Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 7

Tadifi’s legend

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Tadifi


Meanwhile, Elsa was quietly amused. It wasn't like I could request the SD to force my House Guard to not do something they had been told to do by someone in my hierarchy. That would lead to chaos, and it was unfair to Juanita.

"Fine," I decided. "Get us three some water. Elsa and I will be practicing."

Now Juanita was stuck. I wasn't asking her to leave the room, just leave me alone. I was technically her leader, respect notwithstanding.

"It is good to see you have not become drunk with power," Elsa smirked once Juanita had left on her errand.

"Your mockery is unappreciated," I glared back. I was only kidding. "I haven't seen you around recently. It is good to see you."

"It is good to see you too," Elsa said in a voice far softer and compassionate than I would have preferred. After all, she had me drugged, beaten, then beaten me up again in the not so distant past.

Of course, I had also sexed her up, bringing her to orgasm with my fingers alone. We had also exchanged a burning French kiss in Katrina's office that Buffy was aware of. Then there was the Buffy-Elsa personal feud and the Elsa-Rhada family feud. Balancing that was Elsa's super-hot body and intriguing personality. Sex with her promised to be memorable, more memorable than normal.

"What have you been up to? I'd like to say I've been behaving myself, but I don't want to advance our relationship by lying (right now, about this)."

"You are largely responsible for what I've been up to the past two weeks," she stepped back. She tossed her spear aside and entered her fighting stance. How nice of her to warn me, and get rid of her weapon. How erotically odd of her to give me the illusion of a chance.

"I deny everything," I rocked back. She was blindingly fast. The fact that I was able to block most of the blow was a testament to how much I had learned in the past two and a half months.

"Watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu', 'Wǒ shuō pǔtōnghu ', 'Wǒ shuō guǎngdōng hu ' and 'Aku isa basa jawa'," she lectured me as she maneuvered me into a corner with a series of kicks and feints. She spoke Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese and Javanese. That was nice to know.

"Wait," then she kicked me off the mat.

"Amazons don't have a 'time out'," she smiled. I cautiously worked my way back onto the practice area.

"What part did you play?" I readied myself. This time, I went on the offensive. I used my greater strength and reach to compensate (rather poorly) for her superior reflexes.

"Someone had to ride herd on those disparate forces. My status was respected by the Amazons, I had experience dealing with outsiders, plus your person Addison nominated me, and Katrina suggested that you and I were close. That was enough for the Khanate. Your embassy and earlier aid to the Seven Families brought the 9 Clans along."

"And you stole the carrier?"

"It was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to humiliate the Seven Pillars," she grinned. "Riding in a nuclear submarine was interesting, right up there with running around, spray painting translations next to all the markings onboard the captured vessel. Herding regular civilians wasn't nearly as much fun."

"In the annals of the SD, that is going to be a victory hard to surpass," I got out right before my legs were swept out from under me. Before I could roll over, she landed on top of me. She didn't go for a pin. Elsa simply sat there, straddling my hips and looking down at me. We were both breathing heavily.

"I owe you for that," she patted me on my bare chest.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"I'll let you figure that out during the Great Hunt," she gave a sliver of a smile.

"Not you too," I groaned.

"Who else are you worried about?"

"You and twenty-nine other Amazons. By name, Rachel. She's pretty upbeat about her chances and believes she has a score to settle."

"Rachel will be a tough one," Elsa acknowledged.

"Comfortable?" Juanita muttered.

"Yes, I am," Elsa grinned her way. "Thank you for asking." Juanita gave me a look that suggested I do something like protest, or actually try to fight her off.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I wondered.

"I've learned to appreciate your numerous qualities," Elsa enlightened me. "I am also honest enough to admit I was completely wrong about you. You make a good Amazon." That was huge praise indeed and more importantly, it was to a public audience. I was double fortunate that no one was close enough to see Elsa's camel toe resting against my lightly covered hard-on.

"Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Aren't you engaged to someone?" Juanita reminded me. What she was really saying was 'don't you know you belong to the maidens of House Ishara?' Trust me, I know these things. Had she meant Hana, she would have said Hana.

"She has the patience of Job," I reasoned. "Oh, Elsa, Job is a figure in the Old Testament of the Bible." I doubted she knew.

"Oh. Is he a bloody-handed butcher, raging misogynist, or one of those pacifistic wimps?"

"He's a nice guy who gets swallowed by a whale."

"That's Jonah," Juanita corrected me. "Job is the one who was tested by God. Job accepted God taking away all his family, wealth and health, only to be rewarded for his loyalty to God with more than he ever had before."

"Wimp."

"I would never turn away from Ishara," Juanita rumbled.

"Zorja would never feel the need to test my loyalty so," Elsa riposted.

"Oh look," I thrust my hips up. "I seem to need a shower." Elsa's expression was of superiority and lust combined into a lethal cocktail of my demise.

"Let's go. You can wash my back," she said as she rose over me. She even offered me a hand up. That was unexpected and accepted warily.

"Is there some battle wound that makes you incapable of bathing yourself?" Juanita got feisty. Holy Hell, she was my Caribbean Buffy-twin.

"None," Elsa smugly commented. "I like the feel of his hands on my body. He possesses non-threatening masculinity wed with sisterly solidarity. It is a unique experience that you seem woefully unaware of."

"Yippee!" I whispered.

"You really are a man-whore," Juanita declared under her breath.

"Check," I gave her a thumbs-up. Sadly, Elsa gave me enough respect to walk at my side, not in front of me (so I could have been mesmerized by her buttocks.) As I was stripping down in the locker room, I noticed Juanita hovering close by. "Are you going to follow me into the shower?"

"Yes."

"Why? I am not going to be in danger in the middle of Havenstone."

"I'll be the judge of that," she insisted.

"You do realize I've had sex with an audience before, don't you?"

"I've been warned about that and know proper counter-measures."

"What? What kind of measures?" I was now naked and, towel in hand, was making my way to the communal showers.

"Charlie horses, trips, stun-gun if applicable," she informed me with relish.

"You are threatening to damage my prestige," I enlightened her.

"Cáel, I was chosen for more than my martial skills. I was selected because I will not wilt before your childish ways."

"Are you a lesbian?"

"No. Why would a woman have to be a lesbian to withstand your wiles?"

"You'll figure it out eventually," I chuckled. Actually, knowing what a playboy-cad I was turned out to be a counter-intuitive edge for me. Expecting me to be a letch just meant I totally ignored the woman. Then the doubt would set in. 'Why wasn't I hitting on her?' she would think. She'd go through the phase of her not being good enough for me to knowing that wasn't the case, definitely, and would come at me to prove herself right. Wham-bam, another one in the can. Oink.

Step One: reduce the amount of time talking to her as a fellow human traveler of life. From here on out, I would address her by her name when I wanted something and otherwise treat her like furniture ~ furniture I was comfortable with. In this case, I treated her like a towel rack. She promptly dropped it. That was okay, I was planning to get dressed wet anyway.

I rinsed off my hair quickly as Elsa settled underneath the showerhead beside me. As soon as I finished, she handled me a bottle of (scentless) body soap. It was probably one of those the jaguar will smell me coming ten miles away excuses Amazons used to avoid being girlie. I got my hands all sudsy and began working on her shoulders and neck from behind.

Wordlessly, Elsa followed my physical directions, allowing me to wash her arms before working my way down her back in languid, amorous circles. Around the 10th thoracic vertebrae, Elsa gave me a deep, cleansing exhalation. I dug my fingers into her taut back muscles, racking them down to her buttocks, deftly ran them along the sides of her glutes and finished up caressing them along the line between her thighs and ass.

I worked her buttocks apart, worked my fingers along her perineum, tickling the back of her labia then up, across her anus and back to her tailbone and the small of her back. A crazy idea came to me: maybe I could talk her into a tramp stamp; something like If you are reading this, know I'll kill you next. That would be so Elsa.

I lathered her ass up for another half-minute before working my way down to her thighs, starting with the hip joints and then coaxing of her parted lips. I knelt down so that I was resting on the balls of my feet. Elsa obliged me by parting her legs, standing on her toes with her feet over a foot apart, then placing her hands against the shower stall while arching her back so that her hips were thrust back.

"Oh, come on," Juanita protested. "What kind of bath is this?"

"Did you hear something?" Elsa looked down at me.

"Nope. I was focusing all of my attention on you," I smiled up at her. I was really liking the way her muscles were stressed through her exertions. I couldn't seem to pay enough attention to her robust calves. I didn't pass up the opportunity to plant gentle kisses on each cheek either.

Elsa's ankles and feet happened all too fast and the pretense of a bath was complete. She looked at me while she soaped up her breasts then let the water cascade all over her body.

"Thank you, Cáel," she gave me a regal nod of her damp head, turned and left. "Train harder for the Hunt. You are going to need every edge you can get."

"I'm stalking oysters over the weekend. They are cunning and stealthy adversaries," I replied sagely. Elsa snorted, then started toweling off as she left, going toward her own locker. I walked past my soaked towel on the floor without a single glance. Juanita stalked behind me, clearly with a lot on her mind she was now waiting for the proper moment to share. I got dressed.

"Not going to dry off?" she grumbled.

"I never use towels," I lied. "I like the rain-washed feel." By ignoring her act of defiance, I really steamed her. I wasn't done. As we headed toward the elevator, I opened up with my next jibe. Buffy really shouldn't challenge me so. I'm a past-master of dealing with clingy, bossy women.

"Regretting you made that bet?" I mused while we waited.

"What bet?" she simmered.

"The bet where you assured Buffy and whomever else was in the room that you wouldn't break down and physically harm me ~ punishing me for my wicked ways?"

"What? How did," she groused then, "You are playing me."

"Yep."

"You really are full of yourself," she seared me with her gaze.

"No, but I know what I'm good at and I'm good at frustrating women. I've been working at it for the past four years and I've got over 200 women who would agree that I'm very good at doing it."

"Why are you doing this to me? I'm on your side," she turned all pouty and hurtful.

"Because if I don't, I'll go mad, Juanita," I enlightened her. "You want to protect me, right?"

"Yes," she sensed a verbal trap. The elevator opened and we stepped in.

"See, I don't want to be protected," I started.

"That's,"

"Let me finish, please," I stopped her. She gave me the visual 'go-ahead'. "I don't want to live a life where I need to be protected. I don't want to worry that women I hang out with could be cornered by some unsavory types at an eatery because those women happen to know and like me."

"I admire what you are doing, I really do. This is not the life I wanted, though. This is not what I wanted to be doing four months after leaving college. I wanted to be some corporate worm, barely scraping by on my work reviews and being, as you said, 'a man-whore'."

"You don't have that luxury," she pointed out.

"Am I not doing my job?" I countered.

"I guess you are," she grudgingly admitted.

"Yet you feel you have the right to critique my personal life and how I approach it," I related. "I'm not beating you up by playing the I am Ishara bullshit. I certainly don't expect anyone to be grateful to me for the opportunity to be in a House. I don't because I believe that every member of House Ishara has already proven they belong here before I ever meet them. I believe in you. Sometimes I would appreciate it if my sisters would give me the same respect."

She looked away because my harpoon had struck home.

"Unlike the rest of you, I inherited my place in this madhouse. Unlike every other Amazon here, I am only a part of House Ishara because I am the choice of a thousand ancestors to be our leader. Notice that no one asked me if I wanted to do this. And I don't think I ask too much of you because frankly, there are times when I feel unworthy to be in your company."

"You are still Ishara and I must still be your guardian," she held her ground. I glared at her. She glared back. I coughed. She kept glaring.

"What's my name?"

"Oh," she shrugged. "Cáel Wakko Ishara."

"That may sound silly you to, but I have chosen the designations for myself, my First Ancestor and the Goddess for a good reason."

We rode in silence. When we got to the ground floor, we made our way to our bikes and got ready to head home.

"What is the reason?"

"To never take ourselves too seriously. The worst thing I can think to befall my House is we become as humorless as the rest of the bitches around here. 'Laugh at Death' should be our motto."

"Isn't that a bit childish?"

"Of course it is," I groaned. "You clearly haven't been paying attention to a damn thing I've been saying. I swear I'm thinking about bringing back 'National Clown Nose Day'."

"We had a 'National Clown Nose Day'?" she pedaled to keep up.

"God help me," I muttered.

(Where is my Serge?)

"You are not going to let me go through my door first?" I sighed in exasperation. Juanita insisted that she go through every door first, because today was so very different than yesterday, when I had Pamela, perhaps I protest too much.

"You have a gun," a somewhat familiar voice said from inside my/Timothy's apartment. Oh, fuck. Ya know, because Juanita was as pretty as she was lethal, which is to say 'too much for the given company'.

"Don't make any sudden moves unless you want to see it," Juanita cautioned her.

"Oh, it's okay," Odette intervened. "This is Anais Saint-Armour. She's a Mountie."

"Oh, she's on the List too," Juanita grumbled. "What has he done wrong this time?"

"Why don't you tell me who you are first?" Anais growled at Juanita while I pushed my way into the room.

"I don't like your attitude," Juanita glared.

"Anais, this is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza; she's my latest bodyguard. Juanita, this is Anais, a good friend of mine who helped save my life in Hungary when the 'terrorists' were closing in," I somewhat exaggerated,, she had helped me catch up with the rest of the team when Pamela and I got sidetracked.

"Why did he chose you?" Anais fumed. Did I mention she's insanely jealous with an aching need to know why I was marrying anyone else, but her.

"What list?" Odette proved to be on the ball.

"He didn't chose me. I volunteered for the spot."

"Buffy made an anti-girlfriend list. Elsa is on it too," I mumbled.

"I bet you did," Anais (responding to Juanita).

"It is not like that," I moved to interpose myself between my Mountie and my non-mounted (for now) guardian. "I'm on the board of directors for Havenstone now and,"

"How did that happen?" Anais turned 'The Force' on me. (That's Canadian for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, really) "You insisted (reference back in the days we were seeing one another) you were impoverished."

"I inherited it from my Father,"

"He's poor too. I ran a background check when we first started dating," Anais kept up the pressure.

"My Mother?"

"She's dead."

"Okay, it was my Father through a convoluted meandering of genetics," I went back to attempting the truth (shame on me).

"Which is it?" she glowered.

"My Father, but it's too complicated to get into now," I tried to touch her. She recoiled. She was still pissed with me.

"He's telling the truth this time," Odette rose to my defense.

"Why didn't you tell me this when you were in Hungary? For that matter, if you are rich, why didn't you use those resources to get yourself out of trouble instead of involving me?" She really was a great cop.

"I had to make a call to someone I trusted and who couldn't be traced back to me, or Havenstone, or the Irish Embassy," I fibbed.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Anais thawed somewhat.

"I believe I promised you dinner," I reminded her.

"You did."

"Where are we going?" Juanita stressed our lack of privacy.

"'We' aren't going anywhere. Ms. Anais Saint-Armour and I are going to a restaurant of her choosing. Don't worry about it. She carries a gun."

"I'm not carrying a gun," Anais torpedoed my plan.

"Where are we going?" Juanita repeated herself. I had to switch mental gears quickly to take in the new looks I was getting from Anais. I shouldn't have ignored those cues.

"I can't get around my personal security service," I sighed. Why did I give in? Anais was all about gathering evidence and then drawing conclusions from the facts in available.

I had been involved in some significant bad-assery in Europe that was way beyond anything she would have associated with the old me. Terrorist cells duking it out with me (and others) in a Budapest metro station? A rustic inn being reduced to ashes after a suspected firefight? Bomb threats? A full-scale military operation in Romania?

I had been kidnapped with a resultant massive manhunt for me then returned under highly mysterious circumstances. There had been a young girl with me, we were close for reasons not really gone into and I had saved her despite all forms of parenthood had been anathema to me.

I was a man who others deemed necessary to protect, thus a man making secretive phone calls, getting snippets of information and being involved in the deaths of way too many people to be the old, playboy me. Who had I become?

I therefore might be a man who 'needed' to marry a billionairess due to some unspeakable political reasons, not out of any romantic/sexual desire of my own. Anais knew that I was a commitment-phobe, not a gold-digger. That meant she could be involved with me without it really being cheating. I needed her help, I had reached out to her when I was in crisis and she was in the people-helping business, right?

There was clearly more evidence out there for her to discover and she had the good fortune to be able to have me in a spot where I could be interrogated.

"Where do you want to go?" I disengaged and went to my room. The door was only partially shut as I changed.

"Eleven Madison West," I was told.

"Oh," Odette cooed, "that place is expensive."

"I know," Anais remarked.

"Why did you pick it?" Odette inquired.

"To remind Cáel that meals can be very expensive." That was my 'date' reminded me that I'd cheated with her over the course of a home-cooked meal, cooked not-by-her in someone else's home. I wondered how Maya was doing.

Eleven Madison West meant I pulled out one of my Havenstone suits. They were tailored after all and I suspected that getting into this place at this time of night was going to take some charisma and finagling. Dressing as causal-me wouldn't do. When I stepped out, jaws dropped ~ I do look good all gussied up. Odette dispelled the shock by jumping into my arms.

"You look hot," she squealed. "Too bad I'm not going out with you."

"You might want to remember that," Anais griped.

"We need to stop by Havenstone so I can attempt to dress up for this affair," Juanita stated.

"How about we call in a replacement? Give you the night off?" I suggested.

"Who?"

"Chaz?"

"You want that British SSR non-commissioned officer to be your personal bodyguard for tonight? You've got balls," Juanita coughed. I took out my phone and got ready to give him a call.

"Hey, Anais, why didn't you call me to tell me you were coming over?" I carefully avoided the word 'warned' as she would take that the wrong way.

"I don't have your personal phone number. I called your home phone and got the answering service, last night and again this morning," she narrowed her eyes.

"Odette, did Timothy get lucky last night?" I looked past the Mountie.

"No. A good friend of his rolled his motorcycle and he went to the hospital to help him out," Odette shook her head. Poor Timothy. My roomie/fuck-buddy misinterpreted Anais's pique. "Timothy is gay, not a sexual enabler."

"Huh?" Juanita wondered.

"Wingman," I translated. "Sometimes the three of us go to gay clubs where I act as his wingman,"

"And they feed me to lesbians," Odette sounded enthusiastic. Thanks to me she was hardly a same-sex virgin.

"If there are three people living here and two bedrooms, who sleeps on the sofa?" Anais skewered Odette with her eyes.

"If Cáel has company and isn't sharing, I sleep with Timothy," Odette refused to wilt, or cut me some slack with Anais.

"Isn't sharing?" those ocular death orbs flicked my way.

"Hmm, if we are going to Elven Madison West, I had better make that call," I evaded. I rang Chaz.

"Nyilas," he answered. "How are you doing this evening?"

"I'm good. I have an ex-girlfriend from out of town visiting, she wants to go to a swanky place and Juanita isn't dressed for the detail so,"

"You want me to double date?"

"No, I need a bodyguard."

"You are assuming I have something appropriate to wear."

"You are British!" I protested. "Even your chicks have tuxedos."

"Very well. Will this be a personal protection detail, or close support?"

"Aahhh,"

"Close support," said Anais.

"Personal Protection," countered Juanita.

"The one most likely to save me from being stabbed with a steak knife," I muttered.

"I am not going to physically attack you," Anais simmered. Yeah, right, I had heard that one before, and not just from her.

"Personal Protection it is," Chaz informed me.

"Oh, and she's a Mountie."

"Is she armed?"

"No," I thanked the goddesses.

"Does she want to be?"

"Huh? Are you going to arm her?" I panicked.

"No. You have a NYPD liaison. Give Officer Kutuzov a call and make a formal request. If she is a law enforcement officer in good standing, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, I can do that?, I'm not sure that's the best idea," I prevaricated.

"Man up, Nyilas," he chided me. "You should work on making it so women don't want to shoot you instead of thinking of ways to disarm them."

"Spoken like a man who wisely prefers the company of other men," I grumbled.

"Good use of the word 'wisely'. Next question: what are we using as a means of conveyance?"

"Umm,"

"I have my motorcycle," Anais was less than helpful.

"If you weren't one of the bravest human beings I'd ever met, I would determine at this moment that you are a dolt. Call Havenstone and arrange for one of those Mercedes Armored GL550s. Bring your license. I drive on the correct side of the road and I'm not keen on having a distraught paramour driving into a storefront at 80 kph."

"Man, I like the way you speak," I joked.

"I took advantage of a proper English education."

"I was joking with you."

"I know."

"Can I date your sister?" I didn't know if he had a sister, but he'd hinted there were multiple Tomorrow's out there. Anais' mood didn't improve.

"Yes. I like you. You are a good bloke."

"Does your sister know how to kill people?"

"Yes. I'd say she's relatively proficient with a variety of small arms and hand-to-hand techniques," he enlightened me.

"Just checking."

"Cáel, every woman you are interested knows how to kill people, or how to have people killed," Chaz reminded me.

"What about Odette? She's neither well connected nor lethal."

"Odette is indeed an enigma. She counters that by being well liked by people who are capable of killing others who hurt her, except where you are concerned. You live a treasured life."

"Have you made dinner reservations? If you need me for a black tie event it has to be, what is the American for it, swanky."

"That's more of a Cael/Pamela thing," I corrected him. "American's say 'high class', expensive, or 'hot spot'."

"Thanks for the update. Make those calls."

"O-kay. Will do. I'll meet you at Havenstone in thirty minutes. Does that work for you?"

"Yes. Make those calls. I'll see you at, 7:52 pm, EDT. Mark."

"Huh?"

"Goodbye Cáel," and he hung up.

"Who is this 'Chaz' character?" Anais questioned me.

"He is Color Sergeant Charles Tomorrow of the British Army's Special Reconnaissance Regiment, he's a badass and he's delicious," Odette answered for me.

"How do you know him, either of you?" came next.

"He was with," Odette began blabbing 'National Security' stuff.

"Odette, don't. Anais, he is member of the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce along with me. Odette helps out in an auxiliary role," I answered.

"Cáel, how did you end up doing this kind of work?" she was perplexed. "You were devoid of anything approaching civic responsibility when we were last together. Quite frankly, I didn't think you cared for anyone but yourself."

"Hey now," Odette got feisty. She was my friend after all.

"We can talk about that over dinner?" I suggested. She didn't like that answer, so I lied. "I grew up," which was what she wanted to hear. I was spared any more interrogation at the moment by the necessity of making those three phone calls. Nikita liked hearing from me again, though she was less pleased that it was official business. She did agree to contact the appropriate agency for me, despite me making it for a different female law enforcement agent.

I'd wised up about Havenstone. I called Executive services to have the car delivered to my door step. I cautioned the operative that, in my neighborhood, they might be stopped on suspicion of purchasing guns, drugs, and/or a good time. I would have the car in fifteen minutes and agreed to take the delivery driver back to work afterwards. I'd have done it even if I wasn't meeting Chaz.

At Eleven Madison West, I got a snooty 'exactly who do you think you are?' followed by 'you will be placed on the waiting list, a spot may open up around 9:50'. Was I going to inform Chaz and Anais of this? Of course not. I planned to beg like a big dog, suggest that while I was a nameless face, I actually knew people, a person, and we'd see how far that got me.

While waiting for the S U V to arrive and on the drive back to Havenstone, this is pretty much what followed:

"Do you know who was behind your father's murder yet?"

"Yes, but I can't talk about it."

"Was that the reason people are trying to kill you?"

"Yes. That and other reasons."

"What other reasons?"

"Things I can't talk about."

"Why can't you talk about it?"

"Secret society stuff ~ decoder rings, secret handshakes, writing in cyphers, holding clandestine meetings in public places after dark, and various other things world governments don't want me talking about."

"Are you pulling my leg?" I wished I was running my hands over her legs. This wasn't the time for that revelation.

"No. Most of what I am telling you is the truth."

"Were you in a shootout at the Chicago Medical Examiner's morgue?"

"Yes. I was unarmed at the time."

"Was your life in danger?"

"It depends on what you mean by 'danger'. My allies had guns and were expert shots. I was shot at, but they missed me, so I not sure how much my life was at risk."

"Can you please be serious?"

"I'm trying. You scare me."

"You don't need to be afraid of me. I only want to help." That was mostly true. She was a diligent, hard-working incorruptible public servant,well, as long as you overlooked her charging me with bestiality when she was truly pissed with me.

"I'm not afraid of you hurting me. I'm afraid for you. You are an excellent peace officer and I'm worried that you will learn too much. Then your life will be as screwed up as mine."

"I can take care of myself."

"The reality that you are going out with me unarmed speaks volumes about what you don't know, Anais."

"Don't think this line of questioning is over, Cáel."

"Don't worry. I know you are not done."

"Very well. How is your aunt?" The crab-fisherwoman, not the Irish menagerie.

"Happy as a clam, working a real job and living life on her own terms."

"Where did you go wrong?" That was a loaded question. I had to tread carefully.

"A girl humiliated me in high school. I decided to take control of my life and somehow, despite my best intentions to be an unreliable lothario, I've ended up with people closer to me than family,and this constant need for physical protection."

"Why are you engaged?" Finally, the real reason she was here. Had she come by to pick up her accoutrements, she would have been gone by the time I came home. She wanted answers, answers that allowed her to be in charge of our relationship again. It was the double-barreled impact of exceptional sex and wondering why she wasn't 'the one'.

(Me) "Are you seeing somebody?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I've answered plenty of your questions. Answer mine."

"No. Men expect too much from a career woman." Translation: 'I'm a bitch that, regardless of my dynamite looks and raunchy sex drive, repels men because I'm a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.'

"You do put your career first." Translation: 'I've totally forgotten that you are a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.' It was what she wanted to hear.

"Your turn."

"Put on your tin-foil hat. I did it to save lives in Central Asia when the anthrax strikes were going on. I have this friend over there that people listen to."

"Who? The Great Khan?"

I didn't respond which wasn't the answer she was expecting.

"How?" as in how could I possibly be good friends with the master of arguably the third or fourth most powerful nation on the face of the Earth

"That's one of those things I can't talk about."

"Do you love her?"

"I don't know. I'm lousy at relationships. I get along with her daughter. Her father wants to bury me alive in the Nevada desert. The rest of the family seems to be coming around to the idea that I might be one of them."

"That isn't a 'yes'."

"No, it isn't."

"Do you think you can ever love someone?" If you need translated, sigh, okay, 'why don't you love me?'

"Do you mean 'when am I going to stop stumbling from botched relationship to botched relationship and make something constructive of my personal life?'"

"Yes."

"Did I mention that I've discovered I have a grandfather?"

"No. That isn't answering my question."

"It is in a way. Did I mention that Mom had ten sisters I wasn't aware of? I had an uncle, but he died in my arms."

"No. My condolences on your uncle. What does this have to do with you becoming more of an adult and becoming accountable for your life?"

"Did I mention I have an adopted grandmother who is my spiritual twin?"

"No."

"Don't worry about my uncle. He died trying to kill me. My aunts murdered him, though I can never prove it."

"Oh."

"My grandfather? He was the one who sent those terrorists to kill me. It was his litmus test to see if I was worthy of being in his family. I passed."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. My spiritual grandma? She's a retired professional assassin. Daily I interact with a half-dozen people who have killed multiple human beings in their lifetimes. You want to know why I'm not behaving responsibly? I am acting responsibly. I'm trying to not get the decent civilians around me killed."

She took awhile digesting that. By that time, we had returned to Havenstone and picked up Chaz. I made introductions.

"So, are you really with the SRR?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"Why are you with Cáel?"

"My mandate contains multiple answers. Suffice it to say, since my RAF contemporary will not be returning from the UK until tomorrow, I am presently chief liaison officer for Her Majesty's government with JIKIT."

"Why are you coming along as Cáel’s bodyguard? Don't you have something better to do with your Friday evenings?" Subtle and polite, Anais ain't. Why was I putting up with her? She was a sexual tornado who would try anything once. She was a real prize.

"First question: Cáel is a friend, his life is in perpetual danger and I consider it my duty to keep him alive. He would do the same for me. Second question: the nature of my present assignment doesn't leave much room for any meaningful romantic associations."

"Hmm," I contemplated what wasn't being said. "Chaz, you are nailing one of my security chicks, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"A man of character doesn't brag about such things."

Chaz was getting some Amazon nookie. I had to find a way to tell him how dangerous that was. She might decide he's make good father material, not a good thing where Amazons were concerned.

"Are all of his security personnel women?" Anais pressed.

"Miss Saint-Amour, Havenstone is a corporation that employs over ten thousand people. There are precisely five men currently on their payroll. All their security personnel are woman. Cáel has very limited, if any, input on the matter."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, Miss Saint-Amour. Who would trust a man of Cáel’s dubious experience with his own security?" Chaz pointed out.

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that.

"Can you tell me why you think his life is in danger?"

"He is far more likely to be kidnapped than murdered. He possess certain sensitive data that powerful entities would like to access, thus I am his bodyguard tonight. Considering the quality of the women who normally guard him, I consider it an honor."

"To guard Cáel, on a date?"

"He was kidnapped visiting a child at a playground. Yes, we believe his life is in constant peril. The training and experience of his security service is top flight and it has been a pleasure to serve among them."

"Were you with him in Budapest and Romania?"

"The metro station?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Romania?"

"Do you mean the counterterrorism action south of Miercurea Ciuc?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Wow, these two were lousy communicators. I could imagine Chaz propositioning one of my Amazons.

Chaz: 'You have a superior feminine physique which I find appealing. Want to fuck?'

Amazon: 'You look like you have the prerequisite stamina and battle scars to be part of the New Directive. Sure.'

"Were you involved in the actual combat? The SRR is normally an intelligence gathering unit."

"I was gathering battlefield intelligence, Miss. That required my close proximity to armed and actively hostile enemy aliens (as in they were in Romania illegally, not that they were all supernatural beings). My involvement resulted in two KIA's and one WIA."

"Damn Chaz, you rock."

"I am a professional."

"How many did Pamela gak?"

"One KIA."

"Just one? Whoa, that's so unlike her."

"She kept trying to bracket the cell leader (aka Ajax). He had the Devil's Own Luck."

"Cáel, why are you making light of all those deaths?" Anais chastised me. "How many terrorists did you wound, or kill?"

"I wounded one guy."

"That is disingenuous," Chaz chided me. "You orchestrated the operation, showed tactical expertise in seizing the most critical terrain feature and engineered the death of the terrorist leader."

"My Cáel did that? When I knew him, he was adverse to violence," Anais shook her head.

"Considering the considerable number of people he's killed, he's still adverse to physical confrontation where his own life is involved. But God help you if you threaten someone he is close to, though. He's the man who can get things done when the team is in a pinch."

"Cáel, what happened to you?" she didn't sound upset at all.

"I learned to care for people beyond my immediate interest, you know, actual long-term relationships," with the unspoken 'as opposed to women I'm currently having sex with'.

"It took you long enough," she snipped. Reference her being a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.

The interrogation was put on hold while we entered the restaurant and,

"Mr. Nyilas?" the maytre dee greeted me.

"Yes."

"We will get you a table right away," he nodded obsequiously. What the hell was up with that? Where was my two hour wait time? Oh yeah, I was a minor, fifteen seconds of fame celebrity.

"Will Ms. Sulkanen be joining you this evening?"

"No. She had to oversee a packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides explosion in Boca Raton. Flaming plastic pink flamingo bits were raining down everywhere. I imagine it is taking an Everest-sized load of hush money to keep this out of the media," I replied. I was so eerily sincere, he bought it and a look of horror snuck over his face. I had become the public face of corporate malfeasance.

"Your table (gulp) is ready, Sir," he began to sweat. He took us to our table for four then beat a hasty retreat. Undoubtedly his civic-mindedness would have him calling up TMZ within a minute. After all, it was unlikely he owned any plastic pink flamingos, or invested in their construction. Once he was gone, Chaz let a thin smile break through his hard-earned military unfazed-ability.

"What exactly are packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides?" he inquired.

"Packaged is self-explanatory. Erythrosine is pink food coloring and monosaccharides are,"

"Sugar," Anais frowned.

"Exploding pixie sticks, I have nieces and nephews. You are a genius at misdirection, Mr. Nyilas," he nodded.

"Thank you, Color Sergeant Tomorrow. It is nice to be appreciated for my bizarre and useless preoccupation," I grinned.

"You practice lying?" Anais' view of me dimmed.

"Miss, he excels at extraneous, outrageous utterances. No harm is intended."

"Things like I was helping her find her contact lenses?" That had been my excuse when caught coming out of Maya's apartment. Sadly, Anais is highly perceptive and knew the lady didn't wear contacts. The copious female aroma wafting off me certainly hadn't helped.

"That's unfair," I countered. "Back then, I was a college nitwit suffering from undiagnosed nymphomania. I'd like to think I'm getting better."

" tes-vous mieux?" she retorted in French.

"Je suis assez intelligent pour aller vers vous lorsque des vies  taient sur la ligne." That's right, Anais. When my life and the lives of others were on the line, she was the first one I thought to call. Letting a woman know that you admire her profession, professionalism and reliability never hurts.

"Are you really a nymphomaniac?" she returned to English. French is the language of sex, as is any derivative of Sanskrit, Farsi and Portuguese. Reference the multitude of Indians, the hotness of Persian women and the outpouring of lust that is Brazil.

"I had a magnetoencephalography recently. The neuroscientists didn't know what to make of my brain patterns. I appear to be somewhat unique in my madness."

She didn't believe me. I didn't blame her. No one really likes hearing a truth they don't want to accept.

"Here," I leaned forward and pointed to the tiny divot in my forehead. "I was stabbed with a needle in the skull. That is why they looked at me, not because of my sexual malfunction."

She touched it to makes sure. We were interrupted by the waiter stopping by to see if we were ready to order yet.

"We will have three of the most expensive appetizers, dinners, deserts and wines," Anais preempted us. Ugh. I was either a millionaire by the wonders of Havenstone accounting, or broke. I foolishly never looked into such things, never having had much money before. I needed a distraction.

"Hey Chaz, nice suit," was what came to mind. It was a swell masterpiece of the tailoring arts I hadn't expect from a ground-pounder from a family of ground-pounders serving Queen and Country for generations.

"Thank you. Pamela picked it out for me, suspecting an event such as this would transpire. She told me you paid for it," Chaz answered.

"I did?"

"I made the reasonable deduction that she forged your signature on whatever medium was used for payment," he shrugged, "in the same way she exhibits a criminal tendency toward every other aspect of her life."

"What does Pamela look like?" Anais glowered.

"She's his grandmother," Chaz responded politely. "They make quite the pair. Normally we don't let them alone in the same room. Bad things happen."

"Bad things?"

"Things like that scenic hostel being reduced to ruin," he enlightened her.

"This is the supposed assassin?"

"Retired assassin," Chaz corrected her. "So far she's only, what is the term you two use?" he looked at me.

"Sending a Get-Well card to their next of kin? Pumping up the volume? Making a critical attitude adjustment? Retroactively revoking their lease on life? We have a few."

"Yes, those. Pamela has assured the team director that she no longer accepts assignments of a murderous nature. These days she only practices her skills on those we determine are a threat to the greater endeavor," he explained.

"She murders people? You all murder people?" Anais furrowed her brow. "Cáel, do you engage in these activities?"

"What? Who? Me? No!" I waved off any conspiratorial associations. "The vast majority of people I've killed was totally by accident."

"How do you accidently kill people?" she pierced my soul with her voice.

"Okay, I let them kill themselves because warning them would have resulted in me and some friends meeting very immediate violent ends," I pleaded.

"Miss Saint-Amour, I've talked to trustworthy people who were on the scene when this happened. It was a paramilitary action with the lives of children on the line. Cáel acted to save the lives of innocents," Chaz defended me. That is what Anais wanted to believe; that I was basically a decent human being. I was a pig, but a courageous one. I had confronted her after my infidelity, on the other side of the US/Canadian border where her jurisdiction didn't apply.

I knew my revelations were hideously hard to believe. In my favor, I had been in dangerous places doing dangerous things. The Metro firefight had been captured on the place's security system (which had been leaked to the public thus leading to some delusional admirers into thinking I would make a great new King of Hungary even though they hadn't had a monarch since 1918 nor was I from the right (Hapsburg) family. In case this whole Havenstone thing came crashing down in flames, I needed to keep my options open).

There had been a bomb threat at Mindszent which I had reputable sources call in (and where I had admittedly hung out with a few of the women who saved me from an earlier disaster) and Miercurea Ciuc had made the international news. Well over 100 people had died and some of the terrorists were still at large. The Romanian government declared I had been 'instrumental' in the confrontation without saying what 'instrumental' meant.

I was heroically vague, more mature than where we left off and clearly incited pussy-twitching memories. We'd once fucked so continuously hard and long one weekend that neither one of us could stand until an hour after we stopped. Anais was well worth the pain I was contemplating. Sex with her wasn't the pain I was worried about. It was dodging all her calls afterwards. Once again reference her being a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.

Oh, how did I know she was reveling in our past coital moments? She hadn't walked out on me yet. She hadn't walked out when she found Odette in my domicile, when she met Juanita, or when she found out that I worked with highly experienced killers as part of my new daily routine.

Normally Anais was smarter than this and had a career in law enforcement to contemplate. Lastly, she hadn't asked to be armed, despite getting permission from the NYPD. Had she decided to get a gun, Anais was sure in her hormonally-cascading mindset she would have shot me by now. I incite all kinds of passion in women. It is a curse.

The rest of dinner was unremarkable. Anais continued to interrogate Chaz who proved that he was both skilled in counter-interrogation techniques and not willing to spill anymore secrets about what anyone at JIKIT did. However he had provided her with every logical reason to beat feet back across the Canadian border and she hadn't taken the hints about what a disaster sleeping with me could be.

We drove Anais back to her motel, then Chaz and I headed home in silence. Despite his earlier declarations, he knew how to drive the 'right' way all along. As he was letting me out in front of my building, he gave me this pleasant warning.

"I'm not going to lecture you about not going back there, or avoiding the crazy ones. You already know better and are going back by her place anyway. I do advise that whatever you do, don't let her restrict your movements in any way. She's likely to make you pay double for your past indiscretions and take payment out on your cock. Good luck, Mate."

"Wait," I stopped him. "Can you help me hotwire her bike? I can use that as an excuse to darken her doorway."

"Dolt," he muttered. He helped me anyway because that's what really good friends do ~ assisting you in your self-destruction so we could joke about it later. At least that was what I hoped was going on. Chaz being a closet sadist was an unsettling idea. I didn't get to immediately pursue my plan because,

(We work for you, don't we?)

At 9 am, the President of the United States of America, after a late night briefing and a good night's sleep, decided that for the sake of world peace he had to intervene in Southeast Asia ~ Thailand to be specific, though he had some vague notion that a summit of regional leaders was in the offing and the US needed to establish some sort of game plan instead of looking impotent and disinterested.

Based on carefully selected bits of information supplied to him by us (JIKIT), he ordered two carrier taskforces to move to the Gulf of Thailand to enforce an anticipated UN arms embargo and 'No-Fly Zone'. It would take four days (September 3rd) for Carrier Strike Group Nine (built around the USS Ronald Reagan) and the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit (2,200 souls) to take up a position in the South China Sea close to the Gulf of Thailand. By fortuitous circumstance, 500 Marines and sailors were already deployed to Malaysia on a joint training mission with the Malaysian Marines.

The second one, the USS Carl Vinson's Carrier Strike Group One wouldn't arrive until the 9th, six days later. What the US government wanted to know was what the Khanate and Vietnam would do in those long, lonely six days. The Khanate had as many modern, up-to-date combat aircraft on Woody Island as the Reagan could send up. The Vietnamese could add another 48 planes worth worrying about.

There was the added complication that Thailand hadn't asked for help yet. His experts (us again) were suggesting that he was about to wake up one morning and find Khanate tanks rolling down the streets of Bangkok, which would leave little time for anything but a quick exit to the closest airport and flight from the country for our people there. Then, God-forbid, democracy would break out, regime change would be enacted and the Khanate would rack up another regional ally.

Apparently someone along the line had edited that part of the info feed where the Khanate actually liked the US and would have gladly worked with them/us to bring this about. By the Great Khan's thinking, the more power you brought to the initial strike, the fewer people would actually die. Closer to the issue was that the Khanate had no reason to expect the US to intervene. Not only did it run contrary to the Administration's willingness to do nothing, they had no forces in place to influence the Khanate's capability to intervene.

The answer to this conundrum was simple to me/Alal. The US had three regional allies: the Philippines, the Republic of China and to a lesser degree, Malaysia. The Philippines was sitting there, ready and willing to contribute all of her airfields for the use of the US Army and Air Force. North of them was the Republic of China, another long-time ally. Malaysia didn't have a long history of being pro-US, but they were major opponents of the Khanate's rise to prominence in Southeast Asian affairs.

Our President's problem was that allies take convincing and kinda/sorta expect something in return for being your buddies, and it just so happened all three had pressing issues the US could help with. That would be the Spratly and Parcel Island, in case someone hadn't been paying attention to the Khanate's diplomatic wrangling post-ceasefire. The Khanate, India, Vietnam and the ROC had divided up the Parcels in a treaty that no one else was planning to accept (though only the PRC was getting shafted).

Taiwanese President Ma Ying-jeou was going to provide his air force, navy and air bases and all Obama had to do was give a nod to a key factor in future Taiwanese economic prosperity which would involve the US President helping out in the ass-raping of China, but really 'just a little bit'. Taiwan was ready to do all the heavy lifting (aka, kicking the Asian Colossus when it was down.) Once this Thailand debacle was over, they'd cuddle back up with the Khanate because that would really help their territorial ambitions.

President Benigno Aquino the 3^rd, of the Philippines had his own niggling problem, called the Spratly Islands and the treaty the Khanate was trying to bring about there. And the Khanate (Amazons actually) had captured all the PRC bases and outposts in that island group. And it would really be nice if the US would step up and back the healthy claims his proud, but impoverished homeland was trying to enforce. They had a chance to exploit the vast wealth in and under the South China Sea and they were more than willing to let the US use all their bases as they brought about a renewed peace in the Southeast Asian theater.

Peace in the South China Sea? Without consulting China? You know, getting involved. Yeah, that meant ships in 'harm's way', 'boots on the ground' and arming all those expensive fighters with air-to-air missiles because they might really need them. No, the revolution going on in Thailand wasn't going to be solved with another series of drone strikes, Tomahawks and air sorties from 5000 meters up.

Some talking heads in the Pentagon thought that the 42 F A 18 fighters on the Reagan would be able to handle themselves because the Khanate had never had to play in the Big League. The majority of analysts had a slightly grimmer picture of things. The Khanate had 42 fighters just as good as the F A 18 in the Woody Islands plus 16 advanced, supersonic bombers equipped with anti-ship missiles, just ask the survivors of the PLAN carrier Liaoning.

The Khanate also had 120 combat aircraft in southern China that could be prepared for operations in the Thailand within 24 hours. Satellite reconnaissance had revealed the Khanate's formidable aerial logistics were up and running around the clock, moving stores to the Laotian/Thai border. There were another 860 fighters and combat drones in theater that could be brought to bear given a week or two. That was firepower two carriers couldn't hope to match.

Then there was the fact that US and NATO combat troops were still in the process of evacuating from Afghanistan. Could they defeat the chaotic and disorganized Afghan Army? Yes, but then what? The Khanate had already moved two Tumens into the country and those would be much harder nuts to crack, plus the Khanate was operating within 1000 km of their logistical base. The Coalition would have to fly in supplies from Pakistan, if the Pakistanis felt like upsetting the Khanate, which was another great unknown.

What this meant was President Obama was getting conflicting advice. The Secretary of State felt the US had to do something and, after reading an abridged version of our report (groan) and consulting with the UK, decided that harsh language would have null effect on Khanate aggression. In the very short term, getting the UN to do anything was complicated by the majority of nations not acknowledging the Khanate's existence.

An even greater disaster came from the Right Honorable Phillip Hammond, UK's Secretary of State, who suggested that it was not in his nation's interests to publically oppose the Khanate considering his nation's public's displeasure with a dictator gunning down unarmed protestors in the street. Human Rights groups in the UK were already confronting the horror of praising a military solution to the Thai's civil rights woes. It was echoes of Tibet all over again.

In addition to that, in response to feelers made by his (deep breath) Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs (my old buddy D.R. Russel) and Assistant Secretary for South and Central Asian (another one of my fans at State, R.O. Blake) (exhale) to the Khanate's allies (India and Vietnam), had them accusing the US of retreating to the Cold War policy of supporting repressive regimes. The evaporation of overseas political clout had Secretary Kerry feeling it was time for the United States to wield the 'Big Stick', a show of force without a commitment to really do anything.

The holder of the 'Big Stick', Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel, was hedging his bets. His subordinates were optimistic they could do something while wanting to know precisely what it was they were expected to do. It wasn't like there was a coherent Southeast Asian policy that actually factored in the titanic shifts in power (aka the Indian/Khanate/Vietnamese Alliance) over the past two months to examine.

The US Navy? Hadn't Hagel once suggested that the US Navy be reduced to only eight carrier groups? His Admirals were saying 'yes, we can' and 'but if we do, we won't be able to meet other security obligations'. Basically a 'we told you so'. The Khanate might not be a naval power, but they could project military influence into the Mediterranean, the Middle East and the South China Sea, all at the same time.

They also wanted to know why they couldn't use the 7th Fleet, the one in Japan, who also had Carrier Strike Group Five built around the George Washington, and could be there in only four days. What about the George H. W. Bush's Carrier Strike Group Two in the Persian Gulf? They could be there off the western coast of Thailand in four days as well.

What the admirals were stressing was that the Khanate didn't know this was empty posturing. It was their branch of service that was on the line if the Khanate decided they didn't like being threatened and this whole debacle ended up a warzone. Supercarriers carried 3,700 human beings, cost over $10 billion each and took seven years to complete. They had precisely one in the works, and it wasn't due to be commissioned until 2016.

Hagel shook his head. He couldn't leave Wacky Cousin Kim (Kim Ju-un of North Korea) alone with poor, little South Korea, not with him having half of his army mobilized. Japan was already going to have kittens over the carriers not coming their way. Didn't they know that there was going to be war in the Yellow Sea in only six months, and the Yellow Sea was a major trade conduit to that island nation?

CTG Five was busy fulfilling President Obama's pledge to do something about ISIS's campaign against the Kurds and Yazidi. He didn't want to have the world believe the US Navy could only handle one task at a time. Finally, the admirals suggested that knowing precisely what the ROC's navy was going to be doing was necessary. Also of some pressing need was understanding just what (and when) the Air Force would be bringing into this potentially catastrophic operation.

The US Air Force was more positive about their role in things. After all, the Khanate couldn't 'sink' the Philippines and the ROC had over 200 advanced fighter of their own to protect their air bases. In three days they could have two squadrons (roughly 40 aircraft), the 19th and 199th Squadrons, ready to go.

If they couldn't access Philippine, or Taiwanese bases? Their fighters couldn't fly all the way from Guam unassisted, but if the Navy promised to protect their bombers and air refuelers, they could be used from the comfort of Californian airfields. Would they have to fly airlift capabilities for the Army and Marine Corps? No problem as long as the Navy did their jobs. Lastly, the F-22 Raptor had never been in combat before and the Air Force generals were curious about just how good it was. There was one, tiny, problem.

One side of the Air Force conversation

By the way Sir, the F-22 has a combat radius of 760 kilometers, so they actually couldn't do anything to anyone unless they were in some place closer, like Sultan Ismail Petra Airport.

That is in Malaysia, Sir.

Yes Sir, we are aware we don't have a status of forces agreement with the Malaysians. Isn't that the State Department's job?

What about the Woody Islands? We don't own the Woody Island.

Oh, you mean 'can we escort a strike against it'. No Sir. That is 1250 km away from Taiwan. Besides, Sir, the F-22 is not a strike fighter.

From the Philippines? That would be over a 1000 km. Still too far away.

Yes, of course we have other fighters. The F-15E is an excellent aircraft!

Well, we aren't using it because it is not configured as an air-superiority fighter. For that we need the F-15C/D. Since we can't use any of the ones in Japan, we can either fly them in from England, yes Sir, Europe's England, or we can activate the 194th Fighter Squadron of the California Air National Guard.

You don't want to use the Air National Guard? Ah, Sir, then we have a problem. The 199th Squadron is part of the Hawaiian Air National Guard.

Sir, in our considered opinion, the 19th Squadron might not be up to the task all by themselves. Are you sure we can't use some planes from Japan?

No Sir. We need the Hawaiian's, because they have the F-22, the planes we designed for air superiority missions.

Well Sir, we could use the F-15E's in that role, but we are worried they might not be better than projected opposition fighters.

Yes Sir, that means we could expect some of them to be shot down.

Yes Sir. That could get quite expensive.

We could launch a preemptive strike.

Yes Sir, we are pretty sure that would be construed as an Act of War as well. We don't have to go after all three of them. Perhaps if we didn't go after the Indians they would take the hint and leave.

It would make us look bad? Sir, I am more worried about how bad dead US servicemen and women look. Don't you think,

Yes Sir, we know we implement policy, not create it.

Okay Sir. After all, the Khanate might not know about the F-22's range issues. Maybe they don't have an effective intelligence network or (mutters) access to Wikipedia.

The Marine Corps?

'500 Marines on site and 1700 Marines on the way; fit, rested and ready, Sir'. Where do you want us to go?'

'Do we have any idea about the level of opposition, the amount of time this mission will take and what precisely we are going to be required to do?' '

What else could the Commandant say? The other six M E U were too far away to affect the nine-day timetable. The Marine Air components would do their job, even if clearly outnumbered. His one voiced concern was for the possible reception his Marines would receive from the Thai people. Apparently the current dictator wasn't terribly popular, and was gunning down his own people in the streets. Things like that were hard on his men's morale.

The Army?

What exactly do you want us do again?

Go into a potential 'hot' warzone where the safety of deployment as well resupply were clearly debatable?

That's why God made Rangers. The Airborne would arrive once all the real fighting was accomplished anyway and, now that they were getting out of Afghanistan, they had someplace new to send their overworked reservists. They could deploy the 1st Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne to the Philippines, provided they were welcome.

Unlike the US Navy, who expected their ships to sail around ready for a fight, the US Army would need to access extra funding for this deployment. They also wanted the President's written authorization to fly 'their' (actually the Air Force's) MC-130's into forward bases that existed within a 10 minute fly time of potentially hostile borders.

With no clear operational objectives, limited intelligence on enemy forces and absent an exit strategy, the Joint Chiefs weren't fans of intervention. Yes, they did know this was a bluff. But they were paid to plan for the contingency that this bluff was called and they were expected to take this showdown to the level of a true confrontation if that occurred. Lives were at stake.

With that kind of advice, Hagel deferred his support for this endeavor by laying it all on Secretary Kerry's lap. His troopers would go in, if they had the proper regional support. Kerry told the President that he could get that support if he made some backroom deals with the Malaysia, the ROC and the Philippines, most likely to screw over China in some manner. The Administration could renege later, sighting a mutable geopolitical landscape.

At that point the National Security Advisor, Susan Rice, rallied to POTUS's side and put forth into his mind the gem of an idea that if the US acted decisively, there would be no need for fighting. After all, she had this 'hand-picked' team of intelligence experts who had an in depth knowledge of the Khanate's leadership. The Khanate wasn't a terrorist organization and could be dealt with rationally ~ she'd read our reports! Sadly she had decided to cherry-pick what she wanted to pass on.

We in JIKIT were wondering why she had decided to not recall what else we had warned her about ~ you know: the Khanate not respecting the current administration and doubting its resolve. JIKIT had told her to use overwhelming force. Feeding them one aircraft carrier at a time was the opposite of that.

The Khanate wasn't likely to attack one carrier. A) they doubted the US Navy was feeling particularly suicidal, B) they already believed that if the US hit first, they certainly could flatten that carrier and its supporting ships, and C) if the US appeared to be becoming problematic, the Khanate would strike first and hard.

Did the Khanate believe their planes and missiles were so good that they could penetrate the impenetrable barrier that surrounded a US taskforce?

Perhaps. They had fucked the PLAN pretty hard, striking at a greater distance with less preparation. Why didn't our political bosses see that?

Fathom told me it was information overload. We were providing so much data that the people on top couldn't possibly know everything.

Someone in Washington forgot to put that into the National Security briefing that the National Security Advisor gave the President that the Khanate had captured a series of Chinese missiles in Western China, and not just the nuclear ones. Some of those captured missiles were an advanced Chinese design with a suspected range of 3500 km. It was a freaking intermediate-range ballistic missile! That bitch could hit Mach 10, and it could be steered, and it was radar seeking.

Why had IRBM anti-ship missiles been in Western (as opposed to being on the coast in Eastern China)? To hit targets in the Arabian Sea and the Persian Gulf, Duh! That was the kind of range we were talking about. JIKIT teams had aided in the capture of those weapons and the Khanate had confirmed it. We were their friends and that's how they treated their friends, with honesty. Like a good little minion, Addison had passed that knowledge on.

At the same time, the 16 Tu-160M supersonic bombers presently sitting on the tarmac on Woody Island could scramble and then launch 12 advanced anti-ship missiles, each. I was sure that the navy's Aegis-cruisers were the best money could buy. Expecting them to handled 192 incoming 'vampires' (military jargon for the 'shit trying to kill us') sea-skimming their way at Mach 5 was probably asking too much.

I couldn't claim to divine the inner workings of the President of the United State's mind, but personally I believed he said 'what the fuck. I can always call them back later', forgetting the Khanate's willingness to launch a preemptive strike when it suited their purpose.

Or, the far more likely outcome that we (the US) would be utterly ignored in front of the world-wide media because the Khanate was ruled by military men who took into account what their troops could and couldn't do before making politically-based military decisions.

Could their actions lead to war? Perhaps. When you picked up the sword, expect violence. Could the US beat the Khanate? Perhaps, if the US people had the will to continue fighting long enough. The will of a people to persevere was a great unknown. The US had been underestimated before.

What was known was the US was running a $400 Billion Budget Deficit, carrying over $18 trillion in debt and we were a consumer-driven, service economy utterly dependent on foreign trade. The US did have the world's best military, but they weren't designed to be an army of conquest. They'd been stretched thin occupying Iraq and Afghanistan. The ability of our military to replace both people and equipment was limited by high production costs, a long season of peace and a casualty-averse populace.

The Khanate was a resource-driven economy which meant other countries needed the raw materials they were selling. They were hardly an internally independent entity and they appreciated their own trade vulnerability. A big difference was they were ruled by a leadership that fully expected to spend a generation in bloodletting to reconstitute their vanished empire. Their infant nation was already in a war economy. Their people were awake to the cost to citizenry in their state and aware there would be a physical cost for achieving security for those who would follow.

In the end, I believed the US President was aware of both of the above series of facts, but decided his 'there is nothing I can do' policy was way down in the public opinion polls, domestic prices were roller-coasting and there was a mid-term Congressional election right around the corner.

Peace had not broken out across the globe as he had hoped, Islamophobia was a dirty little secret walking the back halls of the temples of power and Osama Bin Laden had only been replaced by a far more insidious foe of the New World Order. The raging currents of the present reality were about to reduce him to a footnote in history and in the land where legacy mattered, that was something too horrible to contemplate.

Then he caged his decisive 'Do it!' with a suggestion that Susan make sure her experts thought this was a viable idea. Talk about passing the buck. The buck landed in Tony Blinken's (Deputy National Security Advisor (DNSA)) lap and he called us, Addison really, but she had all of us in pretty quick. I didn't have to delve into the deep, mystic thoughts of Temujin to know how to answer that question: 'Don't do it!'

'What is in it for them?'

Tony: 'Nothing, of course. We are the United-Fucking States! Oh, and the Great Khan is a bad guy. Worse, he's unpalatable to anyone who considers Human Rights to be a priority.'

'That's not going to fly. They've got the chance to secure their flanks and get good PR in the process.'

Tony: 'Fine. Can you find a way to hold them off for four days? That's all we need.'

'Four days? What happens in four days?'

Tony: 'You don't need to know that. Get it done.'

'That's not how it works. They aren't relying on us to be their intelligence resource. You are.'

Tony: 'Fine. Tell them we are moving forward with an effort in the UN to bring about a peaceful democratic regime change.'

'Do you really expect them to care? Wait, you do realize they have satellite reconnaissance, don't you?'

At that point in our encrypted conversation with Addison, she began doing some intelligence research of her own. The US had only two tools in their immediate toolbox: missile/drone strikes and carrier deployments. Wrangling UN sanctions and the War Powers Act would take time and we'd see it coming.

Drone/missile strikes weren't ruled out, but the Khanate didn't play the 'only tit-for-tat' game. You attack them, or their logistics, and they took that as an act of war and behaved accordingly. There were plenty of US military bases they could strike. Plus the US needed the free flow of commerce through the South China Sea, not the Khanate.

The Mongol-Turkish regime could turn that body of water into an 'Exclusion Zone'. That was the term for a blockade which, in turn was a euphemism for the Khanate giving fair warning to all merchant ships they could be fired upon at a moment's notice. Ships flying the Indian, Japanese, ROC, South Korean or Vietnamese ensign would be okay. They were either allies, or potential allies.

Panama? Liberia? The Marshal Islands? The Khanate had more pressing things to do than worry about what those little nations (and their combined 40% of the world's merchant ships) cared about them. Next question: how much was that baby insured for? I was sure the guys and gals at Lloyd's of London would be buying Pepto in bulk if this came down to seeing who was the biggest bully on the block.

Sure this was in the short term very bad for the Khanate ~ getting in a shooting war with the US. It was ugly in the mid-term as well ~ the US was the world's leading economic power. In the long term, which was how the Great Khan thought, it was the only thing he could do. He could not let the US think they could dictate Khanate international relations without serious consequences. It wasn't how the Khanate operated. We all hoped the people around the President understood that.

'You are not going to launch drone strikes, are you? They would see that as an act of war and behave accordingly.'

Tony: 'We are keeping our options open.' A 'no comment' would have meant 'yes'.

Addison mouthed to me 'Thank God'.

That left the carrier fleet deployment option. We guessed, incorrectly, that the US was going to place four carrier groups on the Khanate's back door. That would be drawing a line in the sand. None of us believed the US government would ever be foolish enough to come in with only one carrier, that they would leave the one in Japan and the Arabian Sea just sitting there. The US Navy posted on its web page the general position and activity of her various fleet elements. It was general knowledge.

'You can't possibly move in enough forces in place to deter them, Sir.'

Tony: 'You need to find us a way to delay the Khanate by two weeks. You are the experts, do it!'

'Two weeks, what happened to the four days?'

Tony: 'You work for me.'

'Very well, Sir. We suspect the Khanate will intervene in Thailand somewhere between five and seven days. Waiting two weeks is unrealistic.'

'If the US and UN declare Thailand a 'No-Fly Zone', what is the likelihood they will respect it?'

'Zero, zip, none. How could you possibly enforce that? You can't and they know it.'

Tony: 'Yes we can. Would they challenge it?'

'Well, if you bring the 'George H. W. Bush' into the Andaman Sea, won't that piss of the Indians, and leave the Persian Gulf unguarded and ISIS unmolested?'

The 'George H. W. Bush' was in the Persian Gulf and would have to sail around India (passed Indian's submarine fleet) to get into a position to intervene from a body of water the Indian's considered theirs and theirs alone. We all knew President Obama had made a policy decision in the first part of August to punish ISIS and save the Kurds and Yazidis. Would he go back on that pledge?

Tony: 'You don't need to know that.'

'If we don't know the level of the threat, we can't tell you what the most likely response will be.'

Tony: 'What would they do if we placed one carrier in the Gulf of Thailand? Two, three, four, or five?'

'One, two, they do nothing. You would need to form an alliance with at least one other regional player, that isn't the Philippines.'

Tony: 'What is wrong with the Philippines?'

'They have hardly any air force and blue-water navy to speak of.'

Tony: 'What about the Republic of China?'

'They are a totally different matter, but what are you giving the Taiwanese to betray the Khanate? The Khanate has recognized the independence of the ROC while we haven't. They've fought China while you haven't. It had better be something good.'

Tony: 'What about Malaysia?'

'The Khanate and Malaysia aren't getting along right now. They complicate their pugnacious attitude by being somewhat weak in the matter of offensive forces they can bring to bear. Their military is good, and small. What would you want them to do?'

Tony: 'That is not your concern.'

'Sir, if you begin opening negotiations with Taiwan, or Malaysia, the Khanate is going to find out. (Probably from us.) That's a fact.'

Tony: 'This is not your concern. Our East Asian experts know what's going on.'

'What about the Taiwan Relations Act Affirmation and Naval Vessel Transfer Act of 2014 with the Collins Amendment?'

Tony: 'What about it?'

'If the administration would express support for it, it would go a long way to solving all your problems. Let the Taiwanese and Turkey buy those frigates and make it contingent on their goodwill.'

Tony: 'What does this have to do with the Khanate?' Groan.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

12935 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 8

Hell Rains Down.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

 Would you choose ephemeral beauty, or rugged determination?

 Brief Segway :

Senator Susan Collins of Maine, JIKIT's Congressional mentor, at our urging had proposed an amendment to the Taiwan Relations Act Affirmation and Naval Vessel Transfer Act of 2014 which would allow 'Turkey' to purchase six 'Oliver Perry class frigates for $10 million each. The same act already proposed four such vessels to be sold to Taiwan for the same amount as well as giving two to Thailand (and two to Mexico) free of charge.

Things had immediately bogged down in the 113th US Congress. It was too easy for Democrats in both Houses to take the President's position that any additional weapons into the South China Sea area would further destabilize the region. The pro-PRC lobby was equally opposed to the bill. Under normal conditions, that would have been good enough to send the measure off to the procedural graveyard.

Except in the current contrary nature of the US's chief legislative body, this meant Republicans found themselves drawn to the anything the White House opposed. They could claim they found the anti-Communist, anti-Islamic Extremists stance of the Khanate to be attractive to them though none of them felt the need to actually talk to anyone in the Khanate to find out what they were really all about.

We were happy with that policy because true congressional oversight was the last thing we needed. They might start asking uncomfortable questions like...

'Who gave you the authority to do any of the crap you pulled?'

(No one. We lied like big dogs, purloined resources and cloaked ourselves in 'National Security'. Plus we let our elite personnel have a crack at doing what they had so dedicatedly trained to do, wreck things.)

'Wasn't that, that, and that an act of war against the People's Republic of China?'

('No comment'. If that didn't work, we would try 'they will never find out'.)

'Why are 90% of all the names on these documents redacted? We are the freaking Congress! You work for us.'

(Work for them? Not to our way of thinking. We earned our paychecks without any slavish devotion to corporate campaign contributions. We were working so that the lives of Americans and Brits abroad would be that much safer, the world more orderly and for the US and UK to have an ally they could really rely on. We couldn't tell them that. They'd throw us in jail. We'd redacted the records because the names were for people that did not officially exist, or existed in a capacity that didn't imply they were elite warriors, spies and assassins.)

Besides,

('Those are private citizens not in the employ of this group, or any other government agency we are aware of'.)

'We don't care if they are private citizens. We want to know.'

('You don't want to know' followed by some major gobbledygook with the term 'deniable assets' interspersed relatively often.)

'What do you mean ~ you don't want to know? We asked you a question.'

(We meant you people leak information like a sieve and the people we are protecting aren't going to be afraid of getting revealed. They are going to murder people to ensure they are not ~ basically you don't know what is going on and we don't want to tell you, for both our safety's sake.)

So,

('Trust us. There are factors we are taking into account that you are unaware of because you don't know what's going on'.)

'Of course we don't know what's going on. That's why we are asking you.'

('You really don't want to know.' We are your highly trained and underpaid experts on this, we aren't raging assholes and we are telling you that bad shit will happen if you force this, thus 'you really don't want to know'.)

'What do you mean ~ you really don't want to know?? Yes, we do. We are warning you,'

(Okay. Execute Plan B. 'Excuse us for a moment, {create a plausible lie.}'.)

{Pregnant pause,}

Congressman-type: 'It is rather odd that they all had to go into another room to take that phone call.'

{Minutes pass}

'Go see what is taking them so long.'

'What do you mean they are all gone? Find them!'

'What do you mean they seem have left the building? Find them!'

'Who do I call about this? The FBI, Homeland Security, or the CIA?

And finally,

'What do you mean they appear to have fled the country? Find them, damn it!'

(Hey, I worked with some real shady characters.)

Then would come the international manhunts, the flight to avoid prosecution and then resurrecting my life under a different ID in another country which hopefully had a dim view of handing me over to the FBI, or the Navy SEALs.

Now back to our regularly scheduled diversion :

'It has to do with giving something to the Khanate if you expect them to do anything for you.'

Tony: 'You can't appreciate how that is going to look. Besides, that is a political decision, way above your pay-grade.'

(Not a good time to remind him that he didn't pay me.)

'What precisely do you want us to do? Please be specific.'

Tony: 'How is the Khanate going to react to an intervention on the part of the United States?'

'They will ignore you.'

Tony: 'What if the President makes public statement.'

'What is he going to say?'

Tony: 'That the US is dedicated to a peaceful resolution of the unrest in Thailand.'

'They won't care. They truly believe that actions speak louder than words. If Thailand requested our intervention, or was a client state,'

Tony: 'A what?'

'Client state, a country beholding to the US, or UK for their external security.'

Tony: 'I know what client state is. That is 20th Century Imperialist thinking. No one does stuff like that anymore. Besides, the UN is responsible for the external security of its member states, which Thailand is.'

'The Khanate doesn't see it that way. We won't let them into the UN, so they see no reason to play by the UN's rules. The President can evoke the UN Charter all he wants. Unless he makes UN acceptance dependent on their cooperation, they will see no reason to cooperate.'

Tony: 'That's not going to happen.'

'What part of that won't happen?'

Tony: 'The President is not going on international television and endorsing the Khanate as a prospective UN member. What happens if we imply through back channels that the President will support such an action at a later date?'

'You want us to lie to them? Do you have any idea how badly that will compromise our working relationship with the Khanate?'

Tony: 'We will deal with that later. Would they accept such a bargain?'

'So you are going to lie to them, Mr. Blinken, they will never forgive this act of treachery.'

Tony: 'No, you are going to lie to them.'

Addison: 'I will resign. I suspect that the rest of the team will quit as well.'

Tony: 'What is wrong with your team, Ms. Stuart (Addison)? Can't anyone over there do their damn jobs?'

'We are doing our damn jobs, Mr. Blinken. We are telling you this is a diplomatically fatal move that will not only reduce this taskforce to uselessness, it will have long term consequences for all future Khanate-American relations.'

Tony: 'That is a ridiculous assessment.'

'That is our experienced assessment. They believe treachery is only forgiven by death. They do believe in loyalty and keeping one's word. In our country, perjury is an unfortunate side effect of the judicial progress. To the Great Khan, it is reason enough to cut your head off.'

Tony: 'Fine. I am ordering you to open back-channel talks with the Khanate concerning their admittance to the UN contingent on them taking a reasonable course of action.'

'Even if we were to do such a moronic thing, the Great Khan will ask Cáel directly to verify this. It is that important to him and his state.'

Tony: 'Okay.'

'Perhaps you could suggest to me what form of coercion I should employ to make Cáel to commit such a blasphemous act?'

Tony: 'Tell him to do it. That is what we pay him for.'

'Mr. Blinken, Mr. Nyilas is an unpaid consultant. At the job he is on sabbatical from, he makes more money than I do. He has an Irish diplomatic passport, been nominated to be the Prince of Albania, Georgia and Armenia, been proclaimed a warrior-prince of Transylvania and is a hero in both Hungary and Romania. He has no brothers, or sisters. His parents are both dead. His only surviving kin are people he is not particularly close to. Since economic and social blackmail are off the table, I am asking you if you are ordering me to use enhanced interrogation techniques to exacting his cooperation in this foolhardy endeavor.'

Tony: 'You mean torture him?'

'I would never go on the record using that word. I don't advise you to use it either.'

Tony: 'What kind of people are you?'

'The kind you engage to take on a mission of this delicate nature. You honestly don't want to know what we've done in the name of our constituent national bodies. You employ us so that you don't have to know. As you said, we 'get it done'. Until now, you have never asked us 'how' we got things done. You wanted the intelligence so we got it for you.'

Tony: 'No member of this administration ever asked you to violate US, or International Law.'

'Which is precisely why the government employs me, so that you can keep your hands clean while mine are steeped in blood. Nothing our team has done will ever blow back on you, so don't worry about that. Why don't we get back to our current dilemma?'

(I think until that moment Tony had convinced himself that Addison was another civil servant drone and people like her only existed in the 'black bag' fantasies of conspiracy theorists, hackneyed movie scripts and questionable 'true' spy novels. People like Addison and Lady Fathom weren't standard issue intelligence officers by any stretch of the imagination. They were almost unique in that they did what they did for the very beliefs they had sworn an oath to uphold, to serve their countries.

There were no personal vendettas going on. No slush funds were vanishing into Cayman Island accounts. Neither had a God Complex. There was no desire for personal power, career advancement, or fame. I was beginning to think that was why Temujin used them, and me, because we could be counted on to do the right thing when required and only when required. Addison and Fathom had damned themselves forever because someone had to pay the price and get the job done. I imagined they really felt blessed for the opportunity. I worked with maniacs.)

Tony: 'Thailand, yes. What if we put troops on the ground in Thailand?'

'How many?'

Tony hummed and hawed so we had to guess.

'A Marine Expeditionary Unit? If that is all, they better have an exit plan. Sir, if you want to impress the Khanate with the White House's resolve, you need to start landing troops from the Rapid Deployment Force starting tomorrow. Base aircraft out of Thai air bases. Threaten to ram any Indian Naval vessels that get in your way.'

Tony: 'Is that what it would take?'

('Yes. It would take the US to growing some balls, damn it!' was not the diplomatic reply though it desperately needed to be said. Hey, I could be a bit of a jingoist when I feel the lives of my loved ones are in danger.)

'That is our current assessment of the situation. The Khanate has no reason to take any American threat of force seriously. They won't see anything short of a full-court press as nothing more than posturing for the home audience and what allies we have left.'

Tony: 'What does that mean?'

'It means you are taking the cooperation of Taiwan and Philippines for granted. Our people tell us they see American influence in the region waning and we have been letting the Chinese push them around. Now the Khanate appears and knocks the Chinese back three decades on the World Stage. The Khanate is trying to create a ring of allies around the PRC and a few of them are curious why the US is dragging its heel about such a critical regional issue.'

Tony: 'You don't dictate US foreign policy.'

(No, we simply enacted foreign policy without your knowledge.)

There were probably a large number of Special Forces operators who would be shaking their heads in bewilderment when they found out the US was trying to face down the Khanate over, of all places, Thailand. Hadn't they just busted their humps trying to make the Great Khan see their nations (the US and UK) as potential worthy allies?

Working with the Khanate had been 'interesting'. If you asked them for anything, they got it for you, danger and consequences be damned. They'd try anything for the men they considered 'brothers in the struggle'. If you were pinned down by fire from a hillside and asked for fire support, they would napalm the whole damn mountain if that was what it took. The man/woman on the other end of that radio cared for your life, not the human rights of the scumbag shooting at you, or any of the people they might be hiding behind.

You also know if they couldn't get it done, it was only because the resources didn't exist. The Khanate Special Forces hadn't acted like co-belligerents, or allies. They treated you like their own kin. They would and had died to make sure some of them got home to their families. If ordered to, they would definitely take the fight to the Khanate. I believed many of them would be asking what had it all been for.

'We wouldn't dream of it,' Addison lied.

'Good. You have your marching orders. Now get to it,' and Tony hung up on us. Everyone in the room was looking around. What exactly were our marching orders? Had I'd missed that part of our conversation?

"Well," Fathom sighed, "there is only one thing we can do." I seriously prayed she would ask me to lie to Temujin.

"Understood," Mehmet nodded. "Somehow we get the Khanate to launch their offensive into Thailand in three days."

"Can they do that?" I blurted out.

"They do it, or everyone in this room is in a shitload of trouble when they get around to it next week," Addison grinned. "The Khanate high command isn't going to back down just because we ask them to. I wouldn't if I were them."

"What happens if they can't make the three day window?" I asked.

"Then you call up your blood-brother and ask him to fuck over his nation to save us from lengthy prison sentences, or outright assassination," Fathom smirked.

"If he says 'no'," I looked into her eyes.

"That's the real tragedy in all this, he won't," she gave me a comforting look. "He isn't going to leave you hanging in the wind. He'll call off his attack dogs because he isn't the kind of man to fuck you over because it is politically expedient. I'm staking all our lives on that. I always have."

The Black Lotus? We'd explain to them the ugly reality that neither of us could afford to be painted into a corner over this Thailand issue. We were doing our best, but our political masters were dead set on making a colossal error and we had to follow through with those directives. The Khanate would do everything in their extensive power to support the Black Lotus and if they could invade in three days with some nebulous chance at success, they would go.

