in here that I’m thinking is one of your security people. I’m sure he’d be liking to be meeting you and the lasses about that time.”

“Well, I’m thinking he’ll be wanting to meet me a damn sight more than I’d be wanting to meet another useless Dry Shite colonial,” came the response. “You can tell him to hump off and sit his arse down somewhere out of the way. We’ll see ‘em when we’re good and ready, not before!”

“Right,” Flynn replied. “Ready when you are.”

“Sorry about that, Gov’ner,” Flynn apologized as he glanced at me again. “Rache is a bit of a prickly one at times. She’ll warm to you in time.” I heard a snort from behind me; in fact, it could have been a number of snorts. Obliviously, at least a few members of the security detachment were somewhat dubious of this claim.

“Not my job to be liked, just to keep her safe,” I smiled.

“Well, I’d say you’re halfway home then, anyways,” Flynn grinned back.

“And a quick worker,” I replied. “I usually have to know a woman for a couple of days before she starts swearing at me like that.”

“Oh,” he snorted. “You’ve got the right attitude anyway. Luck to you.”

“Thanks,” I said before turning around to face the men. “Well, since I’m supposed to be sitting my ‘arse’ down, we might as well go over what you have set up so far.”

“Right, sirrah,” Magaoidh replied, and I swear there was just a hint of a smile on his lips. A Colour Sergeant smiling? Next thing you know, we’ll be getting a visit from Santa Claus. “With your permission, I’ll be sending Mac and Faolain to cover the entranceways.”

“Deploy as you feel necessary, Magaoidh,” I responded. “I haven’t even had a chance to review what you have yet. I might suggest that if you have any more of those spy-eyes, you stick one in the stairwell; no sense in being blind where most intruders are going to come from.”

“Sir?” It was Faolain. “Why would anybody be coming up the stairs and not the lift?”

“Good question,” I nodded. “The answer is that lifts can be remotely stopped, and to the best of my knowledge, stairs can’t. Plus, most emergency stairs aren’t under surveillance. The doors to each level may be locked from the stairwell, but anybody who’d pose a real threat would know how to get through that in about fifteen seconds.”

“Oh, right. That makes sense,” he said, looking surprised.

“We’ll assume the officer knows his business,” Magaoidh admonished.

“My thanks, Colour Sergeant,” I added to soften the chastisement. “But unless we’re under fire, questions are never out of order. For the most part, I do know my business, but that doesn’t mean I’m infallible; we’re not still in the army, you know.” That got them to grin and chuckle just a bit. “I not only encourage but demand you speak out if you don’t think something is right. I’ve found that people good in this job have sort of a sixth sense about something wrong or out of place. Sometimes it’s a prickly sensation on the back of your neck; other times it’s like the world is slightly out of focus and just doesn’t seem right. Surviving combat, I’d be willing to bet you’ve run across a time or two when that’s happened to you; I know it has for me.”

“Some people say these ‘feelings’ are a bunch of crap; I don’t. I don’t care if it’s ESP, an angel touching your shoulder, or just the fact that your brain is able to recognize potential threats subconsciously that the conscious part hasn’t picked up on yet; I believe in it. By the way, I lean towards the latter explanation myself, but like I said, I don’t give a crap if it’s a leprechaun tickling your balls; if you get that heebie-jeebie feeling, sing out. I’d rather we look foolish for jumping at shadows than get caught with our dicks hanging out of our trousers. Everyone understand?”

“Aye, sir.” “Yes, sirrah!” “Very good, sir.”

“Then, Magaoidh, post your men, and let’s see what you have so far.”

I huddled around the table with Magaoidh and Corporal Caoimh reviewing what they’d had set up so far. In all, it wasn’t bad, but there were a few points I needed to correct.

“No, this we can’t have,” I said, pointing to the room layouts in the hotel we were presently staying at. “We can’t be split up on different floors, and if at all possible, we need all the rooms to be together without any outsiders in between. Do you know if Connor is supposed to be included in this detail? I don’t either, so until we hear differently, we have to assume he is.”

“That’s not going to be making any of ‘em happy,” Caoimh grimaced. I looked at him questionably. “Master Geallaigh has a liking for rather loud hoolies just about every night. That probably won’t be bothering Miss Rachael since she usually doesn’t roll in till the wee hours, but the other lasses are a bit more discreet and retire early.”

“Can’t be helped,” I sighed. “At least until we know what in the hell is going on.”

“I believe Mr. Camberge sent a message saying he was going to stop by later today to give us a briefing,” Magaoidh interjected. David Camberge was the head of the tours production team and the one who hired me, us. If anyone knew what this was all about, he would. “Hopefully, he’ll clear up a few of the details, sirrah.”

“It certainly would,” I frowned, checking my pers-comp. “I didn’t get any message, but if you did, that’s fine.

“Anyway, we’ll need to move our rooms to here and here,” I pointed at the floor’s layout. “We need to be on the outside, both ends. Also, I want all the principals to have access to any of our rooms. If something goes wrong, I want them to know they can use ours as safe rooms. If anybody thinks that could be an embarrassment, I’d suggest you get in the habit of sleeping with jammies on and close the bathroom door when you take a shower.”

“Hey, Gov’nor,” Flynn yelled back over his shoulder. “I think the lasses are ready for you now.” I thanked him, and with Magaoidh and Caoimh behind me, strolled through the connecting door to meet my new charges.

Chapter 2

I will admit I have had an entrance met with less enthusiasm before, but I also have to admit those times I was being shot at. The girls were, for the most part, scattered around the room in no particular order I could figure out, but then what I don’t know about recording music could fill entire databanks. Their expressions ranged from outright disgust to mild interest with a touch of apprehension and apathy thrown in.

Rachael was standing in the middle of the room surrounded by interesting and to me totally incomprehensible things that I could only guess were used to capture her voice. No surprise, but it was from her the disgust and outright animosity radiated in almost palatable waves. To her far left, Niamh sat behind what even I could see was a drum set, although I believe the correct terminology is “percussion generator.” She glanced at me once and then ignored me. Shauna and Eimile were off to the far right, with Eimile standing slightly behind her cousin, shyly peeking over her shoulder, while Shauna stood in an almost defensive stance, arms out protectively. Leanne was in the center, almost directly behind Rachael, looking at me with unguarded curiosity.

“Good day, ladies,” I started. “My name is Martin Leforge, and I’ve been assigned as head of your security detail.”

“And just what the fuck are you supposed to be protecting us from?” Rachael demanded combatively.

“Actually, I’m not sure yet,” I answered mildly. “I was hoping you would know and could tell me at least until I could receive my full briefing.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t need any flipping babysitters,” Rachael snorted.

