Good and bad unintended consequences.
In 16 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ►Podcast at Connected.
The highest cost of losing a war is the rage of your children.
A Canadian Interrogation
"Cáel, what have you gotten that poor girl into?" Anais blasted me.
"Well, you remember one of those curses you laid on me, the one where you hoped I was trapped in a women's insane asylum and forgotten about?" I reminded her.
"Yes; the Freddy Krueger curse. I recall it vividly," she growled.
Anais wasn't going to hang up on me. She had anger issues and one of the things she adored about me was my willingness to put up with her rages in and out of the bedroom. She kept her fury bottled up at work, so sex with me had been a great release. Sadly for us both, I was a pig.
"You got your wish," I chuckled.
"I ended up working at Havenstone, where I'm one of two male employees in the entire corporation. My career has taken a few unexpected turns since we last talked."
"Thus you finding yourself in Hungary," she interjected. "Are you really in danger?"
"Did you hear about the Budapest M3 firefight yesterday?" I meekly provided. Pause
"Oh my God! You really are in danger," Anais gasped. "Turn yourself in immediately."
"It is not that simple," I replied. "This kind of trouble, the police can't protect me from, Anais. My father is dead. He was murdered two weeks ago. You can check that out. If you like, you can call US Federal Prosecutor Javiera Castello."
"Is she attractive?" Anais grilled me.
"Of course she's attractive. Every girl I meet adjusts twenty pounds toward their desired weight and ten years toward their twentieth birthdays," I griped. "It is a curse." No, it wasn't.
"What is sex with her like?" she demanded to know.
"I haven't had sex with her, Anais. She has me under investigation. The sex will come once she's put me behind bars," I evaded.
"Do you have a girlfriend now?" Jeesh, I had forgotten how jealous she could be.
"I'm engaged to billionairess entrepreneur Hana Sulkanen, Anais, but it is an arranged marriage," I kept paddling.
"You are getting married, to someone else?" she was incredulous.
"How about I explain this over dinner when I get back to the States?" I offered. "Anyplace in New York City, on me."
"Why don't you come to Quebec?" she countered. 'Because I like my freedom' was the honest answer. Thinking fast,
"I am currently working with a multi-national commission with the Republic of Ireland's UN mission. I have to remain on-call for various assignments," I wove my deception.
"That's a lie. You just said you were working with Havenstone," she snapped.
"Check it out yourself. I have a certified diplomatic position with Ireland," I counter-trapped her.
"You are such a gifted liar, I don't know what to believe anymore," she sounded sullen.
"How about this: you send out feelers to whatever offices Ireland has in Canada and call Javiera, you can call Havenstone if you want. My boss is Katrina Love of Executive Services. If what I've told you checks out, would you please call my roommate," I requested.
I gave her my home number and asked her to relay whatever message Odette had given him to give to me.
"I miss you, Cáel," she confessed. "You broke my heart and I hate you," she lied about the second half.
"I was the one who screwed up. I still have your boots and uniform in my closet. I had the suit cleaned and the boots polished," I replied.
"Why didn't you return them, then?" she grumbled.
"You swore out charges against me, Anais," I recalled. "Things I didn't want to go to jail for."
"Oh, sorry, but you had it coming," she insisted. Going to jail for bestiality would not have looked good on any transcript. I wasn't going to beat her up over that.
"I think we both screwed up," I allowed. Buckling under wouldn't have done. Anais didn't want a wimp. She wanted a guy who could forgive her.
"Still, I was the one who started it, so the buck stops with me," I took the romantic hit.
"I'll make some calls," Anais conceded. "If things check out, I'll be in touch. Prendre soin de mon amour," she signed off in the same manner she did when I was in college.
"Maybe she is not so much an 'ex' girlfriend?" Orsi leered. It was the old 'if he is soooo good that she still wants him back after a colossal screw up, I wanted a taste' expression.
"Do you think she will help you?" Katalin inquired.
"She'll help," Pamela huffed playfully. "My grandson has plenty of ex-girlfriends. Most of them want him back, despite his colorful lifestyle. It is one of his more amusing qualities."
"Let's get something to eat," I tried to turn the conversation away from my past sexcapades.
"You are engaged?" Jolan didn't miss a beat.
"It is complicated," I sighed. "Let's just say I really like her, but she's seven years older, divorced with one young daughter and has a father who hates that I live and breathe."
"Do you have any male friends?" Monika joined the Cáel Quiz Bowl.
"Yes," I replied with confidence. "My roommate Timothy and I are great friends."
"He's gay," Pamela pierced their disbelief. "He and Cáel are true brothers-in-arms, I'll give Cáel that much."
"Do you have any straight male friends?" Orsi was enjoying taunting me.
"Do Chaz or Vincent count?" I looked to Pamela.
"They are straight males, but they don't really know you yet," Pamela failed to be of much help. "I think Vincent insinuated he'd shoot you if you dated any of his three daughters. It was friendly of him to warn you. I supposed that could be construed as liking you."
"Are all your acquaintances violent?" Anya seemed worried.
"Vincent isn't violent. He's with the US FBI," I retorted. Pause. "Okay, he carries a gun and shoots it, he's a law officer. They can do that."
"You seem to be stressed," Orsi put an arm around my waist. "Let us ease your worries." Hallelujah!
Note: World Events Summary
Round #1 had seen the Khanate unite several countries under one, their, banner. Earth & Sky soldiers had rolled across the Chinese border as their Air Force and Missile Regiments had used precision strikes to hammer Chinese bases, sever their transportation network and crippled their civilian infrastructure.
Next, the frontier offensive units had been obliterated, the cities bypassed and the Khanate Tumens had sped forward to the geographic junctures between what the Khanate wanted and from whence the PLA had to come. In the last phase of Round #1, the Khanate prepped for the inevitable PLA / PLAAF counter-strike.
Round #2 had now begun:
Step One: Declare to the World that the Khanate was a nuclear power. As history would later reveal, this was a lie, but no one had any way of initially knowing that. Hell, the Khanate hadn't even existed 72 hours ago. Satellite imagery did show the Khanate had medium-range strategic missiles capable of hitting any location in the People's Republic. In Beijing, a nuclear response was taken off the table.
Step Two: Initiate the largest air-battle in the history of Asia. Not just planes either. Both sides flew fleets of UCAV's at one another. It wasn't really even a battle between China and just the Khanate. Virtually all of the UAV technology the Khanate was using was Japanese, South Korean and Taiwanese in origin, plus some US-Russian-shared technology thrown into the mix.
When the South Korean design team saw the footage of their bleeding-edge dogfighting UCAVs shooting down their PRC opponents, they were thrilled (their design rocked!), shocked (what was their 'baby' doing dominating Chinese airspace?) and anxious (members of South Korea's Defense Acquisition Program Administration, DAPA, were rushing over to chat with them).
Similar things were happening in Japan, Taiwan, Russia and the United States. The Communist Party leadership in Beijing were beginning to seriously consider the possibility that everyone was out to get them. Of course, all the Ambassadors in Beijing were bobbing their heads with the utmost respect while swearing on the lives of their first born sons that their nations had nothing to do with any of this.
These foreign diplomats promised to look into these egregious breaches of their scientific integrity and were saying how sorry they were that the PLA and PLAAF were getting ass-raped for the World's viewing pleasure. No, they couldn't stop the Khanate posting such things to the internet, something to do with freedom. Paranoia had been creeping into the Potentates' thoughts since the Pakistan/Aksai Chan incident.
As they watched their very expensive jets and UCAV's being obliterated, distrust of the global community became the 800 pound gorilla in the room. To add habaneros to the open wounds, the United States and the United Kingdom began dropping hints that they had some sort of highly personal communication conduit with the Khanate's secretive and unresponsive leadership. Yes Virginia Wolfe, the Western World was out to get the People's Republic.