The Black Lotus, the entire 9 Clans knew JIKIT had no power except what we finagled from the US and the UK. We had borrowed their resources to accomplish what we'd done. The Black Lotus had profited from some of those operations and both the Khanate and JIKIT would owe them big, but we were good for it. That truism was why they worked with us.

My personal problem was that I knew the Great Khan would not forgive, or forget this interference by the US. It wasn't in his nature. Worse, the politicians and bureaucrats in Washington would see this as a victory and an expression that the US remained the globe's premier super power. Too few would remember the price of this sense of superiority would be born on the back of Thailand's masses. The revolution would fail after a short, brutal civil war. The tyrant would remain in power and the voice of the Thai people would be stilled.

The end result of that late night phone call? We weren't told.

What follows is pure conjecture on my part, fueled by intelligence information provided by other JIKIT resources and knowledge about how much the political landscape of Southeast Asia had been transformed by the PCR being driven back to their own coastline, leaving a power vacuum India, Vietnam and the Khanate were eager to fill.

The Republic of China/Taiwan --

'Aren't you the same people who said only a week ago that sending more weapons into the region would only escalate tensions? And now you want to use our airbases against our latest ally in the region? Do you understand how much internal political turmoil this will cause? Half of us are jumping for joy that someone big and fierce embraces our independence. The other half think it is time to retake China.

Yes, we mean the territory currently under the oppressive yoke of the People's Republic of China. Yes, the China the Khanate just kicked the crap out of. The nation that might not be able to protect say, Zhusanjiao. That would be the Pearl River Delta to you Westerners, that huge area on the mainland adjacent to Hong Kong. Hainan is looking pretty ripe for conquest as well. That would be that big island off the coast of, yes, we have indeed suspected you could read a map.

At the moment we are expecting the permission of the Khanate to use Woody Island as a forward staging area and logistic base to help us do just that. Take Hainan, yes, that large island currently, and temporarily, under the illegal occupation by those illegitimate bastards in Beijing.

What do you mean 'don't declare war on them'? We've been at war with the People's Republic since 1945. No, we are pretty sure we would recall signing a Peace Treaty with them. No, we can't 'get over it' either. Why are you even asking us that? Don't you know our history?

Anyway, if we help you, can we expect the same level of cooperation from you as we are getting from the Khanate? In case things go sour, Yes, a shooting war would qualify. See, your people at JIKIT have been helping the Khanate and us, your people, at JIKIT, we are pretty sure it is made up of Americans and British personnel. Why would we think that? Are you serious? Because that's what your governments told us, that's why. Besides, why are you asking us what your people have been doing? Don't they work for you?

Speaking of the US government helping us out, what progress is there on the Taiwan Relations Act Affirmation and Naval Vessel Transfer Act of 2014 ? We sure could use those vessels. While we are at it, how about sharing some of the technology used in the F-35. We'll build our own, or a model vaguely similar to it. We value your friendship and know you will help us out in a pinch.

Right?'

The Philippines --

'Sigh. If you really think this will help. By the way, aren't your fighters going to need some in-air refueling? What are you going to do if the Khanate engages them over Philippine airspace? What are you going to do if you get into a shooting war with the Khanate? Will you defend us from their ballistic missile threat? We have a long history as your allies, but the Khanate is totally ruthless, and they scare us. Can you hold our hand, say for the next twenty years?'

(The Philippines rolls out their Wish List)

Maybe you could give us some advanced fighters?

We are a poor country and can't afford to buy any before 2018.

We are not greedy, 72 F-16s will do and you are upgrading to the F-35 anyway so we know you have some lying around. Could you also help us with the maintenance cost? We are a poor country, but very large.

Some of your decommissioned naval vessels would go a long way in showing us some love. One of those Tarawa-class amphibious assault ships would be really nice and you've got the USS Peleliu decommissioned and about to be scrapped. We have hundreds of islands in our Republic so moving stuff around is pretty tough. Can you help us out?

If you could toss in the ship's complement of 20 AV-8B Harrier 2 and 12 V-22 Ospreys with a fifteen year maintenance package that would be even better!

We are a poor country. We could never afford to buy any of that stuff.

Maybe a frigate, or three? You have a dozen Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigates sitting around. We can finally retire some of our World War 2 relics and make one our new flagship.

We know you aren't going to give us one of those powerful nuclear submarines, but maybe you could secure a few loans so we could buy some of those nifty German-made, diesel-powered Type 214's. We hear they are pretty cool, very silent and practically a steal at $330 million per boat! We love you guys! And, we are poor.

Oh, and some helicopters!

We were going to refurbish some Vietnam-era Iroquois, but since your Marine Corp is retiring the far superior Bell AH-1 SuperCobra, can we have a dozen of those instead?

We were going to fix up some of our aging Sikorsky S-76s as air ambulances. Getting new ones would be far superior, don't you think?

You also have those cool Blackhawks. You have so many. Could you spare us, say twenty? You're the best!

And some guns. And artillery. And some APC's.

Did we mention we are a poor country going through an expensive force modernization program?

Got any amphibious vehicles lying around? We could use a few of more of those small unit riverine craft (SURC)'s we bought from you recently. They are excellent counter-insurgency tools. You want us doing well fighting the War on Terror, don't you?

Did we mention that we are a poor country? And we love you guys!

The Federation of Malaysia --

We like this idea. Give us say a week to ten days and we can jump right in.

You want to go in four days? With what precisely? Compared to the force projections you have been providing us, Who? JIKIT, of course. Who else would you send us to when we requested intelligence on Khanate activities from you? Did we believe them? Why wouldn't we? They are your people,

When do you think Thailand will let us intervene? We've asked the Prime Minister if he needs our assistance and he politely declined. Apparently he thinks he's got things well in hand. He does retain command of over 200,000 troops and the opposition is much smaller. I hope you have better luck than we did in convincing him he's in serious trouble.

Also, what do you plan to do about the Indian Navy's South China Sea taskforce? It is pretty big, not something we can tackle on our own.

Yes, we kind of need to know what you are doing before we decide what we are doing. You do realize that the Gulf of Thailand is currently under the complete domination of the Indian/Khanate/Vietnamese Axis, right?

48 combat aircraft? What gave you that idea? The Vietnamese have been refurbishing their Mig-21's like crazy, using Khanate stockpiles, plus there are nearly a 150 Su-22's. Sure, they are both older than manned flights to the Moon, but they can drop bombs, fire rockets and launch ground attack missiles with the best of them. They are still jet aircraft.

Worried? You are aware that those antiquated pieces of crap can bomb the northern part of my country, aren't you? So 'yes', we are worried about those 300 flying deathtraps being more than a 'manageable' nuisance.

What about our air force? I imagine it will be doing what we trained it to do, defend Federation air space because I doubt those relics will be coming at us unescorted. We can already tell you that the Mig-29's and Su-30's the Khanate and Vietnamese will be flying are excellent aircraft. We fly them too, just not as many.

Of course you can base your F-22's out of Sultan Ismail Petra Airport as long as you supply the logistical support. How many? A lot? Could you please be more specific? Two squadrons? My, that's going to get pretty dicey. I believe you when you say the F-22 is a highly advanced stealthy fighter. I also believe that they are a lot less stealthy when they are sitting on the ground re-arming and refueling.

Do we think they will really threaten us? They are threatening us, over our Spratly Island claims, are you sure you know what you are getting into? By the way, when this blows over, do you think you can pressure the Khanate into giving us their Spratly island airbase? It is rapidly approaching completion and is over 3000 meters long.

How did they do that? They are dredging the ocean floor, it is a man-made island. Didn't your government protest the environmental damage they were causing?

No, not the Khanate, the Chinese.

Yes, the Khanate currently controls it. They stole it from the PRC hours before the ceasefire. So, can we have it?

Yes, we know it belonged to the People's Republic, but it doesn't anymore. Besides, we both opposed it when the Chinese were dredging it up the island from the sea floor, so giving it to us isn't all that egregious, or unexpected, action. It would also go a long way in supporting our just and worthy claims to the Spratly Islands. We really don't want those greedy Chinese, yes, both the People's Republic and the 'Republic of', or, those incompetent Filipinos to steal them from us.

Both of us knocking the Vietnamese back on their heels will be going a long way to getting those Communist knuckle draggers to back off as well. Hey, if they do get antsy, can we also take the Vietnamese base in the Spratly's? It isn't as big as the one the Khanate stole, but it is finished, and closer to us. We are sure that if we help you out, you will do the right thing when the time comes. Right?

The President of the United States --

'They want what? Have they lost their fucking minds?

The Philippines is talking about a billion dollar aid package and guaranteed loans we doubt they can ever repay. We only want to use their air bases for a month, maybe two, not deflower their teenage daughters. It isn't as if we are really going to go to war with the Khanate over Thailand. Besides, the last time we 'got involved' like that, George Bush ran up a trillion dollar deficit, and his party was thrown out of office. Doesn't anyone care we are facing a difficult mid-term election in November?

So, the Taiwanese think this is the appropriate moment to invade mainland China? And they want our help? Do they know how expensive that can get? Do they understand how much that will unbalance the already shake state of Asian affairs? It is another land war in Asia for the love of God!'

And, the Malaysians are going to help us, but not actually help us and they want tens of billions square miles of ocean for the measly concessions they are making? What do they expect us to do with all the Filipinos, Chinese and Vietnamese who already live there?

What do you mean none of those islands are actually inhabited? They are just military bases, some of them nothing more than rusting iron hulks on submerged reefs? OH, God damn it! Why don't we take the God damn Spratly Islands for ourselves if they are that fucking important? We have a Marine Corp. Aren't they good at taking islands? I read about it somewhere.

No, I'm not changing the damn mission. I'm venting because the world seems to be inhabited with greedy assholes who can't appreciate peaceful discourse without trying to lift my wallet.

Okay, okay, I've got this. We are going to form a new international commission to resolve this Spratly Island's nightmare. Have the French chair it. They love that kind of stuff. Makes sure the Germans are on the commission too. They need to look less like money-grubbing douchebags after that fiasco over the Greek economic collapse. Then invite Russia, India and Pakistan. That will pretty much guarantee nothing gets accomplished.

That will allow us to keep our promises to those three leeches without having to deliver anything and, when it fails, it won't be seen as my fault. (Groan) What we really need is new videos of Khanate soldiers bayoneting babies, another ISIS atrocity, or more indisputable evidence the Russian Army's involvement in the Ukraine. The Great Khan really screwed us over Tibet (you know, by allowing them to become a free and democratic society), Putin is an evil cuck (who most likely laughs at me behind my back) and another round of Islamophobia-bashing to remind everyone how this is all Bush's fault.

No wonder George spent so much time at Crawford Ranch. Navigating international relations is totally thankless and no matter how rosy we paint the latest economic numbers, someone still finds a way to make me look bad. Oh well, if this blows up in my face, I only have two more years in this shooting gallery. Maybe then I might change my mind and decided I really was born in Kenya, or Indonesia. I really wish Hawaii was an independent country. I'd like to retire there if there weren't so many of those damn contentious Americans.

The US President wanted to run this operation on a shoestring, not engage in 'nation-building', much less backing an invasion of anybody. In fact, he was trying to stop an invasion.

The Philippines was a poor country. So what? It wasn't his fault. He had poor people in the US too and they cast votes.

Taiwan suddenly thought it could take on China? They were insane. Of course he would be ignoring a major stated political goal of the ROC for the past 65 years ~ reunification on their terms. Any high-level technological transfer wasn't going to happen because if the Republic ran off the reservation, the President would bloody well be sure no one could trace that decision back to anything he'd done.

At least Malaysia was on board, sorta/kinda. They wouldn't actually be able to help until day ten, or fourteen and, unlike the Republic of China, they had a small air force that might not be able to protect forwardly deployed troops. If he ended getting of those National Guard yahoos killed his party would be murdered in November.

For a split second, he wondered if he should attempt to make a personal call to the Great Khan, potentate to potentate, except he had this sinking feeling that a winning smile and a handshake would be worse than useless. The man would look him straight in his eyes and start making demands. He would demand action and when the Leader of the Free World prevaricated, he knew the Khanate would call his bluff.

And they would fight. The alternative was a grand spectacle of public humiliation and that he could not accept. The US military machine would fight and they would win. They would win because he needed them to win, fast and clean and home for Christmas. Maybe he would authorize the mobilization of those California airmen. Just in case.

In the end, Secretary Kerry gave POTUS what he asked for.

The Philippines would let them use their country's bases for logistics and strategic assets (aka bombers).

The ROC would extend their air umbrella out 200 km to the east, south and west, acting like a shield between the Khanate and US Pacific assets moving through the tight Formosan Straits.

Malaysia gave them an airbase from which they could strike into Thailand, or Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. The US Air Force would have the opportunity to be lethally effective.

Had they known the sum total of the US commitment, they would have been appalled. The Khanate did not fuck around.

One Carrier Strike Group,

Forty (maybe sixty) Air Force fighters,

Lumbering B-52's flying half way around the globe,

Hadn't they been watching the dogfights over China for the past month? Maybe they would like to dive down and examine the wreckage of the PLAN carrier Liaoning and see just how it met its grisly fate?

Apparently not.

(I live, love and have loved)

"What are you doing here?" she got the preliminary nonsense out of the way. With the way she was dressed, I was an expected visitor. She was expecting some make-up sex. I was thinking 'paying for my past mistakes' sex because I was already seeing way too many women who required me to do things outside the bedroom, non-sexual things. I had my dress jacket swung over my shoulder. It would only get in the way later.

"I brought you motorcycle over. You left it parked by my place," I kept any appearance of lust, or glee off my face.

"It is one o'clock in the morning," she glowered.

"I was called into work. I'm on call 24/7."

"Let me guess, you can't talk about it."

"You wouldn't believe me if I did, so suffice it to say I was doing things I didn't want to do instead of coming over here, waking you up from a sound sleep."

"I wasn't asleep. I was angry," I pointed out.

"I apologize. Maybe I should have waited until morning." She didn't think I should have waited as long as I had. Keeping her waiting until morning would have left her volcanic.

"I wasn't asleep."

"Your bike is in the parking lot across the street," I handed her the lot ticket.

"How did you find it?"

"There are only two places in my neighborhood that allows parking and the second one is poorly lit," I replied.

"And the attendant let you steal it?" she frowned.

"He knows me. I do a ton of business with him and it wasn't as if I was dressed like your average carjacker."

"How did you start it?"

"Chaz showed me how to spoof the lock. He's got this spiffy lock-pick set on him."

"That he carries with him for such contingencies?"

"Hey, he's the spycraft professional. I'm the amateur who tags along because karma is a bitch," I grinned.

"Did you ruin the ignition?"

"No. He's got this skeleton key thingy. I need to get me one of those," I added. See, I was drifting down the path to becoming a hardened criminal and she had to save me. Girls love saving bad boys from themselves. There is an entire literary genre devoted to the topic.

"Get in here," Anais barked. She emphasized that command by grabbing my tie and dragging me into her room. Now I could ogle her in her bra, panties and dress shirt left open. As I said moments ago, she was expecting me. Anais had thick, light-brown, just-past-the-shoulders hair with blonde highlights. Her dusky skin tone suggested some ancestral link to the South of France while her deep green eyes suggested Celtic ties.

She was definitely someone I would describe as possessing an hourglass figure. She worked out just enough to stay fit, practiced judo (in and outside of the bedroom) and ate right. Her ass was the correct mix of firm and fleshy, her breasts were pleasant without too much bounce and she sported broad, but short, nipples that liked to get bitten.

With her bare foot, she kicked the door shut, spun me around by my tie until I slammed, back first, into the wall in the short hallway that led to her bedroom.

"I repeat, what are you doing here?"

"I never actually apologized for how things ended up," I sodomized the truth. "Anais, I am truly sorry for how badly I fucked up our affair. I acted without a thought for the possible consequences, or thinking about how betrayed you would feel. Can you accept my apology?"

"You came here to have sex," she declared. She stepped up tightly against my body, her eyes boring into mine. I had around six inches on her so she had to tilt up her chin to do so.

"That too," I shrugged.

"I ought to throw you out the window," she growled. We were on the seventh floor. The window didn't open and the safety glass looked alright.

"I'll go then," I nodded. Now to make her beg for/demand sex.

"You are not going anywhere," she snarled. Then she kissed me, a tongue-grapple ensued and she finished things by biting my lower lip so much I tasted blood afterwards. I dropped my jacket. I was about to need both my hands.

"I think us having sex would be a mistake," I pushed her buttons. I wasn't some wimp acquiescing to her demands. I was a free-willed being; a strong man who needed to be wrestled down and forced to perform.

She pulled me down into a second kiss. This was an 'I will leave you incapable of thinking about anything but me' kiss. Yes, I had names for kisses too. They were similar to naming the ingredients of a choice meal. I propelled her back until we slammed into the opposite wall. Anais was a tough chick and a bit of banging around was par for the course.

I cupped each ass cheek and pulled her up. She responded by wrapping her legs around my hips. We were still kissing. Anais slipped her hands along my sides before linking them up at the small of my back. She pulled me hard against her while she ground her crotch against mine.

"Clothes," she rumbled from deep within. As in 'why was I still dressed?'

"Been a while," I taunted her. Since she was glommed on to me, I used my freed up hands to rip off my tie.

"Yes. I bet it hasn't 'been a while' for you," she sizzled.

"Long as in 5:30 this morning," I teased back. At this point in the foreplay that revelation was akin to throwing gasoline on a fire. I was being an unrepentant dog and she was taking me to confessional, between her thighs.

"Bastard," she condemned me as well as the entire male side of the species.

"It doesn't mean I haven't missed you, this, us," I riposted. She retaliated by turning her humping motion into to more of a grind. Bad kitty. Bad kitty wanted to be spanked. Woot!

"You are never going to change," she dug her fingernails into my flesh. I yanked my shirt off.

"If I hadn't changed, you wouldn't be here," I reminded her while nipping at her nose and lips.

"You are still an egocentric bastard," she growled.

"Hey, I always took care of your needs," I countered. I had. She knew I had and since she currently wanted me to take her to that higher erotic plane, she wasn't going to contest that fact. Instead, she began working her shirt off and in doing so, squishing her boobs against my chest.

Holding her tight, my left hand under her right buttock and my right hand on her mid-back, pressing her torso into mine. We dance through two slow circles before crashing, side by side, on the bed. Anais rolled us over so that she was on top. I didn't let her get in a totally dominant pose, oh no. I had a kitty to take care off. I grabbed her firm ass and propelled her up until I was face first with her gusset.

I might not remember to check my bank balance, or the atomic number of Technetium (I once had a girlfriend who would rate my performance on the periodic table in the midst of our fucking, I never made it higher than Copernicium before she passed out), but I can recall the precise taste, texture and topography of every cunt I've had face to face contact with. I knew right where to tongue-fuck Anais to twist her up inside.

Control-orgasm, control-orgasm, Anais was pig-headed and wanted to keep dictating our reunion. She also wanted to return to the level of sexual bliss we had shared so often before. Her compromise was to hump my face; really grind it in. Black silk underwear is an excellent medium for transferring force and wetness between partners.

She rubbed her love-nub against my upper lip/teeth while I did tongue-ups into her cunt. She was wetter than Bangladesh in the rainy season. That was an indicator of some serious masturbatory sessions stopping just short of orgasm before I arrived. I had some aching sensations to play with and I wasn't cruel. I maneuvered a hand between her thighs, underneath the band of her underwear and exposed her vaginal opening to my fingers and tongue while keeping that silky feel for her clitoris.

"Rurr," she began growling from the depths of her diaphragm. That was how she always was, thundering like a female grizzly bear in heat. It was an expression with deep subharmonic components that caused the heart to flutter and her flesh to shimmer with the vibrations mixed with her bodily sweat.

"Come on, Baby," I urged her on.

That pissed her off. She was trying to hold off her orgasm for a few more seconds. My 'baby' crack shifted her resolve into anger allowing her climax to overwhelm her.

"Rah," she howled. It didn't sound like a female coming to fruition. It was more akin to the sound European soccer hooligans made when their team scored a goal. The muscles in Anais' thighs were strumming along like the cords of a piano, her belly was undulating in and out, and her head had rolled back so that she was screaming to the ceiling.

The countdown was on. The people next door/across the hall/above or below us would be waking up, think that someone had unleashed a wild animal in the hotel, figure out they were not immediately on the menu, then call the front desk, stating their fears as justifiable fact. Anais and I had been down that road before.

I gave Anais' flank a light smack to get her attention. Sure she looked back at me with simmering anger, yet she also knew the score. That had been round #1 in a nightlong bout of sexual conquest, rebellion and re-conquest. She drew her knees to her chest so she could pull off her damp panties in one swift motion. I worked off my shoes, pants, socks and underwear. While she soaked up my naked flesh (muscles, scars and all), she retrieved the phone from the side table and placed it beside her. She wouldn't want to break up our rhythm when the phone rang.

No romantic small talk interrupted our shared lust. She wanted that cock and I wanted to give it to her. I moved between her inviting thighs while she examined me, her upper body uplifted by her arms resting on her elbows. Bite-kissing-biting resumed. I slowly pushed her head to the bed with the force of my kisses and strength of my upper body pushing down on her. Somewhere along the way, I slipped into her.

Condom? Crap. I was slipping. I would have to pull out, because stopping to put a condom on would earn me some serious ferocity on her part. I plunged in. Anais placed her hands on my hips, claws beneath my kidneys, guiding my pace and power. I may have been on top, but she wasn't giving up on one ounce of control.

"Damn you," she hissed.

"Yes?" I leered.

"Fuck you."

"I'm working on it. Is there anything," I teased.

"Bastard," she looked away, "You remember how I like it."

"Whatever made you think I would forget?" I kept at it.

"Don't look so smug."

"I'm working on it," I looked smug. Anais dug her fingernails in. I had to be punished, just ask her.

"When do you have to go back to work?" she huffed.

"Six a.m. When do you have to go back?"

"I have two days off."

"Good to know," I stole a kiss from her lips painlessly. Good to know.

(Painful dreams)

I edged back into consciousness realizing that I was not alone. The muffled sense of my surroundings informed me that I wasn't really awake. She sat on my side of the bed, feet on the floor, side to me.

"Good evening, Dot," I yawned.

"Good morning, Cáel," the Goddess Ishara let her melodic voice float over me.

"Hold on," I interrupted her. I weaved as I leaned over, pawed at my pants (still trapped in the real world) and finally drew forth my offering.

"A fortune cookie," she chuckled. "I admire your dedication."

"It is a simple enough request and I aim to please." I hesitated. "We don't have much time, do we?"

"You are dreaming, not concussed, so we will be alright if we tread carefully," she told me. "This time, I have no cryptic warnings, or specious pieces of information. I am giving you a gift. Take my hand."

I did, not that I had much choice. We 'went', where to, I wasn't sure yet I suspected we were skirting the Weave itself where concepts like Time and Distance had little meaning.

The Goddess released my hand and I stepped out of the fog brought about by the abrupt nature of our progress to see a woman sitting beside a pool, no, a sunken bath. She looked up at our approach. Oh shit, it was,

"Cáel? You are Cáel, aren't you," she smiled. She stared at me with her blind eyes while waiting for my response with deaf ears.

"Yes, Tad fi, I'm Cáel. How did you know?"

"I bear our shared life inside me," she graced me with her serene presence.

"Ah, I was warned," I stopped myself. I was going to add 'this might happen'. That would be unfair as she appeared pleased with this alteration of her life path. "I was warned by the Goddess that she had something to show me. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?"

She put her hand over her lower abdomen and rubbed the spot with her palm.

"Seeing you and giving you the news in person is enough," she glowed with happiness.

"Have you picked out a name yet?" seemed weak.

"I will leave that up to you."

"Oh, come on," I relaxed slightly. "This is something we are doing together."

"No, it is not, kind Cáel."

"Just because she will most likely end up an Isharan doesn't,"

"No, Cáel. This birth will cost me my life. I am not destined to ever see my daughter draw her first breath," she confided in me.

"No!" I recoiled. "That's unfair." What else could I say? 'I take it back. I shouldn't have listened to my Goddess and screwed you out of what little life you had left.'

"I am content with my fate, Cáel Nyilas Wakko Ishara. Our daughter will be the first female of the Isharan line in nearly 1600 years. Rejoice that we have been confronted by Destiny and triumphed. The light of the Peacemakers will shine once more among our sisters."

"It is not worth the cost of your life," I responded bitterly. This was colossally unfair to all three of us.

"That you grieve for the short time I have left gives me strength, knowing our daughter will grow up with a strong, caring father. I,"

I could sense Ishara close by my side.

"You must go, my Cáel. We will next see each other in the Halls of our Ancestors. Take our daughter and raise her well. I have faith in you," she sighed pleasantly, as if I had sheltered her from the rainstorm with my umbrella.

"We must go," Ishara whispered in my ear and then we left. I was back in the hotel room, looking down at the tears on my sleeping face and it hurt so much.

"You gave me that command knowing what it would cost her," I sounded so hollow, chin on my chest, eyes closed instead of looking at my feet.

"We are not an easy people to love, Cáel. We are harsh. Endless centuries of suffering, pain and mistrust have made us this way. Please understand that what you see as one life passing is really one life coming into being. It is a life Fate would have denied the line of Ishara. I took you to meet Tad fi because I wanted you to greet your daughter with understanding, not sorrow. I owed you."

"Steal my anger why don't you?" I chuckled bitterly. "Can I even blame myself for this tragedy? It isn't like you made me do anything. I did it because I wanted to and never gave much thought to the frail health Tad fi was hanging on to. This is so wrong and I don't know what to do."

"Wake up. Keep living. If this news turns your heart, or fills your mind with doubt, then both of us have failed you. Tad fi didn't have to tell you. I didn't have to bring you to her. I believed you were owed the chance to say good-bye."

"I didn't say that," I exhaled sadly.

"You openly grieved and let her comfort you. That is more of a 'goodbye' than most people are able to convey. She knows your heart. You were honest in your sorrow. She saw that and that eased her suffering knowing that you are a person who is free with their heart. For a woman who expected nothing but wickedness from men for so long, that was the ultimate gift. You did help her. You truly did."

"I," I woke up. Anais was looking down at me, concerned.

"You've been crying," she noted by touching my cheek with a finger then showing me the dampness.

"Do you believe a person's soul can fracture?" I murmured. That sort of talk was unlike the 'me' she once knew.

"Do you believe that another can help you put your soul back together if that happens?" I continued.

"You are not talking about us, are you?" she studied me.

"No. I'm thinking about being a parent, not just a father. Can I fuck that up as much as I've screwed up so many of the other women I've cared for, am I going to be worthy of being a Dad?"

"Oh, I don't know. You are not the man I knew two years ago. I think you have changed for the better. You are still far from perfect yet, you seem to be trying so much harder than previously."

"You think I'm going to screw things up, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, but I also think you will only make the same mistake once. That is better than most men can hope for," she let her gaze soften.

"This is us breaking up,"

"Yes. I think if I stayed, you would break my heart; and I am starting to believe neither one of us wants that," she nodded. "One more time?"

"I'd love to," I smiled at her. I still hurt. I was using sex to bandage my pain. Anais knew that and was giving me this unlooked for piece of kindness. It was the best break up I'd ever had, or could ever hope for.

{5:45 am, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"You look like someone strangled your kitten," Pamela told me as I exited Anais' hotel room. She was leaning against the wall across the hall. I had the feeling she had been there a while. Of course I hadn't been allowed to wander off alone; most likely, Chaz had kept an eye on me until Pamela relieved him.

"I, I got Tadifi killed," I unloaded on her.

Pamela immediately dropped her casual fa ade, her eyes narrowing. "What do you know?"

"Ishara took me to her while I dreamed. I spoke to her, I guess because I was there in Ishara-space. She told me that the birth of our child will kill her. What the fuck have I done?" I was near tears, damn it.

"You work for bitches, top to bottom," Pamela stated firmly. "Of course you weren't informed of any of this until after the fact. Do me a favor?"

"What is it? I'm not about to throw myself off a building, again."

"Don't let this tragedy bog you down. That is what Alal wants, to soil the goodness and forgiveness within you. That road leads to only one place, being as bad as he is. I've seen that capacity within you as well."

"To be a rank-bastard?"

"Precisely."

"What do I do?" sounded so pathetic coming from me.

"Cry. Weep. Remember you work for bitches, then laugh at them. You only lose if you stop being you."

"I hardly think being an irresponsible playboy is the appropriate response to all of this?"

"Hey. Don't hold back. I still have two ready and willing granddaughters you've promised to do something about," she chided me. I couldn't help myself. I snorted in amusement. I was Anakin Skywalker in the tent. I guessed I would be that forlorn soul for a while longer, except I had Pamela holding me back from the last few, fatal steps.

{3:00 pm, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"They want to do what?" I blinked. I was in Doebridge, connecting with Aya and her Squirts. I hadn't asked to come here. Pamela decided our destination on her own initiative, and I hadn't come up with a convincing enough reason to jump out of the moving car. I didn't want to unload my woes on my 9-year old Valkyrie. She was entertaining her friends with a weekend of shooting bows and learning the best way to hobble a surprised foe, just normal little Amazon-girl stuff.

"Some people of your government want to talk to the Esteemed Oyuun T m rbaatar," Iskender repeated over the phone.

"In an official capacity? As ambassador from Kazakhstan? Or from the Khanate?"

"I am unsure. That is why we want you there," he informed me.

"In what capacity? Chief Ambassador of the Host? A member of JIKIT,"

"As the Great Khan's Blood-Brother."

"Oh," I murmured, "This is because war is about to break out,"

"Yes. We really cannot afford a fatal confrontation with the United States," Iskender told me.

"But if I make a deal in the Khan's name, it doesn't look bad for OT or Temujin, and if we are rebuffed, it isn't egg on their face either," I reasoned.

"That is my belief. You are regarded as the Great Khan's chaotic kinsman, someone tolerated for his eccentricities while being close to the Great Khan's heart, for a very good reason."

Yeah, I had saved his life. More to the point, five Amazon augurs had died so that he might live. To the Mongol-Turkish Empire, that carried an incredible weight. Things such as either being named, or nominated as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, Prinţul Ungariei şi Transilvaniei, Mbret rore Princi i Shqip ris , t'agavorakan ishkhan Ha asdan and sts'kho prints'I sak'art'velo? That was a whole lot of spaghetti with no actual paycheck, inherited palace, or even loyal palace guards to hold the republican masses at bay.

Okay, that was somewhat untrue. Hungary and Romania thought I was quaintly insane for accepting the Great Khan's claim that I was the Prince of Hungry and Transylvania, but Albania, Armenia and Georgia were far more serious about my honorifics.

In those nations, there was some traction to give the 'office' of prince the powers of a 'powerless' head of state, now that they were part of the Greater Khanate Empire. Essentially, I was to show up, give the Great Khan's blessing to their respective elected governments and then 'rubber stamp' their governing cabinets. On the plus side, I liked Albanian food and both Georgia and Armenia had year-round skiing.

"When do you want me to show up?"

"That is an issue. We need to meet on neutral ground where we are not likely to be noticed," Iskender hedged.

"We could call Addison and have her arrange something."

"The Esteemed Oyuun T m rbaatar was of the opinion that we could hold this clandestine meeting at your residence," he dropped the anchor on me.

"Ah, I live in a hole in the wall, Iskender," I pointed out.

"Define a hole in the wall."

"Two modest bedrooms, a kitchenette, one bathroom and a living room that only allows one sofa and one weight set, small."

"With the money you make? Why?" he wondered.

"When I got the job three months ago, it was all I could afford. Since then, I haven't had the time to house-hunt," I explained. "Besides, I like my roommates."

"Who sleeps on the sofa?"

"Not you too," I griped. "Odette sleeps with me, unless my company minds. Then she sleeps with Timothy, unless he has company, Timothy is gay."

"Aahh,"

"I'm not gay or bi-sexual, Iskender, if that is what you are worried about," I cut that line of thought off. Some cultures frowned on homosexuality and this wasn't time to make a fruitless stand for alternate lifestyles.

"I'm sure no one would think that of you." 'Because I was a renowned man-whore' was unstated.

"Do you still want to meet at my apartment?"

"Yes. This is a spur of the moment deal. Are you amenable?"

"I need to get back and get things ready ~ say an hour?" I offered.

"That would do nicely. Thank you, Cáel."

"We are all on the same team, right?" I sighed.

"We are glad you feel that way. We do appreciate it. I will see you in an hour."

"You've got to go?" Aya asked.

"Yeah. Work."

"It's okay. Stop burying yourself in the results of Tad fi's choice and start thinking about raising your daughter, Cáel," she advised.

I had gone to see her because I wasn't sure I could make sense of it talking with Timothy. And Odette would try to comfort me with sex, which would only complicate having sex with her later. Girls rarely let shit like that go. Everyone else I knew, had ulterior motives.

"And here I had hoped that we could partake of some oyster hunting," I teased her.

"If they corner me, I'll tell Elsa you tried. I'll see you Monday night. After all, this will be our last Monday together until, you come back," she grinned up at me.

Done, This Monday was the start of the last week of my Havenstone internship. I'd nearly run the gauntlet and survived. Monday night/Tuesday morning of the following week I would be heading somewhere, meeting up with Felix and forging some strategy that had us winning the Great Hunt.

For me, it was a matter of prestige. For Felix, it was a matter of freedom. Katrina had worked out a compromise. Felix would become the property of the House that captured him, though he would still be allowed to work at Havenstone. Essentially, we would be surrendering up his genetics. For Felix, it would be a permanent thing. If we won? Respect for House Ishara would increase and Felix would be free to choose any woman that wished to share his immaculate heritage.

"Good hunting, Dumu," I pulled her in for a hug. She wrapped her little arms around my waist. {Dumu = daughter}

"Mamitu. Find it in yourself to forgive Ishara, and then you can forgive yourself," she smiled.

"So how did you become so wise?" I felt a tiny bit of the weight lifted from my chest.

"I have a very bright father," she teased me right back, "and an even smarter aunt."

"Stinker." I grunted,

Aya giggled and I separated on that happy note to make my way back to my current means of conveyance.

"Well, that was fast," Pamela remarked.

"Work."

"I haven't received a notification," she worried.

"Special, off-the-books, Khanate stuff. Temujin wants me to help him out," I confided. Both of us knew this was stuff we might not be able to tell our companions on JIKIT about. Not good. We needed to trust one another.

"That guy better start ponying up some tangible benefits."

"What do you suggest?" I mused as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

"A few guardians would be nice. His personal phone number. Vast tracks of land in Kazakhstan, worked by serfs," she suggested.

"Beautiful, scantily clad serfs?"

"Are there any other kind? They will fit in well with your female Mongolian bodyguards," she chortled.

"Actually, a few more males in the bodyguard wouldn't suck," I countered. "I have an annoying habit of attracting gorgeous females who want to sleep with me."

I tried to keep the bitter tone from my voice.

"Atta boy," Pamela punched my arm. "Don't let the pain drag you down. As you told me, she's not angry about her fate. Being an Amazon, I believe she feels honored. The life of augurs is rather thankless and their doom is ignored by the majority of our 'sisters'. I don't think you will ever let that happen."

"Not now," I agreed.

"Thought of any names?"

Names for my unborn daughter, the first of what appeared to be my many children. Holy Hell, what had become of my life as an unreliable cad, a womanizer and a disappointer of women?

"I was thinking of naming her after her mother," I replied.

"Don't do that to her. That's a legacy I wouldn't wish on any daughter, being an augur."

"Shala?"

"Where did that come from?" Pamela asked.

"The Sumerian Goddess of Compassion," I enlightened her.

"That's nice," Pamela gave me a tender look. She really was my spiritual triplet, Aya being our best third. "Of course, if you chose Pamela, I won't be insulted."

"What," and she punched me in the shoulder. I was about to say 'what about a legacy I wouldn't wish on,', but she knew that.

Note: A brief recap of what's gone wrong with the world:

Once upon a time there was a Mongolian chieftain named Temujin. He united his people (the Mongols), took the title of Genghis Khan and began the creation of the largest land empire that ever existed. He wasn't called Khagan, Yekhe Khagan, or Khaan (which means emperor/Great Khan/Khan of Khans in Turkish-Mongol parlance) until after his death. In his time, he was such a bad-ass that he didn't need any honorifics.

Temujin died. Normally, that would have been the end of that, but Temujin was someone special. After his death, a secret society called the 'Earth and Sky' came into existence to prepare for his return and the rebirth of his empire.

He did indeed, come back.

He came back several times, in fact. Each time, he judged the time was not yet ripe to reunify the peoples of Central Asia, so he died and the next generation of the E&S prepared for the next incarnation.

Twenty-two years ago, Temujin was born yet again. He recalled his heritage and set about determining if the time was ripe for his public resurrection.

This time, there were other people besides the E&S waiting for him. They were a rival secret society called the Seven Pillars of Heaven (the 7P). They had figured out a way to uncover his location and planned to kill him for good. That would have allowed the 7P to bring all of Asia under their mantle.

Earlier this year, a group of Amazon augurs reached into the Great Unknown, discovered the 7P's nasty little plan and passed that knowledge to the others. Five augurs paid for that knowledge with their lives. It was not in vain,, one of the surviving augurs, Tad fi, was guided by the Amazon goddesses to bear that message to some knucklehead named Cáel Nyilas.

Said knucklehead took that piece of knowledge to the New York City head of the Earth & Sky and gifted him with Temujin's precise location as well as the fact that the 7P's were closing in on him. Thus Cáel saved Temujin's life and Temujin was very grateful.

Temujin, along with the E&S, immediately launched an attack against the little known region of China known as Aksai Chan. The People's Liberation Army (PLA) reacted confidently in this opening action of war, and saw the annihilation of much of the PLA's mobile forces along the Kazakhstan-Chinese border.

That however was only a highly visible diversion. The real 'first strike' was on the People's Republic of China in the form of an anthrax attack in several western Chinese cities. The plan was to prompt the Chinese to initiate preventative vaccine inoculations for their military and security forces, because the E&S had lethally compromised the PRC's vaccine system. So the PRC actually gave the anthrax bacterium to their own forces.

A multitude of Chinese soldiers, airmen and sailors died. The E&S also subverted the governments of Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan and then announced the creation of a new Central Asian state, colloquially known as the Khanate. Bad things continued to happen to the PLA and the PRC. Soon, Azerbaijan, Tajikistan, Turkey and Turkmenistan joined the Khanate.

Khanate forces, organized into tumens (units of 10,000 men), rapidly overran all of the regions and provinces of Gansu, Nei Mongol, Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, Qinghai, and Xinxiang Uyghur Autonomous Region as well as most of Yunnan and over half of Sichuan provinces.

At the same time, with the aid of the afore-mentioned knucklehead, the Khanate manipulated Russia into 'intervening to preserve order', aka 'stealing', Manchuria (the provinces of Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning), thus denying the PRC of major industrial and petroleum centers. Temporarily unable to defend themselves, the PRC agreed to a six-month cease fire on August 20th. In the closing hours before the ceasefire took effect, the Khanate also managed to seize every island outpost of China in the South China Sea (excluding the big island of Hainan).

After the ceasefire, the Khanate managed to convince Albania, Armenia and Georgia to join the Khanate because (for the second two) being caught between militarily powerful Turkey and oil-rich Azerbaijan had them nervous and the Khanate's offer of union was hard to pass up. A coup in Afghanistan dropped that country into the Khanate's lap as well.

At the start of the crisis, the United States and the United Kingdom desperately needed insight into the changing situation in Asia, so they formed JIKIT (Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce). For convoluted reasons, this group include the same knucklehead referenced earlier as well as a dozen highly qualified intelligence experts and Foreign Service operatives. JIKIT broke all kinds of rules, laws and guidelines in creating a mutually supportive relationship with the Khanate, up to and including sending Special Forces operators from their respective countries into the PRC to help the Khanate forces.

Unknown to the two governments they supposedly work for, JIKIT formed alliances with not only the Earth & Sky, but also the Amazons, the Black Lotus (the Chinese secret society resisting the 7P's) and the 9 Clans (a coalition of the world's best assassins, which included the Black Lotus and the Seven (now Six) Families of the Ninja). In doing so, JIKIT became involved in a shadow war going on between their allies and the alliance of the 7P's and the Condottieri (aka 'Global Mercs are Us').

Anyway, using the Paracel and Spratly Island holdings as a springboard, the Khanate formed an alliance with India and Vietnam who were bent on dividing up the area's oceanic resources before the PRC could return to prominence. In order to secure their frontiers, this regional group has become involved with the popular rising in Thailand (see Chapter 42) on the rebel side. A civil war is about to break out and now the world was holding its breath because the US was threatening to become militarily involved on the side of the Thai government forces. Which brings us to my apartment.

Note: End what's wrong with them world.

{4:00 pm, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"Hey Anais, what are you doing here?" flowed from my lips before I engaged my brain. I was in a rush.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she stood up. She had been sitting in the hallway, her ass on the ground and her knees up.

"You gave me neither your phone number nor my Serge," she explained. She looked past me to Pamela.

"My bad. My private number is 917-555-7399 (that's (an area code of NYC), (Hollywood nonsense), sexy for the curious. We can get your Serge right now," I said as I slipped past her.

"You would be the spiritual grandmother & retired assassin?" she looked over at Pamela.

"You must be something people have sex with, then get accused of bestiality," Pamela zinged right back.

"You are rude," Anais's eyes narrowed.

"And you have made the mistake of bringing an attitude to a gunfight, Princess," Pamela mocked her.

"Pamela, don't," I pleaded.

"But she's French," Pamela smirked. "I hate the French."

"She's Quebecois, not French. And since when have you hated the French?"

"Since about five seconds ago. It came over me like a premonition, or maybe a past life experience."

"Who were you Lionel of Wandomme?" Anais refused to give an inch for the sake of civility. Pamela was a hopeless case, which pretty much defined Anais as well. (Ole Lionel was the nobleman who took the surrender of Joan of Arc)

"No, I was Pierre Cauchon," Pamela grinned.

"Who?" I worked my key into the lock.

"He was the Bishop of Beauvais," Anais enlightened me. "He was the man who condemned Saint Joan to the flames."

"How do you know that?" I unlocked the door.

"She has a well-developed knowledge of hypocrites," Pamela snorted.

"I learned of him when I studied how religious/political views can lead to a miscarriage of justice."

"Pamela, stop, please," I groaned.

"Why?"

"Because I love you?"

"That's pathetic," Pamela shook her head.

"Because you like me?"

"I love you more than I do my own grandchildren. And I am forever picking on you for your own spiritual growth, of course," she snickered.

"Cáel, how do you know this woman?" Anais turned her anger on me. I walked into my apartment, Anais and Pamela continued eyeing each other, neither one wanting to turn their back on the other. Anais was doing it because Pamela was dangerous. Pamela was doing it because she had the inexplicable desire to make Anais miserable.

"She's my knife instructor at Havenstone."

"Have you ever stabbed a person?"

"Perhaps. I've hit my fair share and shot a few. I like to think I haven't stabbed anyone who didn't derserve it. Besides, I prefer tomahawks."

"Tomahawks? You prefer to hit people with tomahawks instead of knives?"

"He's a lousy student," Pamela teased.

"Pamela, give it a rest," I sighed. "Anais has decided to stop sleeping with me. We are trying to part on amicable terms."

"She's giving up that cock? I don't think so," Pamela shook her head.

"You speak from experience?" Anais glared back.

"I speak from the experience of seeing women fight over him, Baby-cakes."

"My name is Anais Saint-Amour."

"I know that. I chose to denigrate you instead," Pamela responded.

"Why are you acting like this?" Anais frowned. "What have I ever done to you?"

"I'm doing it because he cares for you and that's counter-productive to what he should be doing," Pamela stated.

"What? He loves plenty of women."

"No. He loves one woman, but she has set him adrift, so he meanders from woman to woman who want to 'change him' and 'make him a better man', as if the real Cáel wasn't good enough," she gave a blistering retort.

I was busy retrieving her clothes bag and boot box (so they didn't get dusty).

"Who does he love?"

"It isn't love like you think of it. It's not a burning romance. It is the love of companionship and mutual respect and I am afraid he'll never recapture that level of devotion and passion," Pamela continued.

"Who is she talking about?" Anais asked me.

"Kimberly," I said sadly. "She taught me to, Damn Pamela," I looked to my current mentor because she had reminded me of the woman who had helped create the man I was today. Dr. Kimberly Geisler had shown me that I shouldn't be ashamed of who I was.

People only became screwed up if they allowed events to screw them up. Personal responsibility and acceptance, that I could be a somewhat selfish prick who thought with his cock more than his head, yet never abused a lover even though I'd let far too many women down. No jealousy. No emotional regrets. And flesh healed.

I missed Kimberly, but there was no going back, to college, or the boy I had once been. I could be a bang-up Dad if I passed those lessons on instead of moping about a tragedy beyond my control. I could forgive Dot Ishara now because she was who she was and expecting her to change for me was the ultimate act of selfishness. Learn, grow, move on.

"Thanks Pamela," I whispered.

"You are welcome, Wakko," she replied softly. She was close to tears, as was I.

"What am I missing here?" Anais looked from one to another.

"I'm not going to be a good father if I try to be what I think a father should be. I need to be the man I am, to be truthful and trusting others to let them find their own way without foisting my expectations on them."

"This isn't about me, is it? This is about your nightmare," Anais reasoned.

"Bingo," I smiled compassionately. "You may be the very best investigator I've ever met."

"I apologize Anais Saint Amour. Sometimes Cáel need to be tricked in order to teach him a life lesson," Pamela grinned.

"You are still rude," Anais griped.

"And you are still thinking about how much better your life would be with Cáel in it."

"On that sour note, Anais, here is your stuff as promised," I handed her the gear.

"In a hurry?" she inquired.

"I'm expecting company," I said.

"What's she like?" Yep. Abysmal trust issues.

"Why do you think, no, it is business," I promised.

"Mr. Nyilas?" A woman asked from the door we'd left open.

"Oh crap," I groaned.

She was pretty damn sexy with her closely-cropped black hair and an aura that expressed 'I'm physically fit, living healthy and feel comfortable lying to people about what I do for a living'.

She was wearing a long coat, despite it being summer in NYC. She'd also brought some friends who I couldn't see yet.

"Yes, that would be me," I bowed to the inevitable.

"Who is she with?" Anais glowered. "CIA? SVR RF (that would be the Russian CIA)? Interpol? Spector? The 2nd Department of the PLA General Staff HQ (that would be mainland China's CIA/DIA)? The World Crime League (look it up)? I seriously doubt she is with SCRS (that would be the Service canadien du renseignement de s curit  ~ the Canadian CIA)."

Damn it! Why was I still getting the 3rd degree? Hadn't we broken up?

"My guess is the DOD," Pamela mused. "Most likely the Defense Clandestine Service."

The stranger's mouth gaped open for a second. She might have recovered fast enough, had I not worked with an insane warrior culture.

"Anais, this is work. You need to be going now," I insisted.

"Here Anais, have a gun," Pamela pulled one from her lower back. "This is going to be a ballet worth remembering."

"Who are these women?" the stranger asked. Her visual clues confirmed there were people behind her in the hall.

"Pamela, rogue octogenarian paramilitary insurgent," I made the introductions. "Anais is a Jedi vigilante mime."

Blink.

"They are my bodyguards."

"I am not your bodyguard," Anais snipped. Hey, she was pretty and dangerous enough to qualify, plus she had the 'beat me like a little bitch' down pat.

"Hush," I chided. "Mimes don't talk."

Anais took the offered gun.

"Don't make me shoot you," Anais hissed.

"You reallymake a lousy mime," Pamela joked.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

15972 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 9

Diplomatic Hell Hole.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

"Are we in the right place?" the stranger worried.

"I'm afraid so. Anais, you need to leave."

"Not until you tell me what is going on here," she sizzled.

"She's not here to have sex, if that's what you worried about," I retorted. "Wait, are you here to have sex with me?"

"I barely know you."

"That rarely stops me," I muttered.

"He's a master of bedroom antics," Pamela praised me. "He's pretty much at a loss at doing anything else."

"Thanks Grandma," I griped.

"Your welcome, Grandson."

"We, are here to meet someone," the stranger hedged.

"You came to the right place," Pamela preempted me. "He's definitely someone."

"Fine, redo. I'm Cáel Nyilas," (deep breathe), "NOHIO, HCIESI-NDI, U HAUL, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege plus a bunch of other honorifics that have yet to be confirmed. I am single-handedly bringing back medievalism to the center of Europe and the Near East. The woman to my left is Pamela Pale, and she really is my bodyguard. The woman to my right is Sgt. Anais Saint-Amour, RCMP, my ex-lover and the person that needs to leave   right now."

"I'm not sure I should leave at this moment," Anais shifted possessively. I had to recall earlier this morning, the part where we'd broken up by mutual consent. Yep. That had really happened. I had thought I was whittling down my current list of paramours. Why do the Goddesses hate me so?

"Told you, she can't give up that cock," Pamela whispered.

"As you can see, I have limited control of my life," I told the strange woman. "I know you are here to meet somebody who isn't me. Now you know who I am. Who are you and your companions?"

"I'm Ms. Quincy."

"Sorry; I'm on a first name basis with everyone I meet," I interrupted.

"What's your rank, Honey?" Pamela added.

"What makes you think,?"

"She doesn't think. That's what makes her so dangerous." I explained.

"Hey now," Pamela faux-complained.

"Okay. She's a fledgling telepath, or medium," I shrugged.

"Captain, Zelda Quincy."

"In case you are mesmerized by her tits," Pamela tapped me, "she's packing some serious hardware."

"One of those personal defense gizmos?" I leaned Pamela's way.

"Close, but no cigar. She's my kind of girl, big 'bang-bang', back-up at the small of her back and knife in her boot."

"What!" Zelda gulped.

"She's his knife-fighting instructor," Anais answered drolly.

"Are you Special Forces?" Zelda regarded my mentor.

"Nah, I got kicked out for a consistent failure to observe even the loosest Rules Of Engagement. I'm a free-spirit."

"Oh, you're a sniper," Zelda nodded.

"I like this one," Pamela smiled.

"Ah, thank you." Then, over her shoulder, "I think we are in the right place." Zelda entered the room, followed by a Hispanic panther of a man (kind of like a tanned, slightly shorter Chaz without the cool accent) wearing a long coat, and a Subcontinent-cast woman who looked at everyone as if she expected us to sprout fangs, or start quoting the Koran any second now. She obviously was a brain seconded to this mission very much against her will.

The fourth person had that cagey 'when my lips move, I'm lying' look while seemingly unhappy with her current assignment. The heavy implication was that the lady was a career diplomat. Considering our current company and who we were talking to, she was State Department. She was in her late 30's or early 40's and giving off the sensation she had devoted so much to her career that she was starting to wonder if that was all that life had to offer.

The fifth member was a military man clearly uncomfortable about what he was doing here, thus not a spook. His off-the-rack suit wasn't terrible, so he expected to socialize somewhat while performing his duties. He also looked like a man who expected other people to speak half-truths and obfuscated lies as easily as they breathed. Numbers three, four and five were dressed for the weather and unarmed.

All of this meant they were good at what they did, though they probably didn't know the particulars of what was expected of them. They had their marching orders. Those orders were about to be made irrelevant in the company they would be keeping. The latter weren't the 'doing it by rote' kind of people they would normally be dealing with.

"I bet you she's a doctor," I murmured to Pamela, "she's with State and he's some sort of Foreign Service type."

"I bet the first guy is Air Force," she countered.

"Like one of those Para-rescue guys?"

"No. More like one of those Battlefield Air Operations guys, I'm guessing," she corrected me.

"That guy?" I nodded to the final guy. "Pentagon wonk?"

"More likely he's one of those embassy guys. I'm going to take an educated leap here, Office of Military Cooperation, Mongolia?"

"That is pretty clever of you. Kazakhstan. Major Justin Colbert."

"I bet some people in the White House, Pentagon and Langley are disappointed with you right now," I reasoned. His jaw grew tight.

"Don't worry, Major," Pamela grinned. "We consider that a good thing. We don't like the people in charge and have a low opinion of their opinion on just about everything, including their habit of blaming the blameless for their government's fuck ups."

"Who are these people?" the first man whispered to Quincy.

"She's a telepath." That was Zelda

"She's a psychic-medium." That was Anais.

"She can see through time." That was me. "Nice to meet you. Who are you?"

"Chris Diaz. Lieutenant Colonel, USAF."

"Dr. Saira Yamin," the second woman introduced herself. "Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies. Are you the man from Johnston Island?"

"Why yes, yes I am," I beamed.

"The APCSS is in Waikiki, Hawaii," Pamela educated me. "Your arrival probably cost her some prime surfing time."

"I was more interested in the fact that he survived a plane crash in a Category Four Cyclone," she admitted.

"Mother Nature hates me. No matter how hard I try, she refuses to kill me," I confessed. "My suffering is an endless source of amusement to that bitch."

"That, that wasn't the helpful answer I was looking for," she stammered.

"So, Lt. Colonel Chris Diaz, you must be with JSOC, I have a deep and abiding respect for you guys. If you need something, just ask," I greeted him. "Captain Zelda, you are not with JSOC."

"She's with the DCS ~ that is the Defense Clandestine Service," Pamela kept going. "Zelda, you love being in your uniform, you're proud, yet happy with the concept of dying in an unmarked grave for Constitution and Country. You are too old to have been in the first female class at Ranger School, so that means no 'in the field' JSOC for you. You've gotten around that stone wall by joining the US Defense Department's own little pack of killers."

"Also, you felt it was necessary to bring a Benelli M4-11707. That's a close-in action shotgun, but a bit over-kill considering the paper-thin walls in this building. That tells me you are used to being in the kinds of places where such a tool is a necessity. Or in other words, since you think you are meeting a band of terrorists, you brought along your favorite toy."

"Your personal weapon is a SIG Sauer P229R DAK in .357 which is a new weapon still under trial by the US Army and Air Force. Your boot dagger is ceramic so it will pass a cursory exam, or scan. You hate the idea of being trapped on a public aircraft weaponless. You have also given up killing power for a proper balance for throwing. I like a forward-thinking gal."

"Air Force ~ you've recently come back from Asia, most likely Tibet. It shows in your breathing brought about by a close call with Altitude Sickness. The only reason for an Air Force guy to be here is because he's familiar with the Khanate military and you are not US Army, or Marine Corp Special Forces. I know the type."

"You went with the MP5K in the standard 9mm, so you are more interested in sending bullets down range than looking into someone's face as you kill them. You may be a 'light' Colonel, which means you are almost somebody. What your higher-ups haven't appreciated is that our guests will respect you because they are like that ~ remembering past friends and comrades in arms. Of greater importance, you have Cáel’s gratitude which will count for more than you currently believe."

I pledged then and there to be as good as Pamela at determining that kind of stuff before I died. She had assured me it was as much a matter of psychology as eagle-eyed perception. People were often a type that gravitated to various forms of destruction, be they old school, or going for the latest gadget.

"I told you all that firepower was excessive," State softly chastised her associates (what they really were, not the underlings she saw them as).

"So, you appeared to have forgotten to tell us your name," I regarded the State lass.

"Nisha Desai Biswal. I'm with the government."

"Oh, Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs, I've examined your website," I told her. It clearly pissed her off somewhat that I so swiftly disregarded her crude attempt at subtle manipulation.

"Hey. I've got some real enemies at State, so it pays to know who might be the next suit trying to cock me over," I explained. I had to prioritize. It would take some serious effort to convince Zelda to have a MFF three-way straight out the gate and she was definitely the hotter number.

"Major, you came here unarmed," Pamela noted. "That won't do. They expect you to be armed because you are a warrior, damn it. Cáel get him one of your Glock 22's."

"Gotcha," I nodded. I went to my room, tipped away the false back to my closet (that Havenstone had installed recently so Odette wouldn't accidently fire off one of my weapons) and retrieved one of my spare Glocks, but not the one with the laser sight. Such over-the-top fancy gear would be inappropriate. I only gave him one mag. If he couldn't get the job done with 15 rounds, he wouldn't have a chance to reload.

Mind you, I took two in a twin-rig shoulder holster and four 22 round magazines, because I tend to shoot two-handed which doesn't exactly give you a bullseye every time. I returned to our crowded living room, handed the Major his weaponry, and then directed the US group to the far side of the room (towards Timothy's bedroom. Saira and Nisha took the couch.

Because this tiny space wasn't crowded enough, there was a knock at the door. I checked. It was Juanita, oh yeah, my real bodyguard.

"Listen up everybody," I announced to the room. "This is my other bodyguard, my official one. Her names is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza, she's from the Dominican Republic via Buenos Aires and she is armed, so don't freak out." I opened the door.

"What is going on?" Juanita hissed.

"I'm having a private meeting with a few heavily armed friends. The other side to this party hasn't arrived yet. Why don't you come in?" She came in.

"Why didn't you warn me?" she whispered her complaint.

"Long night, worse wake-up, needed to do some soul-searching. Pamela was looking after me, then this came up and I forgot. I apologize," I lowered my head in shame. Juanita was only trying to do the job she'd been entrusted with and by not thinking of her, I was making that so much harder.

I made the introductions, first names only.

"Juanita, Anais, Pamela; please slip into the kitchenette," I suggested.

Anais "Why?"

Juanita "Where are you going to be?"

Pamela "Sure. I'm starving. I'm going to raid the fridge."

"Anais, because I need my faction in one place. Juanita, I will be refereeing this meeting, so I will have to remain in the living room, roughly six feet from you." It was really a small apartment. "Pamela, if it is edible, it isn't mine and you'll have to replace it."

Great Caesar's Ghost! No wonder Big Wigs had their personal assistants handle this pre-meeting crap. I was on my last two fucking nerves and one of those was already stressed and tender. And the real reason for being here hadn't even arrived yet.

"Why am I in your faction?" Anais mulled over threateningly.

"Because you haven't walked out that door. There are going to be three sides to this meeting, not three plus Anais. That is the way it is going to be. Now, are you going to behave, or are Juanita and Pamela going to toss you out?"

"You are threatening me!"

"Finally catching on to that, aren't you, Sweetie?" Pamela chimed in.

"I'm only staying because I believe you are in trouble," Anais grumped.

"Why is she (Anais) here?" Nisha inquired heatedly. "This is supposed to be a very, very private encounter."

"I know Anais. I don't know you. I trust Anais with my well-being despite the fact she has numerous reasons to distrust me. She's staying because she is a straight arrow. That's good enough for me."

"But is she going to keep her mouth shut about what happens here today?" Nisha pressed.

"Anais, this is a clandestine meeting that isn't going to be recorded by anybody so, barring a crime being committed, you can never discuss this with anyone who isn't already in the room. Agreed?"

Pause.

"I agree," she nodded. I really was going to have to fuck her again. Not today. Well, maybe not today; I had to keep my options open. Her investigator mind was going into overdrive. Give it a week and she'd be knocking on my door late one night. Inquisitive, truth-hungry dames are like that, trust me. Then it would be 'bask in my genius' sex. It had been a while since I'd experienced that, with Lady Yum-Yum.

There was another knock at the door. I checked before Juanita could do the checking for me, in case someone was going to shoot me through the door. Fuck it. I was going to talk to Timothy about moving. Him, me and Odette. I couldn't give those two up. It was Kazak bookends. I opened up and invited them in. It turned out they had names besides Bookends #1 and #2, Nuro and Roman.

Nuro (I think) checked out the rooms while Roman (I was pretty sure) kept an eye on my guests. I made introductions, first names only and specifying who was with who. Technically, they could trust my side because I was the Great Khan's brother and thus my servants were his servants. Technically.

Iskender came next followed by OT. A woman I didn't know (sadly, not OT's daughter) came in behind him while the other two quintuplets stayed in the hallway. Iskender and I hugged.

"Ulı Khaan s yikti ağası," he smiled. That was 'Prince-something'. My Kazak was a bit rusty. He then whispered into my ear. "OT bows to you first. His title is Hongtaiji." What?

"Ulı Khaan s yikti ağası," OT bowed.

"Hongtaiji Oyuun T m rbaatar," I bowed back. I remembered I had to rise first. It was an etiquette thing. In retrospect, Iskender had stretched the bounds of tradition by hugging me, his titular superior. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"I thank you for your hospitality," he 'grinned'. His face wasn't made for that gesture so that faint gesture came across as rather unnatural.

My mind finally finished translating what Iskender and OT had called me. It wasn't 'prince'. It was 'beloved brother of the Great Khan'. Mother fucker!

"Wait," Justin, the military attach  guy muttered, "we are here to meet this guy?" indicating me.

"What do you mean?" Saira questioned.

"The title Mr. Nyilas was identified with means 'beloved brother of the Great Khaan'," he explained. "The Kazakhs don't go tossing honorifics like that around. This guy," again pointing at me, "is a really important somebody."

"Thanks for dropping this grenade in my lap, OT," I joked. "I'll get you for this, and your little yak too."

"Odette is going to be so miffed that she missed this," Pamela chuckled.

"Mr. Nyilas," Zelda began.

"Please, call me Cáel. It is how I roll."

"Cáel, can I ask you a stupid question?"

"Go right ahead," Pamela snorted. "Cáel does stupid real well. It is a critical part of his skill set. It makes him adorable instead of annoying. Trust me, you'll learn that soon enough."

Too much 'trust me' was flying around in a room where nobody trusted anybody.

"Thanks for that encouragement, Teach," I grumbled. "Ask away, Captain Zelda."

"Why are you playing this game with us?"

"I wasn't. Until thirty seconds ago I was sure I was here totally as a spectator," I gripped. "My buddy," the word dripped with sarcasm, "Temujin likes dumping these kinds of surprises on me."

"Did you mean what Ms. Pale said about you feeling you owed me?" Chris asked.

"Absolutely."

"We need help defusing this Thailand crisis before a shooting war begins."

"What do you suggest?"

"We want the Khanate to back down," Chris stated firmly.

"I thought we had agreed that I would spearhead this delegation," Nisha reminded Chris.

"I think the situation had evolved and we need a different approach," Chris insisted.

"You should listen to the Lieutenant Colonel," I advised. "He knows a whole lot more about what is going on than you do."

"Why don't you explain it to us?" she began her weevil-ling.

"You are engaging in linguistic niceties with men who have bled together, Ms. Biswal," I instructed. "Not that Chris and I have bled on the same battlefield, we have shed blood in the same cause; and that cause has been bringing our two nations, the Khanate and the US, together. The Khanate owes Chris for his efforts on our behalf and we pay our debts."

"How so?" Nisha asked.

"National Security stuff," I evaded. "If you don't know, you shouldn't know and you probably don't want to know. Suffice it to say, the Khanate is willing to listen to Lt. Colonel Diaz's request as a friend."

"But he doesn't speak for the United States Government," she corrected.

"Why not?" I riposted. "He's dealt with the Khanate longer than you have. He has a clue about the mindset of their rank and file."

"But does he know their leadership?" she persisted.

"I don't know. Chris, do you think you have a handle on me?"

"Are you really capable of talking for the Khanate government?" Nisha preempted Chris. What she left unsaid was 'are you culpable in their atrocities?'

"Let's find out," I then looked over my shoulder. "Hongtaiji Oyuun T m rbaatar, will my words and wishes reach my brother's ear?"

"That is why I am here," he replied.

"Don't you have the authority to speak for your leader?" she grilled OT. Nisha was relentless trying to stay in the limelight. "Aren't you a diplomat?"

"There is no need to insult the man," Pamela snidely commented.

"I am one of many voices that provide information to the Great Khan. I am not his brother. Cáel Nyilas is and has already proved his familial affection by proposing Operation Funhouse and brought whole nations as gifts," OT schooled her. "He is gifted with both tactical and strategic insight as well as sharing the Great Khan's love for his people and his hopes for their eventual freedom."

"I didn't think you were a soldier," Zelda looked me over.

"Oh no," I wove off that insinuation. "I've never been a real soldier and am unworthy of that distinction. I know quite a few who have earned that title and they scare the crap out of me. I mean, they go looking for trouble. In my case, trouble comes looking for me. I'm damn lucky to still be alive and that's the damn truth."

"Bullshit," Pamela coughed.

"What was that, Artemisia?" I winked at her.

"Bitch," she laughed "My men have become women, and my women men. At least you didn't call me Cassandra."

"Well, she's Greek (a deadly insult to all Amazons), but you could be her Evil Twin because everyone believes whatever you say."

"Can we get down to business?" Chris inquired.

"Damn," Pamela shook her head. "They haven't been paying attention."

"What does that mean?" Zelda griped.

"Iskender, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?" I asked.

"Not a clue, Exalted One," he stood there like a stone statue. Note, the Khanate contingent really were standing there like the Altai Mountains, doing nothing. You had to carefully examine them to see that they did indeed breathe and blink.

"Use small words," Pamela advised.

"You really are a rude misanthrope," Anais told Pamela.

"Do you know what's going on?" Pamela volleyed.

"No."

"Then sit back and watch how the madness works," she snickered. "It is all you, Cáel."

"Okay. One; how did Artemisia escape the battle of Salamis?" I began. Nothing.

"Oh," Justin nodded. "She rammed an allied ship to make the pursuing Athenians think she was an ally. What does that have to do with our current predicament?"

"Achieve your ends by using violence as a distraction," I sighed. "The Khanate will invade Thailand in," I looked to OT, "tomorrow?" He nodded.

"How does that help us?" Nisha complained.

"Second example, Cassandra. She saw the truth through all illusions and falsehoods and no one believed her. Now, reverse that."

Pause.

"We are waiting," Saira finally joined the conversation. I could hear those little microprocessors inside her noggin firing electrons at light speed.

"We fight a phony war. The Khanate and their buddies invade in a lightning campaign that appears to be successful. Shit like attacking the opposition where they ain't. Things that look epic on CNN where some retired colonel, no offense..."

"None taken," Chris responded.

"Where some colonel talks about seizing resources, severed supply lines and encirclement. We, the Khanate, bomb shit like bridges and supply dumps, things with no civilians to get killed. On the downside, to make this work the Khanate needs to put some level of force into Bangkok."

"That will get civilians killed," Nisha reminded me, unnecessarily.

"Civilians are getting killed right now by their own government. This time they will get a chance to strike back," I stated firmly. "The Thai protestors aren't cowards. They are just grossly outgunned. We can change that."

"How does that help the United States?" Nisha queried.

"The US gets to come in and save the day," I sighed. "The US can t get there until the day after, so you don't look bad about letting the first 24 hours of brutality happen."

"Oh," Zelda blinked.

"The US gets to end the fighting that the Khanate has no desire to continue. The US brings peace, while whomever takes over owes the Khanate. Both sides look good. Both sides claim victory. The President gets a second Nobel Peace Prize (psychic, aren't I?). The US gathers some regional allies like Malaysia, the ROC and the Philippines along with our Marines to ensure free and fair elections. The Khanate isn't seen to be backing down against the Titan of Western Civilization. They are working with them to bring about a better world."

"Win-win," Saira nodded in agreement.

"The Khanate is still an autocratic tyranny," Nisha commented.

"As opposed to the People's Republic's oligarchical tyranny?" Chris countered.

"Agreed," Saira said. "I now think we should work with the Khanate to bring stability to Central Asia which which was impossible while those member nations were being squeezed between Russia, Europe, China and India."

"What are you a doctor of?" I asked.

"I specialize in 'failed states', among other things," Saira grinned.

"This could still turn into one bloody cluster-fuck," Zelda mused.

"My peopled don't have the resources to devastate Thailand," OT finally spoke. "If you, the US, agrees to intervene on our timetable, you will have our thanks, off the record, of course."

"How do we know this isn't some ruse to allow the Khanate to overthrow Thailand's existing government?" Justin questioned.

"You have my word," I replied. No one said anything for several heartbeats.

"Really?" Nisha balked.

"Mr. Nyilas, Cáel, do you give me the Great Khan's word?" Chris studied me intently.

"Without reservation," I answered. "For what you have done for us and more, the Great Khan will honor this deal. We and the Thai's will do the bleeding. You will get your accolades. We avoid a pointless clashing of forces, which is why we are all here today."

"I will give you my written recommendation in a few hours," Saira told Nisha.

Chris stepped forward to shake my hand. He was an alpha-type alright. I gave as good as I got. His eyes bore into mine, looking for a faltering of will.

"What did you do in Romania?"

"I got a lot of good men killed."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Nisha squawked. "A handshake, a pat on the back and the deals done? Since when did our democratic republic do business this way? He admitted he got men killed in Romania. What is to say this won't be Romania writ large?"

"Ms. Biswal, he told the truth. He got good men killed and he isn't happy about it. I would be worried if he claimed one bit of glory from that episode. He didn't."

"Nisha," I took a deep breathe, "When you unleash men with weapons, nothing is assured. Maybe the Thai government will see the hate coming their way and back down. Maybe the people will resist the intrusion. Maybe the Khanate's forces will get slaughtered at the starting line. It isn't like they have enough time to deploy enough forces to win a protracted war."

"What happens if the Khanate decides it won't go?" she continued.

"Then they get destroyed on the ground in a war of attrition," Chris answered for me. "He's right. They can't bring enough in the time allotted to completely overwhelm the roughly 120,000 members of the Royal Thai Army that have remained loyal to the regime."

"In three days they will be out of fuel, shells, rockets and bullets. It is logistics, Ms. Biswal," Zelda piled it on. "The Khanate war-fighting systems are not NATO compatible. That means they can't simply capture more material as they penetrate the frontiers. If they overstay their welcome, we can launch missile strikes against their fuel depots. The combat devolves back to World War I and that's a style of war they can't afford to fight."

"What about stopping the Khanate from invading in the first place?" Nisha wouldn't give up.

"Had the US acknowledged the Khanate, none of this would have happened, Ms. Biswal," I became snappish. "Neither superpower talked to the other until other commitments had been made."

"If you think you can come in and start dictating Khanate policy, you are dreadfully mistaken. The US doesn't have the power, or the resolve," I glared at her. "Don't try convincing the Khanate that isn't the case. We know better."

"You don't know what the US is capable of," she snapped back.

"Abandoning Iraq with a fractured pseudo-democratic process? Abandoning Afghanistan without destroying the Taliban? The Syrian Civil War? The Donbass Crisis? The collapse of Libya? Boko Haram? Somalia? Yemen? Exactly how has the US's power and resolve solved any of those issues?" I countered.

"Ms. Biswal," OT spoke again. "We are willing to create a desert and call it 'Peace'. Our enemies know that. Your unwillingness to do so is neither a strength nor a weakness. It is a hallmark of your society in the same way that 'Total War' is a hallmark of ours. We are more than willing to leave you to manage the Peace. Let us manage the War against the forces opposed to civilized discourse."

"As ugly and disagreeable as it is, we are willing to keep creating pyramids of skulls on every street corner until either they learn their lesson, or we kill them all. Let us do that and you will have your global stability and reap the economic benefits and accolades of Pax Americana. We are not your enemy. We are precisely the ally you need to keep the peace and we will do that, if you let us."

"To allow barbarism is to become barbarians," Saira mused.

"That is complete fiction," I scoffed. "The United States didn't become communist because it allied with the Soviet Union in World War II. Truman didn't become Stalin. The enemy of my enemy is my friend is older than recorded history."

"It is the Carrot and the Stick on a Global basis," Justin agreed. "Listen to the gentle words of the West, or you will end up feeling the wrath of the East."

"As long as the Khanate accepts the limitations of is role," Saira added, "this might work. Please understand there will be factions in the Western Democracies who will not accept that status quo. It is not in the nature of our societies to stifle dissent."

"Is it possible to get any political concessions from the Khanate's leadership?" Justin requested. "A pledge to hold some level of democratic elections? A Constitution with some strong provisions to protect individual rights and liberties would be nice."

"Justin, in case your bosses missed it, the Khanate is still at a state of war with the PRC," I shook my head. "With their limited experience with democratic government throughout most of the Khanate's territories, that would be madness."

"With limited concessions to the Imperial State, we have not interfered with the politics of Albania, Armenia, Georgia and Turkey. We are never going to become a Western-style democracy. We have had limited rule by consensus long before White Men arrived in the Western Hemisphere," OT informed them.

"Discounting the Irish Monks, Vikings and Knights Templar," Pamela interjected.

"If you say so," OT gave a minuscule bow to Pamela. "Long before your nation was anything more than the scribbled history of a long-faded Greek city-state, we had meritocracies, oligarchies of senior statesmen & warriors, thinkers and religious leaders, and we had codified judicial moral equality into the political arena. We have a far superior record of religious and minority freedom, of genuine multi-culturalism plus a deeper understanding of the arts and crafts as a means of uniting disparate peoples. We find your claims of cultural superiority to be childish."

"Oh, snap," I snickered. "You get'em, OT."

"I bet the boys in Foggy Bottom felt that pimp-slap," Pamela agreed.

"I bet the bronzed skull of some Harvard dean just fell off its pedestal."

"They are called 'busts'," Anais groaned. "With a name like that, how could you forget it?"

