Page 52 of Air Force One (Miranda Chase #16)

“You’re back.” Max, as voluble as ever, set a pair of beers on the bar. His black t-shirt left his GSOF—Georgia Special Operations Forces—tattoos on clear display. Holly took a long drink from her beer and sighed happily.

Mike tasted his, a nicely hoppy IPA. “That’s nice.

And, yep, we’re back.” He couldn’t quite believe it, but they were.

Two years ago, at the time of their last visit to the country of Georgia, they’d all been a mess.

Andi and Miranda had been apart for a year, which had been killing both of them.

And Mike had decided to walk out on Holly and get a life before they killed each other. Damn but the world had changed.

“Middle of the night.” Past closing, there were only a few lights making pools in the vast shadows. Or maybe it always looked like this.

“Middle of the night,” Mike agreed, just like last time. And he felt every second of it, though it was still evening of some day or other back in the States.

Max’s gaze flickered up over Mike’s shoulder. Max had a small series of lights that indicated whenever someone was coming down the long staircase from the street to enter the bar. Mike didn’t bother turning to look.

“Inbound?”

At Max’s nod, Mike went and opened the door. As he did, Holly slid off her stool and disappeared into the shadows.

He recognized both of the newcomers. A glance at the bar revealed Holly reemerging from the shadows to head back to her stool. Her half shrug said that old habits died hard.

Soon they were all bellied up to the bar.

They caught up on the news in a few short sentences.

Pavle Rapava was fully installed as the head of the Georgian Intelligence Service. Max’s wife Tamar was Pavle’s chief assistant. But Tamar and Pavle’s wife were both deep in pregnancy, so wouldn’t be any part of this.

Tad Jobson, a retired Marine Corps helo pilot who’d chosen to stay behind on their last trip here, might as well be a local now. He’d married a Tbilisi chef and was still working as a consultant and trainer for Georgia’s small helicopter air force.

“Yep, my boys are on it,” Tad announced.

“Last time you folks were here we had nine working helos and about as many pilots. We’ve got thirty of their thirty-eight airframes operational now, with another coming online next week.

And I’ve got pilots coming outta my training program so fast I can’t make birds fast enough for them.

Couple are damned good. Not Marine Corps good, mind you, but serious skills.

” His broad grin said how proud he was of himself and them.

“Found your place in the world.” Mike didn’t turn to Holly, but wondered what their place in the world was. Miranda’s neighbors and on her NTSB team. He supposed that was enough to know for now. “Well done.”

“Thanks, bro. So what drags your sorry asses back to Georgia and is worth us getting out of bed for?”

“Bit of a rescue mission. We need some help.”

“Hey, you folks need anything, you’re talking to the right guys. Right, boys?”

Pavle’s careful nod said he’d learned a lot running the Georgian Intelligence Service. Max reacted just as little as Mike would expect—not at all.

Tad caught on and got serious. “So where is he? Downed pilot or something?”

“Or something. She is landing at sunrise. Needs to be gone by sunset. Needs to show up as dead along the way.”

“Heard worse. Which airport?”

“Nalchik.”

Tad’s dark skin paled noticeably, even in the bar’s dim light. “Nalchik?” He aimed a finger at one of the walls. “Like the one in Russia?”

“Exactly like that one.”

“Well…shit, man.”