Vincent, Buffy and other family matter.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it
The main front was stabilizing. The 2nd Army was in tough shape though all three divisions were still in the fight. The 1st Army's 2nd and 9th Divisions had corked up the advances out of Cambodia. As soon as night fell, they would maneuver the majority of the 2nd Division to crush the Alliance forces north of Bangkok. The rioters would be crushed tomorrow morning. They would survive.
This realization came too late to them. The rot of fear had infected the 1st Army, 1st Division and the police force commands. Of more importance, a small group of secretive individuals convinced two senior Thai officers that something had to be done before the city fell, or the Prime Minister reasserted control over the city.
Those two conspirators had the same problem as the Loyalists, enemy troops and protestors in the street. Those officers had no way to contact the crucial enemy commanders, but they knew who did, the Indian Navy. Surreptitiously, they contacted the Indian Navy's Expeditionary Fleet. The fleet's Admiral quickly put them in touch with the Alliance Command Authority and within two hours, a deal was made.
The Great Khan would stop the Alliance offensive if the King of Thailand made a public appeal, no strings attached. This new group of rebels and the Alliance worked out the path they needed to take to reach the King so that the Alliance forces were out of the way and no planes, or helicopter attacked their formations. They even had a TV station that would broadcast the King's speech ending the conflict. All they needed was nightfall.
And that was the true story of how the counter-coup was pulled off, how the King of Thailand was able to talk to the Great Khan and how the Thai government was overthrown. In the final analysis, the Loyalist hadn't fallen before the might of the Alliance. They were done in by a tiny number of Black Lotus operative almost no one knew existed, with a small amount of assistance from JIKIT.
"No wonder the Seven Pillars has never been able to wipe out these guys," Addison yawned. "They are slippery as eels and thrice as lethal. I am glad they are on our side." Several sets of eyes looked at her skeptically. "I mean, I am glad we are currently working toward the same goals."
Thus,
"I suggest we all get some sleep," Addison declared as she stood up and stretched.
Odette was comfortably asleep, so I curled her up and carried her to the elevator. I wanted to go home and forget that I had lost any semblance of a normal life. I didn't know what was worse; me doing the shit I was doing, or me understanding what I was doing. Juanita had gone down ahead of us to pull the car around to the front.
Chaz, Pamela, Odette and I went down in the first wave of the exodus from the workplace. The door opened on the ground floor. I wasn't the first person to notice her. My reflexes had improved to the point I had a moment to recognize her before the people around me sprang into action.
Pamela side-stepped to the right, pistol mystically appearing in her two-hand grip. Chaz, Chaz bore Odette and me to the ground. His level of dedication astonished me. He was shielding us with his body. From what, I hadn't been able to determine.
"Deadman switch," one of my aunts stated. "I want to talk with Cáel." The voice had a stressed tenor to it.
"Back outside," Pamela simmered.
"No."
"Chaz, what is going on?" I asked him. He hadn't moved and wasn't letting me wiggle around to see.
"Explosive vest," he responded coolly. That's right. Chaz was shielding Odette and me with his body.
That is what I found astonishing, his desire to give his life for me. His expectation that Pamela could kill the threat while he was currently occupied was understandable.
"We seem to be at an impasse," Pamela edged further away.
She wasn't avoiding the blast radius. That was impossible in this lobby. No, if it came to firing, she was making it easier for Chaz to get a shot off since the shooter couldn't cover both angles of attack.
"Let me talk to him," my aunt insisted. This made no sense.
"Chaz, let me deal with this," I told my bodyguard.
"Are you sure?" he questioned.
"Not really. As Pamela said, she's not going to let any of us leave until she talks to me and if you kill her, she kills all of you." Chaz let me stand.
Odette was just awakening to the threat. Chaz rose to stand by my side. (Sadly, Odette didn't rate him dying for her.) I prayed I didn't fuck this up.
"Cáel, is that really you?" the women with green eyes and red hair asked me. She sounded desperate, which would explain the suicide vest.
"Yeah, which one are, Mom?"
{9:10 pm, Tuesday, September 2nd ~ 6 Days to go}
"Yes, I'm Sibeal. Are you my son?"
"Do you mean No! Grandfather Cáel hasn't supplanted my spirit with his own," I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how I can convince you of this."
"Do you miss your Father?" she queried.
"Yes," I murmured.
"Ahh Cáel, you are still my son. Thank all that is divine," she sighed.
"Care to deactivate the vest now?" Pamela suggested.
"Do you promise not to shoot me? You two, and the one sneaking up on me from behind." She meant Juanita, who had sensed the danger and exited the car.
"You are three kinds of crazy, so I'm not making any guarantees," Pamela answered.
"Pamela Chaz, I really think she is my mother. And I assume she is here to kill Cáel O'Shea, not me," I interjected. I still wasn't leaving Chaz' side. "Please don't kill her."
"No guarantees," Chaz affirmed.
"She's his mother," Odette chimed in. "If it was anyone else, they would be in a cloud of bodyguards, not alone."
"Here is the deal, Mom. You deactivate the vest, then we will talk. Otherwise, I'm taking my security's advice and backing the fuck out of here."
"Okay," she nodded. "It's a fake. I'm upset, but not enough to be suicidal. I wanted to see what you would do. Father would have sacrificed everyone else. You got tackled and you obeyed the man who was trying to save your life."
"Chaz, what do you think?" Pamela asked him.
"We could hold her here until Virginia shows up. That would give Cáel a few minutes to reminisce before she gets dragged off to the looney bin." (That would, of course, lead to her death while in Federal custody so that wasn't happening, period.)
"I concur," Pamela agreed. She still had her gun out and aimed. She went to a one-handed grip so she could motion Juanita to come inside.
I took the opportunity to walk around Chaz, though I only advanced half way.
"I think it is asking too much from my bodyguards to walk up to you with that vest lying at your feet," I pointed. "You know just in case you are lying." She nodded, smiled and came forward. A hug was in the offing. I almost missed Odette coming up behind me.
"I'm on a timetable," Mom murmured into my shoulder. "You know why."
"I am afraid I do," (my pheromones were already affecting her). "What brought this on? How long can you stay?"
"The kidnapping made it imperative. But this has been my first opportunity to get close enough to you to determine if my father had won, or not," she confessed.
"I'm not sure how long I can remain ~ maybe a day, or three. I have heard you have an upcoming ordeal you must go through for your Amazons." Odette again by way of Delilah. I decided to give Delilah the benefit of the doubt and just accept that she did what she did because she was worried about me.
"Oh. Mom, this is Odette Sievert, my roommate and all-around better friend than I deserve." Odette extended her hand. Mom reached past me and shook it.
"Nice to finally meet you in person," Mom smiled.
"Nice to realize you aren't as nutty as the rest of the bunch,and considering you came at Pamela and Chaz with a fake suicide vest that is saying something," Odette grinned.
"My son is all I have left of Ferko (my dad)," she grew grim. "If my father stole him after killing my husband I wouldn't know how to carry on."
"Aaahh," Odette stammered through this tense family moment. "You are about to be a grandmother in a serious way," she tried to turn things around. "How does a dozen grandkids sound?"
Operational security and secret information were concepts Odette was aware of. She simply refused to use either one.
"Really?" Mom looked from Odette to me. "How serious?"
"How about we get out of here before the FBI shows up," I began directing my mom out the doors.
"Cáel?" Chaz questioned.
"Hey now, I never agreed to hand my mom over to Virginia. The vest was fake. Let's not dwell on this," I urged Mom and Odette out the door.
"Ishara," Juanita repeatedly prayed, "why do you test me so?"
Chaz and Pamela showed their faith in me and my decision-making ability by tagging along. For me, what does a son who hasn't spent any time with his mother since he was seven (because she was supposedly dead for the past fifteen years) ask first?
Actually, we waited for Chaz, who had the presence of mind to ensure the vest was truly a dud and then called Virginia so she could clean up one of my messes yet again.