'Great Mao's Ghost', all that claptrap their grandfathers had babbled on about (1) the Korea War, (2) the Sino-Soviet grudge match, (3) the Sino-Vietnamese conflict and (4) the persistent support for the renegade province of Formosa all being a continuous effort by the liberal democracies and post-colonial imperialist to contain Chinese communism, didn't sound so crazy anymore.
Step Three: Plaster all those PLA ground units that had started moving toward them when the air war began and the Chinese envisioned they would control the skies. The T-99 was a great tank. It also blew up rather spectacularly when it was stuck on a rail car (you don't drive your tanks halfway across China, it kills the treads).
As Craig Kilborn put into his late night repertoire:
"What do you call a Khanate UCAV driver who isn't an ace yet? Late for work."
"What's the difference between me coming off a weekend long Las Vegas bender and a Khanate pilot? Not a damn thing. We've both been up for three days straight, yet everyone expects us to work tonight."
Some PLA generals decided to make an all-out charge at the Tumens. Genghis's boys and girls were having none of that. They weren't using their Russian-built Khanate tanks to kill Chinese-built PLA tanks. No, their tanks were sneaking around and picking off the Chinese anti-air vehicles.
The Chinese tanks and APCs engaged the dismounted Khanate infantry who, as Aksai Chin had shown, possessed some of the latest anti-tank weaponry. In the few cases where the PLA threw caution to the wind, they did some damage to the Khanate by sheer weight of numbers. For the rest, it was death by airpower.
With their anti-air shield gone, the battle became little more than a grisly, real-life FPS game. It wasn't 'THE END'. China still had over 2,000,000 troops to call upon versus the roughly 200,000 the Khanate could currently muster. The PLA's new dilemma was how to transport these mostly truck-bound troops anywhere near the front lines without seeing them also exterminated from the air.
After the Tumens gobbled up the majority of the PLA's available mobile forces, they resumed their advance toward the provincial boundaries of Xinjiang and Nin Mongol. There was little left to slow them down. The Chinese still held most of the urban centers in Xinjiang and Nei Mongol, yet they were isolated. And Khanate follow-up forces (the national armies they'd 'inherited') were putting the disease-riddled major municipalities under siege.
All over the 24/7 World Wide News cycle, talking heads and military gurus were of two minds about the Khanate's offensive. Most harped on the fact that while the Khanate was making great territorial gains, it was barely making a dent in the Chinese population and economy. Uniformly, those people insisted that before the end of November, the Khanate would be crushed and a reordering of Asia was going to be the next great Mandate for the United Nations.
A few of the braver unconventional pundits pointed out the same thing, but with the opposite conclusion, arguing:
1.There were virtually no military forces in the conquered areas to contend with the Khanate's hold on the regions.
2.Their popularity in the rural towns and countryside seriously undercut any hope for a pro-PRC insurgency.
3.Driving the Khanate's forces back to their starting points would be a long and difficult endeavor that the World Economy might not be able to endure.
When the PLAAF was effectively castrated after thirty-six hours of continuous aerial combat, a lot of experts were left with egg on their faces. One lone commentator asked the most fearful question of all. Where was the Khanate getting the financing, technical know-how and expertise to pull all of this off? There was a reason to be afraid of that answer.
And while I was entertaining my six sailor-saviors, there were two other things of a diplomatic nature only just revealing themselves. Publically, Vladimir Putin had graciously offered to mediate the crisis while 'stealthily' increasing the readiness of his Eastern Military District. If there was any confusion, that meant activating a shitload of troops on the Manchurian border, not along the frontiers of the former nations of Mongolia and Kazakhstan.
After all, Mongolia was terribly poor. Manchuria/Northeastern China? Manchuria was rich, rich, rich! From the Kremlin, Putin spoke of 'projecting a presence' into the 'lost territory' of Manchuria, citing Russia's long involvement in the region. By his interpretation of history, the Russians (aka the Soviet Union) had rescued Manchukuo (the theoretically INDEPENDENT Imperial Japanese puppet state of Manchuria) from the Japanese in 1945. They'd even given it back to the PRC for safekeeping after World War II was concluded.
Putin promised Russia was ready and willing to help out the PRC once again, suggesting that maybe a preemptive intervention would forestall the inevitable Khanate attack, thus saving the wealthy, industrialized province from the ravages of war. Surely Putin's Russians could be relied on to withdraw once the Khanate struggle was resolved? Surprisingly, despite being recent beneficiaries of President Putin's promises, the Ukraine remained remiss in their accolades regarding his rectitude.
In the other bit of breaking news; an intermediary convinced the Khanate to extend an invitation to the Red Cross, Red Crescent and the WHO to investigate the recently conquered regions in preparations for a humanitarian mission.
That intermediary was Hana Sulkanen; for reasons no one could fathom, she alone had the clout to get the otherwise unresponsive new regime to open up and she was using that influence to bring about a desperately needed relief effort to aid the civilians caught up in that dynastic struggle. A Princess indeed. No one was surprised that the PRC protested, claiming that since the territory wasn't conquered, any intervention was a gross violation of Chinese sovereignty.
End of Note
(To Live and Die in Hun-Gray)
Orsi may have been the troupe leader, but Anya needed me more, so she came first.
"I need a shower before we catch some dinner," I announced as we meandered the streets of Mindszent. My lady friends were all processing that as I wound an arm around Anya's waist and pulled her close. "Shower?" I smiled down at her, she was about 1.7 m (5'7"). It took her a few seconds to click on my invitation.
"Yeah, sure, that would be nice," she reciprocated my casual waist hold. Several of her friends giggled over her delay. We were heading back to the Seven Fishermen's Guest House.
"Do you do this, picking up strange girls you've barely met for, you know?" she said in Bulgarian, as she looked at me expectantly.
"Yes and no," I began, in Russian. "I often find myself encountering very intriguing women, for which I know I am a fortunate man. I embrace sensuality. That means I know what I'm doing, but I'm not the 'bring him home to meet the parents' kind of guy."
"What of your fiancée? Do you feel bad about cheating on her?" Anya pursued me.
"Hana is wonderful. I've met her father and it went badly both times," I confessed.
"How?" Anya looked concerned for me.
"Would you two speak a language the rest of us can understand?" Monika teased us.
"Very well," I nodded to Monika, and turned back to Anya, "The first time, his son raped a girl and I threatened the young man's life," I revealed. "Jormo, Hana's father, wasn't happy when I did so. The second time, he hit me twice, once in the gut and once in the head," I continued.
"Why did he hit you?" Orsi butted in.
"I'd rather not say. You may think less of me," I confessed. Pamela gave me a wink for playing my audience so well. I'm glad she's family (kinda/sorta).
"The boy, he is dead?" Magdalena guessed. "Hana's brother?"
"I really shouldn't talk about that," I evaded. "It is a family matter." That's right. The family that my grandmother had brought me into as her intern / slayer-in-training. There is no reason to create a new lie when you can embellish a previous one.
"Do you ever feel bad about what you do?" Katalin asked Pamela. We love movies.
"As I see it, if I show up looking for you, you've done something to deserve it," Pamela gave her sage philosophy behind being an assassin.
"Are you, bi-sexual?" Jolan murmured. Pamela smacked me in the chest as I laughed. "Did I say something wrong?" Jolan worried. Pamela was a killer.
"No, you are fine," Pamela patted Jolan's shoulder. "I'm straight and happily so. It just so happens that most of my co-workers are women. Day in, day out, nothing but sweaty female bodies working out, sparring and grappling together, and afterwards, the massages."
That was my Grandma, poking all the lesbian buttons of the women around me. Best of all, she did it with the detached air of a sexually indifferent matron. She was stirring up the lassies while keeping them focused on me. We walked into the courtyard of our guest house.
