OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT,

BELWEDER PALACE, WARSAW

A FEW HOURS LATER

“So now we come to what you Americans call the nitty-gritty details,” Wilk said. “What we saw this morning proved the potential value of your weapons and other defense technologies. The question remains, what exactly can you provide to our country and how much will it cost us?”

Poland’s president had invited the two most important members of his government—Prime Minister Klaudia Rybak and Defense Minister Gierek—to this evening meeting with Martindale. The American had come alone, trusting subordinates back at Drawsko Pomorskie to handle the necessary work of clearing away any evidence of Scion’s presence at the Polish military training area. The three men and one woman were alone in Wilk’s private office, seated around a small conference table equipped with a computer and flat-screen display.

“My company can provide you with a highly capable special missions force,” Martindale told them. Images and graphics flashed onto the display as he spoke, echoing and amplifying his words. “The core of our ground element will be the two Cybernetic Infantry Devices, CIDs, you saw in action earlier today—along with their weapons packs and other equipment—”

“Why do you call those astounding war machines by such a drab, prosaic term?” the prime minister interrupted. “Surely they deserve a more fitting name, one that better captures their tremendous power? They moved with such grace and ferocity, more like wolves, iron wolves, than mere ‘devices.’ ”

Martindale smiled politely at her. “CIDs were called that by the folks who first invented and developed the hardware and software. They were part of an Army R-and-D outfit, which means they were engineers, not poets.” He shrugged his perfectly tailored shoulders. “I guess the designation they picked just stuck.” He turned back to the others. “If I may?”

“Please proceed,” Wilk said. A quick smile flashed across his own face. “Though I agree with Klaudia. Perhaps a true warrior should also have the soul of a poet.”

Martindale chuckled. “You may be right. Unfortunately, my own inclinations lead me more to questions of business and strategy.”

“Perhaps we can discuss literature and philosophy a bit later and stick to cold, hard facts for now,” Janusz Gierek said gruffly. The former professor of mathematics looked closely at Martindale. “What else do you offer us?”

“The rest of our Scion ground component would include an expert group of specialists, vehicles, and transport aircraft to support CID operations—with maintenance, field repair, and resupply. It will also include teams trained in deep-penetration covert reconnaissance,” Martindale went on. He nodded to Wilk. “I know your country has highly effective Special Forces of its own, Mr. President. But our recon operators are trained to work closely with the CID pilots. They know exactly what these machines can and cannot accomplish. Special Forces units used to fighting with conventional weapons will need extensive training to accustom them to working with our manned robots.”

“That makes sense,” Wilk agreed. “I would not expect a helicopter pilot, no matter how talented, to fly an F-16 without a lot of study and practice.”

“As a gesture of good faith, however,” Martindale told them, “we would be willing to train one of your own officers as a CID pilot. That would give you more insight into any missions we propose. It would also ensure closer liaison with your troops.”

“That is a generous offer,” Wilk said. “And one I would gladly accept. Perhaps I might suggest one of my military aides, Captain Nadia Rozek, as a suitable candidate?”

Martindale nodded. “She would be an excellent choice. In our experience, the best CID pilots are physically tough, mentally agile, and already comfortable with a range of advanced technology. From what I’ve seen of her thus far, your Captain Rozek possesses all those qualities.”

He keyed in another command, bringing up a new series of images on the display. “But the ground component is just one piece of our proposed special missions force. We would also deploy a range of manned and unmanned aircraft—aircraft able to conduct stealthy reconnaissance, electronic warfare, and strike and interdiction operations. The aircraft operators and the specialized equipment on board are designed to fully integrate with the CIDs.”

“Drones?”

“Full-scale combat aircraft, refurbished with modern materials and systems and made fully operational,” Martindale said. “They compare to drones like a wolf compares to a puppy.” Wilk and the other Poles sat rapt, listening while the American laid out the full range of advanced military capabilities Scion could offer their country. When he finished, they sat in silence for a few moments more, each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts.

At last, Wilk ran his gaze around the table, noting the slight nods from his two colleagues. He cleared his throat. “Your offer is impressive, Mr. Martindale. But let me be blunt. One question remains: Can Poland afford to hire Scion’s services?”