"Thank you, Color Sergeant," Mom looked toward Chaz as the GL 550 pulled away from One Mi Ma1 Tower. Unfortunately, the look he sent her way wasn't friendly.
"Thanks for reminding me," I nodded to Mom. "Chaz, what in the Hell possessed you to jump on Odette and me? I appreciate it,"
"Me too," Odette chimed in.
"But please don't do that ever again. Of all the, let's just say I have too many deaths of people I like on my mind. I don't want you added to that list."
"Tough."
"Well, thanks for considering my request," I groaned.
"Chaz, three nights ago our boy learned that one of the women he knocked up is going to die and no one will intervene to save her life and they won't tell him where she is," Pamela let him know.
"Who do we talk to?" he asked me. By 'talk' I assumed he meant torture until they coughed up a viable location/suspect.
"The Goddess Ishara."
"Fuck. I apologize, Cáel. That is hard news for a young man like you to take. As for my jumping on you suck it up. It is my job to make sure you can do yours."
"Juanita," Pamela called out. "Stop driving to Havenstone. Take us back to Cáel’s place. He won't let the Amazons take his mother, which means I won't let them, which means Chaz won't let them. Besides, Odette could get killed in the cross-fire and too many people like her for that to be safe for any would-be assassin."
"Really?" Odette perked up. Of course she wasn't worried about being killed. Odette was fascinated that people found her valuable enough to kill anyone who killed her. She'd more fully grasp that curse later on. She was a genuinely nice person. What Pamela left unsaid was that if 'people' thought someone might kill Odette, they would 'proactively' protect her. Too many people she now hung out with were of that stripe of crazy.
"Pamela, would you miss me if I got killed?" Odette turned to the most dangerous person in the car. (I didn't think Mom was in her league, but then I had never seen her fight, so I was keeping an open mind.)
"You bet your ass, Baby-cakes," she grinned at my super-kind sidekick.
"Me too," Chaz added gruffly. "Of greater importance, Addison would take umbrage. Next to Ms. Love, she's the nastiest bitch I've ever met." He meant that as a compliment.
"Not Lady Yum I meant Worthington-Burke?" I inquired.
"She doesn't take things personally. She'd miss Odette, but not enough to move off-mission," Chaz explained.
"Let's not forget Buffy," Pamela snorted. "What she lacks in experience she makes up for by being totally psychotic and fanatically loyal to Wakko here. People who piss him off tend to end up as a place holder on the Obituary page."
"Unless they never find the bodies," Juanita commented from her personal experience disposing of people for me. Groan.
"Cáel, I am so happy I met you," Odette hugged my arm. "My life was going nowhere before you gave me your phone number. Now, I know my life is at risk and I don't care. Being with you has been more wonderful than I ever thought possible."
Mom was studying me, both pleased and worried.
"What?" I asked.
"You have a lot of your grandfather in you. He did have a gift for inspiring the best out of people. You are like your father in that you care for those people caring for both their lives and their happiness. Your father inspired that same kind of loyalty because he kept the needs of his people in the forefront of his mind."
"Dad was like Grandpa?" I worried.
"Hell no." That was Pamela.
"Thank the Divine, no," Mom exhaled at the same time. "How do you know my father?"
"I killed him," Pamela grinned.
"You were the one? I'm, I don't know what to think," Mom murmured.
"Keep that in mind before you try to pull another stunt like you did tonight," Pamela's grin grew feral.
"Pamela is the best Grandmother I could ever hope for," I explained.
"Spiritually speaking," Odette tried to lighten the mood (she was a cracker-jack morale officer). "Otherwise it would make Cáel’s having sex with her granddaughters rather, suspect."
"Odette, you can say 'incestuous'," Mom gave a half-grin. "Do you know much about my family?"
"Your Pa created you and your sisters to be fuck-toys who also ran errands for him," Odette nodded. "They are all loonies."
"Don't share that view with them," Mom cautioned. "When we last met, they had a highly under-developed sense of humor and a well-cultivated mean streak."
"Gotcha," Odette giggled. "After dealing with the Slayers of Testicles numbers 1 & 2, I have learned what kind of wacky girls Cáel attracts without even trying."
"I really should make sure Mr. Fiennes is okay," I reminded myself.
"You would do better catching up with that girl down the hall. The Korean takeout girl also asked about you", offered Odette. Yeah, the girl in 3-F baked me some cookies when Dad was murdered.
"How many grandchildren are we talking about?" Mom looked at me with some serious maternal affection.
"Who are the Slayers of Testicles?" Juanita wanted to know. My family jewels belonged to House Ishara at least in her and her sisters' estimation.
"Oneida's bodyguards," Odette let slip out before she saw the warning look in my eyes.
"You are sleeping with the apprentice of House Arinniti?" gasped Juanita I was hoping her questioning wasn't hurting her driving. "What about the 84 day rule?"
"I'd better not bring up Rhada," Odette nodded thoughtfully.
"I'm going to spank you," I growled at Odette.
"Was that aimed at me?" Juanita.
"Yippee, and we are going home now, too!" Odette squealed.
"Not you, Juanita Odette. I want to teach her how to 'not say' whatever pops up in her head," I grumbled.
"You promised to punish me!" she beamed brightly. "Punish me! Punish me!"
"Uuuuuuu," I beat my cranium against the headrest in front of me.
"I thought she was the 'nice' girl," Mom chided me.
"She was," Pamela smirked. "Unfortunately, she's been totally corrupted by your son."
"Yep," Odette agreed. "He's opened up a whole new horizon of things sexual for me."
"Son, how many women are you seeing? I thought you were engaged." Mom.
"Uuuuuuu," I repeated.
"I'll take care of this," Chaz intervened calmly. "He is as loyal as he can be within the bounds of his limited moral arsenal to Hana Sulkanen. So he is sexually and romantically involved with Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers, civilians he met through contacts at Havenstone. There is Anais Saint-Armour, RCMP, who departed this weekend,"
"She'll be back," Pamela assured Mom. "They always come back at least once."
"Who has only come back just once?" Chaz laconically questioned Pamela.
"Good point," Pamela acceded. "They keep coming back until he changes the locks, his phone number and address." That made no sense,
"I am glad you two are my friends," I groused. "I'd hate to think what you would say about me if you hated me."
"You're welcome," Pamela grinned.
"Ms. Marla Chalmers," Chaz continued without missing a beat, "Libra's younger sibling, who your son indubitably impressed while in college; three teachers at an exclusive school, he met them while body-guarding a group of children; an assistant manager of a hotel he stayed at; six attractive, college-educated European young women,"
"Don't forget the Macedonian!" Pamela interjected.
"I have removed her from the list because she has no reliable way to hunt down our boy," he explained.
"Good point," Pamela nodded.
"They like busting your chops, don't they?" Mom smiled.
"As opposed to physically busting my chops this I can live with."
"You have matured nicely. Your father would be very pleased quietly, of course."
"Thank you Mom." She knew the man better than I ever would.
"We won't count the 189 Amazons who have staked a claim to him for the next nine days," Chaz added.
"What! 189? When did that happen?"
"The thirty huntresses and the 159 members of House Ishara," Pamela clued me in.
"159? When did that happen?" I gasped again. I was repeating myself not good. I knew I had told Buffy to 'keep up the good work', but still, House Ishara wasn't even two months old yet.
"They are the best of the roughly 20,000 Runners in the Host and thus, all are serious bad-ass bitches," Pamela assured me. "I think Helena would like you to explore a few more heroic Runners who have since passed."
"Passed?" Mom.
"Cáel sees dead people," Odette beamed.
"So does his Aunt Baibre," Mom said.
"Met her, came off a bit, off," I confirmed.
"That's Baibre. What other ones have you met, besides Deidre and Brianna?"
She was asking if I had met others outside of Delilah's watchful eye.
"Hmm, Imogen, Kelly and Matilda."
"Okay. You haven't met the bad ones yet," Mom nodded. I was stunned yet again. Not by what Mom said, but by,
"The 'bad ones'?" Pamela inquired. "They come in shades worse than Kelly and Matilda?"