“I am quite sure you don’t,” I said and then continued before she could say something. “Actually, that’s all part of my getting to know each other speech. I doubt any of you have ever had security before, so I want to make it clear exactly what we are and what we’re not.

“We’re not your babysitters. We’re also not spies for your parents, your producers, your boyfriends, husbands, or anybody else for that matter. It’s not our job to run your lives or make sure you eat all your vegetables. We don’t care what you do in your private lives and hopefully will never have to interfere with them. Who you sleep with, what you drink, or what you smoke is not our problem; keeping you safe while you do it is.

“In fact, the only reason we’re here is to keep you ― all of you ― safe. We’re not your mommies or your daddies, and we don’t need to be best friends. If you want to treat us like furniture or wallpaper, that’s fine with me; I don’t care. I say again; our only job is to protect you. Shielding you from kidnappers, muggers, rapists, and annoying holo-com salespeople; yes, that’s our job. Running interference for equally annoying fans - well, maybe; you’ll have to tell us when it’s too annoying. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know much about the music business, but I do know it probably involves some minimal contact with your fans. You let me know when it gets to be too much; I’ll let you know when I start getting nervous.”

“What we definitely are not is your errand boys; we don’t carry your bags or run down to the corner shop when you need a pack of smokes. We also don’t do laundry, screen your calls, break up with your boyfriends for you, or wash windows.”

“So what the helldo you do?” Rachael asked acidly.

“Good question,” I replied, noting her frown deepened. “I am hoping you will see us as guardian angels looking over your shoulders but not doing anything you know about unless we’re really needed. That’s probably a little too much to ask, so hopefully, you’ll just view us as somebody who’s following you around trying to keep you out of trouble.

“I understand Mr. Camberge will be in later today, and with any luck, he’ll be able to tell us what this is all about. If he can identify the potential threats, then maybe we can tailor our coverage to address them while leaving you as free as possible.

“Until then, I ask you to bear with us, me in particular, while we get this all sorted out. Any questions?”

“Are you going to be watching us everywhere?” Shauna asked.

“No,” I said. “There are some places, like this studio and the hotel, where we will establish a perimeter, and within that, you will be on your own. Just to let you know, we will be setting up quite a bit of surveillance equipment around those areas but not inside those areas. An example would be your hotel rooms; we won’t be observing them nor will we enter them without your permission. However, the hallways outside your rooms will be under observation. The same with here; the studio rooms aren’t covered, but the access to this floor is. In a while, I’ll be giving each of you a small alarm that can be activated vocally or by touch. It will alert us in case something happens inside those hopefully secure areas.

“Just a warning though,” I grinned. “It activates when you use either my name or any of the team’s and say ‘help.’ If you want to talk about us without us hearing you, I’d suggest you use something other than our names.”

“Like saying ‘the Prick’ when I want to talk about you?” Rachael snorted.

“That would work,” I nodded. Her attempts to annoy me were somewhat amusing, but I could see it could get old real fast. Of course, if the job were too much fun, they’d call it a hobby and not pay me; having irritating clients is just part of the package.

“Are you going to be with us when we go out?” Niamh asked, giving her sister a dirty look. “Ah, mean when we’re out shopping or something like that?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Which brings me to another point: When you do go out - and we are not trying to keep you locked up or anything like that - it would be best if you did it in groups. Not only is there safety in numbers, but with only five of us and five ― or maybe six if Connor is involved ― of you, we’re going to be spread pretty thin. I’d like you to remember we’re going to be covering you 24 hours a day, and my men would like to get at least a little sleep or a chance to take a shower.” I grinned again, “Actually, I think you’d appreciate that also.” At least Leanne laughed, and I’m sure I actually saw Eimile covering a smile as she peeked over Shauna’s shoulder.

“Just a few more points,” I continued. “Please let one of us know before you go anywhere and wait until one of us can go with you. Also, there will be a few changes when we get back to the hotel. Right now, they have you on different floors and spread out; that’s going to change. We’re going to be moving everybody together - no, not into the same rooms, but your rooms are going to be next to each other. Your rooms will open only to your touch or one of ours, but I assure you we will not be entering unless there is some indication you need us.

“My team member’s rooms will be on the outside of yours, so there should be no ‘stranger’ next to you. Our rooms will open to any of your touches. If you feel the need or something has made you uncomfortable or nervous, you can duck into one of them at any time. It may be a bit embarrassing if you catch one of us taking a shower...”

“Or wanking off,” Rachael interjected rudely.

“... but I’d rather have one of us be embarrassed and you safe than not.” I ignored her, but it wasn’t easy. It’s generally considered bad form to take one’s client across one’s knee and wail the shit out of her ass with a belt, so I tried to push that vision out of my mind.

“So unless there are any other questions right now, I’ll let you get back to your work, and we’ll get back to ours.” I looked around but didn’t get any more questions, although I was sure I’d get plenty more in time. Turning around, I walked out with Colour Sergeant Magaoidh right behind me.

“That young lady needs a good spanking,” he muttered.

I looked at him sharply and said, “If I’m not allowed to think about that, then neither are you.”

“Right you are, sirrah,” he snorted and nodded, giving me a wink.

---

“Major, Mr. Camberge is here,” Faolain announced. It had been less than a day, but I could already see it was going to be impossible to break my team members of addressing me by my ancient rank instead of my name. I doubted I could even get them to address me as captain instead of major. Military training, when applied correctly, is a wonderful thing for producing highly trained killers; the problem is it’s damn difficult to break that training even after it’s served its useful purpose.

“Good! Maybe we’ll get a few answers now,” I grunted. “Show him in, Whellan.”

“Mr. Leforge, it’s so good to meet you,” David ― Just call me Dave ― Camberge practically bellowed as he pumped my hand. Camberge was a large man with a deep, gravely voice, ruddy cheeks, bombastic hand gestures, and eyes that looked more like diodes on a Pers-Comp screen. Everything about him screamed showbiz and grandiose, but if you actually looked into those eyes, you knew the brain behind those eyes was strictly interested in euro-franc signs.

“I’m sure you’ll be wondering what all the fuss is and why we hired you big, strapping lads to look over our little fillies,” he continued.

“It has crossed our minds,” I answered dryly.

“Well, maybe we should find a nice, quiet spot, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“I’d rather have my whole team hear it right from the source, if that’s all right with you,” I said before he could drag me away. “Also, is there some reason the principals haven’t been told anything about this?”

“Well, now, we didn’t want to frighten the lasses since it probably isn’t anything ― really anything at all,” he began speaking softer. “Wouldn’t want them all nervous and such when they’ll be trying to play their pretty music and all.”