“That will be your decision,” Martindale said quietly. “I can only quote our price, and I will be blunt, too. This is not a price subject to negotiation or haggling. It’s the bare minimum my company can charge and remain viable. We’re determined to help you stop Gennadiy Gryzlov’s aggression, but Scion is fundamentally a business—not a nation-state. We can’t simply print money, and we won’t beggar ourselves in the process of helping you defend your country.”

“So how much will it cost us?” Gierek asked brusquely.

“We’ll supply you with all the forces I proposed for the base price of five hundred million dollars a year,” Martindale told him. “In addition, you would pay additional compensation for any Scion personnel killed or injured in Polish service, along with extra charges as necessary to replace any of our equipment destroyed in combat.”

“Five hundred million dollars? Almost two billion zlotys? That is out of the question,” Gierek growled. “Such a figure represents more than five percent of our entire national defense budget!”

Martindale nodded. “I realize the price seems high.” He brought up the image of a Cybernetic Infantry Device on the screen again. “But you should also consider that these war machines and the other weapons systems we possess will significantly increase Poland’s land and air combat power—and by far more than five percent. Duplicating this range of capabilities would be impossible for your country, at least not without the expenditure of many tens of billions of zlotys in R and D and procurement. And that would take years.”

“Years we do not have,” Wilk pointed out, frowning.

Martindale nodded. “Exactly.”

“Nevertheless, the difficulty remains,” Prime Minister Rybak said. She looked at Wilk and Gierek. “No such sum of money exists in the defense budget already passed by Parliament. Obtaining it would require a new appropriation, which would require a full debate. As would any move to cancel existing defense programs and reallocate their funds.”

“A debate the opposition would drag out for weeks,” Wilk agreed, not bothering to hide the sour look on his face. Some of Poland’s opposition parties still contained men and women who were all too willing and even eager to build closer economic and political ties with Russia. He shook his head. “And even if we could debate the question in closed session, the news of what we were doing would be bound to leak to the press.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that!”

“Which would give Moscow every incentive to attack us now, before we can bolster our defenses,” Gierek muttered. Gloomily, he shrugged his shoulders. “As I said, this is impossible.”

“There may be an alternative,” Martindale said carefully.

Gierek narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you would not bargain on price, Mr. Martindale? Was that not so?”

“What I said earlier was accurate: I won’t bargain on price, Defense Minister,” the American answered. “But I anticipated that securing a direct appropriation might be too difficult, and perhaps even impossible. No, what I’m referring to is an alternate method of payment—one which would also bind us even more closely to your nation’s defense and prosperity.”

“Unlike the prime minister, I am not an economic genius,” Wilk said, speaking slowly and cautiously. “So I can safely admit confusion about your precise meaning. If you did not expect we could transfer the necessary money from our defense budget, how precisely do you expect to be paid?” He smiled thinly. “Unless you are willing to take an IOU or my personal check.”

Martindale grinned suddenly. “Close, but not quite on target, Mr. President. What I propose is a trade, a straight swap,” he continued. He tapped another key, bringing up a table of figures showing the government money allocated to Poland’s Special Economic Investment Incentive Funds. These funds were used both to lure foreign companies to build manufacturing plants in Poland and to boost innovative private Polish firms by providing them with seed money for expansion and new equipment. “Scion trades you our services for a year. In return, you buy shares in various Polish corporations, using these special incentive funds—shares you then transfer to my company.”

He brought up another list on the screen, a list of small but growing businesses and industries that would all profit from an infusion of cash. “Shares in these companies, I think.”

Visibly stunned by his suggestion, none of the Poles said anything for several moments.

“Jesteś szalony? Are you insane?” Gierek asked finally. “You ask us to use our government’s investment money to buy shares in Polish industries to pay for your mercenaries? That is pure madness.”

“On the contrary,” Martindale said coldly. “It’s pure common sense. The money exists in your budget to make investments for Poland’s future. Very well, you use it for the purpose intended. The only added step is that you transfer your government’s stake in these private firms to Scion. Doing that without making a fuss should be fairly simple.”

Wilk nodded slowly, thinking it through. “Our American friend is right, Janusz.” He held up a hand to quiet the defense minister’s continuing protest. “What he proposes is doable.”