"I'm with you on that. Those two were unsettling," Chaz agreed. Holy Shit! Pamela and Chaz were agreeing that two of my aunts had them worried on a tactical level. So 'not good' for me, since I couldn't take either of my friends. Bad-bad.
"Fiona is the worst. She is the second youngest of my generation and by far the most lethal. She was Father's pet."
"Oh joy," I sighed.
"Is she bulletproof?" Chaz inquired.
"Not quite, but she is definitely hard to kill. She has a greater share of Alal while remaining sane."
"Oh, she's the sane one?" Juanita joined in.
"On that side of his family, sane is a relative term." Thanks, Odette.
"Relative to how far your cock is into them?" Pamela snorted.
"Hold on now," I interrupted the jocularity. "What do you mean 'your generation' 'the second youngest' what happened to the youngest and when you say 'worst', define 'worst'."
Pamela's phone rang.
"Father created three generations of daughters and sons. Carrig was the 'success' on the male side of the equation."
Uncle Lumpy was the 'success'? What had the other uncles been like idiot cyclops cannibals?
"He destroyed all the rest."
"Please clarify," Chaz studied my mother. "Your father murdered his own children?"
"Yes. All but one of the 36 sons. He kept Carrig around as a reminder to not create any more sons. The first generation of daughters were all 'failures'."
"You mean dead?" Odette gulped.
"Yes dead now, though he viewed all of us as property, not human beings."
"Consider Grandad's low opinion of humanity, that's extra tragic," I put an arm around Odette. Pamela was muffling her conversation.
"Of the second generation of daughters, only Aunt Faoiltiama was kept around. I always had the impression her soul wasn't entirely human. She is rather primitive and predatory. A less horrifically unbalanced Carrig physically that is. Carrig was somewhat more erudite."
"Wow, I don't know what to think of that," I mumbled.
"Of my generation, eleven of us were allowed to live. Kelly and Maitilda are the most physically dangerous. That was their purpose killing things."
"Trained in combat styles by Cáel’s grandfather?" Chaz looked, depressed.
"Yes. The four of us were. Fiona was the only one I couldn't best."
"I would like to spar with you when it is convenient," Chaz requested.
"Okay. You deserve to know how bad it can be," she nodded. "Of the rest, Una was the youngest, the most human and humane. She was Father's final failure. I was never sure why he kept her alive."
"For Cáel to rescue, of course," Odette insisted. Crap. She was right. By the horrified look on my Mother's face, she knew Odette was correct as well.
Alal had let Una live as a contingency card, in case I was a soft-hearted sap. In hindsight, it was obvious. The innocent damsel trapped in a madhouse, at the mercy of her fiendish kinfolk, she was a perfect weapon to make me do stupider shit than normal.
"Damn," Mom muttered. "Anyway, Briana is the most willful and the family's representative to the Illuminati. Deidre is the most sedate, so she handles the normal business interests that we are allowed to know about. Darcie had Alal's hunger for lost and forbidden lore. In her case, it is all-consuming. She has memorized much of Father's collection."
"She is rather good at it too or was when I last saw her. Imogen is our tactician and oversees the O'Shea's bodyguard contingent. She has Father's ability to choose the best men and women, to train them to a razor's edge and to inspire fanatic loyalty."
"Sadhbba: she is Father's spy master; with the exceptionally eerie talents of subterfuge, deceit and finding the weakness in others. She and I did not get along. Fiona could do it all, except for my talent."
"Which is?" Chaz took over, since Pamela was waving me over for a close, quiet chat concerning her phone call.
"Fiona was an updated version of me. She was slightly better at everything I could do, except for one thing. I had Father's sixth sense about things. Fiona did not, and that was the reason she hated me so much. Father stoked our internal conflicts to keep us all on edge."
"Good to know," Chaz understated his concern. "Do you have any intelligence on how, when and with what your father will come after our boy?" I wasn't insulted by the 'our boy' moniker. He wasn't calling me a child. He was telling Mom that I was 'one of the boys' on his team. I felt all warm and tingly. My dearth of long-term male friends had meant I had never really been in a fraternity the close brotherhood of men before.
"Problem for you to deal with," Pamela handed me the phone. "It is Tabitha Loire." Tabitha? Vincent's FBI Special Agent Vincent Lorie's drop-dead gorgeous daughter. He had taken more than one bullet in Romania. I hadn't heard from him since that morning at the hospital, before being whisked away to the US via Germany. I remained a lousy friend.
"Hello? Who is this?" the weary, angry voice on the other end of the connection spoke.
"Cáel Nyilas. Tabitha Loire, what can I do for you?"
"What can you tell me about my Father?"
"Oh God! He is not dead, is he?" I grunted. Pause.
"No. No, Da is okay. He was released from the hospital a week ago. I would like to talk to you about what happened to him overseas."
"He won't tell you?"
"No. Neither will his boss, or any of his acquaintances. Mr. Nyilas, he is down in the dumps and I want to know what I can do to help out. If you are his friend, you should help."
I couldn't blame her for being both bitter and exasperated. She had run full tilt into the Great Wall of National Security and been stopped cold.
"How about I come down and talk to you?" I offered. "What I can tell you shouldn't go out over a phone and I have been remiss in not catching up with your father sooner."
"Umm, when?"
"I'll take the next train down tonight," I decided. "We'll arrange some vehicles at the station. What is your address?" She hesitated. After all, she had Pamela's number, not mine and I was tied into her father being shot badly. She gave me the address, her desire to know what happened overcoming her caution when dealing with strangers. "I'll give you a call when we arrive in Alexandria."
"Train?" Juanita griped. Chaz pulled out his phone and called Agent-86 for both the next train from Penn Station to Alexandria and an update to Virginia and the Homeland Security people for clearance to bring along our ironmongery. Pamela looked at me with pride. So did Mom. Whatever Juanita's opinion of me was, it was concealed by her call to someone else probably updating Buffy on my itinerary.
"Vincent was the Federal Agent who was wounded at Miercurea Ciuc?" asked Mom.
"I need to have a talk with Delilah," Pamela glowered.
"I want to be in the room when you do," Chaz agreed.
"Juanita Penn Station and call someone at Executive Services to pick up our car. Long term parking there is a bitch," I related.
Was it? I had no idea, but Alal apparently did. I had been to Penn Station three times; and I never had a vehicle that needed a parking space. All three times, Havenstone sent a car to pick me up. That was for my preliminary and final interviews, plus handling all the paperwork after I got the job.
I'd left Bolingbrook in a U-Haul truck (without much in it) a week before starting work. I had an iron-clad belief I could find a place to live within that time span. That was all the time and money I had allotted to that endeavor. My budget had been tight, or so I believed.
Unlike the other four chuckleheads who joined the New Directive, I hadn't received a signing bonus. Maybe I should have asked for one. Too late for that now.
"You taking your mother to meet Vincent?" Odette poked me. I looked from Pamela to Odette then back again.
Sneaky-ass bitches. They were introducing my widowed Mother to a really nice, mature guy who was brave, a good father, a widower and all-around stand-up guy. He had a ready-made family, an oldest daughter my age. Beyond some physical similarities, Vincent was not much like Dad. Dad was a quiet, private man.
By the nature of his job as a Field Agent, Vincent had to possess superior communication skills. Physically, they were nearly the same height, but Dad was broader in the shoulders. On the other hand, Vincent had both a warrior's spirit and the skills to back it up.
But why Mom? Her life was more a disaster than mine, and mine was colossally fucked up.
"Don't get any ideas," Pamela put out there. Was she talking to me? "Chaz and I don't like you. Your father is a rat-bastard with a mind like a snake. We have no idea if you are yet another one his plots to get at Cáel."
They were still taking her with us as we went to see Vincent in Virginia. Since this was going to be a quick trip I had to be back at Havenstone at 6 a.m. no clothing was necessary. Chaz received a call from Agent-86 with a follow-up call as we pulled up to the station. I didn't know the nature of the second call until we went to pick up our tickets for the 10:05 Northeast Regional.