“I understand,” I sighed and shook my head slightly. “But I’ve seen where it’s best to let the principals know everything up front if you can. That way, they won’t be fighting the protection, and to be honest, what could be more scary than not knowing what the real threat is? If they’re not strong enough for the truth, then I doubt they’ll react any better to what they’re making up in their own imaginations. I don’t know these girls very well yet, but I can tell you they’re not stupid. They can guess how much the five of us are costing you, and they’re not going to believe that somebody is going to pay that kind of cash for nothing.”

“Mmm, I suspect you’re probably right,” his eyes narrowed, and his accent receded considerably. It had gone from full Irish brogue to what one would expect to hear on a London news-vid. He was as fake as they come, but then he was in showbiz, wasn’t he? “Very well, I’ll tell you what I have and leave it up to your discretion as to how much to tell the girls.”

“Shortly after we announced this tour, we began to receive demands - demands followed by threats,” he continued. “Naturally, the demands were for money, and the threats were against the girls if the money wasn’t forthcoming.”

“Obviously, these threats appeared to be more than just the normal loony ranting celebrities always get,” I commented. “Am I correct in assuming the authorities have been informed?”

“Oh aye, they have,” he nodded. “But ... Well, let me be honest here; I don’t know how your police have recovered from the war, but ours unhappily haven’t.”

“Depends on where you look,” I admitted. “With the exception of a few older veterans on the forces, most of ours are either pretty young or the useless shits that weren’t even good enough for cannon fodder. In general, they do a fair job, but they still aren’t up to prewar standards.”

“For us also,” he nodded again. “Except we have this wee prejudice against veterans of foreign armies in our police forces, and since most of the competent officers volunteered ... Well, they try ― I will give them that ― but they haven’t had overly much experience with this sort of thing, and...” his gaze steeled for a moment, “I have little desire for my charges to become their training exercise. I’d much prefer they gather their experience with somebody else.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I snorted. “We had a saying in the army, ‘What is the phrase most often heard right before a funeral? “This should be an interesting learning experience.”’ I wouldn’t want somebody I knew to be one of those either. So I take it the police haven’t been able to track down who sent the demands?”

“No,” he shook his head. “They’ve been ‘working on it’ but have no leads. I’ll send over what we have so you can look at it.”

“What do you think is the principal threat?” I asked. “Kidnapping? Assault? Murder?”

“We have consulted with - mmm, outside resources,” he said pinching his lips together. “This is quite possibly nothing more than simple extortion, and if that is the case, the most probable result would be attempted abduction when we fail to meet their demands.”

He didn’t bother to say that they weren’t going to cough up the money. I didn’t take him for a stupid man, and only an idiot thinks you can solve this type of problem by giving into these kinds of people. If you give them money once, you’ll be giving it to them forever. Not only that, but the amounts will keep getting larger and larger. You don’t deal with vermin like that; you exterminate them the best you can while putting a shield between them and their targets. That’s what we were: the shield. Maybe if we got lucky, we could also be the exterminators, but since that would mean they were getting close to the girls, I’d be glad to forgo that pleasure.

“Got it, kidnapping,” I nodded. “That actually makes it a bit easier. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to cover five principals with just five of us. That brings up another question: Is Connor supposed to be inside our envelope? If he is, someone is going to have to rein him in. I don’t think he’s going to listen to me.”

“Let me address that a touch later if you don’t mind,” Camberge said, giving me a quirky little smile. “Let me address the question you didn’t ask first: Why don’t we just cancel the tour?”

“I assumed it was because of the money,” I shrugged. “What other reason is there for being out in public when someone is after you? Honestly, I don’t make value judgments as to whether or not my clients should be out where they are exposed or not. It’s always easiest to hunker down somewhere behind big walls, but it’s not much of a life. Celebrities almost by definition have to be out in public; I guess you can say it’s their job. Everybody has to make a living, and people like them can’t make their living holed up somewhere.”

“That’s very intuitive of you, Mr. Leforge,” he nodded. “But I would expect that of you. You do come highly recommended.”

“What you say is true of most entertainers,” he continued, obviously not expecting me to respond, “and is even more so when it comes to music. It used to be that a musician ― and their recording company for that matter ― could make a fairly good living sitting in a studio recording music and selling it as singles or in compilations; they used to call them albums.”

“I know,” I added when he paused to take a breath. “I happen to own a good number of them, some even in the old vinyl analog formats.”

“Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I would have never thought ... Just goes to show you can never really tell. Anyway, since these compilations were the only way to listen to specific music other than from a broadcast or seeing it live, the selling of these compilations was economically feasible. An artist could play and sell music without ever having to go before a live audience if they so chose.

“Of course, starting in the latter half of the last century, recording technology began advancing to such a point that once a piece of music was released, it could be shared for free literally worldwide. Artists and companies that published and released their art were finding it was simply impossible to get paid for their work. Certainly, they tried encryption, but no matter what format they devised, it took less time for someone else to break it.

“So what did that leave them? Either they performed their art for free or they turned to other avenues to earn their living. The stereotype of a starving artist may still be out there as popular mythology, but I can assure you I have personally met very few that actually enjoyed that status.” He leaned forward slightly and continued very seriously, “I can assure you I have no intention of starving for the sake of art.”

“So again, where did that leave them? There were some small amounts of royalties to be made from the broadcast still, but not overly much, and selling rights for soundtracks on videos as such, of course. But the real money was in the live performances. That was the only forum where they could control with absolute certainty the product they produced and the people who consumed it!”

“I can see that,” I admitted. “And I fully support the musicians getting what they deserve for what they do. I certainly enjoy listening, and I sure can’t do it, so making their money from playing concerts makes sense, but can they really make enough doing that? Not to knock your business model or anything, but will people really pay to see someone play when they can get the music for free and listen to it at home?”

“You would be surprised,” he smiled and leaned back. “Have you ever been to a live performance?”

“A few,” I acknowledged. “It was a long time ago, and two times it was the same artist, so I’m not sure if I’d be a good example.” In fact, the only concerts I’d ever been to had been when I was in the army, and the USO sponsored them. Getting to see some decent talent for free was about the only benefit I’d ever seen come out of being in the war zone.

“Would you pay to see them again?” he asked.

“Maybe one of them,” I admitted again.

“If you didn’t, you would be unusual,” he continued. “People enjoy seeing performers perform. Even if you get a better sound quality from your own holo-tank or whatever you’re playing it on, they still would rather see the artist doing it right there in front of them. And they’re willing to pay quite handsomely for the privilege, I might add.”

“This is the initial tour for Irish Mist. Twenty-five cities averaging twenty-five hundred paid attendance ― all sold out, by the way. The average ticket price is almost two hundred euro-francs with gross revenues over eleven million. Net will be over five million and that’s just for a small tour. Irish Mist is the first band Ireland can call its own since the turn of the century that has the potential to become truly popular worldwide.

