The Kazak Guardians: Book II, The Unthinkable
Author: C.R. Daems
Date: 2012-10-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Action
Description: Lynn the Fox has been a Kazak for several years and thought she had seen it all; after all, she's a Master Kazak having killed more than five Assassins—professional killers with wizard-like talents. But life is unpredictable and the unimaginable is about to happen.
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

The Kazak Guardians
Copyright © 2014 C R Daems

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Cover art by Deron Douglas
ISBN-10: 1-55404-946-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-946-2
First Edition December 21, 2014

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CHAPTER ONE

I sat on the ground, tears running down my face, clothes torn and dirty, and head spinning.

"Why me?" I screamed and pounded my fist into the sandy soil. On its impact, a small covey of quail burst into flight. A few seconds later, they hit the ground and scurried away in their strange fast-walking style. Where the hell are the police when you need them?

"Not here where they're needed!" I shouted, wanting someone to come along and help. Through my swollen and watery eyes, the lengthening shadow of a wispy acacia looked like fingers creeping toward me.

"What? You want a turn now?" I picked up a stone and threw it at the tree. Totally illogical but it felt good.

I'd been on my own for the past six months, having run away from the last of my many foster care homes. Actually, more like refugee camps for kids. We were provided two meager meals a day, slept crammed three or four in small rooms, and wore ragged old hand-me-down clothes. My many foster parents drove new cars, wore expensive clothes, and ate out regularly. I escaped a few months short of my seventeenth birthday with one hundred seventy dollars of their hard-earned money.

Not wanting to stay in Los Angeles, I'd planned to hitchhike to Las Vegas, where I'd hoped to find full-time employment at one of the casinos and disappear in the transient nature of the city. When I reached Barstow, I found that the Holiday Inn was advertising for a part-time maid and decided I should take every opportunity to earn money whenever I could. Vegas would not be cheap, and I would need money until I could find work. They let me go three months later when their regular maid, who had been on maternity leave, returned.

I left Barstow early in the morning and caught a ride with a middle-aged couple heading toward Vegas. They dropped me near a two-lane road that led to the town of Sloan, where they lived. An hour passed, and I still hadn't caught a ride. At the rate I was going, I would be in Vegas before I caught a ride. Everyone seemed in a hurry and flew by with near supersonic speeds. My hitchhiking smile faded when a black four-door sedan heading toward Barstow made a U-turn and pulled along side me. A man rolled down the passenger-side window. His face had a five-day stubble, a sneer, and narrow mean-looking eyes. No one I cared to share a car with.

"This is the last bus to Vegas today. You're going to miss it if you don't run," the man said and smiled. The car... Why had I thought it was a car? It was clearly a bus, and it kept moving so I began to run, waving my hands for it to stop. I didn't want to miss the last bus to Vegas. But it didn't stop; it continued at a speed that kept it just out of my reach. I was breathing hard, my legs aching, when it finally turned onto a dirt road and stopped. I staggered to it and grabbed the door. I stood there gasping for breath, as a man opened the door. He smiled and pointed off into the distance.

"There's a small lake over there," he said, leaning toward me. His breath stank of tobacco and alcohol. When I turned to look where he was pointing, I saw the lake, the water glimmering in the middle of all that sand. "You're hot, sweaty, and dirty. Hurry, the water is cool and refreshing; run and dive into it."

I ran a few yards and dove. I screamed. My exposed arms burned as they scrapped along the rough caliche ground. A million needles pierced my skin as I slid into a cholla cactus. I lay burning with pain. It wasn't a lake. It was desert. The man had lied and I believed him. Again, I realized. Why? When I looked up, a gorgeous hunk of a man stood looking down at me.

"Let me help you up. My name is Marc. You're hurt. Come along with me, and I'll get you fixed up." He lifted me easily and supported me as we walked toward the car. Why did I think it was a bus? I shook my head, trying to clear it. Pain shot through my back, causing my knees to buckle. The man holding my hand changed into a very average-looking young man with a broad square face, flat nose, and scraggly brown hair. Before I could think, I heard something hit the ground and whirled around. A knobby two-foot tree branch lay on the ground. Nothing moved. Did someone throw that stick at me? When I turned back the young man had disappeared, and the golden-haired man again stood in his place. He had a beautiful face and muscular body. I couldn't see any sign of the other man. He had disappeared. My head ached.

"Come, we'll get you fixed up."

Hot pain seared the backs of my thighs. My legs gave way and I fell onto one knee. The young man again stood beside me smiling. When I looked behind me, no one was there. The same stick lay on the ground, almost at my feet. It should have been yards away. In frustration, I picked it up and swung it back and forth, wishing my attacker was standing there.

"Damn you, come out here and fight, you bastard!" I screamed. Still swinging the stick, I scanned the area, hoping to see something, and took a few steps back in the direction I had come. I hit something hard, and the air in front of me blurred for a second. Encouraged, I continued walking and swinging. I heard a thump and saw a small thin man with narrow eyes, tight thin lips, and a hawk-like nose lying up against a barrel cactus. His face twisted in pain. Slowly it turned into a smile so evil I stumbled backward and fell into a prickly shrub.

"Damn the bitch. Russ, her mother should punish her for attacking me," he shouted, looking toward the unshaven man next to the car.

"Your mother's here and she's going to have to punish you for hurting that nice man. You deserve it," Russ said as someone grabbed me. When I turned my head to look, an elderly woman had me by the arm. My mother? The woman who had abandoned me to people who didn't care. I hated her. I swung the stick and hit her... him... Marc in the face.

"Russ!" he shouted as his hand went to his face. Blood dripped from his nose.

"You are feeling safe and know we are here to help you. We're your friends." It was Russ's voice, clear but soft and reassuring. I felt safe, surrounded by friends.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Lynn."

"How much money do you have, Lynn?"

"I have over three hundred dollars inside my shoe." I had managed to save an additional two hundred dollars while working in Barstow.

"Give it to the priest. He's collecting money for the homeless people, who need food and shelter." A man stood there in a black suit and white collar. The very spot where my mother... the young man... Marc had stood.

I hated priests. Well, one in particular. He was a regular visitor at one of my earlier foster homes and friendly with my foster parents-jail keepers. Coincidently-like the sun rising each day-he was always present when the state child-protection woman showed for her quarterly visits. He made a point of telling her how well we were being treated. He visited often, at least two or three times a month. When he did, he'd take one of the younger boys back to his church for alter boy training. When the boy returned, it was obvious it wasn't religious instruction he'd received. The boy would be quiet and withdrawn for days afterward and frequently cried all night. Priests didn't give-they took. In my rage, I saw all three men clearly. Although they looked amused, there was something vile about them.

My nightmare went on for hours. Russ's voice made his words seem like reality-a cactus became a leather chair, desert sand became water. Marc morphed into other people as Russ's words changed my perceptions of what was happening to me. And Karl's evil twisted face was always close by after my countless unseen attacks.

With my body racked with pain and my head spinning in chaos, I finally collapsed.

"Well, Karl, I guess the game is over. It was, however, a very interesting exercise. It's one thing learning theory but another seeing it in practice. There are some results that couldn't be easily demonstrated at school," the unshaven man said, while looking down at me.

"You're right, Russ. I knew when I was invisible, I couldn't do anything physical, like hit her with a stick. I had to become visible to do that; however, I didn't know I could be hurt when I was in that state," Karl replied.

"You did look funny in that cactus bush. It was a good example of how pain causes us to lose control of our magic. It also appears that if a lie or illusion strikes an emotional cord, it fails to work. I don't know what it was about her mother or the priest, but clearly it caused an emotional response that broke the spell."

"This was a very interesting and fun afternoon, but we need to get going. Our boss expects us in Los Angles in a few hours. I for one am looking forward to our first contract."

Now that I was bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, I was no longer needed and could be discarded. When two of the men turned to go back to the car, Karl remained. He stood looking down his hawk-like nose at me. I had seen that look many times before. He dropped down on his knees and grabbed me by my throat and began striking me across the face. I attempted to fight him off but he was stronger and had me pinned to the ground with his body. During the beating and rape, I blacked out.

When I woke, I lay there with my knees tucked into my chest, trembling. My clothes were wet, so it must have rained while I lay there. I heard a soft growling. When I looked up, a coyote stood some twenty yards away with fangs bared. Judging from the outline of his ribs, the growling might have been his stomach rumbling. I picked up a rock and threw it. I almost felt sorry for him as he trotted away.

Deciding I had to get moving, I staggered to a small puddle left by the rain and washed myself off as best I could. Then I retrieved my traveling bags, changed out of the torn clothes I was wearing, and headed for the highway. I had little choice but to continue on to Vegas, which I thought couldn't be more than five miles away.

***

An hour later, I caught a ride with a sweet elderly couple going to Vegas to celebrate their fortieth anniversary. When they saw my scratches and bruised face, they wanted to take me to a hospital emergency room. I managed to talk them out of it, telling them I had fallen into some cactus. Although partially true, I knew they weren't buying it. When they couldn't convince me, the lady helped clean up my face and arms with salve she found somewhere and insisted on buying me breakfast. Afterward, they drove me into Vegas and reluctantly left me on the Strip outside of the Flamingo casino.

Having no money, I desperately needed work and a place to sleep. After a night's rest in a church, I went from hotel to hotel looking for work. On the third day, I landed a waitress job at the Golden Nugget, on the late shift in their all-night cafe. I wouldn't have hired me after seeing my face in a mirror in the women's washroom. My straight black hair was knotted in places, my long narrow face scratched and bruised, and my gray eyes swollen. Fortunately, they couldn't see under my clothes. My five foot seven body was covered with black and blue bruises turning purple, long red scrapes, and cuts that were just beginning to heal. To explain the damage, I told them I had been mugged and robbed, leaving out any details. It wasn't a surprise when they required me to take a drug test. For the first week, I slept in a different church each night. Then I got lucky. I figured it was long over due.

"Hey, Lynn, how do you like the late shift?" Sally, the other night waitress, asked during a slow period. She stood an inch or so shorter than me, slightly plump with a round face, dyed-blond hair, and a bubbly personality. I liked her right away.

"Better than I thought. The salary isn't good but the tips have been. People seem to have a lot of money to throw around, especially those who have had a good night at the tables." It looked like I'd average four to five hundred a week in tips. If I was correct, my income including wages would be close to forty thousand a year.

"You're new in town. If you don't mind me asking, where are you staying?"

"Right now, in churches," I said with a shrug.

"I know how that can be. This town isn't cheap. I and four other girls share a flat just off the main strip. We could use one more if you're willing to do your share of cleaning and cooking. And, of course, pay your share of the rent. It isn't as crowded as it sounds. There's never more than two or three of us there at any given time due to our varied shifts."

"What about the other girls? Will they mind another person?" I wondered if Sally was just being her usual sweet self or if the others really wouldn't mind another roommate.

"We just lost one girl so we have room, and it'll lower our share of the rent. Everyone will like that. Come with me after shift and you can meet the girls." She gave a small laugh before running off to serve a couple who had just sat down.

After our shift, I followed Sally to her apartment building. It was a third-floor unit with no elevator. When we entered, it reminded me of my many foster homes. Five to a room made for a mess, especially when no one cared. At least here, there would only be two to a room. Sally claimed the roommates were paired as well as possible so that their shifts made for some privacy. One small redhead sat on a worn couch reading. A cup of something rested on a beat-up end table next to her. As Sally closed the door, a tall blond came wandering out of the bathroom.

"Mary, Sue, I'd like you to meet Lynn. She works the late shift with me and needs a place to live. I thought she could replace Janet," Sally said, while pulling me forward.

"Hi, Lynn. Where are you living now?" the blond asked, while continuing to towel her wet hair. The redhead stopped reading and removed one of her in-ear headphones.

"St. Elizabeth, Guardian Angel, Victory Missionary, and others," I shrugged. She laughed.

"The Victory Missionary isn't bad. I stayed there off and on. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't been kicked out of someplace else or... " She smiled, leaving the sentence hanging. She had a right to be concerned. My face still had bruises, and Sally had only known me for a few days. "Fine with me. Your share of the rent is four hundred a month. We figure the cost of food at the end of each week. It usually runs around two hundred a month. I'm sure Jo and Betty won't mind. They hate cleaning and pretty much anything except partying."

"OK," I said after thinking it over. Talking with Sally and tallying what I made over the past week, I'd bring in a minimum of four hundred a week. That would leave me over two thousand a month, less whatever the casino deducted for taxes. Sally had said that would run around six hundred a month. I couldn't imagine needing that much money.

"Although it doesn't look like it right now, we take turns cleaning," Sally said with a big grin.

***

Over the next couple of months I settled into a dull routine. I didn't mind. I had escaped the foster home merry-go-round with its careless keepers, had a job, money of my own, and freedom to do what I wanted. Ironically, there wasn't much I wanted to do, so most of the money went into the bank. I bought inexpensive clothes, ate out occasionally at reasonably-priced places, and took in a show now and again to break the monotony. I planned to save enough money to attend one of the casino dealer schools, in hopes of landing a job dealing at one of the casinos.

I met Gabe one night just before my shift ended.

"Hi. I'm Gabe," he said as he sat down. In his early twenties, he appeared close to six foot, had a medium build, short sandy-blond hair in a buzz cut, and a nice smile on this square-jawed face. Not bad looking if I had been in the market for a boyfriend. I wasn't.

"Hi, Gabe. What can I get you?" I nodded but didn't smile, hoping to discourage any attempt at getting a date.

"Sorry. I wasn't hitting on you." He seemed to have read my mind. "You're new and I just wanted to say hello. I work the bar on the night shift. How about coffee, a couple of eggs over easy, and toast."

"Sure, want milk for the coffee?"

"Please."

He didn't try making any further conversation while I served him his breakfast. He dropped a reasonable tip as he rose to leave.

"Thanks." He nodded as he left. I had been terse with him. Something I wouldn't have done to any other customer, even though some did try hitting on me. A boyfriend, much less a relationship, wasn't what I wanted right now. I was off men. Most of my foster homes were in gang-infested neighborhoods. Since no one cared about foster kids, we were fair game for every bullyboy at school or tough on the streets. Most of the kids gave in, subjugating to the gang or their tormentor. It was easier that way. I had fought. Sometimes I won, but mostly I lost. In the foster homes, it was no better. The husbands or boyfriends thought the girls were there for their amusement. Abuse and rape were not uncommon. And my recent abduction by the three whatever-they-were only added to my reluctance. I didn't know when or if I'd be ready to join the dating scene. When I saw him several weeks later, I noticed he had a finger taped.

"Hi, Gabe. I'm sorry about last time. Sally said you're a good guy."

"Did she mention why?" he said with a cheerful grin.

"She did say that I had to be nice to you otherwise she wouldn't get the other half." Actually, Sally had said he was friendly but not pushy like some of the men who worked in the casino. "What happened to your finger? Get it caught in one of the slots?"

"Don't touch the slots or the tables. They're for suckers. They'll tell you how much they won at a machine or the tables but not how much they spent before they won. Those winners paid for these billion-dollar casinos. No, I workout at a local Kung Fu studio. We were practicing a new technique and my finger got in the way of someone's foot." He snorted and grinned.

"Kung Fu?" I wasn't sure, but I thought it involved some sort of fighting.

"Yep, something like Karate but softer. It tends to use an opponent's force against him, rather than the other way around." His eyes lit up as he talked.

We talked a lot over the next few months, frequently over breakfast after our shifts ended. He hinted at a date but never pushed the issue.

After months of listening to him talk about Kung Fu and the classes he attended, I decided to try it. It sounded like something I could have used during my time in foster care and on the road to Vegas. I knew it wouldn't have enabled me to win against those three men. But maybe I wouldn't feel so helpless if there were a next time.

One evening Gabe took me to meet his instructor. The building was located in an area that dealt in wholesale rather than retail products: car parts, plumbing supplies, glass, etc. Consequently, it was isolated from the main traffic areas. It looked like an old garage from the outside. A sign over the door read Chinese Martial Arts. Inside, it was clean and well maintained. A small counter, just inside the door, had a glass display case containing a variety of T-shirts, workout clothing, and what looked like slippers. A young woman was standing behind the counter when we entered. She had long blond hair tied in a tail, a narrow face with bright blue eyes, and a black shirt with a round patch with a cobra inside.

"Hi, Gabe. Who's your friend?"

"Lynn, this is Kate. She studies a form of Kung Fu that imitates the fighting style of a snake."

"Hi, Lynn. You'll like it here. The Karate dojos tend to be mostly macho men and the style more muscle and strength. It's different here. Master Jianyu teaches several different styles, so you can find the one that suits you. And there are quite a few of us women."

I nodded and followed Gabe into a large room with old wooden floors. A small Chinese-looking man stood watching a woman and a man repeating a sequence of moves. He said something to the pair and met us halfway across the room. Gabe bowed without saying anything. I just stood there not sure what to do.

"Master Jianyu, I'd like you to meet Lynn. She's a friend of mine and is interested in joining your class," Gabe said. Standing there, Jianyu looked old, frail, and harmless; however, his eyes said he wasn't what he appeared to be.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lynn. Are you considering joining one of my classes?" he asked softly, while his gray-green eyes seemed to look inside me.

"Yes, Master Jianyu. Gabe talks about your classes all the time."

"May I ask why you wish to learn how to fight?"

"I... On my way to Vegas, I was abused by three men for their amusement and raped by one. I don't know how I could have prevented it; however, maybe if I can defend myself, I can keep that from happening again," I said with my jaw tight. I didn't like talking about it, but I wasn't to blame-they were. I stared at Jianyu as if he were somehow responsible for that, along with the abuse and neglect I had suffered under the protection of the state-run foster care system. He didn't seem to take offense. Gabe stood there with his mouth hanging open.

"You want revenge?" He didn't appear shocked or sorry for me, just curious. I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't calm acceptance. Did I want revenge? In truth, I hoped never to see those three men again in my lifetime.

"No. I just don't want to be that vulnerable again." I thought it strange that Jianyu was so easy to talk to. I hadn't told my roommates or Gabe, whom I considered a friend.

"You may join the class, if you wish. I wouldn't teach Kung Fu to anyone who sought revenge, thought it a good way to resolve differences, or enjoyed fighting. That may sound strange because Kung Fu is a martial art, but I'm a Taoist and don't believe in violence except as a last resort."

***

Gabe and I became close friends, attending classes and spending hours practicing together. It helped that he never attempted to date me. I think he sensed that I wasn't ready. In the beginning, the classes focused on developing flexibility and learning a variety of stances and forms that helped reinforce basic techniques through repetition. After I got over being constantly sore from the exercises, I enjoyed the classes and always felt relaxed and energized afterward. Gabe studied the Shaolin five-animal system, which was considered an external style and more physical. I gravitated toward the Wudang system, which was considered an internal style and used your opponent's force against him. I not only enjoyed it but excelled at it. I found it took only a subtle movement at the right time to throw my opponent off balance and give me an advantage.

"You're doing well in class and are able to hold your own against some of the more advanced students. More importantly, you seem to be enjoying yourself," Gabe said, while munching on a French fry. I laughed.

"Yes, the classes are wonderful. I owe you for getting me involved. It has helped in many ways." I patted his arm and smiled. I was enjoying myself. And I felt more confident about defending myself, or if nothing else, the ability to throw a troublemaker off balance and run. "You're a good friend, Gabe, and I feel comfortable around you, which is far more of a compliment than you may realize."

"It's funny, Lynn. In the beginning, I was angling for a date and maybe a relationship, but over time, you've become more like a little sister to me. I find that much more satisfying."

CHAPTER TWO

Two years came and went, and still my life remained simple. I continued to work the late shift, attended Kung Fu classes before my shift, helped with the chores at the apartment, and attended an occasional show or dinner with Gabe, when he wasn't dating. Because I wasn't spending money on clothes or jewelry, my bank account grew by more than a thousand dollars a month. I'd finished gaming school and qualified for a casino dealer job. But I procrastinated. My present routine was comfortable and I wasn't sure I wanted to change it. My shift had just finished when Gabe came flying into the cafe. I waited as he fought to catch his breath.

"Lynn, you're never going to believe what I heard. I'm going. You should too." He was still breathing hard. He must have run all the way here from somewhere.

"Where are you going and why should I?"

"The Kazak school will be accepting candidates next month. I'm going."

"What is the Kazak school and why do I want to go?" I asked. I knew I didn't want to go back to school. And I doubted any school wanted me. Gabe finally caught his breath.

"The Kazak school accepts applicants once every two years. It's a competition. Those that can survive the training graduate as Kazaks. They are elite bodyguards who protect important people. You work for some organization, maybe the Feds. I heard Kazaks learn fighting skills equal to a master in martial arts."

Gabe acted like a man going on his first date. He spent the rest of the night telling me what he knew about the process and the relationship between the Kazaks, their VIPs, and assassins. "The professional Assassins are the hardest to defend against because they have special powers. There are several kinds: Liar, Illusion, and Ghost Assassins, among others-"

I jumped up, knocking my chair backward and drawing lots of stares. I suddenly knew that the three men who had amused themselves with me were professional Assassins. One had been able to change his looks, another lied well enough to make me believe everything he said, and the third could make himself invisible. I intended to go with Gabe no matter the consequences.

"I'll go. When do we leave?" I blurted before I realized it. Gabe's head jerked up. I don't think he believed I'd leave Las Vegas for any reason. I certainly had said so often enough.

"You will? Great. We leave as soon as we can give everyone notice and get the necessary items together. Maybe Master Jianyu can give us some advice before we leave."

***

Two days later, Gabe and I sat in front of Master Jianyu. We had asked him if we could talk to him after class.

"Yes?" Jianyu said after he had made tea for us, and we had settled down around the table. He seemed to understand that whatever we wanted to talk to him about was important to us, and planned to take the time necessary to discuss it.

"Lynn and I are planning to go to the Kazak school and compete for a position. We wondered if you would give us some advice," Gabe said, leaning eagerly toward Jianyu.

"Don't go."

"Why? Even if we don't last but a few years, we'll learn some of the Kazak's fighting techniques."

"They eliminate most of the candidates the first day. Those will have disrupted their lives and learned nothing except that the Kazaks care little about you or your wants. If you survive the first day, you'll spend your time learning how to live on only a few hours of sleep, ignore pain, and to give up your life to watch over people, who also don't care about you.

"Yes, you might learn how to kill with your body and an assortment of weapons. In seven years, you could learn the same skills studying with me or another master, without the pain you will have to endure at the Kazak school or having to dedicate your life to someone. I don't mean like a marriage, more like a slave." Jianyu delivered his synopsis in a soft, quiet voice that sounded sad. I wondered how he knew so much and advised against it, while Gabe knew very little, yet he was ready to run off and apply. Knowing Gabe, I imagined he thought only about the glory of being a Kazak and not the sacrifices required to achieve that goal, and the life afterward. Maybe he didn't expect to make Kazak. He just wanted the training it would provide.

I sat mesmerized as Jianyu talked. I wanted the life of a Kazak-not to learn how to fight, but to protect others from men like those who had felt they had the right to kidnap me and amuse themselves at my expense. During his description of the Kazak school and its training, Jianyu watched us carefully. I would have bet that he knew what each of us was thinking.

"Lynn, I know of only two other women over the many years of the competition who had the ability to be a Kazak. They both decided, prior to the fifth challenge, that the life of a Kazak wasn't for them. Gabe already knows that life isn't for him but seeks the skills that Kazak training would bring him." Jianyu seemed concerned when he looked at Gabe; he seemed resigned when he talked to me. "The training you will get at the Kazak school will be little more than what you would learn here, unless you survive the first five challenges. After that, the training changes and your survival depends on avoiding serious injury. Or being killed."

Gabe sat there in shock. I don't think he had thought it through. Glory had a steep price.

"I know you don't believe I'll make it through the five challenges. Nor do I. And I doubt I would like the life of a Kazak; nevertheless, I have to see the school and experience it, no matter how stupid." Gabe shrugged. I knew he intended to go, no matter the cost.

"I've told you what I know. You each go, knowing the consequences of that decision." He turned toward me. "Lynn, I hope you find what you are looking for." He gave me a small bow. At first, the bow bewildered me. Students bowed to Master Jianyu. He didn't bow to students. Then I realized what he saw. He had looked into my mind and knew I saw the Kazak Guardians as a way for me to survive. I didn't care about the consequences and he knew it. The nightmare of my younger years and the abuse of the Assassins could never be forgotten. I had only learned to go through the motions of living a normal life. I needed a cause that obliterated Lynn as a person-a life dedicated body and soul to something challenging, worthwhile, and rewarding. Death would eliminate the need. The Kazak Guardians would achieve that goal.

CHAPTER THREE

Two weeks later, Gabe and I waved goodbye to Las Vegas. I had withdrawn five hundred dollars for expenses and opened a checking account into which I transferred fifteen hundred from my savings account. By creating a separate account, I could only lose fifteen hundred if I were coerced into using my ATM card. I threw a small going-away party for my roommates at the Four Queens' Chicago Brewing Company. I wasn't sure whether they were going to miss my share of the rent money or me the most.

"Lynn, that's the dumbest thing I think I've ever heard. I know you take some kind of kick-ass class, but spending years fighting men only to risk your life for a bunch of rich people seems stupid," Sue said after a sip of her third Bacardi Zombie. The other four nodded their heads in agreement. I admit it sounded stupid, but it was all I could think about since Gabe and I had talked with Master Jianyu.

"Some of us dream about being singers, or dancers, or marrying someone rich. I'm dreaming about being a Kazak."

"Marrying a rich dude sounds good to me," Mary said while chewing on a shrimp loaded with cocktail sauce.

"I'd like to be a singer," Sally said, gazing off as if she could see herself on the stage singing.

Although I hadn't formed any close relationships with my roommates, I would miss them. We left late, singing boisterously all the way back to the apartment.

***

It was midmorning by the time Gabe and I turned onto Interstate 15. We planned to spend the night in Nephi, a leisurely six-hour drive. While Gabe's Hyundai Tiburon looked beat up, it was comfortable and the miles flew by. Neither of us talked much. I sat trying to envision the Kazak school, its masters, and the seven years I hoped to stay. I thought Gabe was probably thinking of the weapons and fighting secrets he would learn. We stopped at the first town we hit in Utah, St. George, for a bite to eat, and were off an hour later. I should've been anxious to get to the school. Instead, I felt at peace for the first time in my life. It never crossed my mind that I could fail and have to go back to just surviving a day at a time.

I had told Gabe that I would pay all the expenses, but he probably wasn't sure what I had meant or what that included. I knew he must have brought some money with him just in case. When we stopped for the night at Nephi, I repeated my promise.

"Gabe, don't worry about money. I'm paying for all the expenses: gas, food, motel, and anything else we need. You're providing the car." Ironically, for most of my life I'd had nothing. I'd lived at the whim of others, who weren't inclined to be generous or even charitable. Today, I had more money than I needed or wanted. In Vegas, I had made a good living and my needs were simple. The money went into the bank and kept piling up. Besides, Gabe was not only a good friend; he felt more like a brother.

"Thanks, Lynn. I'm glad you're stupid enough to come with me to the Kazak competition. Our talk with Master Jianyu scared me, and I'm a man. According to him, the odds are poor for men but much worse for women. Like the two women he mentioned, I know I wouldn't like the life, but I'd like to experience at least a couple of years there."

I'll survive because I want it ten times more than you or any man who will be competing.

We stopped at the Best Western where I rented two rooms and then treated Gabe to a home-cooked dinner at a nearby Country Kitchen. It was a small restaurant, which looked to be a favorite of the locals. I had a liver dish with fried onions, which Gabe turned his nose up at. He had a rib-eye steak.

After a leisurely breakfast the next day, we left Nephi and were in Pocatello, Idaho, by six. Although we left late each morning, stopped for lunch, and quit early each night, we were fast approaching our destination. The following day would take us to Missoula, Montana, our last stop before the Hollister Mountain range where the competition would be held.

Gabe and I were quiet at breakfast on the last day of our journey. Today we would reach our destination and an unknown fate-a sobering thought. It took only three hours to reach Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, and two hours more to reach the small dirt road that wove into the foothills. An hour later, we saw an iron gate and behind it hundreds of cars of every make and model. At the gate stood a small wooden shack and three armed guards.

"Names?" a burly man with a disheveled beard and an unfriendly frown asked.

"Gabe Wilkenson and Lynn Sagal."

The man typed something on his hand-held device and a sticker from a nearby printer emerged, which he slapped onto the windshield. He then handed Gabe and me each a token. As the gate opened, another man appeared next to Gabe's door.

"Take your stuff out of the car. I'll take it from here. The trail to the competition is over there." He nodded back to a dirt path two young men had just entered. Gabe and I got out and retrieved our bags. We had only brought one each, because we had heard the school would provided the necessities if you passed the first challenge.

We weaved our way up a narrow, steep trail until we reached the sheer granite face of the mountain, which looked twice as tall as the Stratosphere in Vegas. At the base hung a large net, stretching a hundred feet or more across, with two men bouncing up and down on it. On the ground, twenty feet below the net, were four-foot square air mattresses. Forty feet off to one side of the net, medics were crowded around a man lying on the ground. Several minutes later, two medics carrying a stretcher arrived and carried him down the trail.

"My God, Lynn. I think he fell and missed the net. It appears we have to climb that cliff to qualify. Jianyu wasn't kidding when he told us about the potential dangers associated with the challenges, and that they eliminated most of the candidates the first day." Gabe looked a bit pale.

I couldn't help staring at the mountain. Twenty or more individuals were currently working their way up the cliff. They looked like bugs against the gray face of the mountain. Every now and then, one would fall and land in the net. The higher they were when they fell, the closer the net came to the mattresses. Most of those who fell looked to have suffered only minor injuries to arms or legs; however, a few appeared to have injured their backs or necks and had to be carried off by medics. When I looked away, a small crowd had accumulated around us. Like us, they appeared mesmerized by the sights. Just then a man walked up and waved his arm for us to gather around.

"Listen up. The only way to qualify for admission to the Kazak school is to successfully climb to the top. The risk is totally yours. As you might have noticed, you could be killed if you fall and miss the net. Even if you land in the net, you could sustain serious injuries. You'll be allowed only one try and you must start your climb before five p.m. tomorrow. After that the qualification period closes for two years." He turned and walked away. Half of our little group turned around and headed back down the trail.

"Well, Lynn, are you going?"

"Yes."

"Let's get started." His jaw clenched tightly in determination.

"I'll wait, Gabe. I want to watch others climb, before I try."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No, I want to see which climbers make it to the top." I wondered if some approaches might prove better than others. I decided to wait and watch which paths the successful ones traversed.

"Well, watch me," Gabe said as he walked up to a makeshift gate and handed the man his token. Then he walked to the base of the mountain and stood for a while looking up. Finally, he grabbed onto a small ledge and started up. For the next few hours, I watched as he and several others negotiated their way higher. Even after the sun had set, the moon provided sufficient light to see the climbers. Five men had fallen during the time I had been watching. Suddenly, Gabe seemed to lose his grip and hung onto a small ledge with only one hand. Then he fell. Although I knew it wouldn't help, I crossed my fingers. He hit the net and bounced up and down several times before stopping. A medic helped him out and they stood talking for several minutes before walking over to me. He was holding his arm.

"I tried. It's a bitch, Lynn." He held up his injured arm. It was badly scratched and his hands were bleeding. "Are you sure you want to try it? It's a long way down, although that was kind of fun-sort of."

"Come on, Gabe, I'll walk you back to the car. I want to borrow your driving gloves." After having seen his fingers, I hoped the thin gloves might help. It certainly couldn't hurt. We walked in silence. I knew Gabe was disappointed. He had hoped to spend at least a year or two there. Now, it had been a long drive for nothing. Jianyu's don't go advice had been right for Gabe. I knew I wouldn't be going back. I had watched the route three of the four successful climbers had used to reach the top. It turned out to be the most dangerous as it forced you outside the area the net covered. While I watched, a man taking that route had fallen, missed the net, and hit the rocks below.

"The gloves are a good idea. I hope they help. I'll cross my fingers that you make it. In any event, I'll wait to see you over the top or down at the bottom. Good luck." Gabe probably had mixed emotions. We were friends, therefore, he wanted to see me succeed. On the other hand, it would make him feel inadequate if a woman made it when he couldn't. I had promised myself I'd be a Kazak or die trying. The time had come to prove I meant it. I gave the man my token and began the climb.

Never having climbed before, it was a lot harder than it looked. Several times, my foot slipped off a ledge. Fortunately, I had a good handgrip each time. The gloves helped, but over the hours, they had ripped in several places and my fingers began to bleed, making it difficult to get a solid handgrip. When I reached a small ledge where I could maintain my balance, I removed the gloves. Turning them around, I put them on again with my index and middle fingers in the glove's ring and little finger slots, which were in better condition, and left the thumb outside the glove. Then I continued climbing. When I finally reached the top ledge, the sky had begun to brighten. So close and yet so far. I found I was too tired to pull myself up the last few feet to the ledge. I panicked. I couldn't feel my hands and my legs were cramping. I was going to fall. Then I saw someone reaching down to help pull me up the last few feet. Relief overwhelmed me. Then a shout echoed in the silence.

"Stop. She makes it on her own or she falls. No one helps anyone. You'll find we don't care whether you make it or not." I couldn't see him or I would've punched him in the face. Rage surged through my body, and I pulled myself up and over the ledge and collapsed on my back. A man dressed in black stood looking down at me.

"Welcome to the Hill. Several girls have made it to the top over the years, but they didn't last. Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing."

"Go to hell," I managed to gasp out. He smiled and walked away. I lay there for a long time enjoying the cool breeze and the puffy white clouds floating by. They can all go to hell. I'm staying.

***

When I finally sat up and looked around, I was amazed. The mountain rose another ten stories or more in what looked like steps. From what I could see, they were large terraces, many encompassing several acres. On each terrace were multiple buildings.

"Now that you've rested," the same man in black said as he looked down at me with a grin. "Your luxury apartment is that long gray-stone building on the first terrace. You are free until the competition ends at six p.m. Until told otherwise, you and the others are restricted to the first terrace."

I found myself in the same barracks as the men, a large open room with multiple beds, showers, and toilets. After my experience in foster homes, this would inconvenience them more than me. There were eighteen of us. As soon as the competition time expired, we were gathered outside for our welcoming speech by several men dressed in typical black Kung Fu attire: long baggy pants tucked into soft leather boots, hip-length long-sleeved shirts closed at the neck, and a black sash around the waist.

The man in the middle appeared to be the oldest with his silver-gray hair. His face was narrow and hawk-like. "I am Master Johar, the head instructor on the Hill." He paused as he locked eyes with each of us in turn. I felt like a mouse looking into the eyes of a Tiger. "You aren't here to have fun. If you came for fun, you came to the wrong place. We did not ask you to come here; therefore, you'll stay only as long as it takes us to find a reason to get rid of you."

Like Jianyu, he spoke softly, yet he held me frozen. Jianyu had been right. The Kazaks didn't care about our needs or us. They may not have invited me; nevertheless, I was there to stay. They'd better get used to it.

"You've successfully passed the first challenge. There will be four more. If you fail a challenge, you'll be sent home. There are no second chances. We'll wake you each morning with a bell. You'll have thirty minutes to eat and get ready. Eat hearty. It'll be your only meal until dinner."

After a quick breakfast, we were led into a building filled with electronic stations by one of the men who had been standing alongside Johar. Inside were several... instructors... masters?

"You will have three years to pass your second challenge. During that time, you will be expected to develop computer skills, achieve reasonable proficiency in two languages of your choosing, and pass the academic courses we feel necessary for any Kazak to function in our elite clientele's varied environments."

I stared at the room, more terrified than I had been climbing the face of the mountain. I had only attended three years of high school. No one had encouraged me to do well, so I hadn't. I was barely familiar with a computer and had never attempted to learn a second language, unless street slang counted. English was hard enough. Now I would be expected to learn two more. While screams echoed in my mind, the instructor continued.

"We understand not all of you have the same level of education; therefore, for this challenge we'll provide limited assistance. However, don't expect us to do your work."

***

I labored during those years, staying up late, poring over self-paced material to supplement lectures, and crying at those times when exhaustion overcame me. It was slow and painful, but I learned to use a computer, associated programs, and equipment. I chose Spanish since I thought it easier than the other languages I had listened to that first week. To my astonishment, I took to the language like a bird to flight. By the end of the first year, I was reasonably fluent. I also did well with psychology but scored average at best in the other subjects.

During the second year, the language instructor asked me to take Arabic as my second language. Apparently, I had performed better than expected learning my first language.

Our rest time, all fourteen hours a day, was reduced to twelve. In its place, they added two hours of exercises for strength and flexibility, and began basic empty-hand self-defense. I performed below average in strength, above average in flexibility, and held my own in self-defense.

In the third year, our rest time dropped to ten hours a day. We used the additional two hours to accelerate our self-defense training. Thanks to my time with Master Jianyu studying Wudang, which didn't require strength, I managed to do a little better than average and keep my rather small one hundred twenty pound frame from being broken. My ability to feel when my opponent was off balance neutralized the men's advantages of strength and reach. That training became increasingly important as the men felt it demeaning to be beaten by a woman and became rabid when paired against me. Ironically, their out-of-control aggressiveness helped me build on my Wudang foundation and provided me a better understanding of the underlying principles.

At the end of the third year, we were evaluated based on our language proficiency, academic work, and self-defense. Four were dismissed for one reason or another. It had been a particularly hard three years for me, but I had survived despite all the odds against me.

The forth year we studied weapons. Unlike Kung Fu, which used ancient Chinese weapons, we used modern weaponry with emphasis on items we could carry on our person: guns, knives, and a variety of batons. Our cardboard targets looked at us from behind a variety of objects, moved in random directions and speeds, and popped up and down-and shot back with paint balls until fatally wounded. Knife throwing came naturally to me. Because of my training with Jianyu, I proved good at knife fighting and could hold my own with a baton. I was average with handguns and rifles; I seldom missed the target but couldn't consistently hit the areas designated as fatal. Consequently, the third challenge almost eliminated me. The two who were asked to leave were good with guns but poor with the knife and baton. I believe my hand-to-hand combat saved me.

I found the fifth year fun-finally. We began the year studying professional Assassins. These were men and women each gifted with a unique ability. They could create illusions, radiate a sense of overwhelming attraction, tell lies everyone would believe, run at incredible speeds, or become nearly invisible. They were referred to as Illusion, Glimmer, Liar, Runner, and Ghost Assassins. Six days a week we learned ways of identifying each type and then practiced in various scenarios designed to imitate real Assassins. Even from the beginning, I did far better than everyone else. I found it natural to detect the small nuances that identified the simulated Assassin. Consequently, I killed fewer non-Assassins and usually managed to keep the person I was supposed to be protecting from being killed.

I passed the fourth challenge with ease. Two more were told to leave. Ten of us had survived to see the fifth challenge. We continued to work on everything we had learned up to that point, but the emphasis changed to serious weapons training-and we were given less rest time.

My shooting had improved but I was still little better than average. We accelerated our hand-to-hand fighting and began field exercises. At first they used paint-ball guns to simulate bullets. I did poorly in the beginning, so I compensated by becoming devious. I would lie in ambush covered in leaves or in a small trench behind shrubs, rig bushes to make a noise, and found other methods to distract and confuse my opponent. My ability with knives and the baton continued to improve. To our surprise, we had no challenge at the end of that year.

In the year that followed, the training became more physical. The guns were armed with rubber bullets rather than paint balls and the physical hand-to-hand matches continued until there was a clear winner, which usually meant injuries of one kind or the other. No one was given more than a day to recover regardless of the injury. Two were forced to leave, one because of a compound fracture of his arm and the other due to a major concussion. Many times I made it to class only because of my determination to become a Kazak or die. I vowed that they would have to kill me to make me leave.

At the end of the sixth year, there was no challenge; however, the masters decided who would stay for the fifth challenge, based upon their evaluation of our previous two years. Two more left; I stayed. I wondered whether having mastered Arabic had helped keep me in the game. Every aspect of my training had improved, but so had everyone else.

The seventh year was much more of the same with less rest. We worked sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. One day off a month. I slept the entire twenty-four hours.

You never knew what to expect next and learned the hard way to stay constantly on alert. In one class, an instructor grabbed my neck from behind and began choking me-for real. I had only seconds to respond. I leaned forward and rotated under his arms, a trick I had learned from Gabe. That twisted his arms and caused his hands to come loose. I was now facing him. I hit him several times with my elbows, stomped on his foot, and got hit six times before landing on my ass. At the end of the day, we met at the medic's. We were both full of bruises.

"You're small but you're like grabbing a young tiger by the tail. You scratch."

"I wish my mother had been there to help." We laughed together. It was the first time I felt what it must be like to be recognized as one of the Kazaks.

The fifth challenge proved brutal. We started by being tested on our ability to detect Assassins. I excelled and was the best at those exercises. Next, our accuracy using guns and knives against moving and popup targets was tested. I remained mediocre with guns. Jessie was by far the best. I think he could have beaten me blindfolded. I proved best at knife throwing. In knife fights I did well, even though I had the shortest reach. It actually might have helped because it gave my opponents a false sense of superiority. In the non-weapon confrontations, I could give as good as I got, but that didn't always translate into winning. With batons Jessie and I were the best. I think I did well because I didn't care if I got killed. Only staying mattered.

To compensate for my less than stellar performance in face-to-face gun battles, I had decided I'd have to do the unexpected. After a lot of thought, I tried rolling on the ground while shooting. If I could perfect the technique, it would give me a definite advantage. The first month, I didn't come anywhere close to hitting fatal areas, but I did manage to hit the target-sometimes. I persevered, spending hours of my limited sleeping time practicing. Slowly, my accuracy improved, and I could consistently hit the target, if not the fatal areas.

On our final shootout in the field, Jessie and I were the last ones remaining. I had eliminated one and Jessie had eliminated the others. When I saw him, I deliberately darted behind a tree, knowing that normally it would be a foolish move. He would wait for me to show myself and wouldn't miss. I would lose because I would be a couple of seconds slower. It was time to test my roll-and-shoot technique. I dove from behind the tree, shooting as I rolled along the ground. In the end, the judges determined we had killed each other.

Our last test was up close with batons. In the end, Jessie and I were the only survivors over the two days of contests. We went at it like it was real; however, neither of us seemed able to deliver a disabling blow, although we continued to land blow after blow.

"Stop," our instructor shouted. "You two idiots are going to kill each other and waste seven years of our time. Jessie, Lynn, and Cory will stay. The rest of you get packed."

I heard the chop-chop of the helicopter as it landed just before sunrise. It was the only way on or off the Hill, without climbing up it. The helicopter had now claimed fifteen of the eighteen candidates who had survived the first challenge seven years ago. Over the years, the sound had always been evil, like a giant dragon descending upon the Hill looking to snatch up unsuspecting students.

***

The training didn't end as we had expected. They gave us two weeks to rest. We thought it was to heal, but it was to bring up three young women. They were going to simulate clients. One of them was a young newspaper reporter who was preparing to write a series of articles on the Kazaks. The reporter, Clare, had assumed she would watch the training; however, the masters would permit her to stay only if she agreed to participate. To my surprise, she was assigned to me.

Clare found out first hand that having a Kazak for protection was unlike having any other kind of bodyguard. I stayed with her day and night, seven days a week. She accompanied me to my classes, ate meals with me, and slept in the same room. While I was learning to protect my client's life, in this case Clare, she was learning what it would be like to have a Kazak bodyguard. At random times, a master or two would attack Clare and I was expected to protect her. They appeared while we ate, slept, and were going from one place to another.

"Well, Clare. What do you think of this assignment and Kazak training?" I asked one night several months into her assignment.

"Besides being terrified all the time, it's been enlightening. I had reservations when they insisted I participate, but they were right. Watching your training and being part of it are not the same. And being a client has given me a unique insight into a Kazak's life."

I was sad to see Clare leave after only six months. She and I had become good friends. As soon as she left, they assigned me another young woman. She and the other women participated on a regular basis, because the money was good.

During those two years with simulated clients, I learned to wake at the slightest noise, to stay awake and alert for seventy-two hours, to remain functional indefinitely on only four hours of sleep, to eat standing and not care what I ate, to be aware of every detail of my environment, and to recognize the smallest indication of potential trouble. Those two years were the difference between a well-trained Army Ranger or Navy Seal and a Kazak.

***

On our final day, the Master Johar, the senior Kazak master, led Jessie, Cory, and me up the Hill to what I considered a temple-my sanctuary over the years. It was just a small empty marble building, but inside a silence prevailed that was so intense it seeped into my bones. I, like others, went there to meditate, which was an integral part of our training. Like it does for Taoist monks, this meditation enabled us to withstand pain and remain functional. It enhanced our senses of sight, hearing, and smell, and allowed us to maintain control of our emotions under stress. I loved my many hours spent there. It was the forge that shaped the person I became.

When we entered the building, the witch Meztlil sat in the middle of the room on a stone bench. She was wrapped in a black cape and hood that obscured everything except her eyes. We had been told about Meztlil. She was the one who named you, and in so doing enhanced your inherent abilities. Typical Kazak dominant attributes were the Lion for strength, the Cheetah for speed, the Panther for stealth, and the Tiger for fighting. She pointed at Cory.

"Cory, come kneel before me and remove your shirt." Her voice was clear, yet only a whisper. For a long time after Cory had knelt, she sat there quietly staring at him. Then she took his left arm and laid it in her lap. Using one of her long black fingernails, she began drawing. After what seemed like hours, she sat back and scrutinized his arm. She then covered the area with her hand and closed her eyes. I could see Cory straining with all his considerable control to keep from screaming. Given our training the pain must have been unbearable.