Waiting there was my old buddy and now sister, Wilma Draper/Ishara. I was at a loss why. It wasn't as if I needed more firepower than Juanita, Chaz and Pamela in the confined environment of a train.
"Wilma?"
"Hello Ish Cáel," she smiled. She was emotionally pumped.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh... Buffy told me that I was to be here on assignment to fulfill an Isharan obligation." This would be Wilma's first mission for House Ishara, no matter how brief and danger-free it might be. She was ecstatic.
Huh? I couldn't recall any obligation I owed Buffy, or Vincent. Unlike every other Amazon House, things regularly happened without the Head of House's knowledge. Face facts: I was the least prepared leader the Host had ever had. I compensated by having hyper-competent underlings the very best of the best Runners-turned-Full-blooded Amazons.
"Ah," Pamela nodded, sensing my loss of understanding, "A promise to provide Vincent a bodyguard was made in your presence. Being the highest ranking member of the Host present, and failing to pass on that knowledge, it falls to your House to answer that pledge."
"Wilma, you are here to be Vincent Loire's bodyguard?"
"Only temporarily. The current state of affairs at HQ won't allow me to take more than three days leave. Your 'First' is seeking another appropriate Isharan for the task."
I had totally dropped the ball.
The initiative to bring JIKIT and the Amazons together was my creation. Katrina had approved it, yet it was my status as Chief Diplomat of the Host (as I had redefined that role,) that was responsible for that group, and thus Vincent. There was also another undercurrent to providing Vincent an Amazon bodyguard. I would be sending Vincent the message that he was still a valuable member of the team. His infirmity was simply a temporary difficulty.
I gave Javiera a call. I suddenly needed to know Vincent's status with the FBI. A little past Philadelphia, she called back. Vincent was on long-term leave and, barring a positive physical assessment, he would never be going back into the field. They were making him a desk jockey for the rest of his career. That would be a heavy enough blow to the man to put him in the dumps.
I made my view clear. As Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L & U HAUL, I wanted Vincent on my team JIKIT's field team. I had plenty of lethal shooters. I needed a trained investigator and a veteran lawman to keep us aware of the niceties the world's legal systems wished to live by. I finished that off with a very regal "Make it so!" Javiera, my boss, hung up on me; though I thought I caught a laugh before the connection was cut.
"Pamela," Chaz turned to Pamela, "I am proud to call him 'brother'."
"I think he is coming along nicely, Grandson Charles," Pamela preened. Wha- huh? My family had grown yet again. Grown yet again with people who were better than me.
"Does that make Aya your niece?" a sleepy Odette smiled.
"I guess it does," he nodded.
"Aya will love you," Pamela smiled.
"I hope Caitlyn loves him too," I smirked.
"A man could do worse than marrying an Amazon," Chaz blithely retorted. Less I forget, the Tomorrow Clan had its own long warrior tradition.
"Asking it to be three thousand years long is a bit too much," Pamela agreed with what I had not spoken aloud.
"On the plus side," I began.
"He's also getting several frisky sisters-in-law," Pamela finished. Hi-Five.
"Super Twin Powers Activate!" we proclaimed loudly.
Fuck Ishara for taking Tad fi from me. I could be just like my Father. I could bleed off my pain with humor and look at my daughter with untainted love.
"When I grow up, I want to be just like you," Odette yawned. Which one of us she wanted to emulate wasn't clear.
{Wounded, but not forgotten}
{2:00 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}
The tickets were one-way. Katrina was having a private jet come down at 4 a.m. to fetch me. We arrived in DC at 1:30. Two bleary-eyed State Department flunkies met us with an S U V and a sedan. We took the S U V ~ we had seven people ~ while they drove the sedan back so they could try to make something of the night that duty had destroyed.
They looked curious about what this was all about and were a bit disappointed that no explanation was forthcoming from our crowd. We were polite, and I thanked them for their service. Being a decent human being doesn't cost you much and can pay serious dividends.
The drive to Casa de Loire took thirty minutes. Juanita informed me the small airport I would be flying out of was a twenty minute drive, so I had roughly an hour and half with Vincent and his family. When we arrived, Juanita sent Wilma to make a 'walk-around' Vincent's home so she could get the lay of the land as well as keep an eye out for voyeurs.
Pamela saved another series of frowns from Juanita by being the first person to the door. Tabitha had called her after all. Tabitha, Vincent's oldest and a Georgetown University senior, clearly didn't know what to make of us, and we weren't making it any easier for her by showing up on her stoop three hours after she had called Pamela.
It wasn't going to get better. For starters, Juanita (and the not visible Wilma) had a MP-7A1. Ya know military-grade weaponry. The door opened halfway. It was Gretchen Loire, the middle daughter.
"Hello. May I help you?" That wasn't her being uninformed about our imminent arrival. This was the child of an FBI agent allowing a stranger at her door to identify themselves instead of giving them a name to use.
"I'm Pamela Pile," my mentor answered. "This is Cáel Nyilas, my grandson. The gentleman to his left is my other grandson, Color Sergeant Chaz Tomorrow of the British military. To the left is Juanita Garza, my younger grandson's bodyguard the one without a gun in his hand. The young lady in back is Odette Sievert, another one of your father's co-workers. The woman beside her is Sibeal Nyilas, Cáel’s mother. Don't trust her long story. A seventh member of our group is checking out your backyard. Her name is Wilma Draper."
"You are heavily armed. Is my Da in trouble?"
"I want to talk to your father, if that is okay with you. I'll let Cáel answer your questions. He's our titular boss."
'Thanks Pamela', I groaned inwardly.
She was cute, exhausted and emotionally-vulnerable. Eager for answers and for someone to make sense of a world where her anchor her father had been nearly killed (not that his wounds had really been life-threatening). I hadn't had sex in over a day and that had only been a tension-breaker quickie with Odette.
As we entered, it was obvious that Gretchen and her younger sister, Mariyah, had camped out in the front living room, catching some 'z's' on a recliner and a sofa with light blankets for covers. Mariyah was on the sofa, sitting up on her elbows and struggling to wake up.
As Chaz shut the front door, Tabitha came down the stairs.
"Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. Well, I was an infamous celebrity. I even had two Facebook pages (Nyilas Nailed Me! and Az j Magyarorsz g kir lya (The New King of Hungary)) as well as four Instagram accounts devoted to me.
"Ms. Loire," I met her halfway and shook her hand.
"Call me Tabitha."
"Call me Cabbage-Head," I grinned. That caught her off guard.
"Oh, kay, not what I expected." (I get that a lot) "We need to talk," she failed to stifle a grin.
"If you sleep with any of these girls, I will shoot you," Pamela warned me in Hittite.
"Excuse me?" Tabitha looked her way.
"Don't worry about it, Tabitha," Pamela gave her a congenial look. "I simply warned the boy that if he acted inappropriately, I would scar him."
"Aren't you engaged?" she turned on me.
"Yes. Yes I am. Hana is a wonderful woman; beautiful, smart, with a big heart and a serious nature. Sadly for her, I'm a lousy human being, untrustworthy cad and perpetually prone to making bad decisions where women are concerned. Very bad decisions."
"Miss, since my associate appears to be eminently capable of mangling the English language, let me help you clarify the situation: Cáel can't say 'no' where a woman is concerned. He can't even say, 'no, please don't hurt me', or 'no, not now. I'm talking to my date'."
"Hi. I'm Odette. There are four sane people in this room and I'm one of them."
"Says the woman who snuck aboard a transatlantic fight and hid in a place in the galley which you couldn't get out of," Pamela snorted.
"I got to go to Europe for free," she defiantly perked up. "Oh, and ladies," to the Lorie girls, "your father is a wonderful and brave male. (OK, too much time around the Amazons for her.) "He saved my life in Budapest."
"He was in Budapest?" Gretchen.
"When?" Tabitha.
"Why?" Mariyah.
"We need to talk to Vincent your father first," I explained. "There are reasons we can't openly talk about this with you without his permission."
"That's not helpful," Tabitha frowned.
