The Kazak Guardians (8 page)

Too late boys, the party's over
, and the featured guest went home.

"That was exciting," Raifah said as Jaffar helped her up. Nasser sat holding his leg, which was leaking blood. I took out my knife, cut off a piece of my shirt, and made a tourniquet, tightening it with my knife. "Would someone please get Nasser a doctor!"

Raifah, Nasser, Jaffar, and I sat in her suite that evening, after her visit to the secretary of state. They'd had a long talk about the American and Libyan relationship and how it could be improved. I looked like hell and the secretary kept glaring in my direction. Oh, she had thanked me for
helping
to save Raifah-like her security team really deserved the credit. She tried to get rid of me by saying I should get cleaned up, but Raifah insisted I stay.

"I can't believe how fast you reacted, Lynn. How did you know?"

"I saw a flash from the roof and thought it may have been from a rifle scope. I thought it better to be safe than sorry. The worst thing that could have happened would be for me to get reassigned. They don't like to fire us after nine years of training." I shrugged.

She laughed. "If you're reassigned, it'll be to me in Libya."

"Your team reacted well. Nasser took a bullet for you and Jaffar was firing at the shooter, while everyone else stood around doing nothing."

"Yes, Jaffar and Nasser are excellent bodyguards. They would both give their lives for me. If the shooter had been a poor shot, they would've saved me. Was he?"

"He was better than me, but then I'm a lousy shot. You'll notice I didn't kill him. All I did was scare him off. If my classmate, Jessie, had been here, the shooter would be dead."

"What about me?" she asked. That caught me by surprise. Yes, Jessie would have killed the shooter. He was an excellent marksman. But how would he have reacted to the situation? Would he have pushed her aside and then shot, or would he have shot after Raifah had been hit? I didn't know. The Tiger is a fighter. The Fox isn't.
Perhaps Mr. Witton isn't as capricious as he seems and makes the assignments according to our strengths.

Raifah interrupted my thoughts. "It is rumored that each of you has a name that defines you. If you don't mind, what is yours?"

"Lynn the Fox."

"Yes, that suits you."

Raifah left three days later.

I was sitting on my couch watching the History Channel and drinking pineapple juice when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in, the door is unlocked," I said loudly. The door opened and Mr. Witton walked in. I decided I didn't need to stand as I was in my own pad. "Can I get you something to drink, sir?"

"You're very trusting, Lynn. What if I had been an Assassin?"

"You'd be dead." I lifted the gun I had in my left hand. He laughed.

"I guess you're not so trusting. I'm very pleased with your last two assignments. Of course, I'm usually pleased with my Kazaks if they get back alive." He grinned.

"At least that keeps you from having to buy tar and feathers. I find prices have gone up dramatically since I went off to school. Have a seat if you plan to stay awhile." I didn't think he made casual visits to his Kazaks. He sat across from me in a love seat that faced the couch and me.

"I know you've explained to me how you identified the Ghost Assassin and the sniper. What I can't figure out is whether it's luck or skill." He looked interested with his elbows on his knees and hands steepled under his chin.

"I'd never turn down a bit of luck. If I did, I wouldn't be here today."

"I've come to the conclusion that it's skill, combined with some luck. The Witch Meztlil named you correctly. Of course, she always does. Quite frankly, I've never known her to call anyone a Fox. That, however, presents me with a dilemma. If it's skill, I need you on very selective people, like Raifah. The only reason you were assigned to her was because she specifically asked for you. That turned out well." He shook his head while smiling. "Otherwise, I would've had to go out and buy tar and feathers. You see the problem?"

"Hopefully, I would've gotten killed too and saved you the expense." He was leading up to something, but what?

"Lynn, from what I can see, you do very little when you're not on assignment. You go to a few shows, occasionally eat at moderate restaurants, buy a few clothes, and exercise. Except for Jessie and Cory, who are seldom here when you are, you don't seem to have any other friends or boyfriends."

