Not the welcome we expected
When your tour guide is an assassin, what can go wrong?
In 16 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ►Podcast at Connected.
You can do wrong while trying to do right.
Flashback
Alal's 'milk of human kindness' had finally run dry as the Visigoths sacked his Roman villa. While looters ran off with his latest trappings of wealth, and deserted by his servants and his slaves, Grandpa decided that he was tired of fucking around with the Human Race. He felt they were simply too stupid, venal and weak to make any positive, lasting changes in the world.
Alal decided that he was going to make the key choices for them. Fuck free will. Fuck letting the vermin that floated to the top of the cesspool destroy everything good in the world, as he had witnessed them doing time and time again. He had lost count of the monuments destroyed, histories of peoples forgotten and benefits to mankind burned away by barbarism and ignorance.
By the fading light of August the 26th, 410 CE, Alal found himself sitting back in the pergola (a sort of mini-gazebo) in his rear gardens, drinking through several amphora of wine all the while having a deep philosophical debate with the several dozen very dead Goths decorating his environs.
As three or four looters would enter the garden, he would kill them. And then three or four more would show up looking for the earlier group,, on and on. This reinforced Alal's belief that something drastic had to be done. He seriously considered going to the coast, getting a ship and five solid stone anchors. He'd sail out two days, maybe three, wrap himself in the anchors and jump overboard.
The problem, as he saw it, was that given a few decades, the ropes would rot and he'd bob to the surface to see again that none of the fundamentals had changed. Further complicating his current thinking was that every time he came close to throwing in the cosmic towel, some more GOD DAMN GOTHS would come around, calling for their buddies, the dead ones. Somewhere around noon on August the 27th, Alal vowed that he was tired of this shit.
Right on cue, around twenty Goths came strolling through the rear of his villa and soaked up the carnage out back. Fifty-two of their brethren were in various states of dismemberment and defilement (Alal had been, as usual, angry). They saw this dark-skinned Roman and rightly asked 'where's the army that killed these fellows?' He walked up to them in his wine-splashed toga.
"Are you the one in charge?" he asked the meanest looking Visigoth in passible Goth.
"I am," the leader responded. With lightning speed, he killed the man with his own sword. The Germans weren't sure what to make of that, it had happened so fast.
"You can join me," Alal indicated himself, "or you can join him," he indicated the corpse of their former leader. He had his new band of followers and the rest was Illuminati history.
End Flashback
For me, this meant more to me than living with the memories of a very bitter, driven and pitiless man. Alal was essentially the anti-me. It gave me chills to realize that all of Alal's gifts were bestowed on me with a purpose. I knew it was part of his greater plan. Normally, to end-run an evil genius, you just find him and kill him. Not only would Alal not stay dead, I now knew how well he could fight.
I knew only four people who might be in his league, and I wasn't one of them. Of the four, Sakuniyas wasn't likely to help Pamela, St. Marie and Elsa get the job done. That meant I had to rev up the deception engine to comfort my Aunts with hope, while dispelling the knowledge of how little they mattered to their sire. Almost as bad, I had to ignore what horribly people they were while extending that portion of my soul.
It was with some relief that I hugged, kissed, and forcefully separated myself from the Aunts in Dublin. We were going on to Budapest's Ferenc Liszt International Airport. My next action was to make my request to Selena for a contract with the Ghost Tigers to defend Hana when she arrived in Russia. (Of the three 9 Clan Assassin-Babes, Selena was the least impressed with me.) She informed me that the Ghost Tigers didn't do bodyguard work. I still wanted her to relay my request, so she relented. After that, I passed out.
We left Dublin around 9:30 am Friday morning and landed in Budapest at 1:45 pm., still Friday. As Rachel rousted me so I could grab a quick shower before touchdown, I was gifted with the misconceptions of my fellow travelers:
To put it nicely, Riki thought I was somewhat revolting, Virginia was disturbed and Chaz had lowered his opinion of my moral character. It was the incest thing. Vincent being polite was a pleasant surprise, Delilah's camaraderie less so and Odette was peaches with my most recent sexcapades. She was far too good to me. The Amazons uniformly didn't give a crap.
"So, is there going to be any other bizarre behavior we should be prepared for?" Riki sat down next to me as I was drying my hair. I was back to my 'jeans, t-shirt and wind-breaker' style.
"Fine, " I said loudly. "It is really none of your business what I did with and to my mother's clones. Yes, they are all clones of my mother, who died when I was seven." A lie.
"They are also the genetic creations of my grandfather, also known by many as Cáel O'Shea. They are sterile, they are wickedly evil, and two weeks ago I didn't know they existed. I do have a real aunt in Maryland. She's my Father's sister and is not part of the menagerie. Oh yeah, my grandpa is currently a disembodied spirit, back from the Netherworld and looking for a body to take over, if he hasn't found one already," I added.
"He was born roughly five thousand years ago, was cursed by an ancient Sumerian Goddess such that he can never just die and stay dead. I have his memories running around my head, which, along with denying me a good night's sleep, allows me to speak an assortment of languages, use virtually every weapon built before 1970 and know that he is a vicious criminal mastermind the likes of which you've never imagined outside of fiction.
How does that sound, Riki? Shall I get more bizarre? Trust me, I can," I regarded her evenly. She was speechless, but not out of awe. No, she was certain that I was completely unhinged.
"Everyone who believes Cáel, raise their hand," Odette demanded. Her hand went up. Odette and the Amazons agreeing was expected by the outsiders. Delilah and Virginia joining in was not.
"Captain Fairchild?" Colour Sgt. Chaz Tomorrow requested clarification.
"You've all seen those five O'Shea's that left the plane in Ireland. Barring some cosmetic changes, they were the exact same woman. You can either go with Sean Connery's Tak-ne creating a female clone army, or you can believe there is an otherworldly plastic surgeon altering a cadre of super-rich bitches to all look alike," Delilah, who was a captain of something, put out there.
"Who in the Hell is Tak-ne?" Riki mumbled.
"Duh," I poked the State Department lassie. "Connor MacLeod's Egyptian mentor in Highlander, the original movie and in the less than stellar sequel, Highlander: The Quickening".
"You are mistaken. Connery was that Spanish guy," Riki poked me back.
"Actually, the relevant quote is: 'I am Juan Sánchez Villalobos Ramírez, Chief metallurgist to King Charles V of Spain. And I'm at your service'," Vincent regaled us with his movie trivia. "He later reveals that he was born Tak-ne in Egypt in the 9th century BCE. Also, his Spanish name makes no sense, he has one too many surnames."
"Agent Loire, I am beginning to find intelligent men to be attractive," Charlotte said.
"Umm, thank you," Vincent responded warily.
"This might be a good point to get something clear," Chaz inquired. "Mr. Nyilas, whose side are you on? It appears to be rather complicated."
"Okay, Chaz, call me Cáel. Calling me Mr. Nyilas makes me miss my dad. I can also be addressed as Cáel 'Wakko' Ishara, Head of House Ishara of the First Twenty Houses of the Amazon Host. Or, you can call me what the Great Khan does, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege. Finally, those who love me, or find me amusing, may call me Fehér mén."
Selena's snort indicated she'd failed to hide her amusement at my presumptiveness, both titular and physically.