"Don't take too long, you two," Orsi teased us.
"Ha!" Pamela chuckled. "That's like asking the Sun to hurry up and rise, the Moon to set too soon, or the sea to stay at low tide forever."
"Anya," I whispered into her ear. "How many orgasms do you want?" Anya's eyes expanded. Her eyes flickered toward her friends, then back to me. She held up one finger, I grinned speculatively. Anya held up two fingers. I kissed her fingers.
"Your wish is my command," I susurrated {Triple Word Score!}. We went to the group room long enough to grab our toiletries, for me that meant a tiny shampoo bottle.
The majority of my stuff had burned up in the car the Black Hand delivered me in. Unlike some guys, I have no problem using female-friendly cleanliness products; but Anya's stuff was back on their boat. We made the best with what we had. I put on a condom right off the bat. Anya was unsure of herself. It turned out Anya had had two, rather feeble, previous male encounters.
Her first was a medium term relationship which ended when he was unable to perform on their second attempt. The second guy was an internet date. That guy sounded like the king of the One-night Stand: get in, bang 'em and never return their e-mails. Sadly, that often left the girl wondering what she'd done wrong, although the truth was the guy was incapable of five minutes of small talk to save his life.
I encouraged Anya to wash me while I washed her. I didn't want her thinking of her and me. I wanted her focusing on the 'us' in order to blur the lines between our individuality. She was double-handed pumping me without thinking about it for thirty seconds when she gasped, "Oh God!" as she realized what she was doing.
"Why did you stop?" I gave her a compassionate grin. "I liked it." She blushed, looked down and away then smiled. "Please?" I requested. Now she looked up. Making your sex partner happy is its own erotic boost. Anya returned with a timid hold on my sceptre.
I used her indecision to create my own reward system. I placed kisses on her forehead, temple, cheeks and finally the corners of her lips as she rubbed me. As she got happy and more confident, her hands became more adventurous. My hands tracing the lines of her small breasts was my response, although kisses continued. I'd stroke the tender masses, then twirl her nipples. Anya came back with little pre-orgasmic huffing noises.
Climax doesn't come from a cock, or cunt. It comes from neural and mental stimulation.
Anya went off by merely grinding her stomach against my tool, humping me with desperate thrusts and animalistic squeals. She had a very under-stated orgasm. Her pre-event noises slid straight into her orgasmic vibrations.
"Sorry," she whimpered.
"What!" I gulped. "You are not going to leave me like this, are you?" Her jaw dropped in shock at how I'd turned our situation around.
"No, no," she reassured me, and ran her hands over my chest and shoulders. "No, we can keep going."
"Good," I smiled. I wasted no time lifting her under each arm and bringing her breasts to face level. Yum-yum, and Anya went back to making various inarticulate noises. Only when our pelvises touched did she quiet down. At that point, she kept deep, meaningful eye contact with me as she engulfed more and more of me.
Anya looped her ankles behind my thighs as I began to rock us back and forth, then up and down. The shower water had gone cold, but we didn't care. She wasn't an aggressive kisser. She was definitely an enthusiastic responder though. Everything I did, she attempted to pursue from her end. That fresh, open and honest desire pushed me over the top first.
She held me tight as my body bucked. I accentuated the circumstance to enhance Anya's sense of accomplishment: my bliss had been brought about by her efforts and nothing else. We weren't done. I pulled free of her, then swiftly knelt before her.
Two handfuls of ass later, I'd lifted her up, had her right leg over my right shoulder and my tongue lapping. When I wiggled my tongue within her, flicking on the upstroke and drilling her on the down-stroke.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she sang out in her native Bulgarian language.
I had promised Anya two times, and I delivered. Anya came down to rest sideways in my arms. Her posterior rested on my raised left leg while my right knee helped distribute the weight on the tub floor. Anya's head lay upon mine, our ears touching.
"I, how, " she murmured.
"Your boyfriend is a lucky guy," I interrupted her, following that with a few light kisses on her lips and nose.
"I don't have a boyfriend," she sighed.
"That's a crime," I attempted to mutter under my breath. She overheard me, as intended.
"Your fiancée is a very lucky woman," she rewarded me.
"We've never had sex," I enlightened her.
"Oh, that's a crime," she laughingly teased me.
"I haven't met her daughter yet, and I want to be sure we get along, before we go any further," I lied like a complete and utter Dog.
See, I may have had sex with Anya within six hours of meeting her, but I was still a sweet, nice guy who was considerate of his fiancée's child by a previous marriage. Anya was a happy little camper, playfully drying me off as I dried her. We slipped our clothes back on, opened the bathroom door and,
"Mr. Nyilas, Ms. Sarac (that was Anya), we would like to talk with you two," the two female plain clothes officers smirked at us. They presented us with their ID with their left hand while resting their hands on their pistols with the right. I also has the impression they'd been waiting a while.
They were Officers Gala and Kupec from the TEK (Hungary's Anti-Terrorism Law Enforcement Body). Fuck that UP! I was going to get that little shithead. Unlike me, Anya was pretty freaked out.
"Talar þú íslensku?" (Do you speak Icelandic?)
"We have it from a reliable source that you speak Hungarian, English and French," Officer Gala taunted me. Oh, my Canadian Mountie had been the squealer. Sigh.
"Anya here, hasn't done anything wrong," I offered. "Please don't cause her any grief on my account."
"How about we go back to your room and we can talk about your luggage, Mr. Nyilas?" Kupec 'suggested'.
"Is this about the smuggled chocolates, or my collage of weaponry? Oh, and call me Cáel."
"Oh, here in Hungary, we rate weapons smuggling well below a whole ledger of laws about confectionary tax dodging," Kupec played along. She was an attractive blonde, in her mid-thirties. "Knife please." Lacking any true options, I handed over my Amazon honor-blade.
"What do you use a blade like that for?" Gala inquired as they directed us to our guest room. The place was very quiet. Two male TEK officers, with my old buddy, the H&K MP-5 submachine gun pointed down. Pamela wasn't in evidence.
"It is a weapon. I use it for what weapons are created for," I grinned back at Gala.
"We have his permission to search his baggage," Kupec told the two guys.
"That would be incorrect," I shook my head. "I asked why you wanted to look. I didn't give permission.
"Funny, Officer Gala, I heard him give us permission," Kupec joked with her partner.
"That is certainly what I heard him say," Gala confirmed the lie. I leaned against the wall while the two ladies searched both duffels. It took me three seconds to realize that something wasn't right in Oz. The two officers kept searching to the very bottom of each package. I could tell my six female acquaintances were about to lose it.
They knew what Pamela and I had stored away in those two carrying containers and it wasn't the old clothing that the TEK was pulling out. Pamela was nobody's fool, while I clearly was.
"No guns, or chocolates? What is going on here?" Kupec asked.
"Ha," I laughed. "I have an overly possessive ex-girlfriend who thinks I'm in danger."
"Why would she think that?" Gala questioned. I raised my shirt, exposing my multiple gunshot bruises, plus the abrasions from last night, as well as today's souvenirs from Ajax.
"I'm socially awkward," I confessed. "I'm constantly running into beautiful women and people who want to kill me. Sometimes, they have both bases covered."
"Why would beautiful women want to kill you?" Kupec studied me with experienced eyes.
"Because I have the romantic loyalty of a Bobble-head," I sighed. "See, I'd sleep with you, then sleep with Officer Gala here, without breaking off our relationship first."
"That would explain all the old scars on your body," Gala chuckled. "Don't you get tired?"
"Oh God no," I chortled. "Anya and I had a wonderful time ten minutes ago and I'm raring to go right now. That's how my libido works."