"I've had some ugly incidents while in foster homes, with street gangs, and on my way to Vegas. I guess I haven't yet put them behind me. The few friends I have understand that."

Witton didn't respond for several minutes.

"I have no assignment for you at the present time. Go visit your friend in Denver. She'll be delighted to see you and you'll help her career along. I'll call when I need you."

"Alright, if you don't need me, I'll go off to Denver and sulk."

***

I didn't tell Clare I was coming. I just showed up at her work place. She was obviously doing well as she had been given an office since the last time I visited.

"Lynn!" She blasted out of her chair like a rocket and grabbed me in a bear hug. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? It isn't nice, surprising an editor. She may say bad things about you on the front page."

"In that case, I'd have to shoot you. Instead, you could write nice things about my recent exploits and me." I returned her hug. Witton was right. Good friends see each other now and then and help each other whenever they can. I could help Clare with an interview. She shouldn't have to ask me.

"You mean it? Oh, Lynn," she yelled, giving me another extra-tight bear hug.

"First, let's do the town. We'll eat at good restaurants, go to plays, and talk and talk. I know I promised to go to Richmond, but
...
"

"Clare, I understand. I never know where I'll be or when I'll get time off. Frankly, the only reason I'm here is that my boss told me he didn't need me for a while. He said he would call when he did. So you're stuck with me for I don't know how long."

That got me another hug. For the next nine days, Clare and I shared experiences. She had gotten a promotion. She claimed it was because of me but I doubted it. She had met a guy named Jack, who I got to meet. He reminded me of Gabe, which made me feel guilty for not at least calling him and never visiting. He was also a good friend. Jack seemed nice. I told him I would hunt him down if he hurt Clare. He took it as a joke. I meant it. Although I'm not sure it mattered, Clare got her interview with the same conditions. If the Assassins didn't know my name, sex, and home telephone number by now, I'd be shocked; however, I think it made the story more intriguing.

I even managed to get hold of Gabe on the telephone and spent two hours talking about old times. Gabe was now the bar manager at the Bellagio's Fontana Bar. As I talked about the Kazak training, I think he was relieved he had failed to make the climb. The three or four years he wanted to stay wouldn't have been worth the effort. Now he was earning a good living and had a city full of women to chase. I promised myself I would visit him the next time I was given time off.

***

Clare and I were enjoying a quiet dinner at the Le Central restaurant when my phone rang.

"Sorry, Clare."

I knew it was Witton and had to answer it. "I have to admit you were right. Thank you, Mr. Witton."

"You're welcome. Come home. Our private jet will be at Concourse A within the hour. I'm pleased you're having a good time, but I expect you there when the plane arrives," he said and the phone went dead.
A man of few words.
I had nothing to complain about. This was the life I wanted and loved.

"Sorry. I have to be at the airport as soon as I can get there. There's a plane waiting to take me back to Richmond."

"I'm impressed. I'll drive you. What about your clothes?"

"Save them for the next time I get free. My plane's probably being refueled as we talk." I stood and signaled the waiter. I dropped two one-hundred-dollar bills in his hand.

"Will that cover the meal plus a good tip?" He nodded. I followed Clare out the door. She knew all the back streets and made it to the airport in less than forty-five minutes.

"I'm glad you came, Lynn. Come more often-with or without another thrilling adventure."

"I'll try." I meant it.

"I can't begin to imagine the life you lead. They're sending a private plane to get you. The only difference between you and the president is that his plane waits for him." She snickered. At Concourse A, I found the gate where my plane was parked, gave Clare a last-minute hug, and boarded. After a few minutes waiting in the takeoff queue, the plane lifted for Richmond.

Clare was right. It was a strange life. I was pampered between assignments, had my own condo, free medical, more money than I needed, and a private plane to pick me up when I was on vacation. Of course, nothing was free. I risked my life for these benefits, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

A limousine picked me up at the terminal and an hour later I sat in one of Witton's comfortable leather chairs with a hot cup of coffee. Although it was late, it seemed there were always people working on this floor. I think they worked shifts, just in case Witton wanted something or someone like me.