"So true," I concurred. "All this responsibility must have clouded my normally hedonistic vocabulary."

"That doesn't change the fact that you have employed biological warfare and genocide in this current day and age," Justin pointed out.

"Tell that to our Native Americans," I snorted. "They are easy to find. They live in trailer parks in whatever blasted Hell Hole we stuck them in, or in their casinos where they are buying back their country, one rube at a time. Ask them if they've gotten over it."

"We don't claim to be perfect," Justin insisted.

"No, we merely claim to have the only correct form of government, economic policy and schools of philosophical, political, scientific and educational thought," I pointed out.

"We definitely should revive ethical utilitarianism," Pamela slapped a fist into her palm. "Oh, and the guillotine. Work houses for orphans and grist mills for the disabled, and A Modest Proposal for those chronically unemployed and terminally homeless, yes, and,"

"Pamela, what is it with you today?" I snickered.

"It is nearly sunset,"

"Ah, and you haven't killed anyone yet."

"You know how cranky I get when I don't get my daily dose of homicide."

"Are you two done?" Anais frowned. She did that a lot around me.

"And you don't hand out Mini-Uzi's to your preschoolers," Pamela glowered. "What is wrong with you people?"

Pause, waiting for that punch line that was never coming. See, it was more difficult to sense Pamela was an immediate threat to your health if you thought she was completely off her rocker.

"Hmm, well, on that note, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a deal. Chris and Justin, I will leave you with my loyal Iskender to work out the gory details. Who wants to grab dinner?" I inquired.

"Are you serious?" Nashi gasped.

"Oh yeah. I had the Russian invasion of Manchuria figured out in this amount of time and Manchuria is way bigger than Thailand." Was it? I didn't know. Geography was not one of those subjects which gets you laid.

"What do you have in mind?" Zelda inquired.

"Whatever you want."

{1 am, Sunday, August 31st ~ 8 Days to go}

"How did I end up in bed with you?" Zelda sighed happily, her body splayed halfway over mine and her head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat.

"You aren't the first girl to ask me that question."

On the other side, Anais moaned in her sleep. Yeah, she was over me. Abso-fucking-lutely. If you recall, she'd try anything once. I convinced her the military babes were totally different than that Goth chick we'd blown the mind of back in Montreal.

Zelda was with me because I had caught her in a lie. She claimed to be a lesbian when I first hit on her. She was adamant. I destroyed her with incontrovertible evidence.

A) She hadn't scoped out Anais when she came in. A glance didn't count and Anais oozed sexy when she was angry, which was most of the time.

B) She hadn't scoped out Juanita's figure when said worthy went to the kitchenette. I look for such things and Juanita has thighs to die for.

C) When I told her she had a wicked sense of humor, she blushed. Honestly, lesbians rarely care about strange men complimenting their personalities.

D) Then I double-downed by asking her if she preferred a shower, or bath. She said shower (because that's the butch thing to say). When I asked her 'when was the last time she'd had a bubble bath', she blushed again. Lesbians don't like it when a man imagines them naked. Straight chicks, unless you are a creepy, stalker guy, like it when men fantasize about them swathed in bubbles, thus semi-clothed, thus not creepy.

E) In a final and fatal act of evasion, she asked a grumpy Anais what she liked about me. Anais was blunt.

"He can fucking hammer you all night, sneak in a romantic quickie in the shower, cook you a delicious breakfast then give you another round of mind-numbing intercourse up against the wall before you have to go to work. And still find the time and energy to fuck your neighbor."

Woot!

"So, this happens to you often?" she mused, it was a trap. She really wanted to know if I was an egotistical scumbag who took advantage of every woman I came across. At the same time, she wanted to know if I considered her a 'whoe' ~ a woman who gives up the goodies for free.

"Do you mean 'am I taking advantage of you'?" I replied.

"That is not what I asked," she persisted. That meant 'yes'.

"Let me see," I laid back and looked up at the ceiling. "I have a fiancée, six women I am close enough to to spend quality time with, a fuck-buddy who is a sweet girl and trusts me too much and a passel of ex-girlfriends who have found my infidelity to be reprehensible."

"Six women?" she frowned.

"Four co-workers (Rhada, Oneida, Yasmin and Buffy), the girlfriend of a co-worker who dumped her in a very public fashion (Brooke) and that woman's friend (Libra). She was the wing-chick who was stuck with me on a quadruple-date and was underwhelmed with me when we first met."

I didn't count my 'hook-ups' and I wasn't sure how to qualify Nicole.

"Ex's?"

"'No' is not a word in common usage in my vocabulary. I've dated a best friend's girl, a mother, sister and aunt of the same girlfriend, basically, I'm either highly immoral, incredibly loose, or a letch."

"Don't you take responsibility for any of those, relationships?"

"Hell yeah," I tilted her chin up so that we could make eye-contact. "I've never blamed a woman for taking out her frustrations on my flesh, ran away from a screaming fit (Big Lie!), or blamed them for any failing in our relationship. It is always my fault because I can't stay loyal."

"That's depressing," Zelda moped.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't find fault in any of the women I have spent time with. That is my problem, I find women fascinating; never boring, or bland. Quite frankly, it is a gift that I don't regret having. I may be a fuck-up, but I'm a fuck-up who will give you the very best attention."

"Full of yourself, much?" her attitude shifted. I had short-circuited her fears; I was a cheater, I confessed to it without shame because I was inexorably drawn to her beauty, personality and charm. With Anais around, I couldn't claim to be solely enchanted with Zelda, so I had to think quickly on my feet. After all, Zelda was energetic and had great stamina.

"I promised you pleasure," I countered. "Did I deliver?"

"Yes, you are full of yourself," she slapped my stomach. I wasn't full of myself. I was a confident sex machine.

"Thank you."

"Huh?"

"Wonderful sex, taking a chance with me, agreeing to a three-way, being awake after," I looked at the bed-table clock, "six hours."

"I run five miles a day," she bragged.

"I try to have ten hours of sex a day," I teased. Zelda slapped my stomach again. Anais stirred.

"Do any women like you, for any reason beyond your cock?"

"I'm considered loyal where sex is not concerned, reliable and brave," I offered.

"What happened in Romania?"

"Have you ever been in combat?"

"I've been in violent confrontations, but not a true firefight," she admitted.

"Hmm,"

"Is it something that you can't relate?" she asked.

"No. You are a soldier so you probably know more about combat than I do. It was, not chaotic at all. I never lost perspective of what was going on despite the bullets flying around. The Romanian Captain in charge knew his stuff, directed his company well and all I had to do was figure out where the terrorist leader was."

"What happened?" she perked up.

"I am here talking with you and he's in a morgue in Bucharest."

"Oh," She wanted more.

"I have to live with the knowledge that I set all of that in motion, Zelda. I convinced the Romanians that they had to confront that terror group before they moved on to their next target, me."

"I knew they would come after me and my friends, no matter where we were. Which would have ended up as a blood bath in some urban center. So I felt compelled to strike first. Based on information I provided, the Romanian Army sent two battalions, the 22nd and 24th, of the 6th Mountain Troops Brigade into battle."

"It was a massacre," I remembered sadly.

"But you won," she tried to comfort me.

"Of the four companies involved in the battle, the Romanians suffered nearly two hundred dead and wounded. I hardly consider it anything other than a massacre. Yes, we won. Only three of the terrorists escaped. Their leader died. I don't think I've ever felt so hollow in my life," I finished.

"Forty percent losses, that is horrific," she crawled on top of me.

"The kicker is the Romanians sent some men of the 24th to hunt me down when I was kidnapped. A squad was in the group that rescued me and my companion from Johnston Island. I thought they would never want to deal with me ever again."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. If they thought well enough of you to send their men out to rescue you, then you must have done right by them."

"Chaz said something like that too," I felt sheepish and sleepy.

"Chaz? Who is she?"

Honest to God, one day I want to find a girl who thinks I'm talking about another girl and asks if we can have a three-way, instead of trying to compare herself to this unknown person. Wait... I already had someone like that. Her name was Odette.

"Chaz is Color Sergeant Charles 'Chaz' Tomorrow of Her Majesty's SSR," I corrected her assumption.

"SSR? Those are some tough people. How do you know him?"

"Black Bag directives from the National Security Council, sworn to secrecy upon penalty of death, pinky-promise kind of stuff," I grinned. Maybe I wasn't all that sleepy after all.

"You really are a Man of Mystery," Zelda purred. She had truly exceptional stamina. "Maybe I can convince you to talk."

"Maybe I can find another use for my tongue," I countered and off we went. Somewhere along the process, Anais woke up and joined in.

It wasn't all fun and games. Anais' parting words were "You are a pig," then she sauntered out of my room and out of my life. Had she remembered to take her Serge with her, I would have bought the act. As it was,

"Is she always so volatile?" Zelda remarked.

"Volatile? That's not her being volatile. That's Anais being affectionate. Volatile usually is accompanied by thrown objects and bodily harm," I sighed happily. Meeting her one more time couldn't be all that bad, could it? Zelda looked hungry so I shoved that thought to the back of my mind and got to work.

That was the highlight of my Sunday. Zelda had to fly back to Washington D.C. and I had to go to work with JIKIT. It seemed that the Khanate and the US military were heading for a showdown. I unloaded all my Saturday's activities to the team and we got to work, no recriminations. I was the Khan's spiritual brother and sometimes that meant I had to do him favors.

I asked Addison when she thought he would return the favor. She laughed, then smiled and told me that wasn't how it worked. He was a world leader now and I was merely his kooky kinsman that he would keep throwing problems at until one day I broke. Then it would be some other poor saps turn.

Then she told me she was kidding and clearly the Great Khan thought the world of me. I chose to believe the second lie because it made me feel better, and it was promising to be a long weekend/start of the week.

Note: Geopolitical Developments

What follows are snippets of the Battle for Thailand that takes place late in the night of September 1stand continued into the early morning of September 3rd. If this does not interest you, you can rejoin Cáel’s exploits in four pages)

On the eve of battle, the Royal Thai High Command had decided to strip all but one armored unit from the 2nd Army in order to give the First Army's offensive against the rebels more of a punch. It's decision to strip the tank battalions from both their infantry divisions as well as the armored and one of the two mechanized regiments would prove to be disastrous. It was as if the leadership of the Royal Thai military were idiots.

The least economically valuable part of the country was the northeast which the 2nd Army warded. They had severely underestimated the airlift capacity of the Khanate as well as the willingness of Laos and Cambodia to both use their armed forces in an invasion as well as their willingness to let Vietnamese troops cross their countries.

That thinking had led the Thai military to adopt a 'forward defense' strategy, the desire to fight the enemy at the borders, as opposed to having stronger formations deeper within the country. Considering the relative weakness of the Cambodian and Laotian militaries, that policy had made sense:

- The baseline Laotian and Cambodian tank was the T-54/55, a 1950's Soviet relic. The normal anti-tank capabilities in all Thai infantry formations was more than equal to such a threat.

-Neither country had an air force worth worrying about.

In contrast, the Khanate's primary tanks, the T-90SM and T-95 were resistant to most of what the Thai Army could throw at them, at least from the front. The seven hundred combat aircraft the Khanate and the Vietnamese were able to field was an equal catastrophe for the Thais. It greatly compensated for the relative small numbers of invaders.

Finally, there was a fundamental misunderstanding of what the Alliance's goals were. Military logic dictated the destruction of Thailand's mobile force followed by the capture of Bangkok. As long as the Thai regime held the capital, it would remain the legitimate power in the country.

Due to the altering political landscape, the Alliance's only option was to make the government 'look bad'. The loss of peripheral provinces, while of negligible immediate strategic value, looked great on the maps the world-wide media would be showing to their audiences. It would appear that the Thai army had failed to defend their country. That would (hopefully) make the Thai Third Army look like the legitimate authority in Thailand.

That was the plan anyway, and you know what they say about battle plans and the enemy, right? H-hour was 4 am, September 1st.
The commander of the Zuun stood up and waited to be recognized. The staff officer from the Yunnan Command pointed at him.

"Sir, why are we doing this? I am not afraid to fight for the Great Khan, but this action seems to be suicidal. We will be far behind enemy's lines while our offensive force will be grossly under-equipped."

"You will have to rely on our ability to supply you by air."

"We only have supplies for two days of operations. What happens then?"

"We rely on the Americans to come and save us," the senior officer responded bitterly.

"Allah save us from allies," the young commander muttered. What else could he do?

He was part of the 2nd Mountain Sultan Mehmet Tumen which had just arrived in Yunnan to replace the exhausted 1st Mountain Abu al-Ghazi Bahadur Tumen. His men were from Turkey, inexperienced in combat and using new equipment they were not familiar with. They would be working with a unit he had never worked with before, the 1st Airmobile Tauekel Khan Tumen, Kazaks, who would be seizing the small airport his men needed to land in.

From there, they were to 'run amok'. That was the technical term for racing south down a highway in Central Thailand, attacking the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Division, an armored unit. Once that was accomplished, they were to attack the local police precinct. Provided they were still alive after that, they were to return to the air strip to resupply then they were to 'spread chaos' until they were finally hunted down by the vastly larger Thai division his 100 men would be fighting.

Of course, there was the plan for the rebel Royal Thai Third Army to force their way through the larger frontline forces of the loyalist Royal Thai First Army and come to his rescue. How would the Thai troops respond when ordered to fight their fellow Thais? No one was sure. If there was any hope in this mission, it was the knowledge that several other Zuuns had the exact same mission in other areas of Thailand.  

It was H-hour minus twenty-two.

It was 11 o'clock in the evening when the general in charge of the Royal Thai 9th Infantry Division was woken up. The Marines were leaving. That was correct; the three Royal Thai regiments were heading west to Sattahip Naval Base, because they had been ordered to by the Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Navy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize why this was going on.

Seven hours earlier, the Royal Thai Army had seized all the Air Force bases in the 1st and 2nd Army districts as well as ordering the 4th Army to do the same thing (The Royal Thai Air Force had been trying to remain neutral in the upcoming civil war).

Undoubtedly the navy had decided to make their assets less 'hijack-able'. A few phone calls later confirmed that most of the Navy had set sail for parts unknown and the naval air units at Ban Sattahip Air Base (U-Tapao International Airport) had also departed either out to sea, or to ports and bases in the South.

He made a personal appeal to the commander of Marine Forces to no avail. They wanted no part of the upcoming struggle and advised the general to do the same. The general had other problems. The Royal Thai Marines were the frontline forces facing the southern border with Cambodia. He quickly reorganized his regiments, sending them to take the old Marine strongpoints to await further orders. Stopping the Marines never entered his mind.

That was a bloodletting he wanted no part of. The last thing he did was inform his superiors, thus avoiding any stupid orders to the contrary. Suddenly the nebulous movements along the Cambodian border developed a haunting significance. He wondered how much longer he had before something happened.  

It was H-hour minus five.

At midnight a loyalist commander of a company of mechanized infantry in the 2nd Cavalry's 11th Battle Group (named after their axis of advance, Highway 11) decided to send a motorized section of his command forward to the advance position his battalion was to occupy come sunrise. Either later in the day, or tomorrow morning, the forces loyal to the regime would launch a coordinated assault against the rebels main supply center at Phitsanulok.

He had a cot set up in his communications hut and had just nodded off when the radio squawked to life. His lieutenant in charge of the advance made a hurried report. They had encountered serious opposition in a confusing night action, then he went silent. The captain immediately swung into action. He put the rest of his men on alert, then contacted the neighboring Tank Battalion. He needed some armored support. He made a similar call to the attached artillery component.

The Tank Battalions night officer quickly put a platoon of light tanks at his disposal. The artillery were ready for any fire mission he sent their way. Before the armor could arrive, the company commander found himself being called to the carpet by the Duty Officer at the 3rd Cavalry (two regiments of the 2nd Cav. had been attached to the 3rd's command) over his 'offensive' action and the relief mission was called off. What had happened to the patrol of 20 Royal Thai soldiers? He was ordered to wait until sunrise to find out.

Little did anyone know, these were the first combat casualties of the upcoming rebel offensive. His patrol had stumbled across a battalion of mechanized troops arriving at their jump off point for the attack that was less than six hours from beginning. Neither the commander of the 11th Battle Group, the 3rd Cavalry Division, or First Army was informed that the enemy had already advanced twenty kilometers south of where they were supposed to be.  

It was H-hour minus four.

Over the Gulf of Thailand an Indian pilot was sweating and anxious. He wasn't upset about the fact that his nation was about to intervene in the nation he was currently flying beside in an unarmed, slow moving transport aircraft. He even wasn't upset that he was about to open the rear ramp of his C-130 and unleash 64 MARCOS in an ocean insertion.

What he was upset about was flying so close to his companion C-130 that they appeared to be one aircraft to the civilian air traffic controllers. After all, there couldn't be two Indian passenger planes flying the same route to Phnom Penh one right after the other.

The 128 MARCOS Special Operators were past worrying about 'The Plan'. In the 1st phase, they were HAHO-ing (High Altitude High Opening) because they had to glide nearly thirty kilometers before landing at night into a body of water. That accomplished, they had to swim the last two kilometers, with gear, to the Thailand coast. Then they had to sneak up on a guarded compound, the U-Tapao Royal Thai Navy Airfield, and hold it until the Khanate could land reinforcements, and all before sunrise.

The second phase of the operation was a tad nebulous and not tied to any particular time table, or location. It required a good deal of guts and initiative and he and his men had that in spades. They were in the rear area of the 9th Royal Thai Infantry Division.

The MARCOS with approximately 500 Khanate soldiers were to locate any and all elements of said formation, wherever they might be, and destroy them. The enemy had 36 1960-era tanks. The Khanate had promised to bring 11 of their own (hopefully more modern) tanks. The INS promised naval and air support. Things were going to get 'interesting'.  

It was H-hour minus two.

The first planned combat action of Operation Pridi Phanomyong, the name for the combined Thai, Cambodian, Khanate, Laotian and Vietnamese offensive to topple the military dictatorship ruling Thailand, happened at Nong Khai, Thailand.

The commander of a battalion of the 3rd Infantry Division had been denied permission to wire the '2nd Thai-Laos Friendship Bridge' with explosives, so he had targeted it with his mortar team instead, despite the reality that his 81mm round were likely to have negligible impact on the structure.

At 3 am, he was awoken to the sounds of automatic weapons fire far too close by. 'Him' stopping to get dressed saved his life. As he was exiting the private residence next to his Command Post, the Post erupted into a fireball. He even made out the whoosh of the cruise missile impacting. He had planned for that contingency. The man raced back into his home and accessed the public telephone network.

His first call to the mortar platoon went unanswered. His next two calls to the two infantry companies manning positions adjacent to the bridge also went unanswered. His fourth call was to his reserve company. They responded, so he directed them to retake the southern end of the bridge and hold it at all costs.

His fifth call was to regimental command, 100 km safely to the rear, to inform them that his position was compromised. He needed immediate support or he believed his position would be overrun. If assistance wasn't coming, he wanted permission to withdraw with whatever he could salvage.

Before he could get his reply, his residence was rocked by a grenade explosion. As he struggled back to his feet, machine gun fire ripped through the place. His attendant and two security troopers fell back down. The door was kicked open. Though wounded, he scrambled to pull his pistol out. A hammer blow hit his chest. His last memory was of a camouflage-painted Mongolian face looking down at him. It was Hour minus one.

The Royal Thai Armed Forces were not designed around a robust anti-aircraft program. Their few advanced systems were around the capital, not in the field with the troops. They had to use more primitive systems and relied heavily on the civilian air traffic controllers for much of their data. A phone call from Khon Kaen International airport operator alerted the area army commander that something ominous was coming their way.

Dutifully, the military officer ordered his radar operators to cut on their search radars to analyze the threat. They found it. At the same time, the waiting Khanate Su-27 pilots registered the range and location of the enemy radars and promptly send radar-seeking missiles their way. Those two aircraft were tasked with anti-air suppression. Behind them, an air armada was descending on Thailand and it would be a disaster if their lumbering Il-76's and An-70's and -74's were blasted out of the sky in a rain of burning men and material.

Patrolling several thousand meters above were two Thai Royal Air Force F-16's. They spotted the Su-27's activating their search radar, identified them as 'hostiles' who had penetrated Thai airspace and dove to the attack. They kept their radars passive, waited for the IR missiles to 'beep', letting the pilots know they had locked on to their targets, and then let loose.

A heartbeat later, half a dozen different search radars went active. It was a group of Mig-29's who were flying air cover over the group of ground attack fighters beneath them. One Su-27 twisted out of the way. The second took a hit and spun out of control. After that, the two F-16 pilots were too busy futilely trying to stay alive. It was H hour.

Where was the Royal Thai Air Force? The units in the central part of the country had been persuaded to cooperate with the regime. Those in the south and north had kept to their neutrality. The ones in the west were faced with a crisis of conscience when Khanate airmobile forces landed at their bases.

The soldiers promised the airmen that no one needed to fire at the other. The invaders weren't going to demand the Thai's surrender, only that they stay on the base until the crisis was over. They were loyal servants of the Kingdom, but what did that mean right now, when the Army was shooting people in the streets? A cautious d tente was reached. In that small portion of the country, no one died.

In the south of Thailand, the pilots listened to their brethren to the north fighting and dying. Their resolve to stay neutral was tested. The regime declared this to be a foreign invasion. The Royal Thai Third Army declared the country's hour of liberation was at hand. Conflicted, they did nothing. By daylight, H-hour plus three, the skies over most of their homeland were empty of all Thai aircraft.

A soldier of the Royal Cambodian 5th Commando was poised and waiting for the ultimate test of his unit's ability. Oddly enough, his unit had been created because of the success of Thai Special Forces against his country in countless earlier border clashes.

Now he was sitting in Thailand, waiting for the largest offensive the modern Cambodian Army had ever attempted in their modern history. Sure, they had been invaded plenty of times in the past hundred years. This time, they would be the invaders.

At thirty-two seconds past H-hour, 130mm howitzer shells began falling on the loose Thai earthworks. They clearly didn't suspect that they were standing in the way of the Alliance 'Cambodia Force' (the designation for the middle of three axis of invasions out of Cambodia).

It wasn't much, as invasion armies went ~ a regiment of Cambodia's Fourth Division plus three batteries of heavy artillery, the 160th Regiment of the Vietnamese 5th Division and 500 Khanate soldiers with 33 T-90SM tanks ~ maybe 3000 men in all. It was a paltry invasion army.

His wasn't the only Cambodia Commando unit in this operation either. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd Commando (Airborne) were over 30 kilometers away, deeper in Thailand. They had to secure bridges on Highway 24 as well as one over Road 224 until relieved by his invasion Battle Group (BG). Their mission was to stop Thai reinforcements from setting up blocking forces. With his 5th Commando was the 7th Commando. When the artillery barrage lifted, they were to attack the Thai battalion from the rear while their brethren attacked from the front.

One of the most relevant facts in the Alliance's intervention was something their American and NATO contemporaries had thought irrelevant in the upcoming struggle. With the minimal runway space in Northeastern Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, it was the ability of Soviet/Russian aircraft to use unpaved airfields to launch from.

This greatly magnified the number of planes the Khanate could bring to the fight. Like every other component of this expedition, they were critically short on armaments, fuel and spare parts. Giving them a schedule of 48 hours of continuous operations was considered overly optimistic by the leaders in charge of these air groups.

A feature these aircraft did share with their western counterparts was the ability to fly night, as well as day operations, in all sorts of weather. Close to 3:30 in the morning, the planes began to assemble over their bases and then headed for the Thai border. The groups coming from Chinese bases had started out earlier while those in Cambodia and Laos were late to the game. None the less, nearly five hundred Khanate combat aircraft began descending on Thailand. Behind them came the 400 planes carrying the airborne and airlift forces.

In front of them were the Khanate's airmobile/helicopter borne units. Small in number, they had the unenviable task of seizing river crossings and civilian air bases for the oncoming transports who would be landing troops, supplies and eventually reinforcements. In more than one instance, it was a one-way trip. The unit was being sacrificed in order to confuse the Thai military about the true threat until it was too late. That was the plan anyway.

The Thai town of Lom Sak was the base for the loyalist Eastern Battle Group (EBG). It was the smallest of the four groups designated to attack the rebel 1st Cavalry Division. They were also the closest to the enemy base of operations. They were also terribly close to the Laotian border. The Colonel in charge of EBG had been very conscious of the current political situation and carefully parked his equipment in lagers outside of the municipality.

Unfortunately, his political consideration also made his command an open, tempting target for the Khanate aircraft. Absent any air defense, or even an early warning system, he was jarred out of his bed by a series of explosion. He died without ever knowing that much of his unit was dying right along with him.

For the dozen Su-25 pilots, this was the start of what promised to be a very long day. Lom Sak was just over the border, so they were to drop bombs, fire their rockets and then strafe the ashes until they stopped twitching. Despite the carnage unleashed, not everyone in EBG died. Many survived, but their tanks, APC's and trucks were destroyed.

West of Lom Sak, the platoon placed on the only road between the town and their target were calling anyone and everyone because they were in trouble too. They heard tanks coming their way and they desperately needed assistance. Then the 125mm High Explosive (H E) shells began hitting their positions. They could see the muzzle flashes from the two oncoming tanks as they fired.

Immediately his Dragon (an anti-tank missile system) fired. It missed. They were reloading when they were reduced to so much blood, bone and rock fragments. The other option? The lieutenant in charge knew the range was extreme for his only anti-tank weapon, two LAW rockets, but he had no other alternatives.

The soldier assigned to the task fired. The platoon watched the rocket streak toward the target, and hit it, and nothing happened. Actually, that was incorrect. The tank began machine gunning the location the shot had come from. The second LAW had similar poor success. It did momentarily reveal the infantry moving up with the tanks.

That was enough for the lieutenant. He was courageous. That didn't mean he'd let his men get slaughtered. He ordered his men to fall back to their jeeps and head back toward Lom Sak in all haste. They made it to Lom Sak, then kept going. There was nothing left in the EBG that could stop tanks, the sun was rising and hanging around seemed contrary to the Laws of Survival.  

It was H-hour plus 30 minutes.

For the loyalist mechanized regiment of the Nan River Battle Group it was a confusing awakening. Promptly at 4:00 am, thunder could be heard from both flanks of their position. It was miles away, not an immediate threat, so their first concern was that the loyalist attack had been launched and no one had bothered to tell them. According to 'The (Loyalist) Plan', they were to push north against hopefully light opposition and approach Phitsanulok from the southwest.

By a quirk of the Thai command structure, the Nan River BG wasn't in contact with the military bodies on either flank. They were in contact with 3rd Cavalry, which they were a part of. The Duty Officer there had no idea what was going on. He did order the unit go to Alert Status and await further orders. Unfortunately for all concerned, those communications were made with radios.

The Khanate A-50 AEW was looking for just such action and sent two Su-25 attack craft to each location. Within twenty minutes, the General in charge of the 3rd Cavalry Division put his units on alert, then died. As did his underling in charge of the Nan River BG. For the Thai troops on the Nan River, it wasn't over. In the dark, 4 old Mil Mi-26's attack helicopters began raining death down on them for five minutes.

It was of little consolation that the troops of the 117th BG were getting it a whole lot worse. The 117th consisted of both the Armored and Mechanized regiments of the 3rd Cavalry Division. 'The Plan' called for two Armored and 3 Mechanized regiments plus an armored and a motorized battalion to attack across a broad front from the south while another mechanized and armored battalion attacked from the east. Forced to defend along multiple fronts, the rebel 3rd Army's 1st Cavalry division would be defeated in detail and the rebellion ended.

The downside to the plan was that it left the loyalist forces facing the same predicament, the risk of being defeated separately in bite-sized chunks. That was not the fate of the Nan River BG, or 117th BG. They were to be paralyzed by air strikes just long enough for the 11th BG to be overwhelmed and the road opened to the 3rd Cavalry Divisions rear area.

Military logic demanded that the mobile flanking forces had to be defeated before a true breakthrough could be achieved, not just disrupted. Otherwise, the invaders could be cut off from supplies and choked of resources. Except the invading forces didn't care about their supply lines. What little reserves they had could be brought in by air, after that, there was nothing left and the advance would grind to a halt.

Little did the Nan River BG know that it was Alliance strategy to cripple their mobile assets so that an organized counterattack would come too late to save the 11th BG. The 117th would be drawn off to stop the rebel 7th Infantry Division's attack to the west at Nakhon Sawa down Highway 1. The 7th only had a small number of mobile forces, but if those could get behind the loyalist they would be between the loyalist army and Bangkok, the rebellion just might succeed.  

It was H-hour plus 50 minutes.

 The commander of the First Army was finally made aware of the Alliance attack at 5:23 am. He was 250 km from the front lines and communications were spotty. The size and composition of the attacking force was unknown, but that wasn't what had his attention. Bangkok itself was under attack. Again, forces were unknown, but they had seized Suvarnabhumi Airport, inside the city. That was his item of primary importance.

He ordered the General in charge of the 1st Division, the garrison of the capital, to secure the critical elements of the city's infrastructure and retake the airport before more enemy could arrive. Had he understood the he was obsessing over less than 240 Khanate soldiers in twenty-four vehicles, he would have let the local military and police checkpoints deal with them.

The attackers had been delivered by helicopter assault. They shot up the airport's control tower, then spread out into the surrounding city. Their helicopter support, at the end of their effective range, had to leave. Those 240 men were on their own. They were not likely to be reinforced nor was there going to be an attempt to rescue them. This was one of those 'one-way' missions that had been complained about during the initial and only briefing.  

It was H-hour plus two.

 

 The General in charge of the loyalist 9th Infantry Division had a better picture of what was going on in his district. He had a mobile force in his rear that was tearing up his 1st regiment, which he had been forced to spread out over a 100 km of coastline. His 2nd regiment was being pushed back by a force coming up from Krong Khemara Phoumin, Cambodia.

The linchpin of their defense was the town of Trat, and an Alliance force had somehow slipped around the front ling to appear there, seized the bridge over the Trat River and was currently driving his forces to the north and west of that town. The lone battalion facing the primary invasion force was on its own.

His 3rd regiment had been placed to hold open his lines of communication/support along the Cambodian border between his command and that of the 2nd Division, which was also under attack. His sole reserve force, his tank battalion, had already been engaged and largely destroyed in Trat. He immediately ordered one battalion from his 3rd regiment to head to the rear while ordering the other two, plus the remnants of the 3rd regiment to fall back on his central position. There they would make their stand.

No sooner had those orders gone out than First Army contacted him and ordered him to immediately counterattack the invaders.

His response? 'Counterattack? In which direction? I'm surrounded.'

They told him to secure the frontier, and then stole a battalion from his 1st regiment because the capital was under attack. His pleas that he desperately needed that battalion for any counter attack were ignored.

The sole battalion driving to his rear had a 190 km to travel, over open roads, in trucks and subject to air attack. That move would take at least four hours (hopefully). What remained of the battalion they were going to aid was yet to be seen. They sounded like they were in a world of trouble.

It would take two hours for the other two battalions from the 3rd regiment to arrive. They would be united with the remnants of the 3rd Regiment and the final battalion of the 1st regiment at Chanthaburi, where he had his HQ. Only at that point, absent tank and air support, would he attempt any action to expel the invaders. He figured he had slim odds of success.

In thirty minutes he would be informed that the battalion holding back the main invading force had finally succumbed. It had endured continuous artillery barrages, multiple air strikes and five combined arms assaults. They were out of time, fighting men and largely out of ammunition when they surrendered.  

It was H-hour plus three.

 The citizens of Bangkok woke up to another round of shooting in the streets. Some people, somewhere had defied the government and were now either getting killed, or arrested. About an hour earlier, a small number of mysterious operatives contacted the surviving members of the opposition and told them the hour of deliverance was at hand. Khanate troops were already in the city and if they wanted to show the Khanate and the whole world that they deserved freedom, they had to get into the streets for one last, climactic showdown.

So small groups hit the streets. At first, they realized that something had gone wrong for the authorities. The police they saw on the streets were scared. Many of the military checkpoints had been abandoned. One group, over a hundred strong by this point, rounded a street corner nervously and spotted three military vehicles sitting at the next intersection. They weren't in familiar vehicles and the strangers appeared to be lost.

One man, braver than most, approached them, quickly receiving their attention. He greeted them. They didn't respond, but they weren't pointing guns at him either. As he drew close, one of the soldiers approached him and handed him a 'flyer', a one page pamphlet.

'We are part of the Free Thai Alliance and are here to liberate you. We apologize for not speaking your language. If you would direct us to the closest military or police station, we will attack it for you.'

The man looked at the soldier who gave him the pamphlet then up at the armored vehicle they were standing next to. It appeared to have a very big gun and the soldiers around it seemed ready enough.

"I will show you the way," the man nodded then bowed, his hands clasped together. Over his shoulder he shouted, "They are here to help. Come with us!"

The soldier quickly figured out the Thai citizen wanted to climb up on the BMP-3M. It had a 30mm auto-cannon, three 7.6mm machine guns, and the really big gun was a 100mm cannon that could also fire anti-tank missiles. It was armored enough to defeat anything the police could bring to the fight, though any serious weapon would destroy it. Its main reason for being on that street at that moment was that it was a 'mere' 18 tons and thus could be airlifted by helicopter into the city.

The other two vehicles were jumped-up Russian jeeps called Tigr's. They were armored against small arms fire and had nifty 12.7mm machine guns on top and its 11 occupants seemed rather upbeat about their chances (which was to say they Thai's couldn't penetrate the Kazak soldiers stoic acceptance of their fates.)

"This way," the Thai protester pointed. He wasn't taking them downtown, oh no. He was directing them into a working class section of Bangkok that was a hotbed of anti-government resistance. He had little doubt they could find police officers there. He didn't want to kill them. He hoped they would see the size of his tank's big gun and do the right thing, aka give up.

(BMP-3M owners please note: the BMP-3M is not a tank. It is an IFV (infantry fighting vehicle). Fighting a true tank voids the manufacturer's warranty)

He also pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls. The message was always the same -

"There are Mongol soldiers roaming the city. Find them before the military does and use them to break police barricades. Oh, they don't understand our language so speak very slowly and use plenty of hand gestures."

The Commander of a Hundred that the Thai was directing was actually much more upbeat about his chances than he had been five minutes earlier. There was a real worry that the Thai people would see his men as hostile invaders and let the Royal Thai Army destroy them with little to show for their mission.

He activated his military network and informed the Air Force that he had encountered anti-government forces and was interacting with them in a positive manner. In response, he was told he was doing well (like that mattered) and a dozen aircraft were coming his way to provide ground support (far more important). Now they had the real possibility of causing a bloodbath in Bangkok, going out with a Bang.  

It was H-hour plus three.

 The leader of the MARCOS team was perplexed. Everything was going better than planned. His allies had arrived precisely on schedule with 11 T-90Sm tanks and sizable number of supporting armored vehicles. They had immediately agreed that their combined forces needed to take the offensive, so they mounted up and raced east to the town of Rayong.

Rayong was the location of the HQ of the 1st regiment of the 9th Royal Thai Infantry Division. They had found a full battalion there and a firefight had ensued. The Thai's had been alert, just facing the wrong way when the Allies went in. The combat broke up into brutal, house-to-house fighting against over a thousand soldiers, paramilitaries and police.

It had been an uneven struggle. The MARCOS were the most elite soldiers of a nation of over 1 billion people with four millennia of martial valor. The Khanate's troopers had been dedicated and very well armed, if somewhat inexperienced. The Thai's had no effective anti-tank weapons versus the T-90's and their artillery support consisted of a handful of mortars that were quickly located and neutralized.

He wasn't perplexed by the three regiments of Royal Marines sitting in the Juksamet Port of Sattahip. They seemed happy enough just sitting out this round of the battle. Whatever moved them would be of a political nature. He wasn't about to attack them and they seemed to accept that situation. If things changed, the Indian Navy had promised to flatten the base with as much firepower as 34 warships could muster.

No, what perplexed the officer was that the other two battalions attached to the 1st regiment hadn't made an appearance by now. He had reconnaissance teams farther to the east and as far west as the resort of Pattaya some 50 kilometers away. Nothing. Since the situation was going so well and he was the titular commander of this force, he went with Plan Nāraṅgī.

That called for the Khanate to start basing four airmobile Zuuns out of his captured airbase. There was plentiful aviation fuel, the base wasn't about to be overrun and having some attack helicopters at his immediate beck and call seemed prudent. Outside, an annoying journalistic team from Sky News were going live. They had come in with the Khanate troops, thus weren't really his problem. No, he had to figure out where those other two battalions had gotten themselves to.  

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13440 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 10

Sibeal Pays A Visit.

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

{Right where we left off}

It was H-hour plus four.

 A Thai soldier fired another burst from his T A R 21. The other four soldiers around him did the same. They were using an overturned car as cover. He saw movement at a building across the street to his right. He fired off another few rounds. The figure fell to the ground. By hard-earned experience, he realized the enemy soldier had probably dived for cover, not been hit.

"Time to fall back. One block back," he hoped he didn't sound too shrill. "You two go first," he indicated the two townsfolk. His battalion major had drafted them minutes after the attack began. Any organized supply depot had been an open invitation for an artillery strike, so he had called for civilians to help carry the ammunition loads instead. These two had been attached to his platoon. Now they were with him.

They nodded, hefted up the crate of 5.56mm and sprinted toward the rear while his men gave them cover fire. They made it. He named off two of his other men. It was their turn to go. After their sprint to safety, it was time for him and the last two to go. They ran past some terribly close flanking fire, but all made it.

This Thai soldier wasn't the squad leader, or even the squad's second in command. He was a lowly Phon Thahan (Private, not 1st Class). Those two men were already dead. No, he was a common soldier who found other men listening to his orders so, by default, he was in command. His initial squad of ten had shrunk down to three. The fourth man had been part of the regimental staff, a driver, sent into the firefight to replace losses. He still could point and shoot, which was all that mattered at the moment.

At the next block he found the two civilians. His men dumped their empty clips on them, then positioned themselves for the next enemy rush. The leader of this ad hoc force took the driver over to the far corner of the building they sheltered behind. Too often, going inside buildings was a death trap. The enemy would corner you then call in their artillery.

"Guard this corner," he told the driver. "I'll be checking up on you." The frightened soldier nodded, then took up his post. Now he had a few seconds to consider his position. He was running out of town to retreat through. Behind him lay open fields. Just then he saw the tale-tell site of a Dragon Anti-Tank missile firing from the next raised roadway to his rear-right.

He couldn't see if it hit anything. There was no huge explosion. Still, it indicated that other elements of his battalion were in the fight. From what little briefing he had been given when the attack started, the major had placed his heavy machine guns and recoilless rifles on each flank to stop the enemy's mobile forces from getting around his command and surrounding them.

Little did the soldier understand he was involved in a textbook defense by foot-bound infantry versus armored opponents. His two townsmen were busy shoving bullets into the thirty round magazines. His men had already engaged the enemy to the front. Gone were the cries of 'got him'. No one gave a damn anymore. They were too exhausted to care. Now they counted the comrades they had left, not the possible number of enemy out there.

Six minutes later he heard the sound of death coming his way.

"Everyone down," he screamed a second before an artillery round flattened their shelter. For a few moments all he could do was gaze up at the heavens. His body hurt, his ears were ringing and the belief that he could stop now, he had given it his best shot and his part in this battle were over.

He pulled himself and examined what he had left. He wasn't hurt if you didn't count the blood coming out his ears. He couldn't say the same for his companions. One of the townsmen had the top of his head torn off, his soulless eyes gazing up to the forever. One of his men had a smoking chunk of meat where his spine should have been. A second one was nursing a bad leg wound.

The third soldier? He was already up and firing. The second townsmen was a bit dazed, yet looked like he could carry on. The soldier crouch-ran to check on the driver. He was laying on his belly. For a second he mourned for that fellow then the man got off a burst, then scooted back. He had been 'playing possum' in order to draw some enemy out. He was alive and fighting.

"We have got to get out of here," he told the man. "Get to the elevated road across the field then provide cover fire for the rest of us." The driver acknowledged the command, fired off one more burst then bolted for the field. The Thai made his way back to his other survivors. He gave them the same order, the civilian first.

The wounded man? He couldn't make it with that leg wound and if any of the others carried him they would most likely die too.

"Cover us as long as you can," he ordered. The wounded shoulder crawled to the corner to relieve the only standing soldier.

"Go," he ordered that man. Off he sprinted. The leader placed two spare clips next to the wounded man, wished him luck, then it was his turn to sprint to safety. Close to the end, a few bullets hurried him along. He found the others had made it unwounded as well. The townsman was already shoving more bullets into the empty magazines.

To his right was the remnants of the squad with the recoilless rifle and a light machine gun. To his left was a group of six Thahan Phran, paramilitary border guards. He rejoined the firing line. The enemy had overrun the buildings closest to them and were faced with the same quandary he had just overcome, the open field. When a man tapped his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was his company commander.

"You've been doing well. I'm placing you in command of this section. We have a Carl Gustav (another version of a recoilless rifle) in the trees over there," the Captain pointed to the right. Hold this position as long as you can. Help is on the way."

Before this fight, the soldier had dreaded this officer. He had been so pompous, so spit-and-polished and arrogant. Now he saw different qualities in the man. He was cool under fire, had his mind on the bigger picture of the fight and the discipline he had instilled in his men was paying dividends the private soldier hadn't appreciated at that time.

"You are Sip Tho (corporal) now," the officer told him. With that declaration, the common foot soldier had inherited 13 more men, the squad of seven to his right and the six Thahan Phran to his left. Combined with his two that made something more like a combat command. The Captain made his way back up the line. The Thai didn't have long to appreciate his promotion. Smoke shells began detonating between his position and the town, obscuring the place.

"Remember," he shouted. "Short, controlled bursts and only shoot at something that you know is out there!" With that, he had established his command of the situation. Several explosions detonated in the wooded position. Half a minute later, a tank appeared and pumped another H E into the position. In doing so, it exposed its side to Thai's section.

The two men manning his Dragon launcher looked his way. It was a shot at a 45 degree angle and any heavy weapons fire would bring about all kinds of hate.

"Fire," he ordered. The man aiming the device took a few seconds then let loose. The rocket didn't penetrate the side, but it did knock a track out.

"Now we are going to get it," the Thai mumbled.

A few heartbeats later, a larger TOW missile slammed into it from a position to his command's rear. This time the tank blew up. Of equal importance to the soldier's mind, there were men behind him and that could only mean, the second regiment had finally arrived. He was sure he wouldn't be falling back any further, giving the invaders one more inch of sacred Thai soil. It also meant his men would most likely live to see the end of the day. That mattered too.  

It was H-hour plus six.

 Two hour earlier, elements of the Vietnamese People's Army's 314th Mechanized regiment and 206th Tank Regiment with the Mobile battalion of the Laotian 1st Division and the Khanate's Laos Force Command slammed into Khon Kaen. By that time, the small city had already seen its share of hell. Khanate forces had stormed the regional airport with an aerial assault at 4:10 AM that morning.

There were no dedicated combat troops in Khon Kaen. It was the HQ for both the Royal Thai 3rd Division and its component 1st regiment. That had resulted in a see-saw battle until the relief force arrived from the north. After that, resistance had collapsed. Over three hundred men surrendered. A hundred miles to the north forces in the town of Udon Thani, battalions of the 1st and 2nd regiments of the 3rd Division were still in combat with Laotian and Vietnamese forces. The final outcome of that battle had yet to be decided.

What did matter was that the entire command structure of northeast of Thailand had been neutered. There were five more battalions out there that had no idea what to do next. They suffered from sporadic air attacks, but nothing serious was coming their way.

What none of them were aware of was that a Far North Force out of the Laotian highlands had broken a battalion of the Royal Thai's 6th Infantry Division, taken Roi Et and severed the communications between the two formations. At Roi Et, the Khanate armored spearhead had left elements of the 2nd Regiment of Lao's 4th Division to hold the airport and was blazing a trail westward along Highway 23, to the south/rear of those five battalions.

South of Roi Et, two other Thai battalions were grudgingly giving ground to a regiment of Vietnam's 305th Division plus the 270th Combat Engineers and 16th Artillery Brigade. What mattered was that those forces were drawing off the efforts of the 6th Divisions to counteract the invasion.

The 6th Division had its own litany of woes. It was the subject of a dozen pinpricks. The division's commander had lost contact with the other two divisions under the 2nd Army's command. He had enemy forces to his north around Amnat Charoen, he'd lost contact with this 1st regiment HQ at Roi Et.

His second regiment, at Ubon Ratchathani, was heavily engaged with the Alliance's North Force. His 3rd regiment, spread out along the southern approaches to his life line, Highway 24, had discovered small teams of Special Forces at every bridge and crossing, making every attempt at creating a unified front costly and ultimately futile.

The 2nd Army's HQ and supply hub were at Nakhon Ratchasima. They were under attack, the airport had fallen and the sole mechanized regiment (minus one battalion) was having a terrible time retaking it. They were presently incapable of coming to his defense, since their third battalion had already been called to the capital to put down unrest/enemy forces.

He finally made his decision. The remnants of the 1st regiment were to retire westward over the back roads towards the division headquarters at the Si Sa Ket Railway Station. The second regiment was to hold in place until sunset. Using all of the division's remaining assets, he was going to secure Highway 24 so that his command could retire using that path before they were cut off and defeated one regiment at the time.  

It was H-hour plus seven.

 For one of the drivers in a Khanate Heavy Mountain Supply Zuun, there wasn't much to love about this mission. He was a truck driver with a weapon, not a true foot soldier. He was content with his role in logistics, which was why his current mission scared the crap out of him. He wasn't in an armored vehicle and was accompanied by only one Fast Zuun ~ by its very nature a lightly armored unit. Now he was driving deep into enemy territory with a truckload of Karin freedom fighters, who also were lightly equipped.

He had already reached the first goal, the town of San Buri, 270 kilometers behind enemy lines and only 60 kilometers from downtown Bangkok. There was a fear that his own air force would mistake then for an enemy supply column and shoot them up. Then there was the fear that some rear echelon troops would find the convoy suspicious and fill his unarmed vehicle with holes. His luck held, the enemy were looking to the north and east, not at a group of trucks heading south.

Soldiers from the rebel faction of the Thai Royal Army were stationed in each vehicle to cover any conversation with the local constabulary that might come up. The cover story was that the unit was driving with a purpose ~ the capital was under attack and they were reinforcements using back roads to avoid airstrikes ~ the phone network was a mess and the fact that the plan was so audacious, the normal police officers didn't feel the need to slow the military trucks down.

The last phase was pure madness. They rolled down Road 304 at 80 kph. Every time they approached a checkpoint, the unit's commander called in a hopefully faux airstrike, on both them and the Thai soldiers. That made it plausible for the convoy to race forward as the troops around them were too busy diving for cover to stop them. If anything, the defenders thought those truck drivers were the bravest men they'd ever seen.

At the end of the journey, they rolled across the Road 304 Bridge over the Chao Praya River, then dispersed. Each truck disgorged 16 Karin fighters, for a total of 560. To that was added the 100 members of the Fast Zuun and 35 drivers, three Tigr's and 59 combat troops. Miracles of miracles, they found the capital to be in total chaos.  

It was H-hour plus 6 and a half.

 The Turkish Khanate commander of 100 looked south in the direction of In Buri. He was already in the 'spread chaos' phase of his operation. The central part of In Buri was the junction of Highways 11 and 32. Somewhere to the far north, friendly units were fighting their way to him. Forces retreating south, or reinforcements from Bangkok would have to pass through his position. He commandeered some passing civilian vehicles and created barricades on all three sides of the T-cloverleaf.

Before long, the ground elements of an Airmobile Zuun had joined him. That allowed him to deploy several two-man observer teams over the surrounding countryside. He left two AFV's on the bridge and camouflaged the others in the best ambush points he could think of. Then, he waited.  

It was H-hour plus eight.

 For Julia Atwood, this was the culmination of twenty-five years working in Asia, covering a host of military conflicts and both natural and man-made humanitarian disasters. She'd gotten a tip two days earlier that Bangkok Thailand was going to be the place to be. Since she wasn't a known anti-government reporter, her entry into the country had been easy enough.

She had spent the previous day picking a city guide, luckily finding one she knew well, and looking around for sources of information about 'trouble'. What she found was a quiet city on the edge of an explosion. The police, paramilitary forces and the military had everything battened down tight. At the same time, the population was extremely anxious over the upcoming loyalist offensive against the rebel northwest.

The military had clamped down on all information coming out of the prospective war zones while exhorting on all forms of mass media the sacred traditions of Thai national identity and the need for law and order. That made the hairs on the back of Julia's neck tingle. It spoke of an upcoming shit storm. Still, Day One had been a bust. Few people wanted to talk about what was going on; all known opposition leaders were in prison or in exile.

She had awakened early in the morning to the sound of heavy weapons fire. She had been in enough war zones to know the difference between grenades exploding, or pistol, assault rifle, machine gun, and tank fire. She was hearing tank fire, which made no sense. The Thai army didn't need to use their tank's big guns to fire at anything the opposition could bring to bear.

She slipped out the back of her hotel to avoid any possible police minder, gathered up her guide and went hunting for the story. Twice she barely avoided roving army patrols. What immediately occurred to her was these soldiers didn't seem to know what was going on. They were jumpy (not good) and nervous (great for a story).

Her trained ears and years of instinct led her to one of the eyes of the storm. Julia's jaw nearly dropped open. There were Central Asian men riding around in Russian equipment surrounded by throngs of hundreds, possibly thousands, of Thai 'Red Shirt' protestors marching on a police barricade. Several leaders of the movement had bullhorns and were communicating with the police. It was a tense situation.

Julia forced her way to the BMP-3M, then shouted up at the commander standing in the copula. She tried Uzbek. The man looked her way.

"No. I'm Kazak. My Uzbek isn't very good," he replied. Julia's Kazak wasn't the best in the world, but she endeavored to make it work.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the man smiled. "We are part of the Alliance effort to bring about democratic change in this country." Julia knew he was spouting the party line.

"What are you really doing here?" she pressed.

"I have no idea," he chortled. "I don't speak this language, don't know who these people are and only found out where Thailand was two days ago."

"Are there a lot of you here?"

"Not really."

"How did you get here?"

"We landed at the airport. We are a portion of an airmobile Zuun."

Just then one of the protestors tried to get the unit leader's attention. He kept repeating something.

"He wants you to advance on the police line and look menacing," she translated.

"Okay," the Khanate officer shrugged. "That I can do."

He spoke rapid fire Kazak, which Julia couldn't quite follow. Her ride lurched forward, the crowd parted and she could see the blood drain out of the police commander's face. Without looking her way, the Kazak spoke to Julia.

"Tell them they have thirty seconds to put down their arms or I'm going to shred the lot of them."

Julia thought about it for a second. She was recording this exchange on her camcorder. She knew this was straying dangerously close to becoming a participant, not a reporter. She translated to the Thai young man. He sprinted toward the police and relayed the message. She had no idea what a 100mm fragmentation shell would do, had an idea how bloody a 30mm auto-cannon could get and had great familiarity with the effectiveness of 12.7 & 7.62mm machine guns.

The lead protestor had a rapid discussion with the lead policeman, bowing and begging for this situation to be resolved peacefully. The countdown reached eight when the officer indicated his acquiescence. The mob didn't surge forward victoriously. Julia slapped the turret to get the Kazak's attention.

"You don't need to fire."

"I understand that," the man acknowledged. It wasn't over though. Another protestor, a woman, waved for the Kazak's attention. Since she wasn't alone in doing so, the man hadn't noticed her. What she was saying did get Julia's attention.

"She is saying that tanks are on the way!" she shouted at the man in the copula.

"Which direction?" he inquired. Julia confirmed the information relayed by the girl, who double checked with the person on the other end of her phone, worked out the terrain in her head, then drew a quick map on her palm.

"They are coming up the road one block up. They are heading north toward us."

"Clear out the crowd," he responded evenly. He once more ordered his unit to action. One of the Tigr's raced forward and disgorged its men close to the next corner then the vehicle withdrew.

"What do you plan to do?" she asked.

"Do what I came here to do, kill the enemy."

"But they have tanks."

"Fortunately I have things that kill tanks," he grinned.

"Do you mind if I stick around?"

"It is your life," he shrugged. The BMP moved forward to the point where, with its barrel turned sideways, the vehicle was just short of exposing itself. He was busy talking to someone else.

Seconds later, one of the Khanate soldiers at the corner launched a grenade up the street, then two others opened fire with their assault rifles. They ducked back around the corner right as a larger caliber machine gun chewed up the wall as well as the street in front of her. Two other soldiers fired off flares into the sky.

"You might want to get down," the Kazak advised her. Julia nodded, jumped off and ran to the corner to join the other troopers. She edged around the corner, leading with her camcorder. Sure enough, up the street was an honest-to-God tank, with others behind it. One of the foot-bound Kazaks was busy shouting at the others. Once more, a soldier fired a grenade at the tank, to no visible effect. This time he apparently got the response the Kazaks wanted.

The tank's big gun fired. One of the troopers, mindful of Julia, grabbed her as they propelled themselves to the ground. The world exploded. Julia was doing a quick check of her well-being when she heard the BMP race forward, barrel turned perpendicular down the street and then it fired. Julia barely caught it all on her camera. The IFV had fired an anti-tank missile out of its main gun. The oncoming tank was a Ukrainian made T-84 Oplot.

It exploded; the turret flying away in a curtain of flame. This time it was the blast that blew Julia to the ground. A Kazak soldier hefted her up and pulled her to safety. He was truly pissed when she dodged back into the danger zone to retrieve her camcorder. She sighed happily when she found it undamaged. The BMP rolled back behind cover.

"Get down," the Kazak ground pounder growled. "It is about to get a whole lot worse."

"How?" she looked at him.

"Well, now that we have stopped the column from moving," he grinned like a maniac. That wasn't much of an answer. Then she noted all the Kazaks clutching at the concrete sidewalks. She did likewise. Seconds later, she heard the jets. 'Oh God', she gulped. She'd seen more than her fair share of airstrikes. She had never been this close to one.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Thai crowd moving closer.

"Get down," she screamed in Thai. "Get Down!"

Others repeated her warning and the crowed went down to their knees. Then came the thunder. Julia could barely make out the whoosh of missiles before the detonating rockets and missiles shook her world.

A stubby-winged jet raced past her vision. The pilot had gotten so damn close to the building tops she could make out every feature of his aircraft. This level of caution where civilians were concerned was surprisingly unlike the Khanate. She tried to stand, but the soldier next to her had wrapped an arm around her.

"They come in twos," he cautioned her.

Sure enough another series of explosions rocked her surroundings. No sooner had she gotten to her feet, the Kazak commander shouted,

"They are coming around for another pass, then we go!"

A series of passes followed with the jets using auto-cannons on whomever was left out there.

Julia pushed away from her guardian and rushed up to the BMP officer.

"Wait," she called to him. Stunningly, he waited, looking at her. "Let the crowd save the survivors. This is their struggle too."

"If the soldiers fire on them there will be little I can do," he responded.

"Give them a chance."

Against all her expectations, he did. The crowd moved to discover the carnage visited on their oppressors, and fellow countrymen.  

It was H-hour plus eight.

 The Thai tank commander was close to the end of his rope. He'd been fighting since sunrise. Defend, attack, withdraw to a defensive position then wait for the order to counterattack. His platoon had dwindled down to his sole surviving tank. His company no longer acted as a separate entity. Now his battalion, barely a company in strength, operated as a fire brigade, shoring up his beleaguered battle group.

The last attack, backed by air power, had shattered his unit. He fell back, literally backing into a second story building to avoid the ever-present Alliance attack helicopters. From his vantage point he could see a column of armored vehicles rolling down Highway 11. He was debating which one he would fire on first when he noticed a jeep coming his way. Onboard were three Thai soldiers, rebels.

The jeep rolled right up to his hiding spot. The man in the back dismounted and he walked right up to the tank.

"Can we talk?" the man inquired. The tank commander kept him covered with this machine gun.

"What do you have to say, traitor?" he barked.

"I come to request,"

"We will not surrender," he growled.

"We are not asking you to surrender," the man corrected him. "We are asking you to let the war pass you by."

"Why should I?"

"If you fight, you will be destroyed. The Thai army will need to rebuild when this is over and we must be strong. If you throw your life away, we will all be weaker."

The tank commander had to think that over. If he began firing on that armored column he would be striking a mighty blow for his country. He would also be sentencing him and his men to death.

"There will be no surrender?"

"No sir," the man insisted.

The rebel soldier made some sense. The Thai military would have to rebuild when this catastrophe was over. He and his men had done their part.

"We will stay here for a while," the tank commander informed the rebel.

"Very well," the soldier bowed. He remounted his jeep and drove away.

"We are going to stay here a while," he addressed his crewmen. "Get a bite to eat and a drink of water."

His men hesitated for a moment.

"Now, while we have the chance."

The men hopped to. They had their orders. They would worry about the morality of their actions later.  

It was H-hour plus nine.

 The men in the Royal Thai Army's high command were finally getting ahold of the big picture. The good news was the Third Army's offensive was grinding to a halt along a line stretching along Highway 1 from Tham Pet Tham Tong Forest in the east to Chai Nat on the Chao Praya River in the west. It was accepted as fact that the 3rd Cavalry and 11th Infantry divisions could hold the line.

West of the Chao Praya was a chaotic mess of small garrisons involved in raids and counter-raids. It was deemed unlikely the Alliance forces could push forward any further in that direction either. It also meant that they couldn't pull units from that region to reinforce any of their other trouble points and they had a few.

That was most of the good news.

Another piece of good news was the1st Army's 2nd Infantry Division had stopped the invasion force they were facing only a few kilometers over the frontier in the area of Watthana Nakhon District. As soon as they had gathered the majority of the division together, they would be mounting a counter-offensive with the intention of overwhelming that force and destroying it.

After that, it only got worse.

In the area of the 2nd Army, the 3rd Infantry Division and the 2nd Cavalry Division had virtually ceased to exist as cohesive forces. Two battalions of the 3rd Division were retreating south into the 6th Division's area. The 2nd Cavalry division had been reduced pre-battle to one mechanized regiment. That regiment was gone and with it, the supply routes for the 2nd Royal Thai Army.

Inside that zone, the 6th Infantry Division still existed, but it was in a world of trouble. They had lost control of Highway 24, their primary supply/evacuation route, and were relentlessly being driven out of Ubon Ratchathani. Even with the slowly arriving battalions of the 3rd Division, the 6th could barely muster two combat-effective regiments and those were running short of fuel and ammunition. The 6th had become a static force, too large to be overwhelmed, too immobile to press the enemy out, or save themselves from a slow strangulation. Had they their assigned tank battalion, but they didn't.

The 1st Army's 9th Division was in the worst shape. They had gathered into one elliptical shaped perimeter centered on Chanthaburi and were down to four battalions and two tanks. Technically, they had another battalion, except the 1st Army command had ordered that into Bangkok to aid in suppressing the rebel movement. The 9th Division was surrounded, under attack from the land, sea (the Indian Navy had joined the fight) and air. Their commanding general expected to be wiped out before sunset.

And Bangkok?

It was turning into a typhoon scale disaster. They had finally determined that there were eight small Khanate platoons roaming the city, seemingly at will. The 1st Division had finally located and destroyed one of those, along with a dozen protestors who chose to fight by their side. The others were still at large and causing trouble.

That wasn't the worst of it though. The plan had been to pacify outlying neighborhoods and work their way in to the worst areas. That had started out effectively, then suddenly they had lost the northwestern and southeastern sectors. In the northwest, there were Karin fighters killing, or capturing police and paramilitary strongpoints.

In the southeast, it was much worse. Unknown armored troops from the 9th Division's rear area had come seeping in along the riverfront. They seemed to be everywhere at once, surprising roadblocks and checkpoints then ambushing the forces sent to restore order. They were a cancer pushing into a city already short on reserves.

There were public displays of defiance going out over the international news, surgical air strikes and a growing sense among the rank and file 'Guardians of the Public Order' that they were on the losing side. There were reports of police turning their backs on the unrest, directing traffic and arresting petty criminals instead.

The Royal Thai Army in Bangkok still had over 50,000 men under its command. They were sure they were facing less than a thousand hardcore militants, yet they were losing control of the streets. Part of that was caused by the military being tied down to certain strategic areas they had to hold. They had to protect over a dozen buildings and, as they had painfully learned, a platoon wouldn't do.

The Government House had been temporarily overrun and Parliament had been shelled. Channel 3 had been hijacked and the forces sent to take it back had been subject to intense helicopter attacks and driven back. They'd killed two such craft, but that only seemed to make the Alliance troops angrier. This was what a death by a thousand cuts felt like. This was worse than bad, because it looked bad on media going out all over the world.  

It was H-hour plus twelve.

 The commander of the MARCOS had finally taken the time to eat. He was in the Maleenont Towers section of Khlong Toei, Bangkok. It had been his masterstroke, seizing the Channel 3 station. He wasn't sure who the eight shady characters who showed up with the VIPs were and he didn't really care. What did matter was while the VIP's fought like wildcats in private they were putting on a unified front while on TV.

One of the VIPs was the former civilian Prime Minister of Thailand. The other guys seemed to hate her guts, but were willing to work with her to overthrow the generals. What he did care about was the nearly five hundred men under his command plus a dozen helicopters and jets somewhere above, waiting to swoop in and help when the next government attack materialized.

He had to give them this much, the police forces had guts, not a lot of brains, but plenty of guts. Their counter-terrorism unit had known their stuff, but they didn't have any effective anti-tank weapons and he had a half dozen tanks. Whenever the army got feisty, he called up 'Shiva's Fist' ~ his men's joking reference to the Khanate air support. Those bastards not only killed you, they came back around and killed your corpse too.

He got a call from the perimeter. Some of those Karin fighters had crossed half the city to join them. The Indian officer had thought that part of the Khanate plan was utter madness, yet here they were, shooting up the place in a manner only highly experienced insurgents could. Those guys didn't even want to hang around. They were asking for more ammo. The locals were giving them all the food and water they needed.

At nine, once it was truly dark, the Khanate was promising to drop off a few tons of whatever they need plus some more medivac units. He was down nine men dead and twenty-seven wounded badly enough they need to be removed. The Khanate had lost four times as many. All in all, the overthrow of a military regime was turning out to not be as difficult as he thought it would be. He was waiting to be surprised.  

It was H-hour plus fifteen.

 The fighting had died down and now the main activity was the Thai civic authorities fighting the fires burning in Saraburi. The Khanate Commander of 1000 looked over his shoulder at the burning city. It hadn't been much of a fight, mainly a few rear echelon forces from the Royal Thai 2nd Army and some paramilitaries.

He wasn't in the town. The majority of his troopers had already rolled down to the junction of Highways 1 and 33. He had communication with other elements farther west on Highway 32 at Ang Thong and to the northwest at the junction of Highways 1 and 32. The offensive operations was essentially over for his command. That was just as well. He was running low on petrol. He still had plenty of ammunition though.

They were sitting on the lifeline for the 1st Army's 3rd Cavalry and 11th Division to the north and the 2nd Division to the east. The 6th Division was too far in his rear to matter and the 9th Division was facing annihilation along the coast. It was very dark now, but the air force was still active. Some pilots were flying their sixteenth mission of the day.

For most of the day, the Khanate Air Force had concentrated on his axis of advance and the battle in Bangkok. The Vietnamese Air Force had concentrated on the hapless 9th Division. In reality, the Alliance was almost at the end of its tether.

His combined Laos and Far North Task Forces were spent. The North and Cambodian Task Forces had the 6th Division pinned down. The South Task Force had done the same with the 9th. Only the Central Task Force facing the 2nd Division appeared to be in serious trouble.

None of those formations were actually near defeat, though many of them wouldn't realize that until morning. Only the 3rd Army's two task force had consisted of more than 5,000 hastily gathered troops and most of those were Cambodians, Laotians and Vietnamese. To that the Khanate had added 50 mobile Zuuns spread over ten task forces and another 50 airmobile, parachute and airlifted units ~ less than ten thousand men and women spread over all fronts.

The cold, hard reality for him was that not a single loyalist Thai unit had been destroyed. The 3rd and 9th infantry divisions has been battered, that was true. The majority of their mobile forces, the 2nd and 3rd cavalry divisions, still existed as a potent force. The 11th and 2nd infantry divisions were also out there, but they were all cut off from the capital. And in this elegant global play, the one theater that mattered was Bangkok.

In the morning, if they came for him, the loyalist Thai's were going to discover that offense was a lot more painful that defense. Only the 2nd Division bothered him. The forces to the north were too heavily engaged with the rebel Thai 3rd Army to dispatch more than a battalion his way and he would gobble up a battalion.

It would be too much to ask the battered Alliance Center Task Force to keep the 2nd Division occupied. From what he had heard, they were on the verge of disintegration after a powerful Loyalist counterattack. He did have patrols on the 304 and 359 Roads in case their commander got creative. What those few men lacked in vehicles, they would compensate for with air power.

The Khanate Air Force was a 24/7, all-weather operation. They had lost 40 aircraft to enemy action and a further forty to mechanical malfunction. Losses in helicopters was also high. But there were still enough of both to get the job done. Now all he had to do was wait for the Americans to arrive.  

It was H-hour plus seventeen.

There were only three major acts left in this macabre play before the eyes of the world.

 A squadron of 12 Tu-22M bombers found two of the 2nd Division's regiments sneaking to the west. The Thais had done this with as much secrecy as they could. Unfortunately, their move was one of only two option left to the Loyalist Royal Thai Army.

Option One, the most likely one, had the 2nd Division attacking the Khanate troops south of Saraburi. It would not only give the 2nd Division freedom of movement, it would establish supply lines to the divisions currently holding the rebel Thai Third Army at bay. It was the predictable choice.

The Khanate U A V were out there, scouting for them and when they spotted the three columns using the backroads to approach their attack positions, they relayed that information to a not-so-distant A-50E/I. The squadron of waiting bombers had incredible endurance and had been circling the suspected target area for three hours. They broke up into groups of six then into groups of two. The first two lined up on their targets then unleashed their lethal cargo.

Each plane dropped sixty-nine 250 kg bombs. That was138 bombs with a combined explosive power of 75,900 lbs. spread out over three-quarters of a mile. The A-50 assessed the damage for 7 minutes before sending the second set of two in. Another 138 bombs. Another 75,900 lbs. of death. The third group wouldn't be needed. In ten minutes the fighting power of the 2nd Royal Thai Infantry Division had evaporated.

Option Two? That called for the 1st Infantry Division, with her added units, to sally forth from Bangkok and rescue the trapped elements of their other divisions. That would have entailed abandoning large areas of the capital to the protestors and the tiny groups of invaders that were helping them. No one thought they would do that and they were right. Had they been wrong, there was another squadron of bombers waiting for them.  

It was H-hour plus nineteen.

 The Thai Phon Thahan-turned-Sip Tho looked out into the darkness. Four hours ago he was anticipating crossing the Cambodian border and burning down their town for a change. Now, now it was wait-and-see. The majority of the division had withdrawn for a long night march to the west. From what he had gathered, the 2nd Army had been pummeled and it was once again the time for the 2nd Division to save the day.

He spotted movement in front of him. He glanced over to his 'sniper', a Thahan Phran who was the best shot in his unit and had a taste for the task. The man had the target in his sights.

"I come to parlay," the voice in the darkness shouted in less than perfect Thai. The Thai soldier had to think what that meant. His instinct was to shoot the man. His training taught him to not make choices above his pay grade.

"Advance. Don't do anything stupid," he called out. To the man next to him he whispered, "Go get the Captain." The man slunk away. No one alive in the unit stood up to do anything. You even pissed crouched down. The man coming toward him was a Cambodian. It was evident in both his gear and accent. "What do you want?"

"We want a truce," the man replied. He remained very erect, his hands in the air and only made slow, careful movements.

"I should shoot you," he growled.

"That would be unfortunate for both of us. I would, of course, be dead, and my allies would open up with our artillery."

The conversation was truncated by the captain's arrival. They went through much of the same routine, absent the 'I should kill you part' and the counter-threat. The captain turned to the Thai soldier.

"Blindfold and bind this man's hands then take him to the Phan Ek (Colonel). Let him figure this out."

Without the soldier saying anything the Captain added, "This could be a ruse. I must stay here. Hurry."

He nodded, took a shirt from one of the civilian volunteers, cut it into strips then blindfolded and bound the man.

"If you so much as sneeze, I'll put a bullet in your head," he warned the man.

"I understand," the Cambodian replied. The soldier took the Cambodian one block behind the lines, spun the man around several times, then led him toward the command bunker. He spun him around twice more before making his final approach. A wounded junior officer met him at the entrance.

"Come on," he took custody of the man. Having nothing else to do and not having been ordered to release the prisoner, the soldier followed along.

The Regimental Commander had the man un-blindfolded. His hands remained bound.

"What do your masters want?" the Major snapped.

"They want a truce," the Cambodian blinked in the sudden bright light.

"You invaded us without a declaration of war. That makes you criminals, not combatants."

"We attacked at the request of the legitimate authority in Thailand, the Commanding General of the Royal Thai Third Army."

"Those men are rebels and you will not refer to them as anything but," the Phan Ek insisted.

"Very well. My Commander wishes to let you know that our mobile hospital has arrived. We wish to exchange prisoners and place our facilities at your disposal as well."

"The Royal Thai army will be there soon enough," the Major glowered.

"Unlikely. Our Khanate allies have informed us that most of your division was destroyed on the road. You have one battered regiment and a handful of tanks. You are not going anywhere."

The soldier wanted to slap the smug smile off the man's face.

"I do not have the authority to hand over prisoners until their status as POWs or criminals has been established," the senior officer countered.

"If you consider our men criminals, we will treat your men like traitors."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes. A fact you should be aware of is that the Khanate has been flying in reinforcements since noon and we have five more armored, mechanized and artillery Zuuns to attack with. Come sunrise, we will be coming at you again unless we have a truce."

"Now you are threatening us again," the Phan Ek pointed out.

"I am explaining the realities of your situation, nothing more," the Cambodian countered. "Our task force commander believes that further violence will be futile. You have done your job and we have done ours."

"And your job was to keep us occupied so you could rape and pillage other parts of our country?"

"No sir. The Alliance forces have been operating under very strict guidelines. The Thai people are our allies and we are a liberating force," the Cambodian replied.

"You consider this town 'liberated'? You've destroyed it," the Phan Ek noted.

"It was unfortunate that you chose to fight us here."

The Colonel studied the man silently for thirty seconds.

"I will agree to a two hour truce. That should allow me to contact my superiors for further clarification on my mission. We will hand over any critically injured 'invaders'. You will return any POW's you are holding in exchange."

"Agreed," the Cambodian immediately responded.

"Just like that? It is really within your authority to make such a deal?"

"As I said earlier Phan Ek, we believe the fighting is over. We don't need your captured men. We would like to see as many as our comrades live as possible. No matter what your commanders say, the fact remains that if you come out of these ruins, you will be slaughtered. You know that. I know that. Peace is the only avenue that leads to any level of success. Today, today, both our forces did what our commanders told us to do. The dying should stop."

"Go. The truce will take effect in, fifteen minutes ~ 12:12 am. We will transfer prisoners and wounded at your point of entry. We will both give a warning whistle fifteen, ten, five and one minute before the truce ends at 2:12 am. Do you understand?"

The Cambodian repeated the terms of the truce. He was bound up then sent back with the Sip Tho.

"Do you really think this is the end of the fighting," he asked his blind captive.

"On the lives of my children I hope so," the man sighed. "I led 88 men into battle this morning and now I'm down to 46 effectives. I have lost too many already for a battle that wasn't in my nation's best interest. I am tired of the killing."

"Me too," the Thai said a moment later. After he delivered him to the Captain on the front lines, the man was unbound.

"Good luck," he found himself saying.

"Good luck for both of us," the Cambodian gave a weary smile. "May we not meet again."

"If I see you again, I will kill you."

"I feel the same way," the man chuckled. "We are both soldiers doing what more powerful men have commanded us to do. I don't know about you, but I have had enough." Several Thai soldiers nodded. They had driven the enemy off Thai soil. Continuing the fight didn't seem to have much of a point.  

It was H-hour plus twenty.

  News anchors, expert commentators and historians would hotly debate exactly what the officers of the 31st regiment (Royal Thai Guards) and the Royal Cadet Guard-Naval Academy meant to do when they gathered their units at the Chitralada Royal Villa. King of Thailand, Bhumibol Adulyadej aka Rama IX, was in residence, as was Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn.

Until he granted their commanding officers an audience at 10 pm, the King had been largely unaware of the greater turmoil in his country. Yes, he knew about the Third Army's rebellion as well as the Navy, Air Force and 4th Army staying neutral. He had been hearing noises of combat coming from all corners of his capital. What he didn't fully understand was the beating his military was taking in the field, or the perceived precarious situation the Army faced in Bangkok.