"Do you want to explain what's so amusing?" Riki looked over to the Black Hand assassin.
"Your job should be exceptionally easy now," Selena mocked me, "Prince of Hungry and Transylvania, or do you prefer 'White Stud'?"
"Laugh while you can, Monkey-Girl," I sneered. "The guy currently making a run at erasing seven hundred years of Asian history gave me that title. As for Fehér mén, that means 'White Stallion' and is symbolic of my ties to House Epona, not a phallic reference." Riki's look had gone from disgust, to anger (because she thought she was being played) and lastly, to shock.
"No," I interpreted her fear. "I am not here as some vanguard to unite the Magyar people to their cultural kinfolk in Central Asia. If you know your Central European history, you might recall that the Mongols devastated my homeland. For the next 450 years, the Turks were unwelcome visitors, conquerors and overlords. My princely status is a pat on the head for a job well done and nothing more."
"What job did you do?" Riki prodded.
"I saved a man's life," I looked pained to admit. She didn't get it.
"It must have been a major VIPs life," Chaz suggested.
"You can say that," Pamela nodded. "End of discussion time too."
At Ferenc Liszt International, we were diverted to a private hangar once more, courtesy of the Republic of Ireland's diplomatic umbrella. Three grey Ford Focuses and a white panel truck advertising a furniture repair store awaited us. Security issues were immediately obvious. They wanted to separate us (in the Fords) from most of our luggage (in the truck).
The five guy welcoming party hid under the cloak of 'don't speak any language you claim to speak' and Selena was of zip help. So, I spoke to them in Hungarian. They glanced my way, but didn't respond. Serbian? Nope. Romanian? Nope.
"Bows and doves," I commanded.
That translated rather logically as 'guns/bows' and 'phones/doves'. Out came our pistols. The only Black Hand to react fast enough was Selena and Pamela had her covered. The Amazons were aiming at the locals while Delilah and Chaz had their weapons out and scanning. Vincent and Virginia hadn't been fast enough, this time. They also didn't have guns pointed at them.
The lead BH flunky began talking calmly in German, heavily Slavic accented German.
"What do you think you are doing?" he inquired of me, in German.
"Disarming you, ya Moron," I grumbled. Then added in Hittite; "Go", and in my Amazons went to very roughly search, disarm and de-phone our not so friendly friends.
"Alright, gather up your luggage," I called out to my group. "We are walking to town." That wasn't truly accurate. There was a metro associated with the airport, a kilometer away max. Our guides didn't speak English so they were rather surprised when the bags came out of the truck and were distributed to their owners. Riki Martin and Odette were in some trouble.
Girls and 'only packing the necessities', Well, we had some diplomatic lumber to toss at the security services, Vincent had web-searched our location and the route we needed to take to the metro, and Delilah had purchased week-long public transport passes for the group. Only when we started marching out of the hangar did the BH comprehend the totality of their error.
The five guys in the hangar were chattering away, in Hungarian, and Selena was peeved.
"You are upsetting my superiors by blatantly disrespecting their courtesy," she reminded me. "They have guaranteed your safety."
"Less than a day has passed since the shootout in London, Selena," I countered.
"This is the Black Hand's backyard," Selena persisted, "not London."
"So, you are only going to help us if we do stupid shit we wouldn't do, even on our own home ground, is that it?" I chuckled. "Sweet," then, to my people, "I guess we are on our own."
The airport security guards didn't know what to make of our group of over-worked Sherpa, but the US State department and the RoI (Republic of Ireland) vouched for us, so they let us pass.
We hadn't taken the cars and the truck because that would have been theft. The confiscated guns and phones had been disassembled and tossed into a large iron drum of used aviation lubricant. Odette began shopping around for hotel reservations (I was carrying most of her gear). She was the logical choice because she sounded the most human of the bunch.
Selena called her people back, explained the fuck up and engaged in a mutual ass-chewing that spilled over a half-dozen languages and ended up with Dick-head, the local BH chieftain providing us with quarters that would turn a blind eye to our arsenal. With that address in mind, we made for the bowels of modern Budapest.
Dutifully, Riki contacted the US Embassy to Hungary's CIA mission head and Chargé D' Affaires, a.i., updating them on our arrival and movements. At the last moment, I had Riki relay the wrong address, on a paranoid hunch. I was right to be paranoid except I was looking in the wrong direction.
We had just disembarked at the Kőbánya-Kispest M3 station when we walked into the rolling ambush. A 'rolling ambush' is like a meeting engagement, the difference being that one side (ours) is on the move, not knowing it is being hunted while the other side (our attackers) was rushing to catch up with us, not knowing where along the path they would find us.
As we preparing to transition from the station to the attached terminal, looking for the bus line that would connect us to the BH safe house in the Kőbánya (X) District, our attackers were dismounting their vehicles from across the street as well as to our left and right. They were dressed like cops. Had they been armed like cops,
"Oh look," I snickered to Pamela, "I see a whole bunch of heavily armed people coming our way."
"Good for you," Pamela muttered. "Your eyes are still working."
"Do you think they are here to raise me up on their shields and proclaim me 'Prince'?" I joked.
"I think they are here to kill us," Pamela grinned.
"I prefer to think positively," I grinned back.
"I am positive they are here to kill us," Pamela laughed. It had to be our relaxed demeanor that confused them.
Had we been the droids they were looking for, we wouldn't have been chatting in the open with our bags in our hands. That would have made us crazy, and they would have been right. We were crazy alright and there was a method to our madness. It was mid-afternoon, yet there were plenty of average Hungarians wandering about.
Sure, they saw the 'special cops' closing in. They didn't see the upcoming shoot-out because that was plain nuts. A gun battle in a modern metropolis in broad daylight? London yesterday was an aberration, not the new normal. Our impromptu plan was to let the killers get as close as possible to limit the collateral damage.
This wasn't classic Amazon training. It was a concession to allies who did care about civilians killed in the cross-fire. The oncoming hit squad was finally putting faces to targets when Odette broke the calm before the storm. All she did was squeak when Vincent pushed her behind a kiosk. Riki took Virginia shifting her to cover in silence.
Delilah took off at a dead-run to the south-east. They were raising their shotguns and assault rifles. We were drawing our pistols. Normally this would have been an unequal match, except that in the time period where, in their eyes, we had gone from bystanders to targets, they'd also covered a good deal of ground, to the point that they were out in the open while my fighting band was in close proximity to all kinds of cover.
It started out as eighteen to twelve. Pamela, Chaz and Selena quickly cut down those odd by five. Me? I didn't try to shoot and run at the same time, so I made it to cover and was stuck there by our opponents use of fully-automatic fire.
My lack of martial prowess could be forgiven by the reality I was the one they were trying to off. My greatest contribution to this skirmish was tossing my SPAS-12 to Chaz so he could use something more than his standard military issue Glock-17. I had barely gotten Chaz's appreciative nod when two grenades went off in close proximity to me.
At first, I heard and felt nothing. My eyes were having trouble focusing. When my limbs began to orient themselves, I had to fight down the instinct to move. I was lying down, which was far safer than staggering around in the middle of this hail of lead. The twin grenades turned out to be their second and very fatal mistake on this mission.
