The last days before the Great Hunt.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
“Can the scorpion ever stop being a scorpion? “
"Do we get our legally permitted weaponry back?" The bishop still held my hand.
"Sure. If it makes you feel better."
"I would like to meet your people then," he gave my paw one last shake then released me. "Shall we go?"
"I will have someone take you to your car. I want to briefly meet with the President, of Havenstone, then I'll join you in the garage. We'll drive over to JIKIT and I'll make the introductions. Good enough?"
"That is acceptable," he nodded.
"What about you two?" I regarded the nun and the Swiss Super-soldier. The nun remained vigilant, and silent. The Swiss' eyes flickered to his boss before settling back on me.
"It is what I volunteered for," he stated firmly.
"Okay. Please never say I didn't give you a chance to take the sane way out. Also, Bishop Nicolö, circumstances have conspired to up my prospective wedding date to January 1st."
"That will be more difficult. Why the change?" he remained grim.
"We are having twins. By March, this will be very visible."
"That is, unfortunate," he shook his head.
"You have no idea," and then a brainstorm. "And I am curious about resurrecting the Order of the Dragon, the Societas Draconistarum." Technically that meant 'Society of the Dragonists' which was more appropriate than the literal Ordo Draconis.
"Precisely how do you plan to recreate a crusading Christian Order which was the purview of the Hungarian monarchs?" he didn't sound the least skeptical, just curious.
"I have billions of euros to fund such a thing," I winked. "Of far greater critical importance, I know where I can find the supernatural guidance and spiritual imperative for such an organization."
"You are going to produce a dragon?" his eyes grew larger even as he fought down his fear. Good man. He was adaptive. He'd need to be.
"I never said such a thing. That would make me sound crazy," I smiled broadly. "Besides, when I say 'dragon', you think 'devil' and that's way too pedestrian for where we are going."
"I am not a moral relativist."
"Neither am I. I'm out to save lives and nurture the drive in the human spirit to reach for freedom, love and liberty. As you might imagine, I'm pretty freaking outnumbered."
"I think you are crazy," he re-evaluated things.
"I just might be. In all honesty, you should back out now. Take your two compadres back to 25 East 39th Street (the Holy See's Permanent Observer Offices to the UN in NYC) and report 'Mission Failure'. You'll most likely live longer," I reasoned.
"I am not afraid to die," Sister Rafaela Sophia finally voiced an opinion.
"That's idiotic," I scoffed before the bishop could reprimand her for opening her mouth. "You should be."
"My soul is in God's hands," she set her jaw.
"Does he talk to you?" I countered.
"His message is clear."
"Not what I asked. I asked if he specifically directed you to toss your life fruitlessly away as an object lesson for the reckless, or careless?"
"This is uncalled for," Nicolö intervened.
"Nope. I bet you a phone call to my Brother to physically restore your bishopric that there are four people in this room who have murdered in cold blood," I kept eye contact with the nun, "and she's the odd one out. Right Juanita?"
"Yes, Ishara," Juanita slipped up. Her spycraft, like mine, needed work.
"You were in the military?" the bishop asked my bodyguard.
"Was? I am. Right now," she related. "I will be until I die."
That earned me looks from the three Catholics.
"She is loyal," Nicolö nodded slightly toward her, referring to Juanita's declaration.
"Huh? To me? Nope. She's loyal to my office, which we shan't get into right now. Back to you, Sister Rafaela Sophia. Are you out to be a martyr, or has some saint, or angel, given you a directive the other two seem to be unaware of which causes you to devalue your life?"
"I am devoted to the One True God, Christ, our Savior," and Juanita snorted, "and the Virgin Mary," the nun stated firmly. "I don't hear voices in my head."
"Juanita, that was rude. Apologize to our guest," I kept looking forward.
"No." Well, fuck you too.
"Gun," I commanded. I held out my left hand.
"What? No. I will not give you one of my guns," she resisted.
"Juanita, give me your primary weapon, or I will ask Pamela to beat you up the moment I depart for the Great Hunt. After yesterday's stunt, you know she will," I threatened. Fair, I was not. She drew a Glock-20 and handed it to me. I went through the routine, dropped the magazine then ejected the round before opening the door.
Oh look, there were four SD chicks outside, ready to escort my visitors downstairs. I didn't even need to waste a phone call. It wasn't like the conference room wasn't being monitored.
"Excuse me," I took a half step out the door then hurled all three items down the hall. Looking back at Juanita. "Go fetch."
"Fuck you," she snapped.
"And insulting her faith was as degrading to both her faith and her as me doing this to you is degrading to you right now," I lectured her. "It is important to her, therefore it is important to me because she is my guest in the same way it is important to me that I let my bodyguard do her job without being a total asshole all the time. Now go get your God-damn weapon," I barked. Off she went. I left the door open.
"Now Sister Rafaela Sophia, the point of all this is: I don't give a crap if you are willing to die for God. In fact, that makes you less than worthless to me and the team. I want to know if you are willing to put other motherfuckers in the ground so that Bishop Nicolá, or Mathias, might get to keep doing their jobs."
"Murder is a sin," she declared.
"Go home," I sighed while shaking my head.
"She answers to me, the Church and God, not you, Mr. Nyilas," the bishop stepped forward.
"Then you can go home too," I shrugged. "I'm not asking for remorseless killers. I'm asking for people willing to kill to get the hard work done and best of all, for people who know the difference."
"Everyone on JIKIT is a professional soldier, or killer?" he asked.
"No, but the ones who aren't don't carry guns and know to get down when things get funky," I bantered.
"I vouch for her," he insisted. Juanita came running back into the room.
"Cool beans. I don't know you either."
"You apparently know my service history," he volleyed.
"Yeah. Ten years a foreigner in the service of France, then you went straight into a university which turns out Jesuits," I riposted.
"What turned your life around?" he evaded. That was okay. I'd gotten what I wanted. I was willing to bet he had read every bit of public information about me and it was rumored the heavy Catholic membership in the FBI had its benefits to the Church as well. Not so much as to give them insight into JIKIT, but,
"Someone risked their life for me. It's been pretty much downhill from there," I confessed. It was the truth. After Katrina gave me the life line on Day Two, it had all spiraled to the revelation of my heritage, Dad's death, Summer Camp, the Hamptons, Romania and Aya's kidnapping.
"A person, a soldier, died saving my life," the bishop empathized. "Her story is similar. She seeks redemption. She is not suicidal. I am staking both our lives on it."
Did he mean him and Mathias, or him and me? I wasn't certain. Still, it was good enough for now. I'd gotten a look at their emotional make up, even the relatively quiet Swiss.
"Very well," I agreed. "I have to go see the President about my new job description. I'll catch up with you at your car." To the SD team leader, "Take them to the garage. I will join the group of you very soon."
"Yes Ishara," she nodded. I exited the room, Juanita in tow. Two SD entered. I was gone before the Papal team left. Upstairs we went, with one last chore to discharge. I had to check on Ms. French to be absolutely freaking sure it was Shawnee, because anyone else would spell disaster.
{8:30 am, Monday, September 8th. Last day}
A Room full of asistants:
Well, there it was, the office of the Executive Director to the President, and not 'Executive Assistant', because this was Katrina's final 'fuck you, no, just her final 'fuck you' before the Great Hunt got underway. I shouldn't assume things, dang it!
Anyway, according to the gray-haired matron running gatekeeper to the Office of the President, this was where I was supposed to show up. I shot Juanita a worried look. She glanced my way and shrugged, momentarily willing to not give me shit about the past 24 hours because where I was situated would determine how easily she could do her job.
In we went. In the suite were three desks, the 'big' desk situated at the far end of the office space and two far more modest ones on either side of the entryway. The room expanded beyond the chokepoint formed by the two closest desks into a cluttered area. The walls were cluttered with inset bookshelves and portraits of women. Facing one another were a loveseat on my left with bookend plush chairs in an 'L' facing and a full sofa on the right. There were end tables at the ends of the sofa and the corners between the loveseat and each chair.
As the door opened, I hadn't knock as this was my office, or so it seemed, the occupants, who had all been sitting in quiet conversation in the central section, began reacting. Oh look ~ Constanza! I nearly had a heart attack before I realized there were three other Amazons also in the room. Sadly, none were behind the 'big desk', so I couldn't tell who was in charge. Two of the other three choices weren't too much better. First off,
"Ishara," Marilynn Saint John stood to greet me. I'd last seen her when I'd dedicated her grandmother's (Hayden's) spirit to the halls of my ancestors, not hers, after forcing the political crisis leading to Hayden's suicide ~ her taking herself to the cliffs and in doing so, destroying the Amazon Cult of Blood Purity. Marilynne was clearly still bitter with me. Umm, I could still incite passion in women I hadn't slept with, yet, woot?