"I name you Cory the Lion."

I knew from the masters that Meztlil had somehow tattooed a Kazak badge onto his forearm. The tattoo would be in shades of gray and contain four scrolls: in the top scroll the word Kazak; in the second scroll Cory with a lion's head below it; in the third scroll Guardian; and in the last scroll a number unique to each Kazak-his Diplomatic Agent number.

She waved him away and pointed to Jessie. When she had finished his tattoo, she announced, "I name you Jessie the Tiger."

That didn't surprise me. Jessie was a ferocious fighter. He epitomized the metaphor about catching a tiger by the tail.

Then she nodded to me. I approached and knelt, hoping to be named a Panther. She stared at me for a long time-an eternity. I wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then she smiled.

"No, Lynn. You do not have the stealth to be a Panther, the strength for a Lion, the speed for a Cheetah, or the fighting tenacity of a Tiger."

I panicked. Was this another test? Had I failed the final challenge? Bile rose in my throat. My mind was in turmoil as she took my arm and began drawing. What was she drawing? The pain caught me off guard, and I almost screamed as it ripped through my chest and into my brain.

"I name you Lynn the Fox. Your talent, Lynn, is cunning. It enabled you to successfully climb to the top of the Hill and to survive against all odds."

***

While we stood on the landing pad waiting for the helicopter, I pulled up my sleeve to examine the tattoo.

The Kazak Security Services organization was created in the late 1920s by eight immigrants from the Kazakh steppes. During the violent '30s, they earned a reputation as the premier bodyguard company for high-profile politicians and businessmen. As the demand for their services grew, they were forced to hire additional help. Although they had a rigorous screening process, they found the new hires couldn't live up to the Kazakh's high standards. In the end, they were forced to start their own one-year-long school. In the '40s, they increased the training to two years in length and their reputation as elite guards grew. Sometime in the '70s, they were adopted by a mysterious group, which provided them with diplomatic immunity. Their name changed to the Kazak Guardians and they were no longer available to the general public.

Because of the high-profile people the new organization guarded, the gold-colored nickel badges of the old Kazak Security Services, which could easily be cloned, were abandoned and replaced with a tattoo on the left forearm.

I couldn't stop starring at it. Inside an oval, light-gray shield surrounded by oak leaves were the words Kazak, Lynn, Guardian, and my Diplomatic Agent number-231. And in the middle was the beautifully inked head of a fox. It meant that I had entered the world of my dreams.

The chop-chop of the incoming 'copter broke my musing.

It was finally my time to leave on a helicopter, but I wasn't being dismissed. I was going to work.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jessie, Cory, and I were flown by helicopter to the Spokane International Airport. We talked very little, entranced by our new tattoos. It was no wonder. We had endured unimaginable pain and stress, survived the five challenges, and sacrificed nine years of our lives to earn those tattoos and be called Kazaks.

At the airport, we were led onto the tarmac where a white Gulfstream sat glistening in the sun. On the aircraft's tail were the letters KG in black. As we entered the plane, an attractive woman in her early thirties met us, wearing a light beige suit and a plain white blouse. She had a trim figure, auburn hair, green eyes, and a sunny smile.

"Welcome aboard, Kazaks. My name is Kathryn. You may sit anywhere you want. Who'd dare argue with you?" she gave us a cheerful grin. "Besides, you're our only passengers. I'll be back in a moment to get you whatever you'd like to drink. And after we've reached cruising altitude, I'll serve dinner."

"What do you think, Lynn?" Jessie said, as he settled into one of the plush leather seats. Cory stood in the middle of the aisle, his mouth hanging open. I flopped down on the couch across from Jessie.

"I think we've died and this plane is our chariot to heaven."

"You know what they say," Cory said, still looking around. "Wait until you get the bill."

After a fillet mignon dinner and a glass of red wine, I fell asleep. A light tap on my arm brought me to full alertness-my mind assessed my surroundings, my body came to life, and hands were poised to act. To the casual observer, I had merely opened my eyes. I smiled at Kathryn.

"Please fasten your seatbelt and return your seat to an upright position. We are on our approach to Richmond International," she said with a warm smile. I noticed Jessie and Cory were already awake and their seats in an upright position.

A limo waited as we exited the plane and drove us into the city of Richmond, Virginia. An hour later, we stood in front of an eight-story, red-brick building.

"What do you think?" I asked as we entered the building. It looked like a high-end condo complex complete with a reception desk, large lounge, elevators, and a security guard.

"I think it's our new home," Cory said. "I did a little research at the school before we left. Although it looks like a condo complex, the seventh floor is dedicated to Kazak operations. On the first floor there is a swimming pool, workout room, and dining facility. The other six floors are two-bedroom suites. One is assigned to each Kazak."

"Your friend is right," a young man standing behind the marble counter said. "If you will sign in over here, I'll get you checked in."

We were each given the key to our new unit and a package, which gave information about the building and its facilities. It also included a welcome letter and instructions to report to a Mr. Witton at 8:00 a.m. the next morning.

My unit was located on the fourth floor. I stood in the doorway speechless, staring into the-my-living room. The walls were beige, the couch and recliner were fawn-colored leather, the rug was a plush light brown, the tables were a rich cherry, and a large LCD television hung on one wall. It was too much to absorb.

I walked around my new condo, inspected each room, sat on each piece of furniture, looked in the refrigerator, which was well stocked, and soaked in the bathtub for an hour. There were even clothes in the closet, clothes which fit surprisingly well. Later that evening, I lay in my queen-sized bed content for the first time in my life.

***

Close to eight the next morning, I rode the elevator to the seventh floor. When I exited, I saw Charlie Stoffer, a fifth-year drop out. He had been one of the seventeen I began Kazak training with nine years ago.

"Hi, Charlie."

"Hi, Lynn. Congratulations. I used to envy those who survived the fourth challenge, but no longer. I'm married, have a son, and a wonderful wife. I'm glad I didn't qualify. By the way, you'll see some familiar faces here. The agency employs those of us who survived the third challenge and want a job. We act as guards and supervise the repair crews."

"I'm glad things worked out for you, Charlie. Where do I find this Mr. Witton?"

"Last office on your right. He's the second in command and runs the day-to-day operations. I've no idea who's number one." He shrugged.

The hallway had a beautiful blue rug and pale blue walls with pictures of cities from around the world. I passed several glassed-in rooms with people hard at work on what I had come to recognize as sophisticated electronic suites. The door to Witton's office was open. Jessie and Cory were already there. Witton's office was impressive. It looked to be the size of my condo with a bird's eye view of the city, a large ebony-wood desk, comfortable leather chairs, a small conference table surrounded by several office chairs, and a built-in liquor cabinet.

"Welcome, Lynn the Fox." He motioned toward one of the tufted beige leather wing chairs. "I'm Mr. Witton, and I'm in charge of the day-to-day activities of the Kazak organization. I've asked you here to congratulate you on becoming Kazaks and to discuss your responsibilities. The condo units are yours as long as you are Kazaks, then they revert back to the agency. You're free to live elsewhere if you wish, but the condos remains yours. Your salaries are a quarter of a million a year, and we will take care of your medical needs. Your assignments aren't optional. You wanted to be Kazaks and we've spent a lot of time and money getting you your dream. Any questions?" He leaned back and surveyed each of us. He looked like a typical businessman. He wore an expensive dark blue suit, and had black hair with streaks of gray and a narrow, clean-shaven face. It was obvious from his no-nonsense attitude and penetrating gray eyes that he was a Kazak.

"Relax for a few weeks while we find you an assignment. The Assassins have been very active the last several months and everyone wants a Kazak for a bodyguard; however, we don't have enough to go around. That means we have to determine those whose loss would have the greatest impact on the country."

"Do we have to stay here while we wait?" Jessie asked. I didn't really care. I had fought long and hard to become a Kazak and the rest would be welcome.

"No, you'll each have a smartphone of your own, so that we can keep in touch with you. You must, however, be available to go on assignment within forty-eight hours after I call. Other than that, there are no restrictions."

***

A week later, I answered the door to find Witton standing in the hallway.

"Come in, Mr. Witton." I waved him into the room. He walked in and surveyed the room.

"You're very neat, Lynn."

"I don't like clutter. It makes it hard to find things and who knows when a VIP will drop in."

"There's always that. I've many requests for Kazaks and can't fill them all. Sometimes it's impossible to determine which is the most important. The group that funds us must approve each assignment and, therefore, has the final say. There are three of you available at the moment, so I have a choice-a Tiger, Lion, or Fox. This particular governor is an asshole but his support is critical to the economic development of Arkansas and the region. This assignment should be boring, but you never know. There are factions that would like to see him dead; otherwise, he wouldn't need a Kazak. These factions may be all bark and no bite. Only time will tell. Report to Governor Masson's office in Little Rock the day after tomorrow. Take no nonsense from him. You're a Kazak."

***

Witton's secretary called me later in the day. She had booked my flight, provided me with a credit card and expense money, and arranged for a rental car at the airport. The next day, I went into Richmond and did a little shopping. I didn't need much in the way of civilian clothing, but I did need panties and bras, and I bought a pants suit and shoes to match, in case I needed to wear something other than my blacks: pull-over long-sleeved shirt, pants with elastic at the ankles, and running shoes. The Kazaks had no uniforms but their normal day-to-day clothes tended towards action clothing, which allowed extensive freedom of movement and easy access to weapons. The next day I caught my flight to Little Rock. I was glad I wore my pants suit, since I found myself in first class.

The state capitol building looked massive as I stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front entrance. It was a long rectangular three-story gray-white building with a three-story dome. The entrance had four two-story high columns leading into the atrium. I found the governor's office easily. An impressive elderly woman at a large desk sat guarding the door to the office.

"How may I help you, Miss?" She had a pleasant face, immaculate appearance, and was clearly ready to protect her domain.

"Yes, I'm the Kazak, Lynn. The governor should be expecting me," I said quietly so as not to disturb the hundreds of people who were coming and going. Suddenly, there was a lot of screaming from the office behind her-his office. Before his guard dog could respond, I stepped by her and jerked the door open. One man stood shaking his fist at another. When I entered, the fist-shaker glared at me.

"Who the hell are you, get out," he said, pointing to the door. Nice man.

"I'm Lynn, the Kazak you requested."

"You are to stay outside and guard the entrance to the room I'm in. You're not supposed to be in the room. There's no threat in any room I enter. Now get out and do your job."

I went out and found a seat in what looked like a small waiting area. The minute I sat down his guard dog wagged a finger at me.

"You can't sit there. You'll have to find someplace else."

"Lady, I'll sit wherever I see fit. If you don't like it, go home." I crossed my legs and leaned back. It promised to be as boring as Witton had suggested. The only question was whether the governor's antagonist or I would shoot him first.

"I'll call security, if you don't move."

"You better talk to the governor first. If you or he calls security, I'll leave and your governor will be permanently without a Kazak." I ignored her and began watching the people. Any of these people could want Masson dead, judging by his attitude. The guard dog stopped barking, and I spent the morning watching people come from and go into the governor's office. Midday, Masson appeared with a woman who had entered a little over a half an hour before. I stood and followed them down the corridor. He stopped and turned toward me.

"Why are you following me? I know my way around the capitol building."

"Sir. I'm following you because I'm a Kazak and that's what Kazaks do. If you don't want me following you, then you don't need a Kazak, and I can leave. It's your choice."

"You're very rude, young lady. I'm the governor here, not some clerk!" he shouted. It seemed to be his reaction to everything.

"So have you made up your mind, Governor? Do you want me to follow you or leave?" I asked quietly. I felt like a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike. He pulled out his cell and dialed someone.

"Witton, this is Governor Masson. The Kazak you sent me is unacceptable. Send someone else." There was a pause. "What do you mean you don't have anyone else?" He turned and stared at me. I stared back.

"Do I follow you or not?"

"I'd get rid of her, if it were up to me," his female friend said. "I doubt she could take me in a fight." She gave me a sneer. I laughed. She was getting ready to say something when Masson shouted.

"Follow me, but not too closely." He turned and stomped away. I followed as close as before.

We soon established a routine. He would go from office to office and slam the door after he entered. I would wait until he emerged and follow him to the next office. When he drove, I was expected to follow him in another car. At a restaurant or at his home, I had to stay in the car. I had no one to relieve me, and Witton didn't seem anxious to send another Kazak. I grabbed what sleep I could when he was in the capitol building. I felt an attack would most likely come when he was outside, so I had to stay alert then.

About a month later, I was sitting in my usual place outside his office with my eyes closed when some jackass thought he would be cute. He had found a baseball bat from someplace and was going to demonstrate how useless I was. I heard him stop in front of me and opened my eyes in time to see him start his swing. I sprang up, driving my shoulder into his chest. He staggered backward. I dropped down and swept his feet out from under him. When he landed on his back, I stomped down onto his solar plexus. He lay doubled up on the floor, screaming, choking, and crying.

"Do we have any more clowns in this building?" I looked around at the five men who had stayed to watch his act. Just then, the governor came out.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you a maniac? Someone get a medic. And you... " He pointed at me. "You're going to apologize to Simon, and I'm going to complain to your boss." His face was red and as usual, he was shouting. Witton had said I didn't have to take any nonsense from him, and he had treated me like a dog. I pointed at Masson.

"You shut your mouth. I've had all I'm going to take from you. Address me in a civil tongue or I'm leaving. This clown swung a baseball bat at me. He's lucky I think he's a wimp or he'd be on the way to the hospital now. Get this straight. I'm a Kazak, not your lap dog. I work twenty-four hours a day, unlike you idiots, and need some rest." I sat down and closed my eyes. There was a deathly silence. I heard people quietly tip-toeing back to wherever they came from. Even Masson went back into his office without slamming the door.

Nothing much changed except everyone gave me a wide berth, including his little old guard dog. I was standing outside the men's room when I heard someone shouting for someone to call 911. When I looked in, the governor had a knife sticking out where his heart was supposed to be.

I shook my head and returned to Richmond and an unknown fate.

I could imagine the conversations back at the capitol building.

"What good was she?"

"Women shouldn't be guards."

"She didn't do anything but laze around."

And then it would become, "She was responsible for his death."

"If she hadn't come, he'd still be alive."

"They should charge her with murder... "

CHAPTER FIVE

I stood in front of Mr. Witton's ebony desk, my mind in turmoil. I had let my client get killed. I'd failed to protect him. My self-loathing was interrupted when Witton spoke.

"Lynn, the Committee has concluded that you were not negligent or in any way responsible for the death of Governor Masson. He was killed in the men's room, which was not only off limits to you but normal procedure would be to guard the door and not enter. They've concluded an Illusion or Ghost Assassin killed him. Either type of Assassin would be difficult if not impossible to detect entering or leaving."

"What committee?" I asked, totally confused. I had never heard of a committee. Witton leaned back in his chair and waved me to sit.

"The group that funds us and provides us with diplomatic immunity is governed by a Committee, which appears to conduct business somewhat like a foreign embassy. They not only approve all our contracts, but they are the sole judges of our conduct. If innocent people are hurt or killed by our actions, the Committee determines their compensation and our culpability. We wouldn't be subject to criminal or civil prosecution. The Committee would decide our guilt or innocence and take appropriate action. Because a client died in your care, a review by the Committee was required." He paused to watch me. "To answer your question, no one knows who or what the Committee is except that they have unprecedented power. Take a few days off to rest, until I find you another assignment."

***

I lay in bed, sweating, tossing, and turning the whole night. Kazaks were meant to save the people they guarded. I hadn't. If I had been in the men's room with him, I might have been able to save him. Why wasn't I there? I should have been.

The next day I didn't eat, pacing the floor until the early hours of the morning. Then I tossed and turned until dawn. I rose blurry-eyed and sweating. Grabbing a sheet of paper, I began writing down the things I should have done. When I finished, I realized that in order to perform my duties properly, I would need the client's cooperation. That didn't seem unreasonable. I risked my life to save the person I guarded, but I had to be there when an attack occurred. Now that I had my list, I made an appointment with Witton. I slept better that night.

Early the next morning, I stood in front of Witton's desk. As he had the last time I was before his desk, he wore a dark blue suit, red and black striped tie, and light blue shirt.

"Lynn, you look like you haven't slept for a while." He stared at me. "Is your lack of sleep because you blame yourself for the death of the governor? I hope you aren't considering leaving us."

"No, sir. I intend for the Kazaks to be my life. I just don't want to have someone I'm guarding die because I wasn't there to protect him. I'm willing to risk my life to protect the client, but he needs to cooperate. I've concluded there are things I need to do to be in a position to protect him. I've made a list of rules," I said in a rush and handed him my carefully hand-written list. He took the paper and began reading. Every few seconds he looked up at me and frowned, smiled, or snorted.

"This is an interesting list. I'd agree that if you can implement this list, you'd make it nearly impossible to get to your client without going through you. This list is, however, invasive. I doubt you can get a client to cooperate."

"I'm willing to risk my life to protect the client. Is it too much to ask for the client to help? It's his life," I pleaded. He stayed quiet for some time, looking from me to the list.

"You're already the talk of the Kazak community. Before you showed up, everyone would've said the Kazaks were no place for a woman. Of course, it'll be some time before a general consensus is reached." He took a sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes off me. I wasn't sure if he was waiting for me to say something or not. I knew most people had thought I wouldn't survive the second challenge much less the fifth. And that damn governor getting killed on my watch wasn't going to help. I felt like I was under an electron microscope.

"Those who have worked out with you have been impressed. Even I was worried that the death of your first client might drive you out-"

"I'm staying-" I blurted out. Before I could apologize, he continued like nothing had happened.

"Instead, you bring me an impressive list of Kazak and client responsibilities. You've given us another thing to consider. I think you'll be good for the Kazaks by forcing us to reevaluate our preconceived ideas. I'm going to back you and your list. You must understand it is an experiment, which I may stop at any time. Even if it works for you, not everyone will choose to follow it. Kazaks are allowed a lot of flexibility in the way they choose to protect their clients."

I couldn't help but smile. I could breathe again. "Thank you, Mr. Witton. I promise you I'll die before another client of mine gets killed."

"Let's not talk of dying. Let us talk of protecting our clients. I don't want any Kazak martyrs. I do have a condition." When his lips twitched in a crooked smile, my heart stopped. "That you allow me to post your list and any complaints you get implementing Lynn's Rules. That will help each Kazak evaluate your rules and decide their applicability for themselves."

"Yes, sir."

***

A week later, I answered the door to find it was Witton.

"Come in, Mr. Witton." I waved him into the room.

"The Committee has decided that Senator Gregor needs special protection. His vote is important to the Defense Department and the ongoing war against terrorism. That makes him a good target for extremists who are against the war. In fact, it may be worth hiring an Assassin to send a message to other senators aligned with Gregor." He paused to look at me. "No one believed a woman could survive the five challenges, because they couldn't compete against a man's strength, size, and natural aggressiveness. I believe that assessment is correct. In my opinion, you survived because you chose to exploit their weaknesses. You are well named, Lynn. Report to Senator Gregor's office tomorrow. Gregor is another asshole, so tact will be required. But take no nonsense from him. You're a Kazak."

***

The Senate building was big and confusing. After getting by several checkpoints and stopping dozens of people for directions, I finally arrived at his office. Inside the room were several desks with people busily working. A receptionist looked up as I entered.

"May I help you, Miss... ?" she asked with a pleasant smile on her young face.

"Yes, I'm Kazak Lynn. I believe Senator Gregor is expecting me," I said, trying to match her friendly smile, although I was years out of practice. She sat there with her mouth open.

"You can't be. All Kazaks are male. If you don't leave, I'll call security." Her smile had disappeared to be replaced by a sneer. Now several of the people in the office were looking at me.

I turned, found the senator's door, opened it, and introduced myself.

"Senator Gregor, I am Lynn, the Kazak assigned to protect you."

He had the nerve to laugh. "I'll have to talk to Mr. Witton. I want a real Kazak. You're a woman, who couldn't win a fight with me."

"Please call Mr. Witton, before you try to fight me," I said quietly. Witton was right. This assignment would require tact. Gregor elected to call security instead. Within minutes, three men came running into the room with guns drawn.

"Do you want me to kill them, send them to the hospital, or tell Mr. Witton that you don't require protection?" I debated whether to give a demonstration or just leave. I finally decided a demonstration would be best.

The guards were confused when they saw a young woman with no weapon, but they still had their guns sort of pointing in my direction. I grabbed the closest one's gun hand, twisted, and pushed him into the one behind him, while kicking the third one's gun from his hand. Before he could recover, I swept his feet from under him. The one I had pushed hit the man behind him. As he tried to raise his gun, I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and snatched the gun from his hand. To his credit, he didn't scream, although I know it must have hurt. For effect, I stepped back and leaned against the wall with the guard's gun in my hand.

"That was fun. Imagine if I were in a bad mood, Senator Gregor." I smiled. I think my smile was better this time, as I had enjoyed the exercise. I walked over and laid the gun on his desk. "Now if you want to call Mr. Witton, you can; however, he did mention that he had no more Kazaks available.

Gregor stared open-mouthed at me, then at the gun. I noticed that one of the guards was looking at the gun on the floor and appeared to be debating a try for it. I turned and looked directly at him.

"Please don't. My good mood is over."

He paled. The senator finally got his voice back.

"You can stay, until I can talk to Mr. Witton," he said somewhat reluctantly and waved the guards out. They looked at me before reaching for their guns. I nodded. When they left, I walked over to a chair in the corner and sat.

***

I sat in Senator Gregor's office reviewing the building floor plan for the hundredth time. I thought it would be nice to know where I was going just in case... well, just in case. Not like I wasn't paying attention to all the dangerous things that weren't happening. Unlike some people, who can get so wrapped up in what they're reading that they can't hear anything around them, I'm conscious of every noise. For the fun of it, every now and then I would look up to check that the senator was still alive. Yes, I was bored. The only excitement happened when one of the senator's staffers came in to deliver something, like coffee. The most recent visitor obviously intended to return, or had been born in a barn, because he left the door ajar.

I'd found that being a Kazak was ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent panic. Well, I'd heard that anyway. I was still in the ninety-nine percent boredom phase. Then I heard a strange noise over the sound of the senator's pen on the document he was working on. I looked up, blinked twice, and took a second look. The wall just inside the door looked like I was peering at it through eyeglasses with a slightly wrong prescription. Gun or knife? Heaven knew what damage bullets would do, not to mention how foolish I would look if it turned out to be nothing. I rose and threw my knife. As it left my hand, a woman-a Ghost Assassin-materialized with a gun in her hand. The knife hit her in the side a split second before she fired. The shot hit me in the arm as I dove toward the floor. I hit the ground with my gun out, firing and rolling in my signature move. A staccato of gunfire followed. Abstractly, it reminded me of a contest where each person gets a turn. Bang he fires, bang she fires... I suddenly hit the wall. Everything was quiet. I wondered if she was dead, or if the senator was dead and she had fled the scene, or if I was dead. I knew I wasn't when the pain hit me. I was lying on my right arm, which was spurting blood, and my pant leg was soaked red. Looking around the room for more potential trouble, I saw the Assassin lying sprawled on the floor. Since she wasn't shooting at me any more, I sat up, stripped off my shirt, and ripped it into a couple of pieces. I tied one around my leg and used my knife to tighten it. Then I did the same for my arm. When I looked up, a man stood in the doorway staring at my naked chest.

"Haven't you seen tits before? Call for a medic, you idiot."

"Oh my God, is the senator hurt?" he shouted, while scanning the room.

"He's either dead and doesn't need a medic or hurt and also needs a medic. So call for a medic." People were screaming in the background and probably hiding under their desks-like the senator.

A few minutes later, the senator rose from behind his desk and shouted, "Call security!"

I guessed that meant he hadn't been hurt. As the panic settled down, two medics showed up. One went to check on the senator; the other bent down and examined the woman.

"She dead. Looks like several gunshot wounds," he said to the two security men standing in the doorway. After several minutes of talking to the senator, the medic wandered over to me. He applied new tourniquets. Afterward, they loaded me onto a stretcher and wheeled me into an ambulance. At the hospital they removed two bullets and pumped some more blood into me. As I lay there hooked up to an IV and other monitoring gadgets, Mr. Witton dropped in to tell me I had earned a citation.

"Nice work, Lynn. The senator had nothing but praise for you and the Kazaks."

"After he had lunch and remembered I saved his ass?"

"Dinner. And I think his secretary had to remind him. Take a few days off, while we find another VIP for you to guard." He suddenly looked serious. "Did you know you killed a Ghost Assassin? We think she's been responsible for several other recent killings. Congratulations. Killing an Assassin, especially a Ghost, has moved you into the rarified heights of the Assassin Killers ranks, which currently only includes about twenty-five of the one hundred plus Kazaks. That'll get your name engraved on the Assassin Killers board in the recreation room and on the Hill. I'll want a report on what happened, and you'll need to be debriefed by the available Kazaks in the area. It's beneficial for us to trade experiences, especially when it involves Assassins."

CHAPTER SIX

They let me out of the hospital the next day and I called Clare, the reporter who'd been my test client on the Hill. "Hi, Clare, how would you like a visitor for a couple of days?"

"Hi, Lynn, it's been a long time since we talked. I'd love to put you up for as long as you want. Maybe you'll let me interview you, as I'm your loyal friend and president of your fan club."

"Only if you keep my fans away from me." I couldn't help but smile. I only had two friends, having spent most of my last nine years on the top of a mountain. Clare and I had lived together, day and night, for six months and had become close friends. It was like we had known each other for years.

***

Clare had taken the day off to meet me at Denver International. She stood there waiting, looking like a typical healthy outdoorswoman with her rosy cheeks, short blond hair, and long slender body. She stood at least a head taller than me.

"You look terrible... You were in that Capitol Hill shoot-out!" she grabbed me by my shoulders and jumped up and down, laughing. "And you're here with me."

"I'm going to shoot you, if you don't stop shaking me." She stopped and stepped back, looking a bit pale.

"I'm sorry, Lynn. Are you hurt any place else? Why do you need a cane?" She came closer and started poking me in different spots, looking for more wounds. "Ouch." She had poked my underarm holster with its Glock.

"Let's go to your place before you get arrested for molesting me." I was glad I had come. I realized that I liked Clare a lot and enjoyed her company. On the way to her condo, I gave her an edited version of the incident. I probably should have waited until we got to her place, because we barely avoided three accidents with other cars. Only my screaming saved us.

"Clare, I don't need any more excitement or injuries." In spite of my doubts, we made it to her condo without incident.

"Lynn, you'll never believe it. My experience with the Kazaks turned into a series. I described the training the Kazaks received, the obstacles you had to overcome to be the only woman at the school, and the five challenges. The series was picked up nationally. Because of that, I received a promotion to editor of investigative reporting."

We talked late into the night. Over the next few days, she took me to fancy restaurants, theaters, and a Bronco's football game where she had somehow acquired reserved seats.

"Lynn, I know I'm taking advantage of a friendship... and I won't mind if you say no, but would you consent to giving me an exclusive interview? Please." She looked like a young girl asking for her first bra. I couldn't help but laugh.

"So you've been bribing me all week," I said with a frown. Before she could choke out a response, I smiled. "I'll do it for my one and only friend, who is the president of my fan club."

The next morning she took me into the main offices of the Denver Post and informed her boss I had agreed to an interview. The place came alive. Before I knew it Clare and I had a room full of spectators. I had told the managing editor that I agreed, on the condition that they took no pictures of me and I be he, not she, when referring to me. He understood my concerns and agreed. Clare conducted a tape recorded interview, which lasted for over an hour. She made me feel like a national celebrity.

"Thank you, Lynn. You're my best friend, and I'd love for you to visit more often. Although you've single-handedly propelled my career to new heights, I'd prefer seeing you when you're not recovering from job-related injuries. Maybe we can trade off? I'll come visit you next in Richmond."

I didn't have the heart to explain that I would seldom be sitting at home in Richmond, and while I was on the job, I couldn't take time off. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I returned to Washington, D.C., after a week off and reported to Mr. Witton.

"That was a good interview you gave the Denver Post. It gave us lots of favorable press without disclosing the details about the Assassins, your technique, or identity. The Assassins probably already know you're a woman but not the rest. I'll let you recuperate for another week, but I need your incident report and a debriefing with the available Kazaks. They are interested in how you detected a Ghost Assassin."

I turned in my report two days later-I hate paperwork-received a physical from the agency's doctor, and was subsequently debriefed by a room full of Kazaks. It was an interesting experience, like being trapped by dozens of blood-sucking vampires. They pulled every last detail of the encounter and then went on to discuss my rules. I actually enjoyed it and got to meet fifteen of my fellow Kazaks. I had hoped Jessie and Cory would be there, but they were off on assignment somewhere in the west.

***

"Our doctor says you're fit for light duty. I've a senior diplomat in the Libyan government, Raifah al-Ayyubi, visiting the U.S. next week. A lot of people would like to see her removed from office, permanently. She's here for talks with key officials who would prefer to see her returned safely to Libya," Witton said, while looking at a paper on his desk. "Since you speak Arabic and she's an important woman, I thought it would be a good match. So did she. Somehow, she's heard about you and wants you to accompany her during her visit. Don't worry, the State Department is providing her main security. It should be an easy assignment while you recuperate."

He didn't even smile. I wonder if he talked this over with the Assassins. State Department security specializes in stopping thugs and wannabe assassins. That didn't give me a warm comfy feeling when it came to Assassins. The Bureau of Diplomatic Security would make sure the area where the VIP would be going was secure, would stay close to the VIP in case something happened, and had guns. They would, however, react slowly and in most cases after the fact. It took years of training to react before or simultaneously with the attacker. If they had been guarding the senator, he would be dead.

***

I stood on the tarmac scanning the area while waiting for Raifah al-Ayyubi to exit the Libyan aircraft. Her American detail stood with me staring at the plane. To their credit, they had secured the airport and had men inside and outside the terminal.

Raifah exited the plane with two guards behind her. She was a striking woman, tall with an olive complexion, midnight-black hair, green-gray eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. When she had cleared the steps, I stepped forward.

"Assalaam Alaikum, Raifah al-Ayyubi," I gave her the traditional greeting-peace be upon you-with a small bow.

"Wa Alaikum assalaam," she responded-and peace be upon you-with a nod. Then she slipped easily into English.

"Are you a translator?"

"No, I'm the Kazak you requested."

"So, you are the Kazak Lynn," she said.

"Yes," I replied.

She nodded. "You're smaller than I had imagined. But then it isn't size, gender, or age that determines one's greatness. It teaches me again that assumptions are dangerous. I requested you because you're a woman and because of your previous experience. I had no idea you spoke Arabic. I am very pleased with my selection. It's good that you speak Arabic. You'll understand what people say to me in Arabic. It may warn you of their intentions and provide you an extra second to react. For now, we'll speak English. It'll avoid misinterpretations that can result from a translation. I'd rather you concentrate on keeping me alive. You can call me Raifah. It'll take less time to say and avoid slowing down the time it'll take me to react."

"As you wish... Raifah." Actually it will be faster to knock you on your ass.

She turned to her reception party, which ironically included an interpreter. After a lot of bowing and scraping, we entered the second of several limousines. Her entourage included her two private guards, several State Department diplomatic security people, a variety of diplomats, and me. She entered the limo and waved her two private guards and me in next, then the two senior diplomats there to greet her.

We were driven to the Rayburn House Office Buildingwhere she spent the next several hours visiting various representatives. When she entered an office or room, she waved everyone off, except me. Even her guards remained outside. Since they didn't seem to mind, it must have been normal protocol. I stood off to the side, trying to imitate a Ghost Assassin. The meetings went on all day, continued through dinner, and at small parties well into the evening. When she started to get ready for bed, I got ready to leave.

"Lynn, I'd like you to stay the night, if that isn't too much of an imposition. The suite is large enough for you and my guards to find accommodations. I'll clear it with Mr. Witton."

"I don't mind, Raifah. It'll lessen the commute." And lengthen the boredom.

"Thank you. Jaffar and Nasser are excellent guards. I trust my life to them in Libya." She turned to her guards and smiled. They nodded. I detected a slight smile from both. "But this is America. It will take them more time to recognize and react to a threat."

I worked out a schedule with the two guards for sleeping. When my turn came, I walked to the second bedroom, stopped, and turned to her guards. "Shoot anything that comes through that door. We can determine who it was later."

They smiled, thinking it a joke. In fact, I was serious.

***

The routine was boring as usual. Raifah entertained a few Arabic officials in her suite, visited various senators and representatives, and attended multiple dinner functions held in her honor. She insisted her guards be stationed close and me closer. I would've bet that ninety percent of the guests didn't know who or what I was. Probably thought I was some kind of personal servant.

Five days after arriving, Raifah had been invited to talk with the secretary of state. She exited the hotel with her guards, several security people, and me. When she was only a few feet from the car, I grabbed her around the waist and slammed her to the ground. Pulling her close to me, I rolled over and over again, as fragments of cement from bullets hitting the sidewalk bombarded us. Within seconds, her security men joined us. Nasser lay on top of her while Jaffar stood with his gun out, but unsure of the assassin's location. Her diplomatic security detail now had their guns out. I managed to get my Glock free and began shooting at the roof of the building across the street. I was unlikely to hit the gunman, but at least it might keep his head down. If nothing else, it should alert everyone to the general location of the shooter. Several of my bullets sprayed cement from the ledge where he had been. A few cleared the ledge, but I doubted they hit him. I emptied my Glock, but couldn't get at another clip with Raifah pressed against me and Nasser's arms wrapped around both of us. Jaffar had begun shooting not too long after he saw the direction I was firing. The diplomatic security men had decided to cluster around Raifah.

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.

CHAPTER EIGHT

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.

CHAPTER NINE

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.

"You're only a woman."

"You and your minister will die as easily as me. Bullets and knives don't know the difference." I was out of words. They would capitulate or it was going to get physical.

After another look at the minister, Ihsan nodded. "We'll honor your customs, but our first concern is the minister."

"As it should be."

***

As the days and the endless meetings dragged on, I became more and more anxious. If someone was going to try something, they were taking their time. That meant they had carefully planned the time and place of the attack. That would make them more dangerous than someone who hates Iranians and thinks he can just walk up and shoot him. Security could handle that-maybe. They didn't seem to have done so well with Reagan. Well that was a little unfair.

After the minister had concluded his meeting with representatives of the Foreign Affairs committee, Senator Sidedell pulled him aside.

"Minister Yazid, if you have time I would like to talk to you in private. Afterward, perhaps you would like to join me for lunch. The food in our dining room is quite good."

Yazid nodded and followed Sidedell down the hallway to his office. When they entered, I followed. Ihsan and Nadir gave me a strange look but stopped at the door.

"You've no business here. My business with Senator Sidedell is private," Yazid said, looking to the senator and then back to me. "Get out!" he screamed.

"Minister Yazid, I'm here to protect you, not to make you happy." The minster's face turned a scarlet red. He pointed in my direction and looked back to the senator. Sidedell looked tired as his eyes followed Yazid's finger. He sighed.

"Minister Yazid, please sit. Our Kazaks stick to one like glue and are all as arrogant as her. I'm afraid if they weren't, some of us would be dead. Our Assassins will attest to the fact that your current Kazak's very lethal." Although Yazid remained furious, he sat and the two began their discussions without further comments. Afterward, Sidedell escorted Yazid to the Senate dining room. I insisted they take a seat near a wall, where I could stand without being too conspicuous and survey the room and the entrance. After Masson was killed on my watch, and the recent incident with the Ghost Assassin, I was even more paranoid than my fellow Kazaks. Ihsan and Nadir were allowed to sit at a nearby table and eat. I ordered a sandwich and ate standing.

The senator and Yazid were half way through their dessert when a good-looking, well-dressed man entered the room. As he walked in our direction, people waved at him and invited him to join them. He smiled and kept walking toward Sidedell's table. When he was only a couple of tables away, Sidedell waved for him to join them. Ihsan and Nadir turned and smiled at the approaching man.

I drew my gun and instinctively raised the other arm just above my eyes. We were both going for a headshot and my arm would give me about a ten percent chance of living through the experience. We fired simultaneously. My arm hit my face. Blood, bone, and brains sprayed the nearby tables as the Glamour Assassin's head exploded. I smashed against the wall. Pain ran up my arm, and I felt something warm running down my face. Some people were hiding under tables, while others were beginning to run. I fired three shots into the ceiling.

"Halt." I fired two more shots. "On the floor or sit immediately." I shot twice more before everyone had found a chair or a spot on the floor. "Stay there or get shot." I spotted a security guard, who was still standing. "If you draw that gun, you're dead. I'm a Kazak. Call 888-511-5111 and ask for a Kazak and medics to be sent here. Ihsan, Nadir, get over here."

They jumped up.

"Take a knife and cut strips off my shirt to bandage my head and put a tourniquet on my arm." They hesitated. I assumed it was because of their religious taboos concerning women. "Now!"

They cut my shirt into ribbons, then made a tourniquet, which they tightened with a knife I gave them. Without the wall providing me support, I couldn't have stayed standing. Even so, my head spun, and my vision blurred. I quieted myself, drawing on that inner strength I had found in the temple on the Hill. An eternity later, three men stood in the entrance to the dining room. I prepared myself. The first one to move through the door would die.

"Hi, Lynn, it's Jessie. Can I approach? You look in a bad mood," he shouted from the entrance. My vision was too blurred to distinguish one face from another.

"Tell me something about me on the Hill."

"You were a lousy shot."

"OK, Jessie," I said, as I slid down the wall.

***

I woke in bed with my arm bandaged, an IV in the other arm, and a bandage covering one eye.

"Your shooting has improved, Lynn." I recognized Jessie's voice. I had spent nine years competing with him. It had more or less ended in a draw only because I had been more devious than him. "I'm jealous. You now have your name twice on the Assassin Killers board. Maybe you could direct one to me, please. Just out of curiosity, why did you have everyone glued to their seats and ask me a silly question before you allowed me to move?"

"Hi, Jessie. My vision was blurred, so I couldn't see if there were any more Assassins in the room or trying to enter. Keeping everyone frozen in place, I could just shoot anything that moved on the assumption it was an Assassin. I needed assurance it was you in the entrance and not some other Assassin."

"The president would have been upset if you shot a senator that supported him. On the other hand, he probably would have given you a medal if you shot one of the opposition." He didn't smile. "You were lucky. The bullet ricocheted off the bone in your arm and only grazed your head. They've put a plate in your arm to hold the shattered bone together and stitched the gash in your head. The Glamour Assassin wasn't so lucky. Oh, you ruined the senators' lunches."

"I hope the doctor realizes if he screwed up my arm I'll shoot him," I said seriously. It did concern me that I might not have full functionally with that arm. A one-armed Kazak wouldn't be very effective. Sweat beaded on my forehead at the thought that one bullet could screw up nine years of work and a lifetime career.

"I promise, it'll be as good as new within a month," a man in a white coat said from the doorway. He was smiling. "I'm Doctor Gerald. I'll have to remember that, if I have to operate on another Kazak. As your friend said, you were very lucky."

Against my will, they kept me for two more days. Cory and several Kazaks I had only met briefly showed up to visit. Every time a Kazak shoots an Assassin, everyone wants to know what he, or in my case she, saw or heard that gave away the Assassin's identity. I think they were beginning to think that I shot first and determined who it was later. In a way, I guess that was true. One didn't have time to procrastinate. Witton stopped in on the second day.

"Lynn, this is a sneaky way to get time off. You could've just asked," he said.

"You would've said no," I responded. In this business, you had to laugh or cry, and crying got your cheeks all wet.

"I wish you'd learn to kill the bad guys without getting shot up. I had another assignment ready for you." His lips twitched in an attempt not to smile. "Minister Yazid said he apologizes for all the nasty things he said and thought about you. You're going to get a bonus and an Iranian medal of some sort. The Senate, however, has lodged several complaints against you for shooting up their dining room and for forcing them to stay when they were in harm's way. It's funny." He snorted. "They were in more danger from you than anyone else. Jessie explained your logic. It was very creative. In mass confusion, it would have been easy for someone to kill you and the minister. His guards were also very impressed after Jessie explained about Assassins and your response.

"Take as much time off as you want but be careful. I'd imagine you've pissed off the Assassin's Guild. As a bonus for getting shot up, I'll fly you wherever you want to go. I'll expect you to call me when you feel ready to resume work. Three or four days should be enough." This time he did smile.

CHAPTER TEN

"Hi, Clare, can you get some time off... for a story?"

"Lynn, is that you?"

"It's me. I'm going to Las Vegas. Want to go?"

"If you've another story, you bet I can get the time off. Where do I meet you in Las Vegas?"

"Meet me at Concourse A in about four hours."

"You're not giving me a lot of time to pack. Forget it. I'll be there. Bye, got to rush. I'm meeting a friend with a private jet." She hung up.

I smiled. My exploits were helping a friend and giving me something I'd never had-an adopted sister.

***

I stood in front of the ramp admiring the sleek Gulfstream and the circumstances that had brought me to this moment in time. Strangely, my early life in foster homes, callous foster parents, and abuse had led me to a life I wouldn't change for money or fame. The minute I entered the plane, Kathryn met me.

"Miss Lynn, welcome aboard. Can I take your bag and get you anything before we take off?"

"I'll keep the bag, but if you have a sandwich and coffee, I'd like that. No rush. You can wait until we're in the air." I thought I should keep the bag as it had a few weapons in it-two guns and three knives. I couldn't imagine who was going to steal it at 50,000 feet, but you never knew. I took a seat and relaxed as the plane taxied and took off. It seemed weird to be the only passenger on a plane. Before long, the-my-stewardess arrived with a platter containing bread, an assortment of luncheon meats, cheese, coffee, cloth napkins, and real silverware. I think I had expected one of those sandwiches that came wrapped in cellophane and are found in vending machines.

"If you want anything else, just ask. I'm here to make you comfortable." She disappeared up front.

I had yearned for a life that obliterated Lynn Sagal as a person. I knew only a life dedicated body and soul to something challenging, worthwhile, and rewarding could do that. Looking around me, I realized that I had found it. Lynn Sagal was dead and out of her ashes had been born Lynn the Fox.

My thoughts were interrupted when one of the pilots (I hoped there were two) stopped next to my seat. My arm was still in a splint, my hand black and blue, and my head bandaged.

"Miss Lynn, I hope you're enjoying the ride. It isn't often we fly one person anywhere. I see by your injuries, you earned it." He appeared to be in his early thirties. He had one of those ever-popular goatees, wavy black hair, blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. Normally, he might have been worth dating.

"It's not too bad; I'm just playing on my boss's sympathy."

"You're really good then. I didn't think he knew what the word meant. We'll be landing in about thirty minutes. You should buckle up. Kathryn isn't good at landing, yet." He grinned and made his way back toward the cockpit.

I barely felt the landing. The pilot announced our landing and a few minutes later the cabin door opened and Clare poked her head through, then walked tentatively through the door when the stewardess welcomed her aboard. Looking around, her eyes settled on me.

"Well, you've come up in the world... you're hurt." She came running down the aisle, stopped, and stood inspecting me with a frown.

"Of course, how do you think I got this VIP treatment? The injuries aren't too bad." I stood and gave her a hug. "It's good to see you."

"I wish you'd come to see me when you weren't all shot up. I'd rather do without the stories."

The pain from her bear hug wasn't doing my arm any good. "Clare, the arm."

"Oh, sorry."

"Ladies, would you please take your seats and fasten your seat belts, the pilot is getting ready to begin taxiing."

"I could get used to this, Lynn, but please, no more injuries." Clare's eyes were misty. "There's one good thing about injuries-you survived." We lapsed into silence until the plane had leveled off.

"Why are we going to Las Vegas?" Clare asked, nursing a cup of coffee.

"There is a boy... young man now, who talked me into going to the Kazak competition. To qualify for entry to the school, you had to climb the sheer rock face of this several-hundred-foot mountain. He failed to make the climb, but I'll forever be grateful to him. I've been feeling guilty I haven't visited him since then. I owe him, so we're going for a visit. I've called Gabe and asked him to meet us at the airport with transportation. He said he'd be there."

***

As we entered the terminal, Gabe stood there grinning, then he frowned.

"Damn, Lynn. You look like road kill. Being a Kazak looks like dangerous business, although I noticed you flew in on a private jet." He grabbed me in a hug. I managed to tolerate the pain. Gratefully, he let go quickly. "Who's your friend?"

"Clare, meet Gabe, who spends all his money partying. Gabe, this is Clare, an editor and reporter at the Denver Post."

"Nice to meet you, Clare. Are you Lynn's official publicity agent?" He shook hands with her, giving her the once-over.

"It does seem that way, except she won't let me use her name."

"Oh, I've seen those articles about some Kazak. Did you write them? Were they really about Lynn?"

"Yep, that was me and your reckless friend."

"My God, Lynn. You just made me happy that I fell off the cliff. Let me take you two to dinner. I'll buy, although I should let Lynn. She never spends any money on herself. She must be a millionaire by now." He grinned.

***

Gabe managed to get some time off. He gave us a grand tour of Vegas and the surrounding attractions. We spent a day hiking on Mount Charleston, another exploring the Valley of Fire exploring, went on several boating excursions on Lake Mead, and visited Hoover Dam. We visited all of the new casinos, ate at the better restaurants, took in several of the acts, and talked incessantly. I was amazed at how much Vegas had changed over the past ten years.