The first had been their delay in identifying my group. The second, using the stun grenades, did put me, Pamela and Selena out of commission temporarily. But their mistake was having misplaced my six Amazons in this mess they had created. They did have thirteen shooters versus Chaz, Virginia and Vincent. They rushed our position using the classic advance while firing rote.
Two meters from me, the six Amazons revealed themselves with five P-90's and one big-ass bow. Four escaped the kill zone only to find themselves flanked by Delilah. Her .480's, combined with their confusion, finished off the survivors. That wasn't the end of it. We still had to effect our get-away.
I was still getting my head on straight as the ladies decided to hotwire some of the deceased men's rides and get us the heck out of Dodge. Recovery brought with it the knowledge that Virginia and Chaz had been shot. Pamela, Selena and me, we had some scrapes and bruises. Everyone else checked out. Mona let us know that she could handle the wounded. They wouldn't be doing jumping jacks for a week or two, but a hospital was not required. On the downside, no one believed that eighteen killers dressed as cops randomly rolled up on our transit point by accident. The only people who knew about our change in travel plans had been the Black Hand. We'd lied to the US.
We broke into an abandoned factory to stash the vehicles and make our next plan. Selena was coldly furious. Not only did she come to the same conclusion we had, the Black Hand had set us up to be murdered, we weren't letting her call in. Wiesława and Charlotte kept their guns pointed at her, so low was our level of trust.
Chaz was pretty much of the opinion that Selena should be coerced to provide us with the names and locations of the Black Hand involved so that we could do our own 'fact finding tour'. Oddly, none of the Americans asked to be pulled out. Vincent and Riki wanted to let the US Embassy know what had happened, yet were willing to wait until we were secure somewhere first.
Rachel was on board with Chaz's idea, with the addendum that they kill every Black Hand they could get their hands on before fleeing the city. They had tried to kill ME after all. I was touched. It was Pamela who put things in perspective.
1) The attackers were not Black Hand, they were mercenaries and that pointed a bloody finger at the Condottieri.
2) Selena wasn't a fanatic and her life had been in as much danger as anyone else's. She wasn't part of our ambush. Her buddies had tossed her under the bus.
3) It would have been far easier to catch us in that convoy they'd tried to stick us with. Caught in pre-planned crossfires and without our heavier weapons, we would have all died.
4) Having failed to deliver us to the pre-planned ambush site, the Condottieri had to rush to our metro stop because, the safe house they had prepared for us wouldn't have worked. We had the numbers to allow us take total charge of our security once we were in place. No, gauging our numbers, this traitor had sent the mercs into a straight-up fight they'd just lost.
Pamela's conclusion: the Black Hand had a double-agent in the Condottieri. To up his/her credibility, he/she had been given the information which they had used to attempt to have me killed. Less we forget, the Black Hand was a murder-for-hire organization. If we accepted Pamela's conjecture, what was our next course of action?
The Black Hand and Condottieri shared much of the same home ground, so they needed to be aware of what the much larger Condo network was up to. Long term, they thought that losing me and Selena was worth the insight they would gain into how the Condo's worked. Understandable, unless you were me and mine.
It is said you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. That may be true, except this Fehér mén was being led to water by Pamela and I took the plunge. I pulled Riki aside and asked for a favor. I wanted her to contact the State Department over an unsecure line and inform them that 'our' double agent had alerted us to the ambush and we were all fine.
The open, fearful look in her eyes said it all. If she made that report, someone was going to die. She was a human being whose actions were going to result in another human being dying, most likely in a bad manner. She was also a human being who had had a gun pointed at her. They'd shot at her, her life had been in danger and by the grace of more combative individuals, she'd been saved.
She might not be able to identify with the Amazons, or the Brits (soldiers), but Virginia had taken three bullets keeping her safe. The ballistic vest stopped two, giving her some titanic bruising, while the third had clipped her arm. Virginia had bled for her. Vincent was determined and grim. Odette was still rather shocky.
And all of that was the fault of the cock-sucker I was asking her to set up now. She made the call, making a very understated reference to their 'source' inside the 'opposition' that had exposed the ambushers in time. Her testimonial would take some time to filter to the 'wrong' hands. Excellently done.
Why did I have Riki do it? We understood the reasoning of the Black Hand action. We were fucking them over because no one did that to the Amazons, period, end of statement. Pamela radiated pride. On second glance, so did Rachel and Delilah. They knew I was a nice guy. Now I was a nice guy who would defend and avenge his own, them.
After we left the abandoned factory and moved to a fourth location, I asked that Selena contact her superior to figure out how we could rendezvous and get to a safe place. He was unhappy, she was unhappy and she let him know we were unhappy. Another guide was sent our way and thirty minutes later, we found ourselves in an old Communist-era apartment block.
Think of Chicago's Cabrini Green from the 1980's, but built with less inspired labor and you could visualize our surroundings. The neighborhood screamed of poverty, high crime and a poor police presence. Chaz described it as a 'low intensity war zone' where ethnic Hungarian, Serbian, Bulgarian, Croat and Romany street gangs regularly scarred the landscape with their graffiti.
Matthias, the local head of the Black Hand, kept us waiting until after dark. His excuse was the problems we'd created.
"You are lucky I don't hand you over to the Rendőrség (National Police)," he menaced us once he'd scoped out our cramped quarters. I was thinking about how to approach this coolly.
"You are the one responsible for our safety, Asshole," Riki got in his face (he was actually sitting at one of the three chairs in the tiny kitchen space. Matthias pulled out a stiletto blade from somewhere and put it to Riki's throat.
"I don't know you, don't like you and see little reason to put up with your insults," he replied casually.
I pushed off the wall slowly and started walking toward Matthias. He pricked Riki's throat, stopping me.
"That is neither necessary, nor friendly," I countered. "We are supposed to be building bridges."
"Right now you are utilizing my resources to no good end I'm aware of," he mused.
"Is there someone else we can talk to?" I pleaded.
"No," Matthias scoffed. I nodded then looked to the closest of his two bodyguards.
"Is there someone else I can talk to?" I addressed the man. I turned my body as I did so, unmasking Pamela who placed a silenced 22 round into Matthias' skull via his right eye.
The man's brains turned to mush and he slumped over, dead.
"Is there someone else I can talk to?" I repeated to the bodyguard. He stared at me. "You know that Matthias set us up. We don't blame the Black Hand, just him. He thought being in the 9 Clans would protect him, it didn't. Now, do you want to talk, or leave?"
Bodyguard #1 looked at #2.
"They will let you leave without conflict," Selena spoke up. "They will honor my agreement with the Vizsla." The two men started backing out. The Vizsla was the Head of the nearest Black Hand Chapter, similar to an Amazon Head of House.
"Take the body with you," I requested. They cautiously returned, grabbed Matthias under each arm and dragged him away.
"We will be in touch," the lead bodyguard stated. It wasn't meant to be a threat.
"Selena, you can leave with them, if you wish," I said.
"I'm okay," she relaxed. Once they left, she looked at Pamela. "Very smooth. I didn't even see it until too late."
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Riki blathered. Odette ran to her side and help her into a free chair. "I almost got killed. I mean, I looked into his eyes and I knew he was going to kill me. What have I gotten myself into?"
The poor woman was trembling uncontrollably.
"I think the lesson here is that the only people we can rely on are each other, no one else," Vincent stated.