"I'll let you go up without me," Juanita grimaced. "I will be up after I finish duct taping Odette to the inside of the refrigerator door."
"What?" Odette squeaked. "What did I do?"
"You talked about something you shouldn't have talked about and I'm not about to let three daughters of an FBI agent interrogate you."
"What kind of Federal task force are you?" Gretchen wondered.
"Miss, we are an international situations study group," Chaz's lie had risen to Cáel-caliber.
"Who walk around the suburbs with PDW's?" Gretchen arched an eyebrow.
"Who drop what they are doing in New York City and race down to Arlington Virginia to visit our Father in the middle of the night?" Mariyah added.
"Who are led by a 22-year old man engaged to a billionaire heiress?" Tabitha finished annihilating Chaz's fib.
"I'm praying to Dot Ishara that Vincent lets us talk about this," I turned to Pamela. "I'm nearly out of game."
"Who is Dot Ishara?" Tabitha.
"My matron Goddess. I'm a pantheist. Can you take me to your father now?"
She hesitated. Her dad was in bad shape, inside and out. She had let us show up so she could get answers. Me showing up and having urgent business with him wasn't in her game plan. Her dad had to be looking like death warmed over.
"Come on," she led the way back upstairs.
"Pamela, Mom," I said. Pamela was coming along because she wanted to touch base with Vincent. Stopping her wasn't an option. Mom was coming along because I wanted to give her an idea what I was doing now. I was only giving Vincent information about what had happened, not future plans. In my own way, I was seeking my Mother's approval. Chaz was coming along to keep an eye on Mom.
"Da, Mr. Nyilas and some of his people have stopped by."
Vincent looked bad. Most of it was cosmetic. A combination of Alal knowledge, my memories of his wounds and an understanding of how good American medical skill could be (for the right money) told me a different story.
He had a face wound, which always looked worse than it was. His ear was swollen and an angry red color. I guessed that was a minor infection post-surgery. His left eye socket was a mixture of purple, yellow with the tell-tale puckered line indicating surgery a week ago. His eyes worked just fine.
Vincent's shoulder was in a cast, arm in a sling and his left leg was in a gel-like cast, with a brace attached, to make sure the shattered bones reknit properly. He also had to be in a shit-load of pain because he tracked the four of us easily, which was a clear sign that he wasn't on the prescribed dose of pain-killers.
"Cáel Pamela Chaz. Sorry Ma'am, I am not sure which one of Cáel’s aunts you are," he greeted us. Vincent was cerebrally desperate to see us, missing the action because he felt he was a necessary part of our team dynamic. He was always the most practical member on Unit L ~ the unfortunate folks who followed me around on my misadventures.
"I am Sibeal Nyilas. Cáel is my Son," she informed him in a pleasant tone.
"Ah. Nice to meet you. I had heard you were dead. Cáel, how are things going back at the asylum?"
"Vincent, we need some alone time. I need to brief you."
"I'm off the team," Vincent stated with grim acceptance. He knew the verdict of the FBI office: he was riding a desk the rest of his career.
"The only way you get off Unit L is if you die, or betray us. You can't get rid of us that fast, old man," I grinned.
"What does Javiera say?"
"She is 100% onboard. If we let you go, we'd have to bring someone else into the insane mess we call day-to-day life. She is merciful in that way."
"Hmm," he grunted.
Vincent wasn't by-the-book. He was a flexible, diligent lawman. He also loved field work, dealing with the information first hand and making the arrests. He wouldn't be arresting anyone while working on my team. But two out of three wasn't bad.
"Tabitha, I need some time alone with these people."
"Da, I didn't bring Ms. Pile and Mr. Nyilas here so they could put you back in the field," Tabitha grew defiant.
"Tabitha, I'm months away from field work. I'm still a member of JIKIT, if in a different unit for the time being. They need me."
"Need you? Da, you can barely walk to the bathroom," she protested.
"Tabitha Ms. Loire, my team has plenty of members who can bench press a 100kg, run the 400 meter in 50 seconds flat (probably closer to 60) and are intimately familiar with over a hundred ways of permanently removing people from any discussion, i.e. killing them."
"We need experienced law enforcement personnel to provide our missions perspective on the legal repercussions of our actions. I won't lie to you. When you father is ready, he is back in the front lines, along with the rest of my people, me included."
"You nearly got him killed."
Time for me to play the hard-ass.
"No. I've seen plenty of dead people. Your father was badly wounded, but was never in danger of dying. One of my bodyguards made sure of that. She gave her life to defend him when he was down. She wasn't protecting an old man. She was fighting for a valued member of the team."
"Died?" Tabitha was close to tears. I'd let Vincent handle this one. He had to deal with this in his own way as well as explain it to his oldest child.
"Yes. Her name was Charlotte and she was a professional soldier ~ Special Forces," he told her.
"When my shotgun was empty and I was reaching for my pistol, an enemy jumped me. Charlotte killed him then knelt over my body while firing at other men who were trying to kill us both. I saw her fall down. She was shot in the face and dead instantly. Honey, I wasn't fighting alone. I had various combat experts, included some elite Romanian troops, with me.
"Those people tortured and murdered women and children. They had to be stopped and I am an armed law enforcement officer. This is what I do, what I have trained for and I would do it again if the situation warranted."
"I don't want you to die," she did cry this time.
"I understand," Vincent responded.
"Me too," Pamela grinned (not wanting Vincent to die).
"Me three," I added. Tabitha looked to Mom.
"I am not on their team. I'm here to reconnect with my son, who I haven't seen in fifteen years," Mom explained. "If my son thinks well of your father, that is a good sign to me that he is surrounding himself with top shelf people."
"I think my Father has risked his life enough," she persisted.
"Your father is one of the best men in his profession and I need the best," I explained. "The back-up FBI agent is good, but she's under thirty and still has a lot to learn. I know you love him deeply, but we need him."
"You need him so much it took me calling Ms. Pile here,"
"Call me Pamela," my mentor interjected.
"Okay Pamela here to bring you to our front door."
"I have a critical assignment in five days. I won't be back until a week from next Monday. I am dealing with this issue alone the team stays in New York. What I was remiss in doing was assigning your father a bodyguard. That is what I am here to correct."
"He's in the FBI. Do you think his life is in danger?"
"If our enemies figure out 'he' is still with JIKIT, then 'yes'," Pamela replied. "Cáel is leaving one of his associates, named Wilma, here for a few days until he can send someone more appropriate for the task someone who will be more familiar with your family, your patterns and the pulse of your neighborhood."
"Da, quit this. We can't afford to," What Tabitha was trying to say was that after losing her mother three years ago, she didn't want to go through life without her father too.
"Tabitha, if I didn't think I could do a good job with JIKIT, I would refuse Mr. Nyilas' offer. I am a field agent. Unit L is a field unit that has to digest information on the run and react with clarity of purpose."
"Now Baby, I am not going out with Cáel’s people until I am judged to be physically fit. If I make a full recovery, in the field with these people is where I need to be. We are trying to shut down a well-financed, well-connected terrorist organization which has penetrated several intelligence agencies."
"I need to help my team ferret them out. It is dangerous work and I would be a hypocrite if I sent someone less skilled to take my place. Do we understand one another?"
Translation, Tabitha was the 'woman of the house' since her mother had died in that medical malpractice incident. It was going to be up to her to answer her siblings' questions.
"Alright," Tabitha relented. "I'll leave you to it." No, she was not 'alright' with this. She was preparing for the next round of convincing her father that this wasn't safe for a man in his condition. It was a standard girl thing. Been there done that. I was perfectly sure I'd be going through that again, when I was married.
Tabitha left, and Pamela swept the room, looking for any listening devices, or other surveillance access points to the room. She even pulled the battery out of Vincent's phone. Then came the briefing. Mostly I went over the most recent activities in Thailand. He nodded, mulled over what I was giving him.
"This would be a good time to make some solid law enforcement contacts there. Thailand has a corruption problem. We could gather some reliable types to create a secret anti-corruption task force with the Black Lotus helping out. It would operate as a public information source ~ unnamed officials tipping off local news outlets to a scandal with a sheaf of evidence to back it up."