I hadn't fully recovered but I was feeling much better. Since I couldn't be sure when Witton would want me to return, I had Clare tape record an interview with me, which she could use to write the article when she got back to the office.

"Can you tell me what happened on your last assignment?" Clare asked.

"I was guarding a diplomat when... " I gave a brief synopsis of the events, withholding certain details that could identify me, the senator, or the diplomat-although everyone in the senate could-or the method I used to discover the Glamour Assassin. It took two hours before Clare was satisfied she had everything she needed.

"Thanks, Lynn, that's going to make another great addition to the Kazak series. I'm becoming famous thanks to you. I only wish you'd benefit from this."

"Watching my best friend prosper is reward enough."

Gabe interrupted us. "Wow. What a great story. It explains why you lasted to make Kazak. You're like a real Wonder Woman."

"If I remember correctly, she never gets hurt." I held up my bandaged arm and pointed to my forehead. "Maybe I could borrow her magic bracelets for next time."

"Next time?" Gabe said shaking his head. "You can't mean it."

"Like Wonder Woman, I wouldn't want any other life." I meant it. I was content with my life regardless of what happened in the future.

"To think I knew her when she was sane." Gabe smiled and blew me a kiss.

***

Clare decided she had to return to work after almost two weeks in Vegas. I stayed, visiting some of the people I knew and places I had frequented. I told everyone I met that I was a security guard at a bank. Gabe still studied with Master Jianyu and taught some of the classes, so I went with him one night. Jianyu looked like he hadn't aged a day. I'd bet he'd look the same in another ten years. I sat in the visitor's section, enjoying the class. It brought back old memories I would always cherish. After class, Jianyu walked over to me with Gabe following.

"It's good to see you Kazak Lynn." He bowed. "I thought you were meant to be a Kazak. I knew it was you after the Denver Post reporter wrote the first article on the mystery Kazak. The news about the attempt on the Iranian visitor also felt like you. Your arm and head confirm my suspicions. I've stopped an arrow but never a bullet." He gave a small smile.

"Yes, I was determined to do whatever it took to qualify. It was the life I knew I wanted more than anything."

"It would be interesting to see you fight a senior student like Gabe. You've been trained to win or die, like the old Ninja or Samurai. An old custom brought back to life in the Kazaks. Even I'd lose. I'm a master of Kung Fu and know how to kill, but never have. I'd hesitate, where you wouldn't. The difference between theory and experience, knowing and doing."

"You're right, Master Jianyu," Gabe said." I could feel it when Clare was interviewing her. When she explained the fight with the Assassin, you knew she'd faced death without fear. It was scary."

"You exaggerate, Gabe." But I knew he was right. Fear was a fraction of a second delay too long. Jianyu was right. Killing wasn't an option, fighting wasn't a game. Fortunately, Jianyu made us tea and the talk turned to other things.

Three weeks went by in a flash. I had enjoyed the time with my friends and reminiscing about old times, but I was operational and ready for another assignment. No, I wanted another assignment. I called Witton.

"Boss, I've milked my injuries long enough. What do you want me to do?"

"Yes, you have. My private secretary, Ann Marie, will get you reservations and call you when she has your schedule. By then, I'll have decided on an assignment."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A few hours later, Ann Marie called with my flight schedule. At the airport, I sent my bag as luggage, since it had weapons. I identified the bag as belonging to a Kazak and gave Witton's office number for verification. I was pleasantly surprised to find Ann Marie had booked me in first class. I found it hard to spend money when the Kazak Guardians picked up all my expenses. Ironically, if I had booked the flight, I would have flown economy class.

When I arrived back at my condo it was early, so I went up to Witton's office and was ushered in almost immediately.

"Did you enjoy your convalescence?" Witton asked as he looked up from his laptop.

"Yes, sir, very much. I don't have many friends, so it's nice to see the few I do have whenever I can." Ironically, it was Witton who had shaken me loose from my room and out to see Clare. Now I would take every opportunity to see her and Gabe.

"Good, I've an easy assignment for you, while you're recovering."

"That's all you ever give me," I said with a straight face.

Witton nodded. "Touche. No one can ever tell which assignments will be boring and which interesting. You do seem to gravitate toward the interesting ones, probably because you seem to attract Assassins. If I needed a Kazak, I don't think I'd want you." He grinned. "Foreign dignitaries are out for a while. The State Department protests every time they hear your name. Apparently, you and their security don't see eye to eye. Now that I think about it, everyone complains about you, until you save his or her sorry ass. The life of a Kazak." He shrugged. "I'd planned on a congressman; however, I'd like to wait a few days. Something is developing that may take precedence."

"I'll be nice if that will help." I thought the remark somewhat amusing, because it never occurred to me that being nice was part of my assignment.

"Take a few more days off but stay close."

***

Three days later, Witton called me into his office.

"Sit, Lynn. I've some disturbing news. Your reporter friend and the Denver Post have a serious problem. Her stories about you have attracted either an Assassin or a nut case who's intent on killing you. The day your friend Clare returned from Vegas, the perpetrator sent this email to the Post."

He pushed a piece of paper across his desk toward me. It read, I want the Postto get that Kazak back here and have him admit he's a fake. You have five days. If you don't, I'll give you an incentive. I looked back up at Witton, waiting for the shoe to drop. That email sounded like a nut case, so there must be more to come.

"Five days later he shot at a male reporter, Sam Egon. The reporter had just entered his car when the shot shattered his back window. The next day the Post received another message."

I read the paper Witton handed me. That fake still isn't back, and you haven't admitted your fraud. I'll give you five more days to disclose that was a publicity stunt. The action had escalated but still could be someone looking for publicity-I hoped-but Witton wasn't finished.

Witton continued. "Five days later the night watchman was shot in the arm. He lost a lot of blood, but he'll recover. The attacker shot him while he was making the rounds. A retired policeman has replaced him. The following day another email arrived."

This one read, Five days to get that fake back here and get him to admit he lied for that bitch reporter. She and that fake Kazak are going to admit what they did or pay. If they haven't, in five days I'll show you what is going to happen to them. Now I was worried. Nut case or not, the person was dangerous and threatening the person I loved. I was caught in a storm of emotions. I need to be with Clare-now.

"Last night a weatherman from the Post was killed." When Witton finished, he sat watching me.

I stood up but didn't move. I was frozen like a deer caught in a car's headlights. The Kazaks were my life, but Clare was like a sister to me. I wanted to run to the airport and catch the next flight to Denver. To do so, I would have to desert my new family, probably for life. My mind spun in turmoil.

"Lynn, sit!" Witton said with authority. Conditioned to obey senior Kazaks, I sat.

"This situation affects your friend Clare, but also the Kazaks. Whoever it is, they have challenged us. Not through the powerful we protect, but through the weak and innocent. Even if they weren't threatening the Kazaks, you could go to Denver. We're not heartless, asking you to choose between us, your adopted family, and a friend you consider a sister. We will give you all the support you need to protect her. Our plane will be awaiting your arrival by the time you get to the airport. Oh, don't forget to kill the bastard. A trial might delay your return."

I almost fainted with relief. I don't know what I would have done if Witton had refused to let me go and given me another assignment. Without an assignment I could have gone. The Kazaks were my life, but I loved Clare. Her death would've ripped something good out of me. Maybe Witton realized that.

***

When I arrived, the plane sat ready. I ignored Kathryn's pleasantries and found a seat. She didn't seem offended. She brought me a cup of coffee and waved off the pilot-a very smart woman. I assumed she had seen a Kazak in a bad mood before. I restrained the urge to run up to the cockpit and scream for the pilot to ignore the tower and go. Instead, I picked up the coffee and had a sip. It was scalding hot and I almost dropped it. The shock brought me back to myself-a disciplined Kazak. With effort, I cleared my mind and began to think.

The thought of Clare dying had panicked me. Strangely, the idea of the death of someone I protected didn't worry me. They were my responsibility, and it was my duty to put my life on the line to save theirs, but it wasn't personal. I'm human. I liked some and disliked others, but they were only objects in my care. To think otherwise would affect my reactions, benefiting neither them nor me. I would have to force myself to think of Clare the same way, or risk getting us both killed.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn," I said, as she placed a tray of steaming hot food in front of me. She smiled.

"It always amazes me how fast you Kazaks get control of your emotions. I wish you luck." She returned to her station at the head of the compartment.

I called Clare from the aircraft and asked her to meet me at the airport. If this threat was from an Assassin, she wouldn't be safe in her apartment. I wanted her with me as soon as possible.

***

When I reached the terminal, Clare stood waiting for me.

"I hoped you'd come." A tear rolled its way down her cheek. I scanned the area as we hugged, but saw nothing unusual. "They're killing innocent people so they can kill you."

"I'm here because you're my sister. I can't promise anything except I'll eventually kill whoever's responsible. Until I do, we're going to be Siamese twins."

On the way to the condo, Clare explained the facts, as she understood them. I understood that the realities of the incidents weren't necessarily the same.

"It appears the incident with the first reporter was intended to get our attention and prove he was serious. We think the night watchman might have been shot because he interrupted our killer. He told the police he never saw the shooter. The weatherman was killed in his apartment. The police found no indication of forced entry. They believe he may have known the person. Now, we're waiting for the next email. The Post's owners can't decide what to do. No one is sure what the killer will do next or how to stop him." Clare was in tears as we entered her condo. There was little I could do except hold her in my arms. The situation had escalated. The killer no longer had any choices. If caught, he would spend the rest of his life in jail. So long as he avoided capture, his hate wouldn't let him stop. If it wasn't obvious to the owners, I could see that he wouldn't stop until he killed Clare and me, or at the very least, me.

In the condo, I tried to settle Clare down. She was panicking.

"Clare, you can't change the past and you're not responsible for the injury or death of that man. A deranged person is responsible. You need to put your investigating hat on and help me find him. Tomorrow you and I are going to review each newspaper article, since you first started writing about me. Somewhere in there is the clue to the man we're looking for." I gave her a small shake.

"Of course, you're right. I'm used to writing about other people's problems and grief. Although I can feel sorry for them, I can't feel their pain. This time, I'm not observing a tragedy, I'm involved in one. I'll never see other people's problems the same again." She sobbed, while I saw her to bed. I slept on the couch, although Clare wanted me in her bed, close to her. I was tempted but felt it was more important to be close to the door, just in case.

***

In the morning, Clare looked like she hadn't slept. "How are we going to find him? He's going to go on killing, and he wants to kill you. What if I say I'm a fraud and made you up?"

"Won't work. His hate won't be satisfied with an apology. It's too late for him to stop. We'll find him."

We ate breakfast quickly and drove to Clare's office. When we entered the floor Clare worked on, everyone seemed nervous and ready to run or hide at the slightest noise. I talked to the managing editor and two of the owners. They agreed with me that the only way to stop the killer was to catch him. They promised me whatever support I needed.

"Clare, we need to review all of the Post's newspapers starting from the time of your first story on me and isolate all the articles involving people that might feel they were wronged or embarrassed by the Post's editorials that exposed them, their activities, or companies. Focus on local businesses and people."

We had no sooner retrieved the electronic files from storage when an email arrived.

I guess the fake Kazak is nowhere to be found. The fake should come forward and admit it was all a hoax. I guess the Post needs another example. I'm running out of patience.

"My God, when will it stop?" Clare whispered.

"When we catch him," I said, putting my arm around her.

Although the newspaper was printed on paper, every article, including the reporter's notes, was stored in their computer system. The managing editor freed up a couple of his people to retrieve the information I wanted. It had to be somewhere between the first and last article Clare had written about me, although I wasn't ready to discard the theory that the killer was maybe using me as an excuse to discredit Clare or the Denver Post.

We spent the next ten hours reading each article, and tagging those that might be relevant. Clare and I each read every article, since each of us would be looking at it from a different perspective. When we stopped for the night, we had managed to cover a little over two months. At that rate, we wouldn't be finished before the five-day time limit.

We weren't, but we had compiled a list of six individuals with possible motives. The next evening, Marilyn Gisson, one of the local news reporters, was wounded as she arrived home. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed her arm and the wound proved superficial. The email arrived the next day.

I've run out of patience waiting for the reporter to admit the Kazak was nothing but an elaborate farce. She has violated her sworn duty to the public through her lies, and it's time she pays for that deception. Maybe her imaginary Kazak will come to her aid. She has five days.

"He's planning to kill me," Clare whispered.

"Clare your Kazak is here to protect you, and she's in a really bad mood. There's nothing worse than a woman Kazak who's in a bad mood." I gave her my best interpretation of an evil grin. She managed a weak smile. "We have our list and five days to check them out. With luck, one of them is our killer."

"And if they aren't?"

"I guess I'll have to kill him, when he attempts to kill you. I wouldn't like my sister to get hurt." I paused to think. "You arrived back from Vegas on February second. The first incident occurred on February seventh at seven p.m., the second on the thirteenth at three a.m., and the third on the nineteenth at eight p.m. I think we should rule out trying to determine alibis for the second incident because of the hour. It's unlikely anyone will have a good alibi for that time."

***

The first man on our list was Jerry Williams. He lived in a simple one-story house a few miles out of town. Clare had disclosed that he was a registered sex offender, working as a volunteer helper in a children's hospital ward. He now had an ankle monitor and faced possible jail time. When we knocked on the door, I saw a shadow behind the ragged curtain covering the window.

"Jerry, I'm a Kazak. I have a few questions concerning a murder, which has nothing to do with the charges against you. Open the door or I'll break it down and then I'll be in a bad mood." The curtain closed and a few moments later he opened the door. Jerry was overweight, had thinning hair, and a round pudgy face.

"I didn't do anything." He stood shaking.

"I didn't say you did. All I want is to know where you were on the seventh and nineteenth of February."

Jerry stood with his head and eyes turned slightly downward. Then he looked up. "I don't know about the nineteenth, but on the seventh, I was in jail." He didn't smile but some color did return to his face.

"Thank you, Jerry." I looked to Clare. "Call someone at your office and have them verify Jerry's alibi."

Our next stop was a Frank Murphy, who drove a truck for a living. Clare had exposed his complicity in a dog-fighting scandal several years back. He lived in a one-story house in a run-down neighborhood. At the side of his house sat an old Chevrolet. It was on blocks and had no wheels. In front of the car was a dirty-white class-eight truck, which looked as big as the ill-kept house. I preceded Clare to the front door and knocked.

"Hey sweet things, if you're looking for a good man, you found him." He had come out of a small garage where he looked to have been working on some car or truck part, because he had black grease all over his hands, shirt, and pants.

"I'd like to know where you were on the seventh and nineteenth of February," I said, watching for his reaction. He didn't look friendly.

"What business is it of yours?" His stare turned to a grin, which suggested he meant to have some fun at our expense. I gave Clare a slight push to move her behind me.

"It doesn't matter. I'm a Kazak and I asked nicely." I waited for what I was sure to come. It did. His face turned ugly and he stepped forward and threw a barroom-type punch. Normally I would have moved into him, but he was far too dirty. Instead, I twisted into a sitting snake stance. As his fist whistled over my head I drove my fist into his groin. As he bent over screaming with pain, I unwound upward, driving my head into his face. He staggered backward, blood spurting from his nose. "Now that we've shaken hands, I'd like to know where you were."

He wiped his nose and looked at the blood. Then he reached into his back pocket and came out with a large wrench. "Bull shit. Kazaks are kick-ass men and not some bitch with a few tricks. I'm going to teach you a few new tricks." He smiled.

I could easily see him in a bar or gang fight. His fist swung in a right-handed arc toward my head. Damn, I'm going to get dirty. I moved inside his swinging arm and drove my forearms into his arm. The impact felt like slamming into a rock wall. He lost control of the wrench and it went flying, while I was pushed back into his chest. I could feel his breath on my neck as I grabbed his wrist with one hand and drove my other elbow into his ribs. I felt one crack. I slipped under his arm, twisting his wrist while throwing all my weight against his extended arm. It snapped. Before he could even scream, I had a knife at his throat. He stiffened when he felt the cold steel.

"Once again, where were you on the seventh and nineteenth of February."

"I don't know about the seventh, but on the nineteenth I was in Seattle. I hauled a load of heavy equipment there."

"Kazaks aren't all kick-ass men. Clare, have someone check on Frank's trip. Frank, I'd have that arm and rib looked at. I think you broke something teaching me that new trick." Clare and I walked off leaving him to call his own medic.

"I thought he was going to kill you. You shouldn't have come back. I'll never forgive myself if you get killed."

"All he did was get me dirty. Let's go back to your place so I can wash up. Maybe then we can get a bite to eat before we go visit the next one on our list." Clare looked upset, so I made her take me to a good restaurant. After my time on the Hill, I don't care what I eat, but I hoped a fancy meal would provide a temporary distraction.

The next man on the list was a Mack Chavan. Several teenagers had been seriously injured in a series of car accidents resulting from the use of alcohol and drugs. Clare had been instrumental in uncovering that Mack had a side business selling whiskey and marijuana to under-aged teens. Mack presently worked at a small fish market, loading and unloading crates of fish. In the evenings, he roamed the bars. He lived in a small run-down one-bedroom apartment. We found him working at the fish market.

"Mack Chavan?" I asked after someone pointed him out. He looked one notch above a homeless man.

"Yes?" He was a small, thin man with dirty fish-smelling work clothes, unshaved, with scraggly hair and a scarred face. He stopped with a box of fish still in his arms. I couldn't imagine him writing a coherent email or sneaking in and out of anywhere, but I had to check just in case he was an Oscar-winning actor, researching a part.

"I'm investigating a murder and need to know where you were the evenings of the seventh and nineteenth of February," I asked in a normal voice. He laughed.

"I wish I could remember. One day's much like any other: work, drink, and sleep."

"What business is it of yours, Miss?" a broad-shouldered man asked as he approached. I turned and assessed him like he would assess the catch of the day. I imagined he was more concerned that I had interrupted his workflow.

"I'm a Kazak, investigating a murder. I'd like to know where Mack was on the evenings of the seventh and nineteenth of February."

"On the seventh, probably where he usually is, in some bar or another, but on the nineteenth, I can tell you. We had a late shipment, and he was here until ten. Does that help?" He eyed me carefully. "Didn't know there were any women Kazaks."

"Learn something new every day. That's what keeps life interesting. Thank you for your time. You've been extremely helpful." I turned and walked off with Clare at my side.

We had four more days, so I decided to call it a night. Back at the condo, Clare ordered an assortment of dishes from a nearby Chinese take-out restaurant.

"Lynn, I'm terrified. Please go home. I don't want to be responsible for your death." Clare took my hand in hers.

"Clare, I am home. The other place is where I work. I'm a Kazak. My boss would be very disappointed if I couldn't protect you from some amateur. Sleep well; tomorrow we'll talk to the other two. Somehow, I don't think it will be either of them. It doesn't feel right. All of these threats are against you and your articles on a Kazak. If this person hates you, why include me? He has linked me for something he feels you did to him. We need to go to the office tomorrow. I think we can do an electronic search of the Post's files and narrow the search. My initial premise was wrong."

***

The next morning, I had the Post's Information Systems manager search the files for the word Kazak. It produced over three thousand hits. I then had him exclude the ones appearing in articles that Clare had written. That left forty-eight, of which forty appeared in national news articles; the remaining eight were written by Marilyn Gisson.

"That's our killer. Look at the rage in those articles and the attempt to indirectly discredit you. She quotes people on the streets, although I doubt she talked to anyone. I'll bet she knows I'm a woman, since most of the Post's people know or have heard of me. She used he to make it appear like it was someone outside the newspaper community."

"But the killer shot her."

"Yes, I believe the killer did shoot her. She shot herself to avoid suspicion. I have to admit it was a nice deception. Let's go find her and see what alibi she has for those nights." We went down one floor to where she worked, but she wasn't there.

"Glory, do you know where Marilyn went?" Clare asked the receptionist.

"No, Clare. She didn't come in today. She's probably out on assignment."

"Glory, would you please let me know if she returns? I would like her advice on an article I'm researching." Glory nodded and scribbled a note. On the way to Clare's car, we checked Marilyn's parking slot. It was empty. I stood watching as Clare opened the door and slid in. Something was wrong.

"Clare, get out of the car, now!" I grabbed her arm and jerked her out. She would've fallen except I caught and steadied her. Clare gave me a strange look but said nothing. It had been windy the last two days and all the cars had a thin coat of dust on them. Clare's car was no exception; however, there were hand marks on the hood and driver's door.

I waved for her to move away. Then I got on my back and slid part way under the car. Four pipe bombs were strapped to the underside between the driver's and passenger's seats. It seemed like overkill. I would think the resulting explosion would not only destroy Clare's car but also five or six cars in the general vicinity. Theoretically, I knew how to dismantle a bomb, but this one had different-color wires running in and out of the device. I felt it was better left to professionals.

***

They arrived an hour later. After surveying the underside of the car, a man approached wearing a heavily padded suit. He was a thin black man and had his helmet under his arm.

"That bomb's strange. I think we're going to tow the car to our practice range and put it up on a rack, so we can get a better look. If nothing else, we can use a robot to try and disarm it."

Clare managed to get one of the newsmen to drive us home. She gave the excuse that her car had broken down and had to be towed to a garage. Clare was still nervous, but I felt better now that I knew the killer's name. Amateurs were still dangerous but less so than professionals-except when they got inventive.

I smelled the gasoline before I saw the door burst into flames and heard a scream just outside. Someone had intentionally spilled gasoline by Clare's door and lit a match. The flowing gas had exploded on both sides of the door.

I drew my gun, and put four bullets through the center of the door.

"Clare, get as many sheets as you can and bring them here."

As she dumped them next to me, I tied them together. The fire was spreading throughout the room and smoke covered the ceiling. I took Clare out onto the terrace, closed the sliders behind me, and tied one end of the sheet-rope I had made to a railing and the other end around her waist.

"Clare, I want you to step over the rail and hang on."

"I can't. I'm afraid of heights."

"More than burning to death?" I asked. "Because that's what is going to happen in a few minutes. I'll help you step over the rail." Reluctantly she threw one leg then the other over the rail, while hanging on white-knuckled with her eyes closed. "Clare, you have to trust me. Now let go of the railing. I have you secured with the sheet, you won't fall." Slowly she released her grip one hand at a time. When she was just about to grab back onto the rail again, I pushed her. She dropped about five feet, screaming. I slowly lowered her until she could reach the terrace below. She grabbed the railing and threw herself over. I stepped over the rail and slid down. I could hear Clare sobbing as I swung myself inward. I landed next to her.

"I'm sorry Clare, but you'd never have let go and soon the window would've exploded outward. We would both have been killed. We're too young to die."

I tried the sliding door. It was locked. I fired two shots into the slider's lock and slid it open.

"Hey, what are you doing-" an elderly man shouted. He stopped when he saw the gun.

"Get out, there's a fire on the floor above us. It'll be spreading down here soon." I grabbed Clare by the arm and ran out of his apartment and down the hallway. On the way, I hit the fire alarm.

Clare stood outside with me, in shock. The fire engines arrived shortly afterward. I waited with her the two hours it took for them to extinguish the fire. Eventually, two firemen appeared pushing a gurney with a body covered with a sheet. I stopped them and pulled back the sheet to expose the head. It was a charred mass.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" one of the firemen shouted. I ignored him.

"Clare, is this Marilyn?"

"Oh, God. I think so. I don't know." She turned away gagging. Before the fireman could speak again, I held up my hand.

"I'm a Kazak. This is the woman who intentionally started the fire. You found her outside a door that you'll find was the origin of the fire. There should also be a container nearby, containing gasoline." I walked away supporting Clare

***

I sat with Clare, the managing editor, and the executive editor in the third-floor conference room. The managing editor, Harry Wilson, was a middle-aged man with the sleeves of his shirt rolled part way up his arms. In contrast, the executive editor, Sean Harrison, was an elderly man dressed in a dark-blue suit, white shirt, and blue- and yellow-striped tie.

"The police have identified the body as Marilyn Gisson. She was found outside Clare's door along with a can containing gasoline residue," Harrison said and turned to the managing editor. "Harry, I want the next couple of newspapers devoted to an accurate account of this incident. The intent is to let the public know what happened, not to sell papers, although it will; sales are a secondary consideration."

Over the next two days, Clare detailed the events that led up to the fire. She affirmed that previous stories about the Kazak had been true and that he had helped save her during the fire. Although the chief editor wanted an accurate account of the incident, I insisted that some details be omitted, that I be referred to as he rather than she, and that I had returned because the killer included him in the equation. I twisted the facts slightly without taking away from the true essence of the incident.

***

"Lynn, thank you for coming back to help me. Marilyn was intent on killing me. The police investigator suspects that she felt I had somehow hurt her career and was filled with rage at my success. Whatever her reason, I know that without your intervention she would've succeeded in killing me. No one would've believed she shot herself. Not to mention, it would've put a cloud of suspicion on your exploits."

"Your life is worth far more than any story about me or the Kazaks. You're my adopted sister-my only one, by the way." I hugged her, feeling real love. We slept close together that night. I knew she needed to feel close to me. For me it had been a normal, if personal, assignment. For her it had been a nightmare. I flew home the next day, treating myself to first-class seating.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When I arrived back at my condo, it was not quite five p.m., so I decided to see if Witton was available. When I arrived, his office door was closed and Ann Marie wasn't at her desk. Not having anything else to do, I wandered into the waiting room, picked up the latest copy of the Washington Times, and made myself comfortable. Some time later, Ann Marie and a distinguished-looking man with good-looking silver-gray hair exited Witton's office. He carried himself like someone used to being in charge. Ann Marie saw me and waved.

"You can go in now. Mr. Witton is free."

Witton looked up from what he had been doing as I entered and shut the door.

"That was a nice piece of detective work, Lynn. Now that you've settled that, it's time to get back to Kazak business."

"Yes, sir. I want to thank you for your support. I don't have many friends, and Clare is family to me."

"You're welcome. I've read the police report. The woman outside Clare's door was badly burned and had two bullets in her. They were unable to determine whether the bullets or the fire killed her, not that it matters. What is important is that the matter has been satisfactorily resolved, and you are back and available for work," he said, looking down at some papers on his desk. He smiled. "I've an easy assignment for you."

"Another one?" I replied with a straight face. Witton nodded.

"I keep trying, but you insist on causing trouble. You have the State Department and the U.S. Senate upset. In fact, I think you've been banned from the Senate building. Never mind, I've got a very brilliant man whom we need to keep safe. He's developing software to ensure a secure cyberspace for our increasing dependence on the storage and movement of digital information. Our national security is built on the foundation of cyberspace, which is currently insufficient for today's or tomorrow's needs. They claim his death could jeopardize our nation's long-term security; therefore, he needs a Kazak to babysit him. That's you."

"I guess I'm supposed to be my usual sweet self?"

"Just don't break anything he needs to work-like fingers. Your job is to keep him alive until he finishes the project. Try not to upset the Secret Service folks. At your current rate, pretty soon I won't have any place I can send you without getting a ton of grief.

***

Two days later, I entered the Pentagon. After going through multiple security checks, I received a pass for access to Mr. Samuel Gerstel and was escorted into his domain by an army colonel. Gerstel was a small man. He had thick brown hair and wore glasses with dark brown frames that gave his young, clean-shaven face a college student look. His odd assortment of clothes reinforced the image, although I knew his age was somewhere in the mid-thirties. The entire room was crowded with electronic equipment. Three other people were in the room: two men and one woman. They were a cross section of America ancestry: one European male, one African male, and a Chinese female.

"Mr. Gerstel, this is the Kazak who has been assigned to you," the colonel said in an authoritative tone of voice. Mr. Gerstel didn't seem impressed.

"OK," he mumbled without looking up, waving the colonel away. At least I think he meant the colonel and not both of us. I looked around and found the other three staring at me, like I was some kind of yet unidentified bug. They didn't look like they wanted any kind of acknowledgement, so I found myself a chair and sat. I had yet to determine the hours when he would be most vulnerable. Although Assassins had the skills to make it past security, it would take them several hours. After five hours and several conferences with the others, Samuel got up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at me.

"Who are you and how did you get in here? This is a secure area. Sue, call security." He pointed at the entrance door.

"She's a Kazak. I believe she's part of your security," the Chinese-looking woman replied.

"She shouldn't be in here. She should be out there with the rest of the Secret Service people."

"Samuel, she's a Kazak. I don't think anyone is going to tell her where to sit."She shrugged. At least one person knew a Kazak from a civil servant with a gun.

"What's your name and what security do you provide that those men don't?" he demanded, pointing to the door to the room.

"Lynn. I follow you around, bored to tears. Oh, and I shoot anyone I don't think likes you," I said in a bored voice, which wasn't hard after sitting with nothing to do for five hours.

"You'd shoot someone?" He stared at me with a frown on his face. The others seemed to have diverse emotions: the African amused, the Chinese emotionless, and the European nervous. Interesting reactions.

"Yep, I get real cranky when I'm bored." This was a silly conversation, but it did liven up an otherwise boring day.

"Life may not be so boring then. Lots of people don't like me. I'm Samuel."

"It's nice to meet you, Samuel. I'll try not to interrupt you, but I'll be within spitting distance at all times."

"I think someone has finally given me real security." He walked out the door with me following behind him and two men following me. Just like a mother hen and her chicks.

***

I found he had no routine. He had temporary sleeping accommodations in the building, a townhouse in D.C., and a house in Connecticut. I assumed he had more money than me, by several millions. He would stop working in the middle of the day for no reason I could ascertain, rose at random hours during the night, and usually started work early before anyone else arrived. Occasionally, he would go home to his three-bedroom, two-bath, Victorian-style townhouse and stay for a day or two. The first time, I spent two hours walking around the townhouse to learn the layout in case he came under attack. The Secret Service provided a good deal of security before he arrived and while he was at the townhouse. Nevertheless, I slept in a recliner in the hallway outside his bedroom.

Gerstel's space at the Pentagon included a small living room, bathroom, and bedroom. I had a leather recliner installed in the living room, which made it a little cramped with the existing loveseat and coffee table. The recliner provided a convenient place for me to nap, since Witton hadn't provided anyone to relieve me. Without relief, Samuel's erratic movements made it impossible to schedule time away.

Witton had promised another Kazak, when one was available. I think that was just to make me feel good. I didn't mind. I had nowhere I wanted to go. The visit with Gabe and Clare in Vegas had been wonderful. My visit to Denver to find the person threatening Clare had been traumatic but satisfying. I owed Witton for that.

"Well, Lynn. How about some breakfast?"

"Sure."

"You weren't kidding when you said you'd be within spitting distance. What if I only had a bedroom here?" He gave me a devilish grin. He had insisted I eat sitting down with him; I had in turn insisted our table be near a wall and I face the entrance to the dining room.

"I would've had the recliner placed in the hallway." I returned his smile.

"Why? Don't you need a break? This building's very secure. You must have noticed I've security in front of the computer lab, although I think they are more worried about the equipment."

"That's stupid. The equipment isn't worth much without you." If true, it was stupid. "I'm sure other people could program the software you're working on; however, it would take them years longer with questionable results. You see the solution and how to achieve it, because you're extremely good at what you do. The security people are good at their job, but they're not trained to face professional Assassins. An Assassin could slip by all this security. Kazaks have the necessary training-which is not to say an Assassin couldn't get by me. It would just be much harder." I shrugged. He sat quietly, eating his French toast.

"I guess we are both in a special class. I'd like to go home for a week or so. The brass says it isn't safe and more or less forbids it. What do you think?"

"It's a little safer to stay here, but it really comes down to the risk you're willing to accept. Assassins are like Kazaks. We're both very well trained, and in addition have enhanced abilities. The brass assumes you're a hundred times safer here, whereas outside you are one hundred times more vulnerable. It's an illusion. They think ninety-nine to one; I think it's more like two or three to one."

"I'm going home then. I need a rest. I've been locked in here for over six months. I love the work, but now and then I need to come up for air."

The Pentagon attempted to stop Samuel. When that failed, they tried to get me replaced. When that failed, they increased his security team from three to twenty and sent a helicopter to fly him to his home in Connecticut.

As we waited with the six agents assigned to accompany Samuel in the helicopter, a white and blue Sikorsky S-92 gently settled on the landing pad outside the Pentagon. When the door opened, Gerstel entered. As I moved to enter, the lead security man stepped in front of me and held a gun pointing at my face. Two others moved closer to me-one on each side. And to think we're on the same team.

"My name's Dan Antonis. I'm the lead man on this detail. You can go find another ride."

Like an adder, my hand shot out. My fingers sank into the back of his hand. I twisted his arm as I executed a 360 degree sweep with my left leg. The three went airborne. Unfortunately, the leader's wrist broke because I failed to release my hold and the fall produced too much torque. I guess I could say I forgot.

By the time, they hit the ground, I had Antonis's gun and my own pointing at them. The three men standing well behind us suddenly realized their comrades were down and began reaching for their guns. The two on the ground couldn't. They had lost their weapons when they went flying.

"Everyone freeze. I will shoot to kill." I didn't smile. I collected their guns, while Antonis screamed obscenities. Then I called Witton.

"Boss, I just broke the wrist of the Secret Service guy in charge and disarmed his five henchmen. If anyone else points a gun in my direction, I'll take that as an attempt on my client's life."

"Stay there and try not to shoot anyone. I don't need any more complaints than this is already going to generate." The phone went dead.

"Won't you get in trouble for hurting those men?" Gerstel asked from the doorway of the chopper. From the smile on his face, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"No, they obviously intended to kill me, so they could kill or kidnap you."

"I think you're right." His eyes brightened and his smile widened.

We sat there, listening to a variety of threats from my new friend, Antonis. A half an hour later, an ambulance arrived along with a big black Chevrolet Suburban. After Antonis had been loaded into the ambulance, a woman in her late twenties exited the Suburban and stood talking to one of the medics. Afterward she approached along with two new henchmen. She had short curly black hair, tan skin, and stood only a few inches taller than me. I hoped she wasn't going to do the gun stunt Antonis had pulled.

"Good morning. I'm Ann Woehl. They sent me to replace agent Antonis. Are you and Mr. Gerstel ready to leave?" A small smile creased her lips.

Once in the air, she turned toward me. "That wasn't nice, Lynn," she said with a slight twitch of her lip. "You fractured a bone in his wrist. It will require a cast and several weeks to heal. He's lodging a complaint against you."

"It'll take a month for my boss to get through the other complaints against me before he gets to Antonis's. Then my boss will be happy I was in a good mood when your fearless leader stuck a gun in my face."

Samuel choked back a laugh. "I'd hate to see you bored and cranky. Risk or not, your little demo makes me feel better about the trip," he said. "No offense, Ann."

"None taken. I'm happy to have a Kazak along. I'll let the Assassins aggravate her."

Two limousines were waiting for us when we arrived at the small private landing strip. When we reached his house ten minutes later, it was swarming with security men. They had already checked every room, entrance, and window, and had people stationed at or within sight of each. Ann walked the perimeter while Samuel and I entered the old English manor. It was much larger than his townhouse and definitely required more security. Hopefully, they would slow down the Assassins when they came. Because if someone wanted Samuel dead, it would take an Assassin, based on his security. And anyone concerned about his project would have money to afford one or more. The grounds included several acres in an exclusive neighborhood and had ocean-front property. I decided he had more money than the Defense Department.

"I assume you're going to follow me from room to room?"

"Yep. I've nothing else to do." I shrugged.

He grinned. "Good. It no longer annoys me."

***

A few friends from Yale University stopped in to see him the next day. I watched their every move for the first hour. They, in turn, kept nervously sneaking looks toward where I stood in the back of the room. Ann spent a lot of time conferring with her security team and checking the area.

After they left, Samuel stared at me for a moment. "Why were you so attentive to my visitors? They are very old friends."

"I'd rather not say. Let's just say it's my paranoid personality."

"Out with it, Lynn. All this security would ruin my vacation if you weren't glued to me."

"The Assassins have Illusionists, who are very good at what they do. I was evaluating your friends." I brought my gun out of hiding and put it away.

"People are only considered paranoid if the threat isn't real. I can understand why you didn't want to tell me. Don't worry; I'll let you do the worrying. You're good at it." He gave a short laugh.

Two days later, he decided to take a walk along the ocean frontage. The weather was cool and few people were about. Some of the people we saw were either walking fast or jogging. They gave us a wide berth. You couldn't blame them. Each member of Ann's five-man security team was dressed in a dark suit.

As we turned to head back, I noticed a jogger about two hundred yards behind us heading in our general direction. He seemed to be running, not jogging, because when I looked back about fifteen seconds later he had covered over half the distance. I scanned ahead and saw another jogger off in the distance. I spun around, drawing my gun. The runner was now within twenty-five feet and flying toward Gerstel. It had to be a Runner Assassin as he was easily traveling at three times the speed of an Olympic runner. I knew I would need to be lucky to accurately judge the distance I would have to lead him to be sure to kill and not just wound him. To complicate things a security man seemed to be directly in his path. Before anyone else noticed, the Runner hit the shoulder of the man in his path, sending him spinning to the side with his throat spurting blood.

Having little choice, I grabbed the arm of the man closest to me and propelled him into the Runner's path. They collided instantly. The collision slowed the Runner's forward momentum enough for me to get off three rounds: chest, head, and chest again. The impact sent him spinning backward, a knife clutched in each hand. Although he lay face down on the ground, I shot him twice again.

The standing security men had their guns drawn and were looking around. One of the security men was kneeling next to his fallen comrade. Samuel lay on the ground with Ann sprawled on top of him.

"My lord, what happened?" Samuel asked, as he tried to look over Ann's shoulder. When I looked forward again, the other Runner had stopped halfway to us, hesitated, and changed direction.

"Ann, keep Samuel down." I watched the Runner disappear behind a house. I guess he decided his odds of killing Samuel and living through the experience were poor. Kazaks and Assassins have a lot of respect for each other. I could see no other signs of danger, which meant little. "Ann, you can let Samuel up. It looks clear."

Ann got off of Samuel, and to her credit stayed by his side rather than run over to the dead and injured members of her team. The one I had thrown in front of the runner probably had a few things broken, but he looked alive. I guess it would result in another complaint for Witton to post on my personal activities board. I stepped back near Samuel and Ann, still scanning the area.

"What happened, Lynn?" he asked, tapping me on my shoulder to get my attention.

"A Runner just attempted to kill you. He's dead." I nodded in his direction.

"Very," Ann added. She called for a team to pick up the dead men and transport the injured man to the hospital. He was found to have two fractured ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He would probably get a medal for saving Samuel's life.

"You threw Jackson in front of the Runner, didn't you?" Her voice sounded neutral. Very restrained under the circumstances.

"He was all I had handy. Give him credit for saving Samuel's life. He earned it."

***

Samuel decided he'd had enough vacation, and we returned to the Pentagon. Witton had finally decided to send another Kazak, so we each stood a twelve-hour shift. Six months later Samuel finished the project, and we were dismissed. The incident hadn't resulted in another complaint against me, since the injured man was given credit for saving Samuel's life. Ann received a promotion, and everyone seemed happy.

"I'm going to miss you, Lynn. At times it almost felt like we were married,"Samuel said as I was leaving.

"I hope the divorce was amicable," I quipped.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When I entered Witton's office, I found Jessie in one of the tufted leather chairs with a cup of coffee. Although he looked relaxed, I could feel his readiness to pounce at the slightest movement-like the Tiger he had been named for. I sat in a chair next to him. Witton leaned back, appraising us as if he didn't already know us.

"I've asked you here because the assignment I have will require twelve-hour shifts." That hardly seemed a reason. Working twelve-hour shifts appeared to be a luxury based upon my previous experience. I waited for the punch line. "There's an Air Force Major General Sharer managing several contractors that are working on a new anti-missile design. It's a revolutionary concept, which she designed. She has contractors building separate components, so that no one contractor knows how the pieces fit together. The project is further complicated because she's independently developing a fourth component. Yes, she's paranoid. She's worried about security leaks, since one has already occurred."

"And?" I ventured. That wasn't the punch line.

"She's paranoiac, so I doubt she is going to cooperate with our normal method of guarding a client. Nevertheless, the Defense Department wants her protected and has requested our help."

"Meaning?" I asked. This didn't sound good. Normally, I ignored the client's wishes and did my job as I saw fit. This sounded like I wouldn't be able to ignore her.

"Meaning she has restrictions that you must comply with."

"It's her life she's playing with," Jessie chimed in. The typical reaction I expected from a Tiger. No sense being ready to pounce, if the game stayed too far away. The Fox would try to figure out how to lure the game to her.

"Yes, it's her life; however, I expect you to try hard to keep her alive, given the restrictions she'll impose. You're to meet her tomorrow at nine a.m. in the administration building at Andrews Air Force Base."

***

Jessie and I retired to my condo to discuss the assignment. I put on a pot of coffee and joined him in the living room.

"This is the first time I've seen you without bandages. I was beginning to think it was a disguise of some kind." Jessie smirked.

"Witton thought it was an excuse for me to visit my friend in Denver," I said. I missed Jessie's company after the Hill. He had become like family. I was looking forward to this assignment and an opportunity to see him often. Jessie put down his coffee and smiled.

"I really think you would have shot me that time in the Senate's cafeteria. With blood dripping down your face and your arm wrapped in rags, you looked like some mad killer in one of those B movies."

"I would've shot anything that moved. Everything was blurred; I couldn't distinguish individual features." It had been a scary time.

"I had to laugh when I shouted you were a bad shot, with an Assassin lying there with half his head missing. I'd imagine it was the last thing anyone expected me to say. But you have to admit you weren't the best shot on the Hill."I knew he was comparing me to him. He could hit a bird in flight with a Glock. I would be lucky to scare it.

"What do you think about this assignment, Lynn?"

"I don't like it. Either an Assassin will kill her, or I will." I didn't smile. It was true. Although I tolerated no nonsense from the people I guarded, since Governor Masson, I would put my life on the line to protect them. "I don't understand people. How can they feel they are secure if we're out of sight? The trouble with most government security is that they cater to the person they're protecting. They try to prevent them from being attacked by checking out the places they're going, so they don't have to inconvenience them while they are there. I'll bet that before this assignment is over, I'll get another complaint for Witton to add to my board."

"Your board has attracted a lot of attention lately. Some believe you're going beyond a Kazak's responsibility. The fact that you've killed three Assassins is making more Kazaks consider using your rules. Only ten other Kazaks have managed to kill three Assassins. I'm not sure if Witton likes this evolution or not since he is getting more complaints. Whether they're for or against you, everyone looks forward to reading your newest complaint. We are actually disappointed when you go months without one." Jessie grinned. "I should have warned everyone what a pain in the ass you were on the Hill."

***

At the air base the next day, Jessie and I were led to a small conference room where we sat for a half an hour waiting for Major General Sharer. When she entered, she stood looking down her short nose at Jessie and me. I think she expected us to jump to attention. Her mousy brown hair was cut short. She had a round, plain face and a big-boned figure tending toward plump.

"Well, I suppose you're my bodyguards?" She sounded disappointed. When neither of us answered her rhetorical question, she continued. "Here are the rules. You're not allowed into the Pentagon or any room where I'm having a meeting. Those meetings will involve Top Secret material that you aren't cleared for. In the Pentagon, I've air force security, which is more than adequate. You'll stay out of my way at all times. Is that understood?"

Jessie looked at me and shrugged. "It's her life." I nodded in agreement. Normally I would've given her my rules; however, I considered this an experiment-not that I wouldn't try to protect her.

She gave us a look of disapproval before turning and walking out the door with us tagging along behind her. When we reached the street, a limousine waited for her. She turned back to us.

"You'll follow me in your own vehicle."

At least her driver had the sense to wait until we were behind him before he drove away.

"I'll give her two to three weeks, at most," Jessie said as he followed her car. I let him drive, as he was a much better driver than me. Actually, anyone who had a driver's license was a much better driver than me. "Unless you shoot her before then."

"Normally, I'd ignore her and follow my rules. She'd either have to put up with it or fire me. But I'm curious to see if we can really protect her under these conditions. She reminds me of Governor Masson, and I couldn't stop him from being assassinated. It'll be interesting."

When we arrived at the Pentagon, I told Jessie I would take the first shift. When he stopped behind the limo, I jumped out and followed the general. When we reached the checkpoint, she turned to me.

"This is as far as you go. This building is secure." She continued through without me having any clue as to when she would be back. I shrugged, found a place in the corner, and sat facing the checkpoint. Shortly afterward, two security guards approached me with their hands on their holstered guns. I almost laughed.

"You can't sit here. You'll have to leave, immediately."

"I'm here by authority of the Defense Chief of Staff."

"Let me see your authorization." The chubby one held out his hand. I rose and walked out the door. I wasn't going to win an argument with robot guards who needed a paper signed in triplicate and notarized. I wandered into the parking lot and picked a spot where I could observe the entrance. She still hadn't come out when Jessie came to relieve me.

"Do you think she's dead yet?" Jessie quipped.

"If I were an Assassin, I'd be embarrassed to kill her. It would be like fishing with hand grenades." I smiled at the thought. Jessie choked back a laugh.

"I'll call you on your cell if I change location. Oh, tell Witton that if I get kicked off this bench, I'm going home and she can find her own security."

Thirty minutes later, Jessie called me and asked me to go to Witton's office and wait. I had only been in Witton's office a few minutes when he showed up.

"Lynn and I can protect that idiot from our condos as well as we can sitting five miles from the Pentagon. They kicked Lynn out of the building and me out of the parking lot. Right now, any Assassin has more access to her than we do."Jessie sat and I followed suit, waiting for Witton's response.