"He was going to kill me," Riki cast about. I went and knelt beside her.
"The second that man threatened your life, he was dead, Riki. No one does that to any member of the team. You do your part and we'll keep you safe," I patted her hand. Running away to the safety of the embassy would have been so easy for her. I wanted her to stay. The choice had to be hers.
"You really killed him?" Riki whispered.
"Deader than Hell," Odette piped up. "Crossing one of Cáel's ladies is the fast track to the Autobahn of Pain," she boasted on my behalf. That statement grabbed Riki's attention.
"Who are you again?" Riki inquired.
"I am Odette Sievert," my bed buddy smiled.
"What do you do? What are your skill sets? Who are you with? Why are you here?" came next.
"Oh, Cáel met me at a restaurant where I was a waitress. I slept with him that night. A week later, I stopped going home and I've been with him ever since."
"I thought he was engaged to Hana Sulkanen?" Riki was puzzled.
"Oh, he is. I'm his fuck-buddy and his least crazy female friend," Odette clarified. Pause. "I'm a high-school graduate too."
"But why are you here? You don't even have a gun," Riki kept babbling.
"I don't know how to use a gun yet, or martial arts, or all those nifty weapons the rest of this troupe use, but I'm going to one day. Right now I'm here because Cáel is pretty stressed about his trip to see Aya, and I wanted to go on one of Cáel's adventures," Odette confessed.
"So, you are the comedic side-kick?" Riki blinked.
"Hmm, sure, that sounds good," Odette smiled. "Wait! In honor of our quest to Transylvania: Have you ever heard the story of the female vampire and male werewolf who fell in love with each other? They had to fight the opposition of their families and other people, they even lost friends but in the end they got married and lived happy together for a time."
"Yes?" I asked.
"But tragedy came when the werewolf died suddenly the day they celebrated 25 years of marriage," Odette faux-frowned. "Does anyone know why?" We looked around.
"Silver anniversary?" Vincent guessed.
"Yes," Odette exulted. "The autopsy determined the werewolf couldn't withstand their "Silver anniversary." Groans went around the room. Odette seemed inordinately pleased with herself. "Wait! I've got more," she pleaded. I hugged her. The French kiss was a welcome addition. The 'outsiders' took their second deep breath.
Some things were sinking in. Pamela. Everyone had seen her as a quirky, unique gray/white-haired pony tailed lady, constantly joking with me. She was that. She was also a remorseless killer. Matthias had screwed up twice and that was all it took for him to become a corpse. Delilah and Virginia had gone down that road once with her already at the Summer Camp.
It was a chilling reminder that Pamela dispensed death effortlessly and with swift precision. Chaz appeared more at ease after that revelation. If he had any doubt that the majority of his companions were consummate professionals, the last six hours had dispelled them. As long as we were on the same side, he was in good company.
Virginia and Vincent were still law enforcement, so Matthias' execution was disturbing. In context, it was also something they could live with. The man had been a human predator, Riki's life had been in danger and the danger had been dealt with without risk to Riki. They weren't about to advocate sidewalk executions for jaywalking, but the outcome was acceptable.
Riki, was more happy to be alive than anything else. In a perverse way, she was more onboard with the program than before Matthias had shown up. Why? We had killed someone to protect her. Unlike the impersonal firefight at the Metro 3 station, this had been upfront, in her face. There had been no angry words and escalating tensions.
Her 'team' felt her life was being threatened and they removed that threat. In the annals of Foggy Bottom, she'd heard about those kinds of 'Cold War/Terrorist' encounters. Saigon, Tehran, Benghazi, all places were State Department personnel had been in life and death circumstances. Now she could add Budapest to that list, though she knew she couldn't.
This mission had 'Plausible Deniability' written all over it. If she did survive this, her outlook on those late night drinks with other members of the Foreign Service would be very different. There were no 'exciting shootouts' and 'pulse-pounding races for freedom'. Her new experiences had demolished those quaint Hollywood notions. No, Riki had decided that the next person to put her at risk should end up being dead just as fast as Matthias snuffed it.
After those introspections, we had to grapple our next two problems (meeting our contact had been task one). Our 'safe house' had enough food for four people for three days. We needed more food.
Like all great espionage missions, we decided to split up and look for clues. Not really. Pamela wanted to get the lay of the land and Rachel wanted to get more food. I wanted to go with Pamela, I was wired, so she took me, Delilah (she was supposed to be keeping an eye on me) Saku (because we didn't want to fight her off) and Selena (ditto, plus we didn't trust her).
Mona had to stay to tend to Virginia and Chaz. Rachel wanted Charlotte to check the wiring for the place as well as figure out which walls we could blast through if horizontal mobility became a question. Riki was in no shape to go anywhere. Vincent would have to stand watch over the rest. That meant Odette and Wiesława were going out with Rachel and Tiger Lily on a food run.
(The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)
Fate is a bitch who has my life on speed-dial, or I'm exceptional luck for other people, which I pay for in blood, take your pick. Rachel and I were in phone contact every ten minutes to be on the safe side. Close to our domicile was the local Red Light district. It was several blocks of prostitutes with the added bonus of an open air black market.
The place was a monument to moral depravity, criminal enterprise and human misery. The cops were blatantly bought and paid for (or scared), the streetwalkers too young, too strung out, or too burned out to care. I could buy any weapon from a switch blade to that one guy who swore he could get me an RPG-16 and 4 warheads.
Drugs of every stripe, bootleg DVDs, dog-fights and blood sports were all being hawked. For a pittance, I could beat a homeless guy into unconsciousness. It was also a tourist Mecca for things illegal and illicit, a bit of a 'walk on the wild side'. It wasn't that the tourists were all that safe either.
Everyone was in danger from the street gangs; and on the top of that rubbish heap were the Romano (that's male gypsies to the less ethnically sensitive). Like the Amazons, they were pretty immune to penetration by their enemies, had a callous disregarded for the rest of humanity and made good use of their small numbers.
That was where the similarities ended. They were a gang of thieves, thugs and pimps, criminal entrepreneurs. Their threat came from the most organized and ruthlessness, not from any real martial skill. They had a unique language which they causally bantered about in. Why Grandpa Alal knew it, I don't know, but he did.
As I said at the start, The Great Weave of Fate has my ass on speed-dial. We found an eatery open this late and were learning why it was open at 11 pm in this neighborhood. The gang would have wrecked the establishment if the owner had tried to lock the doors. His, his wife and niece served up the palatable, cheap fare with nervous smiles.
Two older Romano and a younger punk, close to my age, had a table close to the door. When Mom came out to deliver their orders (the rest of us had to go to the counter), they kid wasn't happy with it. He pushed Mom aside and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the young lady. For some 'unknown' reason, the whimpering, struggling girl was not enamored with his charms.
I could see the old man's rage and sense of utter hopelessness. One of the older men looked at Pops and chortled.
"Good little mouse," he said in Romani. The other two chuckled. The punk began working a hand down the top of the girl's shirt and fondled a breast. The girl was crying.
"Maybe I'll pop her cherry on this table tonight?" the punk snorted. The girl didn't know the lingo, but she knew his intent. The other laughed. I stood up. Selena grabbed my hand.
"We do not get involved," Selena whispered intensely. "Those are the rules."