Wow. No one on the team had thought of that, and we should have. Sure, we were giving the Black Lotus an unsolicited helping hand, but it would be worth it. By the look on Vincent's face, a quick recovery was in the offing. He had renewed his faith in himself as an active participant in the Secret War.
This wasn't a pity visit. It was the real thing. Now he had to get back to New York City as quickly as possible. We needed him. He had hoped we did he loved his job. In the back of his mind was the worry that he was getting too old. He had 'gotten' Charlotte dead, despite the fact that she was doing her job, and we were fighting some of the toughest killers on the planet.
He carried that guilt. With our visit, he could begin to forgive himself for Charlotte's sacrifice. Her death wouldn't be in vain. There was work to do important work and he was the right man for the job. In a few years, Virginia could take over and he could spend the twilight of his career working with Javiera in the office. Getting into shootouts was a young person's game and right now, he was still young enough to do it.
"Thanks Cáel," he nodded as we made ready to leave.
"We work with what he have," I reminded him. "Some bright guy told me that once. We carry on because we have to."
"I couldn't agree more. So, is my bodyguard any good?" He hadn't forgotten I had told him he was getting a bodyguard.
"You might remember Wilma Draper from your first visit to Havenstone. She is with House Ishara now and will be handling your security for three, or four days, until Buffy can bring up to speed someone tailor made for the job."
"Good. I'll find a way to explain this to my daughters. Oh, and behave yourself."
"Yes sir," Pamela answered for me. "I'm on it."
"Thank you too, Pamela. It is good to see you, Sergeant Tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Nyilas. I think I've had enough excitement for one night." Vincent was weary. His body still needed time to recover. He would get better and I would definitely be seeing more of him.
Down stairs we went, right into Wilma.
"What is that?" I motioned to her choice of handgun.
"A Taurus Raging Judge Magnum."
"What does it shoot?" Chaz mused.
"454 Casull."
"Holy Hell! What do you," I was at a loss for words.
"If I hit someone, I want to make sure they go down," Wilma sounded somewhat embarrassed.
"That will definitely do the job." Chaz.
"What do you think is going to attack you?" Juanita inquired.
"A water buffalo," Chaz.
"Or a 747." Pamela was less than helpful.
"Cut it out guys," I declared. "It could be worse. She could be packing .480 Ruger."
Wilma looked self-conscious.
"Wilma, what is your back-up piece?"
"An H&KP30."
"And?" Pamela smirked.
"A Ruger Bowen .500 Maximum."
"I didn't know they made handgun bullets that big." I gulped.
"If we are ever attacked by a Stryker," Chaz grinned.
"Or a BMP," Pamela added.
"We know who to turn to," Chaz finished. They were joking, though I didn't know that at the time.
"Cut her some slack," Odette protested, "at least she comes prepared."
"You are right, Odette," Pamela nodded. "The .50 is a bullet with a long and storied history. In World War 2, they used them as anti-tank rounds."
"But only at the start of the war," Chaz corrected her.
"Wilma, thank you for your preparedness. You are accurate, right?" If she wasn't, OH God, I thought. The collateral damage she could cause.
"Very."
"It also makes the garden variety 'taking cover' rather ineffectual," Pamela conceded.
"I'm now curious how far through an earthen berm it can penetrate," Chaz looked to Pamela.
"You two stop it," I put my foot down, verbally speaking.
At that point, I was so happy that I had never given into my baser impulses and given Wilma a hard time at the security desk. I would have felt really bad about her killing that person across the street, sitting safely in their armored car, after it punched through me and the 50 mm of bullet-resistant glass that passed for transparent walls at Havenstone.
"Mr. Nyilas," Tabitha closed in. She wasn't happy with me one bit. Her sisters mirrored her displeasure.
"Why don't we step outside into your backyard?" I suggested. Juanita shot me a nasty look. Pamela took Wilma on a tour of the house. Chaz went to feed his late night case of the munchies. Odette stuck with him, undoubtedly still avoided Juanita.
"This is not why I brought you here," Tabitha got feisty once Mariyah closed the sliding glass door. The late summer crickets were doing their mating thing.
"You were supposed to help us understand Da, not drag him off to get shot up again," Gretchen added. Ah, girls and lying to themselves.
"Really?" I took them all in. "You called Pamela, Tabitha. She probably consulted the rest of you. What did you think I was going to do?"
"Tell us what happened to him and how we could help him heal and get over his funk," Mariyah tagged in.
"Bullshit," I cut off the next comment by Gretchen. "You called Pamela, thus me, to make your father feel better and I did. Mariyah, you are leaving home for the Navy in a few months. Gretchen, you were where, when you got the call? Tabitha, do you even live here anymore, of do you live somewhere closer to campus?"
I had lucked out with Tabitha. She did live close to Georgetown University campus. Picking off the other two was easier.
"What do you think your father is going to do when the last of you are gone, carrying on with your own lives? From the short time I have known Vincent, I know he would never stop any of you from pursuing whatever careers you desire."
"You barely know him at all," Tabitha declared.
"Think what you will," I countered. "I came here because you wanted my help and the only thing that would help your father is for him to know, with certainty, that he had a job to do, a place where he was needed and people counting on him to come back and carry on."
"Lie to yourselves if it makes you feel better. I am not lying. I my team needs Vincent back. This was the preliminary round of a struggle that is playing out on six continents. People are dying. With your father's insight, fewer of the right people will be paying the ultimate price. As a downside for your father, bad people will be dying free of a court of justice and with no appeal."
"It is the nature of your father's new job with JIKIT. He is our senior lawman in a group of professional killers, spooks and diplomats. His expertise is critical. He knows that now. I wouldn't bullshit him because lives are on the line. He is the best person for the job."
"And you three know that. You know how good your father is at his job his chosen vocation. Not one of you has shown me different. I know you love him. I know because very recently my Father was murdered by the same group that Vincent is now helping us hunt down."
"Until two months ago, I thought my mother died when I was seven. I have to deal with the crazy crap of her not being dead and the reason she had to go into hiding and leave me and my father behind. Now, if you honestly believe that your father is not the best man for the job, let's go upstairs and tell him together. If you admit that he is the best lawman you know, then you did the right thing by calling Pamela."
"But he's going to die," Mariyah choked up.
"Take a look at the crowd I run with," I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Who on that crew isn't a stone-cold killer?"
"Odette," Gretchen undercut my argument.
"You've got me there. Who, besides Odette, isn't a stone-cold killer? You are only seeing the tip of our security umbrella. Your father got banged up because only one of the two FBI agents with me in Romania could go against those terrorists. The other had to guard witnesses critical to our ongoing investigation ('pants on fire' lie). Did you expect him to send the rookie in because she was a woman and younger, or go himself because he knew he could do a better job?"
"Listen ladies, your father was in the midst of battalion-sized battle with over two hundred dead by sunset. Vincent wasn't taking stupid risks. When he fell, there were over two dozen soldiers and teammates with him. That is the risk we all face in confronting this kind of criminal conspiracy."
"I'm not going to lie to you. This team will keep going into dangerous places. In time, Vincent will be going in at my side."
"You were in the fight too?" Tabitha furrowed her brow.
"Yes. I wounded one guy, got grazed and was beaten into unconsciousness. When I came to, one of my bodyguards was dead. Her name was Charlotte and she died defending your wounded father."
"Do you really think your father is going to let that go? Do you think he is going to sit back while the people who sent that band into central Romania to kill me are still out there?"
"Kill you?" Tabitha again.
"Yes. This current mess is part of an old feud that started way before any of us were born. I picked at the scab and now various forces around the globe are trying to either help me, or kill me, along with a truckload of other people. 'Me' going into hiding won't solve anything, so I fight back as best I can. With men like Vincent at my side, teaching me what to do, I think we can win this fight.
"Selfishly, I need your father. I also think he needs me. He needs me because, I guess because with me he sees the hope I can't fathom. In his own way, he is a lighthouse for me on dark seas."