"Cáel," the senior-most and only friendly face in the room spoke next. Thank goodness it was Beyoncé Vincennes, Head of House Hanwasuit and House Ishara ally.
"Cáel Ishara," the third individual was deferential which I wasn't sure how to take as the last time I'd encountered her, yeah, things hadn't gone well either.
"Beyoncé," I started off with a smile. From there, I had to figure out, ah, Beyoncé's eyes flickered to Constanza then Sabia. I knew Marilynn, with her young age, had the least seniority, "Constanza, Sabia, Marilynn. How's tricks?"
Glum faces by everyone except Beyoncé. I didn't ask about Sabia's particular well-being. It had been months since I'd beaten her into the mats of the Full-blooded gym. She'd attacked Yasmin, the Brazilian Hottie and my Brazilian Jujutsu sparring buddy, and I'd retaliated by ambushed her when she turned her back on us. Besides, she'd been giving me shit before I even could see straight.
Constanza was minus her left eye because of her dire insult to me. If she wasn't capable of working, she wouldn't be here. If she appreciated my 'mercy' in sparing her life ~ her insult was worthy of her death ~ Constanza hid it well. I hadn't spared her expecting a change of heart. I hadn't felt words alone warranted anyone's death. I was a big boy and could take a few insults. House Ishara, as represented by me, could care less. These days, my sisters would be less understanding despite them knowing my heart.
"Constanza Landau of House Jaya and Marilynn Saint John of House Anahit are Assistants to President Shawnee French," Beyoncé eased things along, "so will be working closely with us, at least for the short term. Sabia Noel of House Guabancex, who I now think you know as well, has joined you as the other 'Assistant' to the 'Executive Director to the President', (that would make me an 'adept', but adept at what?), and since two of the three Regents are unfamiliar with the workings of Havenstone proper, Shawnee has asked me to perform in that role."
Beyoncé was, or had been, Havenstone HQ's CFO (Chief Financial Officer). From what I was quickly piecing together, she would essentially be making all the day-to-day decisions concerning the running of Havenstone (how the Host made the majority of its money) until the Regents got up to speed.
Only Buffy had actual experience with the New York office and, from what she had told me, solely within Executive Services. While ES knew 'who' did what inside Havenstone, they weren't aware precisely how those Amazons got their jobs done. That would have been an impossible task. Katrina could do it, but she knew it was beyond the ability of most of us 'mere mortals'. Since we were currently at war, the Host needed Katrina completely focused on her duties as Chief Spy-mistress, not baby-sitting the adults.
Shawnee indeed had much gravitas among the other House Heads. Not only had she risen up to lead a First House, she had performed heroically during the final days of the last Secret War. Afterwards she had moved into the realm of Amazon jurisprudence and mediation. Until yesterday, she had lived in a House Arinniti freehold in Minnesota's Great Lakes region thus her desire for the 'Training Wheels' period.
The Regency would not rule through telecommunication (the upper echelons feared being eavesdropped upon beyond the standard Amazon (read: paranoid) levels) and Havenstone: New York was the center best situated for the current war-fighting operations, so here she lived. I was sure a team from Executive Services was buying, outfitting/spy-proofing and fortifying a dwelling suitable for the President of a Fortune 500 company. Hayden's home would remain the domicile of Sydney thus Marilynn.
The same rigmarole would be done for Rhada and Buffy (though I imaged Buffy would bitch endlessly). Publically, they were VP's of a company worth hundreds of billions of dollars and they had to present the public trappings of such leaders.
Why did the Amazons do this ~ unmask their leadership to public exposure? Legal-simple: they could request and expect all levels of public and private security for their executives who happened to also be important officials of the Host. Certainly not all executives at Havenstone were officeholders, House Heads, or House Apprentices, but the high level of competence which permitted one often led to the other.
Beyonce:
As an example: Beyoncé wasn't the most 'bad-ass' lethal chick in House Hanwasuit. As she was preparing to be casted, her intelligence, creativity and diligence at her future craft, finances, was noted by the Host and the members of her House. In due time her name was circulated as Apprentice and the elders approved. When her elder cousin, the prior House Head, took herself to the cliffs, Beyoncé assumed the top spot. Beyoncé wasn't even one of that woman's three daughters.
Mirroring her advancement in her House was her advancement in Havenstone's Accounting, Acquisitions and Banking Divisions until she was appointed CFO Havenstone HQ ~ the supreme financial authority inside Havenstone, though the individual regional branches had a greater degree of autonomy than you might normally expect from a 21st century conglomerate, or a Bronze Age autocracy.
I had to constantly remind myself, despite the near-constant feuding, Amazons exhibited a phenomenally higher level of trust than I'd ever found in any other society I'd ever witnessed, or read about, before. Though technically Beyoncé could have gone to President Hayden to enforce her decisions ~ or now the Regency ~ she was far more diplomatic in her approach in dealing with the other 'continental' CEO's and CFO's.
That meant she had to wrangle the aspirations and resources from:
North America (including Latin America, the 'Canadian Arctic' and the North Pacific Ocean),
South America (includes both the South Atlantic and South Pacific as far as Samoa),
Europe (mostly Central Europe these days plus Antarctica, the 'Russian' Arctic and the North Atlantic),
Africa (mostly West-central Africa),
India (the subcontinent plus the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean) and,
Southeast Asia (which includes Australia)
All of which suggested Havenstone hadn't redrawn the Amazons' geographic demarcations since the late 19th century. As an example, an East African venture, say in Tanzania, was as likely to be under the purview of Havenstone: India (due to its control over the Indian Ocean) as Havenstone: Africa (which traditionally had no East Coast holdings due to their constant struggles versus the Arabic slave trade).
Returning to Beyoncé: initially she had held the proper 'conservative' (aka man-hating) mindset. My behavior during that first Board Meeting began to change her opinion of me and the New Directive. After the Archery Range incident, Beyoncé became a vocal proponent of the New Directive and faced challenges within her ranks. House Heads do not have to accept challenges and Beyoncé didn't, reasoning with her detractors they had no alternatives save the 'Old Ways' which spelled doom for the Amazon Race.
Bing-bang-boom ~ I became the Head of a resurrected House Ishara by the Will of the Ancestors and Beyoncé was vindicated. Not necessarily in the New Directive, but in her support of me thus the rebirth of a sister First House. The purge following High Priestess' Hayden's death was her ultimate absolution. The Ancestors and Destiny had spoken and shown Beyoncé had been piloting House Hanwasuit along the proper course all along.
Back to my current circumstances:
Oh, why was I Assistant to the Executive Director to the President? It gave me direct access to the finances of Havenstone which was a critical leg of the war-fighting stool ~ people, morale, money and equipment. As Chief Diplomat, I helped with all four of those in varying degrees, allied troops, allied victories, allied bank accounts and allied armaments.
The Great Khan, my spiritual 'Blood-Brother', was ramping up his logistic support for my Amazons in Africa, Asia and the Americas. We were 'Allies in the Struggle' and he wasn't going to wait for the Condottieri to begin coordinating with the Seven Pillars to declare them to be his enemies. They were already fighting the Amazons and 9 Clans, his allies, so their fates were sealed.
In Japan, my Amazons provided small yet highly effective strike groups which the Ninja families furnished all the support services for. Everything from food to bullets to medical attention as needed. Without reservation, we shared their death-grapple with the Seven Pillars.
From the dispatches I was getting back from my family members and envoys in Japan, we were making serious diplomatic inroads with the Ninja. Once again, it was the Amazons shocking capacity for violence as well as their fanaticism, professionalism and proficiency which all impressed our hosts and terrified our enemies, and this from people of a philosophical mindset which had them historically battling samurai.
The Black Lotus were running around like rhesus monkeys on crack cocaine unleashed in a China Shop and given RPG's. While the Amazons couldn't help them in China, Indochina & Thailand ~ the Khanate could and was. The Amazons were of more help in the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia, where the Black Lotus and Amazons were going everywhere on the offensive against the Seven Pillars while the normal tight cohesion and iron-clad confidence, traits which made the 7P's so dangerous ~ were shaken by their horrendous losses in the 'Homeland' aka Mainland China.