Everyone's eyes migrated to my crotch. Per my boast, Mr. Happy was alert and ready play. Those eyes edged toward Anya accusingly. "Oh, I came, Anya came, we were multiple orgasmic," I came to her defense.
"I came twice!" Anya insisted.
"We heard, Anya," Orsi joked. "We all heard." Anya turned into my chest and buried her blushing face.
"All of that is wonderful," Kupec said. "Now, Mr. Nyilas, where is your companion? The white-haired female."
"Don't know. She was here when Anya and I want to the shower. I haven't seen her since then," I replied.
"Do you know where she might be?" the counter-terrorism cop persisted.
"Yeah," I groaned. "She's close by." Maybe my English confused them.
"Could you be more specific?" Gala joined in.
"No."
"No?" Kupec pressed.
"Nyet, uga, voch, ne, nah, nope, nein, nem, naamik, iya, bu, não, nu, nei," I clarified.
"One would think you would want to be more cooperative. Your life seems to be in danger and protecting people is what we do," Kupec lectured me.
"We have nothing to cooperate about because that assumes you have something to offer me. You don't," I stated. "You can't even find Pamela, and she's the least of my worries.
You are proud of your law enforcement status. Big deal. I need bodyguards, not nannies. You searched my belongings without my consent, which confirms that you don't want to help me. Worse, since you are opposed to me defending myself, you are proving to be a threat to my continued existence," I explained.
"You don't believe the TEK is a professional body? Is that it?" Kupec turned on some false outrage.
"I really don't know that much about the TEK, so I won't pass judgment on it. I will say this much; would you shoot a person in the head solely on suspicion of malfeasance?"
Pause.
"No, you wouldn't because you are law enforcement. Give me a squad of the 34th László Bercsényi' with a 'Zero Tolerance' Rules of Engagement and I'll be a happy man," I grinned. The 34th were Hungary's Spec Ops troops.
"So you were at the Metro 3 yesterday and the Inn earlier today," Kupec appeared pleased with herself. She had footage; I already knew that. "Our country is not a place for your American-style shootouts. You have built up quite a violent history in the past months, Mr. Nyilas and you are not welcome in Hungary," she informed me. I laughed in her face.
"Violence? Where do you want to begin?" my grin turned wicked. "Do you mean the violent murder of my unarmed father, gun downed in his home by Balkan mercenaries? Or maybe the shootout in the Chicago Medical Examiner's office, where I was unarmed and two law enforcement agents killed or wounded the men trying to sneak off with my father's corpse," I growled.
"It was a fucking government building the men were in, something you seemed to have glossed over. But thanks for bring up that painful memory," I added. "Wait,, why don't we talk about me being bludgeoned into a coma by my deranged uncle, where I was unarmed and the police were watching over me?
"Now listen and listen carefully, you useless pricks," I snarled. "I was armed yesterday and earlier today and that, not your stunning police powers, is why I'm alive.
I stepped off your Metro 3 in your capitol and nearly got murdered, by men dressed as Budapest police officers wielding automatic weapons," I continued. "That happened on your watch. Then, this morning, I went to meet a person of interest to my European sojourn and, a second mercenary force showed up and tried to kill me.
Where were you and your guns when I was attacked? I defended myself. I didn't even kill anybody," I kinda lied. We hadn't talked about the fight outside the club. "You're zero for two concerning my safety. Better yet, I'm sure the European Union will be pleased as punch at how your agency is always ludicrously three steps behind these assassins."
"We are investigating that, as well as looking into the terrorist threat on the Ferry today," Gala responded. "We do think you were in a firefight. Where are your weapons?"
"Your miasma of stupid has befuddled my senses," I scoffed.
"Then we have little choice but to arrest you," Kupec threatened.
"On what charges?" Orsi spoke out. "What's he done besides risked his life trying to save me and my friends?" Ignoring the fact that I put their lives in danger.
"Keep quiet," one of the male TEK members pointed at her.
"Please don't do that," I requested. The TEK members sensed a weakness.
"Sorry, Mr. Nyilas. You have already involved these six," Gala stated.
"Ah," I nodded. "Thank you for proving I can't do anything to help anybody."
"How noble?" Kupec mocked me. "You are going to let these women go to jail while you slide through the diplomatic legal process."
"This from the champion of justice that threw my Father's murder in my face," I rolled my eyes. "These ladies know what my pledge is worth and I pledge they won't have to deal with you alone."
"Besides, you stupid cunt," Pamela strolled into the room. "We have a little matter of burying the monsters that sent those mercs to murder his old man. That's going to be a lot of bodies and a great deal of time. But, when we've finished with them, we are going to look back at your attitude and, not laugh."
"That is threatening law enforcement officers," Kupec glared. "Where have you been anyway?"
"I'm going to cut through this nonsense," Pamela stared at them. "Since arrest pretty much ensures that Cáel and I will get murdered, that's not going to happen. If you feel like you can draw and fire before Cáel and I can kill you, then go for it. You aren't going to intimidate us into telling you shit about what is going down.
If you have an ounce of investigative talent, you are going to realize that Cáel and his team entered your country with pathetic oversight which means, " she raised an eyebrow.
Kupec and Gala looked at one another.
"The same goes for those bodies in the Budapest morgue, they shouldn't be in your country either," Pamela continued.
"Do we need to go over every round you dug out of the inn? The grenade damage? The blood trails, unless you found the dead bodies, which I doubt. A rookie investigator could figure out we were in the inn when it was attacked, not outside shooting in. Hundreds of round from an assortment of military-grade weapons, and you think you can protect us?" Pamela spit out.
"You can't do shit for us, except soak up a few bullets before we get killed. So we are back to the fact that if Cáel and I are going to live, we are going to have to do it outside of police custody. Your move," Pamela challenged them.
"Do you really think you are that good?" Kupec turned slightly, her hand drifting toward her hip holster.
"I'm standing by the light switch. I can hit it and roll away before your pistols clears their holsters. As police officers, you can't blindly fire in the dark at someone who might be me," Pamela outlined. "I, on the other hand, have no problem killing everyone in the room who isn't Cáel. I can safely assume that any gun flash is one of you and react appropriately."
"Officer Kupec, she's not bluffing. It is not her style. She is explaining the results of you continuing to use pressure tactics on us", I related. "Besides, even if you manage to kill us both, then what? You get to explain to your boss why we fought to the death, and that reason would be?, Believe me, telling you what we know doesn't do anyone any good.
You know by the actions at the Metro and the inn, there are some freaking bad people after us. The reasoning behind that wouldn't make sense to you. And even if you believed us, if you reported it that way, it would be a career-killer," I persevered.
"Why don't you let us decided that?" Kupec stuck to her guns.
"Orsi, Divna, take your people outside. We will be there in a few seconds," I tried to clear the field. Kupec gave a nod to the two male TEK agents, allowing the six girls and three Macedonians to depart. "Here it goes. I'm a male Amazon. The group that killed my Father and tried to kill me at the Metro were with a secret society called the Condottieri.
Earlier today I was meeting with a member of the Hungarian branch of the Black Hand (that had their attention) named the Vizsla," I told them. In Kupec's eyes, the term Vizsla was electric. "They failed to kill that person because Pamela and I provided a distraction to keep the killers occupied."
"But there really is a Vizsla?" Kupec studied me with fascination. I nodded. "Who is the Lynx?"
"The Black Hand leader in Bulgaria."
"The Chamois?"
"The Albanians."
"The Serbians?" she kept at it.
"I apologize, but if you don't know that name, I'm not going to tell you," I replied.
"Kupec, you can't really believe the Black Hand exists?" Gala sounded stunned.
"Absolutely. Before my father became an officer in the Rendőrség, he was imprisoned in the early 80's. His cellmate was a member of the Black Hand. My father was political, his allies got him out of prison, and he got the Hand member out. Father later, got things done with some help of that friend. He made corrupt officials 'have accidents', back when the police weren't as strong as we are now.