“That is why we cannot afford to cancel this tour and why we are paying your rather extraordinarily large fee to keep it from being canceled,” he finished. I could only nod in acceptance.

“Now as for your first question: Connor,” he continued. His eyes got narrow and about as close to angry as I’d seen so far. “Connor is as useless a piece of baggage as I’ve ever seen. He has the title of manager but Valeria from my office is the one who has actually been doing the bookings and pre-work for all the venues. If you have any questions or needs, contact her. As far as Connor is concerned, if the extortionists grab him or even make a try for him they can have him with my blessing. Your job is to protect these girls; he is definitely not part of your assignment.”

“Got it,” I nodded again.

---

“That’s a load of fecking shite!”

“I hope so,” I answered. Naturally Rachael didn’t believe a word of it. “It would make me no end of happy if all of this was going to be for nothing.”

“Why?” The question was almost whispered and I turned to see Eimile peeking out from behind Shauna. She had a bit of the frightened rabbit look about her and I half expected her to duck back behind her cousin any second.

“Because if this is all just a hoax, then we can all get through this tour without getting shot or grabbed or anything else that might happen,” I smiled at her. I was trying to reassure her, and she actually popped up enough so I could see her nose. “That would be a good thing, believe me. Getting shot at is much more than just a pain in the ass, and I’m sure being the guest of some kidnaper would not be fun, either.”

“So you think there’s no danger? That this is all a joke?” Shauna asked.

“Actually, I assume this is very real,” I replied sternly. “We all have to assume it is real.” There were a number of hesitant looks, although not the outright disbelief coming from Rachael. “Look,” I continued. “Do any of you know how much money is involved with this tour of yours?”

“Ah, a lot,” Rachael muttered. I looked around. Niamh was ignoring me completely, Shauna had a puzzled look, and Eimile had ducked behind her cousin again. Leanne met my gaze and gave a curt nod. I’d bet dollars to donuts she probably knew every centime that was supposed to be made on this trip. She just impressed me as the type that would.

“A hell of a lot,” I confirmed. “With that kind of money at stake, there are always going to be people who want to share it and probably aren’t too finicky about how they get it.

“You,” I pointed to each in turn, “are going to be targets. Either by these potential bad guys wanting to shake you down for ransom or some other fool looking for an easy score.” I shrugged and continued, “You ladies are famous around here and are probably going to be even more famous in the future. This is part of the price you pay for that fame, and you’re going to have to learn to live with it.

“Now, we’ve got three days before your first concert here in Cork,” I continued. “There are going to be some changes made around here, and I would appreciate your cooperation. We’re going to try to do this with minimal impact on you, but I’m going to tell you right up front there is going to be some impact; it can’t be helped.”

“The first change is going to be at the hotel. Some of you will have to change tonight.” I explained the hows, why’s, and where’s of how that will happen. The only one who seemed overly upset about that was, of course, Rachael.

“Miss Rachael, I don’t care who you bring to your room,” I tried to patiently explain. “I don’t care how many either; bring in the whole Cork football team if you want.” I got a few giggles with that. “But whoever comes in will be under observation both coming and going, and I don’t care if they know it; in fact, it might be better if they did. People seem to act a little more civilized when they know somebody is looking over their shoulder.

“I also want each of you to wear one of these.” I passed out flat, translucent patches to each of the girls.

“What’s this?” Leanne asked, holding it between her fingers while looking at it from different angles.

“Personal tracking and signaling devices,” I answered. “You just place the darker shaded side on your skin, and it attaches itself. It comes off painlessly but won’t fall off by accident. It uses your body heat to produce a signal so we will know where you are at all times. It’s also an emergency signal. It’s set so if you press it directly in the middle three times rapidly, it sends us a signal, and we’ll know you need us ASAP. Also, saying one of our names in conjunction with the word ‘help’ will alert us. A simple “Martin, help me” or “Help Leforge” will do it.”

“Why couldn’t we just call you?” Shauna asked tentatively.

“You could,” I agreed. “Unless someone has just stuck a gun to your head and tied your hands behind your back; kidnappers are usually reluctant to let their victims call on their own.”

“Oh,” she responded, sounding a little queasy.

“So, big man, if our hands are bound up, how are we going to signal for the storm troopers?” Rachael quipped.

“Actually, a very good question,” I nodded, which caused her to pause and keep quiet for a moment. “I recommend you place them on the inside of your wrist.” I held my hand up and pointed to the one I was wearing. “Most of the time, if someone is tying you up, they will bind both wrists together behind you. In most cases, you should be able to reach and activate the alarm. If you can’t, at the very least, we’ll still know where you are, and when you come up missing, we’ll be able to retrieve you.

“Maybe I don’t want you to know where I’m off to all the time,” Rachael complained.

“I pretty much do now anyway,” I explained to her. “We can track that Pers-comp you have glued to your waist now. Unfortunately, that’s one of the first things kidnappers dispose of when they take someone.

“It won’t be that bad, ladies, I promise,” I chuckled. “After a day or two, you won’t even know it’s there, and hopefully, you’ll never have to use it.”

I went through a few more of the security procedures, such as not going anywhere alone or without a bodyguard; no gifts or packages without having them cleared first, and never accepting a drink from anyone they didn’t know. The standard bullshit. Most of them just shrugged and nodded, but naturally, you-know-who whined like we were locking her in a cloister for the duration. I had a feeling that with Rachael, if she wasn’t bitching, she was plotting, so I’d gladly take the bitching.

---

The rooms had been moved by the time they finished up with rehearsal for the day, and dinner was a casual affair down in the hotel’s restaurant. Rachael had a “date” that night, so Mac pulled the short straw and got to accompany her. I spent most of the night going over security procedures with Magaoidh and the rest of the team; as long as we kept our eyes open, this gig was going to be a piece of cake. Well, a piece of cake with a nut in it; Miss Rachael was definitely as loony-tunes as they come. (If you don’t understand the reference, then don’t bother to ask; it’s obvious your education has been so pathetic it’s unlikely you could string the words of the question together coherently.) She was grouchy as a bear in spring every morning, and the only thing that changed during the day was her volume increased as her hangover succumbed to the medication. You’d think she was old enough to notice the cause-and-effect relationship between partying herself blotto every night and feeling like shit on a stick the next morning, but apparently not.

I will say one thing: those girls worked hard! Not having been around the business much, I had no idea just how much practice it took to look spontaneous on stage. Every note, every gesture was choreographed and repeated time and time again until it looked natural. It made getting shot at look easy.