One possible interpretation of what happened was these officers, aware that there was fighting getting closer to the Royal Residence, went to safeguard his Majesty with no ulterior motive. That viewpoint suggested the Crown Prince took the initiative to end the suffering of his nation and decided to make a public announcement from the Grand Palace (the public royal residence), appealing for the cessation of hostilities, for both sides to separate until a council could convene in the morning to resolve the situation peaceably.

Another possible view was the Admiral and Colonel came pleading for the King to do something to end the chaos and the King followed the men's advice. He convinced the Crown Prince to go to the Grand Palace and end the conflict.

A third possibility was this was a counter-coup, led by the Royal Guards and the Navy Cadets who 'convinced' the King and Crown Prince that they had to exercise the threat of l se-majest  in order to end the fighting since both forces contained Thai soldiers fighting one another and was thus, action against the King's will and an insult to his status as Father of the Thai People.

What did happen? The King was quite old (86), so it fell to the Crown Prince (62) to take an active role in the matter in his father's name. In a manner that was never clarified, he was able to communicate with the Great Khan, who personally pledged a withdrawal of his forces if that is what his 'brother' in the Chakri Dynasty desired.

The Great Khan then contacted the governments of Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, requesting they also halt their forces and take up a purely defensive stance (i.e. they had done their part so he would now pay them for their troubles ~ mainly in the form of updated military hardware).

The Crown Prince then contacted the Commander of the Royal Third Army and commanded/suggested that a civil war was not in the nation's best interest. He was then escorted to the Grand Palace where he made a public announcement over every major media network that he had elicited a cease-fire with the rebels and their allies.

First off, he promised the Thai people that they were giving up nothing in this arrangement. The Civil War would end, because he said so and if the loyalist Royal Thai forces who claimed to be serving him (through his father) were truly doing so, they would also immediately cease hostilities. He requested all concerned parties meet at the Great Palace in the morning at nine to work out the particulars of the end of the current civil disorder. Both civilian and military representatives would be present.

Furthermore, he directed the Royal Thai Marine regiments to move into Bangkok and separate the warring forces, thus ensuring the cease-fire. He was also accepting the offer from the President of the United States to deploy a US Marine Amphibious Unit to the countryside to separate the combatants there. The Alliance High Command had already guaranteed they would hold open the captured air bases to facilitate that move.

Once disengagement had been achieved, he had a personal guarantee from the Great Khan, monarch to monarch, that the Great Khan and the other allied governments would withdraw to their respective borders within a week, if not sooner. The country would unite. The country would rebuild. Together, all factions of Thai society would create a stable future.  

It was H-hour plus twenty-five. Effectively, the war was over, although small skirmishes would continue until sunrise.

Had the Crown Prince the authority to do any of that? No. He had ministers appointed by the Parliament that took care of things like foreign and civil affairs. He was titular head of the armed forces, but had no actual authority to command. What he did have was a deep well-spring of respect among his people including many leaders in the military. He was throwing down a gauntlet that very easily could be trampled into the mud.

In his favor, not a single faction wanted to be the one to do that. The military had its sworn oaths to consider. Those oaths bound the generals together and bound their underlings to them. They couldn't very well declare they were serving the will of the King any longer if they defied the Crown Prince now.

For the civilian leaders, this was their best avenue to return to power. They were saved the ugly perception that they were relying on foreign intervention to achieve their aims. The outsiders were going away. The Crown Prince had, somehow, gotten them to back off solely with the weight of his personality. He had achieved the military victory the Army had failed to deliver and he hadn't killed a single person doing it.

For the protesters in the street? They were high on the use of force (by the allies) to repress the use of force (by the Army). The protesting population now controlled large sections of Bangkok and had garnered a great deal of police neutrality/cooperation in the process. Besides, while they had been comrades in the streets facing down the military junta, they were still divided in their political views.

What would be the outcome? That was what street protests were all about. Both sides had their 'favored son/daughter' they followed, political parties they adhered to and grievances they wanted addressed. Civilian governments had collapsed under their own weight of accusations and charges of corruption before and they probably would again. That part of Thai politics remained untouched by the recent national tragedy.

What had been accomplished? The next time the Commander of the Armed Forces thought about taking power, he would have to to examine the precedent established by the Khanate:

... now the various civilian factions could appeal for foreign intervention to protect their civil liberties.

Also, a civilian authority was the most likely outcome of the upcoming National Reconciliation Government and they would owe that freedom to the Khanate and would, to a degree, view the Great Khan as the guarantee that the military wouldn't put tanks on the streets anytime soon.

The Khanate? She got what she wanted, a stable, friendly southern flank.

The Alliance's Southeast Asian members? Those three allies would be getting several shipments of 'nearly' modern hardware with additional aid to help then maintain said technology in working order.

India? A stable, friendly government would ally with India (not China) to build their canal thru the Kra Isthmus. The creation of the India-Thailand Kra Infrastructure Investment and Development Company (ITKIIDC) was already moving through the Indian parliament. The expected income from tolls alone was expected to accede $400 million a year (though that alone would take 70 years to pay off the predicted $28 billion price tag, Hoo-raah Big Government).

Thailand? A brief brutal civil war that could have been a whole lot worse ~ unless you had actually been in one of the war zones. Maybe they would get a democratic government. Their economy hadn't taken that much of a beating, and there would be plenty of reconstruction jobs. The IMF would probably pump in a few million into the economy to 'help out'. It had been bad; it could have been worse.

The Philippines? Why were we involved with that again? It was back to the bargaining table with the Khanate, India and Vietnam once more. Nothing much had changed.

The Republic of China? The Khanate still loved them. An invasion of the mainland was still in the works. It was back to working on the South Korean, Japanese, ROC, Vietnam, India and Khanate alliance network dedicated to containing the PRC because the Red Dragon was far from finished.

Malaysia? Not much had changed. Some Malaysian Marines were on their way to Thailand as part of a humanitarian mission, so it wasn't like Thailand hated them. The Khanate tide had receded far short of the border. The US had edged a tad closer and had become a little bit more engaged in the South China Sea. All in all, it could have been much worse. The Khanate could have been sitting on their border, much worse.

The United States? The President of the United States was The Peacemaker. His tiny military presence was up to the task of acting like crossing guards as they escorted the 'Alliance' back across their respective frontiers.

Not only was this his chance to say 'See, I did something',, without him having to do anything until after the fact since the Crown Prince and the Great Khan had created the cease-fire.

As well as 'See, I can do this Nation-Building thing without spending several trillion dollars',, Without doing any actual nation-building since the Thai's would be doing that themselves.

And 'See, the greatest military power in Asia respects us enough to back off when we arrive',, while not having to talk to the Khanate in any official capacity, because, you know, the Great Khan was still The Bad Guy, revisit the bio-terrorism, genoicide and War of Aggression then subtract one Free Tibet, and now one Democratic Thailand.

For the daring men and women of the US Military there was an 'Atta boy/girl/team, I knew you could do this, thanks for risking your lives' and an 'Oh, by the way, I'm cutting the Defense budget again next year. Have fun being RIFed. I'm sure you will find a job in the private sector, no problem'.

One horrifying/awe-inspiring thing had been revealed during the 'Thai Expedition'. That was the Khanate's airlift capabilities. It rivaled that of the US and dwarfed every other nation's in comparison. The 'why' of the matter made total sense in hindsight.

The Khanate knew it would control a massive expanse of space, yet she was saddled with a weak all-weather road network and an inadequate railway system. Furthermore, the resource-rich East was separated by the Caspian Sea from the industrialized West. She had to be prepared to move massive numbers of troops over incredible distances and airlift was the only possible answer.

In a total of seventy-two hours (counting the troops brought in while the campaign was going on) they had brought in nearly 15,000 soldiers, enough hardware to equip a mechanized Tumen plus the logistical support for those warriors and over 500 aircraft. It had been an awesome endeavor and something new for the Pentagon war-planners to factor in the next time they needed to fight/ally with the Great Khan.

Meanwhile: been RIFed?

The Khanate desperately needed you if you had (any) engineering, infrastructure, judicial, law enforcement, logistics, medical, and/or military expertise, and they payed you well for something you would have been doing in the US/UK military, had either of those institutions still employed you. And working for The Khanate was okay because they had (barely) avoided being a US enemy by dint of a back-room meeting that never officially happened.

Note: End explanation of how things played out in the Battle for Thailand.

{9:00 pm, Tuesday, September 2nd ~ 6 Days to go}

"I suggest we all get some sleep," Addison declared as she stood up and stretched. Odette was asleep on the floor, her head propped up by a pillow. The rest of us look like we'd, been up for the past three days with only cat-naps breaking up the tedium between reports from various sources, namely the NRO (National Reconnaissance Office), Khanate and the Black Lotus.

By the time the major news outlets brought up the 'current events' we had already digested it and moved on to the next crisis point. As they had learned, 'Live from the Front Lines' sounded nice, but it wasn't all that informative. Like most sane individuals, reporters and cameramen ducked when people were shooting at them, so you got plenty of good footage of what the dirt/walls/pavement in Thailand looked like.

Around eight o'clock yesterday morning, Bangkok time, an 'expert' commentator brought up the point that the news crews on the 'Alliance's' side of the story were in Thailand illegally, thus prone to get shot at.

"But they are the Press," a cute news anchor babbled. "Isn't that a war crime, or something?"

All I could think of was that with those smarts and those lips, she had to give tremendous head. Don't get me wrong, she was clearly college-educated, but she was also lost in some alternate reality bubble where bullets instinctively knew who not to kill.

"They are imbedded with an invading army," the female expert sighed. "I don't think the average Thai soldier can tell the difference between a civilian cameraman aiming his way and, say, a Khanate soldier with a rocket launcher. I imagine that looking down the barrel, they appear to be the same thing."

"But they have 'Press' on their helmets and arm badges," she refused to relent to the other woman's common sense. The female commentator was getting pissed, so she got snide.

"I know. I have seen them. We all have. Unfortunately, while I have seen plenty of them in English, Hindi, Spanish, German, Russian and French, I have yet to see one in Thai, which would make it rather hard for the average Thai infantryman to understand what those symbols mean."

"Oh," the talking head muttered. "Why didn't the Khanate do something about this? Aren't they responsible for their safety?"

"Well," the commentator rolled her eyes, "I doubt the Khanate conscripted those journalist and short of them living in a hole for the past week, they had to know to what country they were going to. This level of stupidity is all yours."

"Ah, okay. Why don't we go back to Marcel? Marcel, how are you doing?"

"It is horrible," the terrified man screamed. "People are killing people everywhere and the two Khanate guards attached to me don't seem to understand English so they won't take us back to the rear area."

"Where did you get this guy?" the expert's brow furrowed. "Doesn't he know that in this kind of action, there are no rear areas." Pause for the sound of rifle fire. "Wait! Wait! Here is an officer. Captain, Colonel, Major," he stammered, "Can you tell us what is going on?"

"It is Ni Z  n komandlagch," the officer corrected him in Oxford English. He and three of his troopers were standing up, looking around and occasionally getting some information from his men through his headset. "Why are you hiding here?"

"They are shooting at us," the field reporter wailed.

"No. We are shooting at them. They can't hit us here. You are in minimal danger," he assured the reporter.

"What is going on?"

"We are quelling the last of the resistance in the town of Rayong as per our orders."

"Have there been many civilian casualties?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"I don't think anyone will be counting them until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Since we are currently in the middle of an invasion, we don't have the time, or resources. Do you want to interview some prisoners? We have some close by."

"That, that would be nice," the reporter gulped.

"I wonder if any of those prisoners speak English," the expert mumbled. They never got the chance to find out because thirty seconds later the Zuun Commander began issuing orders. He was reconnecting his men with their IFVs and was getting ready to head somewhere with a purpose.

"Where are you going?" the reporter bleated.

"Exactly? I don't know. My orders are to head west," the officer shrugged. "I fully expect to get more precise information on the road."

"You don't know?" the man paled.

"I'm not in charge, this is mobile warfare, and we've already accomplished the second phase of our mission," he explained as he mounted his own BMP-3. "Now one of our scouts has run into trouble and we are going to make a reconnaissance in force."

"Does anyone think that bozo has any idea what reconnaissance in force means?" Odette had interjected.

"I don't think your man knows what is going on," the expert parroted. "Can't he at least ask what the first two phases of the mission were?"

"Unlikely," Chaz commented, darkly amused. "Odette, I think your money is safe."

Chaz had been watching this newsman with some interest since he came on line two hours ago. He didn't care a damn about the man and his lack of courage. No, his eyes and ears were glued to the masked men who seemed to be working as 'advisors' to the Khanate forces.

Chaz had never seen the MARCOS in action. Few people had and here he was with a live action viewpoint. Had the reporter been less of a coward, he might had learned more. As it was, Chaz figured out that the Indian Special Forces were calling the shots while the Khanate provided the firepower.

It was a level of cooperation that was chilling to watch. The Khanate warriors didn't resent the orders the Indian's gave in the least. That level of trust was telling for future operations between India and the Khanate.

"What about us?" the reporter asked.

"Jump on if you like. We have orders to accommodate you," the Kazak offered.

"But where are we going?"

"To find more Thai soldiers to disarm, of course. We won't be purchasing any curios until later this afternoon," the officer grinned.

"Won't they be shooting at us?"

"That is the nature of war, guns being fired, air strikes, land mines, snipers. Don't let me discourage you though."

"Ah," the reporter stammered.

"Bleep this Bleep. I'm coming along," the cameraman declared. The man sprinted around the vehicle and ran up the back ramp, filming all the way. Soon enough the door would close and, the reporter, nothing more was heard of him, for some time.

"Worked for Sky News," Agent 86 yawned.

The Sky News face man had had a spectacular on-scene death, shot through the head by a sniper. His cameraman was carrying on without him quite well. Whatever awards cameramen got for exceptional videography, that man deserved them all. He snuck around with Khanate soldiers as they engaged in fire-fights, had dragged a wounded trooper to cover, while still filming, and returned to the fight.

Next, Next the leader of the Special Forces team issued his commands, in English while the Khanate troops hurried to obey. In three minutes, the unit had abandoned the ruins of Rayong and was headed toward the tourist mecca of Chon Buri. The JIKIT members looked at the video map. Chon Buri was due south of Bangkok and if the tiny task group could advance that far, maybe they could cause some major trouble in the city, as long as you took into account that they had roughly 100 Elite Special Forces, 450 men in armored vehicles and six tanks.

That revelation had brought about Operation Walnut ~ the Black Lotus C I A rescue of key political prisoners and linking them up with this new, highly lethal detachment. At worst, they could be exited from the city thus free to take to the airwaves and internet with their calls for further social action. Instead of letting the Black Lotus (the C I A had to make themselves scarce) come to him, the MOROS leader decided to go seize a TV station downtown and meet the politicians there.

In anything approaching a normal combat operation, things like this wouldn't have happened, or so Captain Delilah Faircloth, R A F, informed us. This invasion was far from normal. On the CNN and BBC maps, Loyalist Thailand was in blue, the Neutral faction was in green and the Rebel Alliance (at least the Loyalist weren't being called the Empire) was in red.

For the past four hours the red sections of the map had been growing at the expense of the blue. Worse, from this computer generated point of view, there were a dozen tiny red pin pricks all over the place inside the Blue Zone. Those dots were growing like a cancer, mainly because the reporters were telling their media outlets where the Khanate forces were, without explaining that they areas they had left were effectively back under Loyalist control.

It looked bad, really bad, as long as everybody ignored the fact that there wasn't that much territory a hundred men could hold down. The problem was the Thai authorities didn't have imbedded reporters, so they couldn't tell their side of this battle. Because of that, it appeared to be a lopsided conflict.

At ten-thirty, the level of the bizarre got deeper for the Loyalist. According to one of the imbedded BBC teams, a combined forces Mechanized Tumen had penetrated Bangkok proper and was pushing into the city from the west. He even showed various Vietnamese, Khanate and Karin fighters standing around some impressive looking vehicles.

The only problem was the proportionality of number meant that column of the invasion army was much more a Light Infantry Regimental Combat Team (RCT), not a Tumen of any kind. According to Mehmet, a RCT was approximately two thousand men, depending on the mission. A Tumen was roughly ten thousand men, so the Thai HQ, which by now was certainly watching the BBC for their own 'Latest from the Front Line' updates, totally misunderstood the nature of the threat.

This danger was further magnified by the fact that the TOE (Table of Organization and Equipment) of a Mechanized Tumen included five Zuuns (500 men) with 33 tanks each, 165 Very Modern Main Battle Tanks, plus 25 Zuuns with a total of another 600 armored vehicles. That formation didn't have 10,000 men, had no tanks and no armor of any kind. All they had were a few jeeps and a lot of hutzpah.

The tactic you used for fighting an armored incursion was totally different than what you would use to fight a guerrilla infiltration. Against tanks, you set yourself up in a built-up area so you could ambush the vehicles from the side, or from above. By the time the guerrillas penetrated that far into the city, they had already dispersed so much that they were virtually impossible to block.

To add to the Loyalist catastrophe, the military units rushed toward this threat mistook the few Karin they did see to be spotters for the Khanate mobile artillery and air support, so they hunkered down and let the Karin pass through their positions to be mopped up by rear area troops.

That decision was based on the perception that the Karin would be acting as a unified force. Instead, the Karin fanned out over the city in small eight to ten men teams and wreaked havoc with no particular aim except to make a huge racket. Go after hard (heavily guarded/important) targets? Oh Hell no! Shoot up a patrol, or police station, sure. Just remember to run away before they could start shooting back.

The BBC continued to help out. The broadcaster gave ten minute updates on how much farther he and his little band of miscreants had penetrated into the city, how close they were to the financial district and how morning shoppers were somewhat surprised by the sudden outburst of violence in their hometown. The BBC interviewed the 'Thai on the street' and enlightened them that their city was about to fall to Alliance forces.

There were four general reactions to this information. Some panicked and ran home. Others headed straight for the closest grocery store/marketplace and began buying necessities and the third group pulled out their phones and recorded this monumental event for posterity, some even tagging along. After all, how often did you have a front row seat to an invasion?

The fourth group caused the most damage, unintentionally. They ran to the closest bank, or ATM, and began drawing out as much money as they could. That news spread like wildfire. Before long, the Chairman of the Krung Thai Bank, Dr. Somchai Sujjapongse, called the Minister of Finance, Apisak Tantivorawong, and informed him that there was a run on the banks.

The Minister of Finance called the Prime Minister for instructions, but that worthy was a bit too busy to deal with any bureaucrat at the moment. Left to his own devices, Apisak Tantivorawong closed all the banks in the Greater Bangkok Metropolitan Area and asked the Chief of Police to put officers on all the ATMs until they could be shut down.

The harried Police Chief promised that he would do what he could with the forces he had at his disposal, which was not a lot. His decision made great strategic sense, guard the ATMs in the wealthy and middle class areas where a lone officer was far less likely to be overwhelmed by protestors/enemy armed forces.

When the Black Lotus agent in the police force got wind those orders, he immediately relayed them to his superiors. It was Manna from Heaven. Those leaders quickly got in touch with their Karin/Khanate co-belligerents and provided them with maps (courtesy of Mapquest and a printer) of the locations of all the closest bank branches and ATMs, guarded by lone officers, or not at all. If they moved fast enough, they could catch the bank employees before they left work.

Before long, the banks were back in business. The Alliance insurgents sat back and let the panic-withdrawals ensue. There simply weren't enough police left to respond to every bank 'reopening'. The Karin dutifully allowing the Thai people to resume their legal pillaging of the Thai financial system went viral. Before long, everybody was flocking to the banks and marketplaces. After all, hadn't they just heard on the BBC that the city was about to fall to the Rebels?

Welcome to the unverified news era, where a person could babble anything and be believed, no matter now preposterous their assertion was. It made no logical sense that the Loyalist could lose control of the capital, but logic had flown right out the window, to be replaced by a frantic effort to report anything that might be newsworthy and the desire to believe the worst was happening.

Back in New York, Lady Yum-Yum clapped her hands in glee. She felt she had to explain the implications of this to me. Until that moment, the vibrant Thai middle class had largely been unenthusiastic supporters of the current regime. Now the banks were closing and those people, denied their money in this time of crisis, got both scared and angry. It was their damn money.

Hysteria took over. Would there be enough food in their cupboards to carry them through the unrest? If there wasn't, how were they going to pay for what they needed? Prices were going to be skyrocketing. Would the power be disrupted? That would mean the refrigerators would die and the food spoil. The water? Sanitation? An unfounded sense of dread gripped those people, and they suddenly began believing their government had let them down.

Those normally sedate, polite people began flooding the streets to inadvertently make the police's and army's job a far more colossal undertaking. 'No, they wouldn't go back home until the current unfortunateness passed.' They had families to feed and, if the government had everything under control, why were the banks closed?

The security apparatus was in an impossible situation. They couldn't shoot everybody ~ there was no way their troops would go for that. They couldn't arrest people who only wanted to get enough money to feed their families. And, besides, why was the government shutting down the banks? How bad was it really? Were they on the wrong side of this civil war? That nagging fear crept into the minds of the junior officers on the streets.

The BBC team wasn't alone in spreading disinformation and panic either. Several news agencies had reporters in hotels all around Bangkok ~ their version of 'in the field' reporting included three hot meals a day, a massage and a few non-life-endangering attempts at investigative journalism. By eleven o'clock in the morning, there was a whirlwind of destruction from all over the place (if you believed the internet).

One ABC reporter stood on his eleventh story balcony and gave a blow by blow accounting of what he perceived to be going on. (It would have been better, if his cameraman hadn't been hiding in corner with a mattress over himself.) The reporter gave to the world a very wobbly perspective of events.

Tens of thousands of protestors were in the streets (insert stock protestor footage). Khanate tanks had been spotted all over the place (which were in fact Thai T-84 Oplots) (insert a collage of Khanate war footage and the current situation map). Airstrikes were going on everywhere (insert stock footage of a variety of air strikes along with the occasional actual Khanate strike in Bangkok).

The two-woman team from Compl ment d'enqu te were far more adventurous. Not only was the journalist hot, her camerawoman was a babe too. Virginia suggested they might be lesbians. I knew they weren't and I had a sudden idea that maybe I could abuse my current popularity to give a 'behind the scenes' interview with both of them. In Paris, I wouldn't put Hana through that here in the States.

Anyway, by eleven-thirty, they had reported on a street protest broken up by police using tear gas and 'less-lethal' rounds. They had avoided being arrested there, but been rounded up four blocks over. A few minutes after that, they were liberated by a different Thai mob and a few Khanate soldiers. Sadly, another reporter had already staked a claim to those souls, so the two women went off looking for another story.

They found themselves in the midst of the protestors taking over the Government House, then the military counter-offensive. This time people were getting mangled, killed and wounded. A few seconds later death came a-calling for the military. They had been advancing up a wide open boulevard. Two Khanate planes (Su-24s) found them and visited some hate on those Loyalists suceuses (her descriptor).

Ten minutes later, the viewing populace found the duo flagging down a cab and speeding through the chaotic streets, running down a lead that the last democratically elected Prime Minister of Thailand, Yingluck Shinawatra (who was even pretty hot for a lady heading toward fifty), had been rescued/executed. Those two looked as if they were having the time of their lives.

At that point in the struggle there were roughly 2,000 Alliance troops in the city. The Loyalist had over 50,000, outnumbering the rebels by 25:1, and they were still losing the international popularity contest. Banks running out of money, marketplace stripped of foodstuffs, dozens of Karin lounging around, or helping out the general Thai populace.

When asked why, the local Karin commander smiled and, in broken Thai, stated,

"Why fight anymore? The Khanate is already rounding up the band of rascals who have ruined this country. We have already won."

Some of those 'rascals' looked out their windows to be sure what that Karin was saying on national television wasn't the truth.

The reasonable reaction for those 'important people' was to call the local airbase to have a plane prepped for a quick departure and then begin to electronically transfer money in their bank accounts to financial institutions in Malaysia. For those adjutants, who were standing around as this was going on, came the stark realization that they didn't have an exit plan. Someone was going to have to pay for this fiasco, and the real bandits were getting the Hell out of Dodge. Not good.

Somewhere around noon, those men began calling the officers in the thick of the action and warned them that there might be repercussions for shooting unarmed civilians. What did that mean? The adjutant couldn't say, but the implication was clear, Human Rights was about to become an issue for the men ordering the rank and file to suppress this insurgency. These officers didn't have an exit plan either.

Mind you, not a single officer left his post. None of them fled the country. They grimly hung on because around two in the afternoon they were starting to get a clearer sense of what was going on and realized they should be able to win this. The enemy wasn't in strength anywhere and before long, attrition would start being a factor and the Royal Thai Army could win that fight.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13487 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11

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.

13628 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12

The first Ishara open  House Challenge .

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Odd Happenings

{8:58 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd ~ 5 Days to go; the Final Salvo ~ at this time}

I had deposited my Mother in the place I felt was safest for her   with OT (Oyuun T m rbaatar) at the Kazakhstan's UN mission. Her being my family was what mattered to them most. I picked her up on my way to work, which made my entrance into the lobby all that much more cataclysmic.

I was traveling light with only Wiesława  iva providing me with security. Chaz, Pamela and Juanita were catching up with their sleep, with a promise of taking me out for a late lunch. That was really them telling me to not leave JIKIT until they came for me around 2:00 pm.

So anyway, me, Mom and Wiesława walked into the ground floor of the Mil Ma Towers to find eleven people waiting on us. We were in downtown Manhattan in a part of town the NYPD paid particular attention to. What could go wrong, right? Two of the people were Amazons from Havenstone. With them were two fine young men from the US 'don't make me kill you' Department. By this time in my life I was sure they had one   which no one talked about.

Five of my expectant visitors were of the same mold as those who protected Hana for me. Not the Ghost Tigers   that would have put me at ease. Sure, they were a gang of assassin and in this circumstance; I would have preferred them. As it was, ten sets of highly-trained Illuminati operative eyes kept me, my party and the four guardians of JIKIT in their overlapping fields of vision.

The last two, were doing an impromptu family reunion. They were Aunts 'X' and 'Y', and neither of them smelled like fish, or crab.

"Aunt Deidre," I tossed out there. "What brings you here today?"

It looked like clobbering time! No. Wait. Neither Mom, nor my aunts, were saying anything and they were normally so verbose.

"Sibeal."

"Imogen."

"Sibeal, you are looking surprisingly well for a dead woman," the other one said.

"Deidre, you are looking surprisingly alive for someone who deserves to be dead," Mom bantered back.

"How long have you known about this?" Imogen's eyes flickered my way.

"Not long, a while, more than a day, ah, take your pick," I mumbled. I decided to turn that frown aka 'my gut wrenching terror that my Mother was about to die' upside down aka ramped up my sexy, 'glad to see you in a totally incestuous way'.

"So, what brings you here today and why aren't you waiting upstairs with the rest of my band of cutthroats, malcontents and ne'er do-wells? Oh, and I'm happy to see both of you." Karma was about to bitch-slap the shit out of me and it was so well deserved.

"I'm pregnant," Imogen studied my reaction. Yeah, I had banged her after Deidre, but before Baibre because I am a fucking reprehensible human being and sometimes, I feel I am utterly irredeemable.

"Great news," I exhaled. I so wanted to ask 'so, who is the father?' except that was too cruel, even for an O'Shea.

No one stopped me from stepping up and hugging her. Everyone in the lobby had heard her loud and clear. Anyone who knew me, or even about me, knew she wasn't passing on the information because Imogen liked sharing good news. I kept my hands on her hips while I leaned my torso back until we could make eye contact.

"Does Granddad know?" It occurred to me in that second that Pamela was going to kick herself for missing this and the opportunity to kick me as well.

"I told him over the phone. His reaction was neutral," she responded.

"Whoa, girl? Boy? How are you doing? When are we going to sit down and figure out a name? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Come home with me," she suggested.

"No," Mom snapped. "Next time he steps into your custody, we all know you won't let him get away." She meant the plane trip to Ireland.

"No, Mom," I countered. "I'm a grown man now and I make my own decisions. That being said   no, I'm not going home with you."

"Not only am I still in love with the concept of my personal freedom, I have important work to do. People are counting on me."

"We are counting on you too," Deidre stated. "In fact, that is the other reason we came here. We need you."

"Why do I feel that has to do with something besides sex?"

"Can we talk to you in private?" Imogen requested. There were a thousand and one reasons to say 'no'. Things like 'common sense', bad behavior   they had murdered my homicidal uncle   and the fact they were as morally twisted as their creator. Oh   and they were hot and I hadn't been laid in forever.

"Sure. Let's go upstairs. You can have your people sweep the room to ensure our privacy then the four of us can sit down and have a family chat," I offered.

"We don't want her in the room," Deidre indicated Mom.

"We are a package deal," I denied her. "Like her, or not, she is as much family to me as you both are."

They consented far too fast. Either I was falling into their masterful trap, or something horrible had happened. Neither options was palatable to me. The bodyguards departed, Wiesława last of all.

"What's gone wrong?" Mom preempted me. Her sisters glared.

"Father's body is not his own," Imogen told us. I was trying to figure out the relevance of that when Mom gasped.

"Oh fuck," she said in a small voice. "No serum?" Oh yeah, the refinement of those addictive pheromones Grandpa Cáel had gifted me with. Whatever flesh-form he currently inhabited wasn't one containing his genetic make-up meaning,

"Oh shit," I mumbled. "What can I do?"

"Yes," Deidre replied to Mom.

"Let them die," Mom insisted (to me). Less I forget, she was raised by Grandpa Cáel too. Her being a loving mother to me didn't translate over to her being a humanitarian of any kind.

"The Hell you say," I jumped up and stared down at Mom. "You hate them. I don't. Letting them die makes me worse than him." Grandpa.

"So you will help us?" Deidre moved to the edge of her seat.

"Okay. This is the point where I threaten you into making some concessions, we argue then you eventually cave in because no matter how terrible your futures look, you aren't willing to give up on living. None of that is going to happen. What do you need from me?"

"Come back with us to Ireland so we can finish our experiments," Imogen joined me in standing. Unwilling to give her sister any physical advantage, Mom stood as well.

"No. That isn't even a believable lie," I scolded her. "You don't need to blackmail me into helping you. I'll do it gladly. That doesn't mean I'll let you trick me into doing something stupid. I do 'stupid' all the time. I'm accustomed to it and I know it when its ugly head rises up before me. Try again."

"We could pick a neutral location," Deidre suggested.

"How about Havenstone?" They didn't look like that plan was even worthy of their consideration. "Imogen, inside you is growing a possible heir to House Ishara. An attack on you would be an attack on Ishara. Barring you betraying the Amazons, you would be perfectly safe."

"Wonderful," Mom's sarcasm dripped off every word. "I'm going to be a grandmother to my nephew while my son is bringing a child into the world that can double as his cousin."

"That sound pretty horrible, Mom. It is the truth, but it still sounds pretty terrible."

While those words tumbled out of my mouth, I did a little soul back-searching. How in the fuck was   outside of the actual fucking   was Imogen pregnant? My existence was a freaking fluke of nature. A few words were bandied about the room while I was lost in deductive reasoning and turning hunches into assumptions and turning those into reasonable mystic hypotheses.

I created the Mojo-Little Engine that thought it could. Specifically, the legacy of Vranus. Legions of little Vranusian sperm had been jumping hurdle after hurdle to keep the faith alive   that Vranus would meet his Ancestors with his mission accomplished. I was already half way there.

Still, the legacy of Vranus and the hopes of Dot Ishara hadn't stopped in their struggle just because I had been born. They were still trying to restore the mortal descendants of a Dead House. They were also still spiritually pushing me on to fulfill his last command   to save the Arinniti sons.

I was halfway there by returning the offspring of Bolu, Vranus' fellow guardian, back to the fold. It remained for me to round up the purpose of the whole mission in the first place. My semen weren't taking a chance that I could get gakked before that was accomplished. Having knocked up an augur despite the toxic soup she called blood should have been a dire warning to me, I'm an idiot.

When the curse of Sarrat Irkalli clashed with the actions of Dot Ishara, Ishara had won. Sarrat Irkalli sought to deny Alal any children of his own. Dot was insisting the male line of Vranus Ishara continue on. The end result was Alal received his long-denied grandson, who just happened to also want him dead because of a feud that stretched back over two millennia.

As an added insult, his grandson then knocked up one of Alal's genetically manipulated daughters, again giving him something he couldn't accomplish on his own   heirs   grand-sons and  daughters, most who would also want to kill him, being Amazons and members of the 9 Clans after all. Why? Cause Goddesses are bitches, that's why.

That got me to wondering when would be the next time I was going to meet Ishara. I hadn't suffered severe head trauma in while and she was overdue for some snuggle time, witty banter and a fortune cookie. I'd try to be careful. It wouldn't do any good, but I had to try.

"Why are you crying?" Mom touched my arm.

"No reason," I lied.

"Why don't we make plans for tonight?" Deidre insinuated herself next to me. "We'd like to meet Hana. From what I understand, Father likes her."

"No can-do," I sniffled. "I've got an orgy with 159 women at 8 o'clock, except there won't be any sex, or fun of any kind. Basically, I have to convince a roomful of women to not beat me up and take my stuff."

"You don't have to go," Imogen had finished boxing me in   I had a chair behind me and Momma-clones all around.

"For the same reason I'm going to take care of our child, Imogen, I have to go to this meeting. People are counting on me to do the right thing without telling me what the right thing to do is."

"That's unfair," Deidre empathized by stroking my chest.

"Not so. This is just another day in the life of a new hire at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Every day is like this and in five more days, the real fun beings." That wasn't entirely accurate. I had one good, stress-free week. It was when Carrig put me in a coma. That week I had done pretty well for myself.

{9:28 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}

I trundled my latest 'Assistant-in-Charge of keeping the hopes of future Isharans alive' (I didn't want to call Aunt Imogen, or any other woman, my 'Baby-Mamma'), along with Mom and Deidre, for a meet-and-greet with Buffy. I had spelled out in no uncertain terms that Buffy was the power behind the Ishara Throne and thus making 'her' believe they were playing on the up-and-up was their best hope for easing relations between the O'Shea and the Amazon Host.

After they left me (with the assurance we'd be getting back together for lunch, with Hana), I made three calls. I needed to make a formal request to Katrina (any Illuminati member(s) entering any Amazon facility was her purview) and another to Elsa (as a sign of respect) that Aunt Imogen and two unarmed bodyguards, max, needed to see our medicos about a delicate issue.

The third call was to Buffy to enlighten her as to both the arrival of another one of my aunts (so we needed to get along peacefully with her) and that Aunt Imogen was carrying yet another potential heir to House Ishara. I suggested it would be a symbolic gesture if a member of House Ishara could hang around for the visit, as it might impress upon Imogen our House had a vested interest in keeping her alive.

"Another one?" Buffy sizzled. "And this one is your aunt?"

"It is a date then," I stumped her.

"You are going to take your pregnant aunt out on a date?" Buffy's sizzle meter was rapidly climbing to Krakatoa proportions.

"Nope. I'm setting up a date for us. You, me and a quiet location at 12:01 am Tuesday morning, my First. Later in the morning, I'll be heading out to wherever they have stored Felix so we can work on some cooperative strategy."

"And if I say 'no'?" She was terribly grumpy.

"Ugh, I guess I'll go bar-crawling with Odette and Timothy, Gay and Lesbian bars only. That way I know I'll behave."

"And if they say 'no'?" she was slightly less hostile.

"I'll know you threatened their lives, and then you and I will finally find out who is better on the mats. Trust me, it will not be an experience you will enjoy."

"I don't know. I think I'd like that."

"No. You start threatening the other people I love and you will not be happy; I guarantee that, Buffy."

She realized I was both serious and angry. She had stepped out of bounds, the 'bounds' I had set up two hours earlier during our elevator ride.

"Is the meeting still on for the night?" she evaded my disappointment.

"Yes. Will you be there?"

"Of course," she grumped.

"Buffy, don't bother showing up if you can't separate 'us' as friends, 'us' as Wakko Ishara and my First, and you as my apprentice.

"Making me miserable in the first relationship doesn't help the latter two one bit. I try not to be an irresponsible asshole as House Head. More than anyone else, you know what I will sacrifice to be Ishara and one with my Isharans. I'll also step out and be plain ole 'Cáel Nyilas' when events permit."

"But I am sick and tired of people not taking my desire to be foolish and care-free seriously. Being a dogmatic ass-hat isn't in me, but if you can't work with that, from here on out we are Wakko Ishara and Buffy Ishara and nothing more. I will still trust you as an Isharan, but not as a friend. Your choice."

"Don't be such an asshole!" she snapped.

"Screw you!" I fired back. "I made a fucking effort to plan out some personal time with you, disguised as a joke; you knew it and you still decided to be a ball-buster. Like I need another fucking ball-buster right now, with all the other shit on my plate. You know better!" I was screaming. The people in JIKIT were working overtime at not staring at me.

"I'm under a ton of stress here too," she snarled. "I have to deal with the Council, keep our House growing and fulfill my obligations with Executive Services."

"Do you want to quit? No longer by my 'apprentice'? Go back to working for Katrina full time?"

"Really?" she whispered.

"Of course the fuck not!" I shouted. "I didn't pick you for the job because of your sterling personality, or your bedroom excellence. I picked you because I had, and still have, utter faith in your ability to do whatever is necessary to overcome the landfill-sized colossal ill-fortune the Ancestors have dumped in our lap."

"I'm just asking you to stop being a whiny, over-sensitive cunt and remember: it was the psychotic bitch who I chose for the top spot," I rumbled.

"I'm going to kick your ass," she seethed.

"Nice to know. We on for Monday night?"

Pause.

"Yes," and she hung up. Two seconds later my phone rang again. "Buffy?" I answered. "And don't be late!" she menaced, then hung up again.

"So," Addison turned my way, "are you praying for World Peace to break out, or Nuclear War?"

"Hardy-har-har," I griped.

"Now that your personal drama is temporarily derailed, we have something for you to look at," Mehmet motioned for my attention. "Ever heard of Kōfuku no Kagaku?" I shook my head. "It translates over as 'Happy Science' and it is a cult-like organization in Japan."

"Cool beans. Why do I have a sinking impression it is not a front for the Ninja?"

"That is what we want you to find out," Addison took over. "Of critical importance is the news conference their leader, Ryuho Okawa, gave earlier this afternoon/morning (~ 3:17 pm Tokyo time = 2:17 am East Coast time ~), especially a very relevant part of his interesting public announcement.

"He claims to be the Earthly manifestation of the Supreme Being. That is old news. Today he claimed that Temujin of the Khanate was the reincarnation of the original Genghis Khan and, with him, Ryuho, as the unifier of theological forces and therefore serving as spiritual advisor to Temujin, they would usher in a new period of Peace throughout Asia."

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," I exhaled.

"He also claims that Japan is in the midst of an epic struggle, both spiritually and in the physical sense. The 'ancient guardians' of Japanese purity, the 6 Ninja Families, are at war with the depth of all Evil, the Chinese Seven Pillars of Heaven by name, who are determined to drag all of Asia away from the Light and into the Darkness of pain, degradation and slavery.

"In fact I quote: 'Alone among the nations of the Earth, only the Japanese cultural identity can stand firm against this global menace. Only the Japanese can keep the torch of true Enlightenment aloft. Only the Japanese can guide the development of the Khanate into the Supreme Empire it is meant to be'."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this guy is pseudo-religious, a Japanese ultra-nationalist as well as anti 'all things Sino'," came out of my mouth.

"Correct."

"None of the Secret Societies would do something so public. Temujin's background is a mystery, but no one in the Khanate is calling him a reincarnated spirit, and they know the truth," I continued.

"This guy is pretty nutty," Mehmet confirmed. "He also claims to channel Buddha, Mohammed, Christ and Confucius. His followers worship him as the Earthly manifestation of the 'Supreme Being' named El Cantare, which is yet another name for any number of ancient supreme deities. And he claims to consult with the 'spirit guardians' of national leaders and aids in their mystic defense, with the aid of the Five Sacred Sisters' Spirits."

Clearly this man was insane. Unfortunately, insane didn't make someone wrong,

"Ah Hell," I muttered.

Mehmet and Addison perked up; after all, figuring out the bizarre was my position on the team.

"He probably is insane, and I can't blame him," I sighed. "He isn't El Cantare; he is in touch with the Weave."

"I have a feeling this is 'not good'," Addison murmured. "How bad is it?"

"The Five Sacred Spirit Sisters are most likely the five augurs who died in order to save Temujin, which, in turn, allies the 9 Clans with the E&S and Amazons to 'save' Japan, though it is not 'saved' yet."

"Technically, the Weave IS the Supreme Being. It's largely indifferent, yet capable of doing both good and ill in response to outside (aka mortal) stimuli. If you can observe the Weave, you might be able to see the most likely path destiny is taking as well as the key players screwing with that destiny.

"That would include the Gong Tau sorcerers and the ninjas use of their own brand of magic; and God only knows what other mystic tricks the others have been attempting."

"How do we get them to stop?" Captain Delilah Faircloth muttered.

"Not that easy Delilah. Everyone in this room has intersected because of a magic experiment that happened before any of us were born (Mom)."

"The fight at Summer Camp was flipped on its head because I saw the ghost the 7 Pillars sent to scout the area. My freeing of one of those trapped and tortured souls led to the calamity at the Barbeque Pit. I didn't use magic. I countered it. Still, my actions were interfering with the Weave.

"All four people the augurs, those Five Sisters, told me about had been dead at some point in time, some for thousands of years. Ajax didn't kill anyone using magic. Neither has Saku, yet both of them are products of disruptions in the Weave. 'Me' being alive and breathing is yet another disruption, since I shouldn't exist because of another mystic curse from five thousand years ago.

"Being alive and killing people means I've killed people who shouldn't be dead. Do we need to go into all the millions that have died in the Khanate war? Which was a combination of a resurrected Temujin and the 7 Pillars hunger for World Domination, if we do nothing, the rippled of those other disruption will still carry on.

"Except for me, no one on this taskforce has used an iota of magic, yet we are all dedicated to combatting mystical forces," I related to the group. I wondered where Rikki (Martin) and Beatrice (Ya Konan) had gotten off to. Lady Yum-Yum being absent only made my 'Scooby' senses tingle more.

"You use magic?" Agent-86 tilted his head in curiosity.

"I talk to a Goddess on a semi-regular business. I see ghosts. I've been the conveyer of messages from dead people and I've killed an un-killable man. Do we need to go back over my kidnapping by the 7 Pillars? The memories of my undead Grandfather floating around in my head?"

"I'm not calling thunderbolts out of the sky and shooting fireballs out my ass, but what I am doing is magical, nonetheless."

"So, what do we recommend to our allies and benefactors (i.e., our sovereign governments)?" Mehmet inquired.

"Hmm, we tell our governments this crackpot is a Prophet of Doom who could be turned into an asset," I rubbed my brow with all four fingers and a thumb. Rikki, Beatrice and Lady Worthington-Burke quietly entered the room. They were all highly pleased in a 'I just won the lottery' kind of way. I was curious, but had to carry on with my train of thought.

"Quietly start seeking out other mystic societies, preferably low-key, quiet types who avoid the limelight, and start looking into other forms of magical insight and, quite frankly, protection. If the Weave has let this happen, we can expect worse. Lastly, I'll ask my 'Brother' to meet with this guy and get a feel for his personality."

"That will only increase the believability of his ramblings," Addison protested.

"The boat called 'Denial' has already sailed. The World is in crisis. People are going to look for non-conventional answers. It is better to get ahead of this and bring Ryuho Okawa on board as a 'consultant'. Don't give him the whole picture by any means. The guy is definitely a loose cannon. Even worse, he is also a loose cannon the Weave has touched."

"Besides, the Seven Pillars are going to figure this out pretty quick, their Weave sensitivity, ya know, and either kidnap him to be their own spiritual seismic sensor, or kill him for being both a loose cannon and yet another person screwing with their 'best laid plans'. Keeping him alive has the added benefit of making the Seven Pillars expend resources trying to get at him. Japan needs every bit diversion they can get.

"Let's not forget to tell our Secret Society allies of our plans, lest they kill him too. His babblings aren't going to make the 9 Clans or the E&S happy with him. They both have an established habit of making perceived enemies dead. Let's keep him alive and utilize this opportunity."

"I like this plan," Addison nodded. Mehmet was clearly on board as well. Agent-86 clearly was playing the best on-line mystic MMORPG ever! (And with the added bonus that his team's action had real-world consequences.) The three 'ladies' new to the room received an abbreviated version of our discussion and my 'suggestions'. They weren't really suggestions. Barring a few insanely criminal endeavors, JIKIT treated me like a true asset.

"Something else big?" Addison looked to her British counterpart (Yum-Yum).

"The Japanese Diet has voted for a public referendum on a Constitutional Amendment to repeal/revise Article 96 of the Japanese Constitution."

"Oh fuck," was echoed, either verbally or subliminally, by everyone in the room except for me, Delilah and Agent-86.

'Cáel' knew Jack and Shit about the Japanese Constitution. Hell, I barely knew about the US one and I was a native. However, Alal did know it, and knew both what Article 96 was and what its amendment really meant. Good-old 96 was the rolling dark cloud across the political Great Plains that heralded a swarm of tornados. Clouds were clouds and their arrival could mean anything.

Article 96 dictated how the Japanese Constitution could be amended. The current process was a 2/3rd vote in both the House of Councilors (the 'Upper House', roughly equivalent to our Senate) and the House of Representatives (the 'Lower' House) followed by a public referendum. The proposed amendment to Article 96 would transform the process to a mere majority vote in both Houses.

Imagine the shit-storm which would be unleashed if the US Congress tried to pull that shit. The biggest political issue was that the Japanese Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) held 294 of the 475 seats in the lower house (a clear majority) and 115 of the 242 in the Upper House (7 seats short of a majority). If the amendment passed next month (October 14th to be precise), the LDP could pretty much do as they pleased.

And what was the first thing they were going to do? They were going to put to rest another part of the Constitution, namely the far more globally important Article 9. And what was that?

Real World Stuff: Warnings

Article 9:

(1)Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

(2)To accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

If Article 9 was repealed, the Japanese nation could exercise diplomacy by military means, aka declaring an offensive war against a foreign power. Currently Japan had a modest budget military budget of $48 Billion a year (Earth's 10th largest). It was modest when you considered it was a mere 1% of the Japanese GDP. Great Britain, France and South Korea's smaller economies all functioned nicely with double that percentage for their military budget.

Regionally, every other nation was increasing their military expenditures, except Japan's protector, the US and (perhaps) North Korea, who's spending on anything was a closely guarded state secret. Right now, China and the Khanate's military expenditures were running roughly even at $180 billion each, but this was an arm's race the PRC would eventually win, they had too great an advantage in the size of their workforce and a far larger industrial base.

The truth was, if the PRC couldn't win this race fast, she was facing a long, grinding war reminiscent of the Communists' Long Rise to Power that wrecked their country a century ago. The monetary dynamic was shifting badly against them because the Khanate wasn't alone.

India, Taiwan and Vietnam were also ramping up their war spending to a combined tune of $34 billion and now allied with the Khanate, equating to an additional $90 billion the PRC had to overcome. South Korea was already adding $8 billion to their military and Russia was taxing the fuck out of Manchuria to both pay for their 'Peaceful Intervention' and to increase the 'Readiness' of their other forces.

All of this military spending was bad for both the regional and global economies (unless you were Israel who was turning out hardware 24/7/365 for the Khanate and Indian war machines). So at this point, Japan doing 'nothing' was possibly more disastrous than doing 'something' else.

They were already spending $50 fucking billion on glorified policemen while the future of East Asia was being decided without them. Doubling the military budget would place a huge burden on the largely pacifistic population. It would also put Japan in the position of deciding the Fate of Nations.

With the repeal of Article 9, Japan could utilize 'proactive means' to keep the naval supply routes to China open, not even the Indian's had the naval presence to confront the Japanese. Such a policy was a nice, friendly gesture to the Asian Colossus, who wasn't likely to show a shred of appreciation for their efforts.

No, China had spent the last 60 years stoking the hatred of the Land of the Rising Sun among their people. (Many Japanese forgot current Chinese hatred was based on the Japanese butchering their way across China for nearly a decade between 1937 to 1945).

(The Cornerstone) There was a truism which had guided American, Chinese, Japanese and Russian political thought for 150 years: 'There could only be one supreme power in East Asia and the Eastern Pacific'. Japan had followed the logical expression of that paradigm by invading Taiwan (1895), Korea (1910), beating up on Imperial Russia (1904), taking Manchuria (1931) and going to war with China (1937) while that country was trapped in a bloody civil war.

To stop the Empire of Japan's rise, the US had attempted to cripple the Japanese economy before the Empire could harvest their just-acquired Asian natural resources. In response, Japan had thrown its soldiers and sailors into a futile effort against the British Empire, the United States and China and lost.

With Imperial Japan crushed and the Soviet Union preoccupied in Europe, China had risen. The irresistible force of China's rapidly increasing population, natural resources exploitation and extensive land mass took hold. Japan couldn't compete in a 'fair' fight. Since 1945, the Japanese government had lived with the fear of aggression from Russia and/or China aimed their way.

The US felt the same way, or they had. The fear produced by the broad acceptance of 'Only-One-Shall-Rule-Asia' had led to the Korean War, the half-century cease-fire along the Demilitarized Zone in Korea and the Vietnamese Civil War. The Communists in China and Russia had feuded until the Soviet Union collapsed under its own economic inadequacies.

A reborn Russia, even with the ultra-nationalist Putin at the helm, couldn't stop China's growing domination. Asia was China's for the taking, until the Khanate rose up like some desert mirage in the Western Steppe, one that turned into the Mother of All Storms. So now, miraculously, the dominion of Asia was up for grabs once more.

Japan could not overcome China; that was a given. The Dragon had more people, more resources and an almost three-fold larger economy. Given a decade, the PRC would grind the Khanate down. Once more it was the tyranny of numbers. Even India, Taiwan and Vietnam could only slow down the inevitable.

India's subpar economic output marginalized the power of their citizenry. Taiwan had the proportional economy, but not nearly enough people. Vietnam had neither and had always had a rough time defending themselves, much less been successful confronting powers beyond her homeland. Putin's Mother Russia had a host of other problems, internal and external, so she had already contributed as much as Putin dared.

Until Thursday morning, Tokyo Time, the undeniable Destiny of Asia remained in the hands of those men in Beijing. The dominoes were falling in a way those rulers had not foreseen and now fumed over. But on Wednesday night, there was no industrial power (with the population to back it up) which could threaten the People's Republic of China.

Europe and the US wouldn't intervene. Much like the leadership in Japan, the Communist Chinese Politburo believed Putin had wagered as much as dared. No other nation on Earth mattered. Japan? That was laughable. Their Constitution bound the hands off their military behind their backs with a pledge of eternal pacifism.

The Chinese weren't blind to the 250,000 men and women of the Japanese Self Defense Force. Without the political will, those troops might have well have been in Brazil. A hostile Brazil was actually a greater worry because Brazil was the powerhouse of South America, a G-8 economy and hungered for a Permanent Seat on the UN Security Council. The PRC was dedicated to denying their desire as it would have diluted the PRC's burgeoning diplomatic power.

Japan? Ha.

Thursday morning, in what was essentially an undetected (by anyone except the Ninja and JIKIT) coup d' tat, pacifism was sacrificed on the Altar of Nationalism. Article 96's demise was pre-ordained. A poll taken on July 1st, 42% of Japanese felt positively about the repeal of Article 96 while 46% opposed it.

The same agency took a new poll on August 28th. The economic-political situation of Japan was going through a titanic tidal shift. If Buddhism moved you toward devout pacifist, the Khanate had liberated Tibet and was clearly withdrawing as the UN troops' boots hit the ground.

If you were a Nationalist of any kind, you were seeing a whole lot more people at your rallies, accessing your websites and signing up to join your formerly fringe parties. If you were a Socialist, you were scared. Why? The PRC was in the process of nationalizing all of Japan's (and South Korea's and Taiwan's) business interests in China, for the 'Duration of the Emergency', or so they said.

That meant plenty of Japanese workers were losing their jobs and looking to blame someone. You couldn't blame the centrist LDP. The LDP had been working alongside the Japanese Communist Party for months. They had done nothing wrong and had worked tirelessly for a peaceful diplomatic solution. It was their 'comrades' in China, their Marxist confederates, who were costing the hard-working Japanese workers their jobs.

If you were in the Establishment, all of the above worried the crap out of you. Japan's economy had been limping along at barely-positive growth for a decade. Your aging population needed more and more from their public services and, worst of all, you had nothing in your political and economic tool box to escape the obvious oncoming national catastrophe.

The possibility of a Global Recession loomed on the horizon, if they were lucky. Highly respected economists in Japan and elsewhere were examining all the key indicators over the past three months and were suggesting hording as a viable policy for middle class households to consider. If you were in the Developing World, worse was heading your way.

The word being bandied about on those esteemed academic internet websites wasn't 'recession', it was depression. Global prosperity thrived on nations investing in both their own economy and the economies of other nations. The governments representing a third of the World's population were not investing in their economies.

Unless you were a war profiteer, you could expect fewer consumer goods on the shelves; and what was there would cost more. Your income wasn't going up; your expenses were. If you were an Atheistic homeowner in the Western World with a secured 3.25% fixed rate home loan, you took up religion. The prime interest rate would be racing for the 20% mark and that was only if your economy was stable.

If you lived in a country in the Developing World, your trade goods didn't compete with those created in the G-20. Your competition was with other Developing World businesses and the prize was the pocketbooks of those consumers in the G-20, which was a shrinking purse.

It wasn't like you were being paid all that much to begin with; and now those once poor-paying, but at least plentiful, jobs were drying up. You needed your government to help you out. It wasn't like those governments could raise money by taxing the unemployed and under-employed. They didn't have money. And the rich in most of those same nations had a long and successful legacy of avoiding paying.

Those growing economies had a few tried and tested 'solutions' for getting their countries through these rough stretches.

The IMF? 'We are out to make 'positive' capital investments and your economic outlook doesn't look promising. We suggest 'austerity'.'

The BRICS? Since India and China were basically in an undeclared state of war: 'we won't be loaning anyone anything for a while.'

The BIS? 'As soon as the People' Bank of China, the Reserve Bank of India, the Central Bank of Ireland, the Bank of Israel and the Central Bank of the Republic of Turkey get back to us about their sudden, serious lack of transparency, we'll call you back.'

World Bank? Holy Shit! 'The world's going down the toilet, we will do what we can.'

F Y I, I (as in Cáel) had been wrong. The 6 Elders of the Ninja families didn't talk to Japanese Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee. They talked with another, far more immediately important man. So sue me (Cáel) for not knowing the inner workings of various world governments, and creatively interpreting events surrounding all those people I (Cáel) didn't. I'm a freaking Liberal Arts major with a fertile imagination, not a superspy, or even a competent Intelligence Analyst!}

The Japanese government had appealed to the U.S., U.N., P.R.C., A.S.E.A.N., India; and (through back channels aka JIKIT) the Khanate for an end to this madness; all with typical results:

The U.S.A: We are working on it (without letting them know what precisely they were working on)

Japan: Well, do something fast. Our Government Bonds are about to be more useful as wallpaper.

The U.N.: We are working on it (with their long-established tradition of not doing anything until the crisis had passed)

Japan: You are preparing to pass a Resolution to move this matter from the First Committee to the Fourth Committee, gee, thanks guys. Will they be meeting sometime before Christmas?

The PRC: We are too busy right now, so shut up, keep the trade lanes open, and was that your submarine we detected sneaking into our territorial waters?

Japan: What? What do you mean you are 'too busy?' You are one of our biggest trading partners, your economy is going down the toilet, and, No! That was not our submarine in your territorial waters. That accusation is absurd.

(Note from Japanese Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee, to Admiral Katsutoshi Kawano, head of the JMSDF {the de facto Japanese Navy}), The PRC has made this outrageous claim that one of our submarines has been sneaking around their territorial waters. There is no truth to that rumor, right?

Kawano: Which time?

Prime Minister: Oh My God! What have you people been doing and why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?

Kawano: Sir, if you are just now getting around to asking us, you don't want to know.

Prime Minister: What do you mean 'I don't want to know?' I'm the head of the damn government and, you are right. Fine. There is no way I'm going back to the Chinese Ambassador and apologizing for any this. Is there any way this can come back to screw us over?

Kawano: With all these US and British submarines helping us out, not very likely, Prime Minister.

Prime Minister: Oh, very good. You are correct, I don't want to know what you 'haven't' been doing. I am ordering you to destroy all transcripts and recordings of this conversation.

Kawano: It has been my distinct honor not having this conversation with you, Prime Minister. Sayōnara.

ASEAN, What do you expect us to do about this? Have you seen the unimpressive combined sizes of our members' air forces and navies? Did you see the smack-down the Khanate has inflicted on the PLAN's South China Sea Fleet?

Besides, the PRC is claiming that the Khanate launched covert attacks against the Parcels and Spratly islands which originated from Indonesian and Filipino waters. We are investigating the issue. If you are asking us for help, you are truly screwed. Don't call us. We will call you.

Japan, {muttering} Investigating the attacks that came from your territory, bullshit! You are covering your own asses, damn it!

(Note from Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee, to Shotaro Yachi, Japanese National Security Advisor), I've heard an ugly rumor that the Khanate has forces secreted in the Philippines and Indonesia. Do you happen to know anything about it?

Yachi: Yes Sir. We had advance notice of the organization, composition and destination of those forces.

Awbee (while muttering 'no one tells me anything anymore'): What the! Would you please tell me what is going on.

Yachi: We have made critical steps toward future alliances which will guarantee Japanese security for decades to come.

Awbee What does that mean, and since when have you been creating and implementing foreign policy? We have a Minister for that, in case you somehow over-looked him at the last cabinet meeting. Wait! Does he know about this too?

Yachi: No Sir, Foreign Minister Kishida is currently unaware of the Kinkyū tokushu sakusen tasukufōsu (Emergency Special Operations Task Force). Admiral Katsutoshi knows the basics of our operational policy, since we need to borrow some of his assets from time to time. Director-General Kitada (of the Public Security Intelligence Agency) and key personnel from the Foreign Ministry's Intelligence & Analysis Service and Security Bureau make up the majority of the task force's operatives.

Awbee: What have you been doing?

Yachi: You don't want to know, Mr. Prime Minister. It would make things, awkward.

Awbee: 'You don't want to know', of course, I don't. I'm only the elected head of this government. Why would I possibly want to know what acts of espionage and war my deputies are executing?

Yachi: I am glad we are on the same page, Sir. Will there be anything else?

Awbee: No, wait. Do you have any intelligence on what the Khanate is up to?

Yachi: Yes Sir. Is there anything in particular you want to know?

Analysis Services: Can you contact someone in their leadership willing to discuss regional affairs?

Yachi: I can put you in touch with the Great Khan himself if necessary.

AS: What!

Yachi: Sir, I would hardly be acting in our nation's best interests if I couldn't divine the intentions of the key players on the stage. Shall I initiate the necessary communications to facilitate that level of clandestine diplomatic contact?

AS: No. Yes. No, I need to think about this. Hmm, have you been conducting any domestic espionage missions?

Yachi: You don't want me to answer that, Sir.

Awbee: of course I don't, I'm only the damn Prime Minister. Shotaro, I'm still Prime Minister, aren't I?

Yachi: Yes Sir. We have been working overtime to ensure that. We've foiled two enemy assassination attempts and one attempted kidnapping so far. We remain vigilant.

AS: How come this is the first I'm hearing about it? Is the head of my security in on this conspiracy of yours too?

Yachi: No Sir. These particular guardians wish to avoid notoriety at all costs.

Awbee: Okay. Good to know. Ah, keep up the good work and destroy any trace of this conversation.

Yachi: Way ahead of you, Sir. Have a good night.

India, Yes, we are more than willing to work with you toward regional stability. Care to acknowledge the Khanate's legitimacy first? We'd really appreciate it. Sure, get back to us when you've done that. Until then, the South China Sea Awaits! Yes, we plan to keep what we've earned. Later now. We think there is going to be further instability in Southeast Asia.

Japan, Ya think? It is your damn warships sailing around the freaking South China Sea enforcing your utterly un-secret alliance with the Khanate. Why are you doing this to us? What have we ever done to you?

The Khanate, We are not out to damage your national interests. We apologize, but there is now way we will call off this war with the Communist Chinese. It is them, or us, to the death. We have already received and agreed to your request to allow all Japanese flagged ships safe transit through the South China Sea. We really wish to be your friends this time, to make up for those two invasion attempts seven hundred years ago.

(Note from  Prime Minister to Self) Great. The only reasonable people who aren't out to kick me in the nuts are also the ones I can't acknowledge talking to. I've got to do something about this, right after I delete this message.

Back to the fictional world stuff:

"Is Japan really going to ally with the Khanate?" I looked at Rikki. She was our East Asian expert.

"We are making things contingent on the South Koreans being mollified. They have their own bad history with Japan. A war-like Japan will have them on edge. Do you think your 'Brother' can offer up something the South Koreans would appreciate?" she tossed the grenade back in my lap.

That was my cue to contact Iskender. We agreed to meet someplace innocuous. On the way to the meeting, I received a cryptic call from Katrina. She needed me back at Havenstone ASAP. No details, well, no surprise there.

I dumped everything we had in Iskender's lap. He was smiling like a monkey who had just discovered a banana plantation.

"What's up?" I cautiously inquired.

"Nothing. Xanzada (Prince ~ he only called me 'Ulı Khaan s yikti ağası' during formal occasions) Cáel, my life has never been more purposeful. Working with you has been one notable deed after the next. The Great Khan knows my name. My family is already profiting from our relationship. By the simple act of you reaching out to me at your father's funeral, my life has been transformed."

"So, you've basically lost your mind," I commented.

"I agree. I will deliver your communications at once and convey any response if necessary. I haven't heard of the Great Khan rejecting your advice once. I am having the time of my life," he declared.

"One of your brothers is marrying up, isn't he?" I pierced through the murk.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch. How much?"

"My youngest brother, currently in service, is marrying a daughter of the  gedei-line. This is a huge honor and was clearly made as a rewarding gesture to our personal relationship."

"Congrats. Can I send the happy couple a gift? When is the wedding?"

"Anything from you would be treasured," Iskender kept grinning. "They will be married in January, no specific date yet. My brother needs to return to his unit before the war resumes."

"I'll check my madcap schedule and see if I can wrangle for me and Hana attending," I offered. My loyal Iskender's eyes glowed. I owed him big. I owed a good number of people and I was happy getting around to paying some of them back. Good news in hand, I raced back to JIKIT. They were readying the information, (plus my positive vibes), for distribution to our supporting agencies and societies.

Javiera was in the room Rikki, Beatrice and Yum-Yum had vacated, already briefing Senator Collins on the latest developments. The United States  NSA (Mehmet), Britain's MI-6 (Delilah) and the Sti rth ireacht na Faisn ise (Irish Directorate of Military Intelligence aka G-2) (because of me and the Illuminati) were getting a more in-depth analysis of current events.

To brighten up what was already turning out to be a stressful day, Lady Yum-Yum reminded me the little-appreciated and highly under-funded G-2 had micro-orgasms every time we sent them these 'For Your Eyes Only' data packets.

Now they could look all those 'high and mighty' NATO intelligence agencies with their half-billion   budgets straight in the eyes and think 'we know something you don't know, but we can't tell you because, oh yeah, something you are always bludgeoning us with, compelling national interests you smug Bastards'.

The Conversation, from an Irish point-of-view:

Snickering, "Sorry you 'pompous-as-fuck' Head of the DGSE (France's General Directorate for External Security), what was that you wanted?

"Every bit of information we have about the goings-on in Asia?

"You mean all that super-secret, nearly impossible-to-obtain intelligence?

"Of course we have it. We have one of our 'elite' intelligence officers inside JIKIT. Don't you? Pity.

"Sure we trust you, just as much as you have trusted us over the past fifty years.

"No, we are not holding on to a petty grudge. We are sure when you called us 'a bunch of drunken imbeciles on tricycles with training wheels' you meant it in the best possible way. Besides, you called us that way back when, oh yeah, last Bastille Day, months and months ago."

"Absolutely, if the Khanate is about to drop a Tunguska-size dump on your 'National Interests' we'll let you know, right after it has been handed to us by the most meticulously accurate sources imaginable, which we will clarify and verify by accessing our up-to-the-second updates, and then have finished analyzing it after we tricycle our drunken asses back from the pub where we will be tossing back a few Guinness thanking the Almighty for loving us and hating you." (Snicker)

The Last Eleven

{11:50 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}

"So Katrina, what is so important," I bit down on my yawn. Before me stood eight people; four of those frightful chicks from SD plus Elsa and Katrina, who was being guarded by a woman I didn't know. None of that mattered. Who mattered was,

"Hello, Eruthros," I regarded the red-haired Mycenaean warrior. "I think I recognize those coffle chains."

Yeah, standing between two of 'said' SD Amazons was a relentless foe whose life had intersected mine now four times and we had somehow avoided killing each other. He was nearly-naked, in a chain getup that connected with a neck collar, wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs and a waist chain. His boxers were clearly not his own. I imagine all of that came with an anal and oral checkups, which ended up covering the same territory.

"Why is he here, like this?" I looked to Elsa.

"He showed up at the front desk, identified himself, requested a parley and asked to speak to you. We took him down and made absolutely sure he was completely unarmed," she answered.

"He insists he talk to you before we kill him," Elsa spoke with the certainty of the grave. "Only Katrina's curiosity has staid our hand."

Eruthros was about to say something. I held up my hand to forestall him.

"What I meant to convey was 'why has he been treated this way?' Unchain him and give him back his clothes and weapons," I commanded. Why? Because I could, damn it!

"That is not your order to give," Elsa shook her head slightly.

"Au contre," I stared at her. "He is a representative of a faction we are at war with, has clearly come here to parley and since I am the Chief Diplomat of the Host, the only recommendation to the Council that matters concerning his treatment is mine to give, not yours."

"He is a foresworn enemy of our People," Katrina studied me. "His death is guaranteed. This is my judgement in my capacity as 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death." She was playing with me.

"You overstep your authority," I challenged her, because she wanted me to.

"He is neither an Amazon, a traitor to the Host, nor an enemy we need to ferret out, he is standing right in front of us. He has come here in good faith, thus dealing with him is my job, not yours. You may question him if you wish, but his fate and comfort is mine to decide."

"No." Katrina.

"Nice to know, don't care, Elsa, I am ordering you to release him because otherwise sharing a meal with him will be rather problematic."

"Cáel Nyilas Wakko-Ishara, this will not happen."

"Cool beans." I looked to one of the other SD ladies. I recalled her name being Nairi. "Nairi, unchain him." Her eyes narrowed then she shot a quick look to the side of Elsa's head. Elsa's eyes were locked on me.

"Shall I rephrase, Nairi, will you obey the lawful order of a member of Council and official of the Amazon Host, or are you going to hand me a lock of your hair before you, well, you've been forbidden to take yourself to the cliffs so I imagine said action would make you a Runner. Care to try out for Saku's unit? I hear she's only taking the baddest of the bad."

That wasn't going to happen. Neither Elsa nor Katrina would let it go that far.

"Better face such an end than betray my people by unleashing this monster," she ground out. I was so proud of her, that selfless fanaticism.

"Oh, thank Ishara," I nearly buckled over. "Nairi, I don't want you to suffer that 'end' either, but I'm glad you've acknowledged my authority to place that dilemma before you."

"You tricked me," she seemed confused, then angry.

"Well, I sure as Hell can't beat you up, so yeah, I tricked you and everyone in this room who isn't Katrina. Sorry Elsa."

"108 hours, Bitch," was Elsa's response.

That was right. Monday at 5:00 pm I 'graduated', ending my internship thus allowing me to date freely within Havenstone. I was still going to forgo any such liaisons except with Buffy, and, if I could sneak it in, with Rhada and Oneida. Tuesday morning I would trundle myself off to wherever Felix was training. The next Friday, the Great Hunt began. Had so much time really passed?

"We seem to be at an impasse," Katrina smirked.

"Hey, is this new chick Epona House Guard?" I was putting things together. How do you depict a nearly-naked, TSA-nightmare victim, shackled Enemy of the People to be even tougher than he already was? Insist that the normal bad-asses at the SD 'might' not be enough for the task, of killing Eruthros.

"Reanna of Epona," Katrina made the introductions, "meet the most obtuse male you most likely will ever be confronted with."

"So, is no one going to free Eruthros, or am I going to have to summon my legion of hunch-backed henchwomen? Or Pamela? Pamela can probably pick those locks in no time."

"This is not a joking matter," Elsa refocused on the issue at hand.

"Good enough," I nodded. I stepped up, grabbed Eruthros's waist chain and twisted him around. "Don't move." Then I pulled out my gun and aimed it at the closest wrist cuff. I had to move him to make sure no one else was in line with my bullet's projected path. That they could have protested.

"I will kill him before you pull the trigger," Elsa reminded me.

"Good point, all of you who aren't with House Epona, or my guest, leave. You are no longer welcome, or all that helpful."

"Cáel, before this goes any further," Katrina intervened. "Why don't you tell us why you want to free him."

"The Host are not barbarians. We are neither noble, by any other standard than our own, nor do we forego inflicting cruelty on our enemies, we welcome it. What we are not is 'false-faced rapist who invite others to share our cups, or a request to parley, so we can enslave, or slaughter them'. We are not those people and I would rather die honoring my ancestor (the first Ishara) than let us behave so. We should know better."

"He is one of those men who did that to us," Nairi seethed.

"Precisely," I agreed. "Knowing that, he placed his life into our hands. For us, it is ancient history seared into our souls. For Eruthros it played out a few months ago. The fact we became worse than him stands before you now, in me."

"No," Elsa denied me.

"There are too many playmates of three young boys to count whose descendants are no longer around to argue with you. You slaughtered them, your own sons, in one night," I hardened. "Now tell me the butchery of your own bloodlines, your own flesh and blood, wasn't an even greater atrocity."

I could see the defense of their actions written all over their faces, the SD and Reanna. The 'sons' were males and still, in too many of their eyes, unworthy.

"You didn't butcher young boys that night. You murdered every daughter those men would ever have. How lonely we have become because those daughters never had daughters of their own, because we lost our souls?"

Oh, that hadn't occurred to them, though it was painfully obvious to me.

"That's right. That night we killed half the Amazons who would have lived in the past 2,500 years. Today, that stops. It stops here, with you and me with this ancient foe. Now, free him because I say so, because I am right and all of you know it. Stop pretending you even have a choice."

"Ishara," Elsa murmured at me. She wasn't talking to me. She was honoring my ancestor and my goddess, the Peacemakers. Elsa stepped to up to Eruthros, brandished a key and began undoing his manacles. "Get his belongings," she directed to a random Security Detail member. Off she went.

"That was a bit tight," Eruthros finally spoke as he rubbed his wrists. I didn't think he was talking about the chains.

"Give me a sec," I grinned at him. "Katrina, could you please arrange for me and our guest to have something to eat and drink delivered to this office while we discuss the reason for his visit?" Now I was being very polite. Katrina deserved that and more.

Katrina picked up her phone and forwarded the request. Tea and crab cakes was the meal of convenience.

"Eruthros, before we get down to the nitty-gritty of our family relations, reminiscing over friends we miss and honoring fallen foes, why don't you tell me why you are here?"

"We would like to bury Ajax," he bowed his head, a warrior beseeching an enemy-prince.

"Okay," I told 'Red'. He appeared to be retaining some doubts. "I've been doing various people a shitload of favors. They owe me. Getting one dead guy out of a morgue won't be a problem."

"Really?" he seemed shocked.

This was a desperation mission spurned on by oaths of loyalty from a liegeman to his king, not something most modern people would understand. If nothing else, they would ask something for the service. 3,000 years ago, that wasn't how it worked. Even in death, Ajax belonged to his people. To deny that was a malignant insult.

Leave no man behind,? Was that the Rangers, or the Marines? I'd have to ask Chaz. Would those modern elites understand Eruthros' plea? Or had the Massacre of the Amazons at the Seven Skulls removed them from such dignified company? They weren't here, I was.

"Cáel, this is not an activity I can expend Havenstone assets on. Unlike that other matter, retrieving Ajax's body for burial is not Amazon business," Katrina announced. She had to keep up the pretense of her disapproval. That other matter, I needed to deal with that too.

"That's fine. I don't need Executive Services for this mission. I've got it covered."

"Exactly what resources do you imagine you have?" Elsa cocked an eyebrow. Normally she was smarter than this. Or maybe she was teasing me too.

"I figure four ninja to do the task and three Black Hand to provide support. We might not even need to smuggle the body out of Europe," I enlightened the room. "I've been standing up for the 9 Clans side since Day One. As I said, they owe me."

Elsa bowed to my creative criminality.

"And his armor and weapons," Eruthros added.

"And his armor and weapons," I repeated.