Less we forget, the 'military intelligence' wing of their organization had been decimated by the Khanate's Anthrax attack due to members of the Earth & Sky sacrificing themselves by being injected with the toxin then allowing themselves to be captured, which always ended in torture and death.
Furthermore, the People's Republic of China, while having a scary 18% of the population either captured, imprisoned, dead, or displaced due to the Khanate invasion, that had come with the loss of 63% of their landmass (they had lost all of Nei Mongol, Ningxia & Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Regions, Qinghai and Gansu as well as 90% of Yunnan, 80% of Sichuan and 20% of Shaanxi provinces) to the Khanate and the 'abomination' that was a free Tibet.
Then came the Russian 'stab in the back' which entailed the loss of another 10% of their people falling under foreign dominion as well as losing 8% of their most industrialized territory, Manchuria (Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning provinces ~ the Nei Mongol portion of 'Manchuria' was in the Khanate's greedy clutches, from the viewpoint of a Seven P's warrior).
Don't get me wrong, they weren't about to throw in the towel. If anything, they were becoming more dedicated to trying harder, digging deep into their knowledge of every atrocity, inhumanity and perversion now deemed necessary to re-chart history back onto its 'correct' path. It was this willingness to act in an even greater sociopathic manner which was being used against them. After all, the 7P's had plenty of proxy allies, who were starting to get really nervous about what their paymasters were now asking them to do,
We Amazons were getting some extra special help too. The Booth-gan (Do not call them Thuggee ~ the confederate 9 Clan member based out of India though long since ensconced within various Hindi enclaves across the Globe) had created an all-female group of ultra-fanatical Kali-devotees ~ a gift for the upcoming battle fomented by the Will of the Goddess herself.
While Aya was our Queen and the Regency would rule until she wished to assume command of the Amazon People, the nuts-and-bolts of the Host's activities were handled by Saint Marie as Golden Mare (our Minister of War) (technically she held the top spot due to our State of War, though no Golden Mare had ever exercised such authority over a Queen (and she definitely believed Aya was our Queen)), Katrina (as Minister of Intelligence and Security), Beyoncé (as Havenstone (the multinational corporation) ~ our Treasurer/Economic Tsarina) and me (our Foreign Minister).
Saint Marie had decided to forgo a public face in order to better facilitate her moving around to various battle fronts and holding clandestine meetings with her junior regional commanders. Her Havenstone corporate title was 'Chief of Security Training and Certification'. As an extra level of deception, the head of Security Services wasn't even a Director-level position, instead being folded into the duties of the Office of the President.
To my current circumstances ~ I had been given Constanza's house name which could only mean she wasn't currently assigned to the Security Detail; a fact that couldn't have made her bad attitude any better. Marilynn had completely lost her way as an Amazon when I first met her, burying her pain and confusion in endless partying and intoxicants. I believed only her grandmother's status as High Priestess kept her from the severest of reprimands, or death. I didn't even know what Marilynn's caste was. Sabia,
"While I'm sure you are both far more qualified than I, precisely how did you two get these jobs?" I had to ask my two non-coworkers. Constanza glowered. Marilynn flinched.
"I have an in depth knowledge of Havenstone security procedures and resources," Constanza replied.
"Shawnee requested me," was Marilynn's comeback. "I also have intimate knowledge of the City of New York and its environs."
"Actually, Buffy Ishara recommended you both to Shawnee," Beyoncé corrected their misconceptions. I knew the score. I'd be working intimately with the tight community around the President (Shawnee) and Vice Presidents (Buffy & Rhada). Buffy wanted me to be surrounded by women who hated my guts, so I wouldn't end up boinking them. It rarely worked that way. All too often ladies who hated my still-beating heart ended up punishing me with sex. I wasn't sure why that happened, but it did.
"Beyoncé, didn't the Chief Diplomat of the Host have her own office? I'm pretty sure Troika had one before her unfortunate collision with Saint Marie," I felt entitled to inquire.
"Do you feel you've earned that office space?" she riposted.
"Oh, fuck no!" I waved my hands one over the other to accentuate my denial. "I was just wondering where I could stick Juanita while I'm hanging around, here."
"She has the desk right outside the door, Cáel," Beyoncé smiled knowingly. "So there is no way you can sneak past her."
"Oh," I grunted. "Buffy again?"
"No. Pamela Pile put in that particular request."
"Oh, Sweet Mother of God, now she is conspiring against me too?"
"Yes. Some of us realize the greatest hazard to your health is yourself, Ishara," Beyoncé chided me. "We'd like to keep you around, so we listen to those charged with that nigh impossible task."
"Is she going to be hanging around the office often?" Constanza asked, either myself, Juanita, or Beyoncé; I wasn't sure. She = Pamela.
"Please, Constanza," I attempted to intervene, "don't make Pamela kill you. It will upset Mona." Constanza's scowl was accentuated by the eyepatch covering her ruined left socket, the one Pamela had carved out when Constanza had insulted me and House Ishara on our first day of rebirth. I didn't tell Juanita this, because Juanita might just shoot Constanza over the insult before Pamela got a chance to finish the job.
The tension was palatable.
"Mona and I have talked, about Romania, and other things," Constanza grudgingly allowed. It took me a second to realize there was a hidden meaning to what she said. Mona was part of my personal Security Detail bodyguard unit. If she felt Constanza, the woman who had raised her after her birth-mother had died, was a threat to me, she'd feel duty-bound to snuff Constanza first. Amazons were hard-ass bitches alright and I think Mona had made that clear.
"I hope things can improve between us," I offered to Constanza. "Beyoncé, I just stopped in to say 'hey'. I'm off to JIKIT and I've got three of the Pope's people waiting on me in the garage so,"
"Vice President Varma requested a moment of your time," Beyoncé smirked. "She is in 2604."
"Who?"
"Vice President Rhada Varma, a moment of your time, alone?" she clarified.
"Sure thing," I backed out of the office. Once I had some space, I turned to Juanita. "Give me three minutes then bust in and say, I don't know, a tsunami is about to overwhelm the city, or something. Otherwise, I won't get out for at least an hour and I think I've put the Bishop and his people through enough delays as it is."
"Are you actually asking me to stop you from having an in-office liaison?" she studied me intently as we walked in the direction of Rhada's office.
"Yes. It's not likely to happen often, believe me."
"Oh, I do, in that you won't ask me to do it often," she grumbled. I'd deal with Juanita's morale problem later. Right now, I had to gird my loins so they wouldn't do anything else with Rhada. I had work to do, damn it!
Rhada was sitting at her desk, working on something, stylus raised up so she could chew on the end. Her hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail, the type that captured the rear half of the hair in a ponytail while leaving the front and bangs free to flow down. Rhada's blouse was white & billowy and, as I was soon to discover, her pants were ultra-tight and contour hugging.
"Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. "I would like a moment of your time," she relayed what I already knew. She was more than a tad nervous to boot.
"Vice President Varma," I started off.
"When in private you may call me Rhada," she interrupted.
"Rhada, you look more ravishing than ever."
That got up her and coming around her desk, which revealed her ultra-tight pants with no sign of her wearing underwear. Yikes! My cock was preparing to do what a cock was meant to do and I just didn't have the time, Really!
"Do you have any time?" she let her bosom heave.
"Not today, ugh," I groaned. See, Rhada took the stylus and dragged it down her chin, throat and in between her bountiful mounds.
All of which exposed the top of her black bra.
"Are you sure, Master?" she enticed me by turning around and then leaning over her desk, point that ass in my direction. My mouth began salivating and my groin ached. I found myself quick-stepping to her and giving those buttocks two firm slaps, one on each cheek.
"No, damn it, though I'm going to make you pay for this when I get back," I rumbled.
"Master will make me wait?" she taunted me.
"That will cost you even more," I growled. "I have business which simply won't wait and here is my captive teasing me with the treasures of her flesh. Bad, war captive," I spanked her yet again, hard. "Bad!" and I spanked her a fourth time. With each beating, Rhada gasped in pain and then exhaled in pleasure.
"If I've been bad, Master must be extra harsh with me when he returns in triumph from the Great Hunt," she gloated. Rhada had gotten what she wanted, which was another affirmation of my lust for her and our 'game'. I could provide her the release she so desperately craved while allowing her the safety of remaining in the Amazon fold. It was a perfect pairing, for her.