"What?" I looked over my shoulder and down at her, smiling.
"I'm only going to ask him how good the soup is," I fibbed. No one at my table believed me. Selena let go, and off I went. The two older men had caught the conversation, yet lacking knowledge of English, didn't get the importance of the exchange. The punk was engrossed in defiling the young lady.
"Hey, I'm new to town," I greeted their table. "How is the soup?"
"Is this asshole begging to get robbed, or what?" Older guy A said to the other two. They laughed. I was a joke to them.
"Why thank you," I smiled and nodded. I picked up the punk's soup.
Older guy A tried to stop me. Not only was he not all that fast, I can pulp a grapefruit with my fingers. By squeezing his palm, I had the meat of his thumb pressed tightly against the meat of his pinkie. He yelped, so I let him yank his hand back. I smelled the soup. I tilted the bowl back and had a taste. It was very good, well worth the cost. The two older guys were standing up.
This would have been the point when the punk should have dumped the girl and stood as well.
"The soup and the girl, or just the soup?" I requested.
"You have made a very bad mistake," Older guy A glared. "We kill this one."
"Cool Beans," I laughed. I overturned the bowel onto the punk's head. Not on the crown, planting it halfway toward the forehead meant the still warm soup splashed down into his eyes. In his shock and pain, the punk released the girl. I whipped her up and behind me. The punk and the girl were screaming.
Belatedly, the two older gypsies were reaching for their un-holstered pistols. Jacket pockets and the small of your back are not places you put a pistol if time is of the essence. I threw the bowel into OG B's face, then reached over the still screaming punk to punch OG A in the face. I had to release the girl who staggered back into the table behind us.
Dealing with the punk was the obvious next order of business, so I danced around him instead. Had I stayed in place to deal with the punk, I would have been vulnerable to OG B, who only had to shrug off the light bowl hitting his face. Nope; I grabbed hold of OG A and hurled him over the table into OG B. The cheap-ass table and the chair behind OG B all gave way.
The Punk obliged me by standing up, trying to clean his face with his right hand and going for his gun with the other (he was a lefty). I hooked his belt with my right, his jaw with my left and hefted him up in the air. I kept the maneuver going, lifting him up until his head was down and his thrashing feet were touching the ceiling then sent him crashing down on his two buddies.
I had no trouble drawing my Glock-22, cocking it and crouching down next to the human trash pile.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked quietly. Slowly, I gathered their attention.
"No, but you are a dead man," the punk seethed.
Nodding, I flipped out my neat little Amazon blade, scooped out his right eye then cut him down his cheek to his chin in one smooth slash. He started to scream. I punched him with my knife hand in the throat to curtail that annoyance.
"So I'm asking you again: do you know who I am?"
"No," Older Guy A muttered.
"And that is how I like it. I don't know you, you don't know me, and we are going to part ways and never see each other again. If we do meet, I might be in a bad, fucking mood because you have just about dissipated all of my goodwill for the night," I informed him.
"Agreed," OG A was somewhat confused and the pain was settling in.
"Take your guns, your friend and leave," I directed. It was encouraging to see OG B sending me a cautious look before picking up his gun. As they were heading out the door,
"I'm new to town. Can you direct me to any good clubs in the area?" I asked.
Blink. The punk was still gasping and wheezing. The other two were confused.
"The Halo Bar, or the Liget Bar and Club," he answered.
"Thank you," I gave him a polite wave, "and goodnight." I didn't further kick their asses and humiliate them because of the restaurant owner's family. I was about to be gone from their lives. They had to live here, so confusing the reason for my intervention had been necessary. Why had I let them leave with their guns? Two reasons, when they related this event to their confederates, the fact I had let them leave with their weapons would come up.
If I wasn't afraid of letting them leave with their weapons, what did that say about my combat lethality? They were going to come seeking vengeance. Nothing short of killing them and dumping their bodies in the Danube would have curtailed that, the moment I decided to get involved. I paid our bill in silence. None of them thanked me. They were scared.
I couldn't blame them. As Chaz had said, they lived in this low-intensity war zone every day.
"That was an interesting exhibition of futile compassion," Selena mocked me.
"Thank you," I responded chipperly "I'm glad to see my actions were not misconstrued."
"I agree with the mutt," Saku nodded. To clarify, she pointed at Selena, "Her."
"That goes double for you, Baby-cakes," I teased Saku then fled. Saku had been about to punch me so was somewhat unbalanced when she missed and her two contrabassoon gig-bags swung around on her back. You didn't think she was walking around without her bow and sword, did ya? Sakuniyas broke into a dead run, trying to catch me.
Selena, Delilah and Pamela had to race to keep up. After three blocks, I was proving my Olympian status by not being bitch-slap bait for my pursuers. I turned another corner and Fate proved she was all the bitch I needed. I ran into the girl, she began to administer a hip toss, I latched onto her arm only to realize it was a girl so I took the fall with her landing on top of me.
"Fuck!" she snarled. She pulled away and I let her.
"I apologize, I wasn't, " I got out before Saku ran up and kicked at me. I blocked the first blow with my thigh and the second with a left armed sweep.
"Why are you attacking this man?" the new girl grumbled to Saku. "What has he done?" She was pissed with me, though questioning Saku.
"She doesn't speak Hungarian," I clarified. "Saku, she wants to know why you ae kicking me."
"Tell her because you so richly deserve it," Sakuniyas seethed.
Pamela and Selena came up. Both appeared amused by my predicament.
"If she doesn't speak Hungarian, what is she doing in this part of the district after dark?" the stranger regarded Saku suspiciously. I scrambled to my feet. The stranger spoke heavily-accented English
"I apologize for running into you," I told her.
I noticed she had a handful of flyers she had been in the process of handing out when I collided with her. I helped her gather them up and took one for myself. On the paper were four pictures of young ladies. In Hungarian, Serbian, and Romanian it gave their names and a contact number for anyone who saw them.
We were in the midst of 'Sex Central' and our altercation had garnered some unwanted attention. Several prostitutes were fidgeting over the encounter, I was hot and clearly had money, so a pimp migrated our way.
"Alkonyka, you were told to stay away and not to harass our customers," the moving wall of meat chided my new found 'not' friend.
"It really wasn't a problem," I intervened.
"Shut up," he barked at me.
"And I told you and your buddies, give me back my sister and I'll leave you alone," Alkonyka (aka Dusk in English) responded to the guy.
He was big; 6 feet 4, 290 pounds, plus he knew a little Tae Kwon Do. She was no featherweight; 6 feet 2, and 150 pounds and was far better at Sambo than I was at boxing. What followed was a vicious little beat down where the Big Man ended up sobbing in the fetal position while she berated him.
She ended up rifling his pockets, taking out his phone and scrolling through it. She didn't find what she was looking for, cursed the pimp and attempted to put his phone into orbit. After that, Alkonyka picked up her flyers and stormed up the street. In the eternal sewage flow of the streets, three whores rushed over to help the guy once Alkonyka had left.
My unerring 'party girl' sense had delivered us close to the Liget. I wanted to go in, and since no one grabbed me in time, in we went. The two bouncers really didn't want to let me and my armory inside. I showed them my Irish diplomatic ID and let them in on a secret. The club's owner was seeking to open a 'sister' club in Dublin and I was here to check it out.