They didn't say anything. They weren't fans of me and my plans for their father. I was the answer to their phone call though, and Vincent had raised his daughters to make those kinds of tough choices.
For me, it felt like yet another hollow victory. I was endangering Vincent and his family. I had also told them the truth. I needed Vincent to show me the way. I was going to some really dark fucking places and there would be times when Pamela wouldn't be around to put a hand on my shoulder and tell me that we could win, to give me hope. Yeah. I felt selfish. I also felt I was doing the right thing.
{3:30 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}
At the back of the jet heading for New York, Mom and I finally had some alone time. No crisis was looming on the horizon and my people were giving us enough space to give the illusion of privacy.
"I don't know where to begin," I muttered. I was fatigued, with the added bonus of knowing I wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon.
"I didn't mean to fall in love with your father," she said after a minute of introspection. "Considering my upper crust upbringing and twisted paternal relationship, his love blindsided me."
"What was his pickup line? I need to add it to my repertoire."
"Ma'am, may I help you? were his first words to me. In the process of getting my car's engine to crawl back to life, he found out I was new to the area and took me to a crappy little 24-hour diner. I found myself lying to him about my imagined life, and when I finished, I realized I hadn't fooled him in the slightest.
"Your Father knew I was lying and he didn't care. He figured I was someone running away from my former life and he saw no reason to confront me about it. He offered me the addresses of various agencies that could help me in case I was: a survivor of domestic abuse, a drug addict, or just a woman in need of a second chance."
"We parted ways. Two weeks later, he called one of the Catholic groups I had latched on to. I suddenly wanted to see him again, so I invited him out to dinner at the closest McDonalds. At the time, I was afraid to access any of the accounts that had Illuminati ties."
"Five weeks later, I had enough of your Father's honest, open and respectful ways. I physically attacked him in his pick-up. He was gentle and empathic. Five days later, I moved into the house and two years later, I had you."
"The pick-up that I learned to drive in?"
"No," she chuckled. "I invested well and was able to buy him a new one for our third anniversary."
"Why 'Cáel'? I mean, couldn't you have chosen a nice name like Doug, or Richard. Hell, I would have preferred Oliver Cromwell Nyilas as opposed to Cabbage-Head." Mom chuckled.
"An O'Shea would never name her child that (Oliver Cromwell)," she patted my arm. "I don't know why I chose 'Cáel'. When we talked about baby names, 'Cáel' spilled out and your Father liked it."
{The next morning, back at Havenstone: 7:10 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}
"Have fun overthrowing a government?" Buffy surprised me as I stepped into the elevator. I was finished with firearms training for the day. The plan was for me to briefly touch base with Katrina and answer any of Saint Marie's questions that might need to be relayed to me. After that, it was back to 'work' JIKIT.
If anyone is surprised that Buffy was angry with me, they clearly haven't read about the last 79 days of my life.
"Hey my 'First'," I grinned like a fool. I had an out for this crisis Wiesława iva of the SD. I hugged Buffy. I also felt her nifty Amazon blade running up my inner thigh on a direct course to threaten the hope of future little Isharans everywhere. "I've been so happy with what you've been doing to build up the strength of our house. I do appreciate it," I stroked her cheek. My jewels were endangered, but I knew Buffy's hot spots too.
"I really want to hit you right now hit you several times, then drag you to the closest conference room and make you relive our weekend together," she relayed with a charming mixture of ferocious rage and pleasurable memories.
"Why? He's been doing his job," Wiesława rallied to my side.
Wiesława also hit the elevator button. We were heading upstairs for a workout then a bit of sparring.
"This discussion doesn't involve you," was Buffy's blistering retort. More softly to me, "You need to spend more time with your new sisters so they can get to know you. A few of us are worried about a possible challenge."
"I figured that might come up," I nodded. It is Amazon law after all. "Screw it. Let everyone know I'm not accepting a single challenge until I get back from the Great Hunt. If I lose, I will entertain offers of challenge. My sisters need to be reminded that I am also Chief Diplomat of the Host."
"You can remain Chief Diplomat of the Host and not be a Head of House," Buffy reminded me.
"No. You are wrong. This is Dot Ishara's mandate to bring the advantageous peace through strong alliances against confirmed foes. If the challenger can't pursue that agenda with the same zeal I put forth, I will not accept her challenge."
Buffy stared at me silently for several seconds. The door opened. Brielle and her friend stepped on, smiled and came my way.
"Going shirtless again," Brielle touched my chin. The other girl rubbed her fingers over my right nipple. Buffy was growling.
"Oh, this reminds me of something. Sister Buffy, my 'First', I understand there has been a list compiled of women I have had relationships with in the past, or appear willing to have sexual adventures with in the future. That stops now."
"What of our sisters who feel you need to spend more time with them," Buffy grumbled. "Have you forgotten about us?"
"Buffy, I was stuck at work non-stop since the whole Thailand situation blew up. I have had my attention focused there, where it was needed. Good job with Wilma and Vincent, by the way. He is really chomping at the bit to get back in on the information loop. I already have Addison working on one of his suggestions."
"Cáel, you need to think about what happens in 12 days. The Great Hunt will be over. You need to think how Ishara can use the victory to push for a more aggressive Runner agenda. We need to seriously ratchet up the recruitment in both the First Directive and the New one."
"I would like to see another 500 Runners brought into Havenstone by the end of the year and a new crop of men for the next round of candidates ~ 20?"
No one on the elevator: (A) had given that last bit much thought, (B) thought it was a good idea, or (C) thought I was joking.
From the first round, only two of us were left, and Felix (see Chapter 44 Appendix The Enigma that Isn't) was still 'iffy'. At this rate, only eight more could qualify by the end of December. Felix (hopefully) and I would mentor the twenty candidates in the second round, establishing a precedent concerning male hires. Eight (assuming a 20% acceptance rate) plus two would allow a third class of one hundred and so on. By the end of next year, that would mean 1,250.
They wouldn't be 'Felix' or me. Given only five initial slots, Katrina and Tessa had chosen the very best of the best and me. From here on out, we would be looking for things like spirit, courage, loyalty and martial talent. IQ's of 120 would do nicely and some sort of college would be beneficial, but not a deal-killer.
In two, or three years, those men would be doing more than replenishing the Amazon gene pool. They would be going with their sisters into battle. Everyone in Havenstone wore multiple hats. Our small numbers required it and there wouldn't be enough men to alter that principle. Getting into a House would be even harder for them than it was for post-Isharan Runners.
They would be okay with that. Men could form their own little social clubs and anyway, it wasn't like they wouldn't be getting plenty of trim when they wanted it. I was far more worried about an Amazon raping a man than I was about any Ash Man raping an Amazon.
But 'Men' needed to become part of the equation, instead the answer to a problem. This would be our war too our history we were creating. Moreover, we the Amazon Host needed Ash Men to heal that ancient wound and nearly forgotten shame. Men would never dominate the Host and the Amazons would come to understand that. A thousand Ash Men would do nicely. That was my plan anyway.
{Meeting Rayen}
I met with Katrina and an Amazon I was to become familiar with. She was old. Not as old as Pamela, but definitely up there in age. The whole right side of her face was a mass of scar tissue. She was also missing her right eye and two fingers from her left hand. I was willing to bet she could still pull a bow. She was meeting me and Katrina because she was both a fierce warrior and a highly-accomplished strategist.
"I am Rayen Artio," she introduced herself. I racked my brain trying to figure out who,
"The Bear-Goddess," Katrina enlightened me. "I apologize," Katrina nodded to Rayen as I clasped arms with this woman in the Amazon-style.
"I have you to thank for being alive," she grinned at me wickedly. "On the occasion of my first great-granddaughters birth, I planned to take myself to the cliffs. I had lived a full life, my line was strong and I was feeling worn. Unfortunately, the 'Peacemaker' Wakko Ishara inaugurated the Goddess' reemergence by plunging the Host into a Global War."
"The Golden Mare asked me to forestall my desires to see my ancestors because she believed our people had need of me," she grinned.