Other than being Rachael’s favorite profanity dump and doing random perimeter checks, most of my time was spent reviewing the layouts for the upcoming concert venues. It wasn’t until the day before their first concert that we had a little incident.

For the most part, we never saw Connor, which didn’t disturb me greatly since he was pretty much a useless piece of shit, and his “friends” didn’t even rank that high on the evolutionary scale. Unfortunately, one or two of them usually hung around the studio whether or not Connor could drag his lazy ass out of bed or not. He’d given them passes that authorized admittance, and I really didn’t have a good reason for keeping them out other than they annoyed me, so they usually sat around ogling the girls and making ribald comments to each other while farting and scratching their balls. Like I said: annoying but not necessarily a problem.

That was until Randy (remember him? The fat, dumb-ass I’d met on my first day?) decided it must have been unfair of him not to allow the ladies to avail themselves of his sexy manliness. During one of their breaks while Shauna was out using the little girls’ room, he pinned down little Eimile back in a corner and was playing with her hair. She looked about as scared as anyone I’ve ever seen: pale and shaking, looking like a little mouse about to be eaten by some mangy dog. I know that’s disparaging to dogs; he reminded me more of a slimy slug, but then slugs don’t eat mice, do they?

Anyway, the only other person in the room was Niamh, but she was off in Niamh-world somewhere and not paying attention, assuming she would do anything even if she did notice. Shauna would have had his balls off in seconds, so it was a good bet he’d timed this little stunt for her being out of the room.

It didn’t take me long to be through the door, across the room, and right next to them. I swear I was hoping I could get this taken care of without any unnecessary violence, but as my grandpappy used to tell me, “wish in one hand and shit in the other; see which one fills up the fastest.”

“Randy,” I said calmly, “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

“Piss off, wanker,” he replied without even looking at me. “Me and the slapper here are having a bit of a talk.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I really must insist,” I said, reaching out and putting a hold on him right above his elbow. My fingers and thumb sunk into his flab, but I could still find the pinch points. With a decent grip, it doesn’t take much to cause a considerable amount of pain. I had a decent grip.

“Oww! You thick bastard, that finking hurts!” he yowled.

“Then let you and I come over here and talk privately,” I responded, tugging him towards one of the isolation booths. There were a number of these small rooms scattered around the studio; they use them when they want the sound from a single instrument or voice without any ambient noise interfering. The viewing window was darkened so nobody could see in, although at the time I didn’t know you could set it so you could see in but not see out or vice versa. All I know is I’ve always had a policy of praise in public but admonishment in private, and this seemed like the perfect place to do it. I opened the door and pushed the reluctant Randy into the room before me.

I also hadn’t noticed that everyone else had followed me into the studio when I left in such a hurry.

---

“What the fuck is going on?” Rachael demanded.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Leanne asked as Eimile rushed over to her. “Was that asshole bothering you?” Eimile didn’t answer but sniffed and nodded. “I told you Connor shouldn’t allow these scumbags in here,” she growled.

“I don’t believe that will be a problem again, Miss,” Magaoidh said calmly. “The Major is having a little talk with the lad.”

“That wanker’s going to tear that little knobjockey (homosexual) arse to teakettle,” Rachael snorted. “Aren’t you going to help the little poof?” Either Faolain or Caoimh snickered behind her. Since it is unlikely that a corporal late of His Majesty’s army would do such a thing, it was probably Faolain. “What? You’re not going to help your own man? Shall we call for the ambulance now?” she demanded.

“We believe the Major can take care of himself, Miss Rachael,” Magaoidh responded evenly. “I don’t believe he desired an audience.”

“Fuck that!” Rachael huffed and leaned over, pressing a button next to the room’s view window. Instantly, the window cleared, and the interior was visible; they could also hear what was being said inside. The two men inside the room didn’t know that since Rachael had activated only the one-way viewing feature.

“... you will not bother these girls here or anywhere, do you understand me?” Leforge said calmly, his hands on his hips, staring up at a scowling Randy as he massaged his bruised arm.

“Ah, I was just talking to the skank,” Randy grumbled. “Maybe she fancies me.”

“And maybe pigs will grow wings and fly,” Leforge snorted. “But even if she does, you will let her come to you and not the other way around. This is her place, this is where she works, this is where she needs to feel safe. If she fancies you, then it’s up to her to come to you. Otherwise, you will leave her and the rest of them alone.”

“Hey, what’s happening here?” Shauna asked as she stepped through the studio door. Eimile immediately let go of Leanne and ran over to her cousin as the rest of the girls put a finger to their lips and said, “Shhhhh!”

Eimile started whispering in Shauna’s ear, and Shauna immediately started yelling, “Ah’m going to rip his fucking balls off and use the sack for a purse!” Eimile quickly began whispering again, and Shauna said, “Eh? ‘e did? In there? This should be educational; let’s see what the little bugger has going for ‘em.”

“This is your first and only warning,” Leforge was finishing. “I believe you should go now and not return. That is not a suggestion, by the way. You can leave by the back door there; no need to say goodbye.” Turning, he began to walk towards the studio door when a humiliated and enraged Randy jumped at him.

“Watch out!” Leanne screamed as if Martin could hear her.

“Idiot,” Corporal Caoimh snorted.

There were nine pairs of eyes watching what happened next. Four of them knew, understood, and even anticipated the blows and throws that were inevitable the second Randy started moving toward their officer. Between the other five pairs, you would have received five different stories, the action being far too quick and violent from what they were used to.

“Ew, that’s going to leave a mark in the morning,” Ranger Whellan Faolain winced.

“Good form on the takedown,” Caoimh nodded approvingly.

“Yes, that should do it... Oh, he pulled the punch,” Mac hissed disappointedly.

“Would that have seriously hurt the bastard?” Leanne asked the lanky ex-ranger.

“Hurt him? No, Miss, it would have killed him,” Mac shrugged and sighed. “Would have put a proper finish to this foolishness, if you ask me.”

“And it’s just as well nobody did ask you, Ranger,” Magaoidh interrupted icily. “It’s best we all take heed of the Major’s example: no extreme measures if none are needed. We’ll not be needing the constabulary involved in our every move.”

“Aye, Colour Sergeant,” Mac and Faolain repeated at the same time.

“Good lads,” Magaoidh nodded.

“But ‘e was just an officer,” Rachael complained. “’e didn’t fight.” Mac and Faolain laughed out loud while Caoimh rolled his eyes.

“Miss, a bit of advice from someone older and wiser,” Magaoidh looked down at her disapprovingly. “You should get to know the people who are charged with protecting you.