Me, my two bodyguards and my personal marching band (Saku and her cases) were let in. We had a wonderful fifteen minute tenure. Delilah and Pamela sat back and pointed out the various mobsters and gang cliques. Fate conjoined with my lie. One of the bar security types finally got around to telling the bar owner that his 'Irish partners' were at the bar.
Even from our distant spot, I could tell he was not a happy camper. Delilah, Pamela and I were debating our possible reactions to their upcoming request from the Boss to come over and talk with him. Saku was completely in favor of 'squashing the vermin'. It turned out, half way between the goons and us was Alkonyka doing her 'Missing Girl' thing.
She turned and headed toward us, until she saw us. Her eyes flashed to the door, back to the kitchen and finally to the women's rest room (she'd dropped in from the window that was three meters up, we were to learn later).
"We are not with them!" I shouted in Hungarian, over the noise.
The wisdom of that declaration was dubious. Not only was the local establishment out to get us, multiple other criminals seemed to have a special hate on for Alkonyka. She was also the person with the best lay of the land. When she raced for the kitchen, we followed. That required us to cross to separate dance floors. The Bitch Fate hit me on floor two.
I bounced off a dancing couple, flicked them a quick look and an apology.
"Sorry about, " our eyes locked, then I was propelled away. She knew me and not in a good way. Not even in a bad way. It was in a horrible, horrible way. Did I exaggerate?
"Come back here!" she yelled after me, in Hittite. "Come back, whoever you are!"
As bad as she was, her boyfriend was much worse. If I ran into him next, I was going to really regret not kissing my lovely Aya good-bye. After the dance floor, came the kitchen nightmare. It was Midnight Munchies time and the cook staff was working overtime. Then came the utter lack of a fire code: the rear door was chained shut.
The only remaining exit was down a narrow hallway to the loading dock. There was no way, we couldn't all fit down there fast enough.
"Pamela, Go!" I yelled. The absurdity of me sending my bodyguards to safety while I held off the villains wasn't lost on any of us.
"That's fucking hilarious, Dumbass," Delilah hissed. Her gun roared twice and the fuse box (in plain view) exploded in a shower of sparks. The lights flickered then failed. Consternation and confusion were all around. Someone grabbed my shoulder and off we ran. By the time the emergency lights kicked I heard the rolling doors heading up, the loading dock.
Our group was diving through the narrow, yet growing, opening since waiting was a luxury we didn't possess. Was it a good choice or a bad one that led us to run northeast instead of southwest in that alleyway? Only time would tell. As it was, we plowed into a group of revelers at the mouth of the alley.
Ten of the fifteen were gang members, who weren't much in the mood for talking when they caught site of Alkonyka. It turned out they were compatriots of the big tub of lard she'd busted up earlier and had been sort of looking for her. A major melee ensued. By unspoken consensus, we went to fisticuffs first.
My side was beating them like little bitches when gangsters pouring out of the front of the club and the ones coming from the back of the club converged on us. The impetus of the combined rush thrust the whole fight out into the street. Fortunately, auto traffic is uncommon in Budapest due to an exceptional public transportation system. That wasn't of much help to us.
I tried to keep close to Delilah, who I had been following. That turned out to be impossible due to a variety of factors. Notably, several of the gangs weren't fans of some other gang and there were like ~ eighty-plus people fighting. No one knew who the fuck we were, but it turned out that Alkonyka had a price on her head. Thankfully, her nemesis wanted her delivered alive.
I could hardly say this chaotic affair was enjoyable, yet some jack-shit moron just had to make it worse. First someone drew a knife and then things escalated rapidly. Two shots rang out. I didn't hear anyone screaming in agony, so the shots must gone up, or down. I saw Delilah go down in a tangle of three opponents. I had my Glock out to pistol-whip a few assholes.
A body slammed against my back, staggering me. I managed to keep my feet and twisted only to find the body was in various states of discombobulation and That Chic was flashing me a dangerous look. I raised my pistol and shot the guy about to shoot her in the back, cause I'm an idiot. She tracked my shot, gave me a quick nod and then proceeded to whoop ass on some other poor soul.
Three more bullets went flying around before the poorly armed mob broke and ran. The mobsters (those left standing) backed up from whence we came and unloaded on us with two of Hungary's own KGP-9's ~ Woot! (It's a sub-machinegun). They seemed to have had some military training, yet they had fuck all for cover. What's with these people?
Once we all dodged to street-side walls, Delilah, Pamela and I 'pumped up the volume'. That meant we murdered the two most dangerous gangsters and let the others run for their lives. My quick head/body count revealed that only eight people were actually dead. Some poor smuck had his throat slit, five had been chopped up with a sword and the two guys we'd shot and killed.
Pamela's little expeditionary force had added four intrepid recruits: Alkonyka and three people who wanted to kill most of us, though they probably didn't truly understand that when we all fled the scene before the criminal element came back in greater force. Shelter took the shape of an abandoned house, if you didn't count the homeless in residence.
It was no surprise that Team Pamela was okay, except for the prerequisite bruising and shallow cuts. We'd been wearing both our ballistic vests and armored dusters. Saku had been wearing her armor (sans helm) instead of ballistic cloth, so she looked like a deranged, post-apocalyptical outrider compared to our 'Dirty Harry/Pale Rider' knock-offs. Alkonyka was much the worse for wear.
Her backpack and flyers were history. She still had her blade, but her clothes were a mess. The exposed flesh on her back gifted me with a little hint from Dot Ishara of why this had happened to me. You can't take the good without the bad, or so it seemed.
"Don't stare at me," Alkonyka snapped, in Hungarian.
That made everyone else stare at her, which made the girl even less comfortable.
"Holy Mother Fucking Shit," Delilah exclaimed. "Is that what I think it is?" Confusion time.
"Why do I know you?" the princess asked me in Hittite as she tugged on my sleeve.
"Oh damn it," Pamela mumbled.
Saku merely looked her way while she cleaned off her blade and her front using a jacket she'd swiped form a drunk homeless woman. The lady's two buddies were downright laconic.
"Is she an Amazon too?" Delilah questioned.
"Two in one night," Selena nodded. "Now, we can we please leave the city before everyone in this district wants us dead?"
"Too late," I sighed.
"Who are you people?" Alkonyka inquired heatedly, in Hungarian.
"One moment, please," I addressed the Princess, in Hittite.
How to put this, we are honor-bound to help you liberate your sister. For now, would you please accept that it is because we are from the same hometown and leave it at that?"
"What town are you from? You sound like an American," she quizzed me.
"My name is Cáel Nyilas and my family came from Szászrégen, before World War II," I informed her.
That was Reghin in current day Romania.
"Oh, " she was a tiny bit less hostile.
"Hang in there. I have to deal with this," I cut her off. I looked to the Princess.
"I am Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara and Chief Diplomat for the Host," I identified myself.
"You know me because I witnessed your passage from the Land of the Endless Black Sands to the Sunlit Realm. It was part of a vision an augur shared with me," I explained. She and her buddies were far less welcoming of the news. I was speaking English on purpose.
"Ladies, this is Kwenhamai, better known as Molpadia, daughter of Penthesilea," I gulped.
"What House is she with?" Selena inquired.