"Go to bed. I'll terminate the contract."

***

The next morning, Witton informed Jessie and me that the contract had been reinstated at the request of the Defense Department. When I arrived at the building later that morning, Sharer met me and handed me a badge. "This will authorize you to stay inside the building; however, you're not authorized to pass the checkpoint. I don't appreciate you getting my superiors involved."

"I didn't. I told my boss you were too stupid to guard. He called your superiors, who are the ones insisting you need Kazaks."

"Who do you think you're talking to? I'll have you up on-"

"General, the only thing you can do is tell your superiors that they don't know what they're doing." I turned and headed for a corner, where I sat. She stood there for several minutes, her face turning a pretty purple. I thought it sort of gave it a bit more character. Eventually she turned and walked away.

The next two weeks went by like molasses. Jessie and I followed her by car from her home to the Pentagon, to Andrews AFB, and to contractor's offices where we stood outside the building in several cases. We flew to Texas. She sat in first class, while Jessie and I sat with the working-class folks. I decided I'd rather be fighting tanks with my Glock than following Miss Stupid around and being told where I could and couldn't stand. Most of the time, the medics would've reached her before I could. Once, I sat outside a hanger she had entered contemplating shooting her and claiming an Assassin had done it. It was a catch-22. If I was close enough to know an Assassin shot her, then I would've been close enough to protect her. Maybe I should've spent the time on my smartphone, tweeting Jessie, Witton, Clare, and Gabe-and maybe Sharer. At least, I would have been in virtual contact with her. Jessie may have been suffering worse than me. He was a Tiger and primed for action. I was a Fox and used to planning for action.

***

I had been on this assignment for two years-actually two months by the way society kept time. I sat in my usual place inside the Pentagon watching the morning rush to work. I watched knowing there were too many people for me to really assess each one. I hoped the Assassin would carry a sign saying Ghost, Illusionist, or other helpful hints.

Suddenly the line shifted back, and I saw Major General Sharer going through the checkpoint. I knew I'd been bored, but she hadn't left this building without me seeing her. I jumped up and drew my gun, looking to get a clear shot at the Assassin, but there were too many people walking or crossing behind him.

"Stop or we'll shoot!" Four guards had their guns out and pointing at me. I considered myself lucky they hadn't shot me by now. If I had been them, I would have.

"That isn't General Sharer. He's an Assassin." I lowered my gun, while pointing to the Assassin's retreating back.

"That's the General; I know her. Get on the floor before we shoot!" another guard shouted.

"Call upstairs to her office and check. Tell her security there's an Assassin on his way up." Two of the guards were approaching. If it hadn't been for the crowd of people in the foyer, they would have shot me by now. I gave up and went down of my knees, then lay down on my face.

They tied my hands behind my back with plastic restraints, picked me up, and steered me down a hallway into a small room. It was bare except for a steel table and two chairs. This was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to them-ever. One chubby man patted me down with a silly grin on his face. I stood still, shaking inside with rage. I could kill these four clowns without my hands, but then what?

"Strip her," a tall blond-haired man said. He was smiling. Two of them slowly removed my clothes.

"Oh, lookie what we have here," a plump man said with his hand in my crotch. "Another knife."

I could stand it no longer. "I'm a Kazak. The next one that touches me, I'll kill."

"What have you got in there, Kazak?" The big broad man reached for my breast.

Every man who had ever abused me flashed through my mind. Never again, I had promised myself. I drove my head into his face. He flew back against the table. I raised my leg and drove a foot into the face of the man behind me. While the other two were coming to grips with what had happened, I rolled onto the table and came off feet first into the third one's head. He slammed into the wall behind him. The last one was reaching for something when I used my shoulder to drive him into the opposite wall. The wind exploded out of him as he slammed into it. I swept his feet from under him and stomped my foot into his solar plexus as he lay there.

I went back to the table, picked up my knife, and cut the ties around my wrists. The first one was getting up so I broke his clavicle. Another began to rise until I drove a back kick into his chest. Something broke. I removed the barrel from each of their guns, broke a few assorted bones in one of the guards who was recovering as I dressed, and walked leisurely down the hall and out the building as alarms sounded.

***

Jessie and I sat in Witton's office drinking coffee.

"Lynn, you're going to get at least one complaint from the Pentagon officials-" he started, when I interrupted him.

"They should give me the Medal of Honor for tolerating their abuse and not killing them. If that happens again, I'll kill whoever it is." I meant it. Witton sat back and looked at me for a couple of minutes.

"I've reviewed the tapes from the security cameras scattered around the entrance and the interrogation room they took you to. It's clear you tried to stop the Assassin and only stopped because the guards were taking no action to verify your statement, or stop the man, and appeared ready to shoot. On the one hand, a woman with a gun did give them reason to threaten you. On the other hand, you had Pentagon permission to be there; therefore, they should've taken you seriously. The Pentagon has admitted the Kazaks did everything possible to protect General Sharer, given the restrictions she forced on you." He paused to take a sip of coffee. "They and I agree the guards' conduct was unacceptable and your reaction justified."

Witton continued. "The Pentagon assures me that the two soldiers will be court marshaled, and the two civilian guards charged with sexual assault. Although I believe you would've been justified, I'm glad you didn't kill them. The paperwork would have caused me weeks of work. Because of this incident, I'll never accept a contract where the customer believes they have the right to set conditions on our judgment."

Jessie turned to me. "I watched the tape with Witton. I loved it, Lynn. I don't think I could've done any better. No insult intended. After all, I'm the Tiger and you're a Fox. It was like you were in a chicken coop. I particularly like the way you slid across the table and kicked that one bastard in the head. Of course, ramming the other one into the wall wasn't bad. The best part was that your hands were tied behind your back. I don't know about the letter of complaint, but I'll bet you'll be a legend at the Pentagon." Jessie's grin went from ear to ear.

Witton gave a slight smile at Jessie's enthusiasm. "Alright, I enjoyed it too. They deserved every kick. Now, although I doubt either of you care, Major General Sharer survived the attack. By luck, the bullet intended for her heart hit a small steel case in her breast pocket. Something she had been working on. The case altered the bullet's trajectory enough to save her life. The Assassin assumed she was dead and fled the building. In total, he shot her four times. It will be a week or two before she's released from the hospital. She'd like to talk with you both at your convenience."

"She probably wants to tell us how we failed in our duty to protect her," I said in disgust. I had said she was stupid; since then I had revised it to mentally challenged.

"I had a similar thought, so I visited her. I was wrong. I'd like you to visit her, although I'll leave it up to you." Witton looked from Jessie to me. After several seconds, Jessie looked to me. I guess they thought I had suffered the most.

"Alright, if you don't mind another complaint to add to my board." I meant it. I wasn't going to take any shit from Miss Superior. To my surprise, Witton nodded in what I took to mean that he didn't mind.

***

At the desk, Jessie asked the nurse on duty where we could find Sharer. She gave him a hard time, saying Sharer wasn't in any condition for visitors, until he convinced her we were Kazaks and Sharer had asked to see us.

In her room, I had to admit she looked a mess. Her face was a pasty white. She had an oxygen tube attached to her nose and several monitors were recording heart rate, breathing, and heaven only knew what else. Even I felt sorry for her. She had paid for her stupidity.

"Thank you for coming," she croaked out between coughs. "I was a fool and paid for it." She coughed several times more before continuing. "I wouldn't let you do your job." It took several minutes before she could resume talking. "I heard of the indignities you had to suffer for trying to save-" She stopped, looking paler than before. The monitor showed her heart rate increasing. "When I heard you had identified the Assassin... when I found out what happened to those guards who stopped and abused you, I realized the difference between our security and Kazaks." Her breathing was labored and tears formed in her eyes. "I'm sorry. If you will forgive me, I'd like to try again."

"My rules," I said. I felt sorry for her, but either she wanted Kazak protection or she didn't. She gave a small nod. "You get Jessie and me passes to every place you have the authority to enter." She nodded after a few moments of hesitation. "We not only don't care about your secret project, but most likely wouldn't understand if we did. We'll stick to you like glue. We'll be in every room, restaurant, restroom, car, or any other place you go. We'll try to remain inconspicuous, but our main concern is your safety, not what others think."

I looked to Jessie. He smiled out of amusement rather than agreement. I guess I tend to be excessive. To my surprise, Sharer smiled and nodded. "Good," I said. "Now that we're clear on the rules, I'll take the first shift." Jessie tried to argue, but I waved him off. "The nurses and doctors are going to be real bitchy, and you'll be too nice to them." I sat in a chair in a corner. Sharer seemed to relax and Jessie went home.

Sure enough, the nurse who stopped in to check on Sharer began her I'm in charge routine.

"You can't stay here. General Sharer is too sick to have visitors, and it's past visiting hours. Please leave." She wagged her finger in my direction.

"I'm a Kazak. You do your business and I'll do mine."

"I don't care who you are. You can't stay. If you don't leave, I'll call security." She looked like she was going to stamp her foot for emphasis. I thought I heard Sharer give a small laugh before she started coughing.

"Lady, go get the head nurse, her boss, or the head of the hospital. You're boring me. When I'm bored, I get cranky, and then I'm a bitch to be around." She stomped out. Sometime later the head nurse showed up with two policemen.

"If you don't leave, these policemen will escort you out." She nodded defiantly.

"Gentlemen, do you know what a Kazak is?" I asked as politely as I'm capable. One looked to the other.

"I do," the older one of the two said. He looked a little apprehensive.

"General Sharer is here because someone wants her dead. As you can see, they almost succeeded. The Pentagon has hired Kazaks to protect her from any further attempts. I'm a Kazak. Do you really want to try and throw me out? I suggest you save yourselves a lot of grief and check with the hospital manager or the Pentagon, because I'll take any attempt to remove me as an attempt on General Sharer's life. That would give me cause to kill you."

"Aren't you going to make this woman go? She's obviously deranged," the head nurse hissed while pointing her finger in my direction.

"I'm beginning to think you're all Assassins here to kill General Sharer. Leave now." I stood, having run out of patience.

"Nurse, I think the patient said something," the older policeman said, looking toward the bed. The nurse moved in the direction of the bed. I shadowed her on the opposite side, while watching her and the two policemen. One false move and all three would die.

The nurse leaned over closer to Sharer. "Oh. General Sharer said that woman is authorized to stay." She blushed, pretending to read the monitors and check the IV before leaving with the policemen. I leaned over when I thought Sharer nodded at me.

"Yes?"

"Would you really have killed them?"

"Probably not, just disarmed the police and thrown them out with only minor injuries. Unless, of course, they made an aggressive move. Then they would be in the hospital looking like you look now."

"I hope the people I come in contact with every day survive you." She lay back and closed her eyes.

I idly wondered if this had earned me another complaint. I had lost count.

***

As Sharer finished dressing, she turned to face me. She looked much better than two weeks ago. Over the past several days she had undergone physical therapy but still appeared weak and shaky on her feet.

"You were serious about your rules. At the time, I had thought you were just being nasty because of the way I had treated you. Now I see you meant them for my benefit. The only time you or Jessie let me out of your sight is when I go to the latrine."

"That's because it holds only one person, has only one door, and no windows." I shrugged.

She shook her head. "I thought I'd mind, but I don't. You two are very unobtrusive, so long as no one gets between you and me. I felt terrified when I woke up in the hospital. The Assassin had penetrated military security and could again. You and Jessie have made me feel safe. Thank you."

Just then an orderly walked in with a wheelchair. He got Sharer settled and wheeled her to the hospital entrance where a captain and a limo were waiting. The captain delivered a snappy salute.

"Ma'am, General Anderson asked me to deliver these passes to you." He handed her three plastic cards, each on a cord. She turned and handed one to me.

"Lynn, this pass will authorize you to follow me everywhere I can go, including the latrine," she said with a grin. I wasn't sure if the grin was for the captain, who stood with his mouth open, or me. She started to get in the car, and then stopped. "Captain, always allow her to follow directly after me. You don't want to get between her and me."

When we entered the Pentagon, it was obvious the guards had seen the tape. They watched me like they would a lose rattlesnake. Sharer walked up to the checkpoint, swiped her card, and went through the scanner. I followed, swiping my card. As I stepped into the scanner alarms blared and guns came up with safeties off.

General Sharer turned back. "Put those weapons away before someone gets hurt." She looked at the nametag of the guard nearest her. "Frazer, if you'll look at the information on the screen, you will see she's authorized to carry any weapon; so is my other guard. Next time, she'll give you a second to turn off the scanner. That way we won't upset anyone and no one will get hurt."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll turn off the scanner for her and the other Kazak."

Sharer proceeded down several hallways and corridors until she stood in front of a middle-aged female captain sitting at a metal desk with several electronic devices.

"Marshia, would you please scan Lynn's eyes for her security pass and allow her to enter a password?"

The scan took only a minute. Marshia slid my security card into a computer slot, and I entered "Clare&Gabe" as my password, which met the minimum requirement. My password seemed appropriate. From there we proceeded to a door that required an eye scan and my new password. The room inside was loaded with computers, monitors, and other miscellaneous machines I didn't recognize.

"George, this is Lynn. She's my bodyguard."

"Hi, Lynn, welcome to the dungeon." He was a short, overweight chief master sergeant. Sharer pulled up a chair and sat down in front of a large monitor screen, which appeared to be some type of computer-aided design device.

"Hi Chief. Just ignore me." I grabbed a spare chair and moved it out of the way but in sight of Sharer. I was bored as usual, more so because George was the only other person in the room. Of course, I watched him. I suffer from extreme paranoia.

It was late in the afternoon before Sharer looked up. Considering she had just left the hospital and was still weak, her time at the machine was impressive.

"Time for lunch or dinner, depending on whatever they're serving right now," Sharer said as she rose. We wandered down several corridors to a cafeteria with tables for four. She walked through the line picking up food. When she saw I hadn't picked up any food, she turned toward me.

"Eat. I'm sure that won't distract you. You probably can eat without looking at the food." She shook her head.

To appease her I picked up a few items, to make her feel like she had some control-generals need that.

"We need to sit at a table against the wall where I can face the door, please." I thought that please was a nice touch. She deserved it. She had been very cooperative.

"I'd like to complain, but after that Assassin... Illusionist... I can understand your caution. Since it's my safety at stake, I'll try to help."

A few more hours in the dungeon and she finally called it a day. It had only been eight hours since we left the hospital. We walked out of the room, down a bunch of hallways, ending at the checkpoint. After sliding our cards through a slot, we exited the building. This was when she would be the most vulnerable. A car magically awaited her. I carefully scanned the people coming and going as we walked down the steps to the car and entered.

"We made it," she said with a grin.

"That is the time when you are at the most risk." I took out my cell. "Jessie, we'll be at General Sharer's condo for shift change."

"Don't you or Jessie ever relax?"

"Yes, after shift change." I managed a small smile. I remained calm while guarding a client, but my mind never relaxed. So in a way, her question was valid. She had a third-floor unit, which was nicely furnished and spacious for the Washington, D.C., area. I sat near the window and watched the street, while she showered and changed clothes. Afterward, she made coffee and put a cup on a small table next to me. Then she sat quietly listening to music and reading.

An hour later, someone knocked at the door.

"Just a minute," Sharer said and rose. I was up and raised a hand for her to sit. She frowned but did return to her chair.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's me, don't shoot, or you'll be changing shifts with yourself." I went to the door, unlatched the lock, and stepped to the side as I opened the door. "Is it safe?"

I stepped back and waved him in.

"Yes, I'm cautious. After all, Assassins did try to kill her. Although after seven years on the Hill with you, I should know your irritatingly happy voice. Sorry."I had to admit that maybe I was overdoing it.

On the way home, I stopped for a slow, relaxing Chinese dinner. Content with life, I returned to my condo, relaxed with an interesting mystery novel, and retired early. I had just gotten into bed when my cell rang.

"Lynn, is that you? It's Sharer. Jessie's been shot. I called 9-1-1. The medics are on their way." Sharer continued to rattle on as I tried to clear my foggy mind.

"Is the shooter dead?"

"I don't know."

"Take Jessie's gun and shoot him in the head. Now!" I didn't hear anything for a few minutes, then two shots.

"I... him... the head," she said through sobs. I wasn't sure if shooting the Assassin was for Jessie, me, or both.

"See what you can do for Jessie until the medics arrive. Then go with them to the hospital. You can't help, but you're going to be safer with them than alone. Call me when you know where they're taking him. I'll be there within thirty minutes."

Using the speaker phone, I had dressed while I talked and was heading for an available car by the time she hung up. I kept my speed reasonable, considering the urgency I felt. I didn't want to be stopped by some traffic cop and waste the time it took to deal with him. A few minutes later, Sharer called to say they were going to the George Washington University Hospital. I arrived twenty minutes later and found Sharer in the emergency waiting room. She looked terrible. Her face was flushed, her hair wild, and her uniform soaked in blood.

"They're operating on him right now. I thought he was dead. It was horrible. I decided to go to work early. We had just stepped into the hallway when Jessie pushed me against the wall and the shooting began. It sounded like a firing range. When I staggered to my feet, Jessie and another man lay on the ground. I stopped the bleeding in his arm and called you, using his cell."

"You did well, General. If you don't mind, I'd like to stay and find out Jessie's condition before we leave. You're as safe here as anywhere. Besides, I doubt they will try anything more tonight."

"I want to know too," Sharer said as she grabbed onto my arm. "I'm the cause of all this. If I hadn't begged you to come back, none of this would've happened and Jessie wouldn't be fighting for his life."

I had been taught on the Hill that all survivors blamed themselves for surviving. It was a natural instinct.

"Want someone to blame? Blame whoever is paying Assassins to kill you. He's the person that put you and Jessie in the hospital. You didn't shoot Jessie, you didn't push him in front of the Assassin, and you didn't pay to have yourself or Jessie killed. You and he are victims."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned about Jessie?" She looked mad and disappointed at the same time.

"Far more than you can know. You've known Jessie for a few months. I've known him for over nine years. The last two years on the Hill, we saw each other eighteen hours a day. He's a close friend and an adopted older brother. Yes, I'm concerned. The difference is that, unlike you, I don't feel guilty that he's fighting for his life. He and I chose this life, knowing that each time we stand next to someone we're guarding we risk death or injury. I've been wounded several times. The last time, a fraction of an inch was the difference between injury and death. Neither guilt nor rage benefits Jessie, you, or me." I thought it funny that when you have to articulate your feelings, they become very clear. Jessie and I love this life and accept the consequences. Ironically, when you discard the moral issues, the Assassins and the Kazaks have much in common. We are professionals. We are killing machines and it isn't personal.

"I'm sorry, Lynn. I've become fond of you and Jessie, and I'm feeling guilty he was injured and may die. You've learned to accept injury and death as part of your life. I may give the impression of being hard or cold, but I feel the death of every friend or coworker. More so of you and Jessie, who are risking your lives every hour of every day for me."

Not a minute too soon a doctor approached us. He looked to me. "You're a fellow Kazak?" he asked. I nodded. "Jessie-?"

"Jessie is his name. A Tiger his essence."

"Jessie was shot four times. One ripped a deep gash on the side of his head. One severed an artery in his arm. Two missed his heart but punctured his lungs. He's stable but in a coma. In my opinion, his odds aren't good. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Doctor. He has no family that I know of except for the Kazaks. Please let Mr. Witton know if his status changes." I felt a lump in my chest. Jessie lay dying to save Sharer. I would make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain. I gently turned Sharer toward the exit. "Time to go, General. He's in good hands. Do you want to go home to sulk or the office to work? I'd suggest work."

"Work."

***

As the days passed, Jessie remained in a coma. Sharer began to work herself out of her depression. Witton hadn't assigned anyone to replace Jessie, so I now had her twenty-four seven. She spent a lot more time at work, trying to avoid the condo. When there, I slept in a recliner off to the side, facing the door and the terrace. In school, we had been taught over the years to come awake at the slightest noise. But just to make sure, I rigged a bell on the door and on the sliders to the terrace. In addition, I procured thick drapes for the sliders and windows that wouldn't show our shadows from outside. I imagine I slept better than Sharer. Each morning, she insisted I eat breakfast with her.

"Are you bored?"

"Of what?"

"Of not sleeping in a bed, having no time off... guarding me?"

"That chair is very comfortable, and I'm probably getting more sleep than you each night. I've nothing I want to do, so I don't need any time off, and you're a pleasant person to guard. Besides, Mr. Witton will feel a little guilty when this is finished and let me fly off and visit my friends out west."

"You're incorrigible." She paused for a minute, frowning. "Yes, I imagine you get quite a variety of... clients, with difficult attitudes like mine at the beginning, and still you risk your life for them. Do they break your rules often?"

"Only once."

"Once? I did many times."

"You almost got killed. Usually I just quit."

"Can you just quit? Why didn't you quit me?"

"We take assignments from Mr. Witton without question; however, if someone won't cooperate, they obviously don't need protection. You-" I paused for a moment. "I was waiting to see if my rules were too rigid or unnecessary." More or less the truth.

"In other words, an experiment." She actually smiled.

"Caught."I smiled back.

"Yes, your rules may be rigid but, as I proved, necessary. Well, off to work, my shadow."

***

As time went by without incident, I knew they were planning something nasty. That was alright with me. I was bored and welcomed the opportunity to face Jessie's hired killers. I knew the day was going to liven up when she decided to do a little shopping at Crystal City and eat at one of their restaurants. The shops were a convenient drive from the Pentagon and to her condo.

As we approached the shops, I saw Russ, one of the three men who had used me like a disposable lab rat in the Nevada desert, approaching us. I thought I saw Marc off in the distance. I couldn't see Karl, but I would bet the three worked as a team. Now a Kazak and not a naive young girl, I knew Russ was a Liar, Karl a Ghost, and Marc an Illusionist. The thought made me rethink my impression of Assassins. They were cowards hiding behind the cloaks of professionals. Ironically, Russ didn't recognize me. He smiled as he approached.

"Ma'am, I'm collecting for the Saint Jude foundation." I could feel the truth of the lie. Fortunately, the rage I felt toward him and his friends counteracted my believing him.

Sharer reached into her purse, looking for money. I pushed Sharer off to the side and swept Russ's feet from under him. As he fell, I cut his throat. Marc had probably resorted to an illusion and would look like any other shopper. I still couldn't see Karl.

Sharer had stumbled when I pushed her and lay sprawled on the ground. I stepped over her-straddling her-drew my gun, and fired into the air. It had the desired effect. The crowd dispersed, giving me a clear view in all directions.

I scanned the area, looking for that vague distortion I knew Ghost Assassins produced when invisible. Karl would be behind that distortion. I knew that bastard Karl was too arrogant to leave. I slid a throwing knife into my free hand. Sharer had the good sense to stay where she lay. Then I saw the blurring. Although the crowd had dispersed, many remained huddled in doorways or behind benches and other objects. If I shot at the distortion, I couldn't be sure a bullet or two wouldn't miss and hit an innocent bystander. I let my gun slide past Karl like I was scanning the area without success. As it passed him, I threw my knife and rotated my gun back in his direction. As the knife left my hand, he became visible. The knife hit him in the chest, making his first shot go wide. It hit me in the shoulder. I put two bullets in him as he staggered backward.

"Marc, Marc, won't you come out and play!" I shouted. I still couldn't see him. I felt the shock and then pain as a bullet hit me in my side. I spun around and dove for the ground and rolled once, looking for him. When I didn't see him, I rolled again. The dirt and grass sprayed where I had been a second before. This time I saw the flash from his gun and knew where he stood. I rolled again and again, firing each time. I had rolled and fired six times before I realized Marc was either gone or dead. I lifted myself on my elbows and saw Marc lying on the ground. I took careful aim and shot him in the head.

I suddenly realized Sharer was screaming, while stabbing at her smartphone. "Help, someone get a medic!"

I managed to cut a piece off my shirt and held it against my side, while pressing on the wound in my shoulder. I hoped there were no more Assassins in the area, because I wasn't cranky any more.

***

I sort of remember the sirens, being wheeled on something with people running alongside, and lying in a bed with Sharer holding my hand.

I woke with a start, trying to reach for a gun which wasn't there. I relaxed back down when I realized I was in a hospital room, and Sharer was hanging on to my other hand. I felt like shit. I must, therefore, be alive.

"Good morning," Witton said. "We confiscated your guns to keep you from shooting one of the nurses. You'll be glad to know you didn't damage anything which would prevent me from giving you another assignment." He looked serious.

"I went to a lot of trouble to get some time off," I quipped.

Sharer shook her head. "You're all crazy." She squeezed my hand.

"Who else would do this job?" Witton interjected. "Lynn, I do wish you could get through an assignment without getting shot up. By the way, who did you shoot and why? The police would like to know. Me too."

"Three Assassins that abducted me on the way to Las Vegas: one Liar, one Illusionist, and one Ghost. The Liar approached intending to grab Sharer in order to freeze me. A Ghost was waiting for that and would have shot me. Then the Liar would have cut Sharer's throat. It was quite a nice plan. The problem with most plans is that you have to get the other side to cooperate."

"Oh, my God," Sharer breathed, her eyes wide. "Mr. Witton told me the Kazaks have a second name, which defines their strengths. If it's not a secret, what is Lynn's?" Sharer had tears in her eyes.

"Lynn's a Fox. It's fortunate, because she draws Assassins like vampire bats to blood."

"It was my fault," Sharer sobbed. "If it hadn't been for me-"

"Sharer, it's time you shared all of your work with the people you work with. Once they all know the details, there will be no reason to kill you. Now, your death would set back the program. You need to hurry, before Witton forgets about my convalescent leave. He has a very short memory."

"Are you up to it?" Witton asked. "I can find someone else."

"All I'm going to do is sit and watch."

I managed to leave the hospital the next day. It took Sharer only a week to share her project with several members of her team. I'm sure she hurried because she was afraid I would be killed protecting her. Actually, I'm not sure I could have protected her against a group of Girl Scouts. Afterward, Witton gave me time off to recover. I'm not sure if it wasn't because he just didn't have another assignment.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Hi, Clare. I'm going to La Paz, Mexico. Want to come along? Free ticket there, but you may have to pay your way back." I'd called her from my condo, while packing my few non-work clothes in my new black twenty-four inch suitcase. I like black. Witton said the plane would be available the next day. I'll never get over the luxuries available to Kazaks. Of course, most people wouldn't want the life for three times our benefits. I would for half.

"Damn you, Lynn. You've gone and got yourself shot up again. I'd like to see you once when you were healthy, without any stories. Damn you. How many hours do I have to get ready and why La Paz? Is Gabe going?"

"Wounded is the only way Witton will give me a plane and time off. No, Gabe's not going. He doesn't have a passport and would have trouble getting time off on such short notice. La Paz looks secluded, and I've never been there. Between you and me, I could use a place to lie around and do nothing. You've twenty-four hours." I'd never felt as worn out as I did then. I had pushed myself with Sharer to get her done and out from under the threat from Assassins. She would never have rushed if not for me sitting in a chair watching. It was her personal creation, and she was reluctant to let it go.

"Damn you. I'll meet you at Concourse A."

***

"Welcome aboard, Miss Lynn. I see you're playing on Witton's sympathy again." It was Kathryn again. I didn't know if there were other flight attendants or whether she was the only one.

"I'm getting good at it."

"Do you want to keep your bag again?"

"No, I'm in no condition to fight anyone so there is no sense having weapons close to me." I grinned. "And yes, I'd like something to eat and drink after we're airborne. I think the doctor said something about eating."

I had just finished a filet mignon, creamed potatoes, assorted vegetables, and a chocolate something or other for dessert when the same middle-aged pilot I'd had on my last flight approached.

"Miss Lynn. That seems like a hard way to get a ride on the company plane, even as luxurious as it is." He pointed to my arm, which was in a sling.

"You know Mr. Witton: no injuries, no sympathy, no ride. Has Kathryn gotten better at landing?"

"With those injuries, I think I'll land the plane this time. Let us know if you need anything." He smiled and proceeded back to the cockpit.

I woke just in time to see the door open and Clare come flying through, drop her bag, and run down the aisle to where I was sitting.

"I knew the minute you said you'd pick me up that you were seriously injured. You need another job before... "

"And give up all these benefits: private plane, free condo, meals, medical? And I get paid for doing what I enjoy." I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"You're crazy, but I love you anyway. All right, tell me how you managed to get in the way of whatever put you in the hospital. As pale as you are, you were in the hospital."

I explained, while Kathryn served us another meal. Usually I couldn't manage two meals in less than eight hours, but I guess I needed extra food to recover.

"Damn you, again. My career is doing fine. I don't need you to get shot up. Stop it!" She was genuinely upset and her eyes misty. I changed topics, so she would relax.

Between eating and talking, it seemed like we had only been in the air for a short time when the pilot announced our descent into La Paz. "Have you made reservations or are we sleeping on the beach?"

"Witton's secretary made reservations at the Hacienda Del Sol. Witton's paying for it." I nodded a so there.

"Next time, I'd take the beach and no injuries."

It turned out that the Hacienda Del Sol was the number one hotel in La Paz, and Ann Marie had rented me a cabana. I was finding it hard to spend my very generous salary. I decided to pay all our expenses and to buy a few things. Clare complained but I threatened to shoot her. Since she'd said she could stay as long as I could, she no doubt expected me to be called back before too long. We spent ten glorious days.

What a life, sitting on the beach enjoying the beautiful sunsets, indulging in the delicious local cuisine, exploring historic museums, and shopping for authentic Mexican arts and crafts. We tried a scuba dive with hammerhead sharks and giant mantas, and kayaked alongside dolphins and whales. Lying on the beach next to Clare, feeling loved for the first time in my life, I realized I had needed this time away to renew my spirit.

On the eleventh day, Witton called. I put him on speakerphone. Clare gave a small giggle.

"Time for the Fox to come home. Clare, thank you for rejuvenating Lynn. If Lynn hadn't picked up all your expenses, I would've. I didn't offer because she needs to spend her money now and then. Your plane will arrive tomorrow." He clicked off.

"How does he know all that? And what's this calling you a fox?"

"I don't know how he knows. That's the reason he's the boss and I'm not. As for Fox, that's my Kazak name-Lynn the Fox. Drag out your tape recorder and we can finish your interview. It will justify your time away."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I sat in Witton's office with coffee, anxiously waiting for my next assignment.

"You look rested, Lynn. You never complain about your assignments or the extra time you have to spend when we're short-handed, which seems like always. But you need to get away now and then. In case you didn't know, the company does allow for vacations in addition to any time off recuperating." He inspected me like one would a racehorse before buying it. "I've a very rich bank executive who is being threatened because of the multimillion dollar bonuses he authorized after accepting government bailout money. People are justifiably angry; however, it's wrong to threaten him and his family. What are your thoughts about protecting them?"

"If they'll follow my rules, I'll let you worry about the appropriateness of the contract." I hadn't become a Kazak to judge people. It was the way of life I wanted. With a few exceptions, good and bad are subjective.

"Yes, the infamous Lynn's Rules. Of course, you realize the organization doesn't have rules for its Kazaks. But given that, even against Assassins, you haven't lost anyone who followed your rules, you may convince me to adopt at least some of them. I think General Sharer would agree that your rules were essential in keeping her alive. You're the Kazak. You set the rules necessary to ensure your client's safety."

***

Mr. Albert P. Gendel's waterfront estate was located in Newport, Rhode Island. The house looked big enough to be five or six houses, except it appeared to have only one entrance. A middle-aged Asian-looking woman, who could have been a model, opened the door shortly after I rang the doorbell. She wore a light-tan suit with a white blouse open at the neck. Her midnight-black hair hung to her shoulders.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, I'm Lynn, here to see Mr. Gendel." This woman definitely was not the housekeeper or cook. I concluded she functioned as a private secretary.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked with a frown. I assumed I didn't meet her idea of someone Gendel would normally deal with. I thought I was dressed all right. I wore a relatively new pair of black gym shoes, a new black shirt and pants, and a black jacket. Black tended to make me less noticeable and to hide lumps and bumps made by weapons.

"He's expecting me, Miss... ?"

"If you don't have an appointment, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Hendrix," she said in a the servants' entrance is around back tone.

Hendrix appeared to be a guard of some kind. Over six feet tall, he looked like he lifted weights and was good at barroom fights. I was getting bored and cranky.

"Lady, Miss Lihua has asked you to leave nicely. Now I'm telling you." He gave me one of those stares intended to intimidate. I laughed. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me toward him. I let him, driving my head into his face, kneeing him in his groin, and stomping down onto his foot. When he raised the foot I had just stomped on, I placed my foot behind his other foot and pushed. He fell on his back bent double, holding his foot, and bleeding from his nose. It wouldn't hurt to give Mr. Gendel an appropriate introduction.

"Now, Miss Lihua. I'd appreciate it if you would tell Mr. Gendel I'm here. Oh, if you have more guards, for their own safety please keep them away. Thanks." Looking around at what I could see of the house, it was impressive. A wide stairway led up to the second floor. It split into two halfway up, one going to the left and the other to the right side of the landing. It seemed stupid but looked impressive.

A few minutes later, a tall gray-haired man came striding down the hallway followed by two clones of the one on the floor. "I've called the police. They'll be here shortly. If you cause a scene, these two men will subdue you, and I'll press charges," he said in an authoritative voice. I guess he was used to getting his way.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Gendel's two guards stepped forward, but didn't appear to be in a hurry to subdue me after a quick glance at Hendrix. Funny, since they were six to eight inches taller than me and each weighed at least twice what I did. "It's been fun but... If you'll have Miss Lihua call me a cab and tell Mr. Witton that you no longer require a Kazak, I'll leave."

"You're a Kazak?" he asked as if I hadn't already introduced myself. I nodded to Hendrix, who was on the floor looking pale. "I thought they were all men."

"Guess you were wrong." I assumed this would probably get me another complaint for Witton to do whatever he does with them.

"You're very arrogant."

"Me? I asked Miss Lihua to see you, told her you were expecting me. She called Hendrix, who assaulted me. Then you come down the hall threatening me with two more guards. Arrogant? I'd say my response to all this aggressiveness has been very reasonable. Wouldn't you?"

"I'm going to call Mr. Witton. I'm not sure I want a woman."

I turned and walked through the door and down the driveway. I called Ann Marie and asked her to get me a helicopter or something to get me home.

"Wait one moment, Lynn. Mr. Gendel is on the phone with Mr. Witton. This should be resolved in a minute. I think the conversation is going something like she is the best I have. If you don't want her, there are ten others who would be happy to get her. I will try to get you a male Kazak within the next year or two." I could almost see her grin from there. I kept walking. He had aggravated me.

A few minutes later I heard Miss Lihua trying to run on the white gravel driveway. I felt sorry for her and stopped.

"Miss Lynn. Please wait. Mr. Gendel apologizes for the mistake and wishes to speak with you." She must have been in good shape because when she caught up with me she wasn't breathing hard.

"I apologize to you, Lihua. This is Mr. Gendel's fault. He failed to inform you he expected a Kazak today or thought it was important enough to remember my name. Before you try to justify his actions, recognize that I'm a Kazak and call it the way I see it. I don't care whether a person is the richest or poorest in the country. If I'm going to risk my life for him and his family, he owes me the respect due any Kazak." I nodded toward the house. "Drop the Miss and call me Lynn."

"Lynn, Hendrix is going to be very mad at you."

"He should be thankful that I wasn't mad at him."

Mr. Gendel stood at the door watching Lihua and me walking back up the driveway. When I reached the doorway, he waved me in.

"Miss Lynn, I apologize for the confusion. Lihua will see you to the study and get you something to eat or drink. I'll join you shortly with my wife and daughter."

With Hendrix staring at me, Lihua led me down the hallway to a large room that resembled a library, except libraries didn't have leather recliners and a gorgeous golden-brown rosewood desk the size of my kitchen.

"What would you like, Lynn? Pardon me for saying so, but I think you are going to shake up our nice, comfortable world."

"Coffee will be fine. I don't mind, because you're right."

I sat drinking a very nice brew of coffee when Gendel, a red-haired woman, and a small girl entered the room. I guessed this wasn't his first marriage since Mrs. Gendel was a good twenty years younger than him and the little girl looked to be only four or five. I stood.

"Eveleen, this is the Kazak, Lynn. Lynn, this is my wife Eveleen. The little terrorist is Sibeal."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Eveleen and Sibeal the terrorist. I'll bet you rule this house." I bent slightly when I addressed the child and could see the twinkle in her eyes.

"Please sit, Lynn. Based on the threats I've gotten and what my adviser tells me, I believe the biggest threat is to my wife and child. They believe kidnapping and extortion the most likely scenario, although they don't rule out violence." He looked toward his wife while he was talking. "I've had some nasty threats."

I would soon learn if the threats came from disgruntled citizens, professional criminals, or Assassins. I hoped it wasn't Assassins. A combination of the other two seemed more likely. People were unhappy with large financial institutions taking money from the government and then paying themselves huge rewards after having caused the problem. Most people would take out their frustration in blogs, on Facebook, and through other non-violent outlets. A few would write threatening letters or threaten actions they never intended to carry out. A handful of fanatics wanted retribution that was more direct and they felt justified in using extortion, physical assault, kidnapping, and even murder. And criminals were always alert to cash in on an opportunity. The threats presented excellent cover for not only extortion but also kidnapping. Murder didn't pay.

Assassins were expensive; therefore, they wouldn't be used unless someone was using this outrage to make a power grab. In that event, it would be more logical to attack Mr. Gendel. I concluded Assassins were the least likely threat against Eveleen and Sibeal. It was, however, an academic exercise. I had to be prepared to protect them whether the attackers were amateurs, semi-professionals, or professionals.

"You want me to protect Eveleen and Sibeal. Not you. Is that correct?"

"Unless you're around when the attack is going on-"

"No, I can't protect your wife and child if I'm trying to protect you. I'll intervene only if helping or protecting you is somehow necessary to protect them." I met him eye to eye.

"You're not like the bodyguards that have been hired for me. They're accommodating." He held up his hand. "Unfortunately, I see your point and agree. My bodyguards will have to be enough."

"Now for the part you, Eveleen, and Sibeal are not going to like. I have rules. I take protecting a client very seriously, to the point of risking my life for them. However, I can't protect them without their cooperation. If you or Eveleen don't like my rules, I'll understand, but will leave you to find someone else." I looked from Gendel to his wife and back again. Neither spoke.

I turned my full attention on Eveleen. "First, you and Sibeal will always be in my sight. I'll be in every room, car, club, and bathroom if it has a second door or window. There are zero exceptions. We'll have to work on sleeping arrangements." I was trying to be complete so there would be no misunderstanding. "If Eveleen's and Sibeal's lives are at stake and an Assassin gets involved, your guards are useless. I've seen them penetrate Pentagon security. I've just recovered from an encounter with three. If I hadn't been glued to my client, she would be dead. So, no exceptions without my approval."

"Witton did warn me. He said you had rules but might be the best Kazak he has." He looked to Eveleen, who nodded. I wondered if Witton had meant it or had said that to soften Gendel up for Lynn's Rules.

"Eveleen, be warned, there may be other necessities such as where we sit in a restaurant, etc." She stood, kissed her husband, and left the room with Sibeal and me following.

***

"Eveleen, until we can work out a reasonable solution, you, Sibeal, and I will sleep in the same bedroom." I held up my hand. "I'll sit in a reasonably comfortable chair. At least for now I've no relief, so I'll be on twenty-four hours a day. I need sleep too, but I'm a very light sleeper."

"Lynn, you're going to take some getting used to," she said with a smile.

"Let's go see the bedroom you and Sibeal are going to sleep in."

Eveleen led me to one of the guest bedrooms. It was the size of three average-sized bedrooms-like mine-and had an attached bathroom suite. I would have liked to see the master suite if this was for guests. The bedroom had a king-sized bed, end tables with hanging lights over each one, a large LCD television on the wall, a combination radio and CD player, a bookcase with novels and CDs, a settee, and a large picture window. The walls had several paintings, and an assortment of sculptures and vases were scattered around the room. The bathroom suite had every luxury imaginable and a long, narrow frosted window. The bedroom windows looked onto the rear of the three-acre property.

"Before tonight, I want these curtains replaced with heavy material that can't be seen through. I'd suggest every room you intend to use have them. I don't want someone to be able to see your shadow in the window. Yes, this is excessive and probably unnecessary, but a person with a rifle can't tell the difference between a male, female, or child." I didn't want to put them in a cocoon, but I wanted to cut down on their unnecessary exposure. The rear of their property was far too secluded and tempting. Eveleen nodded after looking at Sibeal. "The door to the bathroom will remain open. I want you in my sight at all times. Yes, it's necessary, and I'll need a recliner of some sort."

Eveleen talked to several people over the next hour, including her husband. He frowned and looked in my direction several times but said nothing. I decided to throw him a bone.

"Mr. Gendel, is there a room in this house that has only one entrance and no windows?"

"No, most rooms have only one entrance; however, every room has a window."

"No, Daddy. The media room doesn't have any windows and only one door," Sibeal said while bouncing up and down. Her face lit up in a devilish smile.

"Very good, Sibeal. Daddy didn't think of that." He turned and looked at me.

"You and Eveleen may want to view an adult movie now and then. Sibeal and I'll stand guard, won't we, Sibeal?" I squatted a bit to look directly at her.

"Why?"

"Because bad men are mad at your father and mother, so you and I will protect them while they watch a movie."

"Why can't we watch?"

"If we watch, we won't be watching for the bad men."

"Oh. All right, I'll help you. Can I have a gun?"

"That sounds like a good idea." Out of the corner of my eye I saw both of her parents go pale. "One of Daddy's men will buy you a gun that shoots those rubber darts." I smiled at Gendel. He nodded and smiled back. I thought he might have been willing to buy her an Uzi to be alone with his wife.

For the next week everyone's schedule changed. Sibeal was removed from school and Gendel hired a tutor to fill in until the situation was resolved. Eveleen had to limit her activities to those that could include Sibeal. When I looked at the situation, Sibeal was by far the winner. Twice during that week, Gendel and Eveleen used the media room. I think that made it easier for Gendel to tolerate my rules.

I had two recliners placed at the beginning of the hallway leading to the media room. I kept Sibeal occupied with stories and practicing with her new guns: a water pistol, rubber dart gun, and a realistic-looking Glock that looked like mine. She was a typical young girl experimenting and testing the limits. Under other circumstances, I might have married Gabe or someone like him and had a girl just like her. She was a sweet, if mischievous, child. It was, however, unlikely that I would ever have a child of my own. I couldn't go back in time, and wouldn't if I could. I was content with my life.

It was interesting to follow Eveleen around. She was a member of an exclusive country club and played golf several times a week, had golf lessons twice a week, a massage every now and then, ate lunch out frequently, and shopped at exclusive stores. Of course, each activity required compromises now that Sibeal and I had to accompany her. In the beginning, her golfing friends were concerned.

"Eveleen, isn't that your daughter with the woman in your golf cart?"

"Albert has been getting some nasty letters since the bailout and subsequent bonuses. Many of the letters threatened Sibeal and me so he decided to hire a personal bodyguard for us. Since she can't protect both of us if we aren't together, Sibeal and she will be tagging along."

"Your bodyguard doesn't look like she could protect you from any of our husbands."

"Hopefully none of your husbands will try." Eveleen grinned.

Having to sit with Sibeal and me in the cart from one shot to the next did limit Eveleen's socializing time. Other than that, their game wasn't much different. Afterward, they ate in the club's dining facilities. They gave me strange looks when I stipulated a specific table. This time the conversation was limited by the presence of Sibeal at their table and me standing off to the side-the price of security.

At the spa, the masseuse was a little put out when Sibeal and I joined them in the room.

"Mrs. Gendel. Is that your daughter and... ?"

"Yes, Preta. That is Sibeal and my bodyguard."

"Do they need to be in here?"

"Yes, my bodyguard gets upset when she can't see both me and Sibeal. Don't worry about them." Eveleen removed the towel around her chest and lay on the table.

"Mommy, what's the lady doing to you? You're all greasy. Does it hurt?" The questions came one after another in rapid fire.

"The lady is giving me a massage. She puts oil over me so her hands are soft as she works the tension out of my muscles. No, it doesn't hurt. It feels wonderful."

"Can I try it?" Sibeal stood and moved closer to Eveleen, "Please, Mommy." Eveleen nodded. After she was finished, she helped Sibeal up onto the table. I think the masseuse found it interesting working on Sibeal's tiny back. I would bet she would try to turn it into a side business. Eveleen smiled and Sibeal giggled the whole time.

Afterward, Eveleen and Sibeal spent fifteen minutes in the sauna. I felt my rules had benefited Eveleen and her daughter. They had become closer because they were spending more time together and sharing their daily activities. Even when shopping, Sibeal joined her mother in the private dressing room, giggling, while her mother and she tried on clothes in exclusive boutiques.

Sibeal couldn't stop talking each night, telling her father about every minute of the day. Her father seemed to enjoy listening to her. That night she was explaining her mother's golf lesson.

"Daddy, Mommy's golf teacher gave me a lesson. I got to use a club and hit the little white ball." She stood up to demonstrate her swing. "It was fun. I want to learn how to play like Mommy. Can I have lessons-"

The sound of glass breaking and the heavy drape bursting inward had me up and moving almost before the bullet slammed into the picture on the opposite wall.

"Gendel, on the floor!" I shouted as I launched myself toward Sibeal and Eveleen. I grabbed Sibeal and pulled her into me and managed to knock Eveleen out of her chair and onto the floor. I rolled once with Sibeal, coming to a stop on my stomach facing the curtain. When more glass broke and the curtain moved, I fired four shots. A man crashed to the floor. I fired once more into his head and then four more through the curtain-just in case. I slammed a new clip into my Glock and waited, holding Sibeal down with my left arm.