He told me that I was never to cross Black Hand because they were incredibly dangerous people. I saw the man only once, at my father's funeral. I never learned his name, yet he talked about my father as if they were the closest of friends and he knew all about me. He had, dead eyes, those of a killer. Honestly, he scared the hell out of me. I've never seen him since," she finished her tale. "So yes, I believe."
"Since the police have kept people from leaving town, there is going to be an unauthorized rave in Republic Square," I told Pamela.
"You are an idiot," Pamela play-punched my shoulder.
"Should I go, or do you want me to cause you more difficulty that you are paid for?" I asked the Counter-terrorism cops.
"Don't leave town," Gala reminded me. "We'll be in touch." I nodded before turning and leaving with Pamela. Once we rejoined the 'kids', I bumped Pamela.
"How are they supposed to stay in touch with me?" I asked her.
"Don't ask me," Pamela snickered. "I've always been far too expedient to be a cop."
"Let's eat," Orsi declared. That was as bit of normality we could all endorse.
More World Events
[Geographic Note: The geographic region of Northeast China is called Manchuria. Historically, it has been called Manchuria and Manchukuo, land of the Manchus, a non-Chinese people. Politically, the region consists of three provinces and part of a fourth, Heilongjiang (the largest and northernmost), Jilin (the centermost), Liaoning (southernmost) and the eastern third of the Nei Mongol province.]
In the pre-dawn hours of the fifth day of the Khanate's 'Unification War' (the latest 'pop culture' reference for that lethal struggle), Russian radar operators watched a series of menacing developments. Seven 'blurs', caused by electronic warfare planes, appeared on the Russian Federation radar screens.
The four largest blurs were penetrating deep into Northeast Chinese airspace. The one they identified as heading for Harbin, the central industrial center of Heilongjiang province (the northernmost and largest of the three Provinces of Northeast China), was the least worrisome. They couldn't see them, but swarms of UCAVs roamed ahead of the bomber group, tracking down and eliminating the city's air defenses before those systems could engage the aged Khanate strategic aircraft armada.
The other three large groups were heading for the (PRC) Heilongjiang-Amur Oblast (Russian) border. That was the development that had the operators ringing the phones off the hook in Vladivostok and Moscow. These attack patterns were coming straight for the Russian Army's forward mobilization lagers on the north side of the Amur River. Russian jet fighters and multi-role fighter/bombers scrambled.
The question Admiral Konstantin Sidenko (Commander of the Eastern Military District), Defense Minister General of the Army Sergey Shoygu, and President Putin wanted answered was 'who was getting bombed'? It was good news, bad news, bad news, good news. Good news, yet again, the PLA was the target for this latest spate of pummeling.
Most of the PLAAF assets remaining in Heilongjiang were 1960's production models flown by older, reservist pilots. Equipped mainly with courage, they took to the skies to die. All along the Sino-Russian Amur River frontier, Chinese emplacements, supply depots, air bases and mobile reserve forces (the ones with the really old tanks and APCs) were getting, 'attritted' was the polite way of saying bombed, blown up and killed.
The three, smaller radar blurs heralded a trio of brash, night-time assaults. The 330th Mongolian Special Task Battalion para-dropped around the city of Zalantun, taking much of the city center, rail station and adjacent super-highway by daybreak. The 84th Mongolian Special Task Battalion's helicopter-borne attack overwhelmed the surprised defenders at Morin Dawa, taking the bridge over the Nen River intact.
The third group, the Mongolian 150th Light Battalion, seized the town of Alihe in a 'thunder run' that lasted most of the night and covered over 80 km (50 miles). The use of these three small, regular Mongolian Army formations was the first ominous sign that the Khanate's forces were integrating at an alarmingly rapid pace.
The 1st and 2nd Mongolian Provisional Mechanized Brigades (PMB) racing to relieve their brethren at Alihe (1st) and Morin Dawa (2nd) reinforced that chilling realization. That was bad news for the PRC, but it was really bad news for the Russian Armed Forces. Individually, the armies of Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Mongolia were bite-sized morsels in the face of the Russian Bear. Combined?
The next bit of bad news was political. The PLA forces arrayed against the rapidly gathering Russian 'peace-keepers' were getting blown to pieces, whereas the Khanate's land forces were still hundreds of kilometers away. To the outside world it look like the Russians were about to cross the border with the connivance of the Khanate. That last bit of bad news was also good news, the Russians could now seize the Amur River crossings and start rescuing Northeastern China with minimal Russian loss of life.
Those three towns that most Chinese, much less the rest of the world, had never heard of? Alihe was the key crossroads of northern Nei Mongol, situated in the Hinggan Mountains that dominated that part of the country. Taking that town ended all hopes for the PLA to hold onto the northernmost third of Nei Mongol.
Morin Dawa? It was on the border between the northern Nei Mongol and Heilongjiang provinces and the bridge across the Nen River was the closest route to the Russians sitting on the Amur. The 2nd Mongolian PMB was racing to link up with them and by noon would be poised to cross into Heilongjiang and invaded the prosperous Northeast.
Their avenue was clear: the G111 to the S301were both wide, hard-surfaced roadways with no significant terrain barriers, or urban centers, along the 350 km (215 miles) to the key port city of Heihe. Heihe was the Chinese city on the south bank of the Amur River opposite Russia's Blagoveshchensk, the planned crossing point for Russia's 35th Army's peace-keeping forces that were to protect Manchuria from possible Khanate attack.
If the Khanate took Heihe before the PRC gave permission for Russia to intervene; that would shit-can Putin's plans. The intervention would then be Russia going to war with the occupying Khanate. Despite what the western news sources were saying, the Russians had a more robust picture of the combat capabilities of the Khanate military and the massive scale of their mobilizations. There seemed to be every indication that that Khanate would fight, and fight hard.
That would not give Vladimir Putin the 'Short Victorious War' he wanted in order to boost his popularity with his 'nationalist' base. Instead, it would be a 'Chechnya' on a continent-wide scale, a bleeding wound, reminiscent of the Soviet misadventure in Afghanistan. If he took Heihe first? How could the PRC object? They were about to lose the city anyway. And if the Chinese refused to accept his generous offer? From Heihe it was a straight run down the 202 highway to Harbin. Seizing Harbin meant control of the region's transportation web.
Playing into Putin's ambitions was the third lightning ploy by the Khanate in those early morning hours, Zalantun. That large town was situated in the key mountain pass that led down from the Mongolian plateau to the Manchurian plains.
The Commander of the Beijing Military Region could read a map a well as Temujin. He committed the available rapid response elements of the still mobilizing 3rd Reserve division to attack the 330th shortly after dawn. By that time, the North Mongol Banner Tumens had already batted aside the feeble remnants of the PLA's 65th Army and was racing for Zalantun from the northwest.
The outcome of the Battle of Zalantun was important for all three concerned parties. Not because the town itself had value. Nah, men and women were fighting and dying that day for what lay in the Manchurian plain below, the second largest city in Heilongjiang; Qiqihar with its large, Islamic, non-Han Chinese minority.
End of More World Events
(Concurrent happenings)
If Russia was going to profit from this, she had to act right then, decisively. While the GRU (Russia's military intelligence service) began back-channel talks with the PLA front-line commanders in the Northeast, Foreign Secretary Sergey Lavrov directed his UN Ambassador, Vitaly Ivanovich Churkin, to talk to his Kazak and Mongolian counterparts, again.
It was politely suggested that if Russia first recognized the Khanate and proposed a cease-fire to the PRC, the Khanate might respond cordially. Putin wasn't going to do that. This time, Sergey and Churkin had a backup plan. They sent SVR-RF (Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation) to talk with Hana Sulkanen. She apparently had the influence that Russia needed and they needed it now.