"She doesn't have one. See, she was a princess of the Royal House. Then her mother, Queen Penthesilea, fought Ajax and Achilles. Despite her battle prowess, Ajax mocked her then Achilles knocked her to the ground. The Queen begged for her life, yet Achilles showed no mercy.
Dying in such a shameful manner meant our new friend here was passed over for Queenship. The crown and girdle went to her aunt, Antiope, who Molpadia later killed to save that queen from being defiled by Theseus, Tyrant of Athens. She was then killed by the Greeks and thus ended the Royal House of the Amazons."
"But she's back?" Delilah wondered.
"This would be the part that has Cáel unhappy," Pamela muttered.
"Yeah, ya see," I turned to the Princess again. "You are part of the Unconquered's group, right?" I groaned.
"Yes, me, we are with Ajax," the Princess revealed to the rest what I knew in my heart to be true.
"Thank you for your honesty, Death Song, and thank you for saving my life. Go in peace," I extended my hand. She stepped up, we clasped arms in the Amazon style and she smiled warmly.
"Your life wasn't really in danger," she smirked. She was referring to the guy who bounced off my back. "You put a bullet in the man trying to kill me, even though you knew who I was and who I was with, why?" Molpadia wanted to know.
"Because he's going to fuck you silly, you clueless bitch," Pamela got all snarky. Of course I was angling for a way to have sex with Molpadia, so I wished Pamela hadn't been so blatant.
"What's her excuse?" Molpadia looked past me at Pamela.
"She's my Evil Psychic Twin Grandmother," I sagely related. Blink. "I'm letting you walk away because you are not the one I need to kill. I have to kill Ajax and kick his 'boys look better bent over' ass back to the Netherworld.
Oh, and I think you are sexy and don't fall under the forty-four, whoops, forty-three day ban on me having sex with Amazons," I grinned. We were still clasping forearms.
"Thank you and good luck with that," she nodded.
"The 'kill Ajax' part, or the 'bed you' part?" I asked. She smiled, winked and sauntered away with her buddies.
"Hmm, nice ass," I observed. "So, now the pain begins?" I addressed the room behind me.
"What makes you think you are about to experience pain?" Saku replied.
"Oh," I turned around, "you are not going to kick my ass for letting those three walk?"
"No," Pamela snorted. "We will wait until we deal with this heir to House Illuyankamunus, then ambush you the moment you feel safe."
"Does someone want to bring me up to speed on what is going on?" Selena queried.
"House Illuyankamunus is the house of the dragon," I pointed to Alkonyka and the gorgeous Nordic-style dragon tattooed along the entirety of her right back and shoulder. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I checked. Yes, I had Fortune Cookies.
"The lady who walked away has come back from Underworld Hell with Ajax from the Trojan Wars to wreak vengeance on the Amazons," I gave her a lopsided grin. "Molpadia's mom was mocked by Ajax and she is hoping that she can restore her mother's honor and let that woman find piece with her ancestors, Achilles having already exited to the Elysium Fields."
"Ah, as Miyako and Estere said, you are a sexually-charged, kind-hearted yet charming idiot," Selena nodded in comprehension of the warnings of her fellow female 9 Clan killers.
"What is with the 'Death Song' thing'?" Delilah inquired.
"That's what her name means in the Amazon tongue," I exhaled, happily having avoided, however temporarily, a beating. "They have loads of cool ones, 'Bends copper tubing with her thighs', 'Frisky with Wine', 'Gets naked at the river', ," I bantered. I saw that Alkonyka was feeling both tired and left out.
"Now, how can we help you," I said, "and, do you speak any other languages?"
"I am comfortable with English, though I speak Romanian, German, Serbian and Russian as well," she volunteered.
I love European girls and their oral skills.
"I am still not sure why you will help me," Alkonyka began our pow-wow. We had exited our hideout and were making our way back to our 'safe house'. "You don't even know what you are up against," she pointed out. She wasn't condescending. She'd seen us fight and knew we were well armed.
"Enlighten us," Delilah requested.
"I am hunting down an international white-slavery organization," Alkonyka started. "They lure rural girls from Romania, Moldavia and the Ukraine with promises of modeling, or secretarial work. When they show up for the audition, they kidnap the women, transport them to a city further west and force them into prostitution.
Since the girl doesn't know the language of the city she is in and has no identification, she can't run to the authorities," she continued.
"They grabbed your, younger sister?" Pamela asked.
"Yes," Alkonyka agreed. "When she didn't show up the night of her 'interview', I went looking. I found three of the scumbags closing up shop and made them tell me what had happened."
"Made them?" Pamela mused.
"My Father was former Romanian Special Forces," Alkonyka answered. My hereditary homeland had gone from Hungary, to Romania, back to Hungary and finally ending up as Romanian territory in the twentieth century.
My ancestors called themselves the Székely and were one of the three races of Transylvania (the others being the Saxon Germans and the Romanians). "He taught me how to fight, shoot and live off the land. He and my Mother perished in a railway accident four years ago."
"How do you know she is still in Budapest?" Selena inquired.
"I don't," she replied. "I've been circulating my sister's picture and the picture of three other girls who were taken at the same time on the streets, rail stations and to the police."
"You've been putting yourself out there as bait," I reasoned.
"Yes," Alkonyka announced defiantly.
"Good," I smiled. "That should make finding them all that much easier." No, I wasn't calling her stupid or frantic. She was utilizing her meager resources. "Do you know anything else?"
"Only a name, Branko," she admitted.
"That still doesn't explain how and why you are helping me, us, not really?" Alkonyka was still puzzled.
"We are the best kind of friends you can have," Pamela grinned wickedly. "Men and women trained from the cradle to be warriors, slayers and to be utterly fearless, and who see you as part of our family."
"Because he and I come from the same part of Transylvania?" Alkonyka mused. "That's nuts."
"Welcome to my life," I snorted.
"Okay, what do you want from me?" she reposted.
"After we find your sister, I'll need help finding some people in our home region," I said.
"Who?"
"Hopefully I'll know by the time I get there," I smiled. She looked at me.
"Is he joking?" Alkonyka scanned the others.
"I so wish he was," Delilah smirked. "Just wait for the punch line. It is a doozy."
I was getting curious about exactly when I was going to see Dot Ishara again. I shouldn't have bothered. Walking up the stairwell in our concrete gulag, a piece of mortar fell off and clocked me on the top of my head. Only my patented Nyilas Super-Impact-Resistant Skull saved my brains from shooting out my ears. For me, it was lights out and a killer hangover on the horizon.
Ishara appears
"Wake up," Dot Ishara sang to me. My pain-free noggin was in her lap and she was once more playing with my hair. "I've averted my gaze." Looking into her eyes was unhealthy.
"What hit me?" I sighed. I was looking around. This visitation, I was on a wind-swept plain. I could hear horses neighing in the distance. I was on the primeval Great Hungarian Plain, the Alföld.
I nestled the back of my head into her bountiful bosom.
"A sizeable piece concrete that was poorly poured forty-six years ago. It's been waiting for you," she mused. Pause. "You know, if I could read your mind, "
"No, not happening. I like you all tingly and on edge," I guffawed.
Dot Ishara swatted my right shoulder playful. Had it not been playfully, I'd have come back to consciousness as 'Lefty'.