“Nevertheless, Piotr,” Klaudia Rybak said. “This proposition is completely irregular. Using our economic incentive funds to purchase military services from a foreign defense contractor? Can you see how that would look?”

“Don’t you trust President Wilk?” Martindale asked, with a wry glint in his eyes. “Are you afraid he’ll succumb to the temptation to play tin-pot dictator, using our equipment and specialists?”

“Of course not!” the prime minister snapped. Her fierce tone left no doubt that she knew she was being goaded, but it also left no doubt that she was determined to make her point. “But you ask the president to risk handing the opposition a weapon they would gladly use to destroy him!”

“Which is all the more reason to make sure this all stays secret for as long as possible. Both our acquisition of Scion’s military services and the means we use to pay for them,” Wilk said suddenly. He turned a hard-eyed gaze on Martindale. “You realize that any shares we choose to transfer to you could not be sold to anyone else for several years?”

“Naturally.”

“Nor would your ownership of these shares convey any rights in the management of those Polish industries and companies.”

“I would not expect them to,” the gray-haired head of Scion said firmly. “Every company on that list is brilliantly run, held back only by a lack of investment. I learned a long time ago to pick the best people for a given task and then stay the hell out of their way.”

The Polish president nodded again. That sounded like the truth, though he was quite sure Martindale had also long ago mastered the difficult political art of sounding sincere at all times and in all places. He eyed the other man. “Earlier, you suggested this swap, as you call it, would tie Scion more tightly to Poland’s success and survival. What did you mean by that?”

“What value would the shares you give to us have if your country were conquered by the Russians?” Martindale asked in turn. He shrugged. “By giving us a serious financial stake in Poland’s future, you give us even more incentive to fight hard for you if war breaks out and to win as quickly, cleanly, and cheaply as possible.”

He looked across the table at Gierek. “Your defense minister called us mercenaries. That’s become an ugly word. But there is a certain cold-edged accuracy to it. Ultimately, we at Scion are selling our services as soldiers to you. I would argue that we’re a lot more than that, because we won’t fight for the highest bidder—but only for those whose cause we consider just.” He shrugged his shoulders again. “Still, call us what you will. As our paymasters, that’s your privilege. But keep in mind that the arrangement I propose offers you insurance against the real dangers involved in relying on mercenaries—dangers so ably described by Niccolò Machiavelli more than five hundred years ago.”

He paused briefly, plainly waiting for an invitation to continue.

“I read The Prince in my leadership classes at the Air Force Academy, Mr. Martindale,” Wilk said wryly. “But from the puzzled looks on their faces, I suspect the book may not have been in the university curriculum for my colleagues.”

“Basically, Machiavelli wrote that anyone who holds his country with hired troops will ‘stand neither firm nor safe; for mercenaries are disunited, ambitious and without discipline, unfaithful, valiant before friends, cowardly before enemies,’ ” Martindale quoted, with a distant look in his eyes, reaching back into his memory. “ ‘They are ready enough to be your soldiers whilst you do not make war, but if war comes, they take themselves off or run from the foe.’ ” He looked around the table. “But you can see that giving us a stake in your future changes that equation. If the Russians attack you again and we run away or lose, we gain nothing.”

“You make a good case,” Wilk admitted. Then he smiled, but it was a smile that did not reach his eyes. “But perhaps I should also remember Machiavelli’s warning against mercenary captains. ‘They are either capable men or they are not; if they are, you cannot trust them, because they always aspire to their own greatness . . . but if the captain is not skillful, you are ruined in the usual way.’ ”

Martindale matched his tight grin. “As to our skillfulness, you’ll have to trust the reputation we’ve earned the hard way—and at a high cost. As to the dangers of relying on me . . .” He smiled more genuinely. “There you’ll have to trust in the good sense of your fellow countrymen. As much as I value my own political skills, I can’t quite see myself successfully taking over as president of Poland.”

Now Wilk laughed. “A fair point.” Then he looked across the table at the American. “Nor do I really believe that a man with your abilities and history would be content to rule my small country.”

Martindale’s grin turned rueful. “You think I’d always long for a bigger stage?”

Wilk nodded. “I think perhaps that you are a man who would always find it ‘better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,’ Mr. Martindale.” He held out a hand. “But that is a matter between you and your own conscience. For my part, we are agreed. I will hire Scion to help defend Poland.”