I had other problems, such as all the other baby mamas in my life plus the extra-marital affairs I was contemplating. I still took the moments we had to snuggle with Rhada, her grinding that tush into my rod while I held both her arms tightly to her side while raining kisses down onto her neck and head.
"Sir! A giant tsunami is approaching the city!" Juanita exploded through the door.
"What?" I coughed. I had a face full of hair.
"Huh?" Rhada pushed up and away from me. I let her go.
"Right now," Juanita insisted. She really needed to stop taking me so seriously when I gave her such advice.
"Really?" from Rhada. She shot me a curious look so I shrugged. What else was I supposed to do with such a flimsy lie forcing our separation? At least I got out of there on time?
{9:50 am, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}
(JKIT HQ)
"Is this a common occurrence?" Sister Rafaela Sophia whispered to the closest woman, who happened to be Wiesława, the Polish Amazon. Since she hadn't arrived with us from Havenstone, the nun might have assumed she was with the 'Americans', or British.
"What?" Wiesława responded evenly.
"Weapons combat, they look real," the nun clarified.
"They are real. We always practice with real weapons."
"Really?"
"Of course," Wiesława smiled at her. "We believe a few cuts and scrapes now will save lives when the true tests come."
"Oh, you are with, Havenstone?" Rafaela clued in.
"Yes. I am Wiesława of House Živa. I am currently assigned to Unit L, Cáel’s unit within JIKIT," she offered her hand to shake. Despite being a full-blooded Amazon from a freehold, her 'human' skills were progressing nicely. The nun shook it.
"I am Sister Rafaela Sophia of the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, that is a Roman Catholic Religious Order." Pause. "Do you hate Catholics too?"
"Yes. We have lived beside your people for many centuries and found your clergy to be much more dangerous than your pagan predecessors. Still, Cáel thinks you can be relied on and he's proven we can trust outsider women, which I was raised to believe was unlikely, and outsider men, which was basically anathema, so I'm willing to set aside my prejudices and judge you as an individual," the Pole imparted.
"Outsider men?" Rafaela mumbled.
"Well, yes," Wiesława smirked. "You are a nun, right?"
"Yes."
"So you set aside the World of Men to live mostly among women, right?"
"Not entirely," the nun chose her words carefully. "We still rely on priests for religious rights and of course obey the life teachings of Christ and follow the leadership of his Holiness, the Pope, a man."
"No one is perfect," the Amazon bantered back.
"Do you know the teachings of our Lord, Jesus Christ?" Rafaela ventured into dangerous waters.
"Yes. He was the semi-historical Son of your supposed One True God. We are not monotheists. We are Polytheists. Živa is my House's matron Goddess. It is also the name of the first woman to lead the House, her birth name surrendered to Destiny so all the daughters who came afterwards would be equals."
"Oh, is Mr. Nyilas also pagan?" she inquired.
"I am unsure. From what I have been told, he has commended the spirit of his fallen father to your Jesus in a sacred ceremony then, in the presence of your Trinity and the Goddess Ishara, brought in new members to his House. I suspect he may be both," Wiesława reasoned. "Why don't you ask him?"
"Because he's fighting for his life?" Rafaela looked my way.
See, the entire time their discussion had been going on, I had been sparring in a spare room at JIKIT HQ with Estere Abed, the Hashashin assassin (rather redundant ~ like saying the Sahara Desert). I had two tomahawks while she had a scimitar and curved dagger. While we sparred using the furniture as obstacles, Agent-86 was briefing me on various World events to get my input.
Addison Stuart (CIA) and Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke (MI-6) were having a chat with Bishop Nicolé de Santis, verifying for themselves he was worth adding to the team. Juanita was having a similar discussion with Rikki Martin (US State Department) concerning my earlier encounter with the Papal team. Nicolé's buddy, Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart of the Swiss Guard, was getting acquainted with the other security personnel.
In comparison, those two had it easy. Both men were in their elements. Nicolé was a spook who pretended to be a diplomat for the Pope and was well acquainted with terms like 'deniable assets', 'plausible deniability' and your direct superior referring to requests concerning your identity/diplomatic status by saying 'I never heard of him and if I had, I have no idea what he was doing when you caught him doing what I don't know what he was doing', or something like that.
Mathias was in the company of military-security specialists, brother professionals who were introducing him to his 'sister' professionals. Our Homeland Security gang were almost entirely former military by now. They got along with our JSOC folks and both had gained a limited acceptance with the Amazon security contingent.
They bonded over the fact they were forced to work with really shady characters ~ the 9 Clans menagerie ~ who didn't always appreciate JIKIT operational security. Without going into particulars, the Wachtmeister was given the impression the abnormal was the norm and if you didn't think there was a 'down-side' to being able to carry your personally favorite bang-bang (the SG 552-2P Commando in his case) with some serious attachments (read: grenade launcher) around in downtown Manhattan, you probably didn't belong on this team.
Back in the room,
"He's not fighting for his life," Estere laughed. "He is fighting for mine."
"Right," I responded sarcastically. We went through a flurry of exchanges, ending up with me kicking a chair at her. Estere stepped over it, colliding with me.
I blocked her dagger, disarmed her scimitar and,
"You are dead," she panted down at me, smiling. I was on my back, her straddling me. She had a belt-knife to my throat. I hadn't see her draw it. The scimitar 'disarm' had been a distraction.
"Woot!" I exhaled.
"But you're dead," Sister Rafaela misunderstood my good humor.
"He survived a minute and thirty-four seconds more today than his previous record," Estere responded. She slithered off of me, doing my arousal no good whatsoever, then offered me a hand up.
"And that's better?"
"He's a rank amateur with a few months on the job. I've been training to kill people for nearly two decades," Estere smiled. "Care to have a go?"
"With him, or you?"
"Either," Estere offered.
"I don't have a knife, or any hand weapons," she stated.
"We'll need to remedy that," Wiesława stated. "You should at least carry a knife."
"Really? Why?"
"It is a nearly universal tool," I verbally stepped up. "Even if you are disarmed, you should be able to find one relatively easily, people are less likely to miss a stolen knife than a purloined gun, and a concealed blade could come in handy."
"Do you train in knife-work?" Rafaela eye-balled me.
"Absolutely. It is part of my culture," I grinned.
"Okay. Can we spar, hand-to-hand?"
"Sure," I nodded. I put my tomahawks in their harnesses then put my harnesses aside. Estere gave me a wink before giving us the fighting space.
"So," Rafaela began to circle, "are you Christian?"
"By your definition, or mine?"
"By the definition of the Catholic Church."
Oh cool, she went for a Savate stance. This was going to get ugly.
My "no," was followed by her kick and my block, lunge and grapple. She wasn't nearly as good as Felix. I had her down and in a choke hold within fifteen seconds.
Perhaps she thought I'd take it easy on her. She tapped out. I released her, retreated and flowed back to my boxing stance. It took her a moment to realize this was 'practice', not 'an interview'. She hadn't failed in anyone's eyes. We were both doing this to get better.
"See, I really, truly believe I have talked to supernatural entities ~ some who are considered divinities," I continued. This time she was more careful, trading jabs and blocks with me. "They don't claim to be the One True God. I believe in such a thing, but I also believe having been given the Message, Humanity has been left to muddle things out for ourselves."
Whoops, she popped me one.
"The Woman-Thing this morning?"
"Yep," I evaded another flurry. She got cocky and I landed three blows, dropping her to the ground. I didn't help her up. Instead, I withdrew and let her get back up on her own before deciding if she wanted to continue. She did.
"I believe I've seen dragons and ghosts. I have felt legions of my ancestors give me quiet encouragement when I needed it. I know the dead have been brought back to life," I came at her. This time we both went for body blows, knees, elbows and fists. She was not SD-caliber and she needed to be. I grappled and she was forced to tap out again. After she regained her feet, she held up a hand for a pause.
"Do you believe any of that?" she addressed Estere.
"I am an adherent of Ismaili Islam yet nothing Cáel has encountered is contrary to my belief system. The Universe is a complex place and the Divine Light is often seen through a fractured lenses," she counseled the nun.
"Among the escapees were lawyer Francisco Luemba, Catholic Priest Raul Tati, economist Belchior Lanso Tati and former policeman Benjamin Fuca who are serving jail sentences of between three and six years each for supposed links to the rebel group FLEC (Frente para a Libertaé’o do Enclave de Cabinda), which carried out the attack on the Togolese football team at the start of the Africa Cup of Nations in January, 2010," Agent-86 read off yet another bit of global minutia.