"That was very nice of you to exit the domicile with Pamela so that your path would cross with Ildiko Lovasz. Now you must find Angyalka Lovasz," Ishara enlightened me.
"They can guide you along the proper path from there," she added.
"Oh my Goddess!" I feigned a gasp. "That was actually useful. Here, have a Fortune Cookie." I metaphysically tossed her the sugary treat.
"For millennia, worshipers have raised temples in my honor, named their firstborn after me, dedicated their lives and sacrificed incense, gold, animals and even slaves to gain my favor, yet this is the first time someone has actually given me something I asked for," Ishara mused lyrically.
"Does this mean we are closer to having sex?" I poked.
"Yes," she blew sweet fragrances around my head.
"Sweet!" I clapped. More laughter. "Dot Ishara?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," I blindly sought out her hand to hold. "Thanks for keeping me in the dark, as opposed to deceiving me. I know, as a girl, it has to be tough on you."
"OW!" she squealed. "I am never going to forgive myself for making you that pledge (me forbidding her from reading my mind). So, you see me as just another woman in your life?"
"No," I protested. "As I said, you would rather stay mum instead of lying to me. That's pretty much as 'feminaciously non-feminine' as you can get." I pulled her hand to my lips, planting a kiss on her palm.
"That means I find you sexy without the need of a Babel fish to understand you," I simplified my response. That deep breath, slowly released, was a womanly reaction I was familiar with. She wanted sex, yet didn't have the time. "I need to get back, don't I?"
"I may not be able to read your mind, but, trust me, I can read your heart," Dot Ishara purred. "I will see you again before too long."
{Wakefulness}
How did I know the dream was over? PAIN!. Oh Goddess, my teeth hurt, my ears were ringing and I felt nauseous as hell.
"Uh, ",I moaned softly.
"Hey. He's awake," Virginia called out.
"Stop screaming," I whispered. The scenery had changed, the motif was the same. My head was resting on Virginia's lap. I wasn't sure how healthy that was for a man with a concussion. Mona's face swam into my view.
"How do you feel?" our medico asked gently.
There was one way to be sure I was still functional. I reached up and tenderly groped Mona's breasts. She could have stopped me. Her ballistic vest made my feeble efforts futile, except to prove my depth perception was spot on.
"He's fine," Mona called out, loudly.
"I could use some breast-feeding," I pleaded.
"He's definitely fine," Virginia chimed in.
"So, how did it go?" Pamela asked me from the door. Due to the size of the room, that was all of a meter from the foot of the mattress/bedsprings that rested on the floor.
"I'm in pain," I mumbled. Alkonyka peeked around Pamela.
"You are alive!" she exclaimed, in Hungarian. "Your companions told me this happens to you a lot and you would be fine. I didn't believe them."
"'A lot' is overstating it. I'm going to have a nasty hangover in the morning, but I'll live."
"They seem to be under the impression you were talking to your Goddess," Alkonyka said somewhat mockingly.
"I did and she told me you could help us right now, Ildiko Lovasz, if you wished," my revelation shocked her. "Don't worry about it. The Goddess, Dot Ishara, wants us to get Angyalka first." Somehow, I knew her real name along with the knowledge that she'd deceived me.
There had been one bit of drama I'd slept through that helped my case. Odette had surrendered one of her shirts to Alkonyka/ Ildiko. The Lost Amazon had multiple tattoos and each had a history. One was the copy of an inscription from a maternal ancestor's grave.
"Ahol van bátorság, " she spoke each word with intensity.
", ott van remény," I finished up the creed. Honestly, I'd heard, or seen it somewhere as a kid. Later, I regurgitated that saying to impress some Amazon chicks. "Great, we have the same catch phrase." Alkonyka took off her shirt, revealing her lilac bra.
Her tattoo was in Hungarian written in an archaic fashion. 'Where there is Valor' arched over her belly button and 'There is Hope' dipped beneath.
"It is from an ancestor's grave," she told me. Okay, I was good with that. "She and her brother defected to Michael the Brave at the Battle of Sellenberk seeking to restore Székely rights.
She was mortally wounded during the battle. Those were her last words to her brother, urging him and the others to keep fighting," she finished. I wondered how much of that was historical fiction. Still, I imagine it sounded better than 'fuck, this hurts', or 'kill the bastards'. That still didn't explain how it ended up in my encyclopedia of extraneous sayings.
"All that this is fascinating," Selena grumbled from the next room. "The Vizsla wants to see you outside of town tomorrow morning at eleven. She is sending a car, you, me and two others. The rest must wait." The Vizsla was a girl, a woman, probably ten kinds of mean to be a leader in the Black Hand.
"That's wonderful," Rachel called out. "Everyone needs to crash out. We have work to do and I don't want us getting sloppy. Cáel, a moment please," she beckoned me toward our small and smelly bath closet. Calling it a room was too generous. Getting up sent me tumbling down. My equilibrium was still recalibrating. My second attempt was successful and I staggered in that direction.
Once we'd wedged ourselves into the bathing space, I had to stand in the tub, Rachel shut the door, crossed her arms and stared at the floor.
"I, ah, I can't defend my actions except to say I followed my gut and my heart," I sighed. I'd let her down big time.
Getting into multiple fights, sparing (another) sworn enemy and doing what our host told me not to do, yeah, I'd screwed the pooch.
"Who are you taking with you tomorrow?" Rachel asked. She was otherwise immobile. I took my time, wading through my cranial ache, new information and imperatives.
"Pamela and Alkonyka," I reasoned. Now she looked up.
"Why her? We don't know whose side she is really on," Rachel countered. "Why not Chaz?" Chaz was a good choice and his wounds hadn't slowed him down.
"No," I rejected that. "We have got to get out of Budapest ASAP. I don't trust the Black Hand and they have reasons to be pissed with me," I stated.
"Yet you are going to Goddess knows where to meet with one in the morning?" Rachel glared.
"Alkonyka's sister is in trouble. To find her, I'm going to have to squeeze our hosts for some information," I began to explain.
"When we go to meet the Vizsla, the rest of you will be making for the Romanian border in whatever kind of transport you can arrange. Use Riki to help. Pamela and I will find out where this Branko is, negotiate the return of the girl and exit as soon as we can. We'll rendezvous with you once the mission is accomplished," I revealed my plan to both of us as it rolled off my tongue.
"Okay," Rachel nodded. "It is reckless, yet has merits. The forces tracking us will go after the larger group, which will be better able to deal with any incidents. You will make a hopefully stealthy raid and link up with us when we've established a stronger base of operations."
"You are saying that to make me feel better," I looked at her. Rachel groaned and nodded.
"Pamela is not invincible, or immortal, Cáel. She won't be able to bail you out of trouble forever," Rachel reminded me.
"That is why I want you to keep your team together," I replied. "If I get caught, the four of you have the best chance of rescuing me." That earned me a reluctant smile.
"I was hoping that was why you didn't choose me," she confessed. "It means you are learning."
"That was needlessly cruel and unasked for," I joked. "As we both know, my thick skull is why we are chatting right now." Rachel rushed across the few centimeters separating us and gave me a breath-stealing hug.
"Don't die," she whispered.
I didn't bother telling that was part of my plan too.
To be continued.
By FinalStand, for Literotica