“Yon lanky rascals,” Magaoidh nodded towards the two junior enlisted men, “are Rangers. A decent bunch in a scrap, I’ll admit, but trained to go behind enemy lines for reconnoiter, reconnaissance, interdiction, and other such little dirty jobs. Part of what they did and were trained for was taking prisoners. Now, seeing as live prisoners are preferred, they are more heavily trained to disable and subdue; it’s actually a little harder than you think.”

“The little poof in there,” he continued, making it sound like a sneer even though it wasn’t, not quite. “That gentleman was an Officer of Infantry.” He made the statement sound like it needed no other explanation. “He wasn’t trained to operate behind enemy lines; no, his job was to go through enemy lines. To kill, destroy, subdue - eliminate - anything in his path. He doesn’t take prisoners; when he’s finished, there are none to take.

“Yon poof as ye describe him has more decorations for valor than you can imagine and even more for wounds taken in combat.” He paused for a moment and looked straight down into Rachael’s confused eyes. “Little Miss, suffice it to say all of your security team personnel are dangerous, deadly warriors, but in my opinion, the most dangerous stands in that room right over there.” Behind him, all three of the other veterans nodded fractionally.

He sighed, “Because of yer youth, it is probably too much to ask for respect where respect is due, but be advised,” he bent down with a glint in his eye and just a touch of a smile on his lips, “yon poof is a hardman (rough, tough person) beyond any ye have probably ever seen before. It might behoove yourself to be a bit more-restrained and temperate in your dealings with him.”

“Ah’m not afraid of that lout,” Rachael blustered.

“Oh, not afraid, Miss Rachael,” Magaoidh turned and actually chuckled. “Just cautious.” Seeing Leforge was just about to leave the isolation room, he reached over and turned off the viewing window. “All sorted out, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes, certainly,” Leforge nodded as he strode into the studio. “What’s going on here?”

“Just waiting for you to finish, sir,” Magaoidh answered amiably.

“Well, certainly no need to wait for me,” Leforge huffed. “All taken care of.” He walked over to where Eimile and Shauna were standing. “Are you all right?” he asked Eimile. She was looking down at the floor, but she nodded her head vigorously.

“Thank you,” Shauna said, putting her arm around her cousin. “If that gobshite shows his bloody mug ‘round here again Ah’m going to have his plums for my pudding!”

“I’m sure you will,” Leforge chuckled. “But don’t dirty your hands with him; that’s our job. I don’t think he’ll be back, but if he does, just let us know, and we’ll have Mac or Faolain run him off.” He reached out and, using one finger under the chin, gently lifted Eimile’s face until he could see her eyes. He noticed they were a beautiful pale violet.

“You never have to put up with that,” he said softly. “You just say no and then signal one of us.” He bent down and whispered next to her ear, “Having security can be a real pain in the ass, but we do have our uses sometimes. Let us protect you.” She giggled and nodded as he straightened up.

“Just like having our own bully dogs,” Shauna laughed. “Ah could get used to that.”

“Woof,” Leforge grinned back.

“What’s that on your sleeve?” Leanne suddenly demanded. Martin looked down and saw that part of the forearm was indeed red with blood. “Are you hurt? Cut?” She grabbed his arm and began looking for any tears or rends where the blood could be coming from.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Martin answered, embarrassed. “It’s not mine. Ah, Randy had a bloody nose during our discussion, and I guess some got on me.”

“Happens when you smash your nose into someone’s forearm, repeatedly,” Faolain whispered to Mac, who snickered.

“Maybe, but we’ll be needing to make sure; take it off,” Leanne demanded.

“I’m okay, and I’m not taking off my shirt,” Leforge frowned.

“The hell you’re not,” Leanne said, hands moving to the fasteners on the front. “Stop being such a baby; even if you’re not hurt, we need to get that into some water before the stain sets.”

“You can’t stain these fabrics,” he mumbled as her nimble fingers undid the fasteners faster than he could redo them. Slapping his hand away, she finally pushed the shirt off over his shoulders and down. When she looked at him, she gasped just a little and took a step back.

“Oh, Jesus!” she sighed and looked up into his eyes.

Chapter 3

I’m pretty sure you can’t die from embarrassment. At least I’m fairly sure you can’t. You couldn’t tell that by me right then. First off, it’s embarrassing that a grown man can’t even stop an itty-bitty girl who masses about half his weight (don’t give me any crap about the differences between “weight” and “mass”; yes, I know physics and yes, I know the difference) from stripping off his shirt. True, given any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded one bit; she’s a tasty little morsel, and pretty doesn’t even begin to describe her, but ... It just wasn’t appropriate. Add to that, said girl took one look at my ravaged torso and blurted out a profanity ... Maybe “embarrassing” doesn’t come close.

“Work out much?” Leanne grinned up at me.

“Ah, well, sure ... It’s part of the job...” I tried to say.

“Oh, what’s this?” she asked, reaching up to draw a finger along one of my many scars. “Is this from a bullet?”

“Ah, maybe,” I mumbled. “I kind of forget. Bullet or shrapnel, maybe...” Or even sticks, stones, pieces of armor, and at times a bone or two. Hell, only knows what they’ve pulled out of me. It’s all a bit of a blur, and it’s not like the medics made a list or anything like that.

“Leanne, ‘e’s not a doll ya can play with,” Niamh said crossly.

“Who said ah’m playing?” Leanne purred and looked up at me with a quirky little smile that had trouble written all over it. “But yer right, dear cousin. We need to get this shirt rinsed out.”

“I’ll do it,” Eimile spoke up for the first time I could remember. She had a beautiful voice, very soft as you would expect and melodious; kind of like the tinkling of tiny bells. Leanne handed her my shirt before I could grab it, and she ran out of the studio with Shauna following her. Mac followed along behind both of them, glancing at me, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t laughing! I gave him a nasty look that wiped that silly grin off his smug face. Well, I knew who had Rachael duty tonight. Let him laugh about that!

“Ah, I thought they could fix those ugly scars and all that,” Rachael said rather loudly.

“They can,” I shrugged. Leanne turned and gave a disgusted look to her cousin. “For the most part, anyway. The army does a pretty good job on the ones on your face, arms, and legs but doesn’t bother elsewhere.”

“So why don’t you get them fixed yourself?” she asked rudely, earning another look from both Leanne and Niamh this time.

“I suppose I could have,” I nodded. “But cosmetic surgery can be kind of expensive, and...” I shrugged, “They’re a part of me now; I don’t even think of them.”

“Quite a wreck there, right? Good for scaring the wee ones into shitting their nappies though,” she chuckled.

“Rachael, that’ll be quite enough,” Niamh hissed.

“What?” Rachael turned to her sister in surprise.