A few threats by large men claiming to be from Gazprom (the Russian Natural Gas monopoly) got Hana's personal assistant to cough up an address for the nice Manhattan eatery Hana had sneaked off to. This hastily scheduled luncheon had come about for two reasons: Hana had gained a level of notoriety that some people found troubling (for her own safety) and the other reason was, what part of his life would 'Cáel' devote to Hana as her fiancé and what part of 'me, Mr. Love-Monkey' would be shared among the rest of the women gathered at the table.
In every other universe, one Russian military attaché and four SVR-RF operatives would have been sufficient to the task of 'convincing' Hana to take a little walk with them.
In this universe, Rhada was hellishly on edge, Oneida wanted to punch somebody, anybody, just to release some of her stress, and NYPD Officer Nikita Kutuzov was nervous because three other women at the table besides herself also had had firearms. Buffy wasn't nervous. She was pissed. The moron she loved was exploring a whole series of new ways to kill himself while doing good deeds for the Host, that selfish bastard (aka me).
Buffy, in her own weird way, decided that while giving Hana an update on me (Cáel), the group of them could explore what they were going to do with my life. Buffy had felt obliged, for Hana's sake, to invite Brooke and Libra as well, two 'normal' chicks. I swear, I loved not getting invited to these kinds of affairs. Silence is not an option and you can never say the right thing.
The backdrop for this pivotal meeting was a moderately inexpensive kosher diner with an otherwise small number of post-lunch hour customers. This was downtown New York. The Russians weren't planning to storm the place. They certainly didn't expect Hana to have any significant level of protection either.
For some reason, the attaché's initial hushed observation was, "Don't worry, they are just a bunch of girls." By that time, the SVR-RF guys were of a very different opinion. Buffy possessed sufficient spycraft to not give off the 'I'm packing heat' vibe. Niki, Rhada and Oneida didn't.
"Bows," Buffy hissed, in the little Hittite she knew.
She felt a certain exhilaration giving her first battle command in the Amazon tongue. The other two Amazons locked onto the five men. Niki's eyes followed along that path with the same results. Libra studied the oncoming group, then tapped Brooke, who noted the leader studying Hana.
"Hana, get behind me," Brooke urged. Why did she say that? It was sweet of her; utterly naïve and unexpected. Somehow, Hana mattering to me now mattered to Brooke, mattered enough for her to get involved. Hana actually followed through, taking shelter behind her.
"NYPD," Nikita proffered up her badge. "Can I help you?" This was another unwelcome hurdle for the Russians.
"We need to talk to Ms. Sulkanen, in private," the leader menaced. He had heavily armed back-up to add weight to his demand.
"Stick it up your ass, Ivan," Buffy exercised her normal levels of diplomacy as all three Amazons stood up. "Next time use a phone like a normal human being. As it is, you are just being rude. Beat it."
"Buffy, let me hear them out," Hana interjected.
"Please step outside with us, Miss," Mr. Attaché directed.
"Oh, no," Hana chuckled. "If I've learned one thing from being Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercegné, it is that I bear my fiancé's burden, my words can kill as well as save."
"What does that mean?" the lead Russian asked after a few seconds of failing to digest her words.
"For starters, if all you wanted to do was engage in civil discourse, you wouldn't have put the fear of Whatever into Ms. Meacham, my PA, who should have notified me of your arrival. To me, that implies you seriously threatened her. Bad move.
You have brought with you four men that I assume, by my companions' reactions, to be armed," Hana explained politely. "Bad move again."
"We would rather talk to you now about your ties to the terrorist state called the Khanate. But if you would rather, we can talk to you when you land in St. Petersburg," he threatened.
"I hate to imply that I don't trust Aeroflot, but I'm flying to Astana in the former Kazakhstan, via Rome courtesy of the United Nations," Hana replied calmly. "Because I try to be a good person, I will meet you halfway. If the ladies would consent to step back ~ say ten feet, you and I can have a private discussion and review our options."
"I'm not leaving," Buffy made her stance clear. Hana nodded, then scanned the rest. With varying degrees of reluctance, the rest started moving to the deli's counter.
"Your men as well," Hana addressed the attaché.
"They are my bodyguards and professionals," he feigned politeness.
Two more people, wearing long coats despite the summer, heat walked into the front of the kosher restaurant, a man and a woman. Even Brooke and Libra knew by now that this meant 'heavy firepower'. This caused everyone some confusion.
"We are Irish," the male member of the duo stated. He didn't sound Irish. He didn't have to. Buffy smiled. Had the situation been less tense, she would have hit herself.
Of course my aunts had people watching over my fiancé. Duh. That didn't register with the Russians, so Buffy brought them into the loop.
"They are here with Hana, of course," my 'First' grinned like her favorite American carnivore, the jaguar. Hana took that enlightenment in stride.
"You and me, Mr.?" Hana returned to her initial proposal.
"Major Maxim Stepanovich Bukhalo, Miss Sulkanen," the attaché provided. This time the Major took in the tactical situation carefully. Buffy was between him and Hana. To his upper left-facing forward was the NYPD officer. To his far-rear left were the other two armed women.
Lastly, to his bottom-right were the two 'Irish' guardians. His team would be caught in a crossfire. He waved his security away, then took a seat opposite Hana and Buffy.
"I left the Homeland for this?" muttered the old Jewish (and former Israeli) owner of the eatery, in Hebrew. "First it was Palestinians and now it's the Russian Mafia and the 'Westies' (a violent gang based in a traditional Irish part of NYC)."
"Order something," Libra demanded of the SVR-RF team.
"What?" the team leader glared back.
"You are in the man's place of business. Order some damn food and something to drink. It is only polite. We did," Libra drove home her point.
While the Russians privately debated that, the male member of the Irish team walked over to the part of the counter closest to the door. He ordered two teas, Kugel, Lox & Bagels and one bowl of Teiglach for a combined dessert. The owner shouted the order back to his female Georgian (the country in the Caucasus Mountains, not the State) cook.
His Armenian waiter delivered the teas and glasses of water right after the Irishman resumed his seat.
"To make clear my reason for being here," the Major stared at Hana intently, "we need to talk to someone capable of decision-making inside the Khanate military and we need this to be done in the next six hours."
The six hour deadline was made up. The Major was lying to the wrong woman. Despite that, Hana did realize that the man was actually on a credible and important mission. Hana thought about her response carefully. She was in this position because she had seen a human catastrophe looming on the horizon and simply couldn't sit back without trying to do something.
Honestly, Hana had believed earlier that her efforts would be in vain. She would try, fail and, in a way, feel somewhat better about herself for having tried. It didn't work out that way. She'd called Iskender and asked if he could fit her into his schedule. Iskender told her to come right over. Thirty minutes later, she was talking to his boss and fifteen minutes later, the LEADER of the Khanate gave her quest his blessing.
It was rather unsettling for her to discover the way my name, Cáel Wakko Ishara (aka Nyilas), made the Khanate hierarchy 'hop to' and get things done for her. In her experience, the Central Asian tribal types were rather insular. In the process of coordinating a 'safe air corridor' for humanitarian flights into Western Xinxiang, Hana's scintillating intellect completed the jigsaw puzzle.
"Mr. Iskender, can I ask a delicate question?" she'd later inquired of the Khanate's point man.
"Of course," he smiled.
"Cáel saved the Great Khan's life, didn't he?"
"Yes," Iskender nodded. "Yes he did, at great personal risk to himself and he asked for nothing in return. That is all I can say on the matter for now."