A minute later one of Gendel's bodyguards came through the door. I barely stopped myself from shooting him.

"You three get outside and see if there is anyone else out there. Close this door and don't come near it or the window unless you get my permission; otherwise I'll assume you're one of them." I nodded toward the dead body. The guard shut the door and I heard him shouting instructions to the others. "Gendel, stay down," I said, although it seemed unnecessary. Eveleen lay on the floor dazed, while Sibeal squirmed under my arm trying to see. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. This appeared to be just one more exciting experience for her.

I rose onto one knee, keeping a hand on Sibeal so she couldn't rise. A few minutes later I heard Gendel's guard, Jimmie, shout from the side of the house. He sounded like he was well away from the window.

"It's all clear, Lynn. There was one more, but he was well down the road by the time we got out here."

"You should have shot him. Never mind. Reach in and open the curtains so I can see you-hands empty."

***

One of the guards called the police and Gendel explained what had happened. They tried to question me. All I would say was that I was a Kazak, and I shot the dead man. They didn't ask for proof and didn't really need me to explain since Gendel was in the room the entire time.

***

We sat in Gendel's study after the police and the medics left. Other than a rather large bruise on Eveleen's head, no one else was injured. Gendel had asked the cook for dessert and milk for Sibeal. He and Eveleen each had a large goblet of wine.

"I see what you meant about protecting Eveleen and Sibeal but not me unless that protected them. I had heard the words and at the time thought that you were carrying your rules too far. Tonight made me understand your logic. You helped save me tonight because it was necessary to protect my wife and child. Dividing your loyalties could have put us all in jeopardy. I thought Witton was trying to appease me when he said you were one of his best. I believe he's right." He sat holding his wife's hand, while watching his daughter eating dessert as if nothing had happened.

As everyone retired to bed, I heard workmen showing up to replace the window.

"I too thought it cruel when you said you wouldn't protect Gendel, unless... I wish you were his bodyguard. Unfortunately, we can't have it both ways," Eveleen said as she prepared her daughter for bed.

"That man was trying to hurt you and Daddy. I'm glad Lynn shot him." Her little eyes filled with tears, which silently slid down her tiny cheeks.

When Eveleen turned off the lights, I lay back in my chair, satisfied. They were safe and Clare would be happy to know I hadn't been wounded-yet.

***

Three weeks went by with no further incidents. For the first few days, Eveleen appeared reluctant to leave the house.

"Lynn, is it safe to go out?" she asked, looking at me, then her daughter.

"Safe? You would be safer if you flew off somewhere. If you choose to stay here, you might be safer if you hired twenty guards to patrol the property while you hide inside. But what kind of a life would that be? Or you can take reasonable precautions and go on with your life."

Eveleen laughed. "You're a reasonable precaution. You're like having a tiger walking beside us." She shook her head and grinned. At the mention of a tiger, my thoughts turned to Jessie. "Alright, let's go out for lunch." Sibeal smiled and clapped her hands. Life was one exciting experience after another-the wonders of youth.

We soon fell back into Eveleen's routine: golf, eating out, shopping, massages, and working out. Sibeal did manage to get her mother to agree to swimming lessons at her fitness center. Although the threat seemed to have passed, I didn't believe it. I felt there was, at least, a small group of men who considered themselves anointed to punish Gendel for his excesses, or self-anointed criminals who believed in taking from the rich and giving it to themselves.

When we arrived downstairs one morning, Gendel sat with several men in suits. They didn't look like businessmen despite the clothes.

"Eveleen, this is district FBI director Trueman. When I woke this morning and checked my email, there was a demand for five million dollars. They said they would give me instructions where to transfer the money, today at noon. If I refused, you and Sibeal would suffer. I called the FBI."

Trueman nodded in Eveleen's direction. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gendel. Be assured that we will provide you with protection until this is resolved," Trueman said. He looked around the room and his eyes settled on me. "I see you have a Kazak, judging by the way she is evaluating us and our every move. I find it strange, because I didn't know there were any female Kazaks."

"Learn something new every day. Keeps life exciting," I quipped. Before this was over I would probably have earned myself another complaint. Government security people just didn't seem to like me, although I had to admit Ann Woehl had been pleasant to work with when I guarded Gerstel.

"I don't suppose you would show me your ID?" Trueman asked.

"No. I don't trust you yet." I doubted he was an Assassin or part of the extortion, but I hadn't formed an opinion. Gendel looked shocked.

"Yes, she's definitely a Kazak. They're all paranoiac. As far as she's concerned, I could be an Illusionist Assassin or part of the extortion. Fred, George, take my advice and move cautiously around her. Kazaks tend to shoot first and ask questions afterward." He smiled at me. "Name?"

"Lynn," Gendel said quickly, probably trying to ease the tension. In fact, there was no abnormal tension in the room, just the normal evaluation by people who don't know each other.

"We're going to try and trace the email from the extortionist, but I wouldn't count on it, unless it's some amateur trying to muscle in on the anger against financial executives. Unless you don't want it, we will provide you with... additional protection for you and your family." Trueman and Gendel both looked to me. I nodded. They may provide me an extra second to react.

Over the next few hours, more men arrived with a variety of electronic equipment. Two guards were assigned to each of the Gendels. To the FBI's chagrin, Sibeal informed them she wanted me. Trueman wanted Eveleen and Sibeal to limit their activities as much as possible and for Sibeal to remain home. Eveleen looked to me.

"You can hide or live. There are more risks in living." I thought that was rather profound. Trueman didn't like it as much as I did. In the end, Eveleen decided she would go on with her life. I knew it was a hard decision because it involved Sibeal's safety.

Gendel got the next email directing him to send the money to a bank account overseas. He ignored it, knowing that paying the money wouldn't solve the problem.

Eveleen went on with her life, enjoying the new closeness she had developed with her daughter. Sibeal kept giggling every time she looked at the four men following behind us. I don't know what was going through her overactive little mind, but she was enjoying it.

Life was no longer boring. I now had two threats to watch out for: disgruntled men and greedy criminals. Eveleen made a golf date with her friends. We arrived seven strong.

"Eveleen, every time I see you, you have more guards. A Kazak wasn't enough?"

"These are FBI men. Gendel received an extortion note for five million dollars. They threatened to harm Sibeal and me if they didn't get it."

"I for one don't mind being followed around by good-looking men," one of the women commented, looking each of the men up and down.

The FBI agents rented two additional carts and kept patrolling on either side of us. The eighteen holes were uneventful and her golf partners ignored the FBI men after the first few holes.

We left the ladies changing room and walked through the lobby toward the front entrance. I walked to the side and slightly behind Eveleen and Sibeal. Two of the FBI men walked slightly ahead and two stayed behind us. Scanning the lobby, I saw a man walking slowly carrying a jar carefully in both hands. He was staring directly at Eveleen and Sibeal. I leaped onto the back of a couch with one leg and launched myself into the air. As I neared the man, my foot shot out striking him in the head. When he fell backward, the liquid in the jar spilled on him. He screamed in pain and shouted between spasms.

"You harlot! Selling yourself to Gendel." Still screaming with pain, he grabbed the jar, preparing to throw it. I stomped down on his clavicle, breaking it, making his throwing arm useless. Then I drove the knife-edge of my foot into his throat. I could feel it sink deep into his neck. He died within seconds. When I scanned the lobby, I saw the FBI men pointing their guns at me.

"Eveleen, do you want to eat, have a massage to relax, or go home?" I said ignoring the guns. She looked shocked for a minute then smiled.

"A massage I think," she said and we started off down the hallway to the personal care center.

"Halt!" three of the agents howled. We kept walking.

"That man?" Sibeal asked tugging at my arm.

"A very bad man who wanted to hurt you and your mother. He was going to throw something in your mother's face that would have burned like fire. An evil man."

"Good, I'm glad you hurt him." She looked back at the four men following us and giggled.

We entered the women's care center. The four hesitated at the entrance. I turned and pointed to where the hallway rug ended.

"Since this area is for women only, I'll assume any man that crosses that line is attacking my clients." I turned and followed Eveleen into the massage room. Fortunately, they stayed at the entrance. I had meant it. When we left an hour later, Trueman was leaning against the wall opposite the entrance.

"Lynn, you made my men very nervous and did give them cause to be concerned. You seemed to be the only one who knew what was happening. I've examined the body and it was clear his container had an acid, which I assume he intended to throw on Mrs. Gendel and her daughter. Only your quick action stopped that from happening." He nodded to Eveleen.

"It's not healthy to point a gun at a Kazak. The FBI should give me a commendation for not shooting them. If for a half a second I thought they were dangerous, they would be dead. I also think they owe Mrs. Gendel an apology for pointing guns in her direction. Her daughter was terrified."

"I wasn't-" Sibeal started to say before I nudged her in the back.

"Yes, I do owe you and your daughter an apology. A Kazak moves too fast for most of us to keep up with their reasoning. You're lucky to have her." He turned back to me. "Yes, I believe you could've killed all four without endangering your clients. Even my agents admit it was all over before they realized anything was wrong. They would've hesitated too long to save Mrs. Gendel. They would have hesitated for several seconds, considering the ramifications of shooting an unarmed man, a board of inquiry for discharging a weapon, and reluctance to kill another human being. None of them have ever killed anyone before. None of that concerned you, even delivering a killing blow to a man lying defenseless on the floor. You Kazaks are a law unto yourselves. Today, that was a good thing." He turned and walked away.

That evening at dinner, Sibeal gave her father a detailed account of everything that happened, including the massage. He sat there with mixed emotions, looking from Sibeal to Eveleen, and then me. He appeared to enjoy Sibeal's excitement but was rightly concerned over the possible harm to his wife, and seemed to be in awe of me. Heaven knows why. I did what a Kazak does.

For the next few days, Eveleen chose to stay home. Finally, she decided that she and Sibeal would go shopping. When I was half way down the stairs, I saw Hendrix standing at the bottom, waiting for us to pass. I knew something was wrong when I saw the other two out of the corner of my eye as I reached the landing. Too late.

Hendrix threw a punch into my stomach. Because I had partially twisted with the punch, the force was lessened, although it did take the wind out of me. I reached down and caught his leg, unending him, and drove a back kick to Jimmie's chest as he came at me from behind. Then Mack came plowing into me, and we all went down. Their combined weight had me pinned to the floor. I could have done better if I'd had more room and hadn't tried to protect my clients, who were still on the steps.

Hendrix removed my gun, which was easily accessible, while Jimmie grabbed Sibeal. Surprisingly, Hendrix and Mack lifted me up, and Hendrix began to pound on me. My head spun and I gasped for air as blow after blow hit me. I think he broke a rib or two. I would have been out cold if I hadn't been able to use my training to partially distribute the force of each blow with subtle moves. Eventually, they let me go and I sank to my knees. Major mistake on their part. They should have shot me, but Hendrix wanted to punish me for embarrassing him. I reached down and pulled out two knives from my boots and folded them against my forearms. When I staggered to my feet, I tried to look dazed and unable to stand, which wasn't hard. I was dizzy, gasping for air, and my legs felt like rubber. I had suffered as much pain on the Hill and was forced to go on. The masters weren't sympathetic to your pain.

Hendrix and Mack stood a few feet back from me with knives in their hands, laughing. Jimmie stood to the side holding Sibeal. Eveleen stood frozen with terror. Jimmie should have grabbed Eveleen. Even holding Sibeal around her waist, his upper body was exposed from his chest upward. I turned, concentrating with effort. Sibeal's life depended on it. I let one of my knives fly. I saw it drive into Jimmie's neck. When I turned back to Hendrix and Mack, they had stopped laughing. Being in a narrow hallway put me at a disadvantage, as I had little room to move and was still unsteady on my feet. As the two closed in on me, I had only one chance. I sent my last knife into Mack's chest. Now it was just Hendrix and me. The only problem was that he had a knife, and I didn't. He approached, swinging the knife back and forth. I continued to back up. As we passed the steps, I nodded to Eveleen. After a second's pause, she and Sibeal raced down the hallway and out the door.

"Shit!" Hendrix exclaimed. His chance at a ransom was fleeing, and he couldn't chase them because of me. I smiled. His face twisted in rage, and his eyes narrowed. I had done my job and saved my clients. I was so tired, aching from head to foot, and bleeding. Now or never. I moved toward him and I felt the knife cut across my stomach. He grinned, and drove it straight at my chest for a killing blow. I twisted sideways and the knife slid by me. I had been a little slow, and I felt shirt and skin tear. With the last of my strength, I drove my fingers into his eyes. He collapsed screaming at the top of his lungs. I picked up his knife and cut his throat, then allowed myself to pass out.

***

I woke and was immediately sorry. I felt like I had fallen down a staircase several times. I suppose that was a good sign, since it meant I lived. I looked up to see a man in a white coat with the ubiquitous stethoscope around his neck. Doctor. Hospital. It all came back in a flash.

"You nearly died, Lynn. You had me up most of the night. You have three fractured ribs, a twelve centimeter cut along your stomach, a twenty centimeter cut along your chest, a broken nose, and bruises all over your body. Needless to say, you lost a lot of blood. Are you up for visitors?"

I nodded and my head vibrated like a tuning fork in response. I was surprised to see Witton.

"Hi, boss," I squeaked out. Even my throat was sore.

"I send you out on another easy assignment and you let a couple of thugs mess you up like this. You should be embarrassed. Besides that, I'll have to give you time off. I should dock your pay."

"I'm embarrassed. A Girl Scout could've kicked their asses." I heard several gasps as Witton and I exchanged barbs.

"Lynn, can't you once come back in one piece?" He shook his head. "Good job. A plane will be waiting for you when you're ready to go. Take whatever time you need plus a week of vacation. I want you in reasonably good condition when you come back. Who would want a Kazak that looks all beat up?" He patted my hand before stepping back to let Mr. Gendel step forward.

"Lynn, I have to admit I was disappointed when I saw a small woman when I expected a man. I thought Mr. Witton would humor me and give me another Kazak. I don't know any other Kazaks, but I've got to believe you're one of the best. You've saved Eveleen and Sibeal three times, and the last time you almost died to let them escape. If there is ever anything I can do for you, all you have to do is call. I'll always have a private plane for you, if Mr. Witton doesn't."

Eveleen and Sibeal joined him at the side of the bed. "Are you coming to live with us? Mommy said she's going to miss you following her. I can follow you around." Her head barely showed above the mattress. I had become attached to the little terrorist. She had been an angel while I was there. A benefit to Lynn's Rules was that mother and daughter had formed a deeper relationship.

"Sibeal is right. I'm going to miss you being with us. As Albert said, anything we can do for you. We would like you to come and see us if you can. Maybe we can hire you from time to time." She turned to Witton then back to me. "You not only saved our lives but gave me a precious gift of a closer relationship with my daughter."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Mr. Witton, I'll be released from the hospital tomorrow," I said into the phone with some apprehension.

Witton hesitated before he spoke. "Why so formal, Lynn?"

"I want to return to the Hill for a while."

"Why? I would've thought you would like to see your friends."

"It just feels right."

"Alright, Lynn. Ann Marie will make your reservations. Let me know when you are ready to leave the Hill. I hope you find what you are looking for." He clicked off. I knew Witton was concerned that I may want to leave the Kazaks. I didn't know why I wanted to visit the Hill, but it wasn't because I wanted to leave the Kazaks.

The next morning I sat in a chair, waiting for the required wheelchair to take me to the hospital's front door. Normally, I would just have left, ignoring the silly wheelchair. But I felt exhausted. At the curb, a limo waited to take me to Sikorsky Memorial Airport, where a white Gulfstream with KG on the tail waited for me.

I entered, nodded to Kathryn, and took a seat. A few minutes later we lifted, headed for Spokane International Airport. Kathryn served me something to drink and eat, but I couldn't remember what it was or how much I ate.

When we landed, she directed me to the waiting helicopter. The next thing I remembered was stepping off the helicopter. Two Kazak masters waited.

"Welcome, Master Lynn. It's good to see you again. When you get time, I'd love to talk to you about the infamous Lynn's Rules." The head Kazak, Johar, gave a slight bow. I didn't understand all this bowing, first from Master Jianyu and now the head master at the Kazak school. I was too tired to even answer. They led me to one of the quarters reserved for visiting Kazaks, which had been prepared for me. "If you need anything, let one of us know."

Exhausted bone deep, I should've gone to bed. Instead, I made my way to the small, white, marble building at the top of the mountain, which I considered a temple. Inside, arched stained-glass windows depicting the animals Kazaks were named after made the room dance with a kaleidoscope of changing colors. Once inside, the world fell away. I loved that place. It had always been my sanctuary.

I sat lotus style and closed my eyes. I don't know how long I sat. Although I hadn't heard anyone enter, I felt someone's presence. I opened my eyes to find the old witch Meztlil sitting only a few feet away.

"Good evening, my daughter. It has been a long journey to the Hill and back again. You've made a wise choice. This temple is a place of renewal." The sound of her voice was soft and soothing. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, she was gone.

For the next week, when not sleeping or eating, I spent much of my time in the temple. No one bothered me, sensing that I needed to be left alone. Some days later, while I sat content to do nothing, I felt Meztlil in front of me-master to a student.

"Lynn, I want you to begin to visualize your life as far back as you can remember. Think of each decision you made and how that affected the next. Then consider alternative choices you could have made-no if only." She paused. I could hear her slow, soft breathing. "If the memory becomes emotional, examine it again and again until you are at peace with it."

Without question, I began my journey back in time. I had to go back many times as I reviewed my years in foster homes, many in gang-infested neighborhoods. In the quiet of the temple, I relived my life. Painful memories that made me cry, tremble in fear, and convulse with pain. Some memories took me days to get past.

Remembering the fights I'd had during my assignments was interesting. I examined each block and strike for how it could've been better. In the last fight, I recognized the mistakes I had made, which almost resulted in my death. When I reached the here and now, Meztlil sat in front of me again.

"You have done well, my child. Do you understand?"

"Yes... Mother. I've learned to see my past devoid of emotions. To see it as the forge that made me what I am today. And even if I could, I wouldn't change anything because it would change me, and I'm content being who I am. I thank you for your guidance."

"Now it's time to master the void. Let the silence seep into your very essence."

When I opened my eyes minutes or hours later she was gone. I spent the next week seeking that quiet tranquility. One day, I opened my eyes and felt like a new and improved Lynn the Fox. I decided to walk down to the training areas and watch the hopefuls competing for those coveted seventh-year slots. I heard Master Johar coming to stand beside me.

"It has been a long time since you slipped through our clutches. I thought you would never last a year; you lacked the strength, weight, and reach to compete against men. Yet, you survived. Would you care to show our aspiring Kazaks what it takes to survive?" His lip twitched for a second. I walked into the center of the circle and waited.

"Candidates, this is the Kazak Lynn the Fox. Despite our best efforts to get rid of her, she survived. Many wonder if we gave her special treatment because she's a woman. Probably some of you wonder. I have to admit, she doesn't look very intimidating; therefore, I've asked her for a small demonstration. Who is interested?"

The same old Johar. Always testing the candidates: their judgment, endurance, tenacity, and survival instincts. And not above testing his graduates, I thought to myself.

A big burly boy stepped forward. I stopped him with a hand.

"Too big, Lynn?" He frowned and shrugged. I pointed to a tall lanky youth who was pointing to himself, and then a slim muscular one smiling at me. I held up three fingers. Johar nodded and called out their names, "Harld, Baily, Saul."

The other masters seemed to move closer as the three entered the ring. I wondered if it was to see better, or maybe to drag the students off me.

The three circled me like vultures, enjoying the thought of winning against a Kazak. They kept equally spaced, so that I couldn't see all three at once. I stood motionless and at peace. It felt wonderful. They appeared to be moving in slow motion. Harld, who was behind me, came first. I not only heard his steps, but I could see it in Baily's and Saul's expressions.

Harld jumped in the air, throwing a flying kick at my head or back. Baily moved a split second after Harld. Saul appeared content to await the result of Harld's and Baily's attacks. As Harld's foot flew toward my head, I rotated to the left causing his foot to slide harmless past my back. I continued to rotate, driving my palm into his temple as I completed the turn. I continued to rotate, stepping over Baily's attempted leg sweep. The blow to Harld's temple made him collapse where I had been standing, and he landed on Baily's leg.

Now Saul approached with an obviously fake forward kick to be followed by a second to my head. I stopped his second kick in mid-air with an X block and locked on to his ankle, pulling him toward me and driving my head into his face. He staggered backward. I let him recover. He wiped his nose and launched an overly aggressive attack. The attack started with a roundhouse punch to my head. He undoubtedly expected me to block the punch, setting up a kick to my groin, then hopefully an elbow to my head when I bent in pain. Instead, I moved into him with my shoulder. It drove him backward but not before I had my foot locked behind his. As he stumbled and fell, I landed on his chest with my knee, slammed my palm into his face, and rolled away.

Baily had gotten free from under Harld and approached slowly. He started a cresset kick to my head, stopped half way, and reversed it into a side kick at my chest. It was a reasonably good move. In the temple, I had reviewed my fights with the three bodyguards and realized several of my mistakes. Twisting ninety degrees turned my vulnerable chest away, presenting my side-a smaller moving target. I could still get kicked, but the impact would depend upon his speed and my timing. The right way was to twist sideways with the outside arm leading the way. That guided the kick safely by. Baily's foot slid harmlessly past me. As it did, I stepped into him and drove my elbow into his ribs. As I continued past him, I delivered a knife-hand strike to the back of his neck.

When I looked around, all three lay on the ground unable to fight for one reason or another.

"Master Lynn, you seem to have damaged my students," Johar said, suppressing a smile.

"They probably held back because I'm a woman," I said as my part of the game. Johar stepped forward and looked around.

"The lazy students lying in the circle have just been introduced to the Kazak Master Lynn the Fox. Hopefully, those that survive will some day be half as good as her. I would suggest you visit the temple and look at the Assassin Killers board. Only one other Kazak has killed more Assassins than Lynn."

"Who?" I blurted out before I'd realized it.

"I think you should also visit the temple. You may find it interesting. You'll also find the reason we've been calling you master. Currently, there are only six Kazaks living who officially hold that title. On the Hill, only you and I hold that title. Perhaps before you leave, you will help me improve our Assassin identification training. I've only ever faced two types; whereas, you have encountered all five. With that experience, I believe we can develop scenarios that are more realistic and graduate Kazaks who are better prepared."

***

I spent two more weeks on the Hill telling them what I knew about Assassins and how I had managed to identify them. With that additional information, we reviewed each of the current exercises.

"What about the Ghost Assassins, Master Lynn. How do we simulate a realistic encounter?" Johar asked with a twinkle in his eyes. He knew I was uncomfortable with the title. I had finally visited the temple for the express purpose of seeing the Assassin Killers board. It turned out there were two. The first listed the Kazak's name, type of Assassin, and the date of the kill. I found each of my kills listed. The second board was titled Masters and had twelve names, of which six were designated as deceased. Witton's name appeared eight times on the first board-Master Witton the Panther.

"I'd suggest we try rigging up a sheet of clear, clean plastic. It may distort what is behind it just enough to simulate what you are likely to see." For Illusionist, we made up simple clues one would have to detect. Glimmer was easier because of everyone's reaction in the vicinity when one was present-everyone instantly liked them and wanted their company. Liar was a bit harder, since you were likely to believe him. You had to force yourself to focus on intent-the perceived goal of the lie-or use earplugs. I ran many of the exercises. It was a strange feeling instructing students on activities I had struggled to master, which seemed so easy now. During my time instructing, I saw potential Tigers and Lions, a possible Panther, but no Foxes.

***

"Hi, Master Witton. I'm ready for another easy assignment," I quipped.

"No you're not, Master Lynn. Your time on the Hill was for recuperation and to share your experience and insights with our instructors. The program can't improve without input from those working in the field. I understand they were fascinated with the Lynn's Rules. I've forwarded them the complaints and commendations for an accurate evaluation. Your stay was necessary for your renewal and helpful in producing the next generation of Kazaks." He paused for a minute. "The company plane will pick you up tomorrow. By the way, Mr. Gendel has asked me to coordinate with him on your transportation. He's making his plane available any time we can't accommodate you. In fact, it's his plane that will meet you tomorrow. You have no time or destination limitation. He and I were very pleased with the outcome of your assignment. Although that was not the intent, there has been much interest among the wealthy and influential because of the Gendel assignment. Have a good time and say hello to Gabe and Clare for me." The phone went dead.

I called Gendel's home phone. After a short talk with Lihua, she connected me with him.

"Mr. Gendel, I've just heard of your generous offer to use your plane. I want to thank you sincerely for the thought behind the offer. That means far more to me than the plane."

"You're a very special woman. Most would thank me for access to the plane. You, on the other hand, care only about the thought behind the gesture. My offer still stands. If you need anything, just call. If it's within my power to give, it's yours. Your personal sacrifice to save my wife and daughter can't be repaid."

"You have a lovely wife and precious daughter, who love you very much. That makes you a very rich man." He spent time talking about how the experience had given him a better insight into people. I assured him that I was healed. I was glad I had met him and his family.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I called Gabe, who said he could get off for a few days. Then I called Clare.

"Are you free to see your adopted sister?"

"You're not hurt again, are you? If you are, I'm going to... I'll think of something really nasty."

"No, I'm fit and on vacation. I'm entitled to four weeks a year. Witton insisted I take two. Probably just wants to get rid of me."

"That sounds very suspicious. Alright, when and for how long?"

"Two weeks if you can. You may be able to justify it, since I have another installment for your Kazak series."

"Are you sure you're not hurt? Never mind. Where do you want me to meet you?"

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at Concourse A."

"I'm never going to be able to fly on a commercial plane again. You've spoiled me."

"After Vegas, I want to go to Dominica, in the Caribbean. I hope you'll want to come with me. It's not La Paz."

"I have to go to keep you out of trouble. Of course I'll go, even if I won't like it. See you at Concourse A."

***

I don't know what Gendel told the pilot and stewardess, because they treated me like I was the president of the United States. Shortly after we had reached cruising altitude, the pilot made an appearance.

"I hope you're comfortable, Miss Lynn. If you need anything let us know. Do you know where you want to go?"

"Thank you, Captain. I plan to stay in Las Vegas for only a few days, and then I'd like to go to the island of Dominica in the Caribbean. I'll pay for your sleeping accommodations and food, if you don't have to return before I want to leave for Dominica."

"We've been told to take you where you want and wait to bring you home. As for expense, we appreciate the offer but Mr. Gendel has been very generous in providing for our accommodations."

Then the stewardess appeared again, a young, trim woman immaculately dressed in a blue suit and white blouse.

"Would you like something to eat or drink, Miss Lynn?"

"A light snack and more coffee. I'll wait for dinner until after we pick up my friend in Denver."

"If you'll let me know the kind of food you like, I'll have it on board."

Gendel seemed to have thought of everything. I had become very fond of him and his family. I don't know about bonuses and such. I just know about the Gendel family.

***

"You've changed planes," Clare said as soon as she entered. "I had to ask the attendant twice if this was my ride. That emblem on the tail isn't the Kazak one. Did the company buy a new one?"

"No, I've a benefactor. He's promised me a ride on it any time I want. All I have to do is ask."

"What stupid thing did you do to earn that?"

"Relax for now. You'll get the whole story during your interview." I grinned.

We had hardly begun to catch up when the pilot announced our decent into McCarran International Airport. When we entered the concourse, Gabe stood waiting with a tall woman with a good figure, something I seem destined never to have. She had a small infant in her arms.

"Lynn!" Gabe grabbed me and gave me a hug. "Hi, Clare. It's good to see you two again. I want you to meet my wife, Lauretta, and our son, Dario," Gabe said in a rush.

"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Lynn," Lauretta said in a somewhat stilted tone. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I'll bet you've heard too much. Gabe and I have never been anything but good friends. Actually, he's more like a brother to me. I think perhaps Gabe lives the dream of being a Kazak through me, although I'm sure he's much happier being married to you and having a fine son like Dario."

"Thank you; we're still discovering each other. Now that you've said it, I recognize the truth of what you said." Her voice softened and a small smile appeared.

"Hey, I'm standing right here in case nobody noticed." Gabe grinned. "She's right. I couldn't climb to the top but she did. I felt disappointed but happy for her; however, since talking with her, I realize it wasn't the life for me. I'm happily married and wouldn't have it any other way. Lynn lives on the edge of death every day she's guarding someone. I prefer working in a bar where the most I get is a nasty drunk, which security handles. And I get to come home to a wonderful woman."

Lauretta smiled. I hoped we had cleared any doubts she may have had. That night I treated everyone to dinner at Il Mulino at Caesars Palace and after dinner we attended the KÀ Cirque du Soleil performance at the MGM Grand. It was a wonderful dinner and show. Afterward, we went back to Gabe's place and sat around and reminisced about old times, which cemented the fact that he and I were never in a romantic relationship.

The next day, I wanted to visit Master Jianyu. Gabe now taught classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. I decided to attend Gabe's class and insisted that Lauretta, Dario, and Clare come along. I don't think Lauretta had ever attended the classes judging by the wide eyes and the hand at her mouth the whole hour. Afterward, Jianyu took us into the back room and made tea.

"It's good to finally meet you, Lauretta. Gabe talks about you and your son all the time. Like Gabe has said many times, he's a fine-looking boy." Jianyu gently touched the child's cheek, which produced a smile and giggle.

"Thank you... Master Jianyu." Her face beamed with joy.

Jianyu then turned to me. "I thank you for thinking of me, Master Lynn. It's always a pleasure to see you." He gave me a small bow.

"Master?" Gabe asked.

"Yes, Lynn is one of a select group of Kazaks with the title of master. The title is reserved for Kazaks who have killed three or more Assassins."

Clare already knew about those encounters but Gabe was speechless.

"You've only been a Kazak for a couple of years. I'd love to work out with you."

"I forbid it," Jianyu said softly. "It would be exciting to fight with a Kazak, and more so with a master. Gabe, you're very talented and know more weapons and techniques than Lynn, but even in a friendly match you'd risk serious injuries."

"Lynn wouldn't hurt me," Gabe protested.

"Not intentionally. You would look for her weaknesses and plan your attack as you have many times over the years. Lynn's conditioned to see an opponent's weakness and strike instinctively. It would be so fast and hard the resulting injuries can't be predicted."

"You're right, Master Jianyu," I said. "A couple of weeks ago one of the instructors on the Hill wanted to show the sixth-year students what it would be like to be a Kazak. He wanted me to fight a volunteer. I allowed two more. The fight lasted less than a minute and although I didn't intend to hurt anyone, all three required treatment afterward. One was seriously injured and may have to leave the school."

"The time between Master Lynn's recognition of weakness and her action has become zero. Her life and the lives of the people she protects depend on that ability." When he looked from Gabe to me, I detected sadness in his words. "Lynn, would you mind taking off your shirt? Gabe has admired you for years, as I have. He sees only the glory of the Kazaks but not the sacrifice. Gabe, before you sits the embodiment of the old Samurai-duty or death."

Jianyu had an insight that few possess. I stripped off my shirt and the several weapons underneath, leaving me naked from the waist up. I don't know what I had expected. Lauretta screamed. Gabe stared, his eyes wide and then misty. And Clare grabbed me by the arm and shook it.

"You lied to me. Those are new wounds across your stomach and chest. Damn, damn you, Lynn. Just once I'd like to see you... " Tears streamed down her face.

"Not a lie, Clare. One who loves you trying to protect you from unnecessary worry, until you could see she's again fit," Jianyu interjected.

Clare ran her finger gently across the new scars as if she had felt the pain of each cut herself.

When Jianyu pointed toward my tattoo, I nodded and he reached out and touched the fox in the center of the badge. "The old woman named you well."

***

The next day, Clare spent two hours taping her interview with me. It was fun to watch her expertly draw out every last detail. We decided to include a picture of my recent scars, keeping the frame tight enough that you couldn't detect they were on a woman's body. We left out Gendel's name, left him a CEO but with no implication of being in the financial industry, and bumped Sibeal's age into the early teens. Otherwise, the basic facts of the story were correct, if short on specifics.

"You were really hurt this time, and don't lie to me," Clare said after the interview.

"Yes. I spent over a month on the Hill recovering in both body and mind. I'm at peace with myself. I know you disapprove, but I hope you will always love me for what I am rather than what I do."

"Lynn the Fox. You're the stupidest sister a girl could have, but I love you anyway. By the way, where are we going in the Caribbean? I forgot."

"The Island of Dominica."

"That sounds like fun. Why did you think I wouldn't want to come along? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I'm going anyway."

***

We landed on the island of St. Lucia and had to change to an American Eagle turbo-prop to the town of Canefield, close to Roseau, since the island of Dominica had no international airport. From Roseau, we had a fifty-five minute drive to Beau Rive where I had made reservations.

"It's beautiful," Clare exclaimed as we drove into the complex. Two white two-story buildings stood on the side of a hill among a jungle of green shrubbery and tree ferns of every size and description. I had to admit it was a stunning sight. From our room, we had a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean. "I don't know why you were worried about me coming here."

"I need to see something, and it isn't the view from this hotel."

The next day we were driven to Roseau, the capital. In general, the people were poor and the houses in bad condition. We spent the day wandering the streets and eating where the locals ate.

"Lynn, why are we walking around here?" Clare's head swiveled like a bobble-headed dashboard doll. "According to the hotel tourist information, there are beautiful places up country. This has got to be the poorest part of Dominica."

"Yes. Humor me a bit, Clare." I had to admit it actually looked worse than most American slums. We went back to Roseau again the next day.

"I'm surprised we haven't been mugged yet. You seem to be able to find the poorest and most run down places to eat and chat with people. We could've visited the slums in any city in the U.S." Clare whispered in my ear.

"Would you have felt safe walking down any of those streets? The chances of being mugged or raped, depending upon the time of day and the local gangs, would be forty to fifty percent. The rate of crime here is less than one percent." We went back again on the following day. Although still nervous, Clare had finally begun to relax a little.

"You're right. Now that I've gotten used to the run-down conditions and the poverty, I don't feel threatened. Did you notice the children going and coming from school? They had on white shirts and ties. Our kids wear pants with the crotches down to their knees, jeans that look fifty years old, chains on their clothes, red-spiked hairdos, and t-shirts with all sorts of crude sayings."

"On the Hill the old lady had me sit in the temple and review my life from my earliest memories. I had to stop every time I got emotional over an event. I had to view each event as a bystander. It took days to get past some of the incidents, but I did."

"Why?"

"For me to see how the past shaped what I am today. I have a free condo, a salary twenty-five times more than I need, and a private plane to take me places. Is it the luxuries that make my life so perfect? No. If I didn't have them my life would still be rich beyond words, because I have a sister I love and who loves me, good friends like Gabe and Jianyu, and a profession I love. The money, plane rides, and condo are not what make my life complete. In the U.S. too many people measure their degree of happiness by how much money they have, yet most aren't really happy. They always want more and are unhappy because they can never get enough. Look around, Clare. These people have little, yet they're happy. They don't want to steal what you have. They've loved ones, friends, and love their way of life. Money could make their lives easier, but it isn't what makes them happy. I think Mr. Gendel may realize that now."

"Yes, it's easy to forget what's important. Every day I see people scrambling for more and still unhappy when they get it. I'm glad you dragged me here."

"Good. Now we can visit and enjoy all those places made for us affluent visitors without the delusion that that's what makes our lives complete."

"Damn, Lynn. You risk your life for people who don't know you and who could care less about your life, and you don't do it for the benefits it brings. You feel your life is complete because you love what you do and have a sister that loves you. Perhaps you're not as dumb as I keep saying."

For the next week, we visited Fort Shirley at Cabrits National Park, experienced the tropical wilderness with its rivers, springs, and waterfalls, saw the world's second-largest , and lazed on sandy beaches. We ate well-mostly fish dishes, the island's specialty. The service was erratic and cuisine simple. Many nights we lay on the same bed, sharing stories and secrets of our growing-up lives, giggling like ten-year-olds. The best part for me was being with Clare.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Well, boss, I'm on my way home." I had called Witton after dropping Clare off in Denver. I had just finished a steak dinner and had a hot cup of coffee in front of me.

"About time. I'll have to give you a hard assignment to make up for all the time off you've had."

I could almost see him grin.

"That's good, boss. I'm tired of those easy ones and the days and days of boredom."

"When you arrive at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, the company plane will be waiting for you. They will have clothes from your condo and instructions. Call me if you have any questions." The phone went dead. I guess he doesn't know I had one more day of vacation remaining.

After writing Mr. Gendel a short note when the plane landed thanking him for making my vacation a wonderful experience, I disembarked and immediately boarded the Kazak-marked plane.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Lynn," Kathryn greeted me.

"Hi, Kathryn. Do you know where I'm going?"

"Dallas, if the pilot can find it."

"Master Lynn. Welcome aboard," a middle-aged man said and nodded from the first seat facing the entrance. He had wavy black hair and a straight nose on a long face. "I'm Mithra."

I had seen that name before, but where? Then it dawned on me. He was listed on the Assassin Killers board in the temple-five kills.

"Master Mithra," I acknowledged. "Are we going to the same party?"

"Yes. Come sit and I'll tell you about the idiot we are going to guard."

"He must be important to have two master Kazaks guarding him."

"His name is Lauro. He was second in command to the Fabiano Family. In turn for a free get out of jail card, he's detailed their activities for the past ten years. We're supposed to keep him alive until the Fabianos' trial, which is forty-five days from now. The family thought he had been killed two years ago. They've just found out he's not only alive but singing. It's open season on him."

"Now I see why we're here. Assassins will certainly be involved."

"Undoubtedly. He's currently in the custody of the FBI at some undisclosed location. We'll be briefed when we arrive in Dallas. I heard the Bureau has already protested your involvement on this assignment. It seems they lodged several complaints against you on the last assignment you had involving them. I read them on your legendary board. They obviously didn't like you breaking Antonis's wrist, endangering Gerstel's life by encouraging him to visit his home in Connecticut, and getting in their way when he was attacked by a Runner."

"If I had waited for them, they wouldn't have known he was dead until they read it in the morning newspaper."

He grinned and changed the subject. "Now that the family knows he's alive, how long do you give him to live?" Mithra asked.

"Seven or eight days. The real question is whether it'll be over or around us." The Assassin could choose to challenge us directly or try a more indirect approach.

"I suspect you plan to use Lynn's Rules, which means through us. I found them very interesting. Even more interesting is Witton's support and your success. Many of the complaints against you are usually followed by a letter of appreciation. I read the commendation from Gerstel."

"People don't like being followed into the restroom," I said, remembering some of the incidents.

Mithra laughed long and hard. "Especially by a woman. Alright, do you have any ideas or preferences on how we share this assignment? Twelve on and twelve off? Eight on and eight off with an overlapping eight hours? Or we could find out when he showers and I'll take that shift." He seemed amused. I sat back and closed my eyes. This client, like all the others, had to cooperate; otherwise, we risked his life and ours. That was the reason for my rules. Mithra probably thought I was being rude, cutting the conversation short. I didn't mean to be, but sitting in a house waiting for the inevitable attack didn't appear to be a reasonable solution. I opened my eyes to find him frowning at me.

"Sorry, Mithra. What if we parade him in front of everyone?"

"Let him get killed and we can go home?"

"The family undoubtedly has contacts in the FBI and the safe house won't be a safe place for long. We will be sitting ducks. If I pretend to be a dignitary, visiting America and wanting to see some of its attractions, we could pass Lauro off as one of my security guards. You know as well as I do that no one ever looks at servants or security guards. Their attention is on the main attraction." I shrugged.

Now Mithra closed his eyes for several minutes. I knew he was working through my proposed scenario. "Won't someone recognize your face? If they do, it will soon be leaked to the family and then to the Assassins."

"I'll be from Iraq, a key figure supporting democracy and women's rights. For religious and security reasons, I'll choose to wear the niqab, although I fight for a woman's right to choose."

He stared at me, while the stewardess brought us the snack and coffee we had requested earlier.

"A very foxy idea, Lynn. It sounds like fun. Let's do it."

***

We spent the rest of our flight working on the details. First, we needed to limit the plan to the people that would be part of the security team and as few of their superiors as possible. Therefore, Witton would have to make most of the arrangements. After an hour on the phone with Witton, we had sketched out the basic plan.

I would fly in and be met by the security team. We would down play my visit but inform the officials in each state that I would be visiting. They would come out for political reasons, the pretext of supporting my efforts in Iraq. We would tour the U.S. but with the intention of going to Washington, D.C., to meet with various congressional representatives and senators. Our planned arrival would coincide with the Fabiano trial's scheduled start date, ensuring Lauro would be available to testify. We were an hour late disembarking from the plane, which didn't endear us to the FBI agent waiting our arrival. I expected that would get me another complaint for my board.

Telling the security people that Witton had called me back to Richmond, I caught a flight to France. I was beginning to feel like the Flying Dutchman. Although I had first-class seating, it felt like third class after all my recent experience in private planes. Witton and Gendel had spoiled me. I found myself tired and slept most of the way. When I disembarked the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport, I was surprised to find Witton waiting.

"Welcome to Paris. I have a room where you can change, and we can discuss the arrangements that I've made and any concerns or suggestions you may have." I followed Witton to the Sheraton Paris Airport Hotel, where he retrieved a room key. It turned out to be a suite. It was elegant, modern, and equipped with the latest technologies. Witton sat and waved me to a chair.

"I knew when the Committee insisted I take this assignment that the Kazak assigned to protect Lauro couldn't keep him alive under the existing conditions. Although the FBI had him sequestered in a safe house, the family would know its location within the week. They would hire one or more Assassins, and it would be like hunting game in a zoo. I had hoped to counterbalance the threat by assigning two master Kazaks, people who knew how to fight Assassins. Even so, the Assassins would still have an overwhelming advantage. I didn't know what else to do."

I agreed. They could just blow up the house, building, or other facility he was being stashed in. Or set it on fire and shoot us as we came out. Poison the food we would have to order from some place... It would save time and effort just to hand Lauro over to them.

"Since you speak Arabic, your plan to play the part of an ambassador for Muslim women and hide Lauro as a security guard may work. If it does, it could avoid a confrontation altogether. If not, it'll somewhat negate the advantage the Assassins would otherwise have if you were stationary. It also makes me feel less guilty."

He closed his eyes for a moment. I knew the Committee paid our bills and were the reason for our diplomat-like status. Consequently, Witton had no choice but to accept the assignment and do his best to minimize the risk. "I've only managed to find three outfits on such short notice. I'll have more made and delivered to you within the week. There are also new harnesses for your weapons. At my request, the Committee has arranged for Ann Woehl to be the security team leader. Her bosses only know that she was selected by someone to escort a foreign guest on a tour of the States. She has selected four men, but will not brief them until Mithra shows up with Lauro. That will be the day you arrive. Two days from now. Mithra will inform the FBI men guarding Lauro now that he has been ordered to move him to another location. I think we have reduced the potential for a leak to the minimum possible."

"What arrangements have been made for my return?" I asked. My plan had gotten out of control. The concept had seemed simple when I proposed it. The implementation was extraordinarily complex.

"I'm leaving in a couple of hours, back to Richmond. You are leaving on a private Gulfstream tomorrow night. The crew members are our people, although the plane isn't. It will land in Richmond to pick up Ann and her team, Mithra, and Lauro. From there you will fly to your first stop on the agenda-Orlando, Florida. You want to see Disney World." He smiled.

Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing Disney World. One of the many things I'd missed while growing up and becoming a Kazak. He handed me an itinerary. "Ann Marie will be accompanying you and making all the necessary arrangements as you travel. She deserves to get out of the office and this will be a luxury USA tour. It'll be a trip of a lifetime, worth over a hundred thousand dollars. She's worth every penny of it, so treat her nicely and return her to me in good condition. I'll make all the necessary diplomatic arrangements and coordinate with her. She'll be listed as your private secretary."

Witton ordered in room service, and we sat around reminiscing about various events in our lives. It was the first time I got a good look at the man, not just my boss.

***

Late the next evening, I entered the plane and was greeted by Kathryn, who I was beginning to consider an old friend.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Layyah... al-Najjar," she said, although I wasn't wearing my new Arabic clothing. She gave me a small bow. "What may I get for you?"

"I hope this will be a vacation for you, in between flights, Kathryn."

"Yes, Miss Layyah. The pilots and I are looking forward to it. Would you like your usual coffee or something else?"

"Coffee." I sat back and reviewed my itinerary for the third or fourth time. Witton was right. This trip would be worth over a hundred thousand. Unfortunately, our eyes would be on other things, and hopefully our security team's eyes too. I hoped our month's tour would be easy but suspected it wouldn't. I did seem to attract trouble.

***

When I departed the plane at Richmond, Ann and two men I didn't recognize were there to meet me.

"Welcome, Layyah Al-Najjar," Ann said in good Arabic with a small bow of her head. She switched to English. "I'm Ann Woehl, the head of your security team. Welcome to America."

"Peace be upon you and God's blessings," I replied in Arabic. I extended my hand and switched to English. "I am pleased to meet you and to have the opportunity to visit your great country." I was pleased it was Ann. She was a good team leader and an easy person to work with.

"It's good you've changed your name. Your other name is on the FBI's black list. I suspect it'll be interesting working with you again."

"Hopefully it will be boring. If not, maybe we can get you another promotion."