"Retrieving the body is one thing," Katrina schooled me. "Virtually no one breaks into a morgue, even a Federal Police one. They would store his personal belongings in a far more secure location. Finding his personal weaponry will be even more difficult."

"If we cannot find them, I will give you my two axes which I bore when I witnessed his passing," I offered Eruthros.

"Thank you," he clasped my hand. Tears began edging down his cheeks. Those old Greeks, and just about everyone else in those days, openly cried, exchanged crude jokes and laughed no matter how bizarre the situation. Showing emotion was what men did. They relished life because theirs could be so brutish and short.

"Where are you going to bury him?" I inquired. I was feeling a bit sniffley myself. Charlotte had paid the price so I could be here, talking to him, today.

"Salamis, among his kinsfolk," Eruthros responded.

"I would like to attend if I may."

"You would be welcome," he brightened up.

In a way, I could be seen as honoring a man I came to personally fear and despise. Ajax was a pig, a beast. Not of all his men had been and I was doing this for them. Honoring the dead meant so much more to those who survived. Having buried my Father, I knew that to be true.

"What's next for you and yours?" I changed the subject.

"We aren't sure. The Condottieri have abandoned the few of us who remain. I imagine one day Teucer will come to you to settle accounts. For the rest of us,"

"Want a job?"

"We would never work for the Amazons," he shook his head.

"Not the person I am thinking about at all. How would you like to go work for the Great Khan? He is going to need the hardest stone-cold killers with testicles in the Northern Hemisphere."

"Why would he accept us?"

"He is my spiritual-brother," I informed him. "If I tell him you and the others can shift the outcome of any fight, he will take you in."

"We are neither mercenaries nor willing to work for you," Eruthros looked down.

"I will pay in the currency that matters," I put my hand on his shoulder. "I will relate to you and yours the last moments in the life of Ajax the Unconquered."

"When?"

"At the funeral, but I will have an extra request for you."

"What is it?"

"I will not live forever. I wish you to forgive the family of his assassin. When you bury Ajax, you will bury that anger. Let one more death settle the matter."

"That, that I think I can convince the others to do. You would not ask for your own life?"

"I deserve much of the hate showered down on my life. I wish my children, all our children, to grow up in a better world."

"Who is Ishara?"

"She is the Goddess of many things. Most importantly to me, Dot-Ishara is the Goddess of Oaths. She binds our promises in blood and punishes the false-hearted and the oath-breakers. Serving her is always painful, but far too often worthwhile."

"Children," Eruthros mused. "I had not considered such a thing. Vengeance has consumed our thoughts."

"The truly great warriors go home," I adlibbed, "raise children and lie to them about their experiences while passing on those heart-rending lessons that carried them so far."

"Endless war makes no sense to me. Conflict always has a way of finding us, be we unready, prepared, fresh, or tired. Best we prepare the next generation who will have to face those challenges, make something good out of all the death and pain."

"Give you a few more years and you will be an Epic warrior, Cáel Nyilas Wakko Ishara," he put his hand on my shoulder to mirror mine.

"Hey now," I faux-protested. "What did I ever do to deserve that?"

"When the Great Achilles died, there was no one worthy of picking up his sword. We Greeks, we Mycenaeans, were swept away. What became of our sons and daughters? Where are the songs sung in their honor? Did we expend our very best for an insignificant town on a hill? Did we?"

"Not all the Mycenaeans are dead, Eruthros," I pointed out.

"The Amazons, when I knew them, they were like you; fearlessly happy and brave. They would be proud, I guess you being a man, I can't say they would be proud of you, but I would like to think they would sing paeans around your funeral pyre."

Not a single Amazon in the room commented on his memories. He knew their ancestors and they didn't. He also had had a hand in stilling that joy and freely-embraced fierceness. Whatever they had once been so long ago, the Greeks had stolen all the good away and left the hate, pain and sense of betrayal that had carried my Amazons through the millennia.

"I have a daughter. Her name is Aya and her playful laughter can still steal the crushing weight of storm-waves as tall as a city wall, her tiny strength overcomes the winds of a hurricane through her relentless determination, and her compassionate smile picks you up when pain and exhaustion would otherwise unman you. She is absolutely wonderful and I would like you to meet her someday, when all of this (the bloodletting) is behind us."

"I would like that," he grinned.

"Did he just promise to show your niece to this monster?" Reanna didn't whisper softly enough for me not to here, most likely on purpose.

"He is her 'Atta', so he is well within his rights to make that request of Caitlyn."

"But you are the House Head," Reanna protested.

"I trust Cáel with Aya's life. Absolutely. I have before and I would do so again," Katrina's eyes played over my countenance. Yeah, she had let Aya be kidnapped along with me, thus putting her in the hands of the Seven Pillars. Her trust had cost Aya two digits from her ring finger, a mark she would bear her entire life. "Making the request to Caitlyn is a mere formality. She shares my faith in him."

I had to think about that, and other things.

"No," Katrina shook her head in the negative. "You may not sleep with Reanna. Buffy would find out and beat the crap out of her. I need them both."

"Did you just pull a 'Pamela' on me?" I scowled. Reanna was still getting over the 'I would never sleep with him' and the 'why won't you let me sleep with him?'

"You are aroused and Reanna has been sucking up your man-candy anima since you walked into the room, no psychic powers required," she corrected me.

"Does this happen to you often?" Eruthros regarded me with renewed respect.

"Yes," Elsa answered for me.

"What she said," I smirked.

The rest was simple and more than a bit archaic and manly. Eruthros' panoply was returned, he dressed and then we ate, sitting on the floor of Katrina's office while the normal ES business was carried on around us. We both set our weapons aside as we shared our meal. He told me a dozen things a hundred historians devoted to the Bronze-Age Greeks would have personally torn the right testicles off their closest colleague for.

He was literate, knew some Old Kingdom Hittite, Minoan and Scythian and enough Egyptian to recognize it when I spoke a few words. Having lived inside a citadel (and not out in the fields with the peons), he knew how those old alliances, bonds, ties of kinship and other loyalties really worked.

I repaid those insights by educating him on modern dating practices and why you wanted women who were lethally competent as well as hot-looking and hellcats beneath sheets. After all, he and his tiny band of friends had their own martial societal traditions to pass down. By the time he departed, I had planted the seeds of a future beyond Ajax in his mind.

I hoped he would share my thoughts, hopes and dreams for the Mycenaeans with his ten surviving brethren. Five were in prison and not likely to ever get out, without outside help? The Khanate perhaps? The others: Red and one other had made their escape from Romania. Teucer and three others had been wounded before the final encounter at the Seven Skulls.

An hour later, I walked him out of the building. He took a taxi to somewhere that wasn't here. As his car faded into the noontime mass of New York traffic, Wiesława finally spoke.

"What is Buffy going to do when she finds out what foolish risks you took today and plan to do in the near future?"

"Pat me on the back and tell me to keep up the good work?" I tried to sound up beat. Lucky for me, I had a few fortune cookies in my pocket because that pigeon must have been a half-kilometer up when he decided to do his best imitation of a Peregrine Falcon. It probably didn't penetrate his little bird-brain that he had nothing approaching the aerodynamic qualities that would allow him to pull up in time.

Ishara:

"Man, that is going to leave a mark," I mumbled. A nice comfy lap-pillow eased the pain in my noggin. "Did you have to sacrifice that winged-rat?"

"Don't give me that," my Goddess scolded me. "I wasn't the one who sat calmly in a room with one of the perpetrators of the most grievous crimes ever committed against my people, comforting him in his time of suffering."

"Unleash a damn Al  on him," I suggested. Those were vengeance demons of the Near East during Ishara's time.

"Those are Sumerian."

"I seem to recall you working with a Sumerian goddess recently," I countered.

"Are you angry about Tadifi?"

"Why do you even ask?" I groaned. My head was really going to hurt when I woke up. "I am (angry), you are cruel and it is your nature to use us mortals for your own purposes. I imagine whatever good you do for mankind is accidental."

"No," she brushed her fingernails along my forehead. "If we could leave you to your devices, we divinities would. Life is not that simple. There are forces at work that would destroy the Weave and collapse all reality. By nurturing the good, we secure your future and our own."

"Illuyankamunus, demons, black necromancers?"

"Yes. As I have told you before,"

"There is no 'one' destiny. I imagine, ignorant of the outcome, you worry that humanity might not work it out quite right," I sighed.

"Please, do not despair," she took a handful of hair and dragged it over my upturned hand, caressing my fingertips, which felt really, really good. "I appreciate all you have done for me on your own initiative. I am not so jaded that I am inured to human suffering, yours especially."

"My sweet Cáel, I share your tears. I do not wish things to have turned out as they have. As the current of the future changes, I must change or succumb to it. If this helps, had you run away from Havenstone that first Tuesday, I would have protected you," she swore.

"Because I was the last scion of Vranus likely to perpetuate the next generation," I pierced her self-deception. "Don't bother telling me otherwise. I think I know the real reason I asked you to remove the ability for you and the other divinities to read my mind."

"You think it is a female power-fantasy," she reminded me. After all, that had been the last thought she had stolen from my privacy. I had been thinking that, yet now I began to see it in another light. It was my finely-honed, dearly paid for, instincts about the female psyche.

It was probably a combination of Ishara's first words to me today and Anais that opened my eyes to a greater truth. Women neither forgive nor forget. Not really.

"Like Eruthros, that night of rape for you was yesterday, not three thousand years ago," I unveiled my reasoning. "Vranus aside, you have never forgiven male-kind. As much as I feel you have true affection for me, I'm still a guy."

"No," she tried to smooth my troubled mind.

"You can't let Eruthros go in peace, even when it is the well-reasoned choice of your lone descendent, breathing one, anyway. What Eruthros and his friend did was heinously wrong. 'Me', any of us, turning on him when he showed up in good faith would have been the final surrender to the Mycenaeans of our own sense of right and wrong."

"Three thousand years ago, before the First Betrayal, we would have never considered butchering him outright though we could refuse him. Likewise, his offer was genuine and his request just. What need does the Host have of Ajax's corpse? What does it profit us to humiliate his followers? Do we really need to kill those final eleven? Teucer will come seeking vengeance in time, but now he won't do so as a sniper."

"I have taken away their outrage as an excuse for his actions. If he kills me from afar, he has surrendered his honor to me and we both know he will not do that. I am an honorable foe. As a Prince of my People, that honor permeates the Host. When Teucer comes for me it will be face to face. He will have to stare me straight in the eyes and I will kill him."

"I, I apologize," Ishara wept. "Poor Vranus. He wasn't very clever, but he was unswervingly loyal. I was wrong to think so poorly of him and discount his honest courage and love for his family. I confess, I never treated his worship, or the worship of his father and grandfather as being truly equal to that of his mothers and sisters."

"You will stand by me and my decision about Eruthros?" I shuddered. I'd been unconscious for a bit of time.

"Yes. Yes I will, my lovely Cáel," a tear escaped her cheek and landed on mine. It felt weird, a combination of coolness and a tickling level of electricity.

"Why am I here? I assume you have something to impart and weren't simply out to kill that poor pigeon with me as a witness," I chuckled.

"Ah, It would be so much easier if I could touch your mind," she hinted, poorly.

"Not happening, please let SzelAnya know I need to talk to her soon, I'm starting to feel stiff."

"I, perhaps, had that pigeon hit you, a bit too hard. You were concussed for quite some time. Added to that, we have chatted about other matters for over a minute," she chastised me because all this talking was totally my fault.

"Why do you, you remain very clever, MY Cáel." Her possessiveness didn't bother me. She was my guardian Goddess after all and would one day protect my children with equal devotion. If my fucked up life was any indicator, they'd need the help. She would let me talk to SzelAnya because I undoubtedly had a reason to do so, even if she didn't approve, of either my idea, or me being with a rival goddess.

"Think of Aya," she urgently imparted. "Think of Aya and know she deserves to grow up to be an Amazon just like you. Give her the freedom to do so. Where there is Valor, there is Hope. Greatness should be measured by the lives you save, not those you take. When the time,"

I felt her kiss upon my nose, then the pain kicked back in fulltime. I also realized my fortune cookies were gone (she'd stolen all three of them, Goddess-damn it!) I had to get some more before my next 'philosophic' session threatened my skull's integrity, tempting it to surrender to months of continuing abuse.

Lassies, and not in a good way.

'Ow, ow, ow, ow' kept bouncing around my head.

"He's waking up," Wiesława softly informed someone. I opened my eyes. They had dragged me back into Havenstone's lobby, cradled me as they brought me up to Medical, then hung around, in case I died and the SD wanted to talk to them. I was admittedly curious if the 'a pigeon did it' would mollify Elsa.

"Did I kill it?" I muttered as they put me down, feet first. I wobbled. Concussions do that to a guy.

"Who? I didn't see anyone attack you?" Wiesława looked concerned.

"The pigeon? The one who hit me. Is it dead?" I groaned.

"Oh, yes, Cáel Ishara. It will no longer menace any of our sisters. Your thick skull did it in," she joked. That eased the feelings of the security chicks around me. Unlike the medicos, they weren't privileged to know my Matron Goddess's preferred means of communication, bludgeoning me into unconsciousness.

"How long have I been out?" I mumbled. My cranium was throbbing in pain as I sat up. 'Hey! I was in Medical and still had my clothes on. Was I losing my touch?'

"It is 1:15, Wakko," Wiesława informed me. I groaned as my feet swung off the gurney.

"I have to play Barabbas in the mouth of a whale converted into a lion's den in 45 minutes and I need a few things from home," I mumbled. I would have assumed a commanding demeanor, except my inner ear was debating calling in sick for the rest of the day.

"So, what did she have to say?" Pamela stepped into view. It was hard to describe my pride and my joy when I saw Chaz right behind her, fully armed, inside Havenstone with his scrotum still doing what natured designed it for.

"The Bitch stole two extra cookies," I gripped. "As for the rest, chastisement for thinking my opinion mattered, me telling her to back the fuck up, we are not married yet, then the normal bit of useless information that I'm sure will make sense, somewhere around the third 5th of Whiskey."

"Besides, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't going to rain on my parade until 2?"

"Not sure, Chaz?" Pamela.

"Nothing special, Mr. Nyilas," Chaz glowered. Uh oh. Mr. Nyilas. Not good.

"We figured we'd join your regular lunch crowd," Pamela nudged Chaz giving him a physical 'atta boy.

"Buffy gave us a message," Chaz retained his 'I'm your older brother and since Dad isn't around to kick your ass over doing something stupid, I'm doing it for him' look. I had to admit, that look was pretty new to me. Most men didn't want to be remotely associated with me genetically after getting to know me and my fidelity, or lack thereof.

"Hey now," I protested as I wove my way out the door to the elevator. My equilibrium decided to cut me some slack and not invoke the reflexive vomiting. "It is only me, Hana, Imogen, Deidre, Mom, Buffy, hi Juanita," I hadn't spotted my designated bodyguard standing behind Chaz.

"Don't talk to me right now," she seethed. "I'm furious with you." Yep, she was the Caribbean Buffy.

"Perhaps she's pissed about the five extra Illuminati bodyguards added to the regular two around Hana plus the two circling Ghost Tigers having not a fucking clue what those other armed parties are doing in Hana's company," Pamela joked. She could. Everyone else was giving me crap about my social gaff.

"Hey now. This meeting is important. Imogen and I are going to have a child," I enlightened them. The door chimed open and we piled in with two Amazons whose 'fresh' look indicated a use of the showers within the past ten minutes.

"You consistently maintain particularly low standards," Chaz dryly remarked.

"I sent her here for a check-up and that gave Buffy a chance to meet Mom, Deidre and Imogen, plus two unarmed bodyguards," I kept bailing out the Titanic.

"Chaz, I am happy we aren't going to miss this one (lunch)," Pamela smiled at her two grandsons.

"Cáel, are you going to tell your fiancée you've impregnated your aunt?" Chaz was back to being mildly sympathetic to my 'totally fucked-up' life.

"Yes. I figured Buffy shooting death rays at me from her eyes will garner me enough confusion to get the words out of my mouth without her throwing her drink in my face, slapping me, then storming out," I envisioned.

I got no more shit until I reached the garage for my vehicle. There an armed FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox (did you know when a Federal Agent adds 'Special' to their title it means they have a gun?) stood next to my chariot. She'd drawn the short straw, meaning she had been given the chore of driving today.

I found myself wondering when Yasmin would finally finish her orientation. Her training involved some serious mental challenges including a crash course from the FBI at Quantico concerning modern judicial theory & practice as well as whatever pre-Iron Age jurisprudence the Host practiced.

Javiera promised me (and Katrina) that she would not-so-subtly remind those scholastically-groomed legal minds that a (couldn't use the word 'Amazon') legal code they followed had existed, with minor tweaking, as a successful social instrument for over 3,000 years. If they truly behaved in a respectful manner, the owners of the code might even show those people the Codex on the original horse-skin, written in Hittite cuneiform.

Anyway, everyone assumed I had a good reason for heading to my apartment (aka need to retrieve a sleepy Odette.) Had I repeated 'the Bitch stole my fortune cookies', they might have simply taken me to an Asian-inclined grocery store. As we hit the second story landing, Chaz in the lead, we heard a passel of folks come down toward us from the fourth level.

I didn't think there were that many people on the entire floor. Chaz and Pamela each went for their holstered pistol, while keeping them hidden in their jackets. Wiesława, who went for her PDW, backed up so she could fire through the stairs from beneath.

Juanita, bless her heart, and Virginia had remained in the S U V because sending in more people would have left us piled into one another. If a firefight did break out, Juanita could bring in some serious hardware to back us up while Virginia called the appropriate authorities before rushing in herself.

Around the corner on the third floor landing came a number of women, early/mid-twenties, physically fit, foreign clothes and downcast expressions. A few looked like they were about to cry. They were all in shirts and jeans, with no obvious weapons. Not looking lethal didn't ratchet down Chaz's vigilance. Me? I was instantly reminded how much sex I had been missing.

"Prince Cáel! You are alive!" spilled out of the first one, a fiery red-head with a billowing, thick mane, porcelain skin and adorable freckles. Her Irish brogue was enchanting. I had to wonder if she cried out in Gaelic during orgasm. Wasn't I about to meet my future bride plus numerous other love interests?

She was fit, curvy and wearing an aqua shirt which exposed her midriff with a belly ring bearing a pearl drop, the requisite tattered skin-tight jeans and soft leather calf-boots.

"Why wouldn't I be alive?" I grinned, like a pirate discovering an all-girls school oceanographic classroom in need of plundering.

"How do total strangers know how unlikely it is that you would still be alive?" was Chaz's spin on things.

"We talked with your roommate. He said you had moved to Svalbard where you suffered an excruciating painful, yet richly deserved, death in a lemming stampede," she pouted, "and then the UN had your ashes exiled to Pluto because the Sun was too good for you."

9, 10, 11 --12 of them looking, 3 with pale blonde hair that eerily reminded me of my fiancée, another red-head, two russet and five with deep, dark brown, or black hair. They were all fit, fit, fit! With an air of 'I graduated college only to discover: 1) no one was hiring Saline Soil Scientists, or 2) I no longer want to do any of the things I wanted to do when I picked this major. I was familiar with both types.

Timothy would have been at work and Odette would have invited the troupe in to regale them with all sorts of tales, which would have included a tour of my bedroom. They clearly had missed Odette so, now I recalled; that particular excuse was one of the ten I had given the guy in 4B should anyone suspicious come calling.

I imagine twelve hot, English-as-a-Second-Language girls might be considered, a bit odd. See, his was my address of record. I lied about my actual apartment, so random people who came looking for me went to him instead. This arrangement had been made prior to my understanding of the nature of my employment at Havenstone.

I'd neglected, telling him to move out and go far, far away? Poor guy. I'd find a way to make it up to him later.

"Actually it was a southern vole immigration incident that was set off by the Bulgarian consulate offering repatriation for the first 10,000 applicants," I frowned, clearly traumatized by memory of the incident.

"These poor southern vole, native to the vacationer-friendly Black Sea resorts, were accidently introduced to the coldest inhabited place in the Northern hemisphere and they've been trying to get home ever since, that would be the equivalent of a century and a half in 'vole-years."

"Despite the UN trying to quarantine any news of this Cricetidae catastrophe, I decided to evacuate the six most critically injured vole using a Bortolanza Pluto ultralight, which he must have confused with the UN sending my ashes to Pluto," I explained.

Mind you, the 'southern' voles are native to, among other places, Norway, the owner of Svalbard. They were also native to the Bulgarian Black Sea coast so, The Pluto ultra-light, once built in Italy, is now called the 'Puma' and made in Canada, has a maximum range of 675 km, which would leave me crash landing into the Barents Sea, 260 km north of the northernmost airport in Norway, rendering me and my voles so much frozen food.

"You are an animal rights activist too?" several of the girls gasped. Yes. Yes I was. I was an animal and I was all for me having rights.

"Please, don't tell anyone about this," I grew serious. "I don't want my philanthropic efforts to be publicized. What I do, I do for the Earth's endangered ecosystems because it is what everyone should do, not because we suddenly feel bad about neglecting it."

"E haere koe ki te whai kia nui ai," Pamela snorted. I'd ask her why she knew Maori later, right after I figured why Grandpa knew it.

"Ko toku mahere whānui," I replied. The girls looked confused.

"I'm also trying to revitalize endangered languages and revive dead ones. It is more of a hobby than life pursuit," I informed them.

"You really are a modern-day noble warrior-poet," the red-head leader sighed.

"Nah. I'm just a guy," I shrugged. "Besides, Ba ch ir fear a bheith ar eolas ag a gn omhais, n  a oidhreacht." (A man should be known by his deeds, not his heritage).

"Sa ch s go bhfuil misneach, t  s il agam," she replied using my 'family' motto.

"Jos on jalot on toivoa,", "Ahol van b tors ga, van rem ny," and "cesaret olduğu yerde umut vardır," all followed. 'Where there is Valor, there is Hope' in Finnish, Hungarian and Turkish. I got the sneaking feeling this wasn't a college field trip gone awry. These chicks were coming at me with a purpose that included more than sexual gratification and a kiss good-bye. Ugh.

"Thank you," I genuflected, paying honor to their reciting of my personal vow. "Anyway, you appear to be looking for me, but I am afraid I don't know any of you. Taking into account that I have a late lunch date with my fiancée in a half-hour and will be taking notes at a feminist convention at 8, what can I do for you?" I was establishing my escape plan.

"We have come here to join you," an assertive, dusky-skinned one smiled. I had to think about this. I was a bit tired. Taking all twelve of these girls on in one orgy was currently beyond me. I'd do eight tonight and the last four before breakfast tomorrow. Ah, happy thoughts of the Lacrosse Finals.

"What exactly do you plan to do with Mr. Nyilas?" Chaz interrupted.

"We are the (Irish) 'Na conairte soith an   S aghdha ar', (Hungarian) 'A szuka kuty kat Herceg Nyilas', (Turkish) 'Prens ok u Kaltak K pekleri' and (Finnish) 'Narttu koirista prinssi jousimies'," they chorused.

Pamela snickered. All of those fancy sounding names were variations on 'the Bitch Hounds of Prince Archer/Nyilas (with the Irish going for O'Shea).

"You want to be my bodyguards?" I gawked. Lacking lions, the Irish choice of the 'fur-balls of death' were hounds. Being women technically made them 'bitches'. I had to move fast. Any second now Wiesława was going to figure out these over-anxious non-Amazons were trying to replace her.

"You do realize I've left piles of dead bodies in my wake, right?" I nearly choked. Pamela slapped me on my back.

"Of course," they sounded so chipper. Fuck you Internet and 'First Person Shooter' games. This wasn't a fucking game! Trained combatants who joined my retinue met grisly ends and this was their freaking profession!

"Can I think about it? I mean, do any of you have any combat experience at all? Attacked someone in anger? Send off a blistering instant message?"

"Some of us have (combat experience I was assuming). We won't let you down."

"You do realize Ms. Dubois is going to kill them, don't you Sir?" Chaz sent me a chilling look.

"Ms. Dubois?", "who is that?" and "kill us?" floated around.

"Ms. Dubois is my blood-hungry ferret who wears a 'naughty berserker' human suit to trick the masses."

"Three of us have military training," one of the Finns spoke up.

By that they meant they had volunteered for military service in their native countries, then left after their first term because they found military life to be boring. On the 'plus' side, all but one had martial arts experience and six of the twelve had been a member of a Gun Club of some kind. Yep, Buffy was going to kill them, all twelve at once by herself.

"I'll make you a deal," I offered. Chaz was giving me his 'I'm a stone yet clearly unhappy with you' face. "At 7:15 tonight, you will show up at Havenstone. I will sign you in, we'll go upstairs to one of the gyms and then warm up for fifteen minutes. When you are ready, or 7:30 rolls around, we are going to the sparing mats. If I lose, you can stay. If you lose, you will write this off as one of a legion of ideas that look good in print yet are foolish in practice. Do you accept?"

"How many of us do you have to beat for us to join with you and your Crusade?" the lead Irishwoman asked.

"All of you. I will fight you all at once. The mat space is quite extensive."

"You mean all twelve of us against you at the same time?" one of the Turks blinked in disbelief.

"Yes. I am not disrespecting you, any of you. You've shown initiative, courage and a spirit of adventure. I found all three to be both admirable and worthy of reward (i.e. I will gladly have sex with you). What I am also telling you is of the three people with me, the only one I can most likely defeat in single combat is her," I motioned to Wiesława, "and I'm only saying that because she is 19 and relatively new to the art of killing."

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13391 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13

Hana shines and Aya rises.

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

Their eyes flickered to Pamela. Chaz was scary without even trying. Pamela could be threatening, or appear harmless, as she wished.

"Chaz is a professional military man from a long line of diligent warriors and in a branch of service that requires close contact with hostile individuals, teams, tribes, clans and nations."

"The woman behind me is much, much worse. I've met precisely three people who could possibly kill her and I killed one of them. Would you agree, Chaz?"

"Absolutely," he concurred.

"We know who you two are," a Finn spoke up. She had a dazzling smile and cleavage that had to obscure her toes when she stood.

"You do?" Pamela played nice. For once, it was technology biting her in the ass, not me. Yay?

"You are Rhingyll lliw Siarl Yfory," the Irish lass looked at Chaz. That was Welsh, and meant Color Sergeant Charles Tomorrow, I imagined his superiors in the British military weren't going to be happy with any of us, him being a 'secret military operator', emphasis on the 'secret'.

"And you are Sverkhsekretnykh Shpiona Vsemed Svaya," the Turkish girl pointed at Pamela. Pamela snorted. In Russian that meant 'Super-secret Spy Pamela Pile'. Since Pamela in Russia was pronounced 'Pamela' they had gone back to the origin of the name of Pamela, a fictitious 17th English novelist creation using mangled Hellenic, which translated as 'all-honey'.

'All-honey' in Russian was Vsemed. Pamela snickered. Oh yeah, those twelve had combed through millions of articles and pictures to figure out who Chaz was and who Pamela claimed to be. Actually, one of my Hungarian admires back when we were all in Eastern Europe had suggested Pamela was a remorseful ex-SMERSH agent turned Princely-sidekick. Pamela jabbed me, the unspoken 'sidekick' thing.

(For those who don't know, in Russian SMERSH loosely means 'Death to Spies', it really existed from 1943 to 1946 and was resurrected by Ian Fleming as a foil for James Bond.)

"Chaz, since Cáel is, without a doubt, already having a stupendously wretched day, we must insist he inform Addison of all three of these developments, in person. I want to see the look on her face," Pamela plotted with the man who had thrown himself between me and an explosive vest, probably out of some psychic impulse that I would suffer far, far worse later, like in today, within less than 24 hours of said act.

"Why am I here again today?" I lowered my head and groaned.

"Are you okay?" a dozen innocent voices cried out.

"We are here to pick up Odette," Wiesława reminded me.

"Oh yeah, fortune cookies," I mumbled.

"Is 'Fortune Cookie' a nickname for one of your other operatives? Many of them are real enigmas. We can't find out anything about her," one of the Hungarians said. Yeah, because SD doesn't have a Facebook page, or Twitter account. Odette, she was protected by a completely unremarkable lifestyle, but I had a feeling that was fading fast.

"Excuse us," I asserted myself. "I need to get something on the third floor. Chaz began pushing forward while Pamela had my back.

"What are you doing?" to me and "Hey, is that a gun?" to Chaz, then Wiesława. Pamela was too sneaky to get caught.

"I'm here to pick up Agent Fortune Cookie then head out to a meeting with some really shady characters and my fiancée," I informed them.

"Agent Fortune Cookie," Chaz mused. "She's going to love that,"

"And then," Pamela continued.

"She is going to want a gun," I groaned.

Oh goddess! No! Chaz had joined Pamela and my 'group think'.

"No, I have not," Chaz corrected me, about my mental ruminations.

"I've been coaching him," Pamela faux-consoled me. As my new prospective bodyguards parted for my current bodyguards,

"Do you have psychic powers?" "Where is your android?" and "Is it true you can have sex up to ten times a day?"

"Yes, but we can't talk about it," then, "Which one? We have six models," and finishing up with, "Yes, I can have sex up to ten times a day with each session lasting at least an hour, though I do need breaks for food, drink, quiet romantic conversations and showers, cause shower-sex is so damn fun."

While they mulled that over, I unlocked my door in time to see a nicely-dressed (as if she was about to go out on an expensive lunch date) Odette spring off the sofa. Looking at the crowd behind me, she blessed me with an incredibly happy smile.

"Oh cool! Do we really have enough time for an orgy?"

I wanted to cry.

(A Family FUNction, minus the 'fun' part)

My fiancée giving me a congenial and contented look. Good.

My fuck-buddy/friend Libra giving me a salacious 'you and me are going to hook up soon' smile while dressed in a red, 'business suite/slinky number' combo with a plunging neckline. I put her invite on my mental day-planner. Fellas, if you can't keep it in your mind, forget about it. Print equals pain, believe me.

Brooke had joined the lunch group, sharing a smile and wink with Libra with the secret agreement for a three-way. Sweet! I could do this, hmm, lunch break Friday, yum-yum-yum. She was wearing a beige business suit with slacks, minus the shirt. Only her cunningly cut jacket kept her goodies from exposure.

Hana was a saint for putting up with those two, and me.

Buffy was studying me with the clear desire to put me in a dog cage for the rest of the week. Technically she had to produce my body for work Monday. As for the hot, sweaty, intense Brooke-Libra-Cáel m nage   trois, Buffy was reading the undercurrents and setting up a breakwater. At least her attire suggested well-paid, successful international assassin. I wondered if I had paid for her clothing as well. I'd given Chaz's wardrobe a serious upgrade courtesy of Pamela faking my signature.

The gathering was rounded out by Mom, Imogen and Deirdre. Thank God they all had different hair styles and forms of dress. Mom was in 'casual-durable' attire, Imogen was going with the military-chic and Deirdre's get up was in the same style as Hana.

I was pleasantly pleased that Hana had reserved two adjacent tables for what she assumed would be my support network, Pamela, Odette, Chaz, Wiesława and Juanita, plus Imogen's five and her (Hana's) two Illuminati minders. That made me squeezing my twelve newest over-eager admirers into the mix doable, if not comfortable. Better yet, none of the new girls was dressed for a restaurant this exclusive.

Hana was quietly amused. Buffy was volcanic. Thankfully she was being a volcano on the mid-Atlantic ocean ridge ~ submerged.

"Chaz, Pamela, explain," Buffy seethed.

"I don't work for you," Pamela playfully bantered back, "Sweet-Cheeks."

"They are part of a clandestine operation to provide cooperation and assistance from the European Union," I offered up in such a sincere manner. I almost had them. Buffy looked to Chaz who opted to channeled his 'inner- Cáel'.

"I can neither confirm nor deny their status as operators from four European nations," he nodded.

Buffy forked a helpless appetizer shrimp then catapulted at one of my Finns, I thought it was Oili. It bounced off her bosom. She couldn't even claim to not have seen it coming.

"What?" Oili gasped.

"Operatives?" Buffy sizzled at me.

"Prince Cáel," Flannery asked, "why did that strange woman throw a, shrimp at Oili?"

"It was a hand-eye coordination test," Odette informed her. "Had Oili been a real spy, you would have snatched up a nearby napkin, deflect the item with the napkin and all while drawing down on her. It is what they do all the time. It is pretty neat to watch."

"Why use a napkin?" Oili asked Odette while eyeing Buffy in case another decapod was coming her way.

"You use a napkin because the shrimp might have a contact poison on it," Odette rolled her eyes. "Buffy used a fork to flip it at you. She didn't use her hands, so the possibility existed." Pamela gave Odette an 'atta girl' high five.

"Prince Cáel?" Brooke giggled. "What have you been up to?"

"Okay. I got this. Ladies, may I introduce Annikki, Belgin, Berit, Flannery, Gizi, Ilkay, Kato, Neve, Nuray, Oili, Pirkko and Zsuzsi. These fine women have decided to put their productive lives on hold so they can be my bodyguards," I made the introductions.

"They have volunteered to be, basically the 'Hounds of Prince O'Shea/Nyilas/Archer'. My Hounds, please let me introduce Hana, my fiancée, Brooke, my close friend, Libra, a sweet & sincere childhood acquaintance, my Mother, Sibeal, my O'Shea aunts, Deidre & Imogen and Kalmarasērmi Buffy."

Despite the absurdity of the situation and my clear irresponsibility, Buffy let a smile crease her frown. 'Kalmarasērmi' was my term for her in the Amazon language = my Mountaintop.

"I will volunteer my facilities to train them," Aunt Imogen offered me drolly. She was the primary trainer for all O'Shea guardians/Special Forces.

"Train us?" a half dozen voices murmured.

"Yes Child. I am Imogen O'Shea, Cáel is the greatest treasure in my life and I have serious doubts any of you can be anything more than distracting bullet-catchers for my favorite (and only) nephew. It annoys me to think you are yet another walking advertisement showing him to be both big-hearted and soft-headed."

"I will offer prayers upon the mounds of my ancestors (lie, her only 'ancestor' refused to stay buried) for Cáel’s safety. You should invoke whatever supernatural entity you place faith in to keep Cáel safe as well, because if he gets so much as a scratch defending any one of you, I will exercise my nearly endless knowledge of human pain to make you pay."

"Is she Ms. Dubois?" Flannery asked Odette.

"That would be me," Buffy showered fury their way.

"Do you really want to kill us?" Neve tried to stare Buffy down.

"Until ten seconds ago, Yes. Now I want to hand you over to these two," she motioned to Deidre and Imogen with her fork.

"Prince Cáel, why are they all so hostile?" Flannery requested understanding from me. "We have come here to help you. We have skills. All we are asking if for a chance to prove ourselves to you."

"To Us," Buffy snapped. "Cáel’s vote doesn't count."

"Chill, Buffy," I snapped back. "I'm dealing with this, and your lack of trust is pissing me off."

"Buffy," Hana intervened. She placed a hand on Buffy's thigh out of sight, yet not outside of my notice. "When was the last time Cáel failed to take your advice on something life-critical? These young ladies appear to be honest and diligent. If not, Pamela and the Color Sergeant wouldn't have let them come here, or near Odette."

If I dated dumber women I would have less explaining (lying) to do, but I'd miss the challenge both inside and outside the bedroom. Hana's deft touch and gentle words calmed Buffy more than anything (outside of a righteous cocking) I could have accomplished. I was suddenly seized with the realization there was a goodly number of Katrina's positive attributes in Hana. How had I missed it?

"Marrying you is going to be Hana's first step toward mortal beatification," Brooke teased me. Normally only dead people were made saints.

"A Servant of, probably not Jehovah. I think everyone at the table can agree she has interacted with supernatural forces," Sibeal hid her joking well.

"Martyring her hopes of monogamy?" Deidre's fey gaze flickered over the women of note (the women at the main table).

"Her Heroic Virtue is Prudence?" Buffy added. Buffy had been Catholic?

"Ladies, I'm Lutheran. We don't normally venerate saints. Joking aside, I was given a reason to believe this lunch date was important on a social level between myself and my fianc . Food would be nice too."

Brooke and Libra's presence regulated Pamela and Chaz to an adjacent table. A waiter slipped in, took my order, I decided to forgo an appetizer because I was late, then the conversation began.

"Hana, this is my Mother, Sibeal Nyilas. Imogen and Deidre are my family from Ireland," I made the introductions, most definitely unnecessarily. I was buying time to get a better read on the women around me.

"I know," Hana showered me with mature compassion.

"Get to it, damn you," Buffy huffed.

"Wow, I'm thinking of the best way to tell you this," I barely could meet Hana's eyes.

"I am pregnant with your fianc 's child," Imogen cut to the chase. What she said was delivered on purpose. Imogen wasn't as socially maladjusted as Rachel. The fewer women in my life, the easier the O'Shea would have roping me in. Imogen's words were meant to hurt Hana and drive a wedge between us.

"You too?" Hana's sad eyes studied Imogen. She hid her anger-disappointment-disgust well. In this crowd her efforts to obfuscate her feeling only worked on Libra and Brooke. Those two ladies were less astute at concealing their surprise.

"She's your aunt, right?" Libra's look settled on me instead of a blatant Imogen, or a pained Hana.

"No," Mom answered for me. "My sisters and I were born sterile. It is impossible that our paternal heritage has been passed along. Whatever Imogen's maternal contribution was, it is not from our DNA. My sister does have a child inside her, Havenstone verified it and will have the precise genetic make-up within 24 hours," she persisted (lying).

"If Cáel has a failing, it is that he was seduced by my sisters who played upon his very confusing Mother-Son relationship. I faked my death when he was seven. I 'died' in a quite painful manner and he had to watch helplessly as he witnessed me wasting away. I did such a horrible thing to a young boy because the people who were hunting me down, the two O'Shea before you and the nine who aren't here, would have used numerous means of torture to verify my death."

(Until they realized 'what' I was. Then my imprisonment would have begun)

"My wonderful husband would have died without giving them the truth. It was too much to ask of our son. For fifteen years he believed me dead. He learned the truth at his Father's funeral. I believe every woman at this table knows my son doesn't handle emotional pain well."

"Imogen's statement was a thinly-veiled stab at Hana's heart and a kick to my son's sense of responsibility to both Hana and his unborn child. How could this not hurt Hana? How could Cáel possibly respond, torn between the woman who has already sacrificed so much of her happiness for a man barely aware of his own maturity, and the woman bringing his child into the world?"

"Good one, Imogen. Those two are better than you, or I. By all means, make a mockery of my son, your nephew, who has pledged to fight for your life when he should clearly walk away and let the rest of you die. He asks nothing of you yet you feel no remorse at sullying his happiness."

"There are ten good reasons for you getting up and walking out of here intact right now. There are six better reasons for making you pay for your cruelty," she threatened.

"Ten?" Brooke whispered.

"The sisters' five bodyguards, the two body guards they gifted me with, Deidre, Imogen and Cáel. You don't think he would let the woman bearing his child take a beating, do you Brooke?" Hana enlightened her.

"No."

"The Six?" Libra scanned the room.

"My other two bodyguards won't act unless I am directly threatened. They won't be out to hurt anyone. If anyone tries to hurt me, they will jump straight to the making them dead option. The 'Six' are Buffy, Pamela, Chaz, Juanita, Special Agent Maddox and Sibeal."

"We'd help," Libra insisted. Brooke was onboard with that proclamation.

"No," came forth from Hana, Mom and me.

"Brooke and Libra; you two, Odette, the other twelve and the wait staff will only confuse the issue. My sisters and their soldiers will use you and the rest to distract Cáel. Except for Ms. Maddox, the rest won't give a fuck so your best bet is to hit the deck and let the professionals deal with things," Mom clarified.

"Brooke, Libra, this is a wacko chicks with guns moment," I put things in perspective.

"Hana?" Libra put a hand on Hana's shoulder.

"Don't mind me," she patted Libra's hand. "I'm diving for cover and not getting up until you, Brooke, Cáel, or Buffy tell me to get up. Sorry Sibeal, but I don't know you that well yet."

"I understand," Mom agreed.

To punctuate the awkwardness of the moment, Aisha (the Arabic swimsuit model) and three other SD ladies waltzed into the place and took a table. When the maytre dee tried to impede them, Aisha threatened to exterminate his entire extended family with a look alone. Been there, done that, and the maytre dee was nowhere close to being in my league.

I had to think that through. Had Buffy called them, the SD would have been here before I arrived. Pamela was a possibility, except the SD still hated her over Constanza's maiming. If she told them my life 'was' in danger, they would still show up. My life wasn't in danger and Pamela wouldn't yank their chain.

It had to be Juanita. The head of my bodyguard telling Elsa that I was in an exposed position with 9 armed Illuminati would have elicited this level of response. Pamela prodded Odette. Odette had a 'what do you want me to do' non-verbal exchange with Pamela then got up and went over to Aisha.

Odette even remembered to navigate the room in such a manner Aisha and her team could keep an uninterrupted view of the threat. Pamela and Chaz's lessons were paying off. They weren't training her in the lethal arts. They were showing her how to not be an obstacle, which was better, given our current circumstances.

"Hana, don't hate Imogen. The only parent she's ever known was Granddad," I returned my attention to the crisis at hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hana sent sympathetic waves Imogen's way. If there was a hint of 'you bitch' hidden within those words, none of us would admit it.

"Yes, yes," Imogen smiled back. "Father was a real troll."

"That's not true," Hana responded. "I've met him and he has always been very nice to me. It was easy for me to look past the nations of dead he's murdered, his propensity to rape his daughters and his plans to destroy my Cáel."

"I don't hold you to blame for not protecting Cáel more than you have. He's a handful and reminds you of your Father, the mass-murdering rapist. And Imogen, don't try to hurt Cáel using me again, you Bitch. I'm not a part of your circus. That doesn't render me powerless. I love more than I hate. I count a person great by the lives they save, not those they take. Where there is Valor, there is Hope and my fianc  has both in spades. Do we understand one another?"

"Proving you are smarter than Ms. Sievert is not something which equates to being a threat," Deidre countered.

"Cáel, why aren't you saying something?" Brooke whispered to me.

"Because he knows better," Mom grinned. "This is a battle Hana has to win, or lose, on her own."

"Cáel has plenty of women willing to go behind his back and kill people, Brooke. Now, if Hana asks for such a favor, we know it is not over some petty bullshit," rolled menacingly forth from Buffy as her feral countenance made a few of the Illuminati at the next table nervous.

"That won't be necessary," I broke up the tension. "We are as dysfunctional a family as they come, but we are family and we will all treat one another as such by the standards of the only one who matters. Clear?"

"You?" Deidre soothed me.

"No. Ferko Nyilas', my Father and the best man I've ever known. He taught me to never make excuses for your own behavior. Surrendering our control over our lives is a cop-out. If you want to continue acting like the creepy-ass bitch daughters of Cáel O'Shea, so be it. That is your choice to make. I care for you."

"I care enough for you to fight Granddad over your futures. I hope all of you know I mean what I say. Whatever you decide to do, no matter how you act, I will always love you. I've made my choices and I am going to hold you responsible for yours. Let's eat lunch. It has been a rough fucking day and it isn't over yet."

If there was ever any doubt, I destroyed those twelve hopeful bodyguards on the mats. They possessed neither the skill nor the savagery necessary in a warrior culture. We Amazons didn't recoil from pain. Our sisters' lives were on the line. That was why you practiced no-holds-barred fighting with, or without, weapons.

"We can learn," the lead Finn protested. The rest were getting over the physical and spiritual pain of being so easily beaten.

"My normal bodyguards go through three years of intense 24/7 training. Being a member of that elite body means you train in all forms of weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat techniques."

"Once you've mastered the core physical and skill baseline requirements, and this core training never stops, no point is considered 'good enough', you begin learning at least two specialties. Those are disciplines such as close-protection, sniping, small unit tactics, infiltration, battlefield medicine, electronics, computing, communication systems, linguistics and 'training' expertise."

"In my current team, the ones who fought at my side in Hungry and Romania, all have three specialties. Discounting their regimen since the age of five, each had been on the job in a professional capacity at least six years. The leader had eleven years in."

"Finally, when you are at that level of excellence, you need a specific mindset. What you need to do is think why you shouldn't kill someone, not if you should. If there is any doubt, you strike. If you hesitate, someone close to you might be killed, not just me."

"Look around you. If you aren't ready to kill for any of your companions, you will never cut it. Now, I'm going to have you shown out. I will have taxis take you back to your hotel. Think about it. Seriously, think about dedicating yourself to more than some stranger you've met on the internet."

"You will be dedicating yourself to the other elven women in your group, to the death. That is the level of spiritual dedication it takes to be at my side. Go, take a rest, talk it over, search your souls. Call me if any of you want to continue and we can have lunch Sunday and make plans. Questions?"

"Do the other women around you do this, make those choices?" one of the Turkish women frowned while nursing a bruised jaw.

"No. They have it worse. They have thrown their old lives away, never to return. Each and every one has either murdered a human being, or attempted to, before they are even considered for the task."

"Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't be having his conversation. You would never be given the chance. You are woefully unqualified in every way except spirit. Your willingness to cross the Atlantic to make your offers resonates with me, so I am both warning you this is horrible, horrible path you are taking and I am explaining precisely how slender any of your chances are of accomplishing your goals."

"I, I don't know," whispered one of the Hungarian lasses.

"At the Seven Skulls, I led three such women into combat (Rachel, Charlotte and Saku) against a group of warriors who were fighting free of 500 elite Romanian Mountain Troops. Of the Romanians, nearly 200 were either dead, or wounded. The FBI Special Agent we took with us was badly wounded.

"One of the three was killed, a head shot, and the remainder left her body where she had fallen because the enemy were still out there and they had to protect me. The world will not bend to your sensitivities. Life around me is exceedingly dangerous and unforgiving," I finished.

No immediate consensus united them. Fear and disbelief were the major vibes I was picking up. None of them were angry, insulted, or overly terrified.

"Time for you to go," Buffy concluded our meeting. "Tigger Maeve and Dora Farānak, would you please see Cáel’s guests to the lobby." A new pleasure of Buffy's was using the House names of the Full-bloods she interacted with.

I have taken a few mystic liberties:

Maeve was a Celtic War Goddess ~ the Enslaver of Men.

Farānak was a Scythian Goddess also known as the Lynx Goddess and the Silent Huntress.

As for the other new hires:

Daphne was, as explained earlier, of House Cotyttia (Thracian Goddess of Sex, War and Slaughter)

Fabiola was of House Minerva (Roman Goddess of War & Strategy)

Violet Maza was in House Oshun, the Yoruba Goddess of Love, Sexuality, Beauty and Diplomacy; Lady of the Orisha ~ life spirits.

Paula Wadena was of House Cybele (Phrygian Earth Mother, Guardian of the Lion Throne)}

They were dismissed and smart enough to know that was the best possible answer to their current predicament, learning your romantic adventure was actually a gory supernatural battle for survival. A growing number of Isharans had been gathering while I dealt with the wannabes. A few were amused, perhaps even understanding, of my actions.

Soon enough, using her position as Record Keeper of House Ishara, Helena cajoled the other Amazons into giving us peace and quiet. Not all left. Watching a jury-rigged House Ishara work through its business in a semi-public setting was an event both unlooked for and possibly enlightening.

For this gathering, we had 122 of the 159 members. The missing members were not close enough, or were providing a critical function that wouldn't allow them to be in New York on this night.

"Sisters, a moment of personal prayer for each of us to seek guidance from our Ancestors as we seek to continue their legacy," I intoned softly, calling the meeting to order.

I had barely opened my eyes, failing to get any inspiration from Yakko, when the struggle began.

"Why are we including them in a House Ishara meeting?" Madori pointed out the three 'new hires' who were sticking around.

"Memasant (Amazon for to speak true)," I answered her. Since Daphne, Paula and Violet had clearly been sitting among us before the meeting began, I gave Buffy a disappointing frown. "Ishara respects these three for teaching the rest of you the Amazon language so that we can teach it to others, thus all of you becoming able to engage all our sisters in our native tongue."

"I doubt any other House would extend this honor to others. Thankfully, we are not like any other House. We know better. We have all been outsiders. We aren't a 'normal' House and I am working toward us never being one. We have to be kind and just when necessary, and forgive when it is what the Host needs."

"We will do this because we Isharans alone will decide on the prestige of our sisters. If the other Houses make an issue of it, who cares? None of them have made the sacrifices necessary to be Isharans. I know that you have not all gathered here tonight to hear me pontificate. Who wants to be first?"

"Will you accept a challenge?" Madori stood up. We had spread out in a ring, two Amazons deep, along the edges of the mats. I had never sat down.

"Put forth your complaint," I responded.

"You emphasize duties other than that of a House Head. You don't take the time to show up at initiation ceremonies. In essence, you ignore your sisters to advance your own prestige."

"Yes, I am not showing up at the initiation ceremonies."

"Yes, I prioritize other activities over running the day-to-day operations of our House."

"Yes, you are utterly ignoring the two Amazons sitting at either side of me. I chose Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara to lead this House because I knew I would have others issues coming up in my life concerning the Host."

"Buffy, are you challenging me?"

"No, Wakko Ishara," she responded angrily. She wasn't angry with me. She had chosen the majority of the assembly and they were turning on me, thus her.

"Helena, are you challenging me?"

"No Wakko Ishara. I am intimately familiar with your work and the dangers you constantly confront for the greater Host," she answered in an equally hostile tone.

"Now that the issue of relevance has been dealt with, I will accept any challenge from any of you selfish, bigoted, power-hungry cunts who wish to put your own self-interest above that of our House. By all means, stumble over one another for the top spot," I mocked them. I'd played nice. No more.

It was telling that my classification of any challenger was completely ignored. Madori and five supporters stood. In theory, challenges were the rare 1-on-1 Amazon experience. Another Amazon, Arianne, stood with another supporter.

"Cool beans," I nodded.

I backed up, stepped off the mats and picked up the four axes I had pre-prepared. Back on the mat I went past my handful of supporters, brandished two weapons and advanced a quarter way onto the sparring area. The mass of my opponents muttered in confusion and resentment.

"Ishara, we have not trained in archaic weapons. Most of our facilities never had then," Madori protested.

"Amazons don't play fair," I glared. Several migrated to the walls to pick out whatever looked the least daunting. Buffy, Helena, Marsha, Daphne Cotyttia, Violet Oshun and Paula Cybele did likewise.

"Is this how you want to answer a challenge for leadership?" Madori glowered. "Cheating, utilizing a clear advantage in a farce of equality and justice?"

"No. Please step back and call every member of JIKIT," my eyes narrowed. "How about this, call the Amazon's contact with the Earth & Sky? Can't do that either? How about convince the 9 Clans to help us pursue a House obligation?"

"You duties as Chief Diplomat are not that of Isharan House Head and actually make you less of a House Head," she countered. She had chosen a short spear, using it two-handed. And that made Katrina what precisely?

"I should fucking kill you," Buffy snarled.

"Madori Ishara, Dot-Ishara is not the Goddess of Scrabble. She is not the Goddess of," and Madori tried to catch me flat-footed with a spear-thrust. I was appalled at how easy I dealt with her. My right axe diverted her spear enough so when I twisted my stance, she missed. I placed the head of my left axe on her shoulder, blade against her throat.

"Madori, you lose. Sit back down and contemplate that you were beaten by a 22 year old man," I seethed. There was no 'you didn't give me a chance' bullshit. She had struggled for advancement in the Amazon way. Such people weren't crybabies. "Next."

Arianne approached me with a shield and short sword. My read on the situation was she was going to use acrobatics to compensate for my superior reach. I readied myself.

"I don't suppose you would accept a suggestion we fight unarmed?" she put out there. I took two steps toward her then dropped my axes.

"I trust you," I looked down at her. I could see the 'oh, fuck me' written all over her face. The unfairness had been tossed in her lap. She put the point of her leaf-shaped blade under the left side of my ribcage, close to my kidney.

"Yield."

"Never."

"Yield, or I will kill you."

I took a quarter-inch penetration when I clamped down on her right wrist and slammed my elbow into her face. A quick exchange of footwork ended up with both of us on the mat, Arianne on her back, sword pinned to the mat and her shield trapped between us. Head-butt followed head-butt until she was unresponsive.

I stood up, blood oozing down my side.

"Water!" I barked. A bottled water was rolled my way. Three more Amazons were sizing me up. This challenge phase was far from over. I splashed water down on Arianne's face until she sputtered into wakefulness.

"Pathetic," I sneered at her. "This House is worth any and all of our lives. If you were the best candidate to lead this house and I refused to yield, then why did you spare me? Not only could you not kill me when you clearly could, you failed to do so even when it became an unequal contest of arms."

Arianne was shamed and furious. I was treating her like a presumptuous, outsider woman.

"I'm feeling particularly generous in victory, Arianne, don't you dare stand up," I growled when she tried. "I will not kill you for your disrespect. I will not exile you from our House because doing so would show both of us failing to grasp one of the key principles of our People, learn. Learn and keep learning. A loss is nothing more than a temporary setback. Learn, don't repeat the same mistake twice and never stop striving for success until you take yourself to the cliffs."

One of the two newest challengers was prepping her rush. I drew my other two axes.

"Wait your turn," I pointed an axe her way. "The rest of you, you planned this meeting so you could overcome your disgust and condemnation over having a male be in charge of House Ishara. Don't bother lying to me, or each other."

"Your crappy performance is utterly irrelevant?" the challenger showered me with hate. As I have previously noted, telling a woman that she is clearly delusional by pointing out her delusions is rarely accepted in a positive manner.

"Have it your way. The sheer stupidity of your actions speaks for itself."

She moved forward. Much like Arianne, her tactic was to close in enough to turn this into an unarmed martial contest. I didn't know her name, yet could tell she hadn't joined House Ishara via her spectacular battlefield performance. She was undoubtedly bright, diligent and absolutely top notch at whatever post Havenstone had placed her in. Lecture time.

"Here begins the lesson," I danced away from her initial rush. "If you believe that I am nothing more than a prophetic hiccup in Amazon mysticism and not the true heir of Yakko Ishara, please raise your hand" I said to the room at large. Few did.

"Liars," I mocked them. I batted a few more of her attacks aside.

"Having refused to accept the window-dressing of my heritage, you have decided I am nothing more than a fortuitous aberration you are using for your own personal advantage. That is the only logical assertion that takes into account all the events of tonight," I kept lecturing them. "And you couldn't be more wrong."

"Stand still, damn you," my latest opponent hissed. I slipped right when I should have twisted left. I dropped the back of my axe-head on the top of her skull, dropping her like a puppet with its strings cut. The next one hopped up. Buffy's animalistic rumblings of pure rage were clearly audible. This one was going with the long spear and it looked like she had some talent. She was no Elsa and for this, she needed to be.

"Put your spear down and accept my judgement," I made eye contact with the newcomer.

"Why?'

"I'm not going to tell you. Go with your gut," I advised. I could see her weigh her options. She surprised me by placing her spear down and retreating from the mat.

"Why did you do that?" the woman next to her snapped quietly.

"I don't know," the latest challenger furrowed her brow.

"You did it because we have all been here before," I filled in the answer. "You were never Runners. Had you been alien to the Amazons, you would have faced the same fate as Alicia at my Father's gravesite."

"She was rejected by Ishara, not me. Ask any of the other twenty-one who were present. I burned my damn finger trying to get Ishara to take her in. It didn't happen. I've been thinking about that for the past few months. I think I now know why it happened." Miraculously, I had their attention.

"You never joined House Ishara," I scanned the whole assembly. "House Ishara found you. Generations ago you should have joined House Ishara except the gates had been closed. Your ancestors couldn't reach out to you because their mortal kin had perished without heirs. For fifteen hundred years, Isharans have been born, lived and passed on because no one was around to open your eyes to your place in the world."

"I am absolutely positive every one of you has fought, struggled and bled to be in this room, listening to my diatribe. So did Alicia. For those who know her, do you think she was lesser than you by any metric?" I let that sink in. Those who knew Alicia were mulling my words over. Those who didn't were studying the ones who did.

"Please examine your hearts and give me a reason why she and hundreds of equally qualified Runners are not here, and you are? Have you won a game of Texas hold 'em? The Pick-5? Do you think your other sisters drew your name out of hat, threw darts at a dart board, or did a random inner-house personnel search?"

"I'm waiting for someone to tell me I'm a nut, insane, or just plain wrong."

Nothing.

"You are here because you were born Isharans, grew up under Dot-Ishara's cruel tutelage and fortuitously lived in a time when the doors to our Ancestors were finally reopened."

"Former Runners? There, is, no, such, thing! You have always been Isharans. And only now is the rest of creation becoming aware of it," I stated in a clear, decisive voice. Kimberly insisted I take that course in Public Speaking so I could recite the words of long-dead kings in an authoritative voice. It was paying an unpredicted dividend now.

Except for the 3 non-Isharans, everyone in this room grew up in a scientific, predictable world. If any of them participated in a religion, they didn't expect any reaction to their worship. Faith was a word to whitewash the unknown. Havenstone had made no effort to dispel that way of thinking.

Yes, they knew they were living on the periphery of a 3,000 year old feud against male-kind. When given the decision to either believe 1.) there were thousands and thousands of ancestors and fifty-plus goddesses watching over them, or 2.) they belonged to a cult with a seriously weird backstory, they chose the 'reasonable' explanation.

It wasn't like the membership in that worship system were reaching out to embrace new members. The faith the full-Blooded Amazons had was part of their mistress's uniqueness they shared with one another while excluding their new 'sisters'. Such an infinitesimal number of Runners had been embraced by the faith, so what else were they supposed to believe in?

Only now, they were being asked to embrace without question what all Full-Blooded took for granted. Mysticism was integral to Amazon life. They knew their Ancestors were watching over them. They knew their Matron Goddesses prepared an Afterlife for them. They lived and died with iron-clad faith in that. They taught it to their daughters, who passed it on to their children. This process went back 150 generations.

"Do you, do you really speak to the Goddess Ishara?" Madori asked, twisting her logical mind about the conundrum of my words: 'why her and not Alicia'? What had Alicia done wrong? Until I spoke on the matter, she had shoved such worry to the back of her mind. She was in a First House, which was the new center of her existence.

"Yes," I replied. I bit down on trying to insert a joke into this seriously spiritual moment.

"What does she tell you?" Madori uttered the words, but they were echoed in the face of every Isharan in the room.

"The messages vary. I have vomited out more blood in one session than I have in my entire body, ask Buffy. I have been told to sleep with an Augur. Later she, Dot Ishara, told me Tad fi, the Augur, was going to die in premature childbirth and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. 'Why' I had to put an Isharan heir in Tad fi has not been explained to me and probably never will."

"She likes fortune cookies. She is jealous of the Goddess SzelAnya because that goddess has saved my life, twice. Dot Ishara has also intervened to save my life too. Of greater importance to me, she has spared Aya Epona when I begged for her help," I kept going. I had their rapt attention now.

What I was saying you couldn't put into a handbook, or normally pass from the uninitiated to the uninitiated.

"I have hated her for some of the misery I have committed at her request. I have served her without explanation because I acknowledge I am Ishara, Wakko Ishara, and this is what we Amazons do, fight for our Matron Goddesses."

"Our reward is pain and suffering. It is daughters and sisterhood. It is raising our young and taking comfort and giving comfort on the night before we take ourselves to the cliffs when our time comes. All our sisters who have passed before us are waiting to take us to our true home."

"No matter what else happens to us, we will never be alone again. In this life and the next, we are bound by more than blood and oaths. We are bound by a common destiny and a unifying goal. That goal is the Will of Ishara.

"And that is why you anger me so tonight. Not one of you has suggested I have not been true to Dot-Ishara, to Yakko-Ishara and to every Isharan who is and has ever been."

"A proper challenge is made when your House Head has betrayed your House and/or the Host."

"You challenge them after you have set forth your grievances and your House Head has failed to successfully address them.

"Instead, why are you any of you challenging me?" I glared my displeasure over them. "Don't answer that. Don't bother. We all know it is because I have a cock. Not one of you has challenged the legitimacy of my bloodline. Not one charge of treason has been leveled against me."

"By the Goddess!" I thundered. "Who here doesn't know what I do for the Host on a day to day basis? If you don't know, have you ever considered asking someone who might? Despite the disrespect you have shown me and the Goddess, have I ever challenged any of your selection for joining in a House I lead?"

"Of course not. I serve Ishara, as should you all. I have shown all of you absolute faith and honest solidarity. Tonight, you have let me, your sister, down. I desperately need your support, your comfort and your trust. To reward my efforts in doing a job I was unprepared for, yet couldn't deny, you have showered me with your hate. Good night."

I stalked off the mat, retrieving my dropped axes. I set the four weapons in their hooks on the wall then headed for the exit. Pamela had taught me you tend to your weapons before you tend to your life.

"Ishara," Madori called out. I kept walking. "Wakko Ishara," she called out again. I stopped, looked over my shoulder and gave her a blank face.

"I had not thought this through. I apologize," she lowered her head. Around her others nodded.

"I don't care," I glowered. "I don't want your words. I want deeds. I don't want your respect. It is not something I find any value in right now.

"I don't want your comfort. You have denied me solidarity when I so desperately need it. I trusted you all implicitly. You were the Chosen of Ishara, named by your sisters as worthy, who had never let me down before. Now? All of you need to work on regaining my trust. Until you do, until you do, I will accept every challenge. And I promise you I will let your ghost explain to the Goddess and our Ancestors your treachery. Bye."

A Moment with Hana

{1:12 am, Thursday, Sept. 4th ~ 4 Days to go}

"Cáel?" Hana touched my chin, indicating she wanted eye contact.

"Yes?" I obliged. Her naked body lying next to mine was pleasurable and warm. The scent of our sexual coupling remained a happy reminder that we had shared our hunger and passion.

"Normally when we are together, I know I am the totality of your world. I have never felt your mind was elsewhere. Tonight, I know you have been diligent and caring, yet I know a part of your mind is devoted to something besides our sex and your complete attention to my body and needs. Can I help?" she worried.

"Hmm, success has robbed me of many of my primal fears and forced me to think about my future beyond my next weekend, next planned vacation, or who I might meet at a club/bar/walking down the sidewalk," I worked through my cerebral confusions.

"When I started at Havenstone, I mostly feared for my life," I quickly put a finger to her lips. "I'll explain one day, but not tonight. But one morning shortly before we met, I was staring down my eminent demise, only to have my life turned a full 180. I suddenly had family, friends and an extended family to consider. I wanted none of that."

"You grew up, Cáel," she stroked my stubbly chin. "You are trying to grow up. I understand this will be a harder struggle than you can explain right now, until our children become teenagers."

"That's mean," I joked. "I've actively and systemically resisted being a responsible adult since I discovered what being an adult entailed," I insisted.

"I accept that. I also accept when we are in a room together, your eyes always come back to me. I know you see the sensuality in other women, yet you have never betrayed me. I really, truly appreciate it. I do." She smiled. I smiled.

"That is not a license to cheat," she curtailed my constant subroutine of thought.

"Tell me what bothers you and I'll give you a big reward," she wiggled against my hip. Yay! I'm a simple guy.

"My 'department' tried to demote me a few hours ago. I got pissy and smacked them down for something that wasn't really their fault. I've picked up some bizarre knowledge that is difficult for sane people to accept."

"I told those ladies they had to re-earn my trust. I am wondering if I was too harsh on them," I mused.

"What does Buffy think?" she asked. That was a bit odd.

"She wants to toss a few of them into a 777's engine, while it is running," I confessed.

"Go with her judgement, Cáel," she consoled me. "She scares me. She also loves you more than life itself. I'll deal with her possessiveness as we learn to time-share you." Time-share? What the fuck!

"No."

"Yes," she pouted. "I'm coming to accept you can't be monogamous. I would like you to keep me first in your life. Do you think you can do that?"

"I," I gave it some serious thought. I wouldn't have to totally forgo other romantic liaisons. This was probably the best deal I'd get outside divorce court. "Okay. I now have a goal to work for, keeping you happy."

"I love you, Cáel. You don't have to respond. I want you to know how I feel. You deserve to know; and I want to be honest with my emotions concerning you," she sighed.

"Thank you. This means a lot to me, your honesty," I exhale. She'd helped me burn off a good chunk of my anxiety.

"So," I stroked her hair. "You mentioned a reward, or two?" I was thinking about pressing her bodily against her huge glass window overlooking the city while I took her vigorously from behind. Then I could turn her around and warm up those cold nipples with my mouth and tongue.

"Yes," she purred, clearly delving into the depths of my passion. "Dad has agreed to take me down the aisle," she worked her way on top of me, "and I'm pregnant."

Had Hana not been on top of me and definitely in need, I would have gotten out of bed and repeatedly slammed my cock in a door.

(Me) 'Dude, not wearing a condom is not an invitation to paternity!'

(The Other Me) 'Suck it up, Upper Head. A cock's got to do what a cock's got to do.'

(M) 'Bitch!'

(TOM) 'Hehehehe, happy Father's Day, Playboy.'

(M) 'Fuck you!'

(TOM) 'Speaking of which, fucking is what I'm trying to do. Get with the Game Plan.'

"What is going on in your mind, Cáel?" Hana teased me.

"I'm having a conversation with my cock," I groused. "And losing."

"Let him play," she showered me with understanding and acceptance. "I'm safe now; let him play." Hana was straddling me. 'He' throbbed. "See, he's willing to make up and play nice."

No, he was not out to play nice. Not now and not ever. Dick!

Dishonor, Rebirth, and the sacrifices made for both.

(and that big time jump.)

{7:03 am, Sunday, September 7th ~ 1 Day to go}

I had to remind myself Amazons came before the advent of the seven-day calendar and they determined their religious celebrations by stellar alignments, not by any specific date. Thus an early Sunday morning formal council session wasn't a common occurrence, but neither was it totally surprising.

Krasimira had requested a full meeting of the Amazon Council. House Ishara was marked by three oddities: my maleness, my personal appearance (Krasimira insisted for no given reason, i.e. standard operating procedure, and on the inclusion of the fourth member now wedged in around House Ishara's place at the table (Buffy, Daphne (Buffy still needed a translator), Juanita (as a member of the House Isharan House Guard) now included myself).

The first surprise for me, and most of the Council, was the replacement of Arwen by Desiree at House Epona's place. The shockwaves of Hayden's passing had most likely allowed Katrina to do some reshuffling in House Epona as well. The only person who was 'late' was Elsa, who still hadn't shown up as the meeting began. Her attendance was purely ceremonial anyway.

The Apprentices began the Prayer of the Ancestors. I did my part towards the end, the First House Apprentices begin the song (Buffy did her best) and the House Heads of First Houses finish it. Since the Council still hadn't created a Regency Council, it fell to the Golden Mare to get down to business.

"Krasimira, you have requested this meeting," she stood and regarded the woman across the empty High Priestess' chair. Krasimira motioned for her guardian to go get 'something'. Apparently that 'something' was waiting right outside the door, because all the guardian had to do was open it and poke her head outside.

She held the door open for six individuals to file in. First was Elsa, who was looking more gorgeous, vigilant and lethal than normal. Behind her came another one of Krasimira' people holding a 20" diameter, shallow copper bowl by the handles. I could barely make out the glowing embers it contained.

Third, hobbling in with a cane, her face a mask of sorrow, pain and fatalism, was Kwenhamai aka Death Song. At her side, supporting her as best she could was Aya. Behind those two were two more of Krasimira's guardians. The place didn't explode because no one in the room except Katrina, me and (I assumed) Krasimira recognized Kwen by face. Often the supernatural does not appear spectacular. This is a moment when the whole council became a witness to a manifestation of the weave’s power. Kwen is not an immortal, but she was born before Rome ruled the world.

Elsa took a warding position between Saint Marie and Kwen, which drew a curious expression from the Golden Mare. Behind Elsa was Aya. Kwen was beside Aya and two guardians were in a warding position between Kwen and the rest of the Council. The bowl-holder (now bowl-less) stood behind Krasimira as did the guardian she had started with.

Kwen took a deep breath. She scanned the sea of curious faces, finally settling on mine. I tried not to cry and failed. I nodded to her and she did to me.

"Few of you here know me. I am Kwenhamai," she began her path and the tone of the room immediately turned ugly. Krasimira stood rapidly and smacked her palm on the table so loudly I knew it had to hurt. Her action made the outrage of the other 51 become stillborn.

"I am Dumalugal (Princess) Kwenhamai, niece of "Esharsanh" (Antiope) and daughter of "Hueksanhbizahhāi" (Penthesilea), of "Munuskappilāibihur" (Orithyia) descendent of "Kururiyahhssi" (Antianeira), first queen of the Amazon {the bracketed phrases are the Greek versions of the Amazons' names}. I am the oldest member of my House," she continued and I believe few caught the 'oldest' bit. Her recitation was her lineage, thus her right to rule.

The last plunge,

"This is my duma (daughter) and Iwaruwa (heir), Aya of Kururiyahhssi ('she who rebels)." A pregnant pause seized the room.

'A life for a life'. That was what Pamela had told me, her curse.

What if that had been aimed at me, not her? Maybe her burden was to see me through to this point. Think of Aya and know she deserves to grow up to be an Amazon, just like you. Give her the freedom to do so.'

Where there is Valor, there is Hope yet where there is Hope, there can be Valor too.

Greatness should be measured by the lives you save, not those you take. When the time, Aya.

Pamela had given me life, I had given Kwenhamai her life on the battlefield and now she was giving Aya a life I could never provide for her, greatness should be measured by the lives you save. That was not the Amazon way, yet it could be. I had no clue what to do, so I went with my instincts. At this juncture, we had all been rendered powerless, by hatred and by our unforgiving nature.

"I see Aya of Kururiyahhssi," I declared as I slammed my palm down on the table. I was robbed of the added dramatic flair of standing up abruptly since I had to stand because I had promised to never sit in their presence. To add to the tragic play laid before us, I could barely see Aya. The table was high. All I could see was the top of her shoulders and her head.

"I see Aya of Kururiyahhssi," came from an unexpected direction. It was Kohar of Marda, standing, speaking and slamming her hand down on the table. Next, five seconds later, Fatima's successor echoed the proclamation. The voices cascaded together after that. The last House Head to add her affirmation was Katrina.

She was losing a breeding female of her house. I think the weight of the burden falling on those small shoulders was an even harder emotion for her to deal with. Once more, she sacrificed Aya for the good of all Amazons. There were only two people left, Saint Marie and Krasimira.

Saint Marie walked over to the two Royals then touched Elsa on the upper arm. When Elsa stepped aside, the Golden Mare looked down at Aya and, with a slight bow of the head, "I see Aya of Kururiyahhssi."

"The birth of Aya of Kururiyahhssi shall be recorded in the Rolls of the Host," was Krasimira's spin on things. After all, neither hers nor the Golden Mare's vote mattered in this decision, not legally.

Saint Marie's vote was a symbolic representation of all members of the Security Detail who stood outside the House system. Kwen swayed slightly as she drew forth her small Amazon blade then extended a lock of her hair.

"No," Aya whispered desperately. Kwen shot her a grim smile.

"They are your people now," she replied softly. "With you, I have restored our bloodline's honor. Now I must meet my end, and my sins, alone." With that, she sheared off a length of hair, "I will take myself to the cliffs, without a lineage and nameless." She dropped her hair into the coals which popped and crackled as they devoured their offering. Three of us were crying, me, Aya and Buffy.

Alone, Kwen shuffled painfully to the door. No one would help her.

"Kwenhamai," Saint Marie proclaimed in a loud, clear voice. "You are forbidden to take yourself to the cliffs." Kwen turned toward us, her face ashen. She couldn't even die in the traditions of her people, a final crushing blow.

"At this time we all must seek permission to take ourselves to the cliffs," Saint Marie finished. "The Host is at war and we need every set of eyes, hands and feet. No one, full-blooded or Runner, may seek out our ancestors, or purposely end our lives. What reason do you give for seeking permission to end your existence?"

"I would prefer an honorable death," she replied sadly.

"I have been told you fight well, your wounds are not permanently crippling and I see no indication that you have lost the spirit to fight. Your request is rejected. Go to Medical. I will inform Rayen Artio so she may allocate your abilities in a manner which provides maximum benefit for the Host. You do not belong in these chambers. Leave."

This time, one of the SD ladies went to her side and helped her leave. Since that worthy didn't immediately return, I hoped she took Kwen up to Medical. Inside, events continued to unfold. Saint Marie was about a foot from Aya and the height difference was comical.

"Is there anything you need?" she looked down at Aya. It was clear to me both women (titan and pixie) were trying to catch up with unexpected events.

"What do you suggest?" Aya asked. "I would like it if you told me," she rapidly added.

"Perhaps I should assign you some bodyguards and tutors," Saint Marie suggested. The rest of us were standing around uselessly. Saint Marie was in charge and helping out Aya had been added to her long list of duties she needed to perform.

"Oh, I would like two bodyguards chosen from two different First Houses, plus one House Amazon from each continent. To those, I would like to add an equal number of Runners."