That was giving me undeserved credit for the five Amazon augurs who gave their lives so that I could carry that message to the Earth & Sky. I had walked into their lair to give forth that news, thus saving Temujin's young life from the clutches of the Chinese-based Seven Pillars of Heaven Secret Society. Yes, I had done it to help my Amazons. I'd also done it to save that one person's life, it was the right thing to do. That was the spark that linked me and the 'Great Khan', my love of life, any life.
Hana had wanted to ask several more questions, yet knew the matter was closed for the nonce. She'd left wondering if I understood that in some cultures, when you save a man's life, you became his brother.
I did and I didn't. It was in that maelstrom of Alal's memories, but the latter prioritized my picture book images of his knowledge by what I needed in the present and the immediate future, not what I needed a week down the line. Thus, I was currently remiss in my knowledge of Mongol social customs. Back at the meal.
"What do you need?" Hana stated. "Be precise."
"We need to reestablish diplomatic contact to discuss regional security," he responded.
"Buffy," Hana sighed, "was that about the least precise response he could have possibly made?"
"Without outright lying to you, yes," Buffy affirmed.
"Major Bukhalo, the Khanate is running very lean right now. Their time, thus their every word, is precious. They are fighting for their very existence, where a misinterpreted word, or a broken promise, could prove fatal," Hana explained. "Here is how it works: you ask the Khanate to do something, and they will either say 'yes' or 'no', and that's that. There is no discussion."
"You got what you wanted from the Khanate when they turned everyone else away," the Major pointed out. "How do you explain that?"
"My fiancé is respected by their leadership. That translates to the Khanate respecting me and my wishes," she answered.
"So you could strike some sort of deal," the man edged in.
"No," Hana shook her head. "Let me make it perfectly clear; my status in the Khanate flows specifically from my fiancé. He is renowned for his kindness and mercy, so when I spoke of such things to the Khanate, they knew I was speaking in his voice."
"Fine, let me speak to him," the Major racked his mind for, ", Cáel Nyilas. Where can I find him?" Hana looked to Buffy, who shrugged noncommittally.
"We'll have him get in touch with you," Buffy said.
"Time is of the essence," he insisted.
"We will make sure that he understands that," Hana said. "It would greatly aid the process if he knew what he was being asked to consider."
"We need to establish upper level military liaisons," the Major hedged.
"That is not going to work," Hana sighed.
"Make a proposal and he'll examine it and either endorse the plan, or reject it," Hana clarified. "If he thinks what you propose is in the Khanate's best interest, he will send that on to the Khanate leadership."
"That's not diplomacy," the Russian balked. "Who works like that?"
"People who trust people. Not groups, agencies, departments, or countries," Buffy growled. "People you can believe will tell you what's on their minds and in their hearts. Friends."
"Blood brothers," Hana added.
"So if I give Mr. Nyilas a proposal from the Russian government and he approves of it, that's that? That is what will happen?" the man seemed stunned.
"That is what I've been saying," Hana gave a conciliatory smile. "I suspect anything that Cáel 'okays' has an 85% chance of acceptance by the Khanate. The margin of doubt is based on the rapidly changing situation in Asia right now." The Major stood up. His security detachment, who had just finished ordering, stood as well.
"We'll be in touch," he stated before turning and hurriedly exiting the establishment. The two Irish remained seated. The ladies gathered around the table and resumed their places.
"What was that all about?" Oneida worried.
"Cáel is in deep shit, isn't he?" Nikita suggested.
"A great deal of it," Hana looked at her trembling hands. "That is why I'm so afraid, because I don't know for sure."
"Do you really think that Cáel's opinion will have any weight with the Khanate?" Buffy studied Hana.
"Well, if any of you think that Cáel saved the Great Khan's life, raise your hands," Hana mused. In the next second, all of their right hands went up.
"Then yes," Hana sighed. "I don't think Cáel understands it, but by saving that man's life, he became a, um, the best western equivalent definition would be step-siblings with a shared sacred origin. Close enough to be family, never in a position to inherit.
Since I'm betting the Great Khan doesn't have many immediate kin; that makes our Cáel special in more than just a symbolic way. From a supernatural interpretation, their fates are now intertwined and by that way of perceiving reality, Cáel would always act in his spiritual-brother's behalf for his brother's best interest, and vice versa. That was why Cáel's name opened doors for me with their people in New York. It took me a while to figure it out, but it has been confirmed by at least one person in the know," Hana concluded.
Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "I've spent 9 years, a third of my life, learning how to kill people, training to become adept at espionage and achieving pretty much all around kick-butt status. Cáel stumbles out of some no-name college and sets off a world-wide shit-storm.
I honestly believed I would never trust a man, much less like one, until I met that idiot," she sighed.
"I'd still be getting over Trent," Brooke volunteered.
"I would have never had fun at a strip club," Libra noted.
"I'd be dead," Oneida chimed in. Ignoring the fact that she put her life at risk because of me.
"He has pretty much screwed my life up," Hana noted.
"Yes," Rhada finally contributed. The ladies looked at her. "I'm happy," she added.
"Oh yeah," Brooke giggled. "I'm definitely happier." More chuckles.
"Hey now," Hana protested. "We haven't, you know." There was a moment of silence.
"That's good," Oneida nodded. "You don't need to."
"That's cold," Libra groused at Oneida.
"I agree with Oneida," Rhada chimed in. "He has enough girlfriends."
"Excuse me," Hana rallied. "He did ask me to marry him. That implies a relationship, sex and children, that sort of thing. Ring a bell?"
"He's already having children," Oneida moped.
"What?" was echoed by Brooke, Libra and Hana.
"It is not what you think," Buffy tried to head off the disaster.
"Please explain," Hana requested politely.
"What happened to Mr. Condom?" Libra prodded Buffy as well.
"These two," she motioned to her fellow Amazons, "know why this situation has developed and should have kept their mouths shut."
"Is this another episode of 'a group of super-scary chicks with guns show up at the door in the middle of the night'?" Brooke inquired.
"Yes," Buffy guffawed. "Hana, Cáel has inherited an obligation to Havenstone that includes him producing heirs to his seat on the Board of Directors."
"Is there a specific reason why our, Cáel's and my, child couldn't succeed to this station?" Hana proposed.
"Hmmm," Buffy procrastinated, ", Hana, Havenstone is a meritocracy. No one child, no daughter-child, will have a better chance by birth than any other to take Cáel's place on the, Board."
"Daughters?" Hana murmured. "Oh, thank God," she exhaled happily. "You really are some kind of militant feminist organization that has hijacked Cáel. I had this lingering fear he was a closet submissive masochist. And, Officer Kutuzov, why aren't you surprised by all of these revelations?"
"Cáel is part of an ongoing Federal investigation, so I can't comment on much of this," Nikita shrugged. "Suffice it to say, Ms. Sulkanen, you are only at the tip of the iceberg. It gets more, interesting the more you learn."
"Speaking of tips of the iceberg," Brooke asked, "where is our trusty lookout? Has anyone heard from Odette recently?"
"That's right," Libra added. "Why wasn't she invited?"
"Odette smuggled herself onto Cáel's plane to Europe," Buffy grumbled. "For reasons that escape logic, he didn't send her back when they touched down in Ireland."
"Lucky bitch," Brooke mumbled.
"Sure," Buffy growled. "Bullets flying, brawls, betrayal. And now our guy has abandoned all but one of his companions and dropped off the map while on a damsel in distress mission."
"Be honest, you wouldn't have him any other way?" Hana smiled at Buffy.
"Of course," Buffy confessed. "It just so fucking unfair that I finally find a man worth keeping, and he's dead set on personally saving the world." That they could all agree to.
(Meeting the Last One)
Katalin and I were a slow-dancing island in the chaotic rave currents. She had her forearms resting on my shoulders, her hands locked behind my head while we swayed to our own private harmony. My hands were gradually kneading every inch of her ass. When I looked over her shoulder, my eyes gravitated to a man across the street leaning against a courtyard wall.