"I'd prefer boring. We'll rest here tonight. The pilots are required eight hours' rest before they can legally fly again. You have reservations at the Hyatt, only a few miles from here. Tomorrow we'll leave for Orlando."

***

Ann Marie had booked four rooms. Mithra would share a room with Lauro. Ann, Ann Marie, and I would be in one. The other four would share the two remaining rooms. A suite had been reserved for me in order to maintain my new status. When we arrived, we all crowded into my suite.

"First, my name. You should all call me Miss Layyah, since I'm not officially a visiting dignitary. I'm more like an informal ambassador, so we can drop the formalities without causing any suspicion. I'll probably be repeating things you already know, but it won't hurt to hear it again. Consider this as an opportunity to clear up any questions you might have." I paused to look aground the room. Mithra, Lauro, and the other four were dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and similar ties. If you didn't look closely, they looked like clones. Just the image I wanted-civilian employees to be ignored. Ann was also in a gray suit with slacks and a white blouse open at the neck. "The security team should be concentrating on protecting me at all times-"

The tallest man in the group interrupted. I had to look hard at his face to attach a name to him, since they were all clean-shaven with brown hair and standard haircuts. Only their facial features varied.

"Robert," he said with a grin. "I thought we're supposed to be protecting Lauro, not you. After all, I suspect you can protect yourself."

"Me too," Lauro added.

"First, let's begin calling Lauro Larry. He is just one of the security team. If you're not focused on me, it's going to look suspicious and someone is going to start wondering why. Mithra, who we'll call Ian, will be guarding Lauro. We'll turn our attention on... Larry, only if the attack is focused on him. We are trying to put the total focus on me, so that the security team, and therefore Larry, is ignored. Ann can keep an eye on Larry; since she's the team supervisor it won't seem unusual. Ian will be responsible for watching Larry." I pointed to each of the other three in turn to give me their names.

"Sammie."

"Frank."

"Gordon."

"Thank you. At least in public, I will pretty much ignore you, as you would expect any dignitary to do. You can expect most of my questions and requests to be directed to Ann. The majority of the time, I expect two men and Ann with me. That will give you some time to enjoy the sights, because when you are on duty your total attention will be on me."

"What about me?" Ann grinned.

"Supervisors are paid the big bucks, so they aren't entitled to time off. Larry and Ian will also do very little if any sightseeing."

"Isn't it possible that someone will recognize Lauro, Mithra, or you?" Gordon asked.

"The idea is that people don't pay attention to the help, which would include the security men guarding someone. As for me, I'll be wearing a hijab or scarf with a niqab or face veil when in public-to protect me from the state security in the country I come from." I grinned. "I'll make sure that I only uncover my face when there are no cameras. You'll have to help ensure it's safe before I do. My excuse will be that I don't want to be identified and risk danger to my family and friends. And, although I fight for a woman's right to choose, I choose to wear the hijab for my own personal reasons."

***

I could see a smile on everyone's face as we entered our private executive-equipped Gulfstream the next morning.

"While in the plane, you can relax, be as informal as you would off duty, and enjoy yourselves. Kathryn will get you anything you want-within reason." I removed my hijab and niqab and settled in with Ann beside me.

"Well, Miss Layyah, what do you expect? Being around you probably won't be boring." Ann looked serious. I was glad she had started using my alias.

"Everyone," I raised my voice to get attention. "You should each make sure you use our aliases, even when you're off duty. A slip could mean the difference between a boring sightseeing trip and one dancing with Assassins. Ann, someone will have to keep track of my prayer rug. I'll need to observe formal prayers five times a day: Fajr first thing in the morning, Dhuhr at noon, Asr in late afternoon, Maghrib at sunset, and Isha before retiring for the night. If I were in a Muslim country the Adhan, call to prayer, would ring out over the land for each of the five daily prayers. For here, I have loaded a software program into a hand-held computer which will let me know the appropriate time." I handed Ann a small computer.

"You're kidding." Ann stared at the computer just as a voice announced the Dhuhr.

"No. My name is Layyah Al-Najjar, and I'm a devout Muslim." I stood and walked to the back of the cabin, and laid down a gray prayer mat showing the Kaaba, a cube structure in Mecca. I stood and began the Salaat. I had learned it on the Hill and had performed the prayers for practice and to know what it felt like to be a Muslim. The more I performed it the more fascinated I had become. In the end, I performed it periodically as it had a calming effect. When I finished and looked around, everyone was staring. Mithra, on the other hand, was nodding.

"I'd had my doubts about this working until now... Miss Layyah, it is a pleasure to welcome you to America."

***

I stood in the door of the aircraft looking down at the group waiting for me. I had dressed in a black Muznah long tunic with Aari embroidery accenting the front bodice, matching hijab, and a white chiffon niqab. I had to admit I looked gorgeous. Ann Marie had informed me that the mayor of Orlando and a few city officials would be there to meet me. There would be a formal dinner the following night with two congressmen who were up for re-election. I followed Gordon, Robert, and Ann down the stairs.

"Miss Layyah Al-Najjar, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Orlando, Florida. I'm Jimmy Franks, the city mayor, and these are Congressman Doyle and Congresswoman Peters."

"Thank you." I gave a small bow. "Please, call me Layyah. It is very kind of you to take time from your busy day to greet me. Your State Department has been kind to give me a tour of your great country, before we have talks next month. I did not wish to inconvenience anyone." Actually, I was providing them an opportunity to do what they do best-pontificate.

"It's our pleasure to assist you in any way we can while you're here in Orlando. If you have time, we would like you to be our guest at dinner tomorrow night," Franks said. The mayor seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. The two representatives seemed to be silently assessing my potential for their political benefit.

"Shokran... thank you. If you will have someone give my secretary, Ann Marie, the information, she will make sure I'm there at the right time." I spent a few minutes talking with the two representatives, then left in a limo Ann Marie had arranged. She had booked us at the Grand Bohemian Hotel where we were warmly greeted and shown to my suite. I could get used to this.

"Traveling with you is an experience-private plane, suites, and limos. You should invite me more often," Ann said as she surveyed the room.

"What about the Assassins?"

"I guess nothing is free."

The next day a limo picked us up and delivered us to Disney World. Robert spent a few minutes with park security before we started our tour.

"I made sure they knew we were here, so if there is any trouble they will respond quickly. National security and all that." He grinned.

Mostly I walked around looking at the various attractions for kids. With four men in dark suits following me, I got lots of strange looks and mothers pointing me out to their kids. The men's responses varied, including angry looks, indifference, and swiveling heads, which their wives or girlfriends didn't appreciate. I did try the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Ann sat there holding on to the rail white-knuckled.

"Ann." I nudged her. "Pretend you have an Assassin in front of you shooting and you're returning fire. As we go down a hill, he's at the bottom, when we go up he's at the top. You don't want to miss, so concentrate." Slowly she relaxed. By the end of the ride, she was somewhat calmer.

"Is that what you do? You seemed so calm and relaxed."

"Yes and no. I concentrate on what is around me: the attractions, people's clothes, faces, the scenery, and all the other details. It's the same as when you're guarding someone. For the most part, it distracts from the cold, heat, and discomforts in general. It also makes you a better guard." I watched as Ann nodded.

I tried Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin. That was fun and required good hand-eye coordination. I did well, as expected.

As we were leaving the Hall of Presidents, I had my first and only incident.

"You damn rag-heads should be shot on sight. Bet you're an ugly bitch, that's why you hide behind a veil," he said while reaching for my hijab. As his hand approached, I reached up like I was protecting my face, blocked, and caught his arm as I twisted right. His momentum carried him forward. My hand pushed him in the back as I continued turning. That drove him back toward Mithra and Lauro. To anyone watching it appeared that the man had twisted me around as he stumbled forward. Mithra appeared to try and catch him, but I saw his foot move in front of the man's feet and an elbow strike his ribs as he fell.

"Can I help you, sir? You seem to have had a nasty fall. I think you should visit the first aid station to make sure it's nothing serious," Mithra said with a concerned look.

Meanwhile Sammie had called park security, which had men discretely following us. They quickly helped the man out of the area. He was howling obscenities between moans.

That night I changed into a beige Muznah tunic with red embroidery. I wasn't surprised when the dinner included over forty people. Political speeches require an audience. Mayor Franks welcomed me to Orlando, and the two congressional representatives gave their democracy and women's rights speeches, while sneaking looks at me in Muslim dress and a niqab. Finally, it was my turn.

"Some of you are wondering how I can be for women's rights dressed in a head scarf and face veil. I advocate for a woman to choose rather than being required to conform to one standard. To wear a hijab and niqab, to wear a hijab only, or not wear any scarf and dress in modern western clothes. Because of my religious views and for security reasons, I choose to wear traditional Muslim clothing. I wish for the women of Muslim countries to be free, like in America, to choose to wear what they want, skirt, long or short, pants, bra or no bra, and free to practice a religion of their choice or none if they choose... "

I removed my niqab to eat. The guests had been told they could not take pictures while I was eating.

***

"You were fantastic, Layyah. You had me believing you were an ambassador from an Arabic country advocating women's rights," Ann exclaimed when we met in my suite afterward. I noticed everyone nodding except Mithra, who smiled.

"I am," I said while removing my scarf and veil. I got smiles and snorts from most.

We stayed for three more days, during which time I was wined and dined by a variety of politicians and celebrities. On the fourth day, we boarded the plane for New Orleans. We arrived just in time for the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Again, we were met by local officials, attended dinners, and heard the same old boring speeches. During the day, I wore different-colored mid-thigh blouses with coordinating-colored pants and matching hijab. I got lots of looks but they seemed inquisitive or genuinely interested. The third night we spent at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe, enjoying a night of jazz and a fish dinner. I was getting sick of eating fish, but it was the safest food that wasn't haram-forbidden.

We were just leaving the cafe when I saw a group of men spread out on the opposite side of the street. I pushed Ann behind a car to my right while grabbing Robert's arm and pulling him with me. I could see Mithra push Lauro, fire, and pull Gordon with him behind a car to my left. In the process, car glass shattered, chips of cement flew, and shop windows exploded. My hearing said it was an Uzi or two. Ann pushed me down, and she and Robert fell on me. More car windows blew out and I heard the sound of metal hitting metal as bullets slammed into parked cars.

"This is ridiculous. Me protecting you," she whispered while firing from under the car. She hit one in the leg. As he went down, I shot him in the head. I figured with Ann on top of me no one could determine that I was shooting. Another one fell, probably Mithra's shot, because a second later two bullets shattered his head. I suspected it was Mithra's and my bullets. Suddenly the street was silent.

"9-1-1, this is Ann Woehl from the FBI. We have several dead and wounded outside the Palm Court Jazz Cafe. We need emergency medical help... "

Rolling out from beneath Ann and Robert, I surveyed the area. The men were gone and Lauro looked all right; however, Mithra was working on Gordon, whose clothes were stained with blood. Robert had an arm wound. While we waited, I stopped Robert's bleeding with a tourniquet made from his tie. Then I heard the sirens. A few minutes late, police, ambulances, and rescue vehicles began arriving. I walked over to Mithra.

"Mithra, how's Gordon?"

"Not good. He took two slugs before I could get him down behind the car," he said, looking angry. I knew he was mad at himself for reacting too slowly, because I felt the same about Robert.

"Mithra, you and Lauro need to accompany the ambulance. There is going to be too many newspaper reporters taking pictures. Since security men were injured in the attack, their attention will also be on you. You or Lauro could be recognized. As soon as you can get back to the plane, stay there. Ann will give the excuse that the plane needs guarding. You'll have to stay hidden until the story gets old." I would have preferred having him at my back, but this arrangement would put Lauro at less risk. Ann joined me with an elderly police officer, as Mithra entered the ambulance.

"Since we've lost our security, the police have agreed to give us an escort back to the hotel and post a guard." She pointed to the two police cars and several officers standing next to them, before turning to the police officer next to her. "This is Captain Wilmore. Captain, this is Layyah Al-Najjar. She is a visitor under the protection of the State Department."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Layy... " he tried tentatively. I interrupted.

"Layyah, will do, Captain."

"Thank you, Layyah. I'm ashamed this happened in our city. I'm not denying we have crime, but this was unprecedented. From the three dead over there, it looks like it might be a white supremacy group that attacked you. To date they haven't caused any real problems, just the usual blogs, websites, and minor confrontations at certain rallies." He looked and sounded apologetic.

***

"Well Layyah Al-Najjar, what do you want to do now?" Ann sat with a half-full glass of amaretto, glaring at me. "Two of my men are wounded and one is likely to die to protect that killer. Your idea wasn't so great was it?"

"Maybe you should quit field work and take a desk job. I'm sure you've earned it by now. Less strain, less responsibility, and the same pay." I liked Ann, but her people, like Kazaks, die. We all know and understand the risks.

"Damn you and your Kaz... friends. Don't you care?" She had tears in her eyes as she spat out the words. She finished off the glass and filled it again. The bottle was almost half empty.

"My friends and I are in the business of guarding people, some good, some bad, some rich, and some poor. Hopefully we save lives and hopefully they're worth saving. Killing and dying is part of what we do. You either believe it's worth it or you don't. It's a life few would choose." I sat back and closed my eyes. I found it hard to grieve for any Kazaks who died, since I wouldn't expect anyone to grieve for me. I loved my life and would die happy. I would expect my friends felt the same way. When I opened my eyes, Ann had passed out.

***

"I hated you last night. This morning I'm just mad. You... and your friends seem so cold, yet you did everything you could to save us. We'd all be dead if it weren't for your reflexes and help." She glared at me. "Damn you. Yes, I love my job and don't want to sit behind a desk, but at times like this... it hurts. How, or should, we continue?"

"I plan to continue, hopefully with you. The plan is working, although the white supremacists have complicated it. Since we've received more publicity and news coverage than we wanted, Mithra and Lauro will have to stay out of sight, until things calm down. I'll confine them to the plane on the pretext of guarding it. We'll need a replacement for Gordon and maybe Robert. I'd expect more attacks, since killing their members is going to be a rallying call."

"All for a thug who should be hung."

"Yes, the powers that control our lives think his life is worth more than ours. I'll do everything I can to protect him, but I'm not a martyr. I'll pull him out of the way, but I will not jump in front of him," I said. Witton would approve.

Ann nodded and put her head in her hands. "I've the mother of all headaches. Let me shower, and I'll see about replacements. Are we going to that dinner for you tonight?"

"No, Mithra and I may go on a date," I said while logging on to the Internet. While Ann made her calls, I researched the white supremacy blogs and sites. It was easy to find the location of their headquarters. They wanted people to know who they were and how to find them. I called Mithra and arranged for a meeting. After a shower and coffee, Ann spent the next hour on the phone.

"Robert was released this morning and is going to the plane. He wants to stay on the detail. He said it was the tour of a lifetime. Since his injury was only a flesh wound, I've decided to let him. Gordon will live, although it will be a couple of weeks before he'll be released from the hospital. I've arranged for three more guards. People I know and trust. What now?"

"You're going to be my alibi tonight. We are going to stay in and watch TV."

"I don't want to know. I can read about it in the newspaper tomorrow."

***

I met Mithra outside the hotel dressed in normal clothes, which made us just another couple of tourists wandering the streets. The supremacists had a meeting hall about four miles away. We took a taxi to a tourist cafe about a mile from their hall and walked the rest of the way. When we entered the meeting hall, ten to twelve men were ranting about three of their members being killed. Two looked as if they had been wounded: one supported himself on crunches and the other had his arm in a sling.

"What do you two want? This is a private club." A broad, elderly man glared at us. He didn't look like a supremacist except for the swastika armband over the sleeve of a military-looking black jacket.

"You," Mithra said and we began firing. He took the left side of the room, and I the right. The ones reaching for weapons died first and the others afterward. It was neither sporting nor fun, just something that needed doing. Maybe it would make the rest of our stay peaceful. We walked back to the cafe and caught another cab. I had the cabby drop me off a few blocks from the hotel and Mithra continued on. I let myself in around one a.m. and found Ann sitting up drinking coffee and listening to the news.

"It appears the party you went to got out of hand, but then I guess you left early." She smiled, although I thought she'd tried not to. I suspected she wanted retribution for Gordon and Robert, but her conscience felt it was wrong. "You've given me another headache."

***

The police never questioned us the next day, although I imagined they questioned everyone who might know anything about our activities the previous night. The dinner that I canceled had been rescheduled for that night. I sat through the political speeches, repeated my women's rights speech, and answered questions for the media. Only a limited number of journalists were allowed in from the local newspapers, which delighted those admitted and made them especially polite. They would have a scoop and could sell it to the national news.

"What do you think of America now?" asked one reporter.

"There are extremists in every country. At least here, your government does not encourage or support it."

"Were you hurt, afraid?" a female reporter asked.

"Your security people risked their lives to protect me. Their bravery saved me. Afraid, of course, but violence is not new to me. We have more than our share of extremists." The questions went on for another hour.

When we got back to the hotel, Ann turned to me and smiled. "You're good. You almost have me believing I'm guarding a woman activist from an undisclosed Arabic country."

"You are."

We visited several more jazz clubs and had another dinner without any incidents other than a few whispered remarks. We left five days later. Next stop, Sedona and the Grand Canyon.

***

Ann Marie had booked us into the Amara Resort Hotel: a suite for me and standard rooms for everyone else. I wondered how Mithra felt about my special treatment and having to room with Lauro. We were met by a representative of Senator Cabet, who invited me to a dinner three nights hence at the JW Marriott Desert Ridge Resort in Phoenix. Ann informed him that the white supremacists might be a problem, based on what happened in New Orleans. He assured me that security would be extraordinarily tight, since the senator would be there.

The first day we rented a helicopter and were treated to a bird's-eye view of Desert View Point, the Zuni Corridor, the Unkar Delta, the lush forests of the North Rim, and the Dragon Corridor. It was spectacular. The second day we were flown to Havasu Canyon and spent a leisurely day at the world-famous Havasu Falls. I knew the trip was to protect Lauro, but it provided the trip of a lifetime for me. I was having far too much fun. The next afternoon we flew to the Marriott for dinner. I again wore a black Muznah tunic with Aari embroidery, hijab, and niqab. The senator and two dark-suited men met us in the lobby.

" Wecome...Marhaban...Layyah Al-Najjar," a tall well-dressed man said with a tolerable accent. "I'm Senator Cabet."

"Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah, peace be upon you and God's blessings, Senator Cabet." I bowed my head slightly. "Layyah, please."

"Layyah, I have invited several influential people to hear you tonight. I hope you don't mind." He smiled. I would expect no less from a senator running for re-election. Just then my small hand-held computer announced that it was time for prayers. Ann nudged my arm.

"Layyah, it is time for Asr."

"Senator, do you have some place private for me? We Muslims believe in one God as you do; however, five times a day we pray to remind us of God's beneficence and to seek His guidance and forgiveness. It is time for Asr, the afternoon prayer."

"Err... Yes." He turned to one of the men behind him. "Henry, can you find Layyah an empty room?"

Henry rushed down the hall and returned shortly. "Miss Layyah, if you would follow me, please."

I followed him with Ann next to me, and Mithra, Lauro, Sammie, and a new man, Peter, following. Robert and the other new man, Bradley, had remained at the plane. Ann Marie was off somewhere seeing the sights.

When I reached the room, I entered with Ann and Mithra; the others remained outside. I took the prayer rug from Ann and stepped on it.

"Why, Layyah? We're alone," Ann asked.

"I'm Muslim and it calms me."

"She lives in a world of her own, Ann. She's Layyah," Mithra said with a shrug.

Ten minutes later, we emerged. Henry had waited, and he escorted us into a large room set up for dining. There were at least sixty people in the room. Ann had informed Cabet's aid that the guests had to understand that no pictures were allowed without my permission. As we entered, Cabet rose and walked over to me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce Layyah al-Najjar." There was polite applause, and a camera flashed twice.

Ann stepped in front of me as Sammie and Peter went down to the young man who had snapped the pictures.

"Sir, may I have that camera?" Sammie asked and held out his hand.

"No, you may not," the young man laughed.

"You were informed there were to be no pictures taken without permission. The camera please."

"You have no authority to stop me from taking pictures." He was still smiling. "So run along."

"Sir, you are under arrest for endangering the life of a guest of the United States government. You have the right to remain-" Sammie began as Peter moved to put cuffs on the man's wrists.

"Wait!" He handed the camera to Sammie, who spent a minute pressing buttons and then handed it back to the man.

"Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

Ann raised her hands to draw the attention of those in the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm the head of Miss Layyah's security team. The bad news first. There are to be no pictures without her approval. We will confiscate any cameras with pictures that she did not approve. You must understand that the lives of her children, parents, and friends could be jeopardized-"

"We already know her name!" the same young man shouted. He was smiling again.

"I guess we weren't smart enough at the State Department to figure that out. You still can't take pictures." Ann turned her attention away from him. "The good news is that Miss Layyah will allow photographs with you alone or with your friends. She just requests that you ask first. I thank you for your cooperation." Ann moved back against the wall.

Cabet took my arm and walked me to the front of the room, to a long elevated table with five chairs and a podium. Three chairs were already occupied by a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman, an older man with long graying hair, and a middle-aged man with wavy brown hair. The senator waved me to the seat next to the woman and stood behind the podium.

"Seated to my right is Samuel Garrett, our fourth district representative. Next to
him is Margret Weller of the Arizona chapter of NOW, the National Organization for Women. On my left is Jeremy Wills, head of the Department of Economic Security, and of course, Miss Layyah, representing the Muslim women's rights movement." Cabet spent the next twenty minutes speaking about the Muslim countries where women are discriminated against, abused, and treated as second-class citizens. When he finished, I felt that he really believed what he had said, and it was not just another political speech. Weller spoke next about violence against women here and abroad and what NOW was doing to combat the problem. Wills talked about the roots of such violence and the need to create stronger families. Then it was my turn.

"Let me start by inviting anyone that wishes to take photographs to do so now." Suddenly the room lit up like a fireworks display. It took a minute before my eyes adjusted. "As you have heard, I am a trouble maker in the Muslim world, seeking a woman's right to choose-"

"Then why are you dressed like a Muslim?" the same young man shouted. Sammie began to move toward him, until I shook my head.

"You apparently weren't listening. I said I was for a woman's right to choose. You apparently believe I must dress the way you believe I should. The Taliban believe the same as you... "

After my speech I permitted pictures to be taken of me with a variety of people. We left shortly afterward.

"I think you hurt that young man's feelings. You're beginning to make me believe you are Layyah from a Muslim country. They should pay the State Department to keep you here," Ann said after we had entered my suite.

"I agree," Ann Marie interjected." If you keep this up, you're going to have militant Muslims in the U.S. as well as white supremacist groups trying to kill you."

Ann Marie had a point. I had thought this an easy diversion to avoid a confrontation with the Assassins; however, I seemed to have found new killers. I wouldn't mind them trying to kill me, if it weren't for the fact that my security detail and Lauro, whom I was supposed to be protecting, were caught in the middle. We departed the next morning for Las Vegas.

***

That stop was much the same as the others. The Wynn hotel treated us like high rollers, although as a Muslim I didn't gamble. From their perspective it didn't matter since my presence attracted customers. I kept Mithra and Lauro out of sight because of all the cameras, none of which I could control. I toured some of the large casinos, although I already knew each one of them from my time living there. Of course, it was a little different being treated like royalty rather than a waitress. My only regret was that I couldn't visit Gabe and Master Jianyu. A week later, we were off to Los Angeles and Universal Studios.

***

By then, I was getting tired of politicians, speeches, and Lauro, who thought he was with us to have fun. Conversely, I was enjoying being a Muslim celebrity. It was definitely different from being a Kazak.

"Well, Layyah, how do you like being the guest of the State Department?" Ann asked, reclining in one of the comfy leather chairs in my deluxe executive suite. Ann Marie had booked us into the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. Only Ann, Ann Marie, Lauro, and Mithra were present.

"It's definitely different from being a Kazak. I'm being treated like royalty, although all these political dinners and speeches are tiring. But I've the best travel agent in the world. The accommodations have been fantastic. Just look at this room and the view. If I were Witton, I'd double your salary, Ann Marie."

"You could mention that to him," Ann Marie said with a smile. I imagined he already paid her very well.

"And being Muslim is interesting."

"And getting less boring every day," Ann interjected. "What do you think about our stay in Los Angeles?"

"More people, more chances of trouble. We seem to have avoided the Assassins and substituted white supremacists, and I wouldn't doubt a few Muslim fanatics."

"Layyah, you have two dinner engagements while you're here. The first is the day after tomorrow and the other four days from now. The first dinner is with politicians and the second with women activists. The latter may be a little hostile, with you dressed as a Muslim in hijab and niqab. And a woman, dressed in a hijab, caught me in the lobby and asked if you would talk to a group of Muslim women. Should I tell her you're busy? After all, you're just pretending to be a Muslim."

"I'd rather you tell the politicians and women activists I'm too busy. Tell the woman I would be glad to speak to them. It needs to be in a large room, not someone's house."

"Are you sure?" Ann asked. I knew the reason for her apprehension.

"Yes. I'm beginning to feel like a Muslim woman seeding change. I even get the feeling I might be succeeding. Ann, you have good reason to be concerned for your team. If you'd like, you could look after Lauro and I'll take Mithra. He's bored."

"Yes, I'm concerned for my team and you. You're the one keeping Lauro alive. You're crazy, but we'll go. I actually agree with you. I think you're changing minds."

The date with the Muslim women was set between the other two dinner engagements.

***

The meeting with the Muslim women was set in the early evening at the Best Western Hollywood Plaza Inn. When I entered, there was a crowd of women, at least thirty. Ann, Mithra, and Peter accompanied me. We decided to leave Lauro at our hotel, since there would be four men guarding him. I had dressed in my black Muznah tunic, matching hijab, and a white chiffon niqab. That got strange looks. Most had hijabs on but no one wore a niqab.

"Good evening, ladies-"

"How can you wear niqab and speak of women's right to choose?" a young woman in white wearing no hijab asked.

"Later, please. Since it is sunset, I would suggest we perform Maghrib, as Allah would want us." I started without further comment. In the middle of the ceremony, five men entered with an imam. I continued, knowing Mithra would tolerate no interruption. When I finished, I turned to the men.

"I assume you have performed the Maghrib or are you Christians?" I asked, knowing they hadn't. "Perhaps you didn't see the sunset in your rush-"

"Who do you think you are!" a middle-aged man with a beard shouted.

"I'm a Muslim woman who has thanked Allah for his kindness and asked forgiveness for my failures. I believe Allah has missed your thanks." I didn't smile or divert my eyes from his stare. The imam stopped him from replying.

"She has a good point, Hasib. We do not want anyone encouraging our women to forsake Islam," he spoke quietly.

I looked directly at Hasib. "Do I look like someone who wishes to encourage these true believers in Islam to do anything except honor Allah in seeking peace? Do we not agree, Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah, or don't we wish Peace and God's blessings upon those we greet? I see angry men with no peace in their hearts. Men that would beat and kill me if I do not sayaiwa to their every wish. Allah loves men and women equally, or have I misinterpreted the Quran and the teachings of the imams?" I continued to maintain eye contact.

"Do you mind if we listen to what you have to say, Miss... ?"

"Layyah al-Najjar. I would be honored, Imam... ?"

"Abdul-Alim."

"Why do I wear the niqab, someone asked. First, because in the Muslim country where I live, if my identity were known, I'd be killed, along with my family and friends, because I do not believe I must say aiwa to a man's every wish. Like you women gathered here, I am a devout Muslim who loves Islam. I do not wish our people and religion to be feared and those of us who believe ostracized for our beliefs. This is America. They see our people in Muslim countries as violating human rights and as terrorists, rather than peace-loving people who believe in one God as they do and honor him every day, which they do but weekly at best.

"If we continue to integrate into their society and let them see our religion as no different from theirs and that we are a peace-loving people, they won't fear us and think we are like the few terrorists overseas." I paused. "We do not and should not abandon Islam to integrate, but we must not push our ways on them. If we can't integrate then why are we here? We must have the right to choose, not to abandon Islam, but to show the Americans that you are Muslims and Americans. If not, you will soon be like the Jews were to Hitler."

Just then, Hasib rushed me. I shook my head at Ann. When he reached me, he swung his fist at my head. I blocked it with my forearm, slid my hand down to his hand, and twisted. He went to his knees.

"In anger, this man meant to beat me for saying something he disagreed with. I stopped him in self-defense, without malice or hate as it is taught in the Quran. He can easily become one of those like in Iraq and other countries, who kill innocents because of their hate and intolerance. Is this what we want to teach our people? Are we teaching our men and women to hate or to love, Imam?"

I continued talking, more to the women than the men.

When I finished, the imam stood. "You are a dangerous woman, Layyah al-Najjar, because you advocate change, which we instinctively reject, yet your arguments are persuasive. Would you be willing to talk to the local imams?"

"I would be honored."

***

The dinner with the women activists went all right. There were many questions, but my wearing of the niqab and hijab was the most contentious issue.

"Choice, ladies. You say you want choices; so do I. Even if I didn't fear for my family and friends, I would choose the hijab. I am Muslim and a follower of Islam. More importantly, I'm a woman, and I wish to be a woman. Men are not the standard that I judge you or myself by... " That seemed to resonate with them.

The time with the imams was mixed. I only hoped I might have given them something to consider.

***

"Lynn, you're scary. You're not pretending to be Layyah; you've brought her to life. I sometimes forget and believe I'm actually protecting a diplomat named Layyah." Ann shook her head. We were in my suite drinking coffee.

Ann Marie consulted her planner. "You have a couple of free days, Ly... Layyah. I have us booked for a private tour at Universal Studios. If you don't mind, I'm going to tag along, because you're going to get the VIP treatment."

"Of course not, but if trouble starts, hit the ground and roll toward the nearest cover. Under no circumstances stand up or even crouch." I held her eyes until she nodded.

The tour went well. I got to attend a few live sets, meet some actors, and see behind-the-scenes action the normal tours don't get. On the way out while walking toward the car, I saw them and noticed that Mithra also had.

"Three heading for us from a group of the milling people and another four or five on either side. Peter, Sammie, Ann, you have the right. I'm left, Lynn center," Mithra rattled off assignments, ensuring everyone knew their area of responsibility in the upcoming shootout. I had responsibility for the three in front. There were too many for me to pretend I was a harmless Arabic woman.

"Ann Marie, I forgot my bag, please go get it now." I pushed her in the direction of the door.

"Everyone, on three. One... two... three!" I had my gun out of my tunic and firing slightly before Mithra finished saying three. My gun had barely cleared my tunic before the center man's gun cleared his jacket. I fired first, hitting him in the chest. He stumbled backward and fell, dropping his gun. By then, the sounds of gunfire and screaming filled the air.

The one on my left had a shotgun under his raincoat. It was half raised when I shot him in the chest twice. His shotgun exploded into the ground as he jerked backward. Sand and dirt rose in a cloud, half blinding me as I turned for the man on my right. With my vision blurred, I knew I would be that crucial second late, so I pushed Ann to my right as I spun left. Pain ripped through my side. I hit the ground and rolled, feeling like I had been thrown off a cliff and smashed into the rocks. I could feel the ground exploding around me as I rolled while identifying my target. I fired three times. He jerked with each shot and pellets sprayed into the air.

I blinked several times clearing my eyes somewhat, and looked to my right for Ann and her targets. Ann was on the ground shooting. Two men were still standing. One had been hit in the chest and was staggering but still shooting. I shot the one who appeared unhurt three times and turned toward the other one in time to see Ann hit him twice. Hearing no more shooting. I ditched the gun as quickly as I could and curled into a ball, trying to pretend Layyah had not been part of the action. The crowd had panicked when the shooting began, so hopefully no one had seen me with a gun.

I could hear Mithra. "Larry's on the ground where I dumped him. He's all right. Sammie has a shoulder wound. Peter took two in the leg. Robert's all right. I'm functional. Ann looks to have been hit but nothing serious. Ly... Layyah is down," Mithra summarized for my benefit. Ann Marie came running out.

"I called 9-1-1. The police and an ambulance are on the way."

Meanwhile Mithra and Robert were administrating first aid while we waited.

"Are you all right, Layyah?" Ann gently touched my shoulder, trying to get a better look. I was putting pressure on the wound, while I too waited for the ambulance.

"Yes. Get yourself taken care of. You're bleeding all over my tunic."

"Damn you... Layyah. You attract killers like the North Pole attracts a compass needle."

The ambulances took all of us to the hospital. The uninjured went as bodyguards. We spent the rest of the night and most of the next day at the hospital. Ann got away with three flesh wounds-one to her arm, a deeper one to the thigh, a few pellets from the shotgun-and scrape marks from when I had shoved her to the ground. The bullet to Sammie's shoulder fractured the humerus. He would have to be relieved, along with Peter. In his case, the bullet had hit an artery, and he had lost a lot of blood. Mithra probably saved his life with his quick medical assistance. They would both be in the hospital for a while. Mithra took a hit to his shoulder and one to the arm. The arm wound was minor but the bullet to his shoulder had fractured his clavicle. Nevertheless, he decided to continue the tour with me. I had a cracked rib and had lost a fair amount of blood from the shotgun wound. The hospital wanted to keep Mithra and me over night. We declined against strong objections from the doctor. I refused to let anyone go to the police station for questioning.

A police lieutenant was waiting when we reached my room at the hotel. He was in his thirties, athletic looking, with wavy brown hair and a round, clean-shaven face.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Woehl, but I thought you would like to know the men you killed were from a local white supremacist group. Of course you already knew," he said and paused, apparently waiting for a reply.

"I suspected as much. We had a similar incident in New Orleans. Two of my team were wounded there." Ann looked at the floor for a moment. "I hope none of the bystanders were seriously hurt during the attack on us."

"Incredibly, the only injuries resulted from people running into each other, pushing, and falling. Typical injuries when people panic. I have to congratulate your team. It was an impressive performance. The FBI certainly has an elite group of people." He talked for a bit more, trying to fill in the missing pieces, but Ann excused herself to arrange for additional security coverage.

***

"What! You two intend to continue this masquerade? You two are crazy. You should be in the hospital with Sammie and Peter. You're just as badly injured." She almost stamped her foot in rage.

"Mithra, what would Master Johar say about your injuries?" I asked.

"He would say it was a lame excuse to avoid training. If he were in a really good mood, he might have given me the morning off."

"He would've needed to be in one hell of a good mood. Would you have asked for the morning off?"

He laughed. I could see he immediately regretted it.

"Ann, I'm sorry your team were injured. Maybe I'm carrying this image too far."

"No one was killed, so it was a good day. Anyway, Sammie and Peter will have bragging rights for the next twenty years. I can hear it now. When I shot it out against thirteen white supremacists... " She laughed. "I doubt they will mention that two crazy Kazaks where there to help. We know we can be shot while guarding VIPs. The difference is, with you, we know we are going to be shot at." She shrugged.

"I don't think we'll have much trouble from the white supremacists for the rest of the trip-Hawaii, Wyoming, Montana, and South Dakota-except maybe in New York. The news coverage worries me. It could get the attention of the Assassins, if Layyah is suspected of participating in the shoot-out with the supremacists."

"You're full of cheery thoughts."

"I'll understand if you want Mithra and me to go on alone. I can get Witton to have you and your team released. He can probably find another Kazak or two." I understood her fear for her team. She was right. I did seem to attract trouble. I had enough scars to prove it.

"I've identified replacements for Sammie and Peter. They should be here tomorrow. Your craziness must be contagious. In the end, I think Lauro is more important, and what you seem to be accomplishing is more rewarding than following some Very Not Important Person around."

"Thank you, Ann."

***

Our stop in Hawaii turned out to be uneventful, much to everyone's relief. I loved the visit to the Volcanoes National Park. Except for a couple little annoying shootouts, I was getting a tour of a lifetime. I only wished Clare was there to share it with me. I had been raised a poor kid who would never have seen any of these wonders, if I weren't a Kazak. The Muslim community on Kona was small, and despite my visibility with the Muslims over the past weeks, I didn't hear from the women or the imam. I only attended one dinner, much to my relief. It gave everyone a rest and time to heal. We left after a week.

***

It was pretty much the same in Wyoming, where we visited Yellowstone National Park and Montana's Glacier National Park. The parks were situated in beautiful country and the sights were beyond description. A few politicians flew up with local news reporters for a small dinner and large speeches. Other than that, it was restful. No large towns for Muslims, white supremacists, or Assassins. For a moment, I had considered buying a rabbit's foot. I decided against it. How lucky can a rabbit be that lost his foot?

After two glorious weeks we headed for upstate New York to see Niagara Falls. As we came closer to New York City and Washington, D.C., I had no illusions that the peace we had enjoyed over the past few weeks would continue.

Ann Marie had booked us into the Marriott Niagara Falls Hotel. I had just entered the room when the phone rang.

"Lynn, Witton. Your pilot has been notified to make arrangements to return to D.C. tomorrow. You can deliver your package to the Harry S. Truman Building. It would appear appropriate for you to be visiting the State Department. Your gambit paid off. The FBI is insisting they take custody. After they take him, I'd like you and Mithra to report back to me."

Ann Marie canceled the planned dinner the next evening and an invitation from one of the imams.

"Well, Lynn, this eases my concerns. Niagara Falls didn't seem too dangerous; however, in New York anything could happen. Personally, I'm glad we're returning to D.C. I just hope a new team takes responsibility for Lauro. It should be enough that I had to accompany you." She smiled.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We had dinner in the hotel's dining room and retired early. We left the next morning and arrived at Ronald Reagan Washington National just after noon, where a limousine waited to drive us to the Truman Building. Two men in light blue suits and sunglasses stood at the bottom of the stairs to the entrance.

"It's good to see you, Ann. Given your present company, I'm surprised you made it in one piece. You should get a promotion." He gave a snort. "Come, the director is waiting for you inside."

We were taken upstairs to a conference room. When we entered, a silver-haired man sat at the head of a long mahogany table. The table had at least twenty tan leather chairs surrounding it. Six seats were occupied.

"Good afternoon, Director Williamson." Ann nodded in his direction. He smiled at her. At least, I thought the slight twitch of his lips constituted a smile.

"Congratulations, Ann. This will mean a promotion for you. The odds were ten-to-one that Lauro wouldn't make it to testify. We've added six more agents to your team. Tomorrow you will deliver Lauro to the district court building at ten a.m."

"What about the Kazaks?"

"They can change into civilian clothes and leave. You obviously didn't need them." His lips twitched again. I guess that means I'm still on their shit list.

Mithra and I were led to a small room, which contained a change of clothes for each of us. I would imagine Ann Marie had collected them, since mine were from my condo. Ann entered, as we were getting ready to leave.

"I'm sorry, Lynn."

"Don't be. His opinion of me is only important to him. Your opinion is far more important."

"You're a dangerous person to be around, but I wouldn't have anyone else at my back. Besides, I like you, Lynn. I'd like to see you now and then, socially."

"I'd like that." I gave her a hug.

***

Mithra and I sat in Witton's office later that afternoon. He looked in a good mood.

"The Committee is very happy with your handling of this assignment. Your impersonation of a Muslim dignitary was excellent. We'll have to keep that a secret. I would hate to think of all the people who would want you deported. Ironically, from what I hear, you actually achieved some positive results. You two can take a couple of weeks off." He stopped to take a sip of his coffee and laughed. "Unless, of course, I find another assignment."

Mithra and I relaxed in my condo for several hours, reminiscing about the trip and our responses to each of the firefights. It would be dangerous to congratulate ourselves for surviving or winning without analyzing what we could or should have done better. I was glad that Witton had sent Mithra. Without him the results would have been different. Afterward, I lay on the couch with a large homemade milkshake, listening to some Kenny G music. I was sorry to see the tour end. I had enjoyed the experience. The sights and accommodations were fantastic, but being a voice for Muslim women eclipsed everything else. I went to bed late but could not get to sleep. In the middle of the night, I jerked awake and called Witton's private number.

"What is it, Lynn? It had better be five-in-the-morning good or your vacation is cancelled."

"After the first couple of weeks, the Assassins weren't looking for Lauro. If we had kept him at a safe house or they had somehow stumbled on our ruse, they would have taken advantage of the opportunity. But they didn't have to worry whether they found him or not."

"Why... Of course. They know where he will be when the trial starts." Silence. "You get over to where Lauro is being held and accompany the security team to the court. Have Mithra stationed at the courtroom. Don't let that FBI clown give you any trouble. I'll clear it with the Committee." He hung up.

I called Mithra and told him of my conversation with Witton. He had been thinking the same thing and had been getting ready to call him. I dressed and arrived at the Truman Building a little after six.

Ann met me at the entrance. She looked like she hadn't slept and probably didn't intend to until Lauro was safely delivered to the courtroom. "Director Williamson wants to see you. He isn't happy. You're not going to shoot him, I hope." She led me to the elevator, up two floors, and into a smaller conference room. Two security men stood inside the room.

"Who the hell do you Kazaks think you are? We at the FBI don't need Kazaks to be a bodyguard for someone under our protection, and especially not you." By the end of his rant, his face had turned red and he was halfway out of his seat, banging on the table.

"It would appear I caught you before you've had your morning coffee."

He stood and pointed a finger at me. "I'll-"

"Cut the I'm an important man act. You and I know I'm staying and any attempt to get rid of me will mean a tour in Africa for you." I turned to Ann. "Would you please take me to where Lauro is sequestered?"

As Ann and I left the room, I heard Williamson shouting. "I won't forget this!"

"You were a little rough with him, Lynn. He can be very vindictive."

"Rough would have been if I'd shot him."

"She can be really bitchy when she doesn't get her coffee in the morning," Mithra said as he came up behind us. "Come to think of it, she can be really bitchy when she does get her coffee."

"Witton and I think Assassins plan to kill Lauro sometime between now and before he can testify. If we're right, it's going to be ugly. With your permission, I would like to practice some possible scenarios, so we'll all be on the same page when the fun starts." I watched Ann as she went through the emotional roller coaster of possible outcomes-most unhappy.

"Yes. I'll get my entire team here."

***

Lauro wasn't due to testify until eleven o'clock, so we managed to evolve several responses based mostly on the assumption that it would be an Assassin. Either Mithra or I would shout a key word to indicate everyone's position and action. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best we could do given the circumstances.

I decided to try the Arabic diplomat ruse to get us to the courthouse. We might get away with that; however, once there it wouldn't work any more. It was risky. The six new men left early for the courthouse, while Ann, two of her team, Mithra, and Lauro left with me a half an hour later using the front entrance. We made it to the car without incident. On the way, I changed back to my normal street clothes, since I didn't think the ruse would work any more and could destroy everything I may have accomplished on my tour.

When we reached the curb, the six new members of the team surrounded Mithra as if he was Lauro and we continued up the steps and through the door. As we entered the building, a man in a police officer's uniform stopped us. I was wearing earplugs so I couldn't hear what was said, but when everyone turned toward Lauro, including Mithra, I shot the officer in the head. Everyone on the team turned toward me, while those milling around the hallway began running and, I thought, screaming. I couldn't hear anything. Mithra shook his head like a wet dog then gave me a thumbs up, while saying something. The team all turned to the front except Mithra who concentrated on watching our backs. We stepped over the dead man and continued walking down the now empty hallway. While everyone was running, I thought I saw another officer turn into a woman just before he or she turned the corner. I assumed he or she had been waiting for Lauro to be identified.

"Illusion Assassin somewhere up ahead," I shouted. Ann and Mithra nodded, so I knew they had heard. I called for a halt. If there was an Illusion Assassin there could also be a Ghost waiting. I scanned the area closely for several minutes, then turned around and tried again. I could see no distortion. I waved the group ahead. We made it to the door designated as the courtroom where the criminal case against the Fabiano family would be heard. I walked in first and called a halt, while I scanned the people, walls, lawyers, court officers, and the judge.

"Lauro, come forward and have a seat in the front row with the rest of the witnesses. The rest of you can wait outside," the black judge's voice rang with authority.

"Mithra, the judge! Down!" I shouted and turned toward the door leading to the judge's quarters. I managed to get one round off before the spectators began coming out of their seats and blocking my view. I heard a staccato of sharp pops, which had to be from an automatic weapon or machine gun. Blood splattered everywhere as people got between the Ghost and me. Pain shot through my arm, and I was spun around, hitting people and chairs. My right arm felt dead, and I had lost my gun. As I groped with my left hand for my other gun, the room sounded like a firing range. By the time I got back up, it was over. People lay everywhere. Several members of Ann's team were down, including Ann.

A few minutes later, police officers entered the room with guns drawn.

"FBI," one of Ann's team said, pointing to the badge hanging on a cord from his neck. The wounded, including me, were transported to the hospital. Lauro was unhurt, probably because he was lying on the floor during the shootout. Ironically, Fabiano was shot and died in the operating room. Mithra and four of Ann's team survived without injuries, three were killed, and three others including Ann were wounded. I agreed to stay overnight, if for no other reason than I was bone tired. Witton and Mithra visited the next morning.

"You could just have asked for time off, but I guess you decided you wouldn't get a private plane ride there." Witton shook his head. "Mithra didn't get shot, so why did you?"

"Lucky, I guess."

"The FBI were a little upset that I shot a judge, until they found the real judge dead in his chambers. I decided to tell them you told me to shoot him, since you're already on their shit list. How did you know?" Mithra said.

"I didn't. There was a Ghost Assassin by the door to the judge's chambers, and the judge's remarks didn't feel right."

"Didn't feel right!" Mithra half shouted. Witton just shook his head.