"We need to get to them," I half turned. Sister Rafaela punched me in the gut and I folded up.
"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."
"Okay," I mumbled. I had to keep with the plan. "Those men. We need to contact our Coils people in Kinshasa and the Warden of the Mountain Ways ('she' was the Amazon Host's leader of Africa ~ in the ancient times, the mountain ways had been the routes of southern vulnerability for the Amazon tribe thus the name)."
"Okay," both Agent-86 and Estere answered.
"Why?" 86 added.
"The Coils and the Host have had a serious problem with no nation in Africa giving them even back room recognition so we are going to take over our own country, Cabinda. It's been struggling to be free of Angola since 1975 and, by latest estimates, we've got strike elements of over 2,000 Amazons ready and waiting next door in Cameroon, Gabon and the Republic of Congo."
"So you are going to go to war with Angola?" Estere frowned. "Don't we have enough enemies?"
"Au contraire," I grinned wickedly. "The resistance movement is genuine," I ticked off my points, "they have tons of offshore oil, and after we set off some spectacular explosions in the two main Angolan ports which are just down the coast, we allow global panic to bully the UN into intervening before the Angolan military launch an effective counter-offensive ~ considering the Angolan Armed Forces (I'd been reading up on a ton of CIA & MI-6 briefings) will most likely involve attrition warfare since they can't beat us in a stand-up fight."
"They, the Angolans, have no overland access, they are separated by 60 kilometers of territory belonging to the Democratic Republic of Congo over some sad ass roads Plus the Congo River itself which is freaking huge by the time it gets that close to the Atlantic, Cabinda rests on the Atlantic Ocean by the way. No bridges. The Angolan Navy is anemic. Let me think."
I began pacing.
"Hmm, they have no paratroopers though they have some Special Forces, we will need to hit as many of them in the barracks as we can. Their last invasion was from the north, overland, from the Republic of the Congo, in 1975, not likely to happen this time, though I may have my 'Brother' weasel up a battalion of Indian paratroopers to act as convincing peacekeepers after the initial take over."
"Perhaps we can recruit some Vietnamese. I'm sure they'll love fighting in someone else's jungle for a change. We'll need some of 'our' guys to seize the port of Soyo, it is on the wrong side of the river, but has the major refinery the Cabindans will need. Since the entire surrounding province are the same ethnic make-up as the Cabindans, we'll have to take that too."
"Man-o-man, I bet by the time this is over they'll really wish they'd given little Cabinda independence back in 1975. As for their other refinery, it is in their capital, Luanda, a few big explosions there too will get the markets jittery. Check that ~ the complete and utter destruction of their major petroleum facility will create a stampede for Peace," I continued. I walked over as our resident computer intelligence genius worked his magic.
"Blowing things up, you mean killing people," the nun blanched.
"Yes. This is what I do," I spared her a sympathetic glance. "I've got a madman roaming around in my head who provides me truly epic military advice which normally, but not always, means blowing shit up and killing folks. Welcome to the team," then as the data appeared, "Holy Shit! Did they build their oil refinery in the midst of their ghetto?" I was staggered. The refinery in Soyo was isolated from the town so it could be easily (and safely) seized. It was the one in Luanda which was the 'Holy Shit' site.
"It looks that way," Agent-86 agreed nonplussed. "Hmm, yeah, here is the port facility then your neighborhood of shoddily constructed one- and two-story dwellings between the refinery and the inland storage tanks, the perimeter barrier appears to be a chain link fence. I'd hate to be their Chief of Security."
"Oh yeah," I choked. Estere slipped around to get a look.
"Whoops," she snorted.
"What are these people thinking?" I continued. "The whole shebang is exposed to the northern quarter of the city. The storage tanks have residential dwellings on all four sides with numerous side streets. Two teams with RPGs and four rounds apiece, Holy Crap. Sorry Sister."
"But I want to save lives," she sputtered.
"Limiting the collateral damage could be pretty tough," Estere frowned. She toggled throw a series of maps to multiple pictures.
"Oh, look (dripping sarcasm); they light up the refinery at night. You can sit off the coast in a speed boat under cover of darkness and attack from there," she noted.
"Damn. Those are a lot of lights," Agent-86 agreed.
"24-7 operation," I suspected.
"We will need some experts," the government agent nodded.
"Or we are going to kill a fuck-load of innocent people. Not just the workers, but can you imagine a fire spreading to those neighborhoods? Shit," I muttered.
"You can't seriously be contemplating doing something like this," the nun sputtered. "It is inhumane. Think of the families, the children."
"Lady, yes I am. Do you have any idea what the Human Rights record of the Angolan Army in Cabinda is? It is truly horrific and in case you missed it, one of the guys in dire need of rescuing by me, due to him being a huge rebel leader who has managed to escape, is also a Catholic priest. He's going to be part of the new government we are going to install once we kill a few hundred Angolans ~ mostly soldiers (more like well over a thousand)."
"We are going to kill a few hundred so a few hundred thousand can live free, democratic lives without worrying about the local police and political establishment torturing and murdering them. It is all part of the plan."
"I think I need to talk with the Bishop."
"Hang on. Let me finish," I forestalled her. "He'll get briefed along with everyone else. After all, it is a majority Roman Catholic country as is Angola, so I'm sure your guy can be of immense help."
"The people you are putting at risk don't deserve this," she protested.
"They never do," I nodded in agreement with her. "It rarely stops terrible crap from happening to them though."
I felt sorry for the Sister. She thought the Bishop was going to put a stop to this. Poor girl; he was going to do the exact opposite. See, the two competing forces at play here were a communistic kleptocracy (currently ruling Angola) and Catholic liberation theology united with a Cabindan national identity dating back to 1885. At stake was 900,000 barrels a day of petroleum. That was a bunch of funding for somebody. Last I checked, the state run energy conglomerate had misplaced $32 billion, in just three years.
Mind you, the Coils of the Serpent and the Amazon Host didn't want to help the People of Cabinda out of the goodness of their hearts either. They wanted cover for the importation of weapons and other war-fighting material so they could kill the Condottieri in Africa. If the rebel leaders-turned-legitimate government didn't play ball well, the Coils were in the 'assassinating people' business and somewhere along the line the survivors would figure out keeping 'us' happy kept them alive. Problem solved.
It was Bishop Nicolé de Santis' job to facilitate that understanding. If certain people with Vatican credentials explained the 'facts of life' to the new regime a lot more lives could be saved, Catholic lives. In turn, he could work to make sure the new group in power wasn't nearly as corrupt as the gang we were tossing out. Better education and quality of life, improved infrastructure & security and a nice shiny cathedral, or two.
We, as in JIKIT and our component members, didn't want to rule the country and dominate the people's lives. We needed the ports and the airfields with a blind eye turned to our skullduggery. Sure, there would be future considerations. Amazons and Coil members would be fighting and dying for these people's freedom ~ public recognition definitely not required. No; the Amazons wanted to be left alone in their deep jungle homes which was an isolation they basically already had. This was a future chit which said 'don't come looking'.
The Coils? Let's just say in the future Cabinda would have embassies around the globe and if occasionally they wanted someone to slip through under diplomatic cover ~ they were good for it. And if the Cabindans ever needed help in the future they knew they had friends in dark places who were now invested in Cabinda's survival. It was a win-win-win, unless you were an Angolan big-wig, or one of their foot-soldier currently serving in Cabinda. Amazons weren't big on taking prisoners, or even giving the opposition the option of giving up.
For me, it wasn't lunch yet and here I was plotting to overthrow yet another government in yet another country ~ though in only two, small provinces this time. Thank the Goddess I had the rest of the week off. I wasn't sure the Globe could survive me working another four damn days.
"Wait," I back-tracked. "What was that you said about Moldavia?" and I had spoken too soon. Off I went, pushing things one more step toward Ragnarék-and-Roll, again.
A Quick Historical Aside:
If you are still thinking Amazons and visualizing any of a number of representations by DC Comics, you are way off base ~ especially concerning the Amazons of Africa. They had been historically genetically homogenous for most of their earlier history being Hittite with a continuing admixtures of Indo-European folks. Around 500 C.E. things began to change in a serious way.
The Western Roman Empire was succumbing to Germanic invasions and civil disorder. Just as bad from the Amazon point of view, it was becoming Christian. The 4th, 5th and 6th century Christians were an internally violent lot, witness the 'Christian' destruction of the 'pagan' Library of Alexandria, one of the greatest collections of lore and writings of the Ancient World destroyed by a mindless, frothing, religiously intolerant mob.