“It’s all right, ladies,” I tried to soothe. “It can be a bit unnerving to someone who’s not used to seeing something like this.”

“Unnerving is right,” Leanne said, turning back to me. “You’re cut like a damn Greek statue,” she said, running one fingernail over my chest, which caused interesting shivers throughout my body. After that, I thought I heard her mumble something like, “ ... poor bugger, never stood a chance,” but I wasn’t really sure, and the other girls came back in with my shirt before I could ask what she meant.

“All spiffy,” Shauna announced happily, holding up my shirt. The sleeve was still slightly damp where it had been rinsed but completely bloodless, which wasn’t a surprise; you have to really work to stain these fabrics.

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking it from her and quickly putting it on. I have no idea what could have been so interesting about seeing someone putting on a shirt, but for some reason, I seemed to be the center of attention.

“Ryan,” I said, trying to deflect some of this unwarranted attention, “until further notice, all personnel not directly related to the band or getting ready for the concert are no longer authorized entry to the premises. Anyone wishing an exception must go through me first. Understood?”

“Aye, sirrah, very clear,” Magaoidh said easily. Turning to Corporal Caoimh, he continued, “Caoimh, take the lads and make a sweep of the area. Put any rubbish out where needed.”

“Colour Sergeant,” Brian nodded and waved for Mac and Faolain to follow him as he headed towards the door.

“So you’re going to lock us away and keep us from our friends?” Rachael demanded.

“Not at all,” I responded coolly, staring her right in the eyes. “But this won’t happen again. You have someone you want to bring to see your practice? I have no problem with that; but I want to know about it and vet them myself before they’re inside our perimeter.”

“That’s shit!” she complained. “Who died and made you God?”

“It’s my job, miss,” I said evenly. “If you feel it’s too restrictive, you are perfectly welcome to see Mr. Camberge about it. If he feels it is appropriate, he can always replace me with someone else.”

“Back down, Rache,” Shauna said with a frown. “If the man can keep the wankers out ‘o here, ah’m all fer it.”

“Aye, we’ve got to pull our socks up and get on with it,” Leanne agreed. “We’ll be moving to the stage tomorrow anyway.” She glanced at me and smiled impishly before moving towards her instruments. “Besides, it’s nice having someone looking out for our backsides for a change instead of just staring at ‘em.” I’m afraid I wanted to do that too, but I wasn’t about to say so.

“Well, it’s bollicks if you ask me,” Rachael pouted.

“Well, we didn’t, now did we?” Niamh snapped. “We’ve got work to do, so stop yer codding and let’s be at it.”

Leaning towards Rachael, I said softly, “I’ll try not to restrict access for your friends too much. If you want people in during your rehearsal or even backstage during the show, we’ll work something out. I just want to see them beforehand.”

“Fuck off, jackboot,” she hissed.

So much for winning friends and influencing people.

---

The next day was the official kickoff of the tour. The roadies had spent most of the night and morning moving and setting up the stage and sound equipment for the show that was scheduled to start at 2000 hours. Caoimh had been up most of the night observing the move. No, we weren’t really worried about someone planting a bomb in any of the equipment, but I figured so long as someone had to watch them, why not a combat engineer whose specialty was making things go boom and turning big things into tiny little ones?

I had been down at the local national police headquarters picking up my pistol, which wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. It took hours convincing the local chief that all the proper approvals had indeed been signed, and I still wasn’t sure until I got my piece in hand that I was going to get it. He was a big, fat fucker who I was pretty damn sure hadn’t been one of the Irish volunteers. Our mutual antipathy was fairly evident from the moment we laid eyes on each other, and it went downhill from there. I’d like to think his dislike was for all things military in general and not just for my own baby blues, but truthfully, it didn’t matter. I was finally able to convince him that all required signatures were indeed there and that I hadn’t forged them. What a tool. Then there was the desk officer assigned to actually find and issue my weapon. She was young as they come, cute as a puppy, and dumb as a box of rocks. If this was the best the Irish police had, then I can understand why Camberge wasn’t overly confident about their ability to protect the girls. Truthfully, I’m surprised they managed to find their way home every night.

Anyway, I was finally packing and feeling somewhat less naked with my 5mm tucked against the small of my back. I know a lot of officers tended to use the 2mm because it’s lighter and easier to conceal, but I’ve found that when you’re slugging it out face to face, even light body armor shrugs off a 2mm. You had to be really damn good to take someone wearing body armor with a 2mm, and while I’m a decent shot in the furball of combat, I wanted something big enough just in case “decent” wasn’t good enough. As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to the down and dirty, the term “excessive force” is redundant. Actually, my personal favorite when going into combat was a 5mm submachine gun. It uses the same round as the 5mm pistol but can spew out about 500 rounds in about thirty seconds. When you’re going door to door rooting out the bad guys, the only thing better is a fragmentation grenade; I used to carry those too. Yeah, I know officers aren’t supposed to do entry work, but when you’re shorthanded and everything is going to shit, sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Just to let you know, we were always shorthanded, and everything going to shit was just standard operating procedure. I’d done more entry work than I’d care to remember.

We were trying to settle into the standard schedule for a touring band, which was new to me. Equipment set up by noon; break for lunch; sound checks at 1300 and full rehearsal at 1400. It was all new to me, but everything seemed to go smoothly. I didn’t realize that bands didn’t play just one show each night; they played two: the real show and the rehearsal. They did everything in rehearsal just like the actual show except without costumes. That’s a hell of a lot of work in one day. They had some local band playing warm-up, and although I generally avoid disparaging remarks about others, I got the feeling most of their talent came from their volume and not their ability.

For the most part, everything was going smoothly, which for someone who believes wholeheartedly in the power of positive pessimism is a bit worrisome. Yeah, go ahead and call me a grump, but I’ve found a pessimist can never be disappointed and is often pleasantly surprised, but an optimist is disappointed at least half the time. Besides, someone who assumes and plans for the worst is caught with his pants down at the most inconvenient times far less often than someone who blissfully hopes everything is going along just fine. I’d rather be a live party-pooper than a dead life of the party anytime.

Oh, speaking of worrisome, did I mention I had a visitor that night before the concert? No? Well, I did. It was about 2200, and I was getting ready to make one final round of the hotel before hitting the rack when I heard the door signal a visitor. Surprised but not overly worried ― I hadn’t heard an alert from the duty watch ― I opened the door. It was Leanne.

“Hi there!” she said brightly and popped into my room, ducking under the arm that was holding the door open. “Just thought ah’d roll by and see that you’re doing well.”

“Ah, well, yes, I’m doing just fine, thank you,” I stuttered. “But aren’t I supposed to be the one making sure you are all right?”