"She has an annoying habit of shooting first and determining if she's right afterward. So far she's been right. OK, you two can have a couple of weeks off and the use of our plane to fly you wherever you want to go. It'll probably be a while before I can get Lynn an assignment. She's on every shit list the government agencies keep. I'm not sure why, but Ann may be the only person who is willing to work with her. I wouldn't." Witton patted my arm. "She's in room 319, in case you want to visit the only friend you have in the government."

***

Later that day I felt well enough to walk down to Ann's room. Ann was lying in bed with an oxygen tube in her nose and was wired to a heart monitor.

"I guess you're lobbying for the week off," I said with a straight face.

"No, I'm trying to get a desk job, so I don't get any more assignments with you. I hear the president is going to issue a proclamation to that effect." She grinned.

"I understand you've gotten another promotion. A couple more assignments with me and you'll have Williamson's job."

"If I live through them."

"There is that." I held her hand. "I hope you get well soon. I promise not to ask for you again."

"Call me crazy, but if you need me, I'm willing. Besides, if I don't replace Williamson you'll never get off the agency's shit list."

CHAPTER TWENTY

"Hi, Clare-"

"Don't tell me. You've gone and got yourself shot up again. Damn you, Lynn."

"Yes, but it wasn't so bad this time. Can you get some time off?"

"Yes, I've begun saving my vacation time for when you call. You need a full-time shrink, but I guess you'll have to settle for a part-time one."

"Do you have anyone you'd like to bring along?" I asked. Someday she was going to find a man she wanted to marry. Then the kids would come along and she wouldn't be able to join me. The thought gave me a lump in my chest.

"No. I can't seem to... No."

"I have two stories. Unfortunately, you can only print one. Where would you like to go to hear them?" I promised myself I would make time, just once, to visit her when I wasn't just out of the hospital. Well I'll try.

"Damn you. Witton doesn't give you a private plane unless you're really banged up. I guess you expect me to nurse you back to health."

"Please."

"Hawaii, the island of Kauai. Were you hurt bad enough to fly there?"

"I'll be there in a couple of days. I'll let you know when. Another Kazak will be flying with me. I'm not sure where he intends to go."

"Probably as far away from you as he can get."

***

Mithra and I boarded the Gulfstream early in the morning three days later. Kathryn welcomed us at the door.

"Mr. Mithra. May I get you something before we depart? I think I know what Miss Lynn will want. She's a frequent flyer."

"I thought long and hard before I decided to fly with her. I'm still not sure whether I made the right decision. Make it coffee and a tranquilizer," Mithra said.

"We'll cross our fingers and hope." Kathryn went off and we found seats.

"I haven't had time to ask, but where are you going?" I asked.

"Do you mind dropping me off in Miami? I've a girlfriend-or was it two?-there."

"No. I think I'll stay overnight, since the pilots will need their rest. I could use another day to heal before seeing my friend in Colorado." Mithra and I exchanged bits of our early lives over a juicy steak dinner. I was very tired of fish after my month-long Muslim diet. I called Clare to let her know that I would be arriving the next day.

I splurged on a small suite at the Loews Miami Beach Hotel and spent most of the afternoon in the luxury spa. I indulged in a massage, spent a half an hour in the sauna, and had my hair shampooed. The next morning I boarded the plane for Colorado.

***

Only a few minutes after we landed in Denver, Clare came aboard.

"Well, Kathryn, how's she doing?"

"She sitting up and taking nourishment. It's a good sign." She shrugged. Clare walked back and stood looking down at me, inspecting me like a strange kind of bug.

"It looks like you got hit with something in the shoulder and in the arm, and I'll bet it wasn't paintballs." She stood shaking her head. After a few minutes, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before she sat down across from me. "I guess I should be used to seeing my out-of-control sister returning home to recover from untold injuries. You need a keeper."

Clare drove me back to her condo, since the pilots required a night's rest-or at least I hoped they got some rest. When I entered the unit, I stood and looked around. It was a burnt-out mess, the last time I had seen it. Today it looked new and eclectic. The living room was a warm combination of beiges. The kitchen had Brazilian cherry cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and granite counter tops. The spare bedroom, which I considered mine, contained a queen-sized bed with Santos mahogany matching furniture and light tan walls. Clare had my kind of taste.

"Do you like your room?"

"It's lovely." I felt like crying. Your room. I felt like I was home. "I'm going to miss this when you get married."

"You'll always have a room that is yours even if I have a parcel of kids." Clare had cooked a delicious, old-fashioned peasant's stew. Full and satisfied, we sat on the couch drinking coffee and gorging on a caramel custard dessert.

"Time for two stories," I said as I sat back at peace with the world. "The first one is a Pulitzer Prize story you can never repeat to anyone without my permission. It would undo a lot of good and could some day cause my death. The second is a continuation of the first but must be kept separate. You can interview me for that one. It started when I and another Kazak were assigned to... "

Clare was on an emotional rollercoaster for the next two hours. She posed question after question as she pulled every last detail out of me, between gasps and murmuring Oh my God, You didn't, You're crazy, and I wish I had been there to see that. She alternated between laughing until her stomach hurt and crying until her eyes were red.

We left the next morning for Kauai where Ann Marie had booked me premium ocean reservations at the Kauai Condos. The two-bedroom unit had stunning panoramic ocean views, and we could step off our private lanai onto the beach only several feet away.

"It's glorious, Lynn. How do you find these places?" Clare asked as we sat on the lanai watching silver waves, lit from the full moon, gently lapping at the sand. The wicker furniture with floral-design cushions gave the lanai a Tahitian feel rather than a five-star condo which it was. We had just returned from the Tuesday night Sea Luau. It had been a wonderful evening, feasting on traditional Hawaiian foods and watching Hawaiian, Tahitian, and Fire Knife dances. Content, we sat on one of the two couches, drinking Mai Tais.

"I don't. If I did, we'd probably be staying in some Motel 6 ten miles from the beach. I let Ann Marie make the reservations. You should have seen the suites she booked for Layyah. Places reserved for the rich and famous."

"I wouldn't care so long as you were there." She reached over and gently pulled me to her. "I love you, Lynn. I can't help it." She kissed me on the lips gently. I put my arm around her and returned the kiss. The fact that I had never thought of dating a woman had nothing to do with my lack of dating. I didn't hate men, but I couldn't stand the thought of sex with them. Too much had happened during my early years. Sitting with Clare in my arms felt right. I had known for a long time that I loved her. Now I understood how much. We lay there gently exploring each other's bodies as we stripped.

"I was afraid of ruining our friendship, Lynn. I've stopped dating since La Paz. It's strange. I've never been attracted to women, but I knew I loved you more than I could love anyone else." She buried her head in my chest, awaiting my response.

"I'm glad you had the nerve to take that first step. It was a giant leap of faith. Like you, I never thought of having sex with a woman, but it feels right with you, because it's more than the act of sex. It's a warm and safe feeling." Content, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

Watching Clare the next morning, I knew neither she nor I had any regrets. She glowed with happiness. I knew I did as well.

***

We spent a wonderful two weeks in Kauai getting to know each other, which was surprising. I had thought I knew everything there was to know about Clare. But like all vacations, the two weeks came to an end and Clare had to get back to work. We flew back to Denver, where I give Clare her interview and stayed a few more days. Since Witton hadn't called, I called him.

"Well, boss, have I been retired or fired?"

"No. I was just about to call you. The Committee has given you an assignment. I'll expect you back the day after tomorrow." The phone went dead. I wondered what the assignment was for about a minute. I didn't really care. Any assignment would do.

"Well, Clare, Witton is calling me back. I will miss you, but I have to admit I love my life as a Kazak." The hard truth.

"I know, my love, and I accept it. I imagine this is how it would be to be married to a sailor. On second thought, more like a combat Marine. So long as we get time together whenever we can, I'll be content."

"I promise. Every minute Witton will allow. I have to admit, he's been pretty good about giving me time."

"When you're all shot up and can't work." Clare scowled. We spent most of the night snacking and talking. I realized we had a deep love, which didn't depend on sex. Although I had to admit the closeness of her warm body and the tingling feel of her touch was wonderful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"You look like you had a good vacation. Are you ready to get back to work?"

"You know better than anyone else, I enjoy my life as a Kazak and wouldn't trade it for anything. I've learned that time with Clare and my few friends is necessary. If I hadn't discovered that, I don't believe that I would have the same healthy attitude or blend in as well as I do now."

"I know. That has been the one concern I've had about you. Besides aggravating your clients with your rules, you're too much of a loner. Although that hasn't been a problem in the past, I believe it would've been sooner or later. Most Kazaks have their own rules but are willing to compromise a little with each client. You don't. Although it shouldn't work, it does and has proven beneficial. Most Kazak clients come away pleased with the Kazak's performance but don't feel they owe them anything. You get offers to use their private planes. The Committee and I find that an interesting dichotomy." He sat back and took a sip of coffee, looking like he was considering his next words, or maybe thinking about what he had just said.

"The Committee, in their infinite or misguided wisdom, has decided you should guard Father Joseph, a Catholic Priest. That should be a real test of his faith," Witton said with a grin.

"He should understand rules better than most," I said with a sharp nod.

Witton shook his head. "He's considered an extremely important person in the Las Vegas community. He's been receiving death threats since he gave a series of seminars on immigration and the rich cultures immigrants bring to America, just as the Europeans did when we were a fledgling country. He didn't take the threats too seriously as he has had other menacing letters and emails over the years and nothing of consequence came of them. A few instances of graffiti and eggs thrown on the church walls, and the usual blogs misquoting or taking things he said out of context." Witton stopped for a sip of coffee.

I sat wondering why the Committee had picked me. Maybe they thought it would mellow me. If so, they should worry about how I'd change the priest.

Witton gave me a long look before continuing. "However, a few days ago, someone shot at him and wounded him in the arm. Although supremacist groups are logical choices, it may just be an angry loner. The archbishop wanted to hire several bodyguards, but Father Joseph rejected the suggestion, claiming several men following him around would be disruptive and would diminish God's divine will. After a long talk with the archbishop, he has agreed to one Kazak. He's expecting you tomorrow. A car will be there to pick you up at McCarran Airport and drive you to the Saint Augustine Church where Father Joseph will be waiting for you."

"Me, or just a Kazak?"

"Since he didn't stipulate sex, we thought it best to ignore it."

"He won't be the first one to be upset with your choice. I assume our plane will be available." Actually, I was beginning to think of it as my plane.

"Tomorrow morning at eight."

***

I arrived at McCarran just after noon. When I exited the plane, a man dressed in Dockers and an open-necked blue shirt stood with a sign reading Father Joseph.

"Good morning... " I said, waiting for a name.

"Gary. Can I help you?"

"I'm Kazak Lynn. I'd imagine you're here to drive me to see Father Joseph?" Of course, he'd expected a male. But then, life's full of little surprises.

"You're a woman!" His voice rose to a squeak.

"You're very astute, Gary. Now can we go?"

"You're supposed to be a man. You can't be a woman," he said defensively.

"I'm a woman, Gary; therefore, I can't be a man." I held up my hand. "I'm sorry. It was too good to resist. Yes, I'm a female Kazak, and I'm here to see Father Joseph. Since his life is in danger, we shouldn't delay any longer than we have to." I followed in his hesitant wake as he left the terminal. All the while, he kept trying to sneak looks at me. It was a wonder he didn't trip and hurt himself. He stayed quiet during the drive to the church. He was probably wondering if he had picked up the wrong person and how he was going to explain it to Father Joseph.

We entered a large parking lot and stopped in front of a long, single-story building with several doors, which looked like they may be separate classrooms. When we entered, an elderly woman sat at a small wooden desk, looking at an old computer monitor. After Gary closed the door without saying anything, she looked up and smiled.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I'd like to see Father Joseph."

"Do you have an appointment? Father is a very busy man." She smiled.

"Yes, tell him the Kazak is here."

"You can't be!" She frowned and shook her head. I decided to avoid the argument. I looked around and located a door I thought might be his office, knocked, and walked in. The man behind the desk looked up rather calmly, considering I had just barged in unannounced. Father Joseph was younger than I had imagined. He appeared to be in his early thirties judging by his full head of dark brown hair and smooth, youthful tanned skin. His face was somewhat round with a short nose, full lips, and bright hazel eyes.

"Can I help you, young lady? You seem to be in a hurry."

"I'm Kazak Lynn. I believe you're expecting me, although the lady at the desk didn't seem to know that." I smiled to conceal my obvious frustration. Not at Gary or the lady at the desk-at Witton.

"Yes. Of course, this isn't acceptable. I'm sorry."

"You can tell the bishop I'm unacceptable, and I'll leave. I don't discriminate."

"I'll call Witton and have you replaced. I'm sorry you think it's discrimination," he said quietly as if in thought.

"You could have your bishop replaced easier, and yes, it's discrimination. You're trying to rationalize it away."

"You obviously know what Witton will say and that the bishop won't capitulate. Alright, you win; however, there are sacraments which you won't be allowed to attend." He gave me a touche.

"Father, do you have rules you live your life by?" Of course he did, more than most.

"Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

"I doubt they are the same as yours. It's not important. I also have rules, which I am unwilling to compromise. This seems reasonable, since I'm willing to risk my life to protect you. Besides, I'm a Kazak and would be very upset if I let anyone hurt you."

"How do you intend to avoid that happening?"

"How many years did it take you to become a priest?"

"I already had a college degree, so it only took five years. How is that relevant?"

"It took me nine years to become a Kazak. I've had seven assignments, since I graduated. Only the first one died. Not knowing any better, I let him treat me like a puppy. Sit, stay, lie down, fetch. Since then, I tell people if they want a puppy, they should buy one."

"How did he die?" He leaned forward, obviously interested in my answer.

"I let him go into a men's room without me."

"You expected to enter a men's room!"

"If it has two entrances or a window, I go in. Tell me, Father, did God create men and women?"

"Of course. But-"

"I wonder if He thought our bodies a source of embarrassment. I wonder if He would want one of his advocates to die to avoid embarrassment." I thought it funny, or maybe scary, that I said things without thinking that cut to the heart of the matter.

He remained quiet for several minutes, staring past me like I wasn't there. Eventually, his eyes regained focus and he snorted. "What must I do to comply with your 'rules'?"

"Ignore me." Ironically, all my rules came down to that simple statement.

"That sounds like it might be difficult to do... "

"Lynn," I replied.

"I thought Kazaks had other names, or is it titles?" He had relaxed back in his seat.

"At graduation, we are given a last name based on our inherent ability. We also have an honorary title given for three or more Assassin kills."

"Then your full name is?"

"Master Lynn the Fox."

"Very appropriate, Lynn the Fox. Alright." He sighed. "I'm sure ignoring you is not going to be as simple as you make it sound," he said, just before a knock at the door.

"Father, Sister Margaret is here to see you," his guard dog said and gave me a disapproving look before leaving. Then it was Father Joseph's turn. He gave me a brief smile and nodded toward the door. Now came the reality versus the theory part of ignore me. I moved over to the corner of the room.

"Lynn, you can't stay. I need to talk to Sister Margaret alone." He again nodded toward the door. I didn't move.

"Ignore me," I said but didn't smile.

"You can't stay when someone wants to talk with me."

"I'll only be watching to see if they want to kill you, not listening. If this is a game, I'll leave. I don't care about you or the bishop. I'm a Kazak, not a puppy." I wanted this resolved now, not later. Sister Margaret stood in the doorway, frozen. Father Joseph stared off into space for several minutes. He was either praying for guidance or to have God smote me.

"No, you are definitely not a puppy. I'll try... ignoring you. I hope everyone else can." He looked at the young nun standing in the doorway. "Come in, Sister Margaret. Ignore the Kazak in the corner. She assures me she doesn't listen."

The nun nodded, closed the door, and sat in the chair facing his desk. Of course, I'd lied. I listen to everything that's said. But I don't care what is said. The sister had some questions about her upcoming Sunday school class, which was very uninteresting. I concluded she wasn't planning to kill Father Joseph during their talk. This job would be so much easier if I were a Ghost Assassin.

That night we discussed the sleeping arrangements. Well maybe discuss wasn't the right word.

"Don't even think about sleeping in my bedroom!" He looked determined, his lips squeezed together and his face muscles all bunched up.

"Does it have a window? If it does, we have to find a solution I'm comfortable with or I do sleep in your bedroom. In a chair or on the floor."

"Neither!"

"You're not going to bed until we come up with a solution. Let me look at the window." I waved toward his bedroom door. He reluctantly opened the door and I walked in. Very neat. The window was a four-by-four and you could open it about half way. It was just enough for someone to crawl through and plenty big enough to shoot through. I should sleep in here but knew I wouldn't win this argument. I stood looking at the window, feeling Father Joseph behind me, glaring. "I'll stay in your living room if you can find some heavy curtains to cover your window."

We spent the next half an hour making a bedspread into a curtain and hanging it. I placed a small table next to the window, laid the bottom of the make-shift curtain on the table, and arranged two glasses on the cloth. If anyone moved the curtain, the glasses would fall, and I would be in the room, shooting.

"Aren't you carrying this guarding me a bit too far?"

"Actually, I'm being far too lenient. Because you're going to heaven when you die, you may not care if you get killed, but I'll be left here, blaming myself for letting you go," I said as I exited the room. I lay down on the couch after hearing his door close and went to sleep.

Fortunately, he was still alive the next morning. He was dressed when he came out. He then proceeded to make breakfast for us without uttering a word. After a short, silent prayer, he looked up.

"I'm still alive."

"Good thing."

Things went fairly well for the next two days, although I knew he was praying to God for strength. When we entered the church on Saturday, he stopped and faced me.

"Lynn, there is no compromise here. I'm going to hear confessions today. You cannot be standing over me." He looked angry. I thought it was the cumulative frustration he had been feeling the past few days.

"Father, my rules are simple. I must be able to see you and be within reach at all times." I held up my hand before he tried to interrupt. "I understand that this is one rule I must concede with you. Don't smile. I will watch every person that enters that booth and will have no reservation about interfering with them entering the booth or bringing articles I deem potentially dangerous. If your religious need for privacy gets you killed in the confessional, it's your fault. If I let an Assassin by or don't confiscate something potentially dangerous, it's my fault. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I know the Lord must be testing my faith." He entered the booth shaking his head. Eight individuals entered the confessional over the next two hours, mostly women. I suspected men were averse to admitting they ever did anything wrong. I had to admit I might be biased.

***

At mass on Sunday, I stood off to the side of the altar watching the people. I was close enough I might be able to get to him in an emergency. I wished I'd refused this assignment. Instead, I agreed to reach acceptable, if not ideal, compromises when it involved the sacraments of the church. They were probably reasonable, since neither of us liked them. On Monday, Archbishop Clemens paid Father Joseph a visit. Joseph looked at me when Clemens entered.

"Don't bother, Joseph. I talked to Witton when I found out he had sent a woman. He said she had rules and won't budge for you, me, or Him. He then told me a couple of incidents involving her. Some were rather funny. I know it has been hard on you, but I'm pleased with you and... Lynn. If nothing happens in a month, I'll end the contract." Clemens turned to face me. "Well, Kazak Lynn, how do you like this assignment?"

"In a sense, every assignment is interesting because of the person I'm guarding and their environment. On the other hand, every assignment is the same. My total focus is on protecting their life."

"Yes, you were a good choice, Lynn. You just need a little getting used to." He gave a small laugh before leaving. After he left, Father Joseph began his normal week. He spent the afternoon at a halfway house where he had organized a seven-day-a-week soup kitchen. The people who worked there were all volunteers. And the money to keep it going came from donations Joseph managed to secure through his contacts and local events he organized.

The next day he attended the monthly Chamber of Commerce orientation for new members. This gave him an opportunity to network and stay informed and involved with the many programs and services available in the Vegas community. The forum provided him an opportunity to meet new business owners and lobby for contributions for his many projects. I wandered around like one of the crowd, staying close to Joseph. Several times people tried to engage me in a conversation. I pretended to be deaf and used what I thought looked like sign language. They shrugged and continued moving.

The third day we visited several hospitals where Father Joseph talked to the patients, regardless of their religious preference. He loved entertaining the children with small tricks of magic and fairy tales. I spent my time ensuring each patient, nurse, and doctor wasn't intent on killing him.

By the fourth day, I decided he truly would go to heaven-but not on my watch.

That week and another went by without incident. We survived-him through prayer and me through meditation. At the end of the second week, we flew to Carson City where he was on the Nevada State Prison list of official chaplains. We were escorted to a medium-sized room where five men waited. Joseph went to the front of the room, and I stood against the wall half way between the door and Joseph.

He had only been talking a few minutes when the guard opened the door and two skinheads entered. The guard looked nervous and quickly left, closing the door behind him. The two were particularly ugly with tattoos on their bare arms, necks, and scalps. They were smiling as they headed directly toward Joseph. Shanks emerged as I took two steps into them. I used both forearms to block a fist from the one closest to me, while I drove a hard knife-edged kick to the other one's knee. I didn't feel that satisfying crack of bone, but his leg did buckle under him. He fell onto his knee, dropping his shank.

I slid one hand down the arm of the other man and grabbed the wrist I had blocked, while driving an elbow into his face. I may have broken his crooked nose, since blood spurted out. He jerked back a few inches, and I lost control of the wrist with the shank. His grin was twisted with pleasure, as he looked down at me. He was big and strong. No doubt he'd spent hours in the yard lifting weights and was used to knock-down drag-out fights. As I started to step away, his free hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me into him, and he wrapped his arm around my neck. I drove my elbow into his ribs and stomped down on his foot, feeling bones shatter-with little effect. Pain exploded in my side as his fist and shank drove home. He had me locked in place and could stab or cut me at will. Unless. I bent my head as far as I could to the side and drove my fingers back toward where I thought his face should be. I felt soft material give as pain again ripped through my ribs. He let go screaming.

"You whoring bitch! I'm going to reach into that cunt of yours and rib out your insides."

I believed him. When I felt my side, the shank still lay buried there. On the floor, the other skinhead had Father Joseph by the leg with one hand and was pulling the priest toward him, a shank in his other hand. I pulled out the shank in my side and dove at the skinhead on the floor. I landed on his back and dragged the shank across his throat. Blood spurted like a fire hose, splashing over my hand, Joseph's pants, and the floor. I used his back to push myself to my knees, then staggered up just in time to see my original skinhead advancing on me, his face twisted in blind rage and one eye torn and bleeding. He extended his arms to make sure I didn't slip away to either side.

"I'm going to rip your face off, bitch."

When I backed up a step, his eyes brightened in anticipation. I took a step forward, slipping my hand with two fingers extended into the lower part of his throat. Before I could get leverage he stepped backward. I knew that spot was extremely sensitive and every person intuitively knew it was lethal. He kept stumbling backward as I kept pushing. He slammed into the wall and stopped. I didn't. I continued going, driving my fingers into the cavity, crushing his trachea. In the process, his arm came flying around into my body, sending me twisting away. When I hit the floor my lungs felt like they exploded and pain pulsed through my body. God, I was bone tired. I watched in satisfaction as the skinhead fought for air that would never come. He sank to his knees and collapsed onto his face.

Just then, two guards entered. Brave now that it's all over.

"Get the Father and me to the infirmary!" I tried to shout but it came out weakly. I staggered to my feet.

"Is Father Joseph hurt?" one of the guards asked.

"Now or you'll need a medic!" I reached over and pushed Father Joseph toward the guard, who turned and began a fast walk with Joseph and me following. Joseph said nothing but kept looking over his shoulder at me. I thought he might be in shock. After passing through several locked doors, we reached the dispensary. I knew because it smelled of antiseptics. I was getting used to the smell. The doctor was talking to a man sitting on the edge of one of the beds. He didn't look sick.

"Doctor, I need more attention than him. Get over here," I managed to shout.

"Father, are you hurt?" he asked, looking at Joseph, who shook his head.

"Me, you idiot."

The doctor finally looked at me and my blood-stained shirt, which I was in the process of removing. My side radiated pain through every part of me. He walked over and poked a few places with his finger, which I contemplated breaking. He went over to a steel cabinet and returned with a wad of cloth.

"Father, hold this here. Young lady, I'm going to sedate you so I can treat these cuts. They will need sutures."

"No, just get on with it. Father, you stay here so I can see you and the door." I wasn't sure how I thought I could defend him at that point-maybe if I'd had a gun. The doctor shook his head and began. More pain. I sat upright watching the door and let the temple on the Hill silently surround me. I had spent hundreds of hours there and it was part of my very essence. That day, it helped me manage the pain, like watching someone else getting treated, and stay focused.

He had just finished bandaging me when the door burst open and a pudgy little man in a suit and tie strode into the room with two guards following. "Young lady, you killed two of my inmates. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you under arrest."

I jumped off the table and my legs almost buckled under me. I managed to lunge over to him, grab him by the neck, and ram him against the wall. My fingers dug into the fleshy part around his trachea. I looked over to the guards.

"Unless you want to die along with this jackass, stay where you are." I fished out my cell phone and dialed Witton, leaving the speaker on. Ann Marie answered. "Ann Marie, get Witton before I die." I heard Witton pick up.

"What?"

"I'm at the Nevada State Prison. I've killed two skinheads that attacked Father Joseph. I've got the warden by the throat-in a killing grip. He wants to arrest me for killing the two assholes his guards intentionally let in the room with shanks. I think he and his guards feel they're here to make the prisoners' lives comfortable. I can't hold out much longer. I've been stabbed twice. If I pass out, I'm taking the warden's throat with me to the floor."

"Wait." Witton's end of the line went silent. I waited for what seemed like hours. My head was spinning and my legs felt wobbly.

"Two SWAT teams are on the way. One will be there within the next twenty minutes and the other in thirty. They are coming from different places. Put the warden under arrest and place the prison on lock-down." I had laid the phone down so everyone could hear. "By order of the governor's office. Try not to kill the warden." The phone went dead.

"Notice he didn't say 'don't.' You two," I pointed to the guards. "You heard. Order a lock-down. There's a SWAT team coming, and they are going to be pissed if that yard isn't cleared and everyone in their cells." I watched them run out, and a minute later I heard the sirens indicating a lock-down.

"Slide down to the floor, warden." I sank down with him and whispered into his ear.

"If you touch me or move so that I fall, your throat goes with me." I laid my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes, and once again sought the temple. I remained cognizant of my surroundings and able to respond within the limits imposed by my current injuries. That meant I could probably rip out the warden's throat before I totally collapsed. I came back to full consciousness when I heard heavy boots running down the hallway. A minute later, the door flew open and two combat-armed men entered the room. They looked around the room at each person. One pointed to me.

"Are you Lynn the Fox?" he asked. I nodded. "What are your orders?"

"I guess I need a hospital. The Father is to accompany me, and this fool is under arrest." I let go of his throat and fainted.

***

When I woke, a tall, thin man sat in the corner. He was dressed casually, but I had no doubt he was a Kazak by the way he sat scanning the room. He was dressed for action and looked armed.

"Good morning, Lynn. I'm Al the Cheetah. It looks like you were in a bad mood yesterday. Those two skinheads were a mess and the warden's throat is black, blue, and purple. You'll have to show me how to do that without killing him. Sonny the Tiger has taken over your assignment. Witton thought you'd like to have a talk with the skinheads' friends tonight and asked me to accompany you."

"That's ridiculous," a short, chubby man in a white coat and the ubiquitous stethoscope said as he entered the room. "She'll be here for several days. Fortunately, those knife wounds didn't damage any organs. Doctor Gordano at the prison did a pretty good job sewing you up. We've redressed the wound. So long as you don't do anything too strenuous, you should be healed in three or four weeks."

"She's just after sympathy, Doctor. She'll have milked it for all it's worth by the end of the day."

The doctor ignored him, took my pulse, listened to my chest, and gave me some pills. "These will help you sleep. Right now you need lots of rest."

A little while later a big man in a police captain's uniform entered the room. He walked with the self-assurance of one in authority. His hair was thick at the temples but thinning on top. His weathered face supported a pleasant smile. I liked him right away.

"Good morning, Kazak Lynn. I tried visiting last night, but you weren't receiving guests."

"A girl needs her beauty rest, Captain."

"Especially when she's been partying. I thought you might want to know about the men's tattoos. My sergeant identified them as belonging to a skinhead group called the Sovereign Whites of America. Al said you might want to visit them for old times' sake. I wouldn't recommend it. You don't look up for another party." He looked like a no-nonsense man, who could see the light as well as the dark side of life.

"I'll keep her from overdoing it," Al said. The captain stayed for a while, asking questions about the previous day. It wasn't an interrogation but rather a polite inquiry to satisfy his natural inquisitiveness. I fell off to sleep as soon as he left. Al woke me after the sun had set.

"Ready to party?"

"Good idea. This laying around is boring." Al helped me out of bed and to get dressed. He had my weapons and somehow had found me new clothes to replace my old torn and stained ones. The nurse tried to stop me from leaving with all sorts of threats. When that failed, she insisted hospital policy required that I be wheeled to the entrance. We left her calling someone on the phone.

It didn't surprise me that the captain had given Al the Sovereign Whites of America address the police had on file. Although he couldn't and wouldn't do anything about the skinheads, he didn't break any laws giving us the address. Al managed to find the place after a few wrong turns and encountering one-way streets going the wrong way. The address turned out to be a house on an acre or more of land, with a barn-like structure well back from the house. We ignored the house and walked back to the barn. I opened the side door and walked in. Al stood leaning against the doorjamb. Everyone looked around when I entered.

"Who's in charge here?" I asked, looking around the room.

"I am, sweet thing. Want to join? You could get it on with some real Americans." He began strutting toward me, t-shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, displaying his tattoos and muscular arms. I shot him three times in the chest.

"Anyone else like to get it on with one pissed-off white American Kazak woman?" I heard two shots, as I shot a lanky boy to my right who reached for a gun. The two Al shot were on my left. I had seen them but knew Al would take them. I only beat him by a second to the one I shot on the right. It was obvious why he was a Cheetah. "Father Joseph is Kazak business. If so much as one piece of graffiti appears on his property, I or another Kazak will be back. You don't want that. We aren't the police who have to justify their actions to an injury board if they hurt one of you. We don't have to read you your rights, nor will we arrest you and take you to jail where you can have a lawyer. And instead of prison, you'll go straight to the morgue without passing through all those messy constitutional rules-just like those four. Next time no one will walk out of here." I said. Al and I departed without any further trouble.

"That was fun, Lynn. You throw a good party," he said and grinned. When I staggered, he helped support me back to the car.

"Where are we going, D.C.?" I asked.

"No. I'm going on to California for an assignment. You're going to Denver. Witton called your friend Clare. You've got the company plane-again-to go wherever you want."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kathryn pampered me on the flight to Denver. She sat near me, jumping up every time I moved to see if I needed anything. I had pillows, blankets, hot soup, and plenty of tender loving care.

"I could get used to this, Kathryn."

"I could too. You've got more frequent flyer miles than any other Kazak. Besides, you could become my employer. I think Mr. Witton said something about giving you the plane, since it seemed dedicated for your exclusive use anyway."

***

Clare was in the cabin almost before the pilot turned off the fasten seat belt sign. I was still lying on the pull-out couch. She stopped and stood looking down at me, tears in her eyes. I couldn't think of what to say, so I just held out my hand. She took it and knelt down next to me.

"When Witton called, I spent five minutes screaming at him. I asked why he didn't give you an easy assignment once in a while. He said he tries but somehow they turn out to have major consequences. What could be easier than watching after a priest who received a few crank emails or a software programmer working inside the Pentagon?"

I conceded Witton had a point.

"When I asked how badly you were hurt-this time-he said your injuries would heal; however, you were tired. You didn't need sympathy. You needed someone who understood and loved you." Clare lapsed into silence for a long while. "He knew because he had been there. I wonder if he ever found that person. I hope so."

Clare lay holding me all night, never saying a word. Words weren't necessary. She had come because I needed her. I could feel her tender love and slept contented.

I woke when I heard the cabin door open. Kathryn and the pilots entered and began preparing the plane for takeoff. I think Witton had been right. My wounds weren't so bad that I should be feeling as weak as I did. I had left the hospital too soon, but I was a Kazak. Clare helped steady me, and we found adjoining seats.

"Well, love. Where have you decided we're going?" I asked. I certainly hadn't told the pilots anything.

"Witton said I could go anywhere I wanted, so I picked La Paz. It's quiet and I liked it last time we were there." Her lips were pressed together but turned up at the corners and her eyes were shining-a smug and impish look. I thought it a good choice. When we reached cruising altitude, Kathryn served us a tasty breakfast of crepes. I had two, or maybe three, helpings. Afterwards, she topped it off with scones, jam, and coffee.

"I know you hate my life, love," I said, feeling sorry for the pain I caused her.

"Yes, I know you do, just as I know you aren't going to change. I'm reconciled to seeing you injured and for only short periods of time. If I could change you, by definition you wouldn't be the person I love, just as I know if I tried to change, I wouldn't be me any longer. So, we're stuck with the way we are."

"I've got another story. One you can print this time."

"Damn you, Lynn." She hit me on the shoulder. I winced. "I don't care if it hurt. I'd rather see you without injuries and stories. I hate to tell you, because it will just make you insufferable, but I got another promotion. I'm now a senior editor."

"No, Clare. Your series on Kazaks helped focus the attention on you, but you earned the promotions on your own." Our talk changed to less serious topics. I ate a lot and basked in the company of Clare.

Ann Marie had booked us a cabana again at the Hacienda Del Sol. We were there for nearly four weeks. We ate at every restaurant within twenty miles of the hotel, went scuba diving, sea kayaking, laid on the beach talking about our lives, and spent the nights in each other's arms.

When we returned one night, there was a message to call Witton. It wasn't a surprise and in truth it was time for Clare and me to get back to work. The month had enriched our lives and given us memories that would last until next time. I put the phone on speaker and called.

"Hi, boss," I said and waited.

"Thank you, Clare. She sounds like Lynn again."

"Thank you for the time with her. I'm returning her to you in good condition."

"Hey, I'm right here, you two." I had to smile. Witton and Clare had formed a conspiracy, which I was beginning to appreciate.

"Oh, the Fox that keeps duping me into thinking she's injured and needs time off. That Lynn. You sound well, so I have an assignment for you. I wish I could tell Clare it's an easy one, but I give up trying to determine easy from hard. Hard seems to gravitate toward you. I'll give you a day to stop in Denver to give Clare her interview. I expect you back the following day." The phone went dead.

"I actually believe him," Clare said. "However, I think your rules increase the odds. It makes you the perfect bodyguard but puts you more at risk." She shrugged and pulled me over to the bed. The plane would be there the next morning, but we had that night.

The interview went smoothly. By that point, everyone was aware of the rules, and Clare was at ease with the interview. We completed the whole session without any retakes. The next day I headed back to D.C. and some unknown assignment. As usual, I didn't care. They were all interesting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Sonny said they had no more trouble after Al and you talked to the Sovereign Whites of America. He also said Father Joseph had mixed feelings about the incident at the prison. He felt he would have rather died than have those men killed," Witton said, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Sure, he'd go to heaven. Where would I go? Besides, I'm too young to die, and your life would be in danger."

"Why? Oh, yes. Clare would be after my hide. Can't say I'd blame her. It's time to get down to business. The Committee continues to take a personal interest in you. Most religious people, even those that don't go to church services on a regular basis, are unhappy with many of the courts' decisions concerning abortion, gay rights, and the separation of state and religion. The Supreme Court is getting ready to hear three separate cases affecting those issues. As usual, the decisions are expected to be five to four votes against all three issues. A judge who has consistently voted for freedom of choice has been targeted. So far, it has been verbal assaults on her character and beliefs. Religious people are righteously passionate about their beliefs, and a few believe everyone must adhere to their interpretation. They have convinced themselves that God gave them the right to kill, although one of the Ten Commandments they defend so aggressively forbids it. That isn't important. The Committee wants us to protect that judge. It's not her beliefs but the fact that a Supreme Court judge is being threatened. Her name is Justice Janette Ramsey. She's expecting a Kazak tomorrow in her chambers."

"Why do I always have to tell them?" I asked, although I knew.

"No one would want you if I did, and it would take hours to convince them. This way you can save me the time. Anyway, you have to fight about your rules, so you can accomplish both at the same time." He had the nerve to grin. I couldn't help grinning back. He was right.

***

I arrived at eight, thinking she probably wouldn't arrive until nine at the earliest. I was wrong. Not only had she arrived, but also the room was full of people, who I assumed were her staff. The usual guard dog was waiting as I entered the room.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Justice Ramsey is expecting me. I'm Lynn," I said expecting the usual nonsense-she's not, your not...

"She's expecting a Kazak, but you're a woman."

"Last time I looked. Please tell her I'm here. It'll save me from having this conversation twice." I smiled, trying to be nice. She lifted her phone, told Ramsey I was there, without mentioning I was a woman, and told me to go right in. I suspected she was looking forward to the coming confrontation. I opened the door, walked in, closed it behind me, and waited.

"You're very good-looking, but I doubt you could protect me in the event I was to need protecting." She gave me what I thought a grandmother's smile would look like-if I'd had one.

"You're old and I'm only here to ensure you get a proper funeral in the event you do get killed," I replied. I can be petty too.

She gave me a long look before speaking. "Witton said you have rules; I have rules too. Mine are more important than yours." No smile.

"My rules are meant to keep you safe and don't conflict with the Constitution you defend."

Her eyes turned downward, a sign that she was thinking-a good attribute for a judge. She looked back up at me. "What is your religious preference?"

"You." I stared back.

She laughed. "Alright, what are these rules you want me to conform to?"

"Ignore me." I liked that answer.

"I doubt that's as simple as it sounds. Witton says you're a master Kazak, which is?"

"An honorary title for any Kazak who has killed three or more Assassins."

"Alright, we'll see if we can tolerate each other."

I went into the other room, grabbed a small desk chair, returned to her office, placed it in the corner, and sat. She looked up with a frown and stared for several minutes, shook her head, and returned to whatever she was reading. I took that to mean she had realized what "ignore me" meant.

The morning proved as boring as I expected. People came in and out of her office, sneaking looks at me when they came in and giving me strange looks on the way out. Eventually, they began to ignore me.

Just after noon she left the office with me following.

"Do you eat, Lynn?"

"Standing up. I'd ask you to sit against a wall." I thought I'd try nice first.

"Why, do you think one of the other judges is going to kill me?"

"Ma'am, my job is to protect you, even if I have to risk my life to do that. My first responsibility, therefore, is to protect you, not me. If I'm not aware of my surroundings, I am protecting me, because the killer is free to kill without interference from me. In that case, you are at more risk than I am. If, however, I stay aware, the killer will have to take me on first. There are Assassins with the ability to make themselves look exactly like a person you know; there are others who are virtually invisible, those who can tell a lie anyone will believe, and those you will love on first sight. Given that, I can't assume I can determine who is friendly and who isn't unless I evaluate each person. I must assume whoever wants you dead is serious and could contract an Assassin. As your rules in court are not arbitrary, neither are mine."

"I don't believe the threat is serious; however, I'm beginning to understand you can't make that assumption. I knew you weren't going to be pushed around. I just didn't realize why." She stopped at a table with one man and asked him to join her at a table in the back, against a wall.

"My bodyguard insists I sit near a wall." She shrugged. "Lynn, what do you want to eat? I assume you're not going to sit."

"A sandwich of any kind and a glass of milk, please."

She ordered and they sat and talked about several old decisions. I stood, eating the roast beef sandwich she had ordered, while I scanned the room. I got more strange looks. The other two justices I saw seemed to prefer sitting alone.

The afternoon started much like the morning-boring. About four o'clock, one of the other justices entered her office. She had apparently been expecting him. They both looked at me.

"Lynn, conversations between justices are confidential."

"Ma'am, I'm a Kazak. I don't care about your politics, your upcoming decisions, if you're having an affair, or cheating on your taxes. I care only about your safety. I know you think you're safe in your chamber, and you probably are. It's the probably are that concerns me."

"Lynn, if one word of what I say in private gets out... "

"I'll shoot myself, so Witton doesn't have to."

They were careful in choosing their words for the first five minutes, until they finally forgot I was in the room. They were shocked for a moment when her visitor rose and they realized I was still there.

Ramsey worked until six and then drove home with me in the back seat. I think it was a large Audi, but I don't pay a lot of attention to cars. She stopped at a small Italian restaurant on the way home. She dutifully sat in the corner. About half way through her meal, she stopped and looked at me with my half-eaten sandwich.

"Lynn, you are very conspicuous, standing behind me. Can't you sit?"

"If I'm conspicuous, that means he or she will shoot at me first."

"You're incorrigible." She finished her meal and wine, then had dessert and coffee. I did accept the coffee she offered. Back at her high-rent condo, I walked through every room evaluating each for potential security problems. The front entrance had a reception desk for twelve hours a day and keycard entry for the remaining twelve. A security guard was on duty twenty-four seven; however, in addition to the front entrance, there were several potential points of entry: two emergency fire exits and a roof-top maintenance access for elevators and heating units. So, it was adequate to keep out salesmen and very small-time thieves.

"Ma'am, we'll need heavier curtains on the windows. For now blankets or the like will do."

"Why? Are my drapes that ugly?" she said with a twitch of her lips.

"No, ma'am. However, from the outside, anyone can see your shadow when you walk around the room. There are many places near this building that a sniper could use. A shadow would be enough to target you."

"Lynn, how long did it take you to become a Kazak?" Ramsey sat on her couch with her coffee and waved me to a chair. "You can sit can't you?"

"Nine years. I have the equivalent of a Liberal Arts degree, speak two languages, am expert in all modern weapons, can function on four hours' sleep indefinitely, and survived the five challenges, competing against the one hundred men that started the course with me."

"Lynn the Fox," she whispered to herself. "You succeed by out-thinking them because they had the advantage of strength and aggressiveness. This is also the reason for your rules. It gives you a balanced playing field against a potential killer, who inherently has the advantage. Yes, I understand."

I understood why she was a Supreme Court justice. Like me, she had survived in a male-dominated world using her intellect.

"Aren't you due for relief pretty soon?"

"Witton believes if he sends relief, you'll get used to fewer restrictions and won't want me back." I grinned. "Or, he believes I don't have a life, so I don't need a break."

"You're going to be with me night and day for however long it takes?"

"Yes, ma'am. By necessity, I'm a very light sleeper. I'll sleep in your living room, so that I can cover your bedroom door and the door to the hallway."

"Come here, Lynn. I want you to take a look at the emails and letters I've been receiving." She led me into another room, which had a small library, two lounge chairs, a small coffee table, and a desk with a computer monitor. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a stack of papers, turned on her computer, and opened her email program. I sat and began reading. An hour later, I handed her two letters.

"Why these two? They are the least abusive of the bunch."

"Yes. They are meant to be, so that they stand out from the others. This person, or the group he represents, is going to do whatever it takes to intimidate you and the others who might side with you. Killing you would accomplish both. It would eliminate your vote and give them leverage to threaten another justice, who would then be easier to persuade into changing his vote."

"My God. Is this what some think is God's way? I hope you're wrong, Lynn."

***

The next two weeks went by without incident. I had to give Ramsey credit. She was probably the easiest person I had worked with, accepting my rules with little dissension. Most of her opposition revolved around her concern over her perceived notion of my level of stress. She allowed me to stay during her talks with friends, staff, and other justices, complied with my restrictions on where to sit, and allowed me to inspect whatever I asked-the perfect client. It was late afternoon, and we sat in her office drinking coffee.

"Before you came, the justices granted certiorari to the three petitions our letter-writing friend is concerned about. The legal briefs will be filed today. Ironically, I haven't decided yet, and won't until I have read the briefs and hear oral arguments. Because of the justices' past positions, people who follow Supreme Court decisions tend to project our votes on issues. In these three cases, it's assumed I'll vote against them. Our friend seems to think so, and he may be right based on the positions I've taken in the past."

It sounded like the game was coming to its conclusion. The individual, if willing to carry out his threat, would want to act soon, if for no other reason than to intimidate the other four justices likely to vote against the cases. I would soon find out if I was right. She rose and stretched, closed whatever she was reading, and headed toward the door with me following. Just as she reached the door, I tackled her from behind, rolling with her toward a desk while trying to identify a target. Nothing. I wondered if I had made a mistake, but the room was too quiet. There were always people here until well after Ramsey left. They worked hard because this experience would be invaluable toward their future careers.

"What-" she started to say until I put my hand over her mouth. I listened, waiting for some sound that would give me a clue as to how many and where... Nothing. I rolled back into the aisle, searching for a target. I found two men standing some twenty yards away. We began firing simultaneously. I heard several slight pops and wood and debris sprayed around me. One had moved quicker than the other. He got away. The man who stood shooting didn't. I shot him three times in the chest. Each hit drove him stumbling backward, firing wildly out of control.

I decided not to chase the other man, since that would leave Ramsey alone. She was on her knees and beginning to rise when I held up my hand for her to stop and put a finger to my lips to tell her to be silent. I took my earplugs from my pocket and inserted them just as a security guard came running into the room with his gun drawn. I heard nothing, but saw Ramsey begin to rise, waving her arms, her mouth moving. As his gun hand began to move, I fired three times. He was driven backwards into and across a desk. Ramsey appeared to be screaming something. I slapped her across the face and pushed her down. I ejected my clip and slammed another one in, removed my earplugs, and waited. A few minutes later, two more guards came running in, guns drawn.