So, when the Amazon Diaspora began, they weren't just fleeing the barbarian Germans, they were fleeing Roman orthodoxy which was grinding down all pagan beliefs within the 'safe' zones of the Empire. It was Christianity which drove the Amazons who departed for Egypt down the Nile past the southern Roman frontier and farther still. The squabbling successor states to the Kingdom Monroe were unhealthy yet the Bantu expansion eastward provided opportunities in their wake.
Departing the White Nile, those six houses crossed over into the Chari River Basin and its Sao Civilization. By the 6th century CE, the Sao were quit old and established. In some ways similar to the Slavic folks of Eastern Europe, they were loosely organized ~ more a cultural union than a monolithic empire, so the Amazons scooted around to the south of these people (to the north was the Sahel) and set up shop. They wanted to live in isolation, not in the middle of nowhere. They appreciated civilization as much as the next guy, or gal.
The Bantu-speaking folks already had a tradition of the 'Twa' ~ Forest People. Normally the Twa were social inferiors and Pygmies (though we don't call them that anymore). Traditionally the Twa provided meat via hunting for the agrarian Bantu farmers. The Twa were also were rather 'put upon' and treated as 'less than' by their 'civilized neighbors. The Amazons gave the true Twa 'teeth', becoming hybridized-female Forest Demon leopardesses, prides of leopardesses who brooked no intruders, or mistreatment of themselves and their unobtrusive cohabitants.
The Amazons provided meat, furs and other animal products for goods they needed, things like iron ingots because the Amazons always retained their weapon-crafting and armorer skills. Disease did kill off a good number of the original Amazons and wiped out their entire Asiatic horse stock. It would be five hundred years before the African sisters would remount on steeds introduced by traders and conquerors spreading the World's newest monotheistic religion, Islam.
The important thing was that after five generations if you bumped into a troupe of Amazons on a trail, or on a boat on a river, outside of an odd eye color, or perhaps a mildly lighter skin complexion, you, the African native, were looking at someone who could be from the next village over, or perhaps the tribe over the mountain, or upriver. You still might find five, or six, armed women without male company odd, but their melanin level wasn't going to be a problem.
‘Til Touchdown brings me round again, to find out I’m not the man they think I am, at home.
Sir Elton “Hercules” John
{7:31 pm, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}
{The Roof of Havenstone HQ; New York City}
I pushed the ritual hood aside, the one I used to gather the smoke up from the embers to add my tears to those contributed by my Isharan Sisters. I was inducting five more new, flesh & blood warriors into our ranks and calling upon our Ancestors to escort twenty-one to the Halls of Paradise which awaited those loyal to the Goddess and her dictates. Eighteen had been the unheralded ghosts of now former-Runners from the Amazons' past. The other three,
Dead in Japan. There had been an ambush yesterday. Those three gave their lives so the rest of their party, ninjas mostly, could escape a trap set by proxies of the Seven Pillars. It was the price they paid for my promises, yet three more were already champing at the bit to get on a plane and replace them. They were our first War Dead in sixteen hundred years and I wanted to make sure our Ancestors would be ready for them.
I read off the last name ~ Maribel Custer Ishara, 31, my Sister. I burned the script with her name upon it, mixed the ashes with our blood and tears and commended her name and deeds to those who waited for us beyond this life and to our Goddess ~ Dot Ishara. I finished pulling back the cloth, letting it fall to my shoulder and then stood. To my right was Buffy, to my left was Helena, and across the brazier from me was Hayden.
I choked, nearly stumbling forward into the embers.
"Hayden?"
"Yes, Cáel," she smiled. "I have come to tell you 'we are with you'."
"With me?" I mumbled. I caught Buffy's worried look. Of course, Hayden was a ghost so none of the assembly could see her, or hear her.
"You have our support in what you are doing, what is known, and what is not so well known," she gave me a prescient look.
"Even if," I left the threat to reality hanging there.
"Yes. That is why they sent me. The fabric of the Weave has started to unravel and the Goddesses do not wish to confront this growing danger. They have grown overly cautious by necessity yet we ~ the Ancestors ~ have voted and decided bolder action is needed," she counselled.
Voted? Thousands upon thousands of those who had proceeded us were so concerned about the fates of their living descendants and those yet to be born they had felt compelled to gather and, vote, but for what precisely? And why tell me and not the augurs?
Because,
Krasimira wasn't the firebrand, I was.
Krasimira wasn't on the Council, I was.
I was the one romantically and sexually involved with two of the three members of the Regency, not her.
Finally, when I relayed this conversation to Aya, she wouldn't have a single doubt about my motivations plus the Ancestors couldn't communicate with Aya. The Ancestors could find ways to chat with me because of what Alal had done to me ~ turning his weapon against the Host to their own use. How appropriate.
Still, shit, didn't I have enough on my plate already?
Apparently not and Hayden hadn't come all the way back from Death to watch me mentally dawdle. Of all Amazons now deceased, she had the clearest experience witnessing my dedication to our Race no matter what the cost to myself, to my morality, and the spiritual and emotional penalties I'd have to pay. I had to keep forging ahead.
"Will there be any help on your end?" I inquired.
"Yes, but we must be careful. You are a subject of concern for several of the Goddesses," she warned me. She was also letting me know the Ancestors, within some nebulous limitations, were wishing to risk their matron deities' ire to do something about this looming crisis.
"Craptastic," I muttered darkly.
"You saw how, perturbed Istustaya and Papaya where when you noticed their appearance as Tadéfi made her most recent predictions?"
"Yes."
"Cáel?" Buffy touched my shoulder.
"I'm okay," I addressed her while keeping eye contact with Hayden's specter. I was afraid if I looked away she might vanish. "Hayden has returned to give me counsel."
The mortal hush around me was truly telling. For the assembly, Hayden was the only High Priestess they had ever known, their Absolute Authority. I had killed her. No one had disguised that. My confrontation had led her to some personal crisis, to her decree which led to the death of the worst of the Runner-hating, hardcore Traditionalists leadership, and to her own trip to the cliffs.
Before her demise, she had shorn her hair and renounced her membership in House Anahit thus dying Houseless ~ like virtually every other Runner. At the hour of her passing, I had defied even the Goddess Ishara herself to bring her into our House, so now Hayden was one of our Honored Dead, an Isharan. The true reason Dot Ishara allowed Hayden in wasn't something I had shared with many others. Sharing it with everyone wouldn't have helped anyone, even me.
"Yes," I related to Hayden. "How did you know this?"
"The fate of our children is of great concern to us," she gave her pantheress' smile. "For many of my Sisters it has been a long term concern."
"Oh, I can understand that. I noticed."
"What can we do?" the deceased High Priestess offered.
"Do? Aren't you in your designated reward?"
"Yes, but we are alive, just not here ~ in this reality."
I had a blasphemous brainstorm.
"Can you gather a party of our best hunters and send them into the Endless Black Sands?" I blurted out. I regretted doing so immediately. These were my Honored Dead I was talking about. Each had already given their all for my House and my Host in their lifespan.
"Yes, it is possible," Hayden frowned, in concentration, as if she was in communication with others beyond my own supernatural perceptions.
"Can you find Artimpasa of Anahit?"
"Who is she?"
"The twin sister of Sērkuēn of Anahit, also known as Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and currently called Sakuniyas. Sērkuēn killed her sister, in a bad way and I suspect she has been denied her place in the Halls of Anat for her actions."
"By what thread would the Daughters of Ishara find her? After so many centuries, are you sure she has somehow survived?"
Hate carried Ajax and his warriors. Hate carried Shammy. Could, love do any less? If you believed love was as strong as, if not stronger than, hate then I had to hope the love for her sister and worry Artimpasa had for her exiled twin might have kept her going all this time. How to find her though? Then I felt stupid for asking.
"Could an augur transition an object, or objects, from this World across the Weave to the Ancestors?" I inquired of Hayden.
"I would have to ask," she nodded grimly. "What do you have in mind?"
"Saku's gear comes from the other side, from the Black Sands. She will gift you/us with some arrows."
"We will find a way to chat again when you come back from the Great Hunt. Oh, and Cáel?"
"Yes?"
"Please tell Katrina 'my love for you has never been stronger' ~ those precise words and,"
"And?"
"Don't embarrass us," she chided me. The Great Hunt. Gee, thanks ladies.
"Wasn't planning on it. I've got a strategy all figured out, something they'll never see coming."