"So, you have thought this out?" Saint Marie shot me and Katrina an evil look.

"Oh no!" Aya shook her head. "I'm as much surprised about Kwenhamai's actions and departure as you are. I really wanted her to hang around for several more years, at least a decade. Fortunately, my Atta has taught me all Amazons must think on their feet and take advantage of every opportunity and turn misfortune to an advantage."

"He has taught that to you?" Saint Marie kept her voice steady.

"He did so accidently ~ through my observation of him and overhearing others discuss how he was being trained. Normally, Au, Katrina of Epona sends him on assignments without telling him what he's supposed to do until he arrives at his destination." That was followed by a hush, then muted amusement among the onlookers.

"I will see to your bodyguard. Is there anything else?" Saint Marie remained polite. As we were all about to discover, the Golden Mare had no 'Aya-experience'.

"Yes. From this day forth, I want all male babies turned over to the Royal House," she plowed on. This hush had a darker tone.

"You wish to add men to your House?" Saint Marie was back to being upset.

"No," Aya shook her head. "They are men after all. I want them to be taught to be skilled servants and craftsmen. There are numerous non-martial jobs the Host does right now that diverts our efforts from warfare and bringing more daughters into the Host."

"But no warriors?" Saint Marie clarified, not only for herself, but for the majority of the Council as well who suspected the perniciousness of me and Katrina.

"In the Royal House? Not now; most likely not for several generations. I love Cáel Ishara with all my heart, he is my mamētu me eda (boon companion). He is also a bit of a nut. I think it is best if we give males tasks that don't stress them that much."

Sighs of relief (Aya wasn't poisoned with extremist beliefs) circled the table, followed by nods of approval (Aya was one of them ~ a pure-blooded Amazon with their traditional upbringing), fools. Unseen by the rest, Katrina and I knew this was Mamitu! ~ the Amazon belief that training, experience and ability allowed you to achieve victory; no 'luck' required.

"I would like it if the New Directive is pursued with vigor. The grim reality is that virtually all our old male population has passed and, for the sake of genetic diversity, we need to rejuvenate our bloodlines with males strong in mind, body and spirit."

"Is there, I hear the wisdom in your words, Dumalugal," Saint Marie had reversed directions emotionally and was starting to take her princess very seriously. As Katrina and I knew, Aya was super-bright; an Amazon of Legend inside a tiny frame.

"I would like it if my bodyguard served the Royal House for ten years at which time they will return to their native House. Runners will resume being Runners unless they are adopted into a House."

"I would like it if the First Directive was pursued with greater vigor as well," she piped up. "If the rest of the Houses don't get their acts together, House of Ishara is going to pick up all the superlative ones. I don't think anyone in this room, except Cáel, Buffy and Daphne, wants to see a House Ishara with 1,000 sisters."

"A thousand Runners are still the equivalent of a thousand formers Runners with the name Ishara attached," Messina murmured. I wasn't sure if I would be able to stop Buffy, mainly because I wanted to jump down Messina's throat first.

"May I address the Council, Golden Mare?" Aya maintained her illusion of subordination. This was a brilliant Aya actively assuring the Council that she had no intention of becoming Queen anytime soon.

"Let me consider it, Dumalugal," Saint Marie leaned up to look at me (?). Aya's hand sprang up over her head mimicking the action of a student seeking attention. Saint Marie's eyes flickered down to Aya.

"House Ishara, how do you wish to handle that insult?" she addressed me.

"Insult?" I pretended to be surprised. "Messina behaving in a blindingly infantile manner is something we both expect and pity. If she,"

"How dare you?" Messina simmered.

"If she knew anything about the workings of House Ishara, the sisters of House Ishara, or Runners in general, then her babblings might have some value," I continued. "She doesn't, so we ignore her as we would ignore any outburst from an un-casted."

"Blood feud," Messina stood up and snarled. Aya was bouncing up and down.

"Yes, Dumalugal?" Saint Marie withheld her reaction in order to see what the princess wanted.

"Please, would you call me Aya? Being Dumalugal scares me enough without always being reminded about it. Also, I would like to avoid any blood feuds while the Host is locked in such a vital struggle."

"I would like it if five members of House Minerva and House Ishara battled each other in a melee to settle this manner. If House Minerva wins, Cáel Ishara should be compelled to make a public apology at the next Council meeting for rudely refusing to acknowledge the opinion of another Head of House."

"If House Minerva fails, then Messina of Minerva will forever forgo conveying any insult concerning Runners and former-Runners. Do you think that would be a fair decision?"

"You are very dangerous," Saint Marie stated loud enough to be clearly heard to everyone. "Our enemies should tremble as the years diminish until your coronation."

"I plan to learn from the very best," Aya punctuated this by reaching out and putting her small hand in Saint Marie's. In that instant, Saint Marie was whisked back to the years when her own daughter was Aya's size.

"The Host will do it's very best to prepare you for the duties you will have to take up when the time comes," she promised in a much kinder voice. Go Aya!

"I am waiting for the next 'I would like'," the Golden Mare added.

"I would like Shawnee of House Arinniti, Rhada of House Meenakshi and Buffy of House Ishara to consent to being the three members of the Regency."

"House Arinniti is an established First House and Shawnee provides the gravitas, wisdom and experience of a House Head."

"Rhada is from a new House and brings the perspective of an Apprentice to the process. I would like it if we considered the fact that most of our warriors will be closer to her age than the age of House Heads."

"Buffy has the most experience dealing with Runners and will serve as a beacon for the Runners in the same manner the heritage of our Houses' histories inspire 'we' fortunate enough to be raised by Amazon grandmothers, mothers, aunts and sisters does." Aya had deftly avoided the use of the term 'full-blood'.

"Why don't we simply put the crown on her head now, beyond the fact it would fall straight past her shoulders to the ground," the Head of House Bendis remarked rather bitterly. I had to think,

"Her names is Klavdiya," Buffy filled me in through clenched teeth.

Aya's hand shot up again.

"I would 'like' to handle this one," Saint Marie smiled down at Aya. Aya dropped her hand immediately. "Klavdiya, I have decided your lack of close proximity to Dumalugal Aya of Kururiyahhssi has clouded your perception of events. What you mistake as a usurpation of power is a little girl trying to avoid responsibilities beyond her experience."

"That wasn't," Klavdiya stared to defend her utterance. Saint Marie held up her hand warding the Head of House Bendis to silence.

"Before you continue, pay careful attention to who her birth-aunt was." Technically, Aya had no family anymore. Kwen had exited the Royal House so that the Amazons wouldn't have to deal with her treachery.

"Our Princess grew up around a woman whose keen intellect we rely on to protect us from unseen enemies," Saint Marie's voice became deeper and more threatening. "At the age of ten, she," Saint Marie looked my way as my hand shot up mimicking Aya's identical plea for attention.

"Yes Ishara?" Saint Marie chose to acknowledge me.

"She's nine."

"Fine. At the age of nine, she earned an honorific, Mamētu me eda, which I didn't accomplish until my 19th year." 'Yes Ladies, I'm an epic bad-ass and I've been out-performed by a child'.

"She was kidnapped along with the Head of House Ishara. They tortured her by clipping off two of her digits, one at a time, then seared the damage with a blowtorch. She gave them nothing. At the end of the encounter, the two of them managed to defeat thirty Seven Pillar's commandos, over fifteen she disabled personally."

"After killing nearly half as many enemies as the 35 I have personally dispatched in my entire career, she crossed a mile and a half of barren rock in the midst of a Category 4 Typhoon. Cáel Ishara only helped her half of the way because he was engaged with the last two members of the Seven Pillar's team."

"I have utter confidence the madness here today, while assisted by House Epona and Ishara, was the brainchild of Krasimira. I say 'assisted' because Cáel Ishara spared Kwenhamai's life on the battlefield. Katrina Epona removed Kwenhamai from Romanian custody to keep her out of the hands of those who wished us harm. I was aware Kwenhamai was in New York, but not her precise location."

"My read on the situation is this:

"Aya of Kururiyahhssi was aware of Kwenhamai and Krasimira's plot to adopt her into the bloodline of the first Amazon."

"She was not aware of Kwenhamai's plan to exit the Host in the manner she chose. I read the shock and pain in, Aya's face."

"Our Princess has not given me a single order and I am the only voice here today that matters, I am the Golden Mare and the Council has consistently failed to agree on a Regency."

"Krasimira, why have you done this?" Saint Marie abruptly asked for either a denial, or acquiescence of her perception of events.

"As directed by the Ancestors, the statute of a goddess of a First House was recast then returned to her perpetual spot. It brought new light to a dark, sacred and painful place. In that moment I realized that for the first time in nearly 3,200 years, the descendants of every Amazon gathered before the walls of Wilusa (Troy) had been reunited."

"I was troubled. Was this a portent the augurs couldn't divine? In their council (the augurs) then came up with the words 'speak to our eldest'."

Oh shit, the rest of the Council was racking their minds trying to figure who was the oldest surviving Amazon. I knew for a fact they were overlooking the two top candidates.

"I sought out the eldest Amazon alive. They claimed to not have the answer for my worries. She had far more numerous things weighing on her mind such as her intimate demise. Though I hated sharing the same air with her, I asked her to tell me her greatest regret."

"I had given up on the Amazon Race until an Amazon reminded me, through martial effort, valiant spirit and a kind heart, I was wrong to abandon my faith with my people. Now I will die, unable to pass on my renewed hope because the one Amazon I would trust with my legacy is equally childless."

"I asked her the name of this Amazon she felt was worthy of her legacy. Then I informed her she was wrong and the Amazon in question did indeed have a daughter. She asked to meet the daughter,"

"Last night I requested the presence of a female child residing with members of House Epona," the Keeper of Records looked up at the Golden Mare. "I provided neither the resident female (Caitlyn, Aya's Mother), or the House Head with an explanation."

Female child

Since my revival, Amazons were using 'female' child a lot more often. This meant, the motheer had never told her daughter farewell. The true fate of Aya of Epona would never officially be recorded. She has been born, but never recorded as an Amazon of her true House.

"The three of us met alone. The two embraced; birth mother and daughter. The eldest of us proclaimed she saw the light of Kururiyahhssi in her daughter's eyes. Words were exchanged. The child agreed to be adopted then departed. Further arrangements were made without the child's knowledge as we have recently observed."

"I testify that there is only one Amazon alive today who knows what transpired and I will take those conversations to my grave. Does that suffice?" Krasimira finished. I was already regurgitating my mental quandary with my Isharans. Was Aya really a daughter of Kururiyahhssi?

"I will leave it to the others to contemplate your, bizarre actions, Krasimira," Saint Marie frowned. "As for the rest of you, Aya has impressed me. If she has not impressed you, I do not care. I think she is definitely influenced by those two," Saint Marie motioned to Katrina and me. "It is a given since Katrina was of her blood and she has risked much in the presence of a man she calls 'Atta' and he calls 'Duma'."

"Katrina is a cold, heartless snake and I am convinced she is one of the best 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death' the Host been served by in a long, long time.” Saint Marie paused then looked at me while she said; “ Cáel is a fool who leads with his heart when he should let better women take charge. Fortunately for the rest of us, he is reliably successful despite his multitude of handicaps."

Was I upset about being insulted? No. The truth hurts and a Man needs to learn to roll with the punches. Buffy I could deal with. Katrina most likely appreciated being associated with a dangerous reptile. Saint Marie hadn't forgotten Katrina threating Saint Marie's daughter that was for sure.

"I am considering much of what our Princess would like me/us to do, because it is based in keen insight and well-reasoned thought. She wishes to spare our sons so we will have more warriors in the fight. We have already added men to Havenstone and one to the Council, as was the Will of the Ancestors."

"Let me see, she wishes a bodyguard of fourteen (2 First House and 1 from Africa, Asia, Europe and North & South America, the Amazon presence in Australia was minimal and I doubted they would bring someone up from Antarctica, plus the seven matching Runners) without removing permanent members of any House and allowing all Houses to have access to our future Queen. I approve. It is a fine idea and I wish I had thought of it."

"Should we add Runners directly into the Royal House? She doesn't think so and I feel this decision shows a remarkably insightful into the long history of our People and protects the Council's sensitivity on such matters. I approve."

"Placing our sons into the care of the Royal House? We need to free up as many sisters as possible. Men under the care of the Royal House will be tradesmen and help-mates. Not a single weapon will be in their hands. If none of you have realized herlike will take two decades to implement, it only increases my eagerness to see her become 'casted'."

Aya's hand shot up again.

Yes?"

"I would hope the Council, or the Regents, will consider a 'like' which is not mine. It is a man's and it should be of no surprise the idea is Cáel’s."

"If you feel it holds merit, Aya, tell us," Saint Marie deferred.

"The 9 Clans have shown some interest in a children exchange programs among our youth as it would provide new techniques we can add to our arsenal an a new avenue to experiment with new ideas. I find the idea to be promising as the Host takes part in affairs beyond our own immediate needs. It would also supply partners between families to be shared for a season or two."

Translation: Amazon women could breed with men of allied Secret Societies to reduce our dependence on our own, much smaller, male population. In the short term, it would go a long way to rectifying the Host's child-bearing problems.

The Council's quarrelsome behavior was biting them in the ass big time. Saint Marie was right, the only opinion that mattered was hers until the Council elected a Regency. Had we not been at war, the Council would have ruled, but we were, so we took orders from the Golden Mare. Even if the High Priestess had been alive, she would have deferred to our designated War Leader on most things.

"Cáel Ish, Cáel Wakko Ishara is a very dangerous and devious male, Aya. Be careful of any council he gives," Saint Marie's caution was more playful than menacing.

"I'll be okay," Aya peeped. "He doesn't have sex with any woman until she is eighteen." That wasn't what the Golden Mare was cautioning her about. We all knew it. Aya was working to defuse a sticky bit of mental juggling, listening to a man's advice.

"On that we can agree," Saint Marie conceded. "Back to what I would 'like' to say. The New Directive is being implemented. I feel it goes beyond the purview of my mandate. I will leave it for the Regency to deal with. Katrina and Tessa have already invested in the groundwork in this endeavor, so I will endorse it if that is the decision of the Regency."

"I have zero desire to add a single Runner to the Security Detail. I will open up slots in the training program if that is what the Regency demands. Each House's policy for dealing with the First Directive is their business, not mine. If any of you wish to consider something the Princess considers to be important, so be it. The idea of 1,000 Isharans does not appeal to me. Look how much trouble their tiny numbers have already caused us and take heed."

Buffy began growling, which amused/worried the Houses on either side of us. Unlike me, Buffy didn't 'roll with the blows' and considered all manner of insults to me, House Ishara and her Isharan sisters to be answerable with violence. I loved her so. There was also no way I'd let her go after Saint Marie. The Golden Mare would crush her; I had no doubt.

"The unwelcome blood feud: are both House Heads ignorant of my forbiddance of such things? Apparently so. Both defied me by tossing insults back and forth. Considering we are at war with two of the most powerful Secret factions, I am angered by both for their idiocy."

"The solution the Princess likes is rather novel," Saint Marie was punishing both Messina and me with her low voice and fiery gaze. Krasimira coughed.

"Yes?" Saint Marie suspended her anger.

"The suggested resolution is not without precedence," Krasimira spoke with a scholarly detachment. "In our early days, the Host settled such disputes in Spring and Fall gatherings by contests of foot speed, hunting, horsewomanship, archery and wrestling. If we revive the tradition, the competing Houses could nominate one woman for each contest to settle the matter. Only the hand-to-hand match would risk either contestant's health."

"I will consider it and render judgement before the Sun sets today," Saint Marie nodded. "The final like pleases me greatly. Dealing with the 52 of you is, Cáel?"

I was on the spot. I couldn't let down my fan base of one, Aya. Perhaps it was five, Buffy (who would never admit it), Daphne (who liked me), Katrina (because she liked fucking with my head) and Desiree (who was less likely to admit she found me funny than Buffy).

I felt I gave a decent effort.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13489 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14

Guardian Goddess in Manhattan.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

"'A ginormous pain in my hemorrhoids?' the basic one."

"'More painful than having my cornea scrapped with a spoon?' more gruesome."

"'Enough to make me want to give Sakuniyas a surprise French kiss?' most likely to be fatal."

"'Worse than waking up to discover I'm related to Cáel Wakko Ishara?' most horrifying, for both of us."

"'Inspiring me to toss it all away and take up Professional Bikini Mud Wrestling?' a personal fantasy of mine."

"Why do we put up with him again?" one House Head remarked.

"Because I am worried that one," motioning to Buffy, "will stab me in the elevator after a meeting."

"My First, are you acting psychotic around the Council members?" I looked over my shoulder at Buffy.

"Wakko Ishara, it is not an act. I am psychotic," she responded deadpan.

"Are you still packing that thermite grenade?"

"No Wakko Ishara. Daphne stole it from me and hid it," was her quick delivery.

"I love working with you two," Daphne whispered.

"What is it with you, your unsubtle sexual innuendo and me in a bikini?" Saint Marie stared at me.

"I find the combination of brilliance and lethality sexy. Just ask Elsa," I grinned. Then I grimaced as Buffy stomped on my toes. The House Heads and Apprentices on either side of me noticed and clearly expected me to do something, like to show outrage (because she was my underling), or start crying (because I was a guy).

"Prestige," Daphne hissed quietly. "Prestige." She was reminding Buffy that beating me up in public made the other Amazons think even less of me than they already did.

"I will go with (B), the cornea scrapping," Saint Marie gave me a nod.

"Damn it," I muttered. I also got my foot out of the way before someone did any more damage to my phalanges.

'Best Daddy Ever,' Aya mouthed to me. Back to the main action.

"It is not my place to order the rest of you to elect Shawnee, Rhada and Buffy to be the Regency. I do admit I admire the mixture of candidates," Saint Marie declared. I shot Rhada a quick look. She seemed really, really enamored of the idea of being part of the Regency, thus staying in New York for the next decade, or so.

"Before the idea is rejected out of hand, I suggest we ask the three people our Princess would like to be part of the Regency if they would accept the nomination," the Golden Mare continued. "Shawnee Arinniti?"

"I bow to the logic and reason of the proposal," Shawnee replied.

"Rhada Meenakshi?"

"I wish to join my sisters in battle, yet I accept the reasoning behind the proposal," Rhada nodded. "If my Head of House agrees, I will stay and do my part for our People." What was she saying to me? 'You are going to whip me, beat me, torture me, humiliate me and push me to beyond the limits of any pain I have experienced until I pass out ~ repeatedly'.

"I despair of finding any other compromise," Mahdi frowned. "If my Apprentice understands the greater difficulty she will face gaining prestige among her House-mates, I will consent to this proposal." Essentially a 'yes'.

"Buffy Ishara?"

"I was really looking forward to ripping the spines out of still living foes, but I would be a fool to go against Aya of Kururiyahhssi's smarts. If Wakko Ishara wants to walk out of this room unassisted, he will see the wisdom of this decision as well," she gave me a shark's smile. Daphne had surpassed her limit and punched Buffy.

"Hell ya, I agree," I exclaimed. "Now I know there will be certain times of the day when she isn't stalking me."

"I'll work more pain into our limited schedule," Buffy grumbled.

"Are we sure he is the House Head and she is the Apprentice?" Yet another House Head joined the 'shit on me' train.

It was telling of our group dynamic how we accepted the Pyramid of Pain. The underlings dispensed advice and violence as they felt necessary without their 'superior' getting pissy about it. Buffy felt totally justified hitting me and accepted being hit by Daphne, who continued to act unimpeded as Buffy's rapid-fire translator.

"If I was House Head, I'd handcuff him to me," Buffy clarified for her.

"What she said," I pointed a thumb Buffy's way. I'd have used a finger, but she might have grabbed, twisted and made me scream in pain.

"Perhaps the Council can vote on this as their second order of business," Saint Marie cloaked her command as a suggestion.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara, can I ask you a personal question?" Kohar of Marda caught my attention.

"Shoot, wait, probably not the best terminology in this crowd. Ask away," I replied.

"Have you faced a House challenge yet?"

"Yes. Just last night in fact. We free-climbed the north-face of Havenstone. I beat the next closest contender by three floors. I also had Princess Aya on the roof dropping bricks on anyone who attempted to get past me."

"That means he isn't going to answer you," Beyoncé  interpreted for my audience.

"Can't you ever take these meetings seriously?" Febe Mielikki glowered.

"La, Febe, in the past few minutes I have watched the person I love most in the world get her life shat on," I shook my head.

"The only thing worse than seeing this happen to Aya is knowing this is her sole opportunity to not lose her soul, so I'm sucking up my heart's pain and putting forward a jester's persona so I don't put any more pressure on her than she's already been subjected to. Like me, she doesn't want the distinction of being a Person of Note."

"Like me, she knows she must sacrifice her dreams for the sake of our People, the Amazon Host. Trust me, you would rather have 'me, the jester' than 'me, the Amazon' furious with the destiny that has foisted this pain on her'. Do any of you take responsibility for forcing the events of this morning?" I growled. If they wanted to see the other side of the Janus, so be it.

"Had you chosen a Regency in the fucking weeks you've been bickering, Kwenhamai could have been dealt with privately. The fate of the Royal House could have been put off a few years. Had you not all been so dead-set on being heroines of the Host, three of you would have sacrificed your bloodlust, your birthright and the future accolades you could recite on your final night (before taking themselves to the cliff), but none of you did."

"Instead, you set the stage for dumping all of your indecisiveness on the slender shoulders of a nine year old girl most of you had written off as too fractured and frail to survive her 12th year only three months ago. So Febe how do you like the honest 'me'?" I finished off furiously.

It was not lost on anyone in the chamber I was an Amazon raging against the cruelty of fate. Every other bitch in the room knew they had discarded my daughter's life as trivial and I was prepared to unleash violence on the next one to show an ounce of disrespect over Aya's surrendering of her destiny and my grief at failing to find a way to stop this from coming to pass. St Marie had just reminded them that I was 'reliably" successful despite my handicaps. Not an enemy anyone in the room wanted any part of. Saku would have been proud.

A Note:

I have been remiss in informing my readers of the names of the 53 Houses, even though I created it some time ago. I have made a few alterations to the original version as I've had to rethink certain parts of this tale, but here is the list I now use.

List of Goddesses:

The First Twenty Houses in no particular order :

1) Ishara, Oaths, Medicine and War (to North America) (died out 450 CE; Reborn in 2014)

2)   (Deceased) Anat, Goddess of War, Fury and Blood Sacrifice (died out 6th cent. BCE) ~ possibly resurrected by Sakunyias

3) Anahit, water, wisdom and war (to North America)

4) Arinniti, Sun Goddess (to North America)

5) Hanwasuit, Sovereign Goddess

6) Illuyankamunus, Dragon God (to North America) (Special Case)

7) Inara, the Hunter Goddess

8)  au ka, fertility, War, healing

9) Kamrusepa, Healing medicine magic (to Africa)

10) Lelwani, Goddess of the Underworld (to Africa)

11) Hapantali, Pastoral Goddess.

12) Hatepuna, Sea Goddess (to India)

13) Hannahannah, Mother Goddess

14) Moirai, Fate

15) Selardi, Lunar Goddess (to Africa)

16) Nammu, Primordial Sea, sailing, sailors (to India) (to Indonesia)

17) Uttu, Goddess of plants (to Africa)

18) Lahar, Cattle Goddess (to Africa)

19) Ereshkigal, Queen of the underworld (to India)

20) Istustaya and Papaya, Twin Goddesses of Destiny (to North America)

Additional Houses, founded in Europe:

(Code: Sc = Scythian; T = Thracian, P, Phrygian, C = Celtic, R = Roman, Sl = Slavic)

21) (Sc) Marda, the One-Eyed Goddess/Vengeance {fantasy creation}

22) (Sc) Farānak, A Scythian Goddess also known as the Lynx Goddess and the Silent Huntress (Dora)

23) (Sc) Stolgos, Monstrous Slayer of Greeks (known to the Greeks as the Gorgon Stheno) {semi-historical}

24) (T) Cotyttia, Thracian Goddess of Sex, War and Slaughter (to North America)

25) (T) Bendis, Thracian Goddess of the Moon and Hunting.

26) (T) Semele/Rajah, Thracian Goddess of the Earth and Birth (to India)

27) (T) Hylonome, Centaur Goddess

28) (P) Cybele, Phrygians Earth Goddess on Lion's throne (to the Amazon)

29) (C) Andraste, War Goddess; also Goddess of the Moon and Divination; 'the Rabbit Goddess'

30) (C) Epona, Horses (to North America)

31) (C) Cyhiraeth, Goddess of springs whose war cry precedes death (to Africa)

32) (C) Maeve, War Goddess, the Enslaver of Men

33)   (Deceased) (C) Nantosuelta, Earth, Fire and Fertility (died out 1st cent. BCE)

34) (C) Artio, the Bear Goddess (to North America)

35) (C) Nemain, Goddess of War and Panic

36) (R) Minerva, Roman Goddess of War & Strategy

37)   (Deceased) (R) Diana, Hunting and Archery (died out in India 16th cent. CE)

38) (Sl)  iva, Love and Fertility

49) (Sl) Morė, Goddess of harvest, witchcraft, winter and death (to North America)

40) (Sl) Zorja, The twin Guardians (Evening/Morning Stars)

41)   (Sl) Oźwiena, fame and glory (died out in 1944)

42)   (Sl) Koliada, Sky Goddess and deity of sunrises/dawn (died out 17th cent CE)

43) (F) Mielikki, Goddess of the Hunt

44) (N) Ska i, giantess, Goddess of bow-hunting, skiing, winter, and mountains

Additional Houses, founded in In dia:

45) (I) Mookambika, Demon Slayers

46) (I) Bhadra, Goddess of the Hunt (to Indonesia)

47) (I) Meenakshi, The Liberator (Rhada and Madi's House)

48) (I) Durga (Dark Mother) (to Indonesia)

49) (I) Chandala Bhikshuki, Queen of Night, Death, Destruction and Rebirth

50) (I) Jaya (Goddess of Victory)

51)   (I) Chelamma, the Scorpion Queen (died out 16th cent.)

Additional Houses, founded in Africa:

52) (A) Oshun, (Yoruba Goddess of Love, Sexuality, Beauty and Diplomacy; Lady of the Orisha ~ life spirits)

53) (A) Yemonja, Mother of Rivers (to the Amazon)

54) (A) Oba, Goddess of Betrayal and Exile

55) (A) Ox ssi, Goddess of Hunting, Forests, Animals and Wealth

56) (A) Jengu, Goddess of Jungles and Water Spirits

Additional Houses: founded in North America

(NT = Native Tribal)

57) (NT) Uusheenhiton (noo'uusooo' heeninouhuusei hitoniho') (Arapaho), Storm Horse Sister {fantasy creation}

58) (NT) Gahe, Apache (supernatural spirits who live in the mountains)

Prospective House:
59) New, (Hittite) SzelAnya, the Dragon's Daughter

Current Number of Central Houses:

12 in North America (9+Ishara from Europe and 2 native)

10 in Africa (6 from Europe and 5 native)

3 in Amazonia (1 from Africa and 2 from Europe)

8 in India (3 from Europe and 7 native)

3 in Indonesia (2 from India and 1 from Europe)

17 in Europe

6 Deceased

{7:35 am Sunday, September 7th ~ Last day}

Right where we left off

My rage over Aya wasn't called into question or challenged. Practicality had trumped tradition in the inevitable Amazon fashion. The only one elevated in anyone's eyes was Aya. Krasimira's apparent political adventurism was probably hard for the others to deal with. But in context, only Mahdi, Katrina and Saint Marie had seen her denounce Hayden, so this seemed a new side of Krasimira to most people in the room.

Krasimira wasn't the spiritual authority, that was Hayden. She wasn't the Generalissimo, that was Saint Marie. Katrina and I were both appointed officials, we retained our House status. Saint Marie would die a member of House Inara and join her ancestors with pride. Her litany of accomplishments were well known to the Host.

But Krasimira? She would die a member of House Cybele unheralded. The Keeper of Records recorded the feats of others, not their own. Nearly two generations ago, a young Krasimira had joined the Keeper's House as a guardian to an un-remembered (save by her) augur. The augur passed and she took up other duties within the house.

When the old Keeper faced her final months, she elevated Krasimira to her spot. High Priestess Hayden had approved the choice without really knowing who Krasimira was. (No one outside the House of the Keeper had personal bonds with her anymore.) Seamlessly, she had sat in the old Keeper's seat and the Council kept chugging along.

For the past eight years, she had sat quietly at Hayden's side and only speaking when addressed. Mostly, she did nothing overt. The actual note-taking was done by an underling. The Keeper took her own private notes squirreled away in her mind, to be written when she was by herself. Those notes would be handed over to her successor, for the Keepers' eyes and theirs alone.

I don't think Krasimira knew me in particular when she dutifully followed Hayden into these chambers the day my death, or life in a cage, was bantered about. It was the day we first crossed paths. She would have known of Shawnee's request for the tooth of an Isharan, though she lacked the authority to ask why. (She wasn't a voting member of the Council.)

But when Shawnee made her claim, Krasimira hadn't balked in her support, despite the oddity of Shawnee's declarations, I was indeed Ishara and my sisters could not dispose of me. The outrage of the others meant nothing to her. She pursued her obligations with true Amazon fearlessness both inside and outside of the Council.

On the night of the 2nd Betrayal, a Keeper had sat there in silence as her fellow Amazons, the Ash Men, were sentenced to an unjust death. She'd had neither the numbers nor the authority to alter events, what else could she have done?

So the Keepers kept track of the names of nineteen 'unaccounted for' Ash Men. For what purpose? An episode of Amazon history no one would ever want to revisit? Yet in my hour of need, coming back 2,600 years was the name 'Vranus of Ishara', sitting only a few keystrokes away. No one, save a few Arinniti diehards, wanted to know the truth of the Amazon Ash Men; and even they didn't want to remember us as individuals. To them, Vranus existed as a notation on the secret Charter of the Arinniti Sons.

To Krasimira, Vranus had been a living, breathing warrior of the Host, not even dead, still mythically fighting the enemies of our race because his death had never been officially recorded. With my appearance, I stood in mute testimony to his death, and that of his sons and their sons for a damn long time.

Still, I hated playing catch-up.

With the Amazon custom of adoption, had no one asked if another possible Isharan heritage still persisted?

I would bet they had. And I'd bet they had sought for that knowledge in the Rolls of the Host, always finding that pathway devoid of hope. But if the Keeper had known, why had she kept quiet?

Pride, shame, Krasimira's words: we show anger when we should show humility. We are proud of our shame. We are arrogant of our weaknesses. We have heaped insult upon insult on our ancestors, yet are now aghast that they turn away from us, I had confused her soliloquy with that of an accusation, not the long held understanding of her office.

Even staring extinction in face, the modern Host hadn't truly accepted the answer, the line of Vranus. Faced with the truth, the Amazons would have 'forgotten' the descendants of Vranus all those centuries ago in the same way they 'forgot' all the other Ash Men on the day I was brought into the Host.

But the Keepers did something more than maintain the rolls and records of the Amazons, more than watch over the augurs and make sure their messages made it to the proper ears. They safeguarded the truth. No matter what the Council decided and the High Priestess commanded, the Keepers remained honest stewards of the real history of the Amazons.

Why?

The Amazons were terribly practical and the truth could run contrary to the needs of political reality. Honesty wasn't a highly stressed Amazon virtue, loyalty was. So was bravery. And thus generation after generation of Keepers had lied to the Council and the High Priestesses. Every time those august personages had committed something to 'the nothingness', the Keepers had defied them and not forgotten.

The first heads of the first twenty houses had surrendered their names for the unity of their people, but the Keepers remembered. All twenty of those women had been of the Amazon tribe of the Pala people living on the southern coast of the Black Sea when the Trojan Wars began. Over time, their true blood descendants had founded new houses and been adopted into others.

Aya was truly a daughter of Kururiyahhssi; I had no doubt of that anymore. Had she not shared the same blood as the first Amazon, Krasimira wouldn't have brought Aya and Kwen together. Resurrecting an ancient tradition in a complicated fallacious coup attempt wasn't in her; nor was such a maneuver even a necessity. The Host would elect a Regency eventually and Saint Marie was handling the war in a highly competent fashion.

So Krasimira hadn't sought out the heirs of Vranus, yet when one appeared, she welcomed 'him'. And when she stepped into the President's office with Hayden while waiting for me to be brought upstairs to face judgement that night, I imagined sending Hayden to the cliffs was the farthest thing from her mind.

The rest were playing politics, gender politics, and couldn't see the truth staring Krasimira in the face. The truth was a bitch and didn't play favorites, or worry about the sensibilities of others. Krasimira had seen her sisters refusing to acknowledge the ugly reality they had created for themselves.

Krasimira wasn't an advocate for Ishara, that was my job, and my crappy performance was something between Dot and me. She wasn't an advocate for the males and the New Directive. That was what Katrina was for. No, like a hundred Keepers before her, Krasimira was the silent sentinel for the Truth and, the Truth didn't care about anything but the Truth.

"The assassin is indeed in this room. Its name is Amazon was a rather grand pronouncement from the Chief Librarian, wasn't it? Krasimira didn't chastise Hayden. That wasn't her place. Technically, neither was she disputing Hayden's ability to rule.

This wasn't the climax of a dinner-theater 'Who Done It'. The crime before the High Priestess was High Treason and I was the pre-ordained guilty party. My 'ally', Katrina Epona, had not been an advocate for my defense. No. Again in my Hour of Need it was Krasimira.

Lacking any true authority, she had defied her sisters and made her definitive statement. What truly transpired was Krasimira staring Hayden straight in the eyes and saying 'you cannot lie your way out of this one, High Priestess. We (as in all the Keepers past and present) will not let you'.

Had she used those words, Saint Marie would have gotten around to asking what Krasimira meant. Krasimira would have rather died, because once those bitches discovered their nerdy sisters hadn't erased a damn thing in 3,000 years, they would insist they do so immediately. Krasimira wasn't about to do that. Thanks to the chaos surrounding Hayden's departure, no one had confronted her over her crucial action.

To put it more precisely, the Golden Mare had been too busy and Mahdi had been wrapped up in Hayden's Decree and the resulting pressure on the Heads of House to pick the Regency. Katrina was probably a case of I'm not going to ask you so you don't have to lie to me. The only other living person in the room when Hayden's fate was sealed was me, and I'd had my hands full as well.

I had to think about what I should and could do. I couldn't beat her up over Aya anymore than I could punish my Isharans for their misplaced arrogance. I decided to extend a 'thank you'; and not only for myself, but for every conceited bitch who had ever sat at this table, or all the other physical mediums the Council had used before this one.

We held three votes: The Council couldn't collectively decide on how to implement Aya's other likes (1), so they agreed on her suggestion for a Regency instead (2). The final vote was to set a date for the next Council meeting (3). A date within 9 days of the Winter Solstice with the Regency to decide the precise date and give the House Heads two weeks warning.

The last calamity at the meeting was initiated by a question of etiquette.

"How do we address the Princess at Council meetings?" the Head of House Hanwasuit inquired of Krasimira.

"There is no precedent for addressing the Iwaruwa alone. By our laws, she is not truly Dumalugal Aya either. She is Nasusara," Krasimira responded. Queen.

"She is a child," a third House Head declared, "not an Amazon."

"No," Mahdi shook her head. "A, Aya is 'un-casted'. She bears an honorific presented to her by the leader of an established stronghold (Summer Camp) and confirmed by the Golden Mare minutes ago."

"Congratulations my mamētu me eda," I winked to my past and present Princess, "you've just become a single-digit aged teenager."

"Go Aya," Daphne and Buffy whispered behind me. Aya raised her hand, waiting for Saint Marie's recognition.

However, Saint Marie moved steadily forward, declaring: "Until the Regency alters my decision, I decline assigning anyone to the Iwaruwa (heiress) whose sole purpose would be to stop her from sneaking off to endure her 12th Year Test. I judge it to be better we know where we placed her as opposed to failing to outsmart her as she needlessly proves to the Host she is, in fact, already an Amazon of the Host." Aya lowered her hand.

Thus,

'Yes, Aya is an Amazon of the Host' and 'Aya will take her 12th Year Test because she wants to take it, won't let us talk her out of taking it and the rest of us had better accept it'.

"So, she is our Queen then?"

No one appeared to have an answer. Aya raised her hand once more.

"Yes?" the Golden Mare smiled down at her.

"Am I in charge?" Aya's other hand squeezed Saint Marie's as she spoke in a barely audible voice.

"Perhaps."

"If I was in charge, I would like it if there was a law that declared the Queen of the Amazons would be officially represented by a Regency until she becomes casted, and antedate the law by one hour so this never, ever comes up again," Aya kept looking up at Saint Marie.

"Aya," Katrina exhaled.

The council chamber was a mixture of awe, resentment and amusement. If Aya was Queen, she could make such a law. The Queen-ship was a Bronze Age autocratic institution designed to provide leadership to a 'state' in near-constant warfare with is neighbors.

It was guided by oral traditions and military necessity, not written laws. As long as the queens provided successes on the battlefield and through diplomacy, she was deemed fit to rule. The traditional way of choosing a House Head was the same for the Royal House, the ruling Queen chose an heir.

In the long list of Queens, less than half had been the 'eldest' child. No, those ancient War Leaders picked the bravest, smartest and most successful daughters to succeed them. Their wisdom in those selections showed in the fact the Amazons had held off a male-dominated world for over 600 years before fatally marching off to answer an ally's call to fight in the Trojan War.

"I advise against it," Saint Marie shook her head. "You are young. You are also the only Royal we have. Duty demands and sisters must always answer their sister's call."

Translation: Aya was an adult now. It was similar to the first lesson Pamela gave me upon learning I was Ishara. We lived with bitches, it doesn't pay to play nice with bitches.

"Thank you," Aya nodded. She was 'thanking' Saint Marie for the lesson, no matter how hard it was to accept. Krasimira coughed.

"Now that the matter is settled," she spoke. The matter wasn't settled. Krasimira was steamrollering the discussion. "What do we call you?", to Aya.

"I, oh," in a very small voice. Aya's brow furrowed and her tiny nose wiggled. "I wish to be known by the legacy of my Anna (mother) and Atta (me, Cáel). I will be Assiyai hamai."

"Love song?" Daphne murmured to Buffy.

"Assiyai hamai?" Krasimira asked for clarification. 'Love-song' was hardly the name of a 'fierce' Amazon Queen.

"The only other name I could come up with was Markappidusmene, which seemed less auspicious," she meeped. Markappidusmene meant 'Tiny Smile'.

"Perhaps Talliyahulla would be more auspicious?" Saint Marie nudged Aya. 'War Cry'.

"Oh no!" Aya balked. "That's your job."

"What do you think your job is?" the Golden Mare questioned, suddenly realizing she'd made the mistake of making assumptions where Aya was concerned.

"To go to the cliffs with twice as many Amazon daughters, each equal to the likes of Saint Marie, Katrina, Oneida, Buffy, Elsa, Kohar and Tad fi as exist today. We must not 'survive', or simply replenish our numbers.

"We must become stronger because the World is a terribly messed up place," she raised her wounded hand and splayed her digits for the others to see the two she was missing, "and has become too small for us to seek safety in hidden freeholds any longer. If we cannot hide, we must rule openly. We are Amazons. Having no equals, we must rule alone. The only people we can trust, really trust, are the sisters at our sides.

"My job is to advance my People's cause with both compassion and cruelty and I will do so alone, because the Amazon Queen has no equals, only daughters."

Not a sound. I could count out the individual fan blades recycling the air.

"Let our enemies tremble," Saint Marie nodded, repeating an earlier declaration.

"Assiyai hamai," Krasimira intoned, making Aya's royal name official before adding, "Assiyai hamai, you are mistaken about one thing. You are not alone. You have a mamētu me eda."

"Oh," she perked up, shedding the gloom which surrounded her. She looked at me, our eyes met and we both grinned, then she giggled...and yet again, up her hand went.

"Yes?" Saint Marie looked upon Aya respectfully and then at me with much suspicion.

"Is the mamētu me eda of my mamētu me eda also my mamētu me eda?" Aya asked.

Just like old times, only Katrina was ahead of the game. "Oh, by Epona," the Spy-mistress snorted.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara, who is your mamētu me eda, oh no," Saint Marie bristled.

"Ah, indeed," Krasimira nodded. "An unlooked for bonus."

"Does someone care to enlighten the rest of us?" the head of House Nemain prodded.

"Oh!" That was Elsa.

"That's right!" Oneida, she was definitely a fan of me and my spasmodic lifestyle.

"Wakko Ishara's mamētu me eda, other mamētu me eda, is Temujin, Great Khan of the Reborn Mongol-Turkish Khanate and ally of the Host," Saint Marie let them know. "They are bonded by Cáel risking his own life to save Temujin's. It is actually a privately understood and publically declared fact."

"In Temujin's words to the international press when our Cáel and our new Queen were kidnapped : I believe Cáel is still alive. If he wasn't, we would be seeing piles upon piles of dead enemy around him and his 'boon companion', clearly visible from orbit. Until they discover this carnal pit from Hell, I am sure they are both still alive," Oneida added. Rhada flashed ill-distilled hate her way.

"Shawnee, is your Apprentice's mind addled with the birthing hormones of their child?" Mahdi snipped. That was merely a cultural zing, not an attempt to expose my sinister erotic misdoings. Unfortunately, she was somewhat correct. Okay, she was totally correct.

"That was uncalled for," Shawnee graciously chided Mahdi, thus demonstrating her ignorance of the facts soon to be in evidence.

"Yes, I am carrying a child of Arinniti and Ishara," Oneida proclaimed loud and proud. "We share a Warrior's Love."

I wasn't really sure how anyone else reacted to the news because House Ishara exploded into violence. That is the politic way of saying Daphne and Juanita were trying to stop Buffy from beating me to death. Here was yet another Ishara-baby and it wasn't gestating inside her. I was too stunned to defend myself.

And the old refrain: 'and then it got worse'.

"Ta  ah kattanda!" (IN HITTITE for 'you pig's ass'), Rhada howled. I missed her drawing her blade, vaulting to the top of the table and lunging at Oneida. Most of the Amazons in the room stood, yet held their ground.

They weren't shocked into indecisiveness, only trying to understand the nature of the conflict before intervening. This was not the first 'your Amazon did something my Amazon found infuriating' public threat they had to have dealt with. Rhada was more volatile than the average woman of her breed and station, true, but a violent in-chamber assault?

That wasn't the 'worse' though. Oneida drawing her blade in an open challenge to Rhada wasn't the worse either, nor was her shouting.

"He loves me! He merely saved you!"

Saint Marie yelling 'Ishara! Ishara!' over and over again, demanding I put my house back in order wasn't the end of my woes, nope.

Me being yanked free of my House fur-ball into the volcanic gaze of Elsa as she seethed, "Rhada?" Oh yeah, Elsa's people and Rhada's people had a bit of a blood feud going on, how could I have forgotten that?

But wait!

"Not Fabiola!" gasped Messina, bizarrely assuming I slept with, okay, not such a huge assumption.

"Gael?" voiced by the Head of House Bendis, followed by Gael's "I'm late."

"Damn it!" I pulled away from Elsa (slightly).

"No. She only lets me ejaculate on 'safe days'," to Messina, Fabiola's Mom.

"Oh, come on! We had sex one time!" to Gael of Bendis, and finally,

"Stop it!" to Rhada and Oneida, (deep breathe). "Really?" with my most believable happy face plastered on. "This is great news!"

No. No it wasn't, and I could read the ugly emotional undercurrents on the faces of everyone present, except Aya, who kept the faith.

"Ishara," Saint Marie rumbled. I held up one finger to forestall her wrath.

"Oneida, Rhada and I have already decided to name our daughter Parvati. My daughter by Tad fi, ordained by the Goddess to be the first born, will be named Shala while my first son will be called Harki heni (White Hair, I'd call him Raider when we were in the 'outside' world)."

"My daughter by Miyako Yuri will be named Suwais-urāni, Fushichou in her Mother's tongue, in honor of Sakuniyas. My, other relationships," I would have liked to say 'none of your business', except Amazon mothers, or not, those children would be of Ishara's blood and potentially their kin.

"Hana and I are still thinking over names, the other three cases are, perhaps more complicated than we should get into this morning," I finished off. Yeah, my Illuminati aunt, the Hashashin advisor and my Seven Pillars' 'kidnapper turned Prisoner of War' cases.

Once the two crazy chicks (Buffy and Rhada) were contained, things quieted down quickly. I was left with the opportunity to immediately make things worse. There were four angry Amazons, yet only one in urgent need of succor. I pulled away from Elsa successfully this time. Her emotional focus on me couldn't withstand the volatility washing over the scene. She'd make me pay for it later.

"Buffy, I'm am all yours in 30 minutes," I touched her cheek. Juanita and Daphne didn't release her and I couldn't wait around for her blistering response.

"Oneida, please call me this afternoon so we can look to our next steps," I gave her my best 'I'm so Happy everyone knows about our shared Warrior's Love', because lying was my only option at that second.

I walked straight into the frothing Rhada. My arms wrapped her up. As I pressed in, she collapsed on to me. The two Amazons, the Head and Apprentice of House Nammu, released her into my care. Rhada's sobs disturbed everyone present. They weren't thinking 'he's broken her'. Had they felt that way, I would have been attacked.

No, they were worried that Rhada, like too many of their daughters, was 'weak' in the mind. I curled her body into mine as I went to the floor. As few people as possible around us needed to participate in our 'private' moment. Mahdi was coming around the table rapidly. I had to move fast.

"Hey," I whispered to her. "You have a knife. Why are you not stabbing me?"

"I am shattered inside," she sobbed.

"No, no, you don't," I kissed her forehead, aborting her pity party. "Get up right now, or no more kitten showers for you." Rhada jolted. I had blindfolded and bound her, then let kittens lick her body. Afterwards, we had shared our first shower together.

"What," hissed Mahdi. I had visions of Day #2 on the job and her whipping me with my own belt.

"Rhada has been protecting me since the day we first met," I looked up into Mahdi's eyes. "She has been making sure I didn't flee after I knew your secret, though it took Oneida to explain to us why it was so. Right Oneida?"

I didn't look at Oneida. I gave her no hint on how to proceed. I'm a horrible influence on the hearts and minds of true romantics.

"Yes. I once found them in combat. I also misunderstood Rhada's desires, yet attest to my sister's fierceness," Oneida backed me up. "We continue to disagree over where Cáel’s attentions are best directed," she tacked on. Whoops.

"I should have," Rhada mumbled. Her next words would have been 'killed you,' so I smothered her lips with a kiss. As I pulled her head back I mouthed 'stab me'. Rhada stabbed me. I winced.

"Fuck," I grunted.

"You stabbed him!" the Apprentice of Nammu declared.

"He has left himself vulnerable," Rhada sniffled. "He should know better by now."

"You are teaching him?" she and Mahdi queried at the same time.

"He's a male," Rhada answered with more confidence and affection. She also snuck me a smile. Yep, I had masked her vulnerability with my own ~ silly male. Did anyone buy our deception? Not hardly. Once more it was a case of the lie you prefer over the obvious evidence. It was good to have friends too.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara," Beyoncé  spoke up, "how many heirs to Ishara are there now and what happened to the 'no-sex for the first 84 days' policy?"

I grabbed the proffered social lifeline with gusto. I regained my feet, pulling Rhada up with me.

"Ten," I looked over to Gael of House Bendis, "Eleven. As for the 84 Day Rule, I am a reprehensible human being, the Poster Child for unreliable males everywhere, glib of tongue and when I find a woman I resonate with, I can't stay away." Ah yes, me and my old literary favorite resonate.

"He's been lying to us," "ten?" and "what does resonate mean?"

"Best Daddy Ever!" Queen Aya declared in her piping faerie voice.

"Wait!" one woman's scream overwhelmed the others. It was Febe Mielikki. "Is this what you do to our enemies? Tear them apart from inside?" She was looking at me.

"Yes, it is (a lie, well, such things were her job, not mine)," Katrina nodded. "He is far harder on them. Witness the piles of dead he has lain before us in defense of our children, in revenge of the Hylonome and to protect our Queen. Ask the Seven Pillars and Condottieri how much they hate and fear the name Ishara over all other Amazon Houses. Better yet, ask a member of the Earth & Sky, or Nine Clans if they would unite our forces against our enemies without the clever council of Ishara."

That last sentence might have been scoffed at, it certainly was derided with snorts and sneers by many initially. Then those Amazons saw the grim acceptance on the faces of their House sisters based in Africa, India and Indonesia, the front lines of the struggle. To them, the Alliance with the 9 Clans was fresh on their minds and deemed critical to any hope of success.

The seizure of the PRC's South China Sea island bases had been a combined effort of the Black Lotus, three Amazon houses and the E&S. The theft of the nuclear aircraft carrier had been a combination of the same factors with even greater risk of exposure, yet none denied the morale boost which permeated the Host because of the humiliation their warriors had heaped upon the Seven Pillars.

The trust their sisters had exhibited toward non-Amazons was appalling to the skeptical, although obviously necessary in hindsight. After all, defending your freeholds was important, yet every Amazon knew you won wars on the offensive, attacking, killing and seizing things from your enemies was the pathway to victory.

"We cannot ask Ajax," Rhada turned to Mahdi. "Cáel killed him for us."

"Did you really kill Ajax," Mahdi's eyes burrowed through my soul, "the way we were told you did?"

"Did I feed him to the Goddess SzelAnya?" I looked to make sure this was the version of events Saint Marie had conveyed to the Council. It was.

"Yes. I swear to you all, but it would not have been possible if Kwenhamai had not rekindled her love for her people and Bolu of Illuyankamunus had not remained steadfast and loyal when the rest of the Host betrayed him. Eternal love and deathless loyalty had as much to do with the death of Ajax as SzelAnya's might and any cleverness I can lay claim to."

"In truth, Ajax should have feared the Amazons. 3000 years ago, he belittled, betrayed and humiliated us. In turn, we tricked him into his own death. When given a second chance at life, he did the last thing any Amazon would do, he repeated the exact same mistake and paid for it with his life, again. Amazon love, loyalty, strength and wit are as strong today as they've ever been. He didn't learn from his mistakes; that is the real reason he's dead."

"150 words to basically say 'yes'," Saint Marie muttered.

"Those are the words of an Ash Man," Oneida sighed amorously. Saint Marie was correct. I could have used one word instead of one hundred and fifty. I didn't because of people not yet present in this room. Every word spoken in Council was officially recorded unless the Keeper of Records was told to 'commit it to the nothingness'. From this day forth, when young Amazons girls would be told the stories about our most recent wars they would hear about the Slaughter of the Hylonome and the vengeance visited upon their slayers.

Sure, I'd play a prominent role. Ajax's return was intertwined with the return of House Ishara and that meant me, Cáel, Vranus' heir. SzelAnya would get the credit for the kill, which would make everyone happy. An Amazon Queen couldn't even land a blow on him three thousand years ago, so a male Amazon having to feed him to a goddess was just fine in their book. Bizarrely, 'clever tricky' men were okay. It was the macho heroes which gave them problems.

Now, with my hastily conjured prose, I had reminded everyone Kwenhamai was there as well. At the Seven Skulls, she had begun her path to redemption. Amazons were big on killing traitors, not rehabilitating them. Without Kwenhamai's betrayal of Ajax to me, there would have been no revenge and no birth of House SzelAnya.

When those Amazon lore-mistresses repeated my words in the future, their daughters would ask, 'Who was Bolu of Illuyankamunus?'

And then the lore-mistresses would have to say, 'Bolu was an Ash Man and it was his devotion and that of his descendants which brought SzelAnya to fight at Cáel’s side that day.'

Fuck it all. He deserved at least a mention for all his courage and devotion. I had to believe when the Arinniti handed him their three sons and his orders, he knew something wasn't right. Vranus was a young man and gripped by the immediate desperation of his people.

Bolu though, was a seasoned fighter. More to the point, by his mid-thirties, he was a senior member of his House and most certainly his voice had been heard around the council fires of the Illuyankamunus.

In that moment, as the Arinniti spoke, did he want to confer with the elders of his House first? Did he ask about any of his own sons, or daughters? He was certainly old enough to have had a few. Or, did he look into their eyes and know the truth?

You have butchered my sons and nephews, and my daughters and my sisters let them die.

And then he carried out his mission anyway. Because he was an Amazon and, unlike his sisters, he would never surrender to despair, no matter how grim the outlook, or heavy the odds. Unable to save his own offspring, he saved the three children of Arinniti and the one young warrior of Ishara. From Dot Ishara's own description, old Vranus wasn't terribly bright, yet the five had survived.

Hell, they'd thrived. 2600 years later, Bolu's actions had not only saved the true House Illuyankamunus, now SzelAnya, he'd saved House Ishara too, and through me, House Anat, Saku, and the Royal House of the Amazons through Kwenhamai and Aya,

And he'd lived long enough to have another family and teach them to be good little Amazons, even passing on the Hittite cuneiform in their religious practices.

I couldn't imagine his final night before taking himself to the cliffs. Would he die alone without a Goddess and ancestors to welcome him? Would the religion he had passed on to his children be a lie? It hadn't. He was no augur. He had no way beyond faith to be sure. Still, he jumped. Generation after generation had taken themselves to the cliffs after him as well, proving his lessons had taken hold. For all that and more, I could give him a mention in our official records, his fierce determination reaching thru the millennia, guiding me to my rendezvous with Ajax.

"To answer the question which led us to this, revelation," Krasimira interjected. "The phrase is Meikkiz Kisetta! That is the formal greeting of Amazons to their Queen."

'Meikkiz Kisetta' meant 'from many become one'; the ancient Amazon pledge which I felt had been echoed many centuries later, All for one and one for all.

"Meikkiz Kisetta!" they repeated.

"Thank the Goddesses," Saint Marie groaned. "Meeting adjourned."

Thank you for remembering:

"Krasimira, a moment in private?" I requested as soon as the council meeting was concluded. She nodded. We walked side by side out of the chamber and into the hall. When the noises of the others grew muted, I dismissed Buffy, Juanita and Daphne. Krasimira motioned her followers to give us room as well.

"Two things," I exhaled. I placed a hand on her upper arm, stroking it affectionately. I doubt she'd ever beheld the gesture before. She was uncertain.

"First, thank you. Thank you for all that you and the other Keepers have done down through the ages. Thank you for the loneliness you have endured. I will take the reason for my thanks to the grave. You have been right. No one else should ever know."

"Secondly, I humbly request you tell me 'her' name. I would like to use it when I greet her when I pass. I imagine she hasn't heard it in a long, long time." By 'her' I meant Yakko Ishara. The second question was both a quest to determine if I had guessed right about how things had unfolded and as an indicator that I sympathized with her burden.

"Firstly, you are welcome. Secondly, whose name are you referring to?" she smiled. Yep, I was right.

"It is okay."

"Thank you, Ishara. If I give you a fortune cookie to give to your goddess, will it remained unopened except for her eyes alone?" Krasimira offered.

"Yes."

"I have never given a direct offering to a goddess before," she nodded. "I would like to try. I will have the fortune cookie delivered to you before five o'clock Monday afternoon. Take care, Ishara," she bowed an inch, or two, then slipped past me and left.

Spinning plates:

I walked into my place right before nine. Odette was spending the day with her parents, so I had promised myself a little 'unwinding' time. Sovann, Timothy's Cambodian-American boyfriend, was on the sofa, hair wet, towel around his shoulders and 'boy shorts' underwear on (with nothing else) looked my way. Juanita was right behind me. At least they had met before. The shower was running.

"Hey Sovann," I headed his way. "Good night last night?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "How's life been treating you?"

"Stuff I can't talk about," I grimaced. "Has Timothy talked to you about us getting a new place?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We are both of the opinion you need to keep the few sane friends you have." Ah, the advance in a relationship when the couple starts thinking of one of their friends as a friend of both of them.

"I appreciate it," I grinned. I was about to plop down on the sofa beside him when I recalled my 'company'. "Juanita, can I get you anything?"

"No," she paused then, "what's next on the agenda?"

"I am planning on hanging around for a half hour before calling my neighbor in 3F and inviting her out to brunch. She's done a great deal for me and, since I'm about to move out, I figure I would like to repay her kindness before I go."

"He means 'fuck her'," Juanita sniped. Sovann arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Rough morning meeting," I mumbled. As my ass hit the sofa cushions, the shower cut off. Juanita's displeasure over the revelation of my sexual misadventures earlier this morning was amplified by the idea I might be talking 'shop' with non-Amazons.

I'd talked down Buffy at Havenstone after the meeting. She had official business to take care of, which curtailed her ability to make my life miserable at the moment, so Juanita felt obliged to take over those duties. I had about had it with that shit. I was reordering my thoughts for the umpteenth time since Aya had become Queen and I'd become a Father ten times over when Timothy came out, a towel around his waist.

One look told him something was wrong with my soul.

"Bro," he murmured. I stood up as he approached. He wrapped me up in a hug. Sovann joined us a few seconds later. After a bit Timothy pulled back. "What can you tell me?"

"They screwed Aya over big time," I sighed, "and I'm going to be a dad more than once. Everyone woman I know is either too good for me, or violently-bitchy fucking nuts." Sovann stole a quick glance Juanita's way. Timothy didn't.

"We were planning on catching a 12:30 showing of 'As Above, So Below'. You should come along," Timothy suggested. Normal guy-stuff.

"I could invite the girl in 3F," I amended the offer. "We could do brunch at the Egyptian place first."

"Great," Timothy grinned. "You go ask her and I'll get dressed."

As I was heading for the door, he called out from the bedroom.

"One of your Kazak buddies stopped by after they found out we were moving. They have scouted out a few place for 'their Prince', eight in fact. They left a bundle for us to consider." Ugh. My 'Brother', the Great Khan, had heard I was moving, was currently living like a pauper and decided to do something about it. My 2014 Tax Returns were going to be, interesting.

Juanita tailed me to 3F. I rang the doorbell and waited. Movement, hesitation,

"Hey!" through the door.

"It is Cáel Nyilas from down the hall," I responded. "You've been kind to me on numerous occasions and I've been remiss in thanking you. My roommate, his boyfriend, my 'buddy' and I are going out for brunch and a movie and I'd like it if you could come along. I apologize for the short notice. My life's been a mess recently."

"Oh, OH!" she gasped. "Hold on!" I could make out the sounds of her running around before the door swung open. She was blushing in embarrassment and it wasn't hard to see why. Her place as a pigsty. The girl in 3F was cute, zesty and vibrant ~ 5' 2" and 110 lbs. She was busty, bra-less with dark-coppery hair pulled back in a loose bun and pale skin.

She was wearing a white wife-beater and cut-off jeans, no socks, or shoes. Both were stained. Her place was a mess with discarded fast food containers, pizza boxes, grocery bags, shipping boxes and other such debris lying about.

"Come in. Let me get dressed," she ushered me, us in.

"This is my bodyguard, Juanita. She's going to take a quick peek around then make herself scarce," I tried to smooth things over.

"In this dump?" Juanita scoffed cruelly. "I don't know where to begin."

Blink. The girl in 3F's lower lip trembled and her eyes grew watery. She sniffled. I'd had it with, everybody.

"That is uncalled for," I said in a dead voice as I pivoted toward Juanita. "Go home." Juanita glared. "I don't mean my home. I mean 'home' as in wherever you go when you aren't with me, because you are passed being on my last nerve. Don't call in a replacement either. I've had it with you and your fucking attitude ~ and today, right now, I am pulling rank. Get out of my sight."

"I'll be out in the hallway," Juanita backed away.

"No," I shook my head. "You are not welcome in Ishara's presence for the rest of the day. Your crass words to a person who has only shown me kindness were the last in a long list of insults today which have had a detrimental effect on my quality of life. Go home and contemplate your failure."

She tried to match wills with me with her gaze.

"Let me at least call in a replacement before I go," she retreated.

"No."

"You are being unreasonable."

"Yes I am. A minute ago, you ceased being worthy of an explanation."

"I'm sorry," 3F spoke up. "I didn't mean to make you and your friend get into a fight."

"We aren't fighting," I kept my eyes on Juanita. "She made me a promise to respect my desire to live a somewhat private life. The way she treated you is showing the utmost disrespect to both you and me. She assumed no matter how horrible her behavior, I would stomach it. And I'm letting her know she's mistaken. Good-bye Juanita."

"Don't do this, Ishara," Juanita tried to guilt me by authority.

"You should have thought over your obligation to our House before you opened your damn mouth and insulted my neighbor, Juanita. The next words out of your mouth will be taken as an assault on my prestige." Basically, a 'fuck-you' to Juanita for being a bitch and then trying to guilt me out of over me punishing her over lousy attitude. By sending her away, I was punishing her, there was no doubt of that in my mind.

The agreement I had with my bodyguards was simple, I accepted the necessity of their presence because my life really was in danger and they accepted I wished to maintain some illusion of normalcy. Juanita crossed the line, again, and I'd had enough, so now no Isharan was going to be around to both protect me and intrude on my normalcy and I was forcing the responsibility for my decision on both of us, because it was her fucking fault.

Juanita bowed slightly, turned and left. Oh, she'd be calling this in. The difference was, she'd have to explain I was furious and why I was furious and that would make Buffy furious with her. And deep down, Juanita knew she was in the wrong. The next bodyguard(s) to show up would either be highly discrete, or someone I couldn't easily shove away.

I had an immediate emotional crisis to deal with.

"I," the girl in 3F mumbled, looking at everything, but me.

"Ya know, your decision to give the maid the week off was really inopportune," I grinned at her.

"Ah?" She was stumped.

"I owe you a favor, or three, don't I?" I inquired.

"You don't have to look at it that way," she evaded verbally while making eye contact.

"Deal," I widened my smile. "We are going out to the Egyptian place a few blocks over. Get dressed. While you are doing so, I'm going to go completely OCD on you and pick up your living room. Pretend to be surprised when you come out," I finished with a chuckle.

"You, ah, don't have, ah, to," she worked through the weirdness of it all. My smile won her over.

"Good. Get dressed. I'll call my roommate and his boyfriend to hurry over here and help. Hurry!"

"My place is a mess," she gulped.

"But it won't be, and face it, after seeing me and my bodyguard get into a spat after her 'beyond' rude behavior and my offer to clean up your apartment, today can't get much more bizarre, now can it?"

Yes. Yes it could, but by burying the bizarreness of me and Juanita, I was actually doing her a tangible favor, cleaning up her place, and taking her out with the option for sensuality later.

"Oh, you are right. That was pretty weird," she agreed with an impish smile. "I'll get dressed."

She skipped off to her bedroom. I called Timothy and had him and Sovann hot-foot it over to 3F with a box full of trash bags. Her place was a mess, capital 'M'.

Take an impossibly awkward situation of finding a guy you are sexually curious about, his gay roommate and his gay roommate's boyfriend in your apartment's main room cleaning up the place and turn it into a game. Forty-five minutes later, Theddy (Theodora) wasn't sure why she felt embarrassed about having the three of us over.

We put sixteen extra-large trash bags on the curb along with her old sofa. We gave her our brand new, sleeper-sofa since we would soon be departing. I was also giving her my relatively new bed (we would work out a deal on my suspension equipment). We chiseled her old carpet off the floor, it was beyond gross, tore out her garbage disposal, it was developing intelligent life, and cleaned her bedroom and bathroom too.

All along, we bantered about numerous topics including,

(Sovann) "So what do you do for a living?"

(Theddy) "I'm a sound technician, I dub for, pornos,"

(Me) "My, how bizarre. I love porn. Have you done anything I may have listened to?"

(Theddy) "Maybe, I also sell the soundtracks of your sex-capades." She was blushing, shuffling her feet and looking down as her confession spilled forth.

(...)

(Theddy) "I saw a girl break into your place, but didn't report it. Was that okay?"

(Timothy) "What did she look like?"

(Sovann) "Was she armed?"

(Me) "Hey now!"

(Sovann) "You're right. Stupid question. Of course she was armed."

(Theddy) "Really?"

(Me) "Plenty of women show up to my place unarmed. Odette has never shown up armed. Neither has Brooke, or Libra."

(Timothy) "It is so sad when it is easier for you to name your unarmed girlfriends than your armed ones."

(Me) "It is not that bad."

(Timothy) "Yes it is."

(Me) "No it isn't."

(Sovann) "Yes it is. Shall I name five?"

(Me) "Fine," I hung my head. "Let's not."

(Theddy) "Do you hang out with really deadly women?"

(Me) "Define 'deadly'."

(Timothy) "Yes, he does."

(Sovann) "Bro, it's gotten so bad, Odette started giving a technical critique to the last action movie we watched together."

(Me) "That's not my fault."

(Timothy) "Right. It's your crazy Grandmother's and your buddy in the SAS' faults."

(Me) "Pamela's not really my Grandmother and he's not in the SAS. He's in the SRR. They're totally different."

(Theddy) "I noticed you didn't say she wasn't crazy... and who is the SRR?"

(Timothy) "The British Special Reconnaissance Regiment."

(Me) "They're big map and compass people."

(Sovann) "Like big, delicious Boy Scouts."

(Timothy) "With guns."

(Sovann) "Oh. He had a gun?" and then Timothy threw a coach pillow at him.

(Theddy) "I'm sorry that guy tried to kill you."

Pause as we three looked at each other.

(Timothy) "Which one of us?"

(Me) "Which time?"

(Sovann) "Hang out with Cáel and you'd be surprised how many people show up trying to kill you, or him, or someone else."

(Theddy) "Really?"

The Cult of the Jaguar:

We were walking back from the eatery. They were walking from the direction of Casa dee Timothy, heading our way. There were five Latinos: two girls and three guys. To put it more accurately, there was one lady, one woman and three men. To say it like it was, there was one spirit-creature, one priestess-savant and three foot soldiers.

As previously revealed, the various members of the 9 Clans operated differently. The Cult of the Jaguar operated like a, cult. They had a mess of flunkies at the lowest level, cast-offs, ex-drug users, the insane and those not quite right in the head. Essentially those people operated as a nearly endless supply of cannon-fodder for the Cult's activities and served as a base of worship for the Cult's divinities.

Next up the ladder you had the 'messengers'. Normally, they were not actually part of the cults, instead running the more mundane operations the Cult (big 'C') owned and operated as well as interacting with the various cults (little 'c'). Often 'messengers' worked for the Cult for generations in family businesses with some members not knowing the totality of their involvement with the criminal underworld.

Then you had the priestly caste. Priests, priestesses, savants and priest/ess-savants, the priests and priestesses performed rites, led rituals and ran the organization. Savants, like my Amazon augurs, had mystic powers granted/cursed to them by interactions with supernatural beings.

In the Cult, there were four ways to get your priestly caste. You could train them. Some divinities had schools who trained their leadership up from a young age. Like any other profession, you learned and progressed as you grew older.

Or, a divinity could 'imprint' the knowledge in you. I understood those priest and priestesses burned out rather rapidly. Less we forget, this was a cabal of ruthless killers we are talking about.

You could also create a savant in the same method ~ spiritually twist some poor soul to serve a purpose. Their life expectancy wasn't worth writing home about.

Or, you could breed them, yeah. Breeding people with supernatural horrors, and these were my allies. Of course, being walking-talking abominations to the Weave had its own psychological pitfalls,

And, at the top of the individual cults were things like the 'lady' coming at me right now. I'd been briefed about them and theorized I could make one out for what it really was because of my own mixed-up noggin, and I was right. Heading up each individual cult in the Cult of the Jaguar were avatars for the various divinities within the Cult pantheon.

Despite its name, the Cult of the Jaguar was not devoted to the jaguar (the animal), or even the Jaguar God (alone). It was an amalgamation of various Northern and Southern Native American divinities ~ okay fucking Nasty ass divinities who feasted on death to keep a toe-hold in our reality. They had not gotten along with Christianity, nor agreed with the Weave's verdict that their time had passed.

The Weave's response was pretty clear. It had things like measles and smallpox to undercut those divinities' worship base to which these powers had no counter. Every other pantheon had retired into legend, like the Amazon Goddesses, or behind layers of mundane ritual, like the Hindi. These guys, and gals, refused to accept the message and still practiced that Old Time Religion.

How they ended up in the 9 Clans wasn't explained to me. They killed people, that was for damn sure. The only true assassins were the cult leaders. Of all the 9 Clans, they were the worst. No person had ever survived having a contract accepted by the Cult of the Jaguar, no amount of hiding, running, or fighting back had ever saved anyone. They always killed their targets. Always.

The reason was their leaders weren't human. They were monsters, think Grendel from Beowulf's Saga. Sure they looked human on the outside. Somewhere around the tenth shotgun blast to the face, they looked a whole lot less human, but that didn't stop them. According to my Alal-knowledge, you dismembered it rapidly (they healed pretty quick) and then burned the severed bits. He'd done it before, to more than one of them, just not this one, 'cause it wasn't like any of those creatures stayed dead, or forgave, or forgot a damn thing. Oh joy. Me, him and our extremely distinctive emerald-green eyes.

As a final note: technically the Cult of the Jaguar controlled all 9 Clans' territory in North and South America. In actuality: in Canada, they let the Brotherhood of the Wolf establish bases. In the US east of the Mississippi and north of the Gulf, they allowed the Black Hand and Brotherhood to work. In Brazil and the Caribbean, they allowed the Coils of the Serpent to set up shop. All three did so knowing they operated under sufferance of the Cult and the Cult didn't fuck around.

So, why didn't they send a representative to my Father's funeral? They had no clue who he was, or how things would turn out. Send the head of a cult? Dad wasn't worthy enough. (Recall, the Earth & Sky sent Iskender, not someone of note at the time.) Sending a mere 'messenger' would have been insulting to the Amazons. Instead, they let the other 9 Clans handle it, and look how that turned out. Or, I'm a fucking idiot.

And back to me:

No one outside the Cult of the Jaguar knew the precise number of composite cults made up the organization, but many of the divinities had a history. I was looking at, the Obsidian Butterfly, okay ~ a walking patch of starless night in the form of a constantly mutating voluptuous, hourglass-shaped woman, bipedal bat and eight-winged butterfly.

A quick mental 'background check' matched to her image gave me a name, Ītzpāpālōtl, so the wacked-out side-kick had to be her half-human 'daughter'. I had a feeling the various divinities didn't share offspring much, considering the spiritual investment actually breeding one took.

"Bro," Timothy whispered. "Freaky-looking chick staring our way."

"Yeah. I'm afraid so," I agreed. I subtly snuck an arm around Theddy who had picked up on our changing tone of conversation.

"I think we can take them," Sovann noted after studying them a moment.

"Let me clarify things for you," I snorted. "Tricycle, tricycle, tricycle, 4x4, Land Leviathan."

Yeah, we could kick the three guys' asses. Their basic brutality couldn't compensate for Sovann and Timothy's courage, bulk and brawling expertise. They were essentially for show anyway. The priestess-savant looked pretty young ~ say 19 to 23 ~ and fit, but not martially adept. I could take her. Timothy, or Sovann probably could take her, being bigger and stronger. The avatar was utterly deceptive in her lethality. None of us stood a chance against such a creature.

"I feel weird," Theddy shivered. She pressed tightly against me.

"Ever had a near-death experience?" I asked while keeping my eyes forward.

"Yeah. How did you know it felt like that?" Theddy looked up at me. I was peripherally aware of her head movement.

"Call it a hunch."

"That chick is seriously weirding me out," Sovann muttered.

"And she's looking pissed," Timothy added.

Oh yeah. She was probably trying to mystically scope me out and getting nowhere, thanks to Dot Ishara. Bitch (not Dot). We were closing with their group fast. I had to think faster.

"Take this," I handed Theddy my food container. I drew forth my phone and called my No. 5, no 6, no No. 7 Go-To Gal.

"Estere," I opened up. Estere Abed, the Hashashin assassin and current 9 Clans liaison with JIKIT.

"Yes Cáel?"

"Did you send someone to meet with me?"

"Yes. Per your 'office's' request, an emissary should be talking to you momentarily. I was led to believe your schedule had opened up. Is there a problem?"

"Composition of said embassy?"

"I was supposed to be, it isn't a messenger, is it?"

"Nah."

"Are you in danger?"

"Hmm, too late now. Give Buffy a very special 'fuck you very much' in case I never get to see any of you ever again," I jibed.

"Cáel,"

"I've got a not-amused Bat-girl to talk to. Take care. I'll update you later," and I hung up. What else could either of us say? To get around my pique and still protect me, Buffy had sent in the 9 Clans to chat with me, not understanding the nature of the chatters. In the past, Estere and Miyako had both protected me and calmed me down. Oh well.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara," the 'lady' greeted me.

"Yep. This is Timothy, Sovann and Theddy. We are on our way to see 'As Above, So Below'." I took the initiative. She was confused. "It's a movie."

"That is not why,"

"Listen," I cut her off. "I apologize in advance for my brusque manner, but I'd rather try to ass-fuck a wild rhino than discuss business right now.