"I would say I'm sorry about that, but I'm not." I smiled back just as wickedly. "I figure all of us will meet our ancestors eventually and I see no reason for any of us to rush it. Are you here to become part of my bodyguard, or are you going to do something constructive with your life?"
"I was warned by many sources that you were flippant and irreverent," her expression told me she thought that was a good thing. She was still keeping our arm-grasp.
"Saint Marie has selected Rayen to hold a ceremonial title, Katrina informed me. In Old Kingdom Hittite that mean Western Head of the Queen's stables. I had a sneaking suspicion it meant more than tossing hay bales in a corral.
"That means I am in charge for the Host's fighting forces in North and Latin America," Rayen translated. "Among other things, I am in charge of training the Houses of the Host for their entry into battle. My first act was to put forth an edict forbidding anyone from taking themselves to the cliffs without my permission."
"That was nice of you," I tried to make light of her beneficence.
"My second act was to look into the mustering of all the Houses with holdings in North America. I came across two oddities: the first one stands before me and the other one is in Belize."
"With the rebirth of the Isharan House guard you will supply the Amazon Host as required in both logistic and combat roles. I wish to make it very clear that your House Guard will be sent into the fight.
"Unlike some of my sisters, I have spent years fighting alongside Runners. What they lack in cultural expertise they make up for in ferocity. That needs to stop."
"The ferocity?" I clarified.
"Yes. We can't afford to lose them, so they will have to learn patience with the understanding they have nothing to prove to their full-blooded sisters."
"Thankfully, we all have you as a promise that merely doing their duty will win them recognition insane heroics not required."
"Umm, thank you? You're welcome?"
"Since the First Directive was promulgated, I have nominated fourteen Runners to be in my House. Not one was accepted. I am tired of that shit. If I recommend someone to House Ishara, will you be amenable?"
"Yes with a codicil." That got her attention. She was liberal-minded, yet she was about to get steeped in even more radical thinking. "I must consult with the elders of my House before making a final decision. They have paid the price in sweat and blood to be where they are and I trust their judgment as much, if not more, than my own. It is how Ishara rolls."
"I had heard that," she gave me a feral twist of the lips. "I wasn't sure if it was the honest truth, or an attempt to personally tarnish your prestige. Three of the women I nominated are now in your House, just so we both know we are on the same page." Woot!
"Artio's loss is Ishara's gain," I grinned.
"Too true. Now to my second oddity the one in Belize," Rayen continued.
"Sakunyias."
"Yes; better known as the Friendless," she still hadn't released my arm so I began to stroke the inner forearm with my fingertips. Hey, I had never done a chick like her before and I was more intrigued than scared, because I'm an idiot.
"At your behest, she is raising an uncertain item. The precise Hittite meaning was 'hand'. In context, it meant five groups of five fists.)
Amazon social groups had four members while military groups had five. Why? Everyone in a military group covered a set number of skills. A fifth member would fulfill an area of expertise they lacked, or a skill set they needed for a particular mission. Pamela had told me this. (She also told me she had continuously shed herself of the other four sent on assignments with her until the Host relented and let her fly solo.)
"Saku got her full 125? I know you are some hard-ass bitches, but serving with her is as close to being in a suicide unit as the Amazons allow," I grunted.
"She has 137. She had 142 to screen. One died and four others were too crippled to continue. The rest still seem eager enough. Now Saint Marie has to figure out where to place them for the best effect."
"Until they run out of stamina, or blood, they are going to kill everything they come across," I pointed out.
"Exactly," Rayen finally let go of my arm. "I wanted to make sure we agreed on that assessment as well."
"If she survives, will she be allowed to resurrect House Anat?"
"That is for you and the rest of the Council to decide. I think your chances are good. Of the three Houses you have messed with, Ishara is a go and SzelAnya is a 'more than likely'. Normally I would find the murder of one's house head and sister to be an unforgiveable sin. Since I am dealing with you, I won't make a wager either way."
"I like you."
"That is why I wanted you two to meet," Katrina joined the grin-fest. "Now, let's get down to business."
"As chief diplomat of the Host, I want you to arrange with the Earth & Sky for weapons shipment to North America" Rayen grew serious. "Training burns up lots of ammo and wears down the weapons. Plus, we need to seriously upgrade our stockpile of heavy weapons.
"I also want a high-level meeting with the Cult of the Jaguar. Since we share the same turf, I want a cooperative agreement on mutual defense and support."
"Huh?" I gasped in surprise.
"Can you do it?"
"That is not the issue, Rayen," Katrina snorted. "Do you realize you're the first Amazon who has officially asked him to do his job? Give him a moment to get over the surprise."
I was indeed surprised. Havenstone had taught me never to stay surprised for more than a second, or bad shit would happen. So, back to the task at hand.
"Won't there be a weapons problem? We don't use their calibers, or systems."
"Turkey and Georgia are NATO-compatible. What they don't have in their own stockpiles, or don't produce, they can get from the appropriate member nations. I haven't heard that they are under an arms embargo yet."
"Okay on it."
"What about the Cult of the Jaguar?" Rayen proceeded.
"I already have a diplomate with what passes for a collective management of the 9 Clans. I'll get right on it. Give me three to five days. Being a group of secretive assassins, I predict they will have to mull this over before getting back to me."
"Pleasure talking to you," she finally let go of me. "Keep me informed of diplomatic developments within my jurisdiction. I look forward to meeting with you again," and off she went. Nice ass and not just for an older chick.
"Rayen was nominated for Golden Mare," Katrina mused.
"Too 'Runner' friendly?"
"Yes and she has always felt free to speak her mind. My two favorite retorts of hers were: 'that's as stupid as setting aside your shovel so you can shovel manure with your hands' and 'you are the one they kept?' (as opposed to throwing them off the cliffs for being defective at birth)."
"I'm glad she is on our side," I nodded. Katrina knew I meant both as a weapon for the Host and as a friend to Ishara's interpretation of the First Directive.
"She's been shot, stabbed or riddled with shrapnel 27 times, been declared medically dead twice, is 61 years old and I still wouldn't want to face her on a sparring mat, much less match wits with her on the battlefield," Katrina agreed. "She is also one of our best strategic minds."
Sixty-one? That meant she had fought in the last round of the Secret War. By her looks and demeanor, she was a soldier, not a sniper like Pamela. Correct that she was an officer who planned out campaigns as well as battles, then followed through leading by example.
"Is there anything else?" I turned to Katrina.
"A few things Executive Services have come across that we want JIKIT to look into," she began. The short version: by the end of December, Havenstone was on schedule to recruit 202 Runners. Overall, the number of Amazons would fall with battle attrition. Saint Marie and Katrina were okay with that.
A long, low-intensity war of attrition actually worked in the Amazon's favor. The quality of the replacements would remain high. Every Amazon was already a trained combatant. Training new recruits to that level would require two years. (Working them up to Security Detail level would take another year.) Our fanaticism would not diminish at all. No war-weariness would set in.
Despite the existence of the Golden Mare and the Council, the Amazons weren't a centralized society. Killing our leadership would be bad, but not catastrophic. The eldest surviving Amazon of each House would become the new leader and she would appoint an apprentice, and on and on.
The 9 Clans shared in that adaptability, though they did not have the Amazon's numbers. The rest had hierarchies with some degree of infighting. This was most extreme in the Illuminati and the Seven Pillars, less so in the Condottieri and even less so in the Earth & Sky and the Egyptian Rite.
The death of Hayden exemplified that point. At the start of the war, the Amazons had lost their supreme authority and it hadn't slowed them down a bit. In contrast, the death of Cael O'Shea brought the Illuminati to the bargaining table and resulted in the 30 year truce ~ the Protocols.
We finished up our little meeting with a discussion on the Illuminati and what, if anything, the Amazons could do about them. Our plate was full fighting the Condos while aiding the 9 Clans and E&S in their war with the 7P's. Vigilance remained the watch-word. Ten minutes later, I was heading to work.
To be continued.
By FinalStand for Literotica.