The ghost rolled her eyes. As she turned away, her form faded into the night sky and I was left with thirty-seven of my very mortal sisters who had been gifted with only my side of our conversation. Oh joy.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled story:
{10:30 pm (CDT), Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}
I was staring at the screen of my laptop. After the death of my Father and the litany of my oncoming offspring, this was probably the most traumatic event of my life. Okay, I should tack on the whole 'bringing the Cosmic Dragon back from the dead' and my own possible immortality to the list, but this was, bad.
"Ishara?" Juanita caught wind of my worry. We were on a Havenstone jet winging our way to Chicago. Tomorrow I had to clean up some of my Father's affairs before heading off to wherever House Epona had stashed Felix.
"What's wrong?"
"I, ah,"
She came across the aisle and looked from my pale features to the screen.
"What is that?"
"Quarterly Earnings Reports," I responded.
"We made that much? Seems good," she put a hand on my shoulder.
"No. That is House Ishara's share of Havenstone's projected 3rd Quarter Earnings. It just hit my corporate bank account."
"Oh,"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to, do with it?"
"It is forty-three million dollars?" I grunted. "What the fuck, well, I guess I should purchase House Ishara a freehold, or two for starters." Actually it was $43,285,825.
"What's that?" she pointed to another stream of figures.
"Oh, that's our net worth," I informed her. "House Ishara. Havenstone has $732.3 billion in assets and a net worth of $308 billion. 'We' are only worth 0.9259% of that so $2,851,772,000."
"Oh."
"That's a few bills under $18 million per Isharan. Congrats, you are a multi-millionaire," I teased her. "Technically $272,000 of the money warming my bank account is yours too."
"oh," she repeated in a really small voice. "I don't actually get paid," she gave me a funny stare. "I have an expense account."
Of course she didn't get paid. None of them did. They were part of a fanatic, insular cult. I was an oddity due to my maleness and 'New Directive' hire status.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled diversion:
For the first time in my life I sent definite word to my 'Brother', the Great Khan. My Spirit and Mind were joined on the liberation of Cabinda ~ I wanted this done. I absolutely knew I was sending forces in motion which would lead to untold human suffering and I felt absolutely sure doing nothing was the worst choice.
Screw it all, after sitting through the British briefing from 'suppressed' sources inside the Portuguese government, I wanted to free all 23 million Angolans, but that wasn't going to happen, so I was going to save the roughly 600,000 Cabindans and 500,000 Bakongo in Zaire if I had to go see to it in person and make sure the 400,000 living in exile could return home.
In response, my Brother began calling people ~ starting with the Prime Minister of India, Narendra Damodardas Modi, and General Secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam, Nguyễn Phü Trọng, personally. Those calls cascaded. The Prime Minister of India, after head-butting with some cabinet members, called his counter-part in, Brazil.
Brazil was the leading power in the Lusosphere (Portuguese-speaking countries), she was right across the Atlantic from Cabinda/Angola and her proximity would become a huge factor if Angola became pugnacious. The Brazilian Navy was sizeable and her Air Force capable. If Brazil decided to oppose this territorial usurpation things could get nasty quickly, so Brazil had to be convinced to sit on the sidelines, at least temporarily.
Vietnam's GS Trọng, after some brief consultations, began making his own diplomatic overtures. Why? Imagine for a second being any small, poor country in the United Nations who wasn't a Permanent Member of the Security Council and didn't have veto-power.
And you have lived with this 'inequality' for 70 years.
And you woke up a month ago and suddenly you were a permanent council member of a New Global Body which valued your input and opinions.
The Great Khan couldn't tell the General Secretary precisely what was going on, but he promised to have a team fly down to him within 48 hours to explain everything in person because unwelcome people were 'listening in' which was the damn truth. So, GS Trọng began reaching out to every Marxist, Communist and Socialist in Europe, Africa and South America who would listen. The top country on his list? Cuba.
No, he wasn't asking for Cuba to become involved in Angola again as the Soviets had done back in the 1970's. That would be, awkward. Instead, GS Trọng was asking his "Old Buddy", Raál Castro, President and 1st Secretary of the Communist Party of Cuba to put in his good offices with,
Good Morning, Havana!
Raál: "Comrade Nguyễn, long time, no see. (In fact, I can't ever recall seeing you) Precisely why are you calling me at, 3 a.m. your time? The current retrograde revisionist direction of our inevitable victory got you down?"
Nguyễn: "Quite the contrary, Comrade Raál. In fact, an opportunity has arisen to strike a blow against the Old World Order, Comrade. Can I count on you?"
Raál: "Oh, umm, if you take into account I've heard this ugly rumor you are about to kick our fellow 'Brothers in the Struggle' (the People's Republic of China) in the testes in collusion with these jumped-up autocratic, religious fundamentalist fanatic Reactionaries from Central Asia and the always doctrinally-dicey Indians, what do you have in mind?"
Nguyễn: "All I need you to do is lend the gravitas of your leadership to a bit of backroom diplomacy, Comrade. I understand you are on speaking terms with those presently in charge of Brazil, despite their questionable adherence to Marxist-Leninist purity."
Raál: "Hmm, beyond the linguistic reality Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese are not mutually intelligible, something could be arranged. Please continue."
Nguyễn: "I need you to contact the President of Brazil and request her agreement for diplomatic and logistic intervention to a freedom-fighting victory we are about to experience on the African continent."
Raál: "A victory? Really? Where?"
Nguyễn: "Sorry. We both know the USA's CIA and the NSA are crawling all over your communications networks like the smoke wafting off of one of your Havana's Finest."
Raál: "Ain't that the damn truth. Still, what do you want me to ask her for?"
Nguyễn: "Just to be prepared to back India's play, no matter how bizarre it might appear at first. Also, let her know we've got her back militarily if it comes to a confrontation with the forces of Global Imperialism and post-colonial aggression."
Raál: "Wow, that sounds, ugly. What's in it for us?"
Nguyễn: {pause} "Workers of the World, Unite!"
Raál: {looks at his phone suspiciously} "No really, what's going on?"
Nguyễn: "I already said I can't tell you the details right now. I guarantee this will help advance the struggle of World Communism."
Raál: "Nice to know. And?"
Nguyễn: "Has your fervor for the Cause dampened, Comrade?"
Raál: "I know for a fact you get your suits from Brookes Brothers, Comrade. I just found out my nephew's yacht needs an extensive engine overhaul and the Venezuelan outfit which used to do the work closed up shop last month,"
Nguyễn: "Ah, we'll, given two years my economic experts have informed me we, as in the hard-working people of Vietnam,"
Raál: "Get on with it."
Nguyễn: "Upwards of ten million Central Asians a year, will start visiting our burgeoning tourist industry,"
Raál: "Been there, done that during the Cold War."
Nguyễn: "No! These people will have money! The Reactionary Khanate will be paying their workers Free Market salaries! We are talking real currency too, not those crappy, Soviet-era rubbles you couldn't wipe your ass with."
Raál: "Great Lenin's Ghost! You had better not be lying to me, Comrade Nguyễn. If you could send five,"
Nguyễn: "Two!"
Raál: "Three!" (I just doubled my tourism industry!!)
Nguyễn: "Fine {grumble} three million, but you had better not leave me looking like Leon Trotsky in desperate need of a raincoat in Mexico City when all of this comes out."
Raál: "Perish the thought. If this works out ~ positively ~ I won't forget this."
Nguyễn: "You will be advancing goodwill toward the Cuban people in the corridors of power,"
Raál: "I'll take the hard, cold currency, thank you very much."
Nguyễn: "How the struggle has been, transformed."
Raál: "Such is life. I'll get right on this."
Nguyễn: "I appreciate it. I really do."
Raál: "Well,"
Nguyễn: {uh oh}
Raál: "Are your violently reactionary allies in Central Asia, sending any, economic aid your way? Things you might not need?"
Nguyễn: "Like?"
Raál: "Like, anything. Have you seen the state of my economy and military? We've been hurting over here."
Nguyễn: "Comrade Raál, you get the President of Brazil in a cooperative mood so that this blossoms into a victory for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World and I'll hand your Wish List to the Great Khan personally."
Raál: "And if it is, a partial victory, for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World?"
Nguyễn: "Eh, it won't be my people dying, nor yours. I'll let my allies know you did your best and let New Delhi and Astana figure out how they wish to respond."
Raál: "Oh well, it isn't like President Obama is going to get a 3rd term. What do I have to lose at this point?"