"I know who and what you are and I don't care. For the next eighteen hours I'm a 22 year old directionless moron who doesn't want to see things Man was not meant to see, the restless dead, or the look of disappointment on a woman's face. I don't mean to insult you. You are merely on the tail end of a three-month long Conga line which has been stomping all the happiness out of my God-damn life,

"So smile and say 'hey, a movie sounds like a great idea' and join us,

"Let us go on our way for now while promising me endless agony later like every other fucking divine bitch in my life,

"Or give me thirty seconds to say good-bye to these nice normal people then I'm going to draw down on your merry little band of murderers and you're going to kill me, or I'm going to kill the rest and seriously inconvenience you.

"Now, has anything I said been unclear and, if not, can I please have my answer now? The movie starts in 30 minutes and I don't want to miss any of the previews."

"Teoyotlni?" she exhaled extenuating sexual menace. No, she had not given us her name. Nah, in the Olmec-derivative she was speaking, she had asked me 'do you know I am a goddess?' One word ~ cool.

"Acampa nic catzahuacatlhuatl cuel cuitlananaca," I responded smoothly. Loosely translated as no one in my shitty world gives a crap right now.

Now I knew why Alal knew their lingo.

What kind of body was he walking around in at this moment? It wasn't mine, my aunts claimed it wasn't his original one and Pamela had noted it wasn't right, the one time she'd met Alal since his return, and here I was looking at an avatar, which is basically a spirit made flesh. Fuck a duck. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Grandpa had figured out the mystic trick these divinities used. Probably through the judicious use of torture, because that's the kind of role model he was, the Fucktard.

He didn't have their full range of supernatural powers, so his 'avatar solution' was temporary at best. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I still had this problem at hand. A little body politics was going on. The 9 Clans delegation had stopped, but the avatar kept coming. Timothy knew better and Theddy was rightly terrified for no obvious reason. Sovann decided he had to do something.

"I know you are having a bad day," he quietly chastised me as he tried to step forward to confront the woman. Timothy's powerful arm slammed out like a crosswalk bar, stopping his progress.

"Don't," was all he said. The intensity of his tone was enough. I pushed Theddy away and to my rear. There was a blind, deaf-mute across town in a coma who knew this bitch was furious with me, him and about a million other New Yorkers. No one talked to her the way I had done, horrible-fucking day be damned, and lived long enough to joke about it.

The priestess-savant was distressed, not angry. Her guiding light in life was focused elsewhere. The three goons were equally adrift, yet their minimal attachment to social normalcy left them uncertain. There were precisely two things, okay, four things, keeping me alive. The fourth thing would come to her later when her 'furious was replaced by her 'curious' ~ as in how I knew her inhuman lingo ~ which would lead to my legacy with Grandpa.

The top three reasons -

She had poked my chest. It was a challenge, calling for one of my guardians to come out and play. The avatar knew I was the chosen heir of the Goddess Ishara and my goddess had devoted a good deal of time and effort to my survival and continued service in her cause. If Ishara made an 'appearance', it would be enough reason to not eviscerate me for my foul treatment of her august personage.

Nope. It seemed Ishara was busy at the moment.

Still, she most likely knew SzelAnya had shown a keen interest in me in Romania, though I'd never told Selena, or any other member of the 9 Clans, the Dragon's Daughter had killed Ajax for me. Figuring out SzelAnya, a storm deity, had helped me and Aya escape from our kidnapping in the midst of a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean wasn't much of a reach.

But no bolt of lightning coalesced from my chest to singe her finger. No clap of thunder. Not even a cloud with a hint of disfavor appeared above us.

Her obsidian fingernail began penetrating my shirt, touched my skin, then drew my blood, and something 'twitched'.

That would be Contestant Goddess #3. She wasn't actually hanging around me. She didn't have to. She'd left me a memento of our last shindig before we parted ways. That was the nightmare-inducing episode where she, the chthonic goddess Sarrat Irkalli, had compressed one man's body into a dagger and then proceeded to suck another's soul into it to use as a power source for an Airbus 350 (a commercial airliner, if you didn't know).

I still had that snaggletooth-looking thing at my back. Well who the Hell was I going to leave it with? Honestly, the only people I felt could keep it safe I loved too much to curse with it. Anyway, the second her divine claw touched my blood, the long dormant weapon whispered to me in a somewhat bored, lofty feminine voice from beyond the grave,

Do you want me to discorporate this pathetic has-been for you?

Quick check. Only the avatar and I, and her priestess-savant heard that. Of course, in downtown, New York City, noon Sunday, how weird would such a declaration be? The avatar's eyebrow arched. Her big bat-ears (still looking human to the normal viewing public) flicked this way and that, figuring out precisely where the threat originated from. Slowly, her once poking hand began to slide across my chest, along my ribs and around my back.

She touched the dagger. Nothing.

Gingerly, she drew it forth. I'd had a makeshift sheath made. As the blade made its journey around me, she took a half-step back to better observe it.

"Please don't kill him!" Theddy squealed. "We haven't had sex yet!"

Being 'who' and 'what' she was, the avatar did what came natural. Fortunately for Theddy, I'd become accustomed to working with psychopaths.

She stabbed the dagger at Theddy. I clamped my hand down on her wrist. The claws of her left hand came down on my constraining wrist. My free hand came down on that hand, trying to pry it free. It was a hopeless struggle, except.

Yes, my old friend 'except'. Except the avatar was holding the dagger. As powerful as Ītzpāpālōtl was, she wasn't pushing against me. She was pushing against Sarrat Irkalli.

Ītzpāpālōtl was a living, breathing terror machine who killed and received sacrifices on a regular basis.

Sarrat Irkalli hadn't been actively worshipped in 3,000 years.

Uneven contest? Oh yeah.

See, Ītzpāpālōtl had spent the past 500 years continuously fighting against the Weave to keep her fingers on this side of reality.

Meanwhile, for the most part, Sarrat Irkalli had sat upon her throne in the Sumerian Underworld with hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of souls toiling under her watchful gaze for eternity. Sure, her version of Hell wasn't getting any fresh deposits, but she knew how to milk the system well.

Even the bad karma for the dagger's creation wasn't hers. She'd stolen it from the foolish Gong Tau sorcerers who had meant to enslave my soul, aka one-third of the Baraqu-Alal-Cáel deal she'd worked out millennia ago. It was the Weave giving her a 'freebie' for playing by the rules, if you considered the Weave sentient.

And now Ītzpāpālōtl was touching it. Whoops. It wasn't as if Ītzpāpālōtl was stupid. It isn't like there are tons of magic weapons running around, much less soul-munchers like the one I had. Rationally, who would give a novice like me, a weapon like this? I say again, 'whoops'.

Once I'd figured this out, I couldn't stop being me.

"Theddy, do you like girls?"

"What?" she squeaked. Here was this psycho trying to drive a Smilodon incisor into her bosom and I was giving her a sex quiz.

Ītzpāpālōtl was really starting to struggle now.

"I, ah, are you okay?" she continued.

"Oh, I'm dandy. I'm serious. You think this chick is hot? I mean, would you do her in a three-way?" I proposed casually.

"Timothy?" Sovann.

"Bro?" Timothy to me.

"It's all good. Sovann, you want to know what my life is like? This lady who came to discuss business with me today is an immortal mass murderer. You give the word, I'll let go and this knife is going to cut her up like a Ginsu blade on market day because just cutting her heart out isn't going to be enough. Worse. Eventually she'll get back up."

"Timothy?" Sovann repeated, this time with more concern. He thought I was nuts. I released my left hand. The blade flipped up, twisting in the avatar's grasp. That was the point her minions figured out something was wrong.

"El Amado?" the priestess-savant called out softly. The three goons began reaching for 'things'.

"Call them off, or I open my other hand," I cautioned the avatar. She spared me a swift, hostile look. My fingers tingled.

"Esten quietos!" she snapped. They stopped.

"Cáel, bad day, or not. This isn't you. Stop it. The girl's in danger," Timothy spoke up. He didn't mean Theddy. He meant the avatar.

"I'm being a real asshole, aren't I?" I sighed.

"Pretty much. You never let the bitches get to you before. Girl pops an attitude, you smile and move on. Life is too short," he reminded me. Too true.

"I'm going to put my hand over the blade," I told Ītzpāpālōtl. "When I do, you can let go."

She didn't say anything for several seconds, even after my left hand covered the semi-serrated edge.

"Why should I trust you?" she sizzled.

"Because 'me' letting anything bad happen to you would make me a total, judgmental jerk. I don't know you. Whatever you did before you showed up today shouldn't matter to me. I acted stupidly. I should have stopped you. I didn't. I didn't even warn you and I could have. I was angry, and not even at you. Just angry and I apologize. Now, let go."

"Why?"

"Hi. I'm Cáel Nyilas. Can I have my knife back? Please?"

Blink. She released it. For a millisecond, it wanted to do something else because bitches are bitches. It didn't, so my palm wasn't sliced open. My right hand took the hilt. I carefully put the blade away.

"Yes," Theddy gulped.

"Huh?" Sovann shook his head at the sudden evaporation of the life and death tension. Welcome to my life. Theddy meant 'yes' to the 'girl-girl-guy' thing I had proposed earlier. It pays to keep things prioritized.

"What is this movie you were talking about?" Ītzpāpālōtl asked. Had she forgiven me for anything which had transpired? Bwahahaha, no way. She was taking the initiative and going with Option 1 from my earlier insane diatribe.

"Wait!" Sovann nearly shouted. "You nearly, I don't know, threatened Cáel’s life and tried to stab Theddy and now you think you can go with us to a movie?"

"I told you," Timothy put an arm around his shoulder, "life with Cáel is rarely dull."

"I thought you meant he was fun to party with, or something like that," Sovann looked up at his lover. "I thought his uncle showing up, and trying to kill him and then being blown the fuck away by those women and federal agents, and that other girl who pointed a gun at us, is this the new normal?"

"I love you, Sovann," Timothy grew compassionate. "Cáel is my best friend. He'd never deliberately hurt either of us and normal friends are something he has in short supply. Today being a great case in point."

Ten seconds passed.

"The title is 'As Above, So Below'," Sovann addressed the avatar, "and what do we call you?"

Since 'if you are not a worshiper and addressing me, I normally am about to kill you' would sound really cool in Olmec-ic, but I might be asked to translate,

"How about we go with 'Obsidian', please?" I pleaded with her.

She knew I was currying favor now ~ and behaving like a weather vane caught in the wall of a tornado ~ she gave a gracious bow of her head.

"Obsidian will do for now. Is the Legend of the dagger 'business'?" Translation: it had better not be.

"No," I smiled. "It's pillow talk." Rancor, 'how presumptuous', followed by 'but that dagger ups the count to three Goddess interested in him', and next to recalling all the trivial babble about me being a sexual dynamo (I prayed my PR was that good) having some relevance. Her chimera emotions allowed me to get a few more crucial words out, because even women who aren't sleeping with me are jealous.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

11250 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15

A Butterfly wants to kill the World?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Although Love is both fire and shadow, we often forget to take comfort from the coolness of the memories when the burning flames are absent

"Esta mujer fue la primera en ofrecer bienes funerarios tras la muerte dee mi padre," I reinserted Theddy back into my close company. For some reason, Obsidian considered me unreliable thus had to verify what I'd just said.

"Did you make funerary offering upon his father's passing?" she asked Theddy. Let's think about this. The wacko chick questioning Theddy had tried to stab a huge freaking blade into her not a minute ago. Fleeing in terror while screaming for the cops? Nope.

"Yes. I baked him some walnut and caramel chip cookies," she nodded. "It is a family recipe." Sovann looked over the three of us, then back to Timothy.

"I told you 'that's impressive cocking like I've never seen before'," he explained.

"She may remain," Obsidian 'permitted'. Theddy wrapped up my right arm with her left and gave it a squeeze. She wanted attention/explanation.

"Obsidian is a Master Vampire, Theddy," I leaned in and whispered. "Before she was turned, she was captured in a raid by the fey, mentally, spiritually and physically raped and made into their sex-slave. Part of her spirit never healed properly. While this imperfection allows her to walk around in daylight, her heart can never hold on to any emotion for long, so she is forced to forever seek passion, no matter how dangerous, from the world around her."

Revealing secrets? Ha. I had noticed Theddy had every work done by Laurel K. Hamilton in her place, including the comic book series.

"You are not supposed to know, so act like I didn't tell you anything, okay?"

'Okay,' she mouthed back at me. I could see it in her eyes. My chaotic life suddenly 'made sense' to her because a best-selling fiction author said so.


Obsidian thought the movie was; hilarious. She couldn't stop snickering, giggling and poking at me as horrible shit happened to the various actors. She thought the plot was 'insightful' and wouldn't stop whispering to me throughout the entire thing. During the closing credits, I told her I'd get her the DVD for Christmas ~ she knew the concept behind digital technology, but didn't own any ~ she kissed me.

The first kiss was fierce and joyous with the added benefit of her tongue doing things no normal tongue could do, it stretched. Not sure how I felt about that. The second kiss was more sultry, longer and came with some accompanying body action which, I'm no virgin. Not even close. She was on my left side, so when she twisted in her seat, her left leg insinuated itself between mine. Her left hand cupped my jaw and held my head in place as her lips played along mine.

A dance of the scorpion perhaps? Tender at first, then suddenly stabbing, dominant and brutal. My lips and tongue battled back, using my superior Kiss-fu to nullify her natural strength and agility. She liked it. By her moaning, she liked it a lot. As the kiss progressed, more and more of her flowed from her seat into my seat, body facing me. Her body rose over mine, forcing my neck back to maintain contact.

"So, Dot Ishara is hovering around somewhere close, isn't she?" I murmured as our lips separated barely a centimeter apart. One chick kissing you to make another one jealous. It's happened to me plenty of times. Obsidian didn't give a damn about Theddy, or any other mortal woman in close proximity so,

"Yes," she purred. "Do you mate with her?"

"A man does not brag of such things, but no, unless heavy petting counts?"

"What will she do to you when I steal your seed?"

'When'? Why was I not surprised? Why was I not surprised another concussion was in my immediate future either? Was it possible I was, learning?

"Chastise me for not fighting harder," I breathed across her lips, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on a date with the girl beside me."

"Who I care nothing for," she sent a cruelly playful look Theddy's way. Wisely, the girl shivered.

"Who I am indebted to and how I honor my debts might matter to you," I hazarded. My words hurt Theddy's feelings. That was on purpose. Obsidian took pleasure in me hurting Theddy because she was basically a vicious monster.

"Yes?" I pressed her gently.

"Yes," Obsidian allowed, easing up slightly both romantically and physically.

"And Theddy, if you believe I'm with you solely because of some sense of obligation, you clearly haven't been listening to your recordings," I shot the human girl a wink.

"Oh."

"Am I, or am I not, a sex-obsessed little monkey?" I teased her. Theddy giggled. I paid for my diversion with four obsidian claws to my ribs outside of Theddy's view. After all, it wasn't like Theddy could possibly compete with her for my attention. Considering Obsidian's legendary ability to rip open her opponent's ribcages and feast upon their hearts, I slipped my left hand, the one next to her between her legs and stroked her cotton-slacks covered cunt.

Theddy hugged my right arm and put her head against my shoulder. Not to be outdone,

" Qu  un centenar dee hombres se quemaron vivos como el sonido?" Obsidian inquired with sexually sadistic hunger. Ah, memories of burning 7P Commandos.

Whoops. Theddy knew Spanish.

"No lo s . Ten an respiradores en," I replied casually. "Si lo desea, puedo describir lo que se siente al tirar de una flecha de guerra lanzar mi propio muslo."

"Eep," slipped out of Theddy's lips.

"Why did you do that?" Obsidian looked over us both.

"Well, I was showing a little girl I believed in her,"

"And she shot you?" Theddy gulped.

"No. She hit the target I was standing next to. A co-worker mistook me for a cardboard cutout of a Jehovah's Witness and let fly. Seems she had issues with organized religion as well as a reaction to the oscillation effect of florescent lighting and ceiling fans."

"But why did you pull the arrow out?" Theddy asked. "Couldn't you wait until you got to the hospital?"

"Mosquito," Obsidian menaced, insinuating Theddy was a pest.

"I wasn't thinking rationally at the moment, I work in an asylum, I had a hot date in a few hours, any of those three will do," I smiled at Theddy.

"Copil such as Cáel don't bother with petty human conventions," Obsidian turned my gaze back her way with her hand on my jaw. 'Copil's were 'god-touched' in her lingo.

"More than one girl?" Theddy mused.

"Four."

"Okay," she sighed happily.

"Theddy, three under-age girls and the police office he was dating acting as their chaperone," Timothy intervened. "He hurried home so he could keep a promise to the children, not for sex." Bastard. He really was my best friend. He didn't mention my post-injury, pre-festivity sex with Odette giving me a few extra, urgently needed Brownie Points to suggest I might be a decent human being.

"You are a wonderful guy," Theddy ran a fingernail over my free hand. Clearly I was 'wonderful' enough to risk Obsidian's anger over. The screen went blank as the last credits scrolled away and the room was plunged into darkness. Five seconds later, the lights snapped on.

Pain!

"Fuck," I hissed. It wasn't any extra physical trauma causing me discomfort. No, a metaphysical dam had burst within and my stream of conscious thought had been turned into a white-water rapids. The competing cyclones of thoughts in my mind had stopped cooperating and my hypothalamus was letting me know I was in danger.

"Cáel", "Cáel", "Bro", and "Ishara" all came in rapid succession. I needed some space both tangible and social.

"I need to step outside," I eased Obsidian off me and stood up. My sense of my personal danger was ratcheting up. While I had been studying Obsidian, so I could screw her, I had discovered more and more Alal-badness.

The light display had ignited a series of pressing implanted memories which had been clamoring for my attention. Things like not all 'divinities' were stewards of the Weave. Some even wanted its destruction, preferring risking all on a chaotic restructuring of reality over what existed now ~ things like Obsidian. They weren't attempting to do so because they thought they had no chance.

But there was. A real serious chance to unravel reality existed; and it was staring her in the face. It wasn't 'me' as in 'I was the Anti-Christ'. But with the torrent of memories pouring forth, I knew where the peril lay and I was completely responsible for it. Hell, I was a prime ally of Armageddon and hadn't even known it.

'Holy Shit!'

I blinked. Timothy was shaking me. We were out in the lobby.

"Oh my God, Timothy," I nearly wept. "What am I going to do?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Is there someone you can talk to about this?" he suggested. Normal folks were around us. Obsidian was at my side. Sovann was behind Timothy with an arm around Theddy's shoulder.

"Theddy," I looked at her. "Can I catch up with you later? I just realized I've screwed up something fierce." I put my best 'really don't want to go but I gotta' face on. Her worried look brightened, she slipped around Timothy and gave me a tingling French kiss.

"I'll hold you to that, Cáel," she murmured when we parted.

"Timothy, go home, I got shit to deal with," I hoped my grin didn't become as feeble as I felt it to be.

"I," he started to say something. "Time not to ask questions?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Wait." I pulled us to the side and went on to my toes, leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Tell Pamela 'he' sent Ajax to kill the Professor, his family and the sisters. They were the targets all along. It wasn't me, or the other women. Just in case,"

"Okay," Timothy patted my arm. It was cryptic. It was the best I could do. See, I wanted to cry so badly.

{2:09 pm Sunday, September 7th ~ Last day}

Where to begin:

Every mythology across the globe has some creature, or creatures, which threatens Existence. Usually a God, or a Hero-God, slays the creature and everything is right with the world, except such a being, being older than Existence itself, can't really die, so they are carved up, buried ~ what have you.

Illuyankamunus was one such manifestation of this underlying cancerous desire to destroy reality. He'd had a far more real child, SzelAnya, and she's never quite given up on her dad. Of far greater critical importance, she was 'part' of Illuyankamunus, somewhat in the way I was part of Alal and Baraqu. And yes, that meant all the offspring of Bolu, the guy I'd praised a few hours earlier, held the seeds of that malignant deity as well.

And Alal knew it. He hadn't been killing off the descendants. He'd left that task up to a group far more capable of the task, the Egyptian Rite, who knew a fucking threat to existence when they saw it. Lest I forget, No secret society are the 'good guys'. Also lest I forget, I alone decided to go after the Arinniti sons to fulfill Vranus' quest. I had no divine mandate I was aware of nor any real world orders.

Inadvertently, I had rounded up the last five mortal remains of Illuyankamunus in one place for convenient disposal in a remote Transylvanian town. The only problem was: if someone didn't get to them quickly, I was also about to whisk them into the loving (and heavy-armed) protective embrace of the Amazon Host, where the completion of centuries of culling would have suddenly become a cast-iron bitch instead of a simple disposal.

Enter Ajax. Yeah, I bet the Egyptians were trying to figure out how I stopped him as well as Alal. I thought I was being clever by not telling most of the world. In fact, they most likely suspected; and the reality of SzelAnya watching over me was much more terrifying. Ishara had put a serious curse on the Amazons, yet her curse only affected her followers, the Amazons, who were fair game.

SzelAnya had killed someone for me, and I hadn't been one of her followers. Thus I had committed a blasphemous act only a magician of some significant ability could have managed. I wasn't a sorcerer, but I had a cornucopia of mystic knowledge rolling around in my noggin. Trying to figure all this out was one of my major headaches.

The others?

I even suspected I knew who betrayed me ~ kinda. They didn't do it on purpose. At least I hope they didn't, because my odds-on favorite was my Mother by way of Captain Delilah Faircloth. Realistically, there was only one secret society who might help her against Grandpa and that was the Egyptian Rite, and they did send three people to Dad's funeral including two 'somebodies'. I'm an idiot.

I'd chatted away in fluent New Kingdom Egyptian and it never occurred to me how odd it was for two of them to also be so fluent in it. Know it, sure, but as fluent as Kimberly had taught me to be? That should have been a Red Flag.

The Earth & Sky had sent Iskender, who should have been the benchmark I judged the other delegations by, damn it.

Three Condos? They'd killed my Dad and their guys had been flunkies.

The 7 Pillars had been nobodies, which they'd proven by their inaction.

Now I had to question why I had 3 actual  9-Clans  assassins at my dad's funeral too. Holy Ishara, I wasn't nearly paranoid enough.

Anyway, why would the Amazons be aiding and abetting the End of All Life on Earth? Normally, they wouldn't be, but 3000 years ago, the majority of Human life did a colossal dump on the Amazons. And when they needed help, they got it in the form of SzelAnya and her dual-sex followers. I seriously doubt they told the Amazons their purpose was to resurrect SzelAnya's daddy. I imagine the Amazons didn't pry too much either.

It turned out almost to be okay. During the 2nd Betrayal, the Amazons betrayed SzelAnya and almost short-circuited her plans by exterminating her lineage.

Except for the Arinniti elders and Bolu. Good old 'except'.

I can imagine when the Egyptians heard about the 2nd Betrayal, they figured they were 'okay'. Those wacky Amazons had inadvertently done the world a favor. Except an act of maternal love kept a slender hope of Illuyankamunus' return alive. By the time the Egyptians realized they'd been prematurely hopeful, Bolu's descendants were all over the Balkans and hunting them down had proven difficult.

But, it gets worse. Much worse.

When those Gods shattered Illuyankamunus, they scattered him in the relative certainty no one would ever gather the parts back together.

His flesh was scattered across the land, modern day Turkey, but encompassing everything from Pakistan to Italy and Egypt to Poland. The flesh became soil, then plants, the things that eat plants, then food for humans. Get the picture.

Whoops. SzelAnya had been doing just that for centuries upon centuries every time she mated with a mortal of Illuyankamunus' line and had offspring, they accumulated his energy, which made hunting down the few remaining ones easier to find, since they were 'beacons of badness', except...

There were two key pieces missing which SzelAnya could never get. After all, you would think burying them on the far side of the world would matter, right?

The 'breath of Illuyankamunus' ~ his cosmic fire ~ they buried in a volcano in a distant land far across the Great Sea. His spirit 'body' they imprisoned in a great river, again, across the Great Sea.

But wait, it gets worse.

The being standing next to me knew precisely where the 'breath of Illuyankamunus' was. Seems Mesoamerica is laced with volcanos. They'd discovered 'the breath' long ago and used it as a weapon called Xiuhcoatl. Better yet, Alal suspected she and her buddies were more than happy to reunite it with the rest if they thought the Weave itself wouldn't annihilate them for daring to do so.

In their current, weakened state they were vulnerable to such a karmic backlash. In theory, a reborn Illuyankamunus would have access to power beyond the bounds of the Weave, older and more terrifying. Still, without the mortal remains to anchor the energy, giving it to the spirit would be pointless.

Alal knew where the spirit body was (in general), but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was where it was,

Of all the places the Arinniti sons could have fled to, they had to choose Brazil, the burial place of the restive spirit body of Illuyankamunus. Mother-fucker.

And Ildiko 'Alkonyka' aka Dusk Lovasz had sworn she'd travel to Brazil to fulfill Bolu's side of the quest in the same way I was holding up Vranus' end. If I tried to stop her, SzelAnya would know something was up. Fuck.

I was processing all of this when Obsidian violently yanked me out of the way. A cabby had swerved to avoid a flurry of trash and nearly run over us. It was the third near-concussive experience in the past five minutes she'd help me avoid while she had walked by my side. I'd been mumbling like a madman.

"That would be my Goddess wanting to talk with me," I looked her way.

"I know," she gave me a clever smile.

"She's really not going to like that," I shook my head.

"I know that too," she kept smiling. "Where is your mind?"

"Five lives away from making the world a safer place," I sighed.

"Safer for who?" she purred. Where were all the bimbos? Not only was it an insightful question, it cut straight to the heart of my dilemma.

What decision could I make? If I elected to help my fellow Amazons, I risked screwing with the world. In truth, I was risking everything even if I did nothing. Well Dad was always clear that things didn't change by themselves. You needed to do something that would have an effect. So, 'What are you going to do?'

More to the point, I wasn't Grandad. Killing the last five of the line of Illuyankamunus wasn't 'me', so it wasn't going to be something I'd worry about.

SzelAnya wanted to bring back her Dad, I could understand that. I'd have to figure out a way for her to believe this world sticking around was more important. How? Well, I had a goddess-like creature right in front of me to probe for ideas.

"You are an immortal," Obsidian commented. She'd been weighing her opinion for some time. I could tell by the wonderment with which she gifted each word.

"What? No. I can die."

"No. I don't think so. Your wounds. Normally the wounds I inflict flow freely for some time. Yours have already scabbed over," her eyes flickered to the various minor scars she'd imparted to me in the few hours we'd been together.

Of course, her idea was insane, Oh God No! I was in Grandad's body. Well Duh! His body was supposed to be immortal.

"Are you sure?" I looked deep into her eyes.

"You are a young immortal, the youngest I've ever met, but you are an immortal," she seemed to be convincing herself as much as me.

Stupid Assumption (on my part)! I wasn't in Alal's body. I was in Cáel’s. Because the Cáel soul shard was young, Alal hadn't been able to find it because it had moved through Time, to me, sonofabitch! 'I' hadn't been around for him to find. No! I was making yet another damn assumption.

What did I know? When Pamela found Baraqu, it had been in an object, not a person, though she had been short on details. When the Alal-shard went to the Land of the Endless Black Sands to bring Saku back, the Cáel-shard had been in reality, so it had been allowed to create a body, 'me'. Still, the curse Sarrat Irkalli placed on Baraqu was on Alal and myself as well, which meant I might just be immortal.

My Alal-mind agreed with Obsidian's assessment. In his first years, his healing had been slow, still taking days for what took mortal people weeks. I'd stupidly attributed my swift recovery to Amazon medicines, ugh. Because I got wounded more than most Security Detail trainees while concurrently entertaining two and three sex partners.

"Can you talk with Dot Ishara?" I asked her.

"Yes, but why would I?"

"Sex?"

"We are going to have sex anyway," she smiled. I'd tricked her. Set her up with the right so I could now drop her with the left.

"I can bring the mbo  tat  back to life," I pledged. That was not what she was expecting at all. "If you bring the Xiuhcoatl, I can bring the flesh and we can unite the three." Mbo  tat  was the Tupi name for the legendary 'fiery serpent' of the Amazon Basin. In Portuguese, it had become Boi-tat , a will-o-wisp with a confused, Christianized mythology ~ a serpent dwelling in darkness, devouring the eyes of corpses, glowing in the forests at night.

"Where is the flesh?" she whispered.

"In his mortal children," I replied.

"Who?"

"You are a monster, Ītzpāpālōtl. I'm not going to tell you and you don't have the time to drag the information out of my mind before my allies drop on you like a nuclear detonation," I drew my body tightly to her.

"Why would the Amazons do this?"

"They are not. This is a deal between you and me," I kissed her lips. I pulled back. A few seconds later she kissed me back.

"Why?"

"My grandfather had my father murdered and I would avenge him. In the end, despite my father's Amazon heritage, my 'Sisters' will let his death go unavenged for the greater good of the Host. He was a man and they will never look beyond that ~ they will never value his life as they would that of a woman."

"Your mother's father?"

"Yes. Cáel O'Shea of the Illuminati."

"We are not at war with the Illuminati," she murmured. It was a casual observation, not a protest.

"You are at war with Cáel O'Shea."

"He was slain."

"He didn't stay dead."

"You know much more than you are saying," she was finally catching on.

"Absolutely."

"I need much more than a few names to convince my kin to help," she purred, a cocktail of sexual immersion and flesh-flaying pain.

"I don't work for you. You are agreeing to work for me," I was hard as iron in more than one way. Why? Boundaries. She lived in a world where only the fundamentals of reality constrained her. Having a human, no matter how polished my pedigree, or how much I might appear to be 'special', tell her 'you are not the boss' in a reasonable fashion was new and very unwelcome.

"What would make you think that?"

"My mentor taught me knowledge is a curse. It is our inability to forget, and I can see into your soul, Ītzpāpālōtl. You care not one wit for the life of an assassin. But the thought of the other 'Factors' of the 9 Clans treating you as an equal galls you almost as much as the crushing reality that you need them.

"You have lived 500 years in chains and I'm offering you a desperate grab at freedom," I added.

"Your brief glimpse of immortality gives you no insight into my existence," she bristled.

"Oh, how many have given up? How many have decided the fight was no longer worth it and faded from the Sunlight to make their final trip into the Underworld, never to return? Do you even visit them?" I spoke with a voice tinged with compassion and loss. I pulled upon the pitiless, blank memories of a childless Alal all those centuries and imprinted on them my own fears of fatherhood and failure.

"How do you know so much?" she let her fa ade crack, then blow away, in the hollowness of her own sorrow. How could I pity such a monster? I could because I was me and I wouldn't surrender that to the barbaric past and most likely horrific future. I pulled her close, resting my chin on the top of her head.

"You are not the first, wonderful, very bright woman who has stepped into my life, Obsidian," I whispered. "You are not even the first divinity. For all the millions of differences enforced by power and time, I think love, hate and the conflict between the two wear upon us all. If anything, you face an endless parade of hope and misery. Even if you chose to ignore it, you have seen it and perhaps it leaves its marks ~ water scarring the rocks of a riverbed."

We paused. I was able to peripherally scan about and realize we'd made it to Central Park ~ the Ramble and off the beaten path.

"Your Goddess is a fool for not keeping you closer," she murmured.

"She does keep me close. You have been actively keeping me from her," I reminded my guest. "She also plays by the rules, so is of limited help in my plans for vengeance."

Translation: I could enlist Ītzpāpālōtl's aid while still remaining loyal to my matron Goddess. Ishara could not provide what I needed and my Amazons wouldn't agree with my scheme, so I needed her. Three hours ago, she wouldn't have considered me a worthy supplicant, much less an allied equal, yet here she was conspiring with me to shake the foundations of Creation.

Personally, I was thanking Mamitu, Destiny. Had I not been having my worst Sunday ever when we first crossed paths and then acted like a total cockhead, pissed her off and led her to holding Sarrat Irkalli's dagger, thus putting her life in my hands, and not had Timothy as a best friend, I wouldn't have taken her to the movie, and my mind wouldn't have wandered down those dark corridors of Alal's memories to piece things together.

Whatever itinerary Obsidian had approached me with, my abrasive behavior had forced her to it cast aside. Dagger, movie, revelations, I was now so much more in her eyes than she had envisioned.

"Share my need and share with me an ounce of your sorrow," I murmured to her as I gently curled my fingers in her hair and directed her head up until she faced me.

"The dagger," she rumbled. While she was stroking my hard-on, I knew she was using it as a double meaning.

"I was pinned to an onyx sacrificial table," I began my tale. We worked off pants to mid-thigh then 'got busy'. Penetration was only going to be possible by turning her around. Ground-breaking was her ready acceptance of my instruction. I leaned against a tree, then pulled her onto my lap. She guided my phallus home.

One locomotion and I sunk in deep. It was warm molasses until I hit and pressed against her cervix. For a second Obsidian trembled, then her muscles clamped down tightly, gripping my manhood firmly in a vise, keeping me still.

"Ah," I groaned. Obsidian had her neck twisted, so we were kissing with eye contact as I described my adventures with the Gong tau sorcerers. She shot me a quick twinkle of delight, a connection. She'd relayed physical pleasure in the way I was giving her cerebral gratification, aka hope.

I rolled up her shirt, and gave both nipples a brutal tweak in response. She gasped. I was applying a little 'rough' with my tender intercourse. She rolled her tush against my groin, an invitation to double-down on my nipple-play. I kept my left hand working over each tit while working my fingernails down her abdomen. As I described the terror in old Tsu's face as he shouted out 'M iyǒu! (Mandarin for 'No!') as he recognized too late the curse he was invoking. She relished the visual of the Han necromancer's terror.

'Me' smacking two fingers down on her clit earned me a squeal and a small gush of fluids on my nut-sack. Her look of astonishment was something I'd always cherish. Before me, sex was something she demanded from her followers/victims and definitely orchestrated. Her partners being fearful/worshipful must have limited their initiative.

"A-a-a-ah, we are being observed," she groaned, her lips less than an inch from mine. It took me a second.

"Which direction?" I kept pumping her, strumming her clit and treating her tit like taffy on a hot Coney Island summer afternoon. Her hooded eyes flickered to our right. I gave it ten seconds. I had to get Obsidian refocused on what I was going to do to her next, in case this was innocent voyeurism. Nope. It was Chaz.

Why Chaz? See, I'm an idiot. My cryptic warning to Timothy for Pamela had been good for all of one minute. He'd called her and she'd gathered what she could and come looking for me.

Why was she concerned? I was babbling to Timothy then wandering off with a 'beyond-freaky' chick I had just met named 'Obsidian' who came my way courtesy of another chick with the name of Estere.

Let me see, Estere was Hashashin and for Timothy to describe someone in my life as 'beyond freaky' was bad news. Timothy was seriously worried about me and Timothy was an emotional rock ~ he didn't panic. Lest we forget, I was in a federal taskforce. A quick peek into New York traffic cameras revealed me and Obsidian wandering into Central Park from the south, so in the rescue party went, splitting up and Chaz 'lucked-out'.

I still had two, no, three problems. I was really enjoying my sexual excursion with Obsidian and she was seeming to truly enjoy her experience with me. Oh, and Central Park is big, Pamela had been pressed for people, so she had pressed some unlikely participants into my rescue party.

"He's," smooch, "my brother, by adoption," I headed off the whole idea she'd been briefed on me already.

"Visual, Peacekeeper Six, OS2, L-11," Chaz muttered into his headset before taking up a casual stance on the path overlooking our trysting spot. Sex with an audience didn't bother her, so, we worked out as much action from twist, turns and two inches of in-and-out motions (she liked to keep our bodies tight) as we could. Obsidian was humming along in no time. Her vaginal walls were undulating, wearing away at my self-control.

Panting, not from us,

"Is he o, are they, who is she?" huffed and puffed a trio of voices from Chaz's locale. Oh. Pamela had recruited my 'Hounds'.

I accidently (from a timing perspective) took that moment to grind my nails into her left nipple, pinched her clit and hammered her as hard as I could. Obsidian howled. Her vocalization exited the human realm in a cataclysmic manner.

The noise scared avians a mile away into terrorized flight. Cats hissed, then raced for cover. Dogs tucked tail and ran. Streetlights a hundred yards away shattered in sprays of glass. Better yet, for the entertainment of my viewing public, she lashed out with her right hand at the closest Black Cherry sapling, exploding it into a mist of sap and pulverizing the bark and wood fiber into pulp.

On the downside, her cervix gave my balls an ultimatum ~ release my seed at once, or she was going to twist off my head. My cock and balls have a long history of making decisions without me. I began lavishing her. Before I finally got the feeling I was out of the danger zone. She was back to rubbing against me and purring in blissful satisfaction.

"Onun g zleri," whispered Belgin, one of the Turks. 'Her eyes'?

"Cáel, are you aware of the alternative nature of your liaison?" Chaz coolly cautioned me. Translation: 'mate, do you know you have your cock in a demon?'

"Yeah," I coughed. I had a face full of her hair. I was working on some post-coital nuzzling along with slowly helping her get her pants back up.

"Ininzqueoccehpa," she hummed to me, ignoring our gathering. That was 'let's do this again'.

"Tehuatlcochitlehua," I replied with some fondness. She studied me for a second before deciding my term was one of endearment, thus 'you are what dreams are made of', not 'nightmares'.

Obsidian had another issue to deal with. Timothy would call it a righteous cocking. Whatever it was, her hold on her human mein had slipped and her inhumanity was slipping through, mainly in her glass-like, black, multi-facetted eyes and her fingers which now ended in molten obsidian talons. On the subconscious level, her predatory nature was setting everyone close-by on edge. I could also make out the high pitched, ultrasonic pipping of her chiropteran cries ~ purpose unknown.

Obsidian made her way off farther into the underbrush leaving me a few precious seconds to appreciate her retreating posterior while holstering my equipment. More people were arriving. I had one more thing to take care of before, oh look, Nikita had brought her Mom along, the NYPD Sergeant.

"Chaz, I need to have a quick chat with Dot before I can explain things. She's been waiting and that's unwise," I looked to the Brit. He nodded.

"Cáel? Mr. Nyilas? Prince?" all came my way. I relaxed as best I could. Chaz went to a body blow to stagger me, then an epic upper cut to send me to Lullaby Land.

Dot & the Dragoness

Dot and SzelAnya, in dragon form, were waiting as I tumbled forward. By the state of my haziness, I knew my unconsciousness wouldn't last long.

"You gave her your seed," came the accusation.

"Yes," I staggered, "and now you should be able to track her," I pointed out the bonus part of the arrangement. No comment.

"I've got to make this quick, SzelAnya, I've found your father, geographically speaking," I dropped the bomb.

"Don't," Dot Ishara commanded. After all, she and her divine cohorts had done the killing and corpse-dividing eons ago. Undoubtedly, they'd executed their own oaths to one another to 'never reveal what they had done' as well.

"Too late," I shook my head. SzelAnya's attention was magnetized. "I owe you and I'm paying my debts. I'm not blind to the dangers, believe me."

"You have no idea what power you are invoking," Dot's undercurrent of displeasure was the worst I'd experienced.

"Wrong. I've got thousands of years of Alal boiling around in my head, Plus the rest of you betrayed her 2600 years ago. It doesn't mean I have to. And now, given the chance, I'm not. Even if you kill me, she's got enough to

Back in the Ramble

"Really expect me to believe," Nikita's mom was growling.

"Man down," I waved a weak arm skyward.

"Mr. Nyilas, what is going on here?" the Sergeant addressed me. I was reclining in a circle of my 'Hounds'; most were kneeling. Chaz was in a tiny bit of trouble for having clocked me.

"Umm, thanks for coming out and looking for me. I assure you, Mr. Tomorrow did what he did as a matter of his professional duties ~ intelligence gathering." As I struggled to stand, my ladies helped me. I saw Pamela with three Hounds coming up fast from one direction and Virginia with three more coming from the other. The gang was all here.

The mutterings in non-English tongues suggested a bit of explaining was already going on.

"You've been bleeding," Nikita pointed out with an unspoken 'again'.

"This?" I pulled my shirt out and looked at the first bloodstain of my encounter. "This is the just the start of the bad news." I shed my windbreaker and then t-shirt.

The professionals shouldered aside the others to take a closer look.

"All of these are from noon and less than an hour ago," I identified the damage. Sarge was skeptical. Chaz, Nikita and Virginia less so.

"They look older," the senior lawman noted.

"I've been curious about that," Chaz frowned.

"I've inherited my Grandfather's curse. My soul fragment was in the 'Here and Now' twenty-three years ago while his was, 'over there', so I was allowed to come into creation. According to my recently departed guest,"

"You are immortal," Virginia mumbled to finish the thought. Had the speaker not been a member of the FBI, who knows how the thought would have been received.

"From the memories I've been gifted with," I tapped the tiny divot on my forehead, "his healing abilities started out rather slowly too. I certainly don't want to test this theory, so no worries there," I scanned the group.

"How do you explain seeing your Grandfather in Hungary and again in Rome?" Virginia wondered.

"Again, that woman who just left," I got out.

"Was no woman," Nuray, another one of my Turkish Hounds interrupted. "Her eyes..." she tried to explain, "and look what she did to that tree," she pointed to the greatest piece of evidence of supernatural wrongdoing. The other two witnesses nodded.

"We all saw the same thing. Her eyes were, bottomless, definitely not human," Belgin affirmed. The veteran players looked to Chaz.

"She had a collapsed nose-bridge, lacked a blink response, her dental work was carnivorous and her tongue was extremely clipped and showed prehensile qualities," he reported calmly. Pause. Chaz was a freaking intelligence operative, after all.

"If her hands were a type of glove weaponry, I've never seen it s like before. While I know it is possible for a human to exert the force-pounds necessary to snap a two inch diameter tree trunk in one blow, it is a rare skill and requires intense discipline. This appeared to be done spontaneously, without preparation of any kind and as a reaction to other stimuli," he added.

"It was also your assessment he needed to be knocked unconscious?" Nikita's mom countered.

"Mr. Nyilas' psychological constructs are something the whole team has to work around. At times, he seeks 'insight' from his mind in a deliberately unconscious/non-sleep state," he replied.

"He claims to be talking with spirit powers. I know when he returns to consciousness, he delivers useful intelligence. I'm not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or psychic. I don't know why his mind functions that way. I do know results. And I know I work with people who would achieve those results by other means if it were at all possible. Since we haven't found another method, we accept that from time to time, Mr. Nyilas will be rendered unconscious for the benefit of the team."

"So you would beat him to death for 'results'?" she squared off with the Brit.

"No. That is horribly simplistic, Ms. Kutuzov," Chaz exhaled evenly. "I value Cáel’s life deeply. Not only is he a genuinely decent human being, his actions have saved millions of lives. It is not a matter of hurting him in order to save one life, or five, or ten. It is never that clear-cut. I know Cáel is in his right mind and trying to make a difference. I owe it to him to support him when I can."

"Today, right now, it means I fulfilled a requirement for his inner psychic workings. Had he been confused, or near death, I would have refused. As your daughter can explain better than I, working with Cáel Nyilas gives 'complicated' a whole new meaning."

Nikita nodded vigorously.

"Fine," Sarge folded her arms. To me: "Maybe you can explain what the panic is all about."

"This will make as much sense as the plot of A Stranger Gets Mean," I rolled my shoulders. I was putting my shirt back on, buying time.

"Which one is that?" Pamela gave me a twist of the lips ~ a smirk-in-training.

"The last of the A Stranger films with Tony Anthony," I smiled her way.

"The one with the sneaky gunslinger, the Princess, the Moors and the generic barbarian horde?"

"Yeah."

"How can you know, ah, in the first film, the girl with the whip," Pamela got snarky.

"Don't obfuscate the question," Sarge persisted.

"I'm not. How does a young man not know Unforgiven, which won four Academy Awards, yet knows all four of the A Stranger films, which I'm sure no one else here has ever heard of," Pamela grinned at the other older woman.

"Maybe, kinda, sorta and it was at a film festival in Keene," I supplied the alternate answer.

"Sgt. Kutuzov, I work with horrible people and the best reason I can think of to keep going back to work is around me right now," I let my eyes flicker from her steely gaze to the assembly. "The truth is, I was in danger and at a moment's notice, seventeen people showed up to help. That I worked my way through the dilemma before you arrived doesn't diminish, in my eyes, what so many were willing to do on my behalf."

"So,"

"So, the women is evil and part of the leadership of a faction your government is allied with in the goings-on elsewhere around the globe. By evil, I mean ritualized rape to breed future pawns for their struggle, plus human sacrifice and blood offerings on a regular basis, in addition to the usual bad. I had to impress upon her I was going to be a useful ally," and heading off the accusing looks, "and in a manner which went way beyond bedroom antics.

"See, it turns out my side is inadvertently doing shit which could bring about the end of the world," I lathered it on. "No lie. Don't trust me. Trust the look in the eyes of people who know and work with me." I let the Hounds and Sarge do just that. "So, the people we are fighting, are trying to save the world, but for their own selfish ends, which don't work out well for anyone standing in this circle we have today."

"So, I have to balance keeping my side safe ~ thus endangering existence ~ and stop our opposition, yet keep them in play long enough to tie up the forces actually trying to destroy all life on Earth, at least until I can deal with them too. That has been my afternoon so far," I finished up.

Yep. I was a nutty-nut bar slathered in nut crumbs and buttered in nut oil. Then the 'sane' folks looked at the other supposedly 'sane' folks who doubled as my co-workers. Even Nikita, who hadn't been 'read-in' to most of what JIKIT did, was nodding along, totally accepting my blathering's as gospel.

"Special Agent Maddox, is it?" Mamma Kutuzov turned on the one other adult she might respect, the Federal law-dog.

"Sergeant, I've seen things I'm unsure about. Of greater importance, I've seen otherwise completely sane, rational people behave inexplicably around Cáel, for both good and ill."

"Would I stand in front of the Head of the FBI and testify Cáel Nyilas Wakko Ishara was a supernatural entity, I'm afraid I would. I can't pinpoint any precise act. It is more how those who know him react to things he does which he shouldn't be able to do, telling us things he has no rational explanation to know and speaking in languages he's never been known to be in contact with before," Virginia forged ahead.

"Then you take in the evaluations of the other 'normal' people we work with, people like the Color Sergeant here and Special Agent Loire. When service professionals start referring to the people in the field they are working with as 'Ninja'. Or how the Great Khan, a man Cáel’s age, ruthlessly leads one of the largest nation's on Earth and considers Cáel his brother," she left her thoughts about the Great Khan dangling.

"So your engagement to this Sulkanen woman is politically-based," Mamma turned on me. Oh, the 'had I been toying with Nikita' question.

"I don't look at it that way," I met her stare. "Hana has been working overtime to make our union something more than a hollow parody. Sadly, my grotesque life is relentless and maturity is not something I ever had planned to embrace."

"Now I'm looking at fatherhood times eleven," I got out in a wistful tone.

"Eleven?" multiple voices chorused.

"One is with Hana," I aimed at Nikita and Nikita's mom. The pace of my declaration meant I wasn't a Lothario, or dead-beat Dad. I was happy about having children, unhappy about marriage, yet accepting my 'screw-ups' as my responsibilities.

"This is because you are the last of your bloodline?" Flannery questioned.

"I don't like thinking of my sons and daughters that way, but yes. Of my Father's family, outside his unmarried sister, I'm it. I am also expected to establish alliances with other entities and often the only value we share is our love of our offspring."

"Is anyone else 'contributing'?" Mamma persisted. Pamela frowned. Not good.

"Havenstone is notorious for not sharing, working poorly with others and for holding male lives valueless, so until my arrival, such deals were not possible. Within Havenstone, they do have the custom of adopting daughters," I hurried things along. "Within the other two groups we are allying with, such blood exchanges are more common."

"Is this practice going to stop when you are married?"

"No."

"Mom," Nikita intervened, "Cáel isn't leading these women on. I admit his, and their, behavior is odd. His whole life is rather inexplicable. You'd have to see him interacting with his co-workers to understand how much words fail to describe what it's like around him."

"Nikita, we can start by talking about these twelve," Mamma took in my Hounds with a sweeping arm gesture, "European girls showing up at the drop of a hat, plus my long history dealing with Marilyn Saint James and Desiree Fredrickson, both of whom I have suddenly stopped seeing... right after he showed up in their lives. I know Mr. Nyilas, Cáel, is miles beyond what you find in the pages of the New York Times. I'm worried about you."

"Wonderful. Let's get out of here," Pamela began to corral us. As we began moving along, Virginia pulled out her phone and gave 'work' a call: They'd found me and I was okay. Me? I couldn't chat at the moment. I had a 3:30 pm with Oneida (and Shawnee for some portion of the meeting no doubt; I was making her a grandmother).

"I've been talking with Pamela and I may have a way out of your conundrum with these twelve," Chaz sidled up to me. The twelve in question were in hushed conversation in four languages, going over what the first three had seen.

"Yes?" I looked his way. He seemed especially serious.

"Yes. We Tomorrows have a few people schooled in the military arts. Notably, my Uncle Mason, former SAS with 30 years in, my cousin Tanwen Tomorrow, has been a staff instructor for the Honorable Artillery Company (she was not an artillerists), my older sister Estelle ~ now a Carew, former Royal Marines and my older brother Todd, former SRR, are all currently capable of doing you, me and the world a favor."

"They'd train my, Hounds? Not kill them?"

"As you pointed out, there is more to a person than physical strength. There is character and willingness to dare. There is a spirit of adventure and a desire to risk not only their lives, but save the lives of the woman next to them. Fighting skills, endurance and discipline can be instilled with the proper training and motivation. You provide the motivation. Let my clan provide the rest," Chaz offered.

"Who will I owe?"

"Me and mine, Cáel. You are the Head of an Amazon First House, Blood-brother to the Great Khan, Diplomat of the Host, father to a wonderful little girl and grandson to a woman who is as much family to me as anyone born of my blood, or who I have ever had the pleasure to spill blood beside," he confided.

"Okay."

"Do me a favor?" he asked softly.

"Sure."

"I think I might be a father. Getting her to talk about it, isn't happening and this isn't something I can ask Pamela to look into," he requested. Chaz had been banging one of the SD ladies assigned to JIKIT's protection force. A man of Chaz's character wasn't the type to mosey through the available herd. No, he'd picked one and, since things had worked out, he'd loyally stuck with her.

Neither lover would mention 'word-one' about a commitment. And if she was pregnant, it was easy to conclude she would believe it was none of his concern. If it was a male, we wouldn't know until, month four and a half, or five,

"Name?"

"Tavi Gentry, of House Stolgos."

I recalled her ~ around thirty, black hair, caramel skin, short (5' 4") with small breasts with wide hips and a tight, hard body.

"I'll find out," I grinned. "Of more immediate concern to you, as of 7:30 this morning, all male Amazon children are to be given over to the Royal House instead of slain. I'm already working on exemptions for myself and the future House SzelAnya."

"How did you pull that off?"

"Thank Queen Aya next time you see her," I grew crafty. I should have known better. Chaz hid his surprise too well.

"I'll do that."

I saw Pamela looking my way intently. Her eyes bugged out and she mouthed 'Aya?', then a huge 'Wow!' I was glad someone was both happy and surprised.

{3:00 pm Sunday, September 7th ~ last day}

"Now aren't you glad we tagged along?" Pamela said loudly enough to draw attention from the onlookers. She was still beating me up for sending Juanita away and for running off with an avatar-Goddess of the Cult of the Jaguar. But we would have been drawing attention anyway.

See, I was in my least-favorite place to get beat up: the Full-blooded gym at Havenstone. Oh, the Amazons knew me by now. They knew Pamela too. It was my other four 'guests' which were drawing the attention/ire. Three were 'outsider' women:

FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox was known to a few of the Security Services and the Security Detail Amazons, who quickly spread the word about who she was. If they hadn't, well her grey workout attire with yellow FBI lettering on it would have helped clarify any confusion.

The other two were New York Police officers Nikita Kutuzov and her mother, Larisa (aka 'The Desk Sergeant'). Those two were with me because Larisa had been insistent on coming and Pamela had publically announced it was a 'capital idea', there-by vacating my veto.

"I thought you were a bigwig?" Larisa Kutuzov had accused me.

"I am, but she scares everyone," I'd shrugged helplessly. Larisa then looked to Pamela, who shrugged as if she couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of her. So those two, dressed in navy blue workout attire labeled NYPD with golden lettering, were also accompanying me into Pain Central.

Had those three outsiders not been with me, it wouldn't really have mattered in the 'attention getting' department because my fourth guest was Chaz. Yeah, Chaz. Mind you, Chaz hadn't wanted to come either, but Pamela insisted I might need help before all this shit sorted itself out.

Chaz wasn't as 'pretty' as me, but compensated by possessing the aura of a professional elite warrior ~ calm, detached and unflappable in a crisis such as calmly walking into a room where 200 women wanted to kill you:

... a third of them wanted to rape you, then kill you,

... another third wanted to kill you by raping you (Chaz was awfully 'manly' after all),

... and the balance just wanted to kill you and move on to whatever was next.

Now, what the fuck was I doing in the Full-blooded gym? I had promised to meet Oneida to discuss our hastily revealed 'Warrior's Love' during this morning's council session, right before Rhada attacked her. But why was Oneida meeting me in the gym?

As I scanned about upon entry, I saw Oneida and my heart sank. My bad day clearly was not getting better. A portion of the sparring mats closest to me had been cleared out for a circular meeting of kneeling Amazons, who were most certainly waiting for 'Yours Truly'. Thirteen Amazons were waiting for me. I knew them all, five intimately. Closest to my left were three members of House Zorja: House Head Jana, her Apprentice Marlene and my old buddy Elsa.

To their left were Shawnee and Oneida of House Arinniti. Opposite me was the Keeper of Records, Krasimira, with the augur Tad fi and their guardians; Sikia and the persistently with Krasimira whose name I'd never gotten. Beside them were Mahdi and Rhada. Closing the circle were the Head and Apprentice of House Bendis: Klavdiya and Gale.

The moment I saw Tad fi, any half-assed plan I was cobbling together flew out the window. Sikia was holding Tad fi's hand which she clenched when she caught sight of me. I hadn't believed I would ever see the augur alive again, yet here she was. Fuck it all. I was vaguely aware of Pamela telling Chaz and Virginia to 'clear the road'.

"Ishara," the Apprentice of House Maeve, Rhonwenn, decided to make a protest in front of the onlookers, "these strangers are not welcome." She moved toward me. By the five companions she was bringing along, she expected some level of resistance. Fortunately, she was addressing me/us in Old Kingdom Hittite, which meant only Pamela and I understood what the heck she was saying.

"Rhonwenn," I turned on her with teary eyes, "the Mother of my first born daughter is here when it was prophesied I would never hold her again this side of the cliffs. If I hug her, I can hug them both and show them I share my love," I led with my heart's song.

"First born?" Rhonwenn frowned.

"Yes. By Ishara's command, the augur Tad fi was the first to have her destiny twisted by the Goddess. The price will be her life to bring the first Isharan daughter to her first breath. In a dream, I was told I would never see her again," I moved past her.

"What of the strangers?" she followed along.

"Leave this to me," Pamela grabbed Rhonwenn's arm and pulled her aside. The old witch had arranged things so Nikita and Mamma peeled off to support her, leaving Virginia to cover our back and Chaz to watch my other flank.

I stepped between Elsa and Klavdiya Bendis, vaguely asking for their pardon as I passed them. Tad fi seemed sullen, so I boomed subsonic rumblings from deep within my diaphragm. It was a wordless message to her. Murmurs of 'Cael' and 'Ishara' floated around. I wanted to hug Tad fi; I fell to my knees before her. My hands flew to her hips as she reached out, determined to find me despite her blindness.

Her fingers brushed along my chest. I was dead set on showering her face with kisses. Tad fi's right hand danced to my lips while her left hand's fingertips traced along my tear tracks. She started to weep too.

"You are crying," Tad fi needlessly pointed out.

"I thought I would never see you again," I breathed over her fingers.

"The Goddesses often show us what might be, not what must be," her words lilted harmonically. "Perhaps you bear such grief, you have recast the Weave itself, my Cáel."

I had to think about that for a second. The Weave operated outside the strictures of Time as we humans saw it. It acting in a compassionate way toward me wasn't something I was seriously entertaining, but perhaps my actions had tripped up a few things. I certainly felt I needed a few extra hugs.

"Could it not be the love of Tad fi which has altered events?" I turned things around. "You are the first mother-augur I've ever heard of." Yeah, I was ignoring the crowd around us. It was both good and bad. Bad was me showing affection to one lady when I was here for showing affection to too many women (in their opinion.) The good was me paying attention to the one who had the least, the one whose fate the rest would simply rather not think about.

"I am an augur. I," her words trailed off. She was a slave to the Weave; a sacrifice by the Host to the mysticism of the world around them. However an augur ended up casted as an augur, I always had the impression her sisterhood quickly tried to forget them as the individuals they had once been. Well screw that notion. A hand came to rest on my shoulder. It was the guardian, Sikia. Whatever everyone else thought, I was earning serious Brownie points in her book.

"Hey Sikia. Sorry. Didn't mean to ignore you," I gave a sheepish grin.

"I understand, Ishara," she bowed her head slightly. "Tad fi told me of your visitation." For me it had been a dream. For Tad fi, it had been a waking moment. Krasimira coughed. I had business to attend to.

"Right-O!" I said as I kissed the augur's fingers. Next, I leaned awkwardly over and gave a full, lusty French kiss to Sikia.

That wasn't what most of the attendees thought I was supposed to be doing, but I still had to be me. I pushed up rapidly to both keep the initiative and to give the impression I was about to topple over backwards. I needed that split-second of uncertainty from a certain someone. I spun, slipped my right hand behind Rhada's neck and planted my lips firmly on hers.

I was standing up, towering over the Indian Princess, so she had to bend her body backwards as I pressed in. The 'oh please fuck me now' moan boiled up from deep within Rhada and couldn't be misunderstood by anyone who had been given an orgasm which took them to the peak of their physical and mental limitations. The person I had to make 'uncertain' wasn't Rhada, it was Mahdi.

In this instant, Rhada needed to know she mattered to me most of all. The rest could be relied on to create emotional-social constructs to explain our chaotic relationship. Rhada and I were too raw. She needed an open and public declaration I wasn't going anywhere or denying there was an 'us'. When I finally pulled away, Rhada's eyes were feverish, her bosom heaved with passion and I'd banished her doubts. Oh, and Mahdi was furious.

"Mahdi," I bowed in acknowledgment, spun away before her retort spilled forth, took five steps and went to one knee before Oneida. I leaned in awkwardly; Oneida figured out my intentions and met my embrace halfway. Our kiss, while packing in all the accessories, was more sedate and romantic ~ what Oneida deserved. I left her smiling. Better for me, I left with Shawnee giving me a veiled sign of her approval. I hadn't gone to Oneida first, but she recognized I was acting in a diplomatic fashion, which was probably for the best as far as the Host was concerned.

In a maneuver reminiscent of a Cossack, I went knee to knee from Oneida to Gale. Gale recoiled. We'd had sex, not a relationship.

"May I kiss your hand?" I requested. She shot her House Head a worried look.

"Isn't it a little late for that," Klavdiya's words dripped with venom. What I hadn't appreciated was while Klavdiya was the House Head, she also was Gale's 'Big Sister'. Whoops.

I risked it and took Gale's hand anyway.

"For friendship and respect," I planted a firm kiss on her knuckles. "For affection and gratitude," I said as I turned her hand over and planted delicate kisses on her fingertips and finally her palm. It took her a second to play catch-up.

"What are you grateful for?" Gale asked.

"Oh," I faux-hesitated. "Well, our love-making was wonderful for me. I hoped," and Gale blushed.

"Chaz, do you like seafood?" Pamela asked casually (and in English).

"I'm from an island-nation. It is somewhat of a necessity," he replied deadpan. I kept deep, meaningful eye-contact with Gale, seemingly ignoring the mutterings around us. Implying any woman you've slept with, even as a One Night Stand, had been a completely memorable experience is an indispensable dating skill (i.e., so please ignore the other women presently bearing my children, my fiancée and my other past, current and hopefully future sexual misadventures.)

"Would you let my sister's hand go?" Klavdiya growled (back to IN HITTITE). I was on the sparring mat, so force escalation was highly likely. I reluctantly released Gale's hand. She had the ego-boosting effect of sighing as she let my hand slide away from hers.

"So," I looked around as I stood. "Why are we here?"

"The Queen wishes peace," Krasimira began. I felt warm inside. Aya was looking out for me.

"Cool," I beamed. "Where do I sit?"

"Where is the rest of House Ishara?" Krasimira's gaze flickered to the outsiders with me.

"I travel alone. These are Pamela Cotytto's buddies," I lied. That earned a whole series of looks for both me and my entourage.

"Oh," Krasimira accepted my lie at face value. "Pamela, you are not welcome here at this meeting."

"I choose to be rude," Pamela responded.

"This has been long overdue," Elsa stood. I had no idea who would win an Elsa vs. Pamela fight. I wasn't going to find out today because a dozen Amazons looked ready to make this an unfair brawl.

"Okay," I intervened. "I had a fight with my bodyguard earlier today, then a confrontation with the Cult of the Jaguar this afternoon which required Pamela and the rest having to come rescue me. Besides, the rest don't speak our language."

"You are among sisters, Ishara," Krasimira chided me. "Practice the truth."

I didn't scoff. That would have been impolite and highly unwise. "I'll do my best," I bowed my head. "I'll also stand here in the middle, since everyone else seems comfortable." That meant no one would have to make space for Pamela and company.

"As I said," Krasimira began again, "our Queen wishes peace between our houses and hopes the blood of Ishara can facilitate this somewhat."

'Oh, they are going to take turns beating me up,' was the first thing to come to my mind and probably some others' as well.

"How so?" I asked first. The words were forming on other lips as I spoke.

"By the adoption of daughters among those gathered here," Krasimira stated.

"No!" Rhada blurted out. Oneida's hand protectively went over her womb.

"For peace," Krasimira suggested to Rhada. Mahdi was livid over our shared indiscretion as well as Rhada's outburst. If Rhada hadn't already been placed on the Regency Council, Mahdi might have removed her status as Apprentice.

"What does this have to do with us?" Jana Zorja gave a worried look.

"It was thought a child of Elsa Zorja and Cáel Ishara could be adopted by House Meenakshi (aka Mahdi and Rhada)."

"We have not had intercourse," Elsa clarified at her House Head's glance, "though if I had, it would be none of your business since I am presently with the Security Detail." Jana bristled, as did Marlene.

"I do not sleep with every Amazon I feel a connection with here at Havenstone," I protested. "And at the start I always used a condom. Even with the Goddess Ishara's command, I have never wanted to bring any woman grief. I certainly don't want to create trading tokens because of some feud which happened before I stepped foot in this wacky place. Besides, Gale might not be,"

"I am," Gale sulked.

"Fine," I soaked up more bad news from the Man-Dog-Pig perspective, "I will not agree to trade a single child of Ishara."

"Besides," Mahdi glowered at Rhada, "it could be a son." Ouch. Rhada looked as if her mother had just slapped her; worse, had strangled her favorite kitten before her eyes.

"We can settle that matter," Krasimira continued guiding the meeting. "We are in the presence of an augur after all." Oh, that was why I was meeting Tad fi here! "It helps if she has a link to the fate of a person she seeks to investigate as well as something the person loves."

"Oh, so we are going to castrate him and hand her his balls?" Mahdi muttered. Whoa now!

"Such as?" I inquired.

"A personal belonging, or body part; hair will do," Krasimira informed me.

"Oh," I sighed happily. I went over to Tad fi, knelt before her and took her right hand to place upon my lips. "To read the fates of me and my children, you need some of my hair or that of someone I love?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Your hair will do, if there is any doubt, Tad fi."

"I knew that," she announced, "but I wanted to 'hear' you say it," she shared her joy with the crowd.

"Would it help to have some of my hair as well?" I proffered.

"It would indeed," her lips trembled sensuously. I pulled out my trusty Amazon blade and sawed off a few locks while she did the same. I handed them over.

"Step back," Sikia cautioned me. She didn't need to. The moment my hair touched Tad fi's hands, other presences entered the room behind her ~ terrifying and majestic in their power, the goddesses and mystic protectors of the augurs, Istustaya and Papaya.

They seemed to be as surprised I could see them as I was to be seeing them. The room's dimensions distorted and lost all clear points of reference. It was the illusions which concealed the Weave being laid bare. Unlike her sisters, Tad fi's life's essence was burning down brightly to a very pre-determined end, the birth of our daughter, Shala; there would be no slow, lingering demise for her. Added to that, she was the Sixth Augur.

When the other five augurs had pierced the Veil of the Weave with her to find the Ally the Host needed most, the agony had been too much for them. The Five had soaked up all that pain and agony, ending their lives so the Sixth could bear the message to the person the Weave dictated could wield the news most effectively, me.

As 'payment', Dot Ishara had insisted I have sex with Tad fi, guaranteeing the death of her poison-racked body with the birth of our offspring. I had done so callously. Tad fi had done so, for her own reasons, perhaps to end the echoes of the death screams of her sisters as they fulfilled their mission.

Now the possible destinies of my other children were being discussed and the two goddesses were making an appearance. Perhaps they were aware the Heir of Vranus was playing Russian roulette with Creation. More likely, they knew I was up to something, yet in the tangled weave of all the possible futures, they couldn't tell what dangers existed amid all the darkness and confusion.

Tad fi spit into her hands as she rolled our combined hairs together. When she had created one long strand, she began to pull the concoction apart. The first effort fell into two parts. I didn't know what to make of that. Thank goodness I'm not an augur.

"I see a, closet," the augur's brow furrowed. "A woman in shadow, a fast horse, bearing messages,"

I had to put that together. My closet-ninja who I'd ridden like the Pony Express, Miyako Yuki.

"A member of the 7 Families of the Ninja," I provided.

"Twin daughters," Tad fi made her prediction. Wow! Lithe, slender Miyako with twins would be tough. I had to get word to her. How had Saku missed that? Twin souls?

"Ah, Fushichou and Yozora," I conjured the second name. "That is Suwais-urāni and Ispantnepi  in our tongue."

The next was an equitable serpentine entwining of her white hair and my black.

"Peaceful, beautiful and strong of body and mind, an exemplar of our people, Parvati?" Tad fi worked through the next bit of soothsaying. Her face clouded, even as Rhada's brightened. "She will die still in her youth ~ much loved and a bitter foe." When an augur predicted 'peaceful' she didn't mean 'non-violent', she meant 'of calm mind'. 'Youth' didn't mean child; it meant in your first decade of being caste. Still, that sucked big time for the three of us ~ Mother, Father and Daughter.

"My granddaughter will die a hero of the Host?" Mahdi murmured. 'Bitter Foe' meant 'hated by our enemies' thus a memorable threat to them. The augur was still in the midst of her soothsaying.

The third casting was a bit of hair in a loop.

"A son of two houses and three lives, many loving sisters and favored by his mothers."

Hmm, two houses was easy: Amazon and someone else. Three lives, I knew one group who played at being a third person ~ the Hashashin.

"Bih l asan," I supplied the name Estere Abed and I had been toying with. In Kurdish it meant 'keep it simple'. What better advice could I give a son of mine?

"A daughter of Bendis," Tad fi announced as she traced a corkscrewed bit of bound hair. Gale gasped. "Inky blackness, a night sky with few stars, a place which is cold beyond cold, yet warmed by hope and fearlessness, the Moon grows small, yet is strong in her heart."

Sounded like utter nonsense, except I worked with JIKIT. It only took me a few seconds.

"Gale, our daughter is going to be an astronaut," I turned her way. Skepticism and disbelief surrounded me. "Gale, her God-uncle is the Great Khan, who not only controls the largest Russian spaceport, he also has captured the largest spaceport in China as well. He controls the third spaceport in China too, if you want to rub it in," I added. "And, if the Amazons do send someone into space, who better than a child of the Moon?" Bendis was the Thracian Lunar deity.

"Why?" Gale finally asked.

"Did our Queen not say 'the world is too small a place'?" I answered. "Why shouldn't the Amazons seek a future out among the stars? We have certainly headed out into the dangerous Unknown before and survived. Now we have access to the resources to help us do just that."

"Those are outsiders," Gale protested. House Bendis was part of the Conservative faction of the Council.

"I'm not making this up, Gale. Tad fi is. Have you thought of a name?"

"Ah, no."

"How about Hantezzi-pēda?" I suggested. It had two meanings. Long form: 'First Place'. Short form: 'Lucky'. I left her to digest that because the augur hadn't stopped.

"A large temple without a roof filled with people, a son and daughter, a white stallion rises up upon the graves of thirteen kings. A gift of two rivers steeped in blood. Ana-Călina," she stumbled over the names, "and  rp d." The last name I knew, which boiled back to the roofless temple ~ the Sz kesfeh rv r Basilica in Hungary where I planned to marry Hana was a ruin, roofless. Two sets of twins? My family didn't have a history of twins. I'd check with Hana, but I strongly suspected my matron deity sticking it to me once again.

Maybe I should buy my own daycare center. Maybe Pamela looks like she wants to slap me upside my head too.

"A boy born in hatred with a heart which heals if he," the vision appeared to confuse Tad fi, which was ugly to contemplate. That would most likely mean others fucking with the Weave as well. "Borne in safety by a ghost and a name, Hana." A pause. That vision had been physically costly for the augur. So many women hated me, a ghost?

" infean (AWN f'yun), known by another name not her own, Bansealgaire, not our own," more painful, mystic discombobulation on her part. Fortunately, I didn't know the names, but I know the second name's ethnic point of origin, Irish. Aunt Imogen.  infean Bansealgaire meant, stormy huntress, Sweet! Now if I only knew which side that daughter would end up on.

"The Trickster, Shining Son of the Sun who jests and whose great heart remains untouched, no matter what the burden, Ash," Tad fi regained some of her focus. This one had to be Oneida and my offspring ~ a son. I stole a glance at her face. She was stunned, not heartbroken.

"We will name him Bruce," I expelled my worry, "in honor of the quintessential 'Ash' man."

"Who?" she looked up at me, teary-eyed.

"When I come back from the Great Hunt we'll spend a weekend watching all the Evil Dead films," I got out.

"And Bubba Ho-Tep," Pamela tacked on.

"And Sundown," I almost missed yet another Campbell Cult-Classic.

"Focus Ishara," huffed Krasimira maternally.

"I'm about to have a dozen children. I want to die," blurted forth from my lips.

"I thought this would be welcome news Cáel," Tad fi wailed. She'd exerted so much effort on my behalf, only to have me act spasmodically infantile?

"It isn't you, Tad fi," I soothed her with both words and a gentle hand along her jawline from earlobe to her lower lip. "I didn't come to Havenstone expecting Fatherhood; and I know for a fact every House Head present has 'okayed' the murder of at least one infant boy, so I don't trust a single one of them, which means I have to take full responsibility for every male child."

"And you remain an 11th year in your heart," she reasoned.

"Yeah, pretty much." '11th year', an Amazon 'pre-Test', thus free of any true duties. I let her slump into me. Her guardian deities had faded into the Aether, so it was safe for her to be human again. "Wait. How come you understand that when no one else does?"

"I have seen your spirit-self, Cáel Ishara," she reminded me. "The real you."

"We seem to be no closer to resolving our disputes," Jana interrupted my bonding moment.

"What do you want?" I slowly repositioned myself so I had Tad fi in my lap, facing me. It was somewhat sexual, but it allowed her to regain some comfort from her ordeal. Sikia was very close by.

"Redress of Meenakshi insults," Jana derided me.

"Don't be a child," I spat back before Mahdi could get her own vicious licks in. Jana's face clouded, as did Marlene's and Elsa's.

"You know nothing of what you speak of, Ishara, yet you now feel free to insult us," she simmered.

"Don't know, don't care. It was all before my time. I care about the 'here-and-now' as well as what we do in the future. What I am asking you is what concrete item or 'thing' can be provided to House Zorja to put this blood feud behind you. Name it and House Ishara will endeavor to procure it for you."

"We are not merchants," Jana's eyes narrowed.

"No. I didn't imply you were. If you want new sandals for everyone in your House, I'll find you new sandals. If you want 100,000 acres of ranchland, I'll find you the land. Name it," I persisted.

"Our prestige cannot be bought," she 'explained'.

"No, but a blood feud with House Ishara can be avoided by making a request of us in the same way as expressing your desire to harm my daughter can be expressed by denying my offer," I hardened. "And 'fuck you very much' if you think I won't use every son, daughter, mother, aunt, and uncle of Ishara when I come gunning for House Zorja too."

"You wouldn't dare bring outsiders into this," Klavdiya interjected.