"A top Iranian security official is coming to the U.S. for talks with several senators and State Department officials. You'll be his Kazak. Like Raifah, he'll not only have Iranian security guards but also State Department security while he's here. His presence in this country is being kept on a need to know basis. Of course, visits like these are hard to keep secret. We have to assume that people who want tension between Iran and us have contacts here and in Iran. This visit is a golden opportunity for them. Killing or even wounding him would certainly increase the tension between our two countries."

"Sounds like fun; however, I thought Iranian women were required in most communities and encouraged in others to wear a
hijab
. What will our guest think of a woman who doesn't?"

"No problem. You're going to wear a
hijab
. It'll make you appear less of a threat and pass you off as a traveling companion."

"Unless he has a death wish, he better keep his hands in his pockets." Ironically, I didn't mind wearing the
hijab
. Unlike many Muslim women, I wasn't required to wear one. It was just a convenient disguise.

"We've warned him that we're providing him with a woman Kazak, who will wear a
hijab
to appear as his companion. He wasn't trilled, but it won't be a surprise.

By the way, the 'Lynn Board' where I've posted your new rules, complaints, and letters of commendation is getting quite a lot of attention and laughs. So far, you have seven complaints and two commendations. Governor Masson made two complaints, one for insolence and one for nearly killing one of his aides. Senator Gregor made one before you saved his ass, and Capitol Security made one for roughing up their men. Raifah didn't file any; however, the State Department issued a total of three: one for getting in the way of their diplomats, one for being in rooms you had no business in, and one even implied that you got in their way of protecting Raifah. I also posted the letters of commendation. You had one each from Senator Gregor and Raifah al-Ayyubi. The way you're going, I'll soon need a bigger board. The consensus among the Kazaks is mixed. About twenty-five percent don't like your rules, another twenty-five are adapting some of them, and the rest remain undecided."

***

A horde of security men and I were there to meet Minister Yazid al-Rashid as he stepped off the plane. He was a small man with a tightly trimmed mustache and beard, and a little overweight. His two guards towered over him. They were solid looking and clearly alert. I didn't know how they expected to keep a high-level official like the minister a secret when he had as much security assigned as the vice president.

I stood close but off to the side as the diplomats shook hands and made nice. The minister gave me a disapproving look as I fell in behind him. When we reached the limousine, his two security men blocked the door. One stood in front of me with his hand out and the other behind me, attempting to stop me from entering the vehicle. The one behind me put his hand on my shoulder. Big mistake. I stepped back and rammed my elbow into his solar plexus, then stepped forward and drove my palm into the other one's. I didn't want to play favorites. As they fought to breathe, I entered the vehicle and sat facing the side door. The two guards entered; one had his gun out.

"
Assalaam Alaikum
, Minister Yazid al-Rashid," I said and bowed my head. "You're aware that I'm the Kazak assigned to protect you while you are in America."

He frowned as he looked me up and down.

"My guards are not used to letting anyone get between me and them, much less a woman. I suggest you not do that again," he said, wagging his finger at me. I felt like breaking it.

"Can I assume they speak English?"

"Yes. Why?"

"What are their names?"

"Ihsan and Nadir."

I turned toward them. "
Assalaam Alaikum
." They didn't respond and continued glaring at me. "I'm sure you're the finest bodyguards in Iran, since you have such an important man to guard. I know you'd gladly give your lives to protect the minister. In Iran you know the people and the dangers, and would respond instantly. In America, I'll react a second faster than you, because in this country I know the people and dangers. Because I'm a Kazak, I'm also willing to die to protect your minister. For these reasons I need to be close to him at all times. After I've identified the danger, you'll be better able to protect the minister."

"What difference will a second make?" Ihsan asked.

"To a professional Assassin or Kazak, a second is a lifetime. We've each trained many years to identify danger and react without conscious thought. That second could be the difference between whether your minister lives or dies." I watched their reactions to see how much trouble they were going to be. They looked to the minister then back to me.