Nguyễn: "On the bright side, the Great Khan has, what's the term you Latin American's use?"
Raál: "Machismo?"
Nguyễn: "That sounds about right. "Machismo to face down the Americans and just about everyone else. As one valiant member of the proletariat to another, I've met him face-to-face, he kind of scares the shit out of me."
Raál: "Really?"
Nguyễn: "Yes, he has the eyes of, those old-timers, the ones who ordered human wave after human wave of soldiers to clear the minefields and throw their bodies over the barbed wire so the next wave could rush over the corpses as well as the mangled and dying so they could finally grapple with the enemy, and would do it all over again in a heartbeat."
Raál: "And this is the man you chose to ally with?"
Nguyễn: "I'd rather sell my granddaughters to a Jakarta brothel than help the Chinese after the way they've treated us the past 50 years. Besides, he went to Tibet and left then went to Thailand and left. He is the best kind of ally there is, the one who remembers to go home when the war is done."
Raál: "Good point (I hope for your sake), best of luck with that. I have some calls to make. I will be in touch."
Nguyễn: "You do that. Good luck, Comrade."
Raál: "Comrade."
And back again:
So, when the President of Brazil began to field phone calls from the Prime Minister of India, the Prime Minister of Portugal (via the Vatican) and the President of Cuba within two hours, she began to get truly concerned, about what? No one could definitely tell her, except it had to do with a Portuguese-speaking country which bordered the South Atlantic (and, including Brazil, there were only three of those).
And just when you thought you might know what's going on, there was Brazilian Lieutenant general Carlos Alberto dos Santos Cruz, commander of the United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUSCO). That's right, the DRC which bordered Cabinda. Christmas had come early and it got better.
The Indians needed to move troops 'through' the Congo, but that was 'okay' because they already had over 3,700 men 'in country' as part of said UN mission, so all it had to look like was they were reshuffling some guys around, with the added bonus the Khanate and the Indians both flew the same transport aircraft, the Il-76 (though the Indians were getting new American-built Boeing C-17 GlobeMaster threes too). Suddenly the ability for the Khanate (and the Indians) to funnel the necessary equipment to the Cabindan rebels became a whole lot easier, for once.
My Brother didn't skimp at this juncture either. He couldn't send his best troops, but he could open up his War Chest. What equipment he couldn't afford to send, he purchased and manned. Western and Central Europe may have vacated the killing business, but they were still willing to sell the Weapons of War to the willing and able (to pay that is). His allies were contributing too. Ships and planes from Europe and Asia were converging on the ports along the Congo River.
Technically this was in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but the regimes Secret Policemen were looking for people out to overthrow the current President-for-Life, not some insanely over-armed folks merely passing through. Those officials took their bribes, went home and slept like babies. This wasn't their war after all.
Back to Cabinda:
(A three and a half page diversion from the life of Cáel)
Back in Cabinda all sorts 'fun' was about to break out. I was to blame. Strangers and people I only barely knew where going into harm's way, bleeding and dying.
Opposing Forces:
In the past 1400 years, those six African houses prospered so well they founded five more of their own plus sponsored the movement to South America of one of their own ~ House Yemonja ~ plus two from Europe. In today's numbers, this equated to the Host being able to muster 125 Security Detail plus roughly 1,900 House Amazons and 1,200 Runners for combat operations in Central Africa which took into account the House Amazons left behind defending key assets and the Runners keeping Havenstone-Africa functional.
In comparison, the Angolan Army had over 90,000 men. Countering their numerical superiority were numerous handicaps. For starters, they were men and the Amazons had no problem at all killing men. The Angolans didn't have much compunction about shooting women either, but this time the women could and would shoot back, which would be a surprise.
The Angolan Army's primary combat experience was in combating a poorly-equipped, home-grown guerilla force. Its heyday was fighting the long-running Angolan Civil War that was over a decade ago and most of their conscript soldiers were using Cold War-issue gear.
This time around their enemies were highly motivated, well-financed and expertly trained in both conventional and unconventional warfare. On this battlefield, the Host would be engaging in a 'stand-up' fight, more on that later. With the British and US being able to provide useful signal and satellite intelligence and the Coils inflicting political turmoil judiciously, it was likely the Amazons would counter-punch the Angolans first reaction and the International Community would intervene before they could gather up a credible threat.
It turned out the Indian government was rather taken with the idea of providing a peace-keeping force for Cabinda as well. The 'why' was simple enough. Her greatest competitor in Asia (in her mind), China, the People's Republic of China, was in serious trouble, India had already pulled off a flawless intervention in Thailand and as a Nation-state, she was feeling her oats.
Suddenly, for the pro-Khanate faction it was what can't we do? 99% of the India's Lok Sabha (House of the People ~ lower house of Parliament) had no idea where Cabinda was yet they felt India's Armed Forces could do this and their new allies wouldn't leave them hanging if things got tough.
Of course, being up against a military power of Angola's caliber didn't hurt either. Angola didn't have a host of allies (with the PRC being their biggest), no navy to speak of and life in Cabinda was hellish, if off the media's beaten path. Saying the province of Zaire was, 'neglected' was putting it politely. And, less we forget, oil, oil, oil! The most oil in Sub-Saharan Africa!
The third prong of the offensive (the Amazon/Coils actual combat actions being the first and India championing Cabinda's cause being the second) was a bit of Vatican global diplomacy. Up front, Angola was a Catholic country and Cabinda was a Catholic province struggling for historical (1885) independence, so the Pope's voice carried weight. In the back channels was a matter of impassioned egos and a glaring historical imbalance.
For starters, Cabinda was only part of Angola because of it being gobbled up as the European powers were dividing up Africa. As groups in Berlin and London were tidying up the map for people who they had never seen and had never seen them, the Portuguese ended up with both regions.
Cabinda and Angola were inhabited by culturally similar peoples yet were politically different entities when they ended up under Lisbon's colonial administration. It was simply easier to govern small Cabinda from the vastly larger Angola, so that's what they, the Europeans, did. Cabinda never considered itself part of any internal Angolan political-tribal entity because they weren't.
Dial up an episode called the Carnation Revolution in 1974. If you are Portuguese, or speak Portuguese, this is probably well known to you. Otherwise, probably not. Anyway, after a long-reigning totalitarian regime, the people of Portugal overthrew their unelected leadership for some of the elected kind. Having been dragging along a series of rather long and unpopular colonial wars of independence, the new people in charge in Lisbon (Portugal's capital), rapidly set their colonial possessions free.
That was rather nice of them, unless you were in Cabinda. See, the natives of Cabinda already knew they had Massive deposits of oil sitting right off the coast of their tiny province and they had no real desire to share that wealth with the rest of Angola, because they didn't see themselves as Angolans. They had never been Angolans in their minds, so why start now?
For Angola, the answer was easy, because you have oil! On top of all this mess, plenty of African nations at the time were heavily experimenting with Marxism with the added bonus of this being the middle of the Cold War ~ the Soviet Union + Warsaw Pact vs. the USA + NATO vs. France (who always followed their own foreign policy goals despite being part of NATO). Then there was the fact the ole Soviets had already invested in those anti-colonial movements which were now taking over those former Portuguese patches of earth.
Cabinda said 'We are Free!' and then Angola, with the help of the Republic of Congo (Marxist back then), said 'No, you are not!' and shot most of the Cabindans who insisted on disagreeing. The Angolans then spent the next 25 years in a civil war with their fellow Angolans. Though the war had ended and the country had migrated away from a Marxist-Leninist One-Party Rule toward democracy in 2010, the President remained the same guy since, 1979, (cough, cough)
... and the average Angolan got by on $2 a day, despite Angola pumping out more oil than Nigeria, having the 3rd largest diamond mines in Africa, a collapsed iron mining operation worth $220 million (in today's $) and a cornucopia of other valuable natural resources, and the President's daughter being the richest woman in Africa (having absolutely nothing to do with her Daddy's influence of, well everything in Angola).
The only hitch in all of this was, stunningly, the oil. See, petroleum production was 45% of Angola's economy and 90% of her exports. To say the Angolan government owed a shitload of money to just about everybody was putting paid to the word 'shitload'.
Mind you, things like 'torture, rape, summary executions, arbitrary detention, and the disappearances of environmental, political and human rights activists kept coming up over and over again as the Standard Operating Procedures for the Angolan government and their various stooges.
To be continued.
By FinalStand for Literotica.