“Ah, piff,” she waved her hand and flopped down on the small couch, stretching her legs out and resting them on the table in front of it. Did I mention she was wearing tiny, little, silky shorts, a crop top, and apparently nothing else other than a pair of flip-flops that she’d kicked off? The sight was ... distracting to say the least. I think I’ve said before she’s short but perfectly proportioned for her size, with light brown skin, long coal-black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and that touch of the exotic Eurasians so often have. Her bust wasn’t enormous; like I said, she was perfectly proportioned, but with that top, there was no doubt there was more than just a handful under it. But those legs ... My God! They looked like they were 90 percent of her body and couldn’t have been more perfect. Now, tits are nice, and I have nothing against them, but what has always attracted me to women has been their eyes first (really, I’m not kidding here!), legs second, and then the ass; the size of the breasts comes in a distant fourth. In other words, this young woman pushed just about every button I had. I try to be the best professional I can be, but I’m only human, and underneath my cool, detached exterior was the wolf howling, panting, and drooling, whimpering to be let out to play. That’s why it was worrisome.

“Ah’m fine, everybody’s fine; in fact ah think even Rache is back in already,” she continued. This I knew. Faolain had already reported they were in and tucked away. Whellan had the Rachael duty that night since Mac hadn’t done anything to piss me off all day.

“So I’ve heard,” I said pointedly, leaving the door open, then walked over to sit in a chair across from her. “So to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Just bored and can’t sleep,” she said, lifting one leg as if to examine it. My blood pressure just about doubled, but of course, I didn’t let it show. “Ah, I get wired the night before a concert,” she continued, “and you did say we could drop by and see ya anytime.”

“I’m pretty sure that was more for if you were scared or needed a place to hide,” I chuckled. “But you’re perfectly welcome to hang out here if you like.”

“Kold,” she grinned. “Mr. Magaoidh told us we should get to know the people who are protecting us, so ah be thinking now is as good a time as any.”

“He did? I don’t remember that,” I admitted.

“Oh, it was while you were instructing randy Randy Randy Randy Randy Randy Randy on proper manners,” she giggled. “That put Rache’s knickers in a bit of a bunch for sure, and you can bet Connor’s mob’ll be a damn sight more respectful, if they even have the clackers to show their faces, that is.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said slowly. “I just explained to Randy his behavior wasn’t acceptable, nothing more.”

She looked at me for a moment and then started laughing. “Oh, Jesus, they didn’t tell you?” My lack of comprehension must have shown because she started laughing again, causing various parts of her body to shake and shimmy in a delightfully distracting way. When she calmed down a little, she wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled when she caught me looking at her... well, everything.

“They didn’t? That’s rich!” she grinned, and I felt grateful she was ignoring my lecherous glances. Yeah, I’m only human, but I should be better than that. Still grinning, she flipped over on her stomach as her legs waved in the air; I do believe the vixen was taunting me!

“We saw it all,” she continued. “Well, we saw the end result, right enough; none of us were really sure what actually happened other than the big tool took after ya with your back turned, and you put a boxing on ‘is arse he won’t soon forget.”

“You saw that?” I groaned. “Oh, shit.”

“No, it was fair play,” she said, sitting up suddenly. “What you did for Em was grand! She’s a timid little thing, and though Shauna does her best, she’s not much more than a wee thing herself for all her bluster. Em’s been dancing ever since; I thought for sure her face would break from the smile, and as for Rache...” she chuckled. “Well, it’s a good thing she learned the man she be shitting on can take ‘er across his knee and stripe her arse a good one if need be.”

“That’s not in the job description,” I muttered.

“Maybe not,” she laughed. “But no need to be telling her that, now is there?”

“Well...” I started.

“Enough of the Queen of England,” she grinned. “Ah, come over to find out about my man here.”

“Not a whole lot to tell,” I shrugged. But I’ll be damned if she didn’t weasel a hell of a lot out more than I’d really intended to tell anyone. I guess I just have trouble saying no to a pretty girl.

“So no wife or molly of yer own?” she asked once. “Ah, not to be understanding that.”

“Not now,” I replied, shaking my head. “To tell the truth, the last couple of relationships haven’t turned out so well.” I had to continue when she cocked her head and just stared at me. “My last few, mmm, girlfriends have been a lot like Rachael,” I finally admitted. “Pretty, but we just didn’t mesh too well. I guess they were a bit on the domineering side, and we’d just end up arguing all the time. It’s a flaw in my character, I know,” I shrugged. “But I don’t do well being screamed at in public.”

“Well, of course not,” she scoffed. “A woman leads her man from his side or behind their own doors, not from in front.”

“I suppose that would work,” I laughed.

“Tis nature,” she nodded solemnly, “and not to be fooled with.” She paused for a moment and looked to the side and said softly, “Of course, there are some that need to be doing a bit of screaming, public or otherwise.”

“What?” I asked, but she just smiled sadly and shook her head.

Anyway, we talked about a lot of things that night, and I suppose if I tried, I could remember most of them, but it really wasn’t important. The fact was, I felt much more comfortable with the little china doll than I should have, and it was after midnight when she finally decided it was time to go to bed.

“Now, ah, guess you’ll be looking at my legs again, won’t ya?” she asked saucily over her shoulder as she walked towards the open door.

“I’ll try not to,” I sighed. “But it’s not easy.”

“Oh, I don’t mind yer looking,” she grinned. “A girl likes to be appreciated now and then without a bloke drooling all over his blouse, or hers. You have my permission to look all you want.”

“Thank you, but I will try to be discreet about it,” I grimaced.

“Try or not, it’s no different to me,” she smiled and wiggled her bottom before giggling and scampering out into the hall.

I sighed as I closed the door, wondering what in the hell I was getting myself into.

---

“Colour Sergeant,” MacGiolla Phadraig called out as he watched the monitor. “That little fine one, the Asian lass...”

“Miss Leanne,” Magaoidh nodded.

“Yes, Colour Sergeant, Miss Leanne,” Mac corrected himself. “She just came out of the major’s room.”

“And?” Magaoidh asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Well...” Mac started. “The major’s room. You think they’re doing the line already? The major must be a fast one, he is.”

“Not that it’s any business of ours what they might be doing, Ranger,” Magaoidh said archly. “But ah will point out the major’s door has been open for the last two hours. If they were involved in any shenanigans, ah seriously doubt they would have left the door open.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Mac replied, sounding a little disappointed. Magaoidh just looked at the younger trooper and arched his eyebrows again, this time questioningly.

“I was just thinking, Colour Sergeant, if the major’s a complete Guillermo (ladies’ man), maybe he can start slipping it to little Miss Rachael, and maybe she’ll be staying in a few of these nights,” Mac shrugged.