He was dark-skinned, average height, compact of build and had short black hair. Had it not been for his intense magnetism, he might have gone unnoticed, rather plain to look at.
"Katalin," I spoke into her ear, "I see someone I need to talk to. Can I catch up with you later?"
She looked around, suspecting I might have found someone cuter, or more playful.
"Who is it?" she questioned me.
"That man by the wall over there," I directed her with a face-nod. She saw him, then regarded me with worry.
"Is he dangerous?" she implored. "Tell me if he's dangerous."
"He is dangerous," I related. "I think he wants to talk, not fight."
"Should I get Pamela?" she asked.
"No. I've got this," I grinned. I didn't want Pamela to die. I separated from Katalin and walked to the edge of the rave.
The man extended his arms toward me, showing his two empty palms. He had on a short tan T-shirt and forest camouflage fatigue pants. His boots were brown and something a huntsman would wear. I presented my left arm as he did, then tapped my right where my Amazon blade was kept. He nodded, so I crossed the street. Our identical eyes met.
"Care to take a walk?" he suggested.
"Okay," I accepted. He wanted to talk to me. I certainly wanted to talk to him. We strolled the streets of Mindszent for a few minutes.
"It is good to finally meet you in person," he began.
"Ditto," I concurred. "Initially, I was of the mindset that I'd be sending bullets your way, but things have happened." The man snorted in amusement. "Do you care that I call you Alal? Cáel is my name and it doesn't feel right calling you Grandfather, or Grandpa."
"I'd really appreciate it if you called me Grandfather, Cáel," he requested.
"Fine," I conceded after another minute's meanderings. "I supposed you've waited a damn long time to hear it, Grandfather." My Mother's Father took a deep, purifying breath.
"Thank you, Cáel," he grinned my way. He had to look up slightly. "So, what do you think?"
"I think you are fuck-nuts crazy," I unloaded. "Taking over the Human Race? No. Sometimes, the right thing to do is let people fuck things up. A global dictatorship isn't the answer," I shook my head.
"How many chances do they get, Grandson? Environmental catastrophes are looming on the horizon. Nuclear weapons abound. Political extremism. When is enough, enough?" he countered.
"And your solution is a global war and a top secret world-wide terror regime?" I reposted. He didn't laugh at me, which was a plus.
"Only idiots view justice and rights as concepts that can reach perfection," Grandpa chuckled. "Even you know better than that, and you are only twenty-two.
I'm offering far more justice than the world has ever enjoyed before. Corruption and greed won't be crimes that make headlines and lead to court cases devoid of law, or that drag on so long, no one cares that the perpetrators got off with a slap on the wrist. Under my plan, those people disappear, never to be heard from again," he promised.
"Putting the ultimate power in the hands of a few people, or even one person, isn't the answer. Those people can be just as venal and corrupt as the madhouse we have now," I stated.
"When a kingdom was in trouble, they blamed the impiety of the peasants. When a democracy is in trouble, everyone blames the elected parliament, don't you see the insanity in that?" Grandpa kept swinging.
"Democracy solved nothing. Marxism solved nothing. Global religions are more a detriment to public order than worth-while, and all of that is because of," he was saying when I interrupted him.
"Stupid, corrupt children?" I said.
"No Cáel," Grandfather shook his head. "People want their needs met without sacrifice. They want to blame someone else for their misfortunes. They don't want to be held responsible for their own actions. That was one of the greatest lessons I took from Rome."
"There will always be wolves and there will always be sheep," I quoted him from memory.
"Exactly. No matter how much you educate them, provide for them, and foist responsibility on them, they will remain sheep. The wolves are the ones you have to rein in. You let them harvest some sheep from time to time because you never know when you might need a good wolf. Besides, a population of sheep and sheep dogs would be detrimental to the race as a whole," he related.
"That's the difference between me, and just about everyone else," Grandpa continued. "The rest of the Illuminati are enamored with mercantilism, commercialism and capitalism. They believe that violence can be, and should be, contained. They don't understand wolves. Western Europe has tried to kennel their packs, so the Arabs have picked up the torch once more. Now Islam is kicking in their doors and they don't know what the fuck to do when the answer is obvious," Alal grinned.
"Kill them all?" I guessed.
"Atta boy," he chuckled. "It is a tried and true method of dealing with your foes. Sympathy for your enemies is idiotic," he added.
"No, genocide is stupid," I countered. "It is massively wasteful in both resources and population. The Nazis tried and failed."
"No, Hitler was a lunatic," Alal shook his head. "He should have put his women in the factories and armed services like the Communists did. He thought he could fight the whole damn world. Hitler's fault wasn't that he tried, it was that he didn't try hard enough."
"Screw Hitler and the Nazis," I grunted. "What you want to do is still nuts."
"Then why haven't you turned me in?" Granddad inquired. I sighed.
"I don't know," I shrugged.
"I do," he smiled. "You are my Grandson. You will never take the easy way out on things that matter. You are as scared about what will happen if you stop me as you are worried about what happens if you let me win. Sucks to be you."
"I am my Father's son first," I reminded my supposed-O'Shea patriarch.
"I trusted your Mother to pick a good man for the task," he mused. "Definitely not someone like me. I was a lousy father and I knew it. I never emotionally bonded with my son, or daughters."
"What are you going to do about your, my aunts?" I asked.
"I plan to hold their well-being over your head for a while longer," he honestly replied.
"What about Sakuniyas? That's my name for Shammuramat," I told him.
"Beautiful name," he looked down the street. "What is she like now?"
"Violent, impressive, used to having her own way and nice to children when she thinks no one else is looking," I informed him.
"Wonderful. Thank you, Cáel," he was smiling once more. "What about my Great-grandchildren? I've heard some rumors you are working on one." He saw me tense up. "Honestly Grandson, after spending so much of my life alone, I'm not going to start killing my actual family, now that I have one, Fine, I swear on your Mother's life, I will not harm your offspring."
That was less useful than it might have been. Grandpa didn't value the lives of his genetically manipulated creations/daughters greatly.
"Its offspring-s," I clarified.
"Boys? Girls?" he paused for a second. ", Hello Pamela," he smirked. "It is the soul resonance that gave you away. It is something I cultivated over the centuries."
"Good for you," Pamela slipped out of shadow. We all remained unsure of what to say, or do, next.
"I wanted to talk to my Grandson, Pamela. That is all, this time," Alal told her.
"He is a good man, Alal," Pamela moved closer to us.
"Surprising, isn't it?" he laughed. "Considering what a bastard I am, the crowd he's fallen in with and that bitch of a Goddess who has sunk her claws into him."
"What are you talking about, Grandfather?" I smiled. "Dot Ishara is a peach. Gazing into her eyes damn near drove me insane, she requires me to have cranial trauma to talk with her and she's rarely helpful.
The difference between you and me is that I am not bitter about people trying to manipulate my life. Kind of the way you and I are talking right now," I kept the happy face. "Though I don't think you want to admit it, that is why you are talking with me, because given the same stimuli, I'm not like you."
"Children make the difference," he regarded me sternly. There was that deep, soul-wound that he'd carried for thousands of years, loneliness. I stepped up and hugged him.
"It is okay, Grandfather," I patted his back as he patted mine. "I'll see what I can do about you holding a few of my sons and daughters before, "
"Before," he pushed me back to arms-length and gave his own, proud (?) look. The 'before' was the before one of us killed the other. Did I have a chance? Yes, and Aya had explained it better than I could have. I wouldn't give up. Until I died, I wouldn't stop fighting him. I was wondering why Pamela let him walk away without comment, until I noticed there were shadows within shadows receding into the blackness of night.
To be continued.
By FinalStand, for Literotica