"I'm a Kazak." I pushed up my sleeve to show my tattoo. "If those guns rise toward me you're dead men. Justice Ramsey is safe," I shouted. Fortunately, this was probably the first shooting they had ever been part of and were slow to react; otherwise, they would have died for no good reason. "Call the police and report a shooting. Justice Ramsey and I will stay here until they arrive."

That seemed to relieve the tension. They lowered their weapons and called their supervisor.

"Ma'am, sorry for the slap. Why don't you wait in your office, until the police arrive." I saw blood leaking from behind one of the desks and suspected several of the office staff were dead. I decided they must have used silencers, which I couldn't hear in Ramsey's office because it was almost completely sound proofed.

"No, you're not," Ramsey said as she rose. A trickle of blood from her nose dripped onto her lip.

She had tears in her eyes as she turned and walked into her office and closed the door. I waited, gun drawn. About ten minutes later, a horde of police arrived and huddled at the door. A lieutenant walked forward, unarmed.

"You're the Kazak Lynn?" he asked. I nodded. "I hope that Justice Ramsey is safe."

"Yes," I said as he approached. When he was a few feet away, I stepped in and punched him in the solar plexus. The air exploded out of him. After a few seconds of struggling for air, he managed to talk. "Why?"

I noticed several of the police had drawn their guns, but the lieutenant was in the way for a good shot at me.

"Illusion Assassins lose their control for a second when in pain. Sorry, but I had one Illusion Assassin already tonight. Let me check on the justice. Give her a few minutes. It's been a very traumatic experience. Having friends killed is making it worse. I'll bring her out as soon as possible."

He nodded. I opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind me. I stood quietly waiting. Ramsey sat in her chair with her head in her hands, crying. I felt sorry for her. I think she could have handled the shooting if innocent people hadn't been killed-people she knew personally. After several minutes, she took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears away.

"Why... why did you slap me and kill the guard? He had come to help protect me," she said, her face knotted in anger. I noticed she left out the us part. "You killed him without reason. I hate you."

"There is a police lieutenant waiting to see you when you're ready."

"I'll want you gone as soon as the police inquiry is over. Witton can send someone else." She got up and walked out the door, almost cringing as she walked past me. I guess she'd already forgotten the part about me saving her life. I shrugged to myself.

Witton would have to replace me, which didn't matter to me one way or the other. I was satisfied with my performance and Clare would be delighted to hear I managed to finish an assignment without injury.

The questions were as brief as the lieutenant could make them. He knew he was questioning a Supreme Court justice. When he finished, he had her driven home with a police escort. At her apartment, she tried to close the door in my face.

"Ma'am, call Witton and make arrangements for my replacement. Until then, you're my responsibility."

She ignored me and went directly to the phone. A minute later, she almost shouted into the phone.

"I want this maniac removed. Send me someone sane." Silence. "She shot a police security guard who had come to help protect me." She went on to explain what had happened from her perspective, which varied considerably from reality. She turned and gave me the phone.

"What happened, Lynn?" Witton asked.

"I guess I got another complaint to add to my board. Send someone else before she has a heart attack. She's filled with rage over innocent people she knew being killed."

"Did you kill an innocent guard?"

"Either an Assassin or someone stupid."

An hour later, a man knocked at the door. "Master Lynn, it's Peter the Lion."

I didn't know Peter, but Witton had said he was sending someone within the hour, he knew my honorary title, and who would want to be a Lion? I snickered and let him in. He did look strong. We talked for a few minutes about the events of that evening, and I left. I wondered if I could get some time off to visit Clare. I went home and straight to bed. Witton could wait until the morning.

***

The next morning, Ann Marie called while I was still in bed daydreaming about La Paz, which I don't allow myself to do when I'm on assignment.

"Lynn, the boss would like to see you. I have coffee ready."

"You're an angel. I'll be right up."

Ann Marie gave me my coffee and waved me in. The door was open so I walked in.

"Close the door, and have a seat." I sat waiting for whatever he had in mind.

"I received a complaint from Justice Ramsey. She states in a three-page letter that you are an out-of-control maniac who threw her to the ground for no reason at all, killed three of her staff, and murdered a security guard in cold blood. She sent a copy to the police commissioner, insisting that you be tried for murder, and to the State Department demanding that your immunity be revoked, so that you can be tried for your wanton actions. She recommends that I hold you until the authorities can take custody." He shook his head. "It does sound bad. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes. Justice Ramsey was one of the easiest clients I've had to work with. She complied with my every rule. She's a very nice person. I'm a little disappointed that a Supreme Court justice would reach an opinion before reading the legal brief and listening to oral arguments." I took a sip of coffee.

He laughed. "I also received a call from the lieutenant in charge of the case, after he read Justice Ramsey's letter. He informed me that Ramsey's three staffers had been dead for a couple of hours before the shooting. The bullets they recovered from them were a different caliber and marked in a way that would indicate they were fired from a gun with a silencer. He also found a dead guard in one of the rooms. The guard you shot had the tattoos of an Assassin. He will send a letter with all the details to the police commissioner, Justice Ramsey, the State Department, and me. I believe that will ruin certain people's day at the State Department. It also means that I'll have to continue to put up with you. I did post the complaint on your board so that the other Kazaks will know that we have a maniac among us." He grinned. "I'm recommending you visit your psychologist for a few weeks. Maybe she can help you with your control issues."

"Can I get Ann Marie to book me on a flight?"

"You can use your plane if you take Jim the Tiger with you. He's going to Los Angels." His face turned serious. "That was good work, Lynn."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When I entered, Jim was already on board, sitting with a cup of something.

"Master Lynn, welcome aboard. I hope you don't mind sharing your plane with me." He grinned. Somehow Witton's, and probably Kathryn's, wisecrack had gotten around. I think word traveled faster because I was a woman.

"Anytime, Jim the Tiger. I'd like you to share the cost of fuel. I do have expenses."

"Sit, Lynn the Fox. I'm interested in hearing how you managed to piss off a Supreme Court justice. The rumor is that you are going to be tried for murder and executed as soon as the State Department can revoke your diplomatic immunity." He relaxed back and took a sip of his drink.

"After dinner." Ten minutes later Kathryn appeared with two trays.

Jim was off to guard the California governor, who had aggravated a lot of religious people by vetoing a bill that would have seriously restricted a woman's right to do everything except have babies. Beyond childbirth, all her decisions would have been governed by the state. The governor had promptly received death threats to him and his family-a non-Christian response.

Kathryn had taken away our empty plates and returned with a choice of banana cream pie or Creme Brulee. I chose the pie and Jim the Brulee.

"Now it's time for the maniac and the Justice Ramsey story," Jim said, pointing at me with his fork. Kathryn was standing quietly in the aisle.

"Would you mind if I listened, Miss Lynn? After all, I am your private stewardess."

"No. Have a seat, Kathryn. It started when I reported to Ramsey's chambers... "

"Peter the Lion read me Ramsey's letter over the phone this morning," Jim said. "Makes more sense when you understand the background. How did you know the two were waiting for you to come out and that a Liar was waiting?"

"First, it was too quiet for six o'clock. The threat was too cold to be your average crank, which suggested an Assassin might be used. A Liar Assassin would be the hardest to detect, so I played it safe. I think the plan was for the shooter to shoot at me and immediately run. A few minutes afterward, the Liar would enter and be the real killer. He gave himself away when Ramsey jumped up, and he began to raise his gun."

"I have to remember the earplugs for Liars and pain for the Illusion Assassins. I understand you're going to Denver to visit a... close friend. Rumors." He shrugged.

"Let's dispense with the rumors. I met Clare on the Hill. The Committee had agreed to let her do a story on Kazak training. She was just a reporter, until the masters decided she would act as my client. We became friends. When I began visiting her, I let her interview me anonymously after each assignment. Usually I was injured, and we went off someplace to relax. We always considered ourselves heterosexual. Clare planned to find a guy, marry, and have kids. After my foster-care life in gang-infested neighborhoods and an incident after I ran away, I wasn't interested in sex-with men or women. Somehow along the way, we found we were soul mates. You have my permission to tell that to anyone who may be interested or has the rumor all screwed up." Yes, Clare and I were soul mates.

"Thanks, Lynn. I appreciate the candor. The truth is always better than rumors."

By the time I finished, we were descending into Denver International. When I entered the terminal, Clare stood waiting.

"I thought you said you weren't injured. What are all those bruises on your face?"

"Ramsey decided to take her anger out on me with a few whacks to my face. I didn't think it wise to whack back. Anyway, a few bruises don't count."

After a frown, she pulled me into a warm, welcoming hug.

"I'm afraid I can't take much time off," she said. "There's too much happening. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We'll have the evenings, hopefully the weekends, and a bedtime story. One you can print this time."

Clare's new responsibilities did preclude getting together in the day, but she managed to have most nights and the weekends free. I didn't mind. I amused myself reading, updating myself on current politics, and exploring the city. I spent several days walking around in the poorer neighborhoods, eating at local restaurants, and talking with the people. It was interesting and gave me an opportunity to brush up on my Spanish. The nights and weekends where spent with Clare, mostly at home cooking, talking, and feeling the closeness we could only share briefly during the year. I had been there three weeks when Witton called. It was a weekend and Clare was home. I put it on the speakerphone.

"Hello, Clare. Someday we have to meet in person. Any close friend of Lynn has got to be special."

"Thank you, Mr. Witton. I would like to meet you. If I ignore her assignments, you've been good to us. In the beginning by encouraging our friendship and giving us time to be together," Clare said.

"Now to business. Ramsey has sent everyone a long letter of apology. She expounded on the outstanding protection, professional conduct, and personal interaction you displayed. I had to read that part twice." A small snort followed. "She candidly said the stress of the previous month had exploded, and you were the closest person to take it out on. You had saved her life and she had tried to ruin yours. The threat still exists, and she would welcome your return. Peter the Lion is more than competent; however, she misses you and your rigid rules. How about that, Lynn. Someone actually misses your rules. That's got to be a first. The decision is yours. If you decide not to, I have another assignment."

"I think I'll decline. Words were said that can't be taken back. The words aren't important to me. I did my job as best I could, and that's all that matters to me. I think she's a good person with or without her apology. But she will remember and that will make it awkward for her. She needs to move on and can't do that if I'm there."

"I think that's a wise decision. I'll tell her your reasons for not returning. I believe she'll agree." He paused for a moment for some reason. "Let Clare interview you on your last assignment, if she hasn't already. The Committee approves of those articles."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"'Your plane will pick you up two days from now and fly you to St. Paul, Minnesota. There you will contact Caitlin Babbcox at the ACLU office. She is your client. Miss Babbcox is the Executive Director of the Minnesota ACLU. Over the past month, she has given several interviews on local talk shows about gay and lesbian rights. Her office has filed a suit to stop a proposed petition from being put on the November ballot, which would restrict homosexuals' access to certain jobs and functions. This caused the inevitable hate letters and emails trashing her, the ACLU, and specific judges for their past liberal decisions. They included the normal amount of threats of various kinds. One or more of the writers appear intent on carrying out their threats. The past week she has been assaulted twice. The last one resulted in injuries, serious but not life threatening. The Committee believes that the violence is escalating." He paused. I smiled to myself. I knew he was loath to ask the next question. "What are your feelings on taking his assignment?"

"I'm a Kazak. I guard people, not their ethics."

"Yes. You are the quintessential Kazak. Try not to get injured. Neither of us wants to incur the wrath of Clare."

***

"Good morning, Lynn. Your plane is fueled and ready to take you to St. Paul. Can I get you anything before we depart? It will be a while. We're tenth in the queue," Kathryn said in her usual cheerful way. Over my many flights, I had gotten to know a little about her. She was just past her mid-twenties, single, and loved to travel. The flights frequently had layovers of several days to a week, giving her time to enjoy the local attractions and to mingle with interesting people. She had dated many young men, but still hadn't found anyone she wanted to marry. I liked her.

"Coffee and maybe something sweet and gooey." She somehow managed to find a chocolate souffle for me. Afterward, I sat back and closed my eyes, enjoying that peaceful and quiet place I had found on the Hill.

I wondered if being a homosexual was genetic. The more tolerant thought so-like breast cancer. Or a hereditary propensity that some inherited and others didn't. Maybe it was simple happenstance, finding the one person who was your soul mate.

Was hate like that? Something hereditary that produced a propensity toward intolerance, or just something a person found satisfying-a righteous feeling of superiority-which came from hating those who weren't like you and were therefore inferior.

I thought about Clare and me. Whether hereditary, fate, or luck, I didn't care. I had found something precious. I was brought back to the present when the pilot announced our descent into St. Paul. I departed with my luggage and found a taxi.

"The ACLU headquarters on Wadsworth Boulevard."

"Are you one of those lawyer types? The ACLU is less popular lately than usual. They've stirred up a lot of people's hidden prejudices. I'd be careful if I were you."

"Thanks for the advice, I'm not a lawyer but it pays to be careful when emotions are running high." That was a joke. Kazaks usually guard folks who are the center of emotional situations. The ride seemed short as I contemplated my new assignment. I paid the cabbie with a good tip, entered the building, and found the ubiquitous guard dog.

"Can I help you, Miss... ?"

"Yes, I'm Lynn and I'm looking for Miss Babbcox. She's expecting me."

"She is?"

"We can save a lot of time if you will tell her a Kazak is waiting to see her."

"You can't be... "

I turned and walked down the hallway, with the guard dog howling, "You're not allowed!" Eventually I found a door with a Caitlin Babbcox sign, knocked, and walked in. A middle-aged woman with no makeup and mousy-blond hair tied in a ponytail sat behind a beat-up wooden desk. A plump older man sat in a chair with a stack of papers on his lap.

"Miss, you're interrupting a meeting," the woman said. "You should see the lady at the reception desk. She will either make an appointment for you or tell you when your party is available."

"Miss Babbcox, I'm the Kazak assigned to you. You didn't inform the reception desk that I was coming, therefore, I'm getting the runaround. If you want me, I'm here. If you don't, I'll get on a plane and get assigned to someone who does." I didn't feel in a good mood.

"You're very rude-"

"Call Witton and tell him you don't need or want a Kazak. Goodbye," I said, as I turned and walked out the door. When I reached the reception desk, the guard dog stood and raised a hand.

"Miss Babbcox apologizes, and would like you to return," she said, all sweet and friendly. I walked back to the office. The door was open and the man had departed. Babbcox stood and waved me to a seat.

"You're right, I should have told Dorothy that I was expecting a Kazak and given her a name. That would have prevented some of the confusion. I have to admit I expected a man. I didn't know there were any women Kazaks."

"At present, there is only one-me. I'm as mad at Witton as you are. He does this all the time. He fails to tell the client that I'm a woman. It saves him the hour it takes to convince the client that I'm one of his best. Instead, he leaves it to me. So, it takes me the hour to tell them I'm a woman, and it's me or nothing. Usually, they call Witton and find out I'm right. I earned the title of Kazak, like every male Kazak did. I've earned the honorary title of Master Kazak, which does recognize that I'm good at what I do. And I make no apology for being a woman."

"You shouldn't have to, especially to an ACLU lawyer. I do want a Kazak rather than a normal bodyguard. I'm scared for the first time since I joined the ACLU." She sat.

"I can see why. Although your face is unmarked, you have injuries to your head, which probably caused at least a minor concussion-besides a wicked headache-and you have injuries to your ribs-probably bruises or minor fractures. And probably multiple bruises and scrapes elsewhere," I said, evaluating what I could see from the way she moved.

"You are very observant." She gave me a hard look.

"Your life may depend upon me being observant. I'm more effective when I know trouble is imminent." I smiled to make up for my tantrum before, not that it wasn't partly justified.

"Witton did say you had rules. We might as well come to an agreement about them. What are they?" The lawyer in her leaned forward, ready for counter arguments.

"They boil down to, ignore me."

She laughed. "I somehow think that simple explanation, while it may be correct, is far more complex in practice."

"When you get annoyed and angry at me consider this. I'm willing to risk my life to protect you. Unless I'm in a position to protect you, I'm protecting me not you."

"Fair enough. I'll try. Now I need to continue my appointment with Mr. Tomson." She buzzed Dorothy, and a few minutes later Tomson walked through the door. I moved back against the wall.

"I'm afraid you can't stay, Lynn."

"Ignore me. People are going to have to understand I'm a Kazak. I don't care about your secrets or theirs. I have diplomatic immunity and attorney/client privilege. We couldn't protect politicians, diplomats, and business leaders without those conditions. I've trained longer to be a Kazak than you did to be a lawyer."

"I knew just ignore me wasn't as simple as it sounded." She had three client meetings that day. It took ten minutes to convince each one that I wasn't a threat. After five minutes or so, she and the client ignored me.

"I have to admit that ignore me isn't as bad as I had imagined. You do tend to go unnoticed after a while; however, I'm sure there are more surprises to come. It's time to call it a day. I'm tired. I assume you are going to follow me home?"

"Yes. Until the current situation is resolved, you and I are Siamese twins. I can't protect you in the next room, or following you in a car, or... "

She grabbed her coat, pushed some papers into a briefcase, and left. Her apartment was less than a mile from her office in a middle-class neighborhood-medium-sized apartment buildings, twenty-year-old condos, and several mom and pop restaurants and businesses. It was early in the evening and the streets were busy. Caitlin's condo was in a well-maintained four-story building. We rode a small elevator to the third floor where there were eight units. As I entered, the eclectic feel of the room struck me. It was neither modern nor old but a blend of both, a good room in which to relax after the stress and strain of a hectic day. It struck me how hard it was to evaluate people without seeing all aspects of their lives.

"Well, Lynn. I imagine you're off to eat and get some rest. It must be hard standing around waiting for something to happen. I noticed that you never relax. You evaluate every person that approaches me. It must be exhausting."

"Remember my Siamese twins statement? I'll be with you twenty-four-seven until this assignment ends. Say hello to your new shadow." I made a small bow.

"You're kidding. No one works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

"Caitlin, the people that hate you don't take time off during the night and give you rest periods-just the opposite. They want you on edge every hour of every day. It's the same terrorism we associate with car bombs overseas. They want you to fear every sound you hear, every person you see, and your own shadow." I watched her as she removed her coat and placed the briefcase on a small table at the entrance. I could see her start to tremble as I talked. "I don't mean to be cruel, but you need to understand these people. They begin because they dislike what you're doing but soon become obsessed with the power it gives them over you. Most people have no defense against these tactics. You have me. As they are about to find out, Kazaks are bad people to make mad."

She gave me a weak grin. "Then I'll need to prepare meals for two."

"I'll pay for the food and prepare my own or help you in any way you want. I noticed you have only one bedroom. I'll sleep out here on the couch, if you don't mind."

She made a good-tasting stew. Afterward we sat around talking. She nervously described the two attacks. From her description of the incidents, I felt they were local thugs or friends of someone in a position of importance-a valued citizen of the city- eager to help.

At bedtime, I walked around the unit and found several old blankets to cover the windows during the night and put a table in front of the only door. She gave me strange looks but said nothing. The next morning, while having cereal and milk for breakfast, she made a list of groceries needed to feed two. I added coffee since she preferred tea.

The day was quiet. She saw two clients, and spent several hours reading and preparing legal documents. We left earlier in the afternoon than we had the previous day, so she could shop. I followed, watching people as usual. I didn't see any signs of her being watched or followed. That night I helped prepare dinner, mostly cutting up and washing things. I certainly wasn't a cook. The Hill had convinced me that food was necessary to keep the body going, nothing more. Consequently, it didn't matter what I ate or when. That was not to say that I didn't like some foods more than others. I just wouldn't go out of my way to get them.

Two days later, she attended a meeting representing her clients-Gay and Lesbian Rights Coalition, GLRC-against the Citizens for Decency Rights Council, CDRC.

"Who's that?" one of the lawyers for the other side asked when he saw me standing against the wall off to the side.

"My chaperone. You apparently have sympathizers that don't believe in the legal system of justice. They act like lawless vigilantes. She's the sheriff."

"Are you accusing my clients of using violence?"

"Terrill, quit posturing. Your clients are here with their lawyers, not guns, but this suit is an emotional issue. There are those who believe they have a right to use violence. I'm sure you and your clients have had it happen to you."

She appeared to have a reasonable case as the opposition was going to great pains to reach a compromise that would preclude legal compliance. The meeting ended after a lot of talking and no agreement. Most of the opposition ignored me, except for one man, who gave me an appraising look before leaving. If he weren't part of what was going on, he would like to be.

The next day was quiet. Caitlin spent the entire day either on the phone or preparing legal documents.

"Lynn, I usually eat out at that small Italian restaurant on the corner. Do you mind? You may enjoy the food." She was a tough litigator, but a gentle woman being terrorized by criminals who thought they were good, responsible citizens.

"I want to disrupt your life as little as possible, as hard as that might be to believe. I hate to introduce another rule, but for restaurants, you must pick a table near or against a wall in an area where I can see the entire room. If I eat, it will be something I can hold in my hand. I'll be standing while you eat. No, I don't think it's necessary at this time. It's my current opinion that you are being terrorized by thugs, who are being encouraged by otherwise upstanding citizens. If that is the case, they will attempt to attack you when you're alone, not in a restaurant or store. If these upstanding citizens fail to intimidate you into dropping the suit, then they may feel they have God's approval to contract a professional enforcer or an Assassin. They will attack you anywhere. Sorry. You have a naturally paranoid Kazak watching after you, whose motto is better safe than sorry."

"I don't know if I feel worse about the... thugs, or the discomfort you're imposing on yourself for my protection."

"Don't feel sorry for me. I love my work and my life. There is nothing I'd rather do, just as I'm sure you love your work, although it's stressful and unappreciated at times."

"You're a strange person, Kazak Lynn. Your rules seem ridiculous to me, but they make me feel safe." She did decide to eat at the small restaurant she patronized regularly. Everyone stared at her and me, until I caught his or her eyes. The chef seemed to take it in stride and brought me a meatball sub. I suspect he knew that Caitlin had been assaulted and liked the idea that she had protection.

It was late when we arrived back at Caitlin's condo. The building had no security but the door to the entrance was locked. The problem was that the residents could buzz someone in from their units. All you had to do was claim you had a delivery, or wait for someone to enter and walk in after them, claiming you were a cousin or some other excuse. If you waited for an older person, they were unlikely to argue with you.

I had just stepped off the elevator when I saw two men, one on my left and the other on my right. I pushed Caitlin back in as the door closed.

"Lookie what we have here, Artie. Babbcox's lesbian friend. A good fuck by real men should change her preferences."

"Hank, I get her first," Artie said, to distract me as Hank swung his bat at my ribs. Rather than move away toward Artie, I moved into Hank. Lesson 101 from the Hill-for a long weapon, move in close, making it ineffective; for a short weapon, move away. His bat hit the wall behind me, as I was inside his arm and up close and personal. As the sound reverberated throughout the hallway, my knee drove into his balls, my elbow into his jaw, and my foot into his instep. My knee produced a loud woof, my elbow caused blood to splatter against the far wall, and my foot created a satisfying feeling of crunching bones. I turned toward Artie as Hank spun away into the wall.

Artie was a couple of yards away and had been slow to react. He rushed me, bat over his head for a downward strike. I moved in again, this time with my arms crossed in an X, catching his downward strike. I slid a hand down his arm and grasped his wrist. Then I twisted it hard and drove the elbow of my other arm into his extended arm. I felt the joint dislodge. As it did, I caught the bat he had released and rotated it over my head in a 360-degree circle into his knee. He fell to the floor screaming. I waited, until the screams turned to sobs.

"Well, Artie. Now that we've gotten to know each other, I'd like to know the name of the man who sent you here."

"He'll have... " sob, "... you arrested for... " sob, "... this, you freak."

"Artie, his name please." I tapped lightly on his damaged knee with the bat. He screamed. I couldn't blame him. I'd bet it hurt. It looked to be a compound fracture. "I'll bet if I hit you right here," I tapped the bat against his knee for another scream, "that I could damage that knee so badly they would have to amputate." I raised the bat, staring at his knee.

"McCabe, Henry." He lay back, tears running down his face and blood dripping from his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue. Just then, an elderly man stuck his head half way out his door.

"Sir, please call 9-1-1. We have two men who seem to have hurt themselves. I think they'll need medical assistance. I'd help but I'm not a doctor." I smiled sweetly. Just then the elevator door opened and Caitlin looked out.

"I know I shouldn't have come back up but... Oh my God." She stared at the mayhem around me.

"Well we know who doesn't like you. A Mr. Henry McCabe."

***

Two policemen and two medics arrived a while later. Caitlin appeared in shock, so I had her go into her unit. Now, all the tenants were in the hall whispering. When the sergeant got out of the elevator, he spent several minutes looking at the men on the floor, then up and down the hallway. I raised my hand.

"These two men attacked Miss Babbcox and me, as we exited the elevator."

"Did you do this? Who are you?" He moved to face me.

"I'm Kazak Lynn and yes, I did this," I said politely.

He pulled his gun. The junior policeman with him just stood there with his hand on his gun.

"You're under arrest."

"For what?"

"For attacking these men." He grinned. I smashed the wrist with the gun, knocking it out of his hand, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall, while drawing my gun and pointing it in the other policeman's face.

"If either of you move, I'll kill you. These men attacked Miss Babbcox and me. It's obvious, since there are two baseball bats on the floor, and they don't live in this building. Second, I told you I'm a Kazak. You can't arrest a Kazak. Third, if I kill you nothing will happen except your wife and a few relatives might grieve over your death. I have diplomatic immunity. So I'll go free," I said. The sergeant's face had gone pale, maybe because my fingers were digging into his throat. I opened my cell phone and hit 1 on the speed dial.

"Yes," Witton answered. Elegant answering skills.

"Miss Babbcox and I were attacked in the hallway of her condo building. I defended myself. Because I was in a good mood, they'll be on their way to the hospital rather than the morgue. I have a police sergeant... " I looked at his name tag, "Ricker, by the neck with one hand, and the other has my gun in his face. Ricker wants to arrest me for attacking the two men who attacked me. I told him I was a Kazak, but he doesn't seem to know and can't or doesn't care to find out what that means. Can you take care of this misunderstanding?" I had the phone on speaker.

"Don't kill him." The phone went on hold.

"Both of you, lie on the floor face down." My arm was getting tired. When they were down, I relieved them of their weapons. Five minutes later, the phone came off hold.

"Ricker's captain will call him shortly. He's on the way to Babbcox's condo." The phone went dead. Sure enough, Ricker's police radio came to life a minute later.

"Ricker!" the voice said. "This is Captain Miller. Leave that Kazak alone. That's an order. I'll be there in ten minutes." The radio went dead. I let Ricker and his partner get up, and handed them their guns. I knew Ricker would have liked to shoot me. With reluctance, he returned his gun to his holster. I decided to wait with my client in her unit. Sometime later, there was a knock at the door. I answered. A police captain stood there waiting.

"Won't you come in, Captain Miller? Miss Babbcox is making coffee. Would you like a cup or do your prefer something else?" It was Caitlin's condo, and I should have let her issue the invitation. But...

"Coffee will be fine. I understand you don't have to, but would you mind telling me what happened?"

"No, I don't. Miss Babbcox and I had just returned... " I related the details of the incident. "I'm sorry about your officers but Ricker wasn't interested in checking with you, and he had a gun in my face."

"Ricker showed poor judgment. My superior, who talked to someone higher up on the food chain, was told you must have been in a good mood if everyone wasn't dead."

"They were just thugs, more a danger to themselves than me. Do you know a Mr. Henry McCabe?

"Yes, he's the head of the Church of God."

"Well the boys told me, confidentially, that he was behind the attack. He has a right to disagree with Miss Babbcox and to seek legal action against her. He doesn't have any right to attack her. You might mention to him that one more attack will put me in a very ugly mood."

"Kazak Lynn, I know a lot of people are upset with the ACLU, but I don't condone violence or actions that break the law. Thank you for your time and allowing the interview." He left.

"I thought you were just a fancy bodyguard. Obviously, I was very wrong. I can't believe what has happened tonight. I know I should have stayed downstairs, but I couldn't, knowing you may die trying to protect me." Her eyes were misty. We talked for a while before she was relaxed enough to retire for the night.

The next several days were quiet. She and I got a lot of strange looks and whispered conversations at work.

Caitlin again met with the lawyers opposing her. They kept looking at me standing in the corner. They said nothing, although I'd bet they wanted to insinuate Caitlin was somehow responsible for the attack. Back in her office, I decided the situation had changed.

"Caitlin, I'm afraid the situation has probably changed for the worse. McCabe has a major dilemma. He has failed to stop you and will lose face if he can't. He knows his local church thugs aren't going to work. The only choice he has left is to hire an Assassin." I paused to let that sink in. "You have two choices. One, drop the suit. Two, trust I can protect you."

"I can't stop the suit without destroying the ACLU. I can't leave for the same reason, but I don't want you killed." She put her head in her hands.

"Caitlin, protecting people is my profession. I like what I do. Most of the time, I protect good people like you from evil people like McCabe. I know even thugs like those clowns the other night can kill me, although those odds are small; however, an Assassin and I are sort of evenly matched, except when I'm expecting one. Then, the odds are in my favor. If you stay, I stay."

Caitlin sulked the rest of the day. By evening, she had resigned herself to the situation. I spent the day thinking about McCabe-a preacher. I would think a man of God would be tolerant, unless...

"Caitlin, do you know a reputable detective agency?"

"We use the Vigil Agency when we need something researched or investigated. Why?"

"Something doesn't feel right about the Reverend McCabe. Call them and set up a meeting." Violence didn't fit the players. If I killed McCabe the ACLU would get blamed and the situation would escalate into more violence. Then it wouldn't be confined to Caitlin. Many people agreed with McCabe on this issue. Others didn't like the ACLU in principle, but they didn't subscribe to killing anyone. McCabe was the instigator of the violence. He had to be stopped. The meeting was set for the next day at the ACLU headquarters.

***

"Lynn, this is Burt Bydin. Burt, this is Kazak Lynn. She's my bodyguard," Caitlin said when Burt had entered the office. He offered to shake hands. I declined with a shake of my head.

"Sorry. I'm on duty." I waved him to a seat. "Burt, what won't you do?"

He gave me a strange look before answering. "The agency won't take any physical action against anyone or do anything that is illegal." He didn't qualify the statement.

"What about investigating a religious or government person?"

"I have no problem with investigating anyone, except maybe the president." He gave a small laugh. "I did an investigation of several Catholic priests a few years ago for a potential molestation case, but I won't lie or make things up."

"I'd like you to investigate Henry McCabe. I want to know everything about him starting back about ten years. He's guilty of something," I said, feeling confident I was right.

"Is this for you or the ACLU?" He looked toward Caitlin, who shrugged.

"This is Kazak business."

"I can reach you through Caitlin, but the information is for you. Agreed." After I nodded agreement, he left.

The next few days were a bit interesting. Caitlin had two appearances in court: one for a civil action against a client of the ACLU and one for her challenge to the proposed petition. When she and the CDRC lawyers met for oral arguments, the courtroom was full of people, most hostile to the ACLU. I stood just off to the side of Caitlin's podium, so I could see the entire courtroom and be in a position to reach her quickly. The judge wasn't happy but acquiesced when I pointed out that I would be more inclined to shoot a person attacking Caitlin if I were further away.

Caitlin was in the middle of her argument when a man stood and began shouting obscenities. He was on the opposite side of Caitlin from me. I began moving closer, while continuing to watch the spectators. My first impression was right. The shouter was a distraction. A man closer to me rose with a can of red paint. I drew a knife.

"SIR!" I shouted. "If you throw that can, Miss Babbcox will have red paint all over her, and you will have blood all over you. The judge will have to call a recess while Miss Babbcox removes the paint. You will go to the morgue."

The room went silent. He paled and sat back down. It took the judge a few minutes to recover. He looked to me, then to the bailiff.

"Have those two taken into custody and charged with aggravated assault. Miss Babbcox, you may proceed." The rest of the day was boring.

***

Life returned to boring, during the day. At night, Caitlin and I shared a bit of our lives. She was a good cook and fed me well. It was a nice change to sit down and eat. We followed the same streets each day on the way to the office and at night on the way back to the condo. It certainly wasn't ideal from a safety perspective. Routines are bad, since they allow your opponent to plan ahead.

She left the office later than usual that night. The streets weren't deserted but there were fewer people than an hour or two earlier. That would be an ideal time for an ambush. I decided McCabe would probably stop using his unhappy parishioners and would resort to professional help. That may or may not be Assassins.

We were in the small shopping area a few blocks from her condo when I saw them. They might as well have had signs on them, Hi, we're professional thugs. One was standing looking in a shop window several yards ahead of us. The other one was crossing the street to get behind us. I swept Caitlin off her feet as I drew my gun and fired at the man in front of me as he turned toward me. Almost as soon as the bullet cleared my Glock, I spun around into a sitting snake stance, facing the one behind. He and I fired at the same time. He missed; I didn't. His second shot went high as mine hit him in the chest, driving him stumbling backward. He collapsed after the shot to his chest. I carefully surveyed the street as I uncoiled. Caitlin was on the pavement face down with her arms over her head. She must have rolled over onto her stomach when the shooting began.

"Are you all right, Caitlin?" I asked, still scanning the area.

"Except for some scrapes, bruises, and a near heart attack." She stood, a bit unsteady.

"Tell Captain Miller, Lynn was in a bad mood," I said loudly to no one in particular. Some of those who witnessed the shooting would stay and report what I had said. People loved to stand and watch accidents of any kind. After we had entered her condo and cleaned up, Caitlin seemed a bit more under control.

"I'm scared, Lynn. I'm a lawyer. The most violence I should encounter is a heated verbal exchange with another lawyer. Is this going to end?"

"Not until our God-fearing preacher is silenced. I'd kill him, since he's trying to kill you, but it would only make matters worse. I'm hoping Burt is going to uncover something that I can use against him."

Captain Miller showed up at the condo several hours later.

"Would you mind telling me what happened tonight? It appears to have occurred so fast that I don't have any reliable witnesses. My detectives have identified the two dead men as suspects in several killings, although we have no proof. They were members of a South American gang, who are involved in drugs, prostitution, robberies, and a variety of assaults."

"They need training," I said absent-mindedly. Miller choked back a laugh. "One stationed himself in front of us, while the other circled around behind us. I knocked Caitlin down and shot the one in front as he turned, then turned around and shot the one behind. I hope no one got hurt with his first shot, since he missed."

"No. No one was hurt, which is probably a miracle. I don't imagine you missed."

"No. Can't afford to miss when you're protecting someone's life. Ruins your reputation."

After coffee and some small talk, he left. The situation was definitely escalating.

Life went back to normal. I noticed Caitlin's associates tended to keep their distance after hearing about the recent attack. The CDRC lawyers postponed a scheduled meeting.

Caitlin, and everyone around her, was feeling the tension. I couldn't do anything but wait for the next attack, which I was convinced would occur. Caitlin decided to forgo her weekly night out, I think as much out of consideration for the restaurant owner as herself.

Burt Bydin called that night and asked to come over. He sounded like he had found something interesting. He had.

"Lynn, you were right. Five years ago, he had a sexual relationship with a boy, a young man named Robert Semmel, which lasted for over a year. Semmel feels McCabe intentionally created a dangerous situation for him. McCabe's subsequent sermons against homosexuals nearly got Semmel beaten to death by McCabe's followers. He gave me a notarized deposition detailing his affair with McCabe. He also claimed McCabe had a molestation charge against him several years earlier. It was dropped when McCabe settled out of court."

"Just as I expected. When someone becomes so vehement against something, you have to wonder why. We all have things we dislike or find disgusting, but we've control of those feelings. McCabe doesn't. Let's get that information to the newspapers under my name. He'll have to sue me or admit it's true," I turned to Caitlin. "If he sues me, which he will, I can have you submit the affidavit."

***

The article appeared in the Star Tribune two days later and immediately McCabe's lawyers filed a suit, charging me with libel. I felt that McCabe would be desperate to have me killed before I could submit my evidence against him. That attempt would not be with the local talent. I expected Assassins. The question was which type, and hopefully there would be only one.

"Caitlin, I don't think you're going to be the target for the next attack. I apologize in advance. When it comes, I'm going to sweep your feet from under you, push you, or perform some violent action to get you away from me."

"You're expecting one of the Assassins you told me about?"

"Yes. I might wear earplugs, so pull my arm or hit me if I don't respond." I had to be prepared for any type Assassin, but I thought it most likely that it would be a Ghost. The Assassins knew me. The real question was where the attack would occur. The condo hallway seemed unlikely-too narrow and isolated. He would need some distraction. The streets had plenty of distractions. But he needed to be visible to shoot and too many people would mean someone could get in the way at the wrong time. If he didn't kill me with the first shot, he would be at risk. That left the office. If I were right, I had a slight advantage.

***

The next three days were quiet. That evening as Caitlin prepared to leave, I walked out the door first, as I always do.

"Caitlin, can I talk to you for a minute?" a young man said as he approached us. I watched him carefully. If he was an Illusion Assassin, he would have to make some move to kill me soon, because if he got too close a poke in his chest would disrupt the illusion. As I watched, I saw the slight distortion to the side of him. I waited. When he was within six feet of me, I pushed Caitlin back into her office. Caught off balance, she stumbled into her desk.

I jumped to the opposite side of the shimmer and gave the young man a roundhouse kick to the stomach. He doubled up, exposing the upper part of the Assassin as he materialized. We fired. I was slammed against the wall and pain shot through my shoulder. He had been pushed back against the opposite wall as my bullet hit him. He was moving and still functional. I dropped into a front split as splinters of wood burst above my head. He twisted sideways to minimize his profile, just as I shot again. I hit him in the arm. I swung my right leg back to the left, dropping my entire body to the floor. He dove in the opposite direction across the floor. We fired. Pain shot through my right side. I hit him in the hip, spinning him around so that he was on his back facing me, which gave him a better shooting position. We fired. I felt a searing pain from my side up through my shoulder. My shot hit him in the groin. The bullet penetrated into his body. He didn't return fire. I did, two more times.

The paramedics were the first to respond and transported me to the United Hospital. I insisted Caitlin accompany us. I couldn't possibly defend her, but she was safer in the hospital than at home alone.

***

I woke unsure what time or day it was. The room had a dim light so I assumed it was either early morning or evening. Caitlin sat sleeping in a chair next to my bed, and Al the Cheetah stood lounging against the opposite wall.

"Good morning, Fox. Seems like I always have to finish your assignments. No staying power. I have to admit I liked your going away party at the Sovereign Whites of America house. Do you have another one planned before you leave?"

"No, you may have to party alone. Henry McCabe may still be trouble, since I may have pissed him off."

"You may have, but I don't think he'll be trouble anymore. It seems some person or persons beat him to death last night, which I guess means no party. Witton asked me to stay for a few weeks to see if there is any more trouble."

Just then, Caitlin jerked awake.

"You're awake. Thank God. The doctors took two bullets out of you and stitched an area from your chest to your shoulder where a bullet grazed you. Fortunately, it didn't enter your body. It just left an external channel twelve inches long. He said you were lucky the bullets missed all the important organs. After he examined you, he said you must have one hell of a guardian angel. You've had me sick with worry that you might die."

"Can't. Clare, my love, won't allow it."

"Witton is sending your plane for you to go to Denver. It'll be here tomorrow," Al said. "Caitlin and I will get your clothes together and drive you to the airport. It's sad when a Kazak can't defend herself, much less her client."

"She can't leave the hospital tomorrow! The doctor said she'd be here for a week," Caitlin almost screamed.

"She'd leave today, but the plane won't be here until tomorrow. She's going to milk this for all it's worth."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I climbed the steps to the plane with herculean effort. Kathryn helped me the last few feet.

"I'm sure Mr. Witton would let you use your plane without having to go through all this trouble." She gave me a weak smile. "I hope you don't feel as bad as you look. Never mind, I promise to baby you all the way to Denver."

As I turned the corner, I saw Witton sitting up front. He was actually smiling. I guess I looked pretty funny standing there with my mouth open.

"I thought I should face Clare with you. That way we can split the blame. She probably deserves the opportunity to scream at me in person. The phone isn't very satisfying."

"I hope you didn't tell her you were coming. No telling who she'd have waiting for you. Forgive me for being skeptical, but why are you really here?"

"I'll wait until you're both together. That way I won't have to explain it twice."

"You're not going to fire me, are you?"

"No. Although I have to spend a lot of time explaining that you're a woman, explaining your strict rules, and the fact that you cost me a fortune in fuel. Come sit before you fall, and tell me about your recent assignment. I would particularly like to know how you let an Assassin shoot you three times. Seems like once would be enough." He waved me to a chair.

Kathryn was true to her word and hovered around me the whole flight-food, dessert, coffee, and more dessert.

"You need food to build up your strength," she harped every ten minutes. I liked her anyway. Witton and I talked about my assignment, and he told me a little about himself. He had been a Kazak-a Master Kazak. He was forced to retire, when his injuries began to slow him down. Because of his record, the Committee had decided to make him the operational head of the Kazaks. A year later Witton officially assumed the position.

***

When we exited the plane Clare stood waiting. She took one look at me and ran up to Witton and started pounding him on the chest. How she knew who he was is beyond me.

"You... bastard, you've done it again. Look at her, she's a mess!" Tears were streaming down her face. Eventually, she stopped and returned to me. Holding my face between her hands, she gave me a gentle kiss. "Loan me your gun so I can shoot him."

"Don't. We need to hear what he wants to tell us. He didn't come all this way to let you beat on his chest or shoot him. Besides, I guess I would have to defend him since he's my boss. Although, I doubt I have the strength." I turned toward him and grinned. "Let's go to the condo, I'm dying to hear what it is." I noticed that I didn't say Clare's condo. I had begun to think of it as our condo. I guess I should help pay the mortgage. I would have to talk to Clare about it. Clare drove. Witton seemed at ease, asking questions and seemingly enjoying the sights.

Clare made coffee and sat after serving Witton and me. "Well, I'm listening." She glared at him. "And it had better be good. It's a long way to the ground floor from here."

"Clare, I truly feel almost as bad as you do when Lynn comes back injured. I do try to give her easy assignments but somehow they turn out disastrous. The Committee and I are frequently surprised she survives. Fortunately, she does-"

"Very fortunate," Clare interjected, looking particularly aggressive.

"I agree. Lynn has been a constant surprise since she became a Kazak. She has figured out good ways to identify Assassins and developed a set of rules that has kept her clients alive under impossible odds. Those rules, however, have been the reason she's injured so often. They put her between the killer and her client. Good for the client, bad for her-"

"I keep telling her to shoot faster. She has immunity." Clare leaned over and punched me in the arm.

"She shoots faster than most, Clare. Lynn wants us to accept more women into the Kazak program. The Committee has decided they would like to know if it's uniquely Lynn or her natural female predilection that makes her so effective. I suspect both. Lynn has pointed out that the requirement to climb the cliff to the Hill unfairly favors men. The Committee has decided to put Lynn in charge of developing a process for us to bring women into the Kazak ranks. They have selected ninety-five candidates. They are willing to permit the women to skip the climb, but Lynn must develop an equivalent challenge and will be responsible for getting the survivors ready to enter the program with the men." He stopped to take a few sips of coffee. Clare sat there, eyes narrowed, waiting for the obvious punch line to come.

"She is going to be the Master Kazak on the Hill for these women. She'll also work with Master Johar to modify the existing program based on her unique approach, which we agree has proven effective. We'll guarantee she'll be there for at least five years." Witton paused. Clare's frown turned into a tentative smile.

"Clare, you will have unlimited access to the Hill. Gendel or I will make a private plane available for you any time with two days' notice. A helicopter will be ready to take you from the airport to the Hill. You may visit any time and stay as long as you want. We will try and give Lynn at least several weeks each year to visit you. For five years, you will be able to see her without injuries." Witton sat back with a satisfied smile. Clare and I sat speechless.

"You're forgiven, sort of, Mr. Witton," Clare whispered.

Witton left later that evening. Clare and I left the following day in one of Gendel's private planes for La Paz, where we spent two glorious weeks wrapped in each other's arms. I departed for the Hill, healed in many ways.

***

As I entered the gymnasium, ninety-five women sat in the bleachers on the right side. I suspect most of them thought me a late arrival. They looked to be a cross section of America-black, white, yellow, short, tall, thin, plump... I couldn't know how many, if any, would succeed in becoming Kazaks, but the number of candidates made for a good start. The normal bi-annual competition seldom drew more than a few women and most left when they found they had to climb the sheer face of a mountain to qualify. I walked to the center of the basketball court and smiled.

"So you think you want to be Kazaks."

Also by C R Daems

From Double Dragon Publishing
www.double-dragon-ebooks.com

The Kazak Guardians

If the Kazak Guardians had a recruiting poster, it would have read: WANTED: A select few insane men to fight professional Assassins with super-human abilities. Good medical plan provided.

The Unthinkable

Lynn the Fox has been a Kazak for several years and thought she has seen it all; after all, she's a Master Kazak having killed more than five Assassins-professional killers with wizard-like talents.

Scales Of Justice

A hundred years ago, a treaty joined the seven provinces under a king and created a system of equal justice for nobles and commoners. The Sisters of Astraea were proclaimed the Judicators of the land, because they could tell truth from lie.

The Laughing Hounds

After what were thought to be dogs kill her mother and attack her, Annette discovers she has become the last female descendant of a line of women who, for over a century, fought and died fighting Countess Lenuta, her sons, and their packs of Werehyenas. Annette learns she has inherited her ancestors' unique ability to make Tone-wood sing; Tone-wood is the only weapon that can kill the Werehyenas. As such, she represents the last threat to their existence.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Also by C R Daems

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