"Why not? The offices of Ishara handed House Zorja the coup of the century ~ the capture of the People's Liberation Army Navy nuclear carrier. A member of House Zorja commanded that task, yet they did so by leading forces marshalled by House Ishara, outsider forces. You may wish to keep playing by old rules concerning who is and isn't part of a House, but I am not so constrained, sisters."

"So Klavdiya, if House Meenakshi pursues its blood feud with House Zorja, House Ishara will gleefully join them in the pummeling. And we have Isharans in the 9 Clans, the Khanate and the Illuminati who will gladly help us out in slapping them around like the old-fashion curmudgeons they are showing themselves to be, or, House Zorja may request a gift from House Ishara and we will happily clear accounts between them and House Meenakshi in the name of our daughter, Parvati. Their choice."

"You are still on the mats," Elsa reminded me. Sikia coiled protectively next to us.

"And you said something about a lesson being long overdue," Pamela smirked, "Kitten."

"Cáel Ishara," Shawnee said in a soft voice, "perhaps it is germane to the argument: the fault of the blood feud rests with House Zorja, not House Meenakshi."

I fell on my back, carrying Tad fi with me. She gasped out in surprise while remaining closely cuddled with me. Her right hand never left my lips.

"Why does no one tell me this shit?" I moaned.

"You are hard," Tad fi announced. "Are you ready to have more sex?" She was sounding upbeat about our prospects. She was also ignorant of our surroundings being deaf and blind to the mortal realm.

"Gossamer Wing," I created a pet name for the augur, "we are lying on the sparring mats of a large combat arena in the central Full-blooded training center for Havenstone with roughly 500 sisters in attendance (the audience had grown). While I am enticed by your scent, words, proximity and sweet memories of what we've shared, I'm probably going to be badly beaten up really soon for a terrific diplomatic snafu."

"But then we can have sex?"

"Yeah. I'm totally up for having sex with you after they release me from Medical," I assured her. I looked around her to a very unhappy Mahdi.

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive House Zorja? Anything I can,"

"Yes," she abruptly cut me off.

What the fuck?

"At this time, my hatred of House Ishara, and you in particular, make any grievance I have with House Zorja pale in comparison. You have bewitched my only daughter. She bares your child, and it will be a wonderful child if the soiled augur you've stuck your cock in is to be believed," she ground out bitterly. "I want to go home. I want to find enemies to kill. And when I do, Cáel Ishara, know each and every one of them will carry your face in my mind."

She turned to Jana. "Do you agree that we both hate Ishara enough to put aside our current differences?"

Jana studied Mahdi, me, then Mahdi again and agreed. She stood. Mahdi stood. They clasped arms like Amazons, then hugged like sisters.

"Agreed. He is much worse."

My thoughts on the matter. Woot! I was having sex! Oh, and I was making Aya happy by ending a blood feud.

"My admiration of you continues to increase," Krasimira looked at me. "This diplomacy stuff is harder than it looks yet you pull it off so effortlessly."

"Yay me!" I muttered.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13228 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 16

Graduation Day.  

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.


"Keeper, are we done?" Sikia asked Krasimira.

"I believe so," the older Amazon rose to her feet. Sikia was far faster in rising.

"Mahdi of Meenakshi, you have insulted me and my augur. Defend yourself," she snarled. If Tad fi hadn't been immediately present, Mahdi wouldn't have even warranted a warning no doubt.

"Had you done your job," Mahdi flowed into her fighting stance, "you both wouldn't be pregnant."

"Whoa now," I struggled to rise while keeping Tad fi close and my body between her and the Meenakshi/Zorja side of the mat. "Sikia, I can't let you fight. You're pregnant too."

"Don't be stupid, Cáel Ishara," Sikia retreated off the mat, so she could shed her jacket and footwear. "Amazons have fought pregnant for thousands of years."

"Hold on now," NYPD Sgt. Larisa Kutuzov said in English as she moved forward. I was a millisecond too late. Larisa's foot touched down on the mat and Marlene Zorja popped her one, a hand chop to the larynx. The senior cop stumbled forward.

"Mom!" shouted Nikita. Marlene followed up with a leg sweep, putting Larisa face first on the mats, then a fist strike to the back of the head, knocking her out. Neat and tidy in less than two seconds.

Nikita was about to charge in when Chaz stopped her.

"Footwear," he advised in the tone of voice I had learned to associate with him and imminent violence. The moment he stopped her, he was quickly removing his own socks and shoes. Virginia and Pamela were doing the same. I was allowed freedom of movement because I was holding Tad fi. Krasimira exited because of her unique status. The rest were already barefoot.

"Gale, could you please stay with Tad fi," I tried to hand her off.

"No," Gale looked me over. "I will fight." No hint on whose side she would be fighting on. Krasimira came to my rescue.

"I'll take her."

"Tad fi," I told the augur, "I have to go get beaten up now, but I promise I will be back for you directly."

"This is not your fight," Krasimira said. "The words and deeds are Sikia's."

"A, she carries my child and B, the deeds being called into question are my fault."

"You told me once they were the Will of Ishara," Krasimira mused.

"We are one in the same," I gave a lopsided grin.

"Be careful," Tad fi pleaded. "Your future is a chaotic jumble, I cannot see,"

"Eh, I've been very bad. We'll talk about it later. Gotta go," I headed onto the mats.

Pamela was giving the ground rules to the 'normals': No 'fair warnings'. No 'fair play'. No 'time outs'. You fought until unconscious, or you surrendered.

"This is going to suck," Virginia assessed our odds. Two Amazons had removed Larisa from the mats and were tending to her. Nikita was kneeling by her side until she heard Virginia, then came our way.

Besides Sikia, we had Pamela, Chaz, Virginia, myself and Nikita. Oneida stepping up was nice. She wasn't a great combatant, but we dearly needed the help. Gale joining us was, unsettling. Amazons don't play fair, so this could be a ruse.

Against us were all three Zorja and both Meenakshi ~ I imagined Rhada felt she had something to prove to her mother. They'd picked up ten other Amazons and Rhonwenn Nemain. Klavdiya joined them to counterbalance her baby sister. Eight to seventeen ~ ouch.

"Damn," a familiar voice from my first days on the job spoke up from behind me, "we almost missed this." I didn't dare look over my shoulder. Desiree stepped between Chaz and Virginia. Rachel came up on my left and Tiger Lily on my right. At the tail end of our line was Mona, Meridian, Brielle and Wiesława. Fifteen to seventeen was looking much better, especially considering Desiree had brought five Security Detail warriors with her, all of whom were moving to further bolster our numbers.

"Rachel," Elsa looked to her underling, "you have no idea why you are fighting."

"It is for Cáel. So it must be for a better tomorrow," Rachel laughed.

"Very well," Elsa smirked.

"You!" Mahdi pointed at me, and we both charged. It was a jumbled nightmare of clashing bodies, war cries and flashes of movement all around. Our side had two main advantages -

While Chaz was by no means the best hand-to-hand combatant present, he knew the basic Amazon style and most Amazons didn't know his. Added to his overall height and bulk advantages, he bought us time.

Of greater importance, Rachel, Tiger Lily and Mona had extensive training working as a team, which none of the opponents had.

Elsa was the most dangerous individual on the mat. Pamela was the second most dangerous, so Elsa grabbed a couple of partners and ganged up on her to drive her off the mats. Chaz went next, out-Elsa'ed and beaten unconscious. The issue was, it took her too long to accomplish those two feats. By the time she rounded on me, Rachel and Tiger Lily, our half of the field had wiped out theirs. It was six of us (me, Rachel, Tiger Lily, Gale, Wiesława and Desiree) versus four of them (Elsa, Marlene, Klavdiya and Rhonwenn).

Still, I was facing Elsa, so a judicious bit of treachery was required.

"Gale," I huffed and puffed, "please retire. I don't want you to fight your sister."

"What?" Gale snapped. She'd taken a beating, yet remained feisty.

"No, fighting her sister is okay with me," Desiree scowled. "We are still facing fucking Elsa."

"All the other women you have mated with have failed. I remain," Gale trumpeted.

"Oh, you are right," I half-turned. "All the reason you are more precious to me."

"Really?"

"Of course," I deepened my introspective appreciation of her.

"Oh," and Klavdiya punched Rhonwenn. That was an 'oh, Cáel Ishara must actually care for my baby sister and not be just a Playa' on Klavdiya's part. Yeah. I'm a horrible fucking person at times.

Rachel, Tiger Lily and I rushed Elsa. Marlene pivoted to ward against Klavdiya while Gale and Wiesława stormed in against her. Desiree helped Klavdiya finish drubbing Rhonwenn before they combined to force Marlene off the mats. Elsa chose to go down swinging in a dogpile of bodies. I took an ear-ringing blow to the head which allowed Rachel to apply a chokehold and it was lights out for the Head of SD.

After some water bottles went around and those concussed returned to wakefulness, the resolution of the brawl was decided. Mahdi apologized to Sikia. It was short, terse and sparing of any empathy, yet was within the bounds of Amazon etiquette. She departed with Rhada, which left me to pick up the pieces, starting with Nikita's mom.

"Oh," the older woman moaned then, "Ms. Fredrickson? What are you doing here?"

"Avenging you, Mother," Nikita fluffed up the truth. "She, Cáel and the others cleaned house on the woman who jumped you and her allies."

"Desk Sergeant," Desiree gave a curt nod.

"This isn't over," Larisa winced as she moved to a sitting position.

"Mrs. Kutuzov, it is over," I headed off a colossal waste of time. "This is my daily life and part of your daughter's life with JIKIT. You will find scant witnesses and no tape recordings of these events. This craziness is just another day in the life here at Havenstone. You stepped on the mat and thus became fair game to any physical confrontation an opponent cared to mete out. Consider this sovereign soil of an independent nation-state."

"We," she looked around. "You kicked their asses?"

"Definitely," Pamela gave a feral snarl.

"This is plain nuts," she shook her head, winced in cranial pain, then put her aching head in her hands.

"One of the reasons we've put our dating in hiatus," Nikita comforted her mother while looking at me, and smiling affectionately.

Ah, for fuck sakes! I was engaged to someone else and having a dozen kids by ten different women. How could I still possibly be considered viable dating material? Oh yeah, martial valor, laughing at death, I hung out with truly exceptional cool people and I would always be in need of saving, a plus for a crusader like Nikita.

I had so many allies to tend to, but only one who seemed to be making an exit. I swooped down on Tad fi long enough to place her fingers to my lips.

"I'll be right back, friend of a friend in need," and off I went. I caught Tavi of House Stolgos just outside the door. She wasn't avoiding me. She'd been observing Chaz and he had been otherwise occupied.

My British companion had played a pivotal role in the combat and taken his beating like a man. He'd been rendered unconscious. So had many others, so no stigma was attached to his loss. Post-battle, he had chosen to sit on his haunches, knees up, talking to several of the Amazons, both kneeling and standing. A few had been bystanders and a few others foes.

He stayed on his ass to reduce his height advantage. Letting Amazons make eye contact while not having to look up at you created definite benefits. His good natured approach to his role in the fight and pummeling earned him positive vibes as well. He made it clear the tussle to him was not macho-personal. He was my 'brother / sister / sibling' spiritually-speaking via Pamela adopting us both as her 'grandsons', so my fights were his fights. Sikia had my (Cáel’s) child, so that bond extended to her as well ~ family.

Pamela and I had schooled him on Amazon psychology and those lessons were now paying serious dividends. 'The Male' hadn't wanted to fight them ~ 'Amazons are tough' he'd confessed, he knew this because he worked with several every day on JIKIT~ but family was on the line, so he fought. Mahdi had apologized, so the matter was settled. The other Amazons he'd fought? They had fought for their reasons and he was okay with not questioning them about it.

Why? He was conscious of his conspicuous status as a 'guest', knew he was in no way an Amazon, and was not privy to what motivated them. He didn't want to be an Amazon. He had his own, much younger, martial tradition he was proud of, yet was eager to learn from the vastly greater Amazon war lore because 'winners' didn't have a gender-bias and no other tradition could compete with the Amazons' 3,000 years.

Under normal circumstances, the women around him wouldn't have given credence to his praise. He was a male after all. Through the tiny tear I'd created in their insulating social fabric, Chaz was building upon his own exploits. In the after-battle analysis, the Amazons reflected on the realization Elsa had concentrated on him as her number two objective, second only to Pamela who scared everyone who knew anything about her. That bolstered Chaz's appeal.

For the Amazons who thought a male would get all pouty and cry over being beaten up by a girl/girls, Chaz was breaking the mold. He wasn't angry. He was amused. The fight had been a learning experience and he'd felt honored to watch, no matter how briefly, a warrior of Elsa's caliber fight. He'd explained 'I', Cáel Wakko Ishara, considered Elsa one of the top 5 combatants I'd ever seen, which included Ajax the Unconquered. The others were Sakuniyas, reborn Amazon and former Queen of Assyria, Saint Marie, the Golden Mare, and Pamela, the Cliff-walker.

More happy Amazons because the list's only non-Amazon was a dead Hero from the Trojan Wars and it was well known I 'got around' (aka dealt with violent outsiders.) Chaz was telling the truth, almost. The 'fifth' person on the list was Alal, but explaining him would be difficult, so Chaz edited him for this particular audience. Good man.

In the hallway, "Tavi, a moment," I called out. She slowed down, took a few more steps allowing me to catch up.

"Yes Ishara?" she gave me her best neutral look. Yep. She was jealous.

"I beg two favors from you," I quickly went down to one knee in her path. That caught her off guard and left her in the awkward position of me being terribly close and staring up at her.

"I, I will listen," she muttered.

"I would like to know if you are pregnant," I asked very softly. Yes, she was, but she didn't want to tell me. She contemplated pushing past me. It would be very easy. "I know I am stepping beyond the boundaries between warriors. Please. My destiny has brought you two together. I am at fault here." 'Fault' was the key word.

"If I have a son, he will be given to the Queen," Tavi's face was stern and unforgiving. "He will live."

"That's not what he's worried about," I shook my head. "He wants to be a father to your daughter, Tavi. He wants to introduce you to his mother and grandmothers, maybe his sisters too, if that can be arranged."

"Huh?"

"He is not like me, Tavi. There is no other in his life, but you."

"I, I will not leave my House for him," she protested angrily.

"He would never ask you. That doesn't mean he doesn't want to remain at your side for years to come. He can be a father to your child and not be a part of House Stolgos in the same way you can be a mother to your child and not be a part of Clan Tomorrow."

"Oh," she furrowed her brow. "How would this possibly work?"

"I have an 'in' with the Queen," I winked. "I'll work out something."

"He knows I will never stop being an Amazon," she elucidated intensely.

"Absolutely. He is an intelligence operative after all. He's figured a few things out for himself."

"Why doesn't he tell me these things?"

"Tavi, he threw his body on top of me to shield me from a bomb blast, so he's undoubtedly brave, but telling you what is in his heart is scary for him. As his brother, I see behind his silence,"

"Oh, what should I do?" she was vexed.

"Go back in there, demand to speak with him and tell him the truth," I stood up.

"The truth?"

"That you are going to have a little StolgosTomorrow-ite running around sometime next year," I exuded confidential friendliness.

"Cáel Ishara," she tilted her head slightly, "you don't know much about infants, do you?"

"Nope," I pseudo-confessed. I actually did know something about newborns. I'd studied up so I could make a move on a cute girl whose free time was eaten up by babysitting, so I 'helped out'. Oink.

"They aren't 'running around'," she turned to head back into the gym, "until the ninth month at the earliest. Normally, running doesn't happen until the eighteenth month."

"My fiancée has a three-year old, so she should be able to help me through some of the hardest parts," I babbled along. Tavi didn't give a crap.

In we went. Tavi stormed straight toward the bevy of Amazon babes concentrating on 'her' Chaz.

"Color Sergeant Tomorrow," she abruptly interrupted. "A moment of your time."

"Ladies," Chaz uncoiled himself from the surrounding women. The Amazons were either mildly put off, they thought they were about to get laid, or pissed off, they were sure they were about to get laid, and Tavi was stomping on their happy.

"Yes, Ms. Gentry," Chaz linked his hands behind his back in a 'rest easy' stance. 'Gentry' was the fake last name Tavi used in the outside world. She motioned toward the windows with her head. Off they went. I couldn't hear what was being said, but my lip reading skills were up to the task.

T: (I am pregnant)

C: (I love you)

T: (Oh) ~ stunned. Go Chaz!

C: (Well, I don't imagine the Amazons have a marriage ceremony and an Anglican service would be inappropriate, so perhaps we could research a Scythian ritual which could make both families happy) ~ delivered in the patented smooth Chaz style.

T: (Marriage? To you?)

C: (I will not submit to being anyone's slave nor would I ever ask you to submit to me. Outside of that, will you be my partner and my partner alone until the cliffs separate us?)

T: (Amazons are not monogamous)

C: (I am)

T: (I will, I mean, can I think about this?)

C: (I am not going anywhere, Tavi)

{Pause}

T: (Did you put Ishara, Cáel Ishara up to this?)

C: (Yes)

T: (Why?)

C: (I imagine he explained what I am feeling better than I could)

T: (Oh, do you want me to meet your mother and grandmothers?)

C: (Absolutely)

T: (Okay)

C: (Okay ~ you would like to meet my Mother and Grandmothers?)

T: (No, yes, I mean, yes I would like to meet them and I am okay with you being with no other woman until the cliffs separate us, and I will do the same, no other males)

C: (If I pick you up, hug you and kiss you, will your sisters freak out?)

T: (I don't know)

So Chaz swept Tavi up until her head was higher than his (a feat, considering their 8" height differential) and kissed her deeply. Mumbled words followed. Tavi wrapped her legs around Chaz's waist and out they went. Around me were angry murmurings of the 'did that Amazon just run off with our man' variety. Not my problem. I had plenty of different Amazons wanting my attention. Hallelujah!

{8:00 pm

Don't try this at home.

I covered my face with a pillow and pressed down hard. I'd already tried breathing exercises, meditation and even contemplated more cranial trauma before thinking up this particular crazy idea. It took some mental effort and accessing some of my Alal-'pain sorting' skills to accomplish, but in the end, I felt myself 'let go'.

I sat up.

"Hello," Tad fi beamed.

"Hey," I took a deep breath. Since we were talking, I must have passed out. Her eyes wandered over the room.

"Is this the world as you see it?" she wondered. Oh yeah, I had to be creating the environment for her to enjoy.

Sikia was kneeling on the bed a foot away, her gaze moving between the two of us. The 'grayness' of her form suggested she was wholly in reality and not in the 'Ishara-space' the goddess had shown me and I was now sharing with my augur.

"This is how you see me?" she examined her fingers, her wrists, then some long locks of her hair.

"You are more beautiful," I answered. The impact of my words crossing over drew her eyes back to me. It was the magic of hearing for the normally deaf girl. I concentrated, peeled back some fantasy and attached a realistic form to Sikia. Tad fi followed my gaze.

"Your hair," she addressed her guardian, "It is lighter than I imagined."

Sikia said something I couldn't understand, muffled as it was by my dreaming.

"I cannot hear you, but I see you through his eyes," the augur carried on her conversation. They touched. It had to be somewhat bizarre for Sikia. As she reached for Tad fi's hand, her friend intercepted the extended member. Their fingers intertwined before completing the journey to the guardian's lips.

"Don't cry, no, we couldn't have, no, we shouldn't have knocked him out sooner. I don't think he was aware of this discipline when we first met. Were you, Cáel?"

"No. Perhaps if I had understood more about the consequences of seeing ghosts, I might have," I tapered off. "Now that we know. I can try this more often."

"Your health?" Tad fi worried.

"I might be immortal," I confessed. I was confessing because I was desperately seeking a way to share some of my genetic quirkiness with her ~ some strength to carry her through this pregnancy and spare her life, Dot Ishara be damned.

"And you would seek a way to spare me," she graced me with her gentle presence. Lying in the 'spirit' world was a whole lot tougher than in the flesh.

"Yeah. I've got some arcane lore rattling around in my head, plus I have a few outside sources I can ask for help. I'm not giving up on you."

"I have foreseen my death."

"Well, un-foresee it," I scolded her. "Dot Ishara told me we see what might happen, though nothing is guaranteed. So even your death isn't an absolute. Since it hasn't happened, I see no reason to let it happen. You are going to live to hold our daughter. If not, my immortality is worthless."

"You can never save everyone. Sometimes you must let a few go to save the rest," she advised.

"If I find someone I'm not attached to, I'll let them go. I promise. Until then, I'm, ugh, I'm fading, and I'm keeping you."

"We shall see," she murmured. I fell back into my body and into wakefulness.

"Now we have sex," Tad fi announced in a melodic voice.

"He is ready to perform," Sikia agreed. She was fondling my balls with one hand while her breath played across my rod. I sat up to see the augur climbing up the bed between my thighs. She kissed my glans, licked across its top, then kissed it again.

"I've got it from here," she told Sikia.

"What?" Sikia was confused. Tad fi's lips began to engulf my sceptre.

"Sikia, come here," I gently pulled on her arm. She was conflicted yet up some came.

We started out with tender kisses on the lips. I kept drawing her toward me. My lips and tongue migrated down her chin and throat to her breasts. When she thought my target was her breasts, she was all onboard. That was a mere stop-off point on my journey, though I played around for a while.

At the same time, I had to use subtle movements with my hips and clenches with my gluts to school Tad fi on her fellatio. Thankfully, I was doubly-blessed. This wasn't my first time schooling two girls at once and Tad fi could determine more from such minimal reactions due to her heightened sense of my muscle contractions through her touch than any other woman I'd ever met.

When I began running my tongue in large lashes underneath her breasts, I confused Sikia once more. She was resistant as my hands on her hips pulled her higher so that my lips and teeth could tease her taut stomach while I twirled my tongue in her belly button. She giggled.

I had been slowly wiggling down the bed, backing Tad fi up, so when it came time to mount Sikia on my face, I had the headboard room. I kept her muscular thighs securely in hand because the moment I had her happy, I pushed her up. She looked down, seeking guidance and I motioned her to turn around. She did the eye-ball math, realized she'd be facing her augur, and hastily obeyed. Of course, her movement on the bed alerted Tad fi through mattress vibrations.

Sikia was sitting on my face, leaning down so she could run her hands through Tad fi's hair and along her face and lips (and my phallus). I kept my hands pressed between our bodies. My right made the sojourn to my pubic area to play around and give them both something else to suck on, my fingers. My left loitered around between Sikia's breasts and her clitoris when my lips were otherwise occupied.

I could cup her clit with my tongue in a U-shape, rubbing it along my taste buds. Most of my time was taken up with my tongue broad lashing her vulva or tightly-twisted and delving into her cunt and my nose pushing against her brown hole. I could tilt myself up so I could make tongue-intrusions into her back passage as well. The first time, she squealed.

Before she could decide if she wanted to make me stop (she did, virtually all first timers always default to asking their partner to stop, so you have to distract them), Tad fi wanted to know what had brought her reaction on. Then came Sikia's troubled revelation of what I was doing, how the augur shouldn't suffer through it, despite the increasing pleasure she was receiving, only to finally be unable to supply the answer as to why Tad fi shouldn't experience it too.

Sikia shot me a treasured look of bewilderment. I'd brought her to orgasm with my tongue alone. I was a guy after all.

"Switch?" I suggested. Tad fi was still administering one of the slowest, most considerate blowjobs I'd ever experienced. She wasn't rushing toward anything. Sure, she was unschooled, but was devoting her incredible sensitivities to my pleasure and taking pleasure in her ability to bring me to such excitement.

"Change places?" she mused. "Okay." Tad fi's lips slid off me with one final, loud 'pop', then she used her spider-like fingers to climb up my body while Sikia traveled south. She lavished butterfly kisses on my face ~ childish, yet so very appropriate between us ~ and I mirrored the gesture.

With some reluctance, she mounted me, facing Sikia. My tongue flicking across her clit on its first exploration brought out a joyous gasp. It only got better from there.

The Long Slide Into Domestic Life:

"Twins?" Hana snuggled into my arms. We were at her place, naked in bed together after a late late-night unscheduled meeting with some VIPs. Despite the late/early hour, she was alert, tense even. It had been a mentally stimulating late night encounter which had brought me to her bed.

"Yes. That is what Tad fi predicted," I inserted between raining kisses down on her forehead. Hana liked non-distracting attention when she was in this kind of mood. She was exhausting herself mentally as she was building up to being amorous.

"Ana-Călina and  rp d?" she worked over the names on her tongue. "They have a special meaning?"

"Only if you are Hungarian and Romanian," I teased her. She elbowed me slightly. " rp d was the semi-mystical pagan warlord who led the Ten Tribes who became known as the Hungarians ~ the Magyar peoples ~ into the Carpathian Basin, present day Hungary. Ana-Călina was born a Byzantine princess of the storied House of Basarab; she married Radu Negru, thus becoming the first Princess of a free Wallachia ~ the foundation for a free Romania. She was also the great-grandmother of Dracula."

"So they are famous names with regional historical significance, did they live long, happy lives?"

" Árpád, no one knows for sure. His kids were quarrelsome, but they did manage to found a dynasty at the start of the second millennia which ruled for three centuries."

"Ana-Călina, yeah. I think so," I continued. "She lived into her seventies and her eldest son left his country stronger, richer and safer than when he received it. She did out live her husband by over fifty years, and got to see her youngest grandson bury most of his rivals, the kids from her husband's first marriage."

"Ah, what?" Hana rose up until we were eye to eye. Since she was naked, her boobs swayed slightly as she did so. My eye flickered. "Eyes forward, Mister," she playfully barked. "What happened to all her other grandsons?"

"Wallachia in the 15th century was a tad rough and tumble," I evaded.

"They killed one another?"

"Mostly they were killed by conspiracies amongst their boyars, nobles of the time."

"Why does, Tad fi want to dredge up these names again?" she kept eye contact.

"Not a clue," I pleaded.

"But you think it is important?"

"No. I think you are important. Screw Fate. It can name its own kids. We can chose whatever names make you happy, except 'Up'. Up's been taken."

"You've named another of your offspring 'Up'? That's cruel, or does that mean something in another language I'm unaware of?" she shifted her shoulders so her boobs wobbled again. Of course, I broke eye contact. I hadn't had sex in hours and her boobies were right there, damn it!

"Actually, Pamela and I named this secret agent in Hungary that, just to fuck with his head," I divulged.

"Oh. Pamela. I should have known," she slowly smiled. "You are being very well behaved," she added. Woot! She noticed I wasn't throwing her down and pawing her delectable flesh. "One more thing before the nookie."

"Name them. Their dead," I pledged.

"Not necessary," her sigh turned into a giggle. "If I'm going to be having twins, I'm going to be rather big come late March. We need an earlier wedding date."

Oh, fuck me!

"What do you have in mind?" I tried to keep the creeping dread out of my voice.

"New Year's Day?" she suggested. I did a quick calculation. That was annihilating 78 days out of what remained of my bachelor life. In 114 days my life would cease having any meaning whatsoever. I'd be a Mr. to someone's Mrs. The end

"Sure, I can arrange to be killed before then," stumbled out of my mouth.

"What was that?" Hana pouted.

"Nothing Dear. Cosmic psychic intersection with an Al -demon; don't know what came over me," I fibbed.

"Man up," Hana bit my nose. "Our marriage won't be that bad if we both work at it. It isn't like I'm demanding celibacy from you." Then she mouthed 'yet'.

"Wait. Did you mean celibacy, as in no fun at all, or monogamy, as in only 'happy time' with you?" I desperately sought clarification.

"Oh," she pursed her lips. "I meant monogamy. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, thank goodness," I sighed.

"Here," her gaze turned tender. "Let me make it up to you." Hana placed one hand on my shoulder and rose up my body until my face was gently nestled in her bosom. Then she wiggled back and forth, basically because I'm a big baby and easy to please. I was alternating which nipple I was kissing in no time.

"Mmm," she murmured. "I've missed you." Her other hand's fingernails coasted down my abdomen and found 'Mr. Happy' had risen to attention. Okay, he'd been hopping up and down on my groin since she'd said we were 'going to bed' 30 minutes ago. Hana decided wrap up my shaft with her hand, then applied a few tender strokes. I reciprocated by cupping her left tit in one hand, forming a mound with her areola at the center, and began to twirl from the outside inward to her hardened nipple with just the tip of my tongue.

It was 4 a.m. Why was I taking it slow when I had my final work review with Katrina in three hours? Hana deserved this and more. Why was Hana doing it? She was her own boss, plus her life was careening wildly outside of anything she'd imagined before she'd first laid eyes on me. Half of the financial empire she shared with her father was suddenly in the hands of a military dictatorship, her beloved father was dealing with the murder of her hated step-brother and she was marrying a Prince in a European cathedral which required someone high in the Vatican's approval process to use.

Yeah, her life had gone nuts. Worse, she loved me. And I wasn't the kind of man she ever thought she'd love. She'd thought she'd never love anyone again after her life with her asshole of an ex-husband and their bitter, contentious divorce. I was barely someone she could classify, and Hana was a terribly ordered and organized person. Saying my life was messy was being generous. I was some mysterious warrior-diplomat-playboy-aristocrat who hung out with people more bizarre than me.

Hana picked up her tempo. I switched breasts. Her motor was really starting to hum. Any other night, I could have moved straight to revving her up to an orgasm. I had the time to make it two without any problems. A good one and Hana would be happy and drift off to sleep. Instead, I intuited she wanted more, so we developed our own game of cat and mouse with her climax, and its suspension, being our ultimate goal.

My left hand danced down the back of her ribcage like playing keys on a piano. It was a light, teasing gesture. Her hair the color of tarnished gold cascaded down as she began placing her own kisses upon my crown. Each move by one partner evoked a response by the other. Hana ran my glans over her glistening labia, getting it nice and slick. I worked down her waist, cupped her ass, and then glided over her thigh to the back of her knee where I started tickling her. She snickered.

"You are distracting me," she murmured. I wasn't. I knew these things.

"I like to get the feel of every inch of your flesh," I responded. More mirthful noises from her. Slowly, her gooey vestibule rubbed against and over the top, until I felt myself entering. There, she hesitated. I propelled my hips an inch up, twisted right then left before falling back down, a micro-fuck.

"Ah," she emoted her approval. "My turn." Hana's knees spread to the side, making a memorable sound on the silk sheets as she impaled herself. This time she rolled her hips forward, back, then did a slow 360 with me  inside her, letting the slow progress over her spark memories for her to savor. "I never believed sex could be like this," Hana hiccupped.

"How so?" I knew the answer, but wanted her to put her chaotic passions to words. It would make her happier.

"Experimenting, silly. Stopping in the middle and doing, this," she reversed her hip rotations this time. "I never imagined a lover having such patience, or,"

"Yourself as being so openly sexually adventurous?" I finished.

"Yeah," she huffed. "I really, really owe your college professor, plus you and all your diligence, for this," at the last moment, she encountered the gateway to her G-spot. I knew precisely where that gem was. Previously, Hana had gained a vague idea where it was from the perspective of masturbation and our prior lovemaking. Now I had let Hana rediscover that joy with my cock as her tool to utilize as she wished.

"You realize pregnant women want even more sex," she hummed. She was vigorously working my cock now. Hana had bridged a huge gap, sexually. Normally, a woman of Hana's quality tried to please her man first with the hope her orgasm would soon follow. I was different. My greatest sexual gratification came from her ecstasy. She was confident in that now. By bringing herself to climax, she was making me excited for what would come next.

"That's okay," I propped myself up on one elbow now that Hana was riding me cowgirl-style. "I dig big chicks." The open-palm slap to the chest was a given.

"Hercege, you, you are horrible," she growled around a feral smile. The lip-biting, tongue-sucking kiss was equally vicious, primal and leading Hana to the end of her tether. Not only was Hana's sexual trust in me/us expanding, she was putting extra effort into her physical workout regime too. She might still have a ways to go to compete with an Amazon, but it was still going to be a great night.

"Hercegn , I am nothing but a twisted shadow of masculine lust whose every contour is cast by your muliebrous glow," I teased. Her eyes twinkled. Yes, definitely still going to be a great night.


"Okay," Hana yawned, "I give up. What does 'muliebrous' mean?" She'd been holding on to that for an hour and a half. It was five-thirty and I was dressing in my biking clothes before heading into work.

"From the Latin 'muliebri' which means 'womanly'," I answered. Her sleepy eyes drank in both my response and my physique. I had discovered another thing Hana liked and that was to expand her academic/linguistic frontiers. She was enchanted with the idea that I liked to engage her mind along with her body, sparking on all cylinders.

She'd crawled over to my side of the bed, her head resting on my pillow, soaking up my scent as she watched me. I knelt down, kissed her on her ear, cheek and finally the side of her lips. Hana was beat.

"Have a good day and be careful," she mumbled. Her eyes closed. Her chest rose with one last, waking breath before her sleep rhythms took her.

"Ditto," I whispered. I snuck into  Annela's room and planted a kiss on her head as well. The craziness of my life had a way of cascading over to the ones I loved. Loved? Oh boy,

7:00 am Monday, September 8^th, Graduation Day!

Brielle and her buddy were humming along as the elevator doors closed. Once more, my 'hellish' schedule demanded I change in the elevator. I'd gone to gun practice with my bike clothes on, so I absolutely had to change into business attire in the magic box, in front of them.

Juanita adjusting my tie was a less than subtle attempt to strangle me. I was about to be late to my final 'start of day' meeting as an intern in Executive Services, so her chastisement would have to wait. Who would have thunk it? Juanita would have to wait outside for this ceremony. Paula raced with me to be the last one in, only to have Daphne grace us with the 'news':

"The meeting won't start for another fifteen minutes," she grinned. "Katrina is bringing up the 'new hires' for the fall program."

I finger-flicked my head. The 84 days as an intern was merely the 'training wheels' period. To really be a member of ES was at least a two year training process. The Amazons around me had started their training for this gig when they were fifteen and were eighteen and nineteen now, their ID's said they were older for legal purposes.

In theory, my four years in college was counted as 'preliminary' training and provided things such as acclimation to outsider culture ~ aka 'acting normal'. Logically, I would train under someone like Desiree or Buffy for a year before being a full-fledged member of the service.

"How many this time?" I asked Daphne since she seemed to be in the know.

"Twenty," she grinned. "We are getting two."

I noticed there was still only my tiny desk in Katrina's office. That meant the new guys would be out in the office pool with everyone else. Probably for the best. The ladies were now used to having a male around, so would be careful in what they did and didn't say. I yawned.

"Tired," Fabiola smirked.

"Oh yeah," I stifled another yawn. "Met an emissary from the Pope." Fabiola glowered. "No. Seriously. I met an emissary from Holy See. I let Hana know I wanted to get married in a highly improbable place, a ruined cathedral, so she contacted the Catholic Church and one of their guys wanted to meet with me."

"That had to be fun," Tigger grinned. "What does the Cult of the Nazarene think of you and the Goddess Ishara?"

"We actually discussed polytheism and the place of an omnipotent, omnipresent being in the scope of things," I placed my hands behind my back and rocked back and forth. "It was quite interesting. The guy knew his shit."

By that, I meant he was probably with the Pope's Secret Service as well as a Brainiac with a PhD in something. He'd promised to be in touch as soon as he heard back from his superiors. He had this hot chick with him who I suspected was a nun. And if his driver wasn't ex-military, it was because he was still in the service. On the plus side, Hana had been beaming when we left, which assured me the meeting had gone well, so we had sex from 4 AM until 5:30, thus my current fatigued state.

"Are you going to abandon your faith?" Fabiola taunted me.

"I don't have faith, Fabiola of Minerva. Faith would imply I don't know there are supernatural entities screwing with our lives. I know they do exist, I've met a few. To satisfy your disingenuous curiosity, we discussed the nature of the Weave and it being the possible manifestation of God's Will."

"How did that go?" Paula appeared interested.

"He strongly suggested I should 'revisit my Catholic roots' soon. By that, I think he meant I'm supposed to start attending church regularly," I shrugged. "The Pope is sending an envoy to the Great Khan too, so odds are good I'm getting married," I pronounced the last bit as the doom-laden prediction it was.

"Oh, yes," Fabiola reached passed Paula and smacked me in the chest with the back of her hand. "That is for insinuating you and I had intercourse to my Mother and the Council."

"Was that chastising me for lying, or for not making it so?" I winked.

"Ah, no!" she pouted. "Stop lying about me."

I looked down at my phone.

"We've got twelve minutes," I double-pumped my eyebrows. "Want to go to Katrina's bathroom?"

"What! No!" Fabiola tried to hit me again. I backed away like a big coward.

"Is that an open invitation?" Tigger purred. I made eye-contact with Tigger. Her joking fa ade crumbled. I was feeling like the old 'me' again, plus I was stressed and twelve minutes was plenty of time.

"Don't do this to Katrina, and Buffy," Daphne advised both of us.

I sighed in defeat, Tigger in regret.

"Cheer up," Daphne reminded us. "His 84 days are up. No more date obfuscation for us, and downright lying by him."

'Me' rolling out my mental 'sex' calendar was short-circuited by Katrina showing up with two men. One short, chiseled Hispanic guy and one tall, svelte, Black dude. By their early arrival, I could only imagine none of their crowd had argued like Brian had on our 'Day One'.

Katrina graced me with a maternal, wistful smile as she glided past. The two gents stopped close by me and the ladies somewhat uncertainly.

"Come here," I motioned them forward into the line-up on either side of me. "This is where the fun begins. I'm Cáel Nyilas, by the way," I offered each a handshake. They took it.

"Stalin Bolivar," the Hispanic man went first. His Latin-timbre placed him definitely 'South of the Border'. My guess was South America, south.

"Lennox Fitzgerald," the Black guy said in a strong British/London accent. Katrina taking her seat brought the meeting to order. She looked at her monitor, at me, I could tell that look of disappointment could only be coming 'my' way, then back at her screen.

"Well, since the new team members have been introduced, I might as well get to the work reviews for Friday," she regarded us all with her hawk-like gaze. Tigger came first. I was last, if there was any doubt. Once again, I worked with the Rhodes Scholars of the New Hire world; they could do no wrong and then came me. Katrina stopped and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her right thumb and forefinger. Oh! This was going to be good!

"Cáel, I, I'm not sure what possessed you to get frozen samples of Dodo DNA out of our Gene Bank, but I want you to know you've contaminated a whole generation of pygmy cassowaries we were attempting to reintroduce into Timor-Leste. 18 months of research and development down the drain. We have these bastardizations of Phorusrhacidae and emus we are going to have to put down now, I'm, I'm rendered speechless."

I had to think about that for a second.

"Oh, I brought back Terror Birds? Woot!" I exclaimed. "Oh, and sorry about that budgetary hiccup. Wait! Can't we use those as bio-weapons, or something? Recoup our losses on the black market,"

"No. No we can't, Cáel. There are all sorts of UN regulations against that," Katrina chided me. There was more to come. She stood up.

"Cáel, it is with multiple deep personal regrets I must inform you that I have decided we can no longer afford to keep you on with Executive Services. It seems you are simply not cut out for this line of work. Fortunately for myself, you and Havenstone, you are being offered a position in the President's Office as Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President, Ms. French. Will that be acceptable?" Katrina remained cool and cordial.

Okay, who was Ms. French and why was she President of Havenstone? Hmm, my bet this was because of yesterday morning's meeting and the Regency.

"Well, as long as it isn't Ms. Dubois, I'll take it," I sighed.

"I heard that," came the sizzling voice from behind me.

"Oh shit," I jump aside, twisting fearfully to face the feminine Smurf-doom of Death.

"Good morning, Senior Vice-President Dubois," Katrina nodded to Buffy.

"Good morning, Director Love. I need a minion to move my stuff," Buffy glared in my direction. "I'll take that one," she pointed at me.

"No can-do, Captain McGiggle-Pants," I waved her off. "I've got a new job and I have a feeling it doesn't start until 8 ~ like normal people."

"I'm going to get you," Buffy shot daggers my way.

"Fabiola, when the meeting ends, please take the Senior Vice-President's belongings to her new office," Katrina directed. Making Fabiola her fetch-and-step-it minion mollified Buffy enough to let Katrina return to marshalling the meeting. "Now, if you don't mind," went Buffy's way. Buffy withdrew, so Katrina resumed. Next came the introductions and assignments. I got another plum.

Stalin (I was going to have to get used to that) got Helena and Lennox had Desiree, and Kid Duty!

"Please Katrina, can I tag along?" I begged the moment we were released.

"Cáel, you have two groups stopping by to meet with you at 8. You don't have the time," she informed me.

"First I've heard of it," I evaded. "So I'll be a little late, they won't mind."

I was getting incredibly odd looks from the two new guys.

"You have no idea who they are," she gave a slip of a smile, "or how patient they might be, so by all means, make groundless assumptions."

"I know I'd rather see Aya, and Europa and Lorraine," I pleaded.

"Oh," she gave an exaggerated sigh, "by all means. I'll make sure to put the visitors in separate rooms so they don't kill each other."

"That shouldn't be necessary. I only know good people," I turned things around. I put my arms around both guys before they could evade me and out we went. Juanita detached herself from a nearby wall, scowling at me.

"Gentlemen, this is the best lifestyle mistake you could have ever made," I explained. "Try to have fun, because I guarantee there will be times when this job will suck big time."

"You just got fired from this position," Stalin reminded me.

"Oh, it's worse than that. I was promoted. I'm sure you can avoid my fate if you try hard enough," I urged.

"You should listen to Cáel," Tigger joined us. "He was the only one of the first five to make it the full 84 days."

"Hey, Felix is coming back," I countered.

"Really?"

"I pledge to you," I smiled. "He shall return."

"Damn," Paula came along the other side, "now I wish I was in the Great Hunt too."

Paula and Stalin immediately had to leave for their assigned trainer.

"What happened to the other four, three?" Lennox prodded me. We were at Desiree's desk. She shot me a vile look. She'd guessed my intention to be an unnecessary attachment to her mission, which necessitated a request for a new vehicle.

"Khalid became Chief Depilator in a social engineering experiment in Paraguay, Trent transferred to our Far East Acquisitions Unit as a permanent in-flight Caba a Boy and Brian became a Locust Wrangler in the Australian Outback and dedicated student of the digeridoo."

"Lennox, don't listen to him," Desiree grumbled. "He's an idiot. Oh, and Cáel, thanks for making that psycho Rhada my boss. I'm going to get you for that."

"I aim to bring passion to the lives of all the women I meet," I gloated.

"Idiot," Desiree mumbled. Into the elevator, joined by Juanita, we went and down to the garage we travelled.

We had to go for a Mercedes Benz GL550 instead of the normal Audi because of the extra riders, me and Juanita. Lennox, sitting up front with a grim-faced Desiree, was more perplexed than ever. I contemplated handing him a back-up piece since technically he was a bodyguard, though, pro forma at Havenstone, he wasn't informed of that fact.

"So, a lot of women at Havenstone," Lennox finally opened up to me/us. He had yet to realize the futility of trying civil discourse with Desiree. Juanita was super-grumpy and had her arms crossed in such a manner her shoulder holster was exposed.

"Hot, athletic babes everywhere you look," I revised his statement. "I'll show you the gym before end of business. I heartily suggest you work out twice a day. They've got a massive facility, plus several large pools."

More pausing on his part. Then he grew ambitious.

"You don't worry much about sexism, do you?"

"Me? Nah. The women here admire courage. They also exercise to the point of extremism and practice at least one form of martial art regularly, so you best temper your interest with respect," I grew stern. "Seriously, if you have difficulty with a woman here, ask her to spar off the clock. It will work wonders."

"Ah," he grinned, "I'm a mixed martial artist. I've been competing since my teens. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Hah," was from me. Desiree merely snorted.

"Lennox, I work with a guy from the SRR," I 'elaborated'. "Not 'retired', active duty SRR, and some of the ladies you work with in Executive Services can take him. Fuck it all with Security Services."

"You work with a bloke with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment? Here in the States? What's he doing here?" Lennox clearly didn't believe me. "I heard about you in Romania against those terrorists," or maybe he did.

"Lennox, as fast, smart, strong, good-looking and driven as you are, do you really think you are in Executive Services to pick-up laundry, kids and dinner?"

"Cáel," Desiree cautioned me.

"I was curious about that. The pay is really good so," Lennox grinned.

"You're not. You are being prepared," I got out.

"Ishara!" Desiree snapped.

"Trust me," I soothed Desiree. "I know what I'm doing." She gave me a poisonous glare in the rearview mirror before returning her eyes to the road.

"Prepared?" Lennox restarted things.

"Yeah, prepared to redress a grievous imbalance between the women of Havenstone and male-kind."

He blinked, waiting for me to continue.

"A grievous imbalance between the women of Havenstone and male-kind?" he reiterated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that is the first clue I'm going to give you, Lennox," I slyly smiled. "It is Day One in this nut ranch for you, and you are getting more of a head start than I had, trust me."

"Don't trust him," Desiree snapped snidely. "He's an idiot. Juanita?"

"I'm too furious over his latest stunt to speak with him right now," Juanita replied.

"You ain't getting an apology from me, that's for damn sure," I got snarky with my bodyguard. To Desiree, "Am I lying to him?" She didn't respond. Instead we rode in silence until we pulled in front of the Ruger household.

Mind you, I spotted the tail the moment we left Havenstone and I was sure another protective detail was out there hovering about our diminutive Queen. I got to go in and get the girls. Even though technically Caitlyn was no longer Aya's mother, courtesy of the adoption, she was the logical choice for guardian of the young girl. There was the added bonus of having two ex-aunts at home and two junior Amazons, previously her older sisters, close by at school for extra protection if necessary.

Still, an SD chick met me inside the door, eyeballing me to make sure everything was okay (in the belief if something was hinky, I'd let her know somehow.)

"Atta," squeaked my favorite boon companion.

"Duma," I scooped her up.

"Cáel," came from the lips of Europa and Lorraine. Caitlyn was there beside them, cloaked in melancholy.

"A moment please," she requested of the rest of us. I put Aya down and walked with her to the dining room. She turned with tears in her eyes. "Katrina told me of your words of anger to the Council," she whispered. "Thank you. I know, no matter what else happens, she will have an ally in you." I hugged her tightly. What else could I do? She let me go, put on her Amazon Mother face, and back out we went. For a few seconds, I was all business. I made sure the sidewalk was safe before we exited the Brownstone. Lennox held the car door for us. We were heading off to school inside 30 seconds.

"I think someone is following us," Lennox noted to Desiree.

"Define."

"Florist van," he answered.

"Good eyes," was her response. He looked my way.

"Support vehicle for our VIP's," I gave him a bit more information.

"So, you are the new guy?" Europa began the interrogation.

"Ah, yeah. Lennox Fitzgerald," he told them.

"Listen to Cáel," Lorraine spoke. "He's a total nut-job, but he knows what's really going on. Oh," she surprised me with a hug, giving me a face full of cleavage. Eek! "Good luck on the hunt."

"Yeah," Europa added, "good luck. You'll need it. I hear Elsa, Rachel, Caprica and Torm  are all coming after you."

"Caprica from camp?" I worried. Europa nodded. "I've never heard of Torm ."

"She's a younger version of Pamela," Desiree enlightened me ~ 'cause it caused me pain.

"She's from House Maeve," Aya whispered to me. Ah, the 'Enslaver of Men'. "She's Aunt, I mean, Katrina Epona's #1 killer." Of course she is. Why hadn't I heard of her before? Why would I have? I'd never asked and had I, I doubt Katrina would have told me who her top assassin was. I was a lousy spy.

"Who is Pamela?" Lennox was getting into the groove of things. If you didn't ask questions, you would never get any answers.

"She's his grandmother," Aya piped up. "Not really. She adopted him."

"She adopted the SRR guy too," I shrugged. "She's a one woman Welcome Wagon."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Juanita griped.

"At least you are talking to me," I beamed happiness her way.

"No, I'm not," she snapped.

"O-kay," I shrugged, then hugged Aya. She hugged me back.

"Take me to class?" Aya asked.

"Sure," I spoke (too soon). "If it is okay with Desiree. I'm just a tagalong today."

"Please," Aya begged Desiree. "It is a new teacher. He hasn't met her yet."

"Of course, Aya," Desiree agreed. "Lennox, go with him."

"Okay."

As we piled out of the car, I turned to the new Brit.

"So, ever had a three-way in a school custodial closet?" I inquired.

"Huh?" he gulped.

"Don't make me kill you," Juanita seethed.

"That's my Daddy!" Aya squeezed my hand.

"Is that an invitation?" Lorraine sidled up to us.

"No," I pointed a finger to the tip of Lorraine's nose. She tried to bite it. So Amazon of her. "Thanks Aya," I squeezed by buddy's hand back. Into the school we walked. Aya's class was on the ground floor this year. Her teacher was so young, fresh and new to the profession, she sparkled. She wasn't sure what to make of myself and Lennox.

"Ms. Carmichael, this is my custodian, Cáel Nyilas and his buddy, Lennox Fitzgerald. They are not gay," she tacked on. "They are just lonely and don't have many friends in the city."

Woot! Aya was hooking me/us up.

"Cáel," echoed a familiar voice behind me. Uh-oh, Ulyssa Reichmann, Aya's 3rd grade teacher had been keeping an eye out for me. "Nice to see you again."

"Ulyssa?" Ms. Carmichael wondered why another teacher was in her room, interfering with the two 'lonely' guys clearly in need of succor.

"Ms. Reichmann," I spun around. "How was your summer?"

"Lonely," she smirked. "So, do I call you Mr. Ruger, or Mr. Nyilas?"

"You can call me 'busted'," I gave my best 'ya caught me, but I have a good excuse' placating gesture. "Oh and this is Lennox. He's my replacement. I've been transferred to a position which promises to be a lot less fun." See, I was referring to my time with her as 'fun'. "How's Nadia?"

"Rather lonely too," Ulyssa kept teasing. "We were worried about you. After your kidnapping, you sort of dropped off the map." Aka, I stopped returning her phone calls. I'm an idiot. "Then you got engaged,", fuck TMZ and the New York Times Social Page, "to an heiress," and the Financial Times.

"You were kidnapped, an heiress?" Ms. Carmichael was reeling.

"Ms. Reichmann, that's stuff Cáel can't talk about because of his job," Aya rose to my defense. "Yes, we were kidnapped over the summer," she extended her mangled hand for Ms. Carmichael's perusal. "Cáel saved me from a plane load of bad people, then again when we crashed in the Typhoon on a Pacific atoll. We were rescued by the Marines and some of the v nători de munte he led into battle in Romania. They came half way around the world to help find us."

"The 'who'?" Ms. Carmichael frowned in concentration.

"Mountain Huntsmen," I translated. "They are Romanian soldiers."

"They are elite Romanian soldiers," Lennox corrected me. "Kind of like their Special Forces, hmm, akin to your US Army Rangers."

"Because you are 'not a spy'," Ulyssa studied me with renewed curiosity.

"Correct," I nodded. "I'm definitely not a spy. Neither is Lennox. He's just a new hire, from England."

"Really?" Ulyssa noticed him.

"Yes, Ulyssa, is it?" he gave his own dazzling smile. "London, by way of the University of Cardiff and King's College. I have a BA in International Development. Wales is where I picked up my mountaineering lore, thus my knowledge of who the v nători de munte are."

"And now you are in New York," Ms. Carmichael stepped up.

"Yes Miss, with Havenstone Commercial Investments, learning to be 'not a spy'," he rapidly adjusted.

"Executive Services to the uninitiated," I kept things moving along.

"You'll be working with Cáel?" Ulyssa pondered. Maybe she had a date for her sister now.

"Nope," I sighed. "I'm off to the Office of the President. Apparently I'm a tad too unreliable for Executive Services."

"I think he means they find him too valuable," Lennox played along, "along with unreliable. Today he simply wanted to make one last school run and I think I see why."

"Yup," I nodded my head, "ya got me."

"Does this mean you will be answering your phone?" Ulyssa teased.

"Yes Ma'am. I'll be maintaining a keen interest in Aya's education, even from my cubicle in Hell."

"On that note," Lennox tapped my arm, "we should be going before your bodyguard takes you up on that death threat."

"Too true," I grinned his way. I turned and knelt in front of Aya. "Love you, Duma," I smiled then hugged her.

"Will I see you before you have to go, Atta?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," I moaned. She hugged me then let me go.

On the way out Lennox began chuckling.

"Just so I got this straight: you've had sex with Ms. Reichmann, Aya was setting either you, or I, up with her current teacher, Ms. Carmichael, and this happens enough so that virtually every women I've met so far isn't surprised by your disreputable behavior?"

"Precisely."

"I think I'm going to like this job," he chuckled.

"That's the spirit," I patted him on the back. "Now we just have to look after the other nineteen new hires. This place can be harsh, unforgiving and unfair. It compensates by offering plenty of adrenaline-pumping danger and sex."

"I trust you, about the 'harsh, unforgiving and unfair' and the ' adrenaline-pumping danger and sex', not so much about anything else. Do you have any male friends?"

"Discounting our budding relationship, I have my gay roommate and the SRR guy previously mentioned plus an older FBI guy who likes me, although he knows not to let me to be alone with his daughters. I'm not the kind of friend you trust with your girl, or your sister, or mother for that matter," I shrugged.

"But you're straight?"

"Yep. Decidedly so."

"Good enough. I'm an only child, my Mother passed three years ago and my last relationship faded after she ambushed me with a strap-on, so we should be good," he confirmed. I had high hopes for Lennox.

Faith Distrust, & Bullets:

I was getting ready to walk into the conference room on the 17th floor when I recalled a vital life lesson. It is enough to know you're right. You don't always need to force others to acknowledge it. Case in point:

"Juanita, I apologize for sending you away yesterday without allowing you to bring in a replacement. I showed disrespect to your position. I was wrong," I looked at her glumly.

"Damn right, you were wrong," she glared. Not a hint she'd been hugely disrespectful, rude and beyond the Pale horrible to Theddy. I didn't expect anything else from her. I atoned because I knew Juanita would never bend, and beating her up for being a bitch was pointless. The apology cost me nothing while freeing up Juanita to let go of her anger ~ she was right and I'd admitted it ~ so she could do her job better.

"Are we okay?" I 'worried'. I wasn't worried. I was being manipulative.

"No, we are not okay. Are you going to repeat the mistake?" she glowered.

"It is a learning process for me, Juanita," I 'explained'. Translation: 'I was an irresponsible male, thus in need of a caretaker which validated her existence.

"Well, don't repeat this one, damn it," she looked away. Ta-dah, I was forgiven. Trust me, she was shuffling her anger away because 'I needed her' and it was her job to protect me from myself as well as from external threats far too numerous to easily be named.

In we went. It was a nice wood-paneled room with a Maplewood table, ten chairs to a side with a chair at each end. Opposite me was Rayen Artio, Martial Commander of Amazon forces in North and Latin America and a frightening individual inside and out. The right side of her face was a mess. An eyepatch covered her missing right orb. Her left hand was missing three fingers as well. Beyond that, she had been a candidate for Golden Mare (she's been too Runner-friendly) and a grandmother several times over.

She had a bright-eyed, blonde-haired Amazon typing away on a laptop sitting on her left and a SD close to the wall behind her with an MP-7A. The PDW (Personal Defense Weapon) was overkill, which suggested my guests had been, or might have threatened to be, snappish. That made some sense, since to my right were the visitors from late last night and to my left was the crowd from noonish yesterday. The pagan Death Cult looked ready and willing to eviscerate the militant Catholics, until I stepped into the room.

The Goddess Ītzpāpālōtl, aka the Obsidian Butterfly aka Obsidian, popped out of her chair the moment I became visible. She had a freshly fucked glow about her ~ freshly fucked by me, if there was any doubt. I guessed I'd left her with a good impression. Juanita began muscling me aside and interposing herself between us. While endearing and professional, it was also so very foolish. Yes, it was her job. Sadly, considering the monstrous entity coming at me, she had no hope of success.

In favor of Juanita's response, Obsidian was: A) dressed like a leather-clad fantasy hooker, B) eyeing me with a clear desire for some very energetic, mystically-potent, blood-letting laced sex play, and C) failing to conceal her inhumanity to the assembly. Off-handedly, I noticed she'd brought along an additional man and woman I hadn't seen yesterday who were a cut above her normal religiously feverish crowd and thus most likely messengers, the 'nuts and bolts' people of the 9 Clans' Cult of the Jaguar. Introducing them to Rayen was most likely her excuse for showing up here in Amazon Central this morning.

"Tehuatlcochitlehua," I passionately greeted her, simultaneously keeping Juanita from committing a diplomatic faux pau and fatal life choice. It sorta meant 'Angel of my Dreams' in the Olmec derivation of Obsidian's mother tongue.

"Tetonehualoyanōchin," she purred as her arms went over my shoulders, fingers linking behind my head. Huh? That meant, I was her 'Inferno Rabbit'?

"Mmm," I mumbled around her lips and prehensile tongue. (Still trying to get used to that.) Her black leather hip-hugging pants laced up the front and barely covered her pubic mound. Her matching vest only had two of its five buttons doing duty and showed every inclination of coming undone at any moment. My first attempt to gently disengage failed, so I considered, then discarded a mistake (an audible slap to the ass) and finally snaked a hand between us to coax her kitty under her tight leather crotch.

That brought forth some definite alien sonic buzzing. She broke her lip-lock.

"I've got to work right now," I tilted my forehead forward so it and my nose kept our mouths apart. Out came the 'No mortal denies me', 'I hate being denied' and finally 'why are these other people necessary?' washing over her face. Had her eyes had pupils, a few others might have noticed her angry stares. The double-nictitating (up-down / left-right) membranes over her multi-faceted eyes ~ those gateways to the void, ugh.

"These," she pulled away, motioning to the two newcomers at her side of the table. "They are empowered to talk with you for us. When?" That was aimed my way.

"I am heading out on an ordeal which will culminate this weekend. When I get back, I will need two days to sort out my House and other allies. Then?"

"I will come for you," Obsidian announced. With that, she brushed passed me, nearly put Juanita through the wall and blitzed out the door. Her followers raced to catch up with her while her diplomatic contingent remained.

"Oh boy," I muttered. Looking at Rayen. "Here you go, as requested," I tossed my chin to indicate the remaining cultists were there in fact to meet with her, not me. Rayen had requested of me, as Chief Diplomat of the Host, an intelligence-sharing arrangement with the Cult of the Jaguar and I had delivered. Getting her arms and ammo shipments from the Khanate to North America was much more a JIKIT issue, though I was positive things were progressing along that front as well.

"Indeed," Rayden stood. "I'll leave you to the raging misogynists and pedophiles," she grinned wickedly. Note to self: Rayen was not a diplomat and resented me forcing her to act as one, even for a short time. She gathered up the two messengers and prepared to depart as well.

That left the Papal group. I was sure the Pope's guy had a mission in the same way I was sure him getting a glimpse of the real Obsidian Butterfly was causing him to re-assess the morality of his objective. The blanket Amazon hostility and Rayen's insults only stoked his fury.

"Katrina thought you might find this useful," Rayen pressed a tablet into my chest after she rounded the table. "Immediately useful."

"Thank you," I nodded. Rayen chuckled, shook her head and shut the door behind her. As the Catholics studied me, I studied the tablet. Three files. Hmm,

First off: Bishop Nicolö de Santis, Titular Bishop of Acmonia, some vacant bishopric in western Anatolia aka Turkey. Posting in various places the Catholic Church wasn't liked, or had 'difficulties' aka civil disorder, gang strife, drug wars; Education, Pontificia Ecclesiastica Academia (2005-2007), Pontificium Collegium Germanicum et Hungaricum de Urbe (2001-2005), Caporal Chef in the 2e R giment  tranger de parachutistes (1989-2000); Awards :{L gion d'honneur   titre militaire; Croix de guerre des th  tres d'op rations ext rieurs; numerous other citations}.

'Wait! The  tranger de parachutists was the French Foreign Legion.'

Suspected to be of Hungarian birth. Reported birth date: March 6th, 1972, making him 42. From Alal's memories I figured out the L gion d'honneur   titre militaire normally got handed out to either brave dead people, or really old soldiers. His rank made sense, because very rarely did non-Frenchmen get past the rank of 'Chief Corporal'. The odds of this guy having Condottieri ties were pretty high.

Contestant No. 2: Sister Rafaela Sophia of the Handmaidens of the Sacred Heart of Jesus {Latin: Ancillae Cordis Iesu} A.C.I. Major notation: Heavy indications someone had gone to great lengths to eradicate her previous history. A nun who needed her history scrubbed ~ the way Buffy's had? Like my life couldn't get more bizarre. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, yet her flinty eyes bespoke a terribly painful, dehumanizing existence devoid of hope prior to someone tossing her a lifeline. She was a fanatic and by her cut and stance, a well-trained one.

Contestant No. 3: Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart of the Swiss Guard. That was a Sergeant, OR-5. Dual-citizenship. Clear, legitimate history. Swiss, Saint Gallen. Swiss Army, Grenadier training, Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10, which meant Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10, something which Alal didn't know about, which meant they were something new. Chaz would know.

Followed a centuries-long family tradition into Papal service. 31 years old. 31 might seem a bit old to be a mere OR-5, except the entire Swiss Guard only had 10 of them.

"Juanita?" I pointed to the Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10.

"What does it mean?" she'd whispered. She'd been reading around my side.

"Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10," I translated for her.

"That's the Swiss Army's elite counter-terrorism unit. Less than a hundred guys," she informed me.

"The Swiss have a counter-terrorism unit? Who the fuck picks on the Swiss?"

"They have money," Juanita reasoned. "And they are Europeans, and nominally Christians. All qualify for some level of assholery and abuse in the world today."

"So," I finally initiated our belated conversation with the Pope's folks, "nice to see you all again and what brings you here today?" After all, I'd last seen them, at 3:45-ish in the morning as Hana was ushering them out the door, this morning, yet here they were again.

"What was that, creature?"

"Please be more specific," I tried to act innocent. This guy had to make one mean confessor.

"The woman-seeming 'thing' who put her tongue down your throat, when you should be devoting yourself to your fiancée," he chastised me. I didn't like his use of the word 'thing'. It was condescending. Worse, it was foolish. Shit like Obsidian had really good hearing.

"Why on Earth would I tell you?" I replied with my own simmering disapproval.

"Your soul appears to be in mortal peril, Mr. Nyilas," his eyes tried to pierce my emotional vortex. 'Good luck with that, Buddy'.

"I fought her off. My soul's just fine. Now, why are you here?" I deflected his approach. After all, I doubted he was here hunting pagan cultists. If he had been, I doubted he would have let Havenstone disarm him and his two pals. Sure, his firepower would have ultimately been useless, but he would have momentarily felt safer, until he discovered he was using flyswatters against a living tornado.

"Would you consider confirming her inhuman nature?" he tried again.

"Sure. She's not human. She's a pre-Columbian horror walking around in a poor facsimile of a human suit mainly because she finds me amusing. Normally she's more careful about her appearance, so you wouldn't detect her, or the others like her, until it's too late. Now, please tell me why you are here, at my place of business, Bishop de Santis, if that is even your real name."

"Okay." Pause. "Very well. I came to inform you the Prince Primate of Hungary, His Eminence Cardinal Erdő, has agreed to go forward with your plans to marry at the Sz kesfeh rv r Basilica. In a concurrent matter, His Eminence, Cardinal Parolin, is extending an offer to assist in the humanitarian efforts of JIKIT."

I'd been through this before. 'Here, let me give you something nebulous and presently valueless because it can be taken away at a whim. Then let me bring up the real reason I've shown up to rain on your day'.

"Who is the second guy, Cardinal Parolin?" I grinned wearily.

"He is the Secretary of State for the Holy See," was his cordially reply. Wow! How could this possibly go wrong? Rome, Italy, the Condos? A secondary source for the Illuminati/Alal?

"Sure," I stepped forward, extending my right hand while pressing my left hand (with the tablet) back to Juanita. "Come on. Let me introduce you to the team."

Not what they were expecting at all. Nope. The Bishop was expecting evasion. I had slithered from reprobate to villain in his eyes by swapping spit with a demoness, so evasion was the expected response.

"One condition," I said as our palms touched. His hawk-like gaze froze. "If my team decides you are not working for the Pontiff, they will kill you. They won't care about diplomatic protocols, or any presumed sanctity. If you are lucky, they will simply put two in the heart and one in the head. If your stars are misaligned, they will let you exercise all the counter-interrogation and torture-resistance techniques I'm sure the three of you know. Just so we are clear: If you are not working for who you claim to be working for you, are, dead, guaranteed. Still want in?"

"Mr. Nyilas," he hadn't let go of my hand yet.

"Don't bother," I interrupted. "A former Foreign Legionnaire, a Swiss Guard ex-Special Forces and the 'Nun with No Name', you can't claim to be anything approaching a normal ecclesiastical mission, Bishop de Santis, oh, and I'm going to start calling you Bishop Nicolö. I always use first names. It is a quirk of mine. Whomever sent you knows I work with some nasty people, doing wicked things to even more vile members of the various groups, clubs, agencies and other religions, cults and supernatural manifestations out there. Either you say 'yes' and put your lives in my hands, or 'no' and we part ways."

"What about your wedding plans and your wife-to-be?" he tried to get my measure. "What of the message of the Prince of Peace?"

"You aren't going to threaten my marriage in the same way I'm not going to threaten every Catholic living in Central Asia because the Great Khan is my 'blood'-brother. I won't do it because it's wrong and you won't do it because a major Catholic wedding in Hungary is nothing but good news for the Church. As for Christ, he forgave a whore, so I figure there is still hope for me. Your answer?"

"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.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13221Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17

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? “
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, so exactly who was going to be sympathetic to their plight, who we cared about?

Beyond my fevered dream of making a difference there was a pinch of reality. See, the Cabindans and the people of Zaire were both ethnic Bakongo and the Bakongo of Zaire had also once had their own, independent (until 1914) kingdom which was now part of Angola. The Bakongo were major factions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) -

(formerly for a short time known as the nation of Zaire, from here on out to be referred to as the DRC and in the running for the most fucked up place on the planet Earth, more on that later)

- and Congo (the nation) yet a minority in Angola. Having an independent nation united along ethnic and linguistic lines made sense and could expect support from their confederates across international boundaries.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

13231 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18

Can You Segway?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

The Liberation Air Force

The Earth & Sky operated under one constant dilemma ~ when would Temujin make his return? Since they didn't know and it was their job to be prepared for the eventuality if it happened tomorrow, or a century down the line, they 'stockpiled', and 'stockpiled' and 'stockpiled'.

That was why they maintained large horse herds and preserved the ancient arts of Asian bowyers, armoring and weapons-craft. That was why they created secret armories, and sulfur and saltpeter sites when musketry and cannons became the new ways of warfare. They secured sources of phosphates and petroleum when they became the new thing, and so on.

All of this boiled over to me being shown yet again I worked with clever, creative and under-handed people. The Khanate came up with a plan for a 'Union' Air Force {Union? More on that later} within 24 hours, and it barely touched any of their existing resources. How did they accomplish this miracle? They had stockpiled and maintained earlier generation aircraft because they didn't know when Temujin would make his re-appearance.

They'd also trained pilots and ground crews for those aircraft. As you might imagine, those people grew old just as their equipment did. In time, they went into the Earth & Sky's Inactive Reserves ~ the rank & file over the age of 45. You never were 'too old' to serve in some capacity though most combat-support related work ended at 67.

When Temujin made his return and the E&S transformed into the Khanate, those people went to work bringing their lovingly cared for, aging equipment up to combat-alert readiness. If the frontline units were decimated, they would have to serve, despite the grim odds of their survival. It was the terrible acceptance the Chinese would simply possess so much more war-making material than they did.

Well, the Khanate kicked the PRC's ass in a titanic ass-whooping no one (else) had seen coming, or would soon forget. Factory production and replacement of worn machines was in stride to have the Khanate's Air Force ready for the next round of warfare when the Cease-fire ended and the Reunification War resumed.

Always a lower priority, the Khanate military leadership was considering deactivating dozens of these reserve unit when suddenly the (Mongolian) Ikh khaany khairt akh dáé (me) had this hare-brained scheme about helping rebels in Africa, West Africa, along the Gulf of Guinea coast/Atlantic Ocean, far, far away, and it couldn't look like the Khanate was directly involved.

They barely knew where Angola was. They had to look up Cabinda to figure out precisely where that was. They brought in some of their 'reservist' air staff to this briefing and one of them, a woman (roughly a third of the E&S 'fighting'/non-frontline forces were female), knew what was going on. Why?

She had studied the combat records and performance of the types of aircraft she'd have to utilize... back in the 1980's and 90's and Angola had been a war zone rife with Soviet (aka Khanate) material back then. Since she was both on the ball, bright and knew the score, the War Council put her in overall command. She knew what was expected of her and off she went, new staff in hand. She was 64 years old, yet as ready and willing to serve as any 20 year old believer in the Cause.

Subtlety, scarcity and audacity were the watchwords of the day. The Khanate couldn't afford any of their front-line aircraft for this 'expedition'. They really couldn't afford any of their second-rate stuff either. Fortunately, they had some updated third-rate war-fighting gear still capable of putting up an impressive show in combat ~ providing they weren't going up against a top tier opponents.

For the 'volunteers' of the Union Air Force, this could very likely to be a one-way trip. They all needed crash courses (not a word any air force loves, I know) in Portuguese though hastily provided iPhones with 'apps' to act as translators were deemed to be an adequate stop-gap measure. Besides, they were advised to avoid getting captured at all cost. The E&S couldn't afford the exposure. Given the opportunity ~ this assignment really was going above and beyond ~ not one of these forty-six to sixty-seven year olds backed out.

No, they rolled out fifty of their antiquated aircraft, designs dating back to the 1950's through the mid-70's, and prepared them for the over 10,000 km journey to where they were 'needed most'. 118 pilots would go (72 active plus 46 replacements) along with 400 ground crew and an equally aged air defense battalion (so their air bases didn't get blown up). Security would be provided by 'outsiders' ~ allies already on the ground and whatever rebels could be scrounged up. After the initial insertion, the Indian Air Force would fly in supplies at night into the Cabinda City and Soyo Airports.

The composition,

14 Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21 jet fighters ~ though she entered service in 1959, these planes' electronics were late 20th century and she was a renowned dogfighter. 12 were the Mig-21-97 modernized variant and the other two were Mig-21 UM two-seater trainer variants which could double as reconnaissance fighters if needed.

14 Sukhoi Su-22 jet fighter-bombers ~ the original design, called the Su-17, came out in 1970, the first 12 were variants with the 22M4 upgrade were an early-80's package. The other 2 were Su-22U two-seat trainers which, like their Mig-21 comrades, doubled as reconnaissance fighters. The Su-22M4's would be doing the majority of the ground attack missions for the Cabindans, though they could defend themselves in aerial combat if necessary.

6 Sukhoi Su-24M2 supersonic attack aircraft ~ the first model rolled off the production lines in the Soviet Union back in 1974. By far the heaviest planes in the Cabindan Air Force, the Su-24M2's would act as their 'bomber force' as well as anti-ship deterrence.

8 Mil Mi-24 VM combat helicopters ~ introduced in 1972 was still a lethal combat machine today. Unlike the NATO helicopter force, the Mi-24's did double duty as both attack helicopter and assault transports at the same time.

4 Mil Mi-8 utility helicopters, first produced in 1967. Three would act as troop/cargo transports (Mi-8 TP) while the fourth was configured as a mobile hospital (the MI-17 1VA).

4 Antonov An-26 turboprop aircraft, two to be used as tactical transports to bring in supplies by day and two specializing in electronic intelligence aka listening to what the enemy was up to. Though it entered production in 1969, many still remained flying today.

2 Antonov An-71M AEW&C twin-jet engine aircraft. These were an old, abandoned Soviet design the Earth & Sky had continued working on primarily because the current (1970's) Russian Airborne Early Warning and Control bird had been both huge and rather ineffective ~ it couldn't easily identify low-flying planes in the ground clutter so it was mainly only good at sea. Since the E&S planned to mostly fight over the land,

They kept working on the An-71 which was basically 1977's popular An-72 with some pertinent design modifications (placing the engines below the wings instead of above them as on the -72 being a big one). To solve their radar problem, they stole some from the Swedish tech firm Ericsson, which hadn't been foreseen to be a problem before now.

See, the Russians in the post-Soviet era created a decent AEW&C craft the E&S gladly stole and copied the shit out of for their front line units and it was working quite nicely ~ the Beriev A-50, and wow, were the boys in the Kremlin pissed off about that these days. Whoops, or was that woot?

Now, the Khanate was shipping two An-71's down to Cabinda and somewhere along the line someone just might get a 'feel' for the style of radar and jamming the Cabindans were using aka the Swedish stuff in those An-71's. The Erieye radar system could pick out individual planes at 280 miles. The over-all system could track 60 targets and plot out 10 intercepts simultaneously. NATO, they were not, but in sub-Saharan Africa, there were none better.

Anyway, so why was any of this important?

Why the old folks with their ancient machines? As revealed, since the Earth & Sky had no idea when Temüjin would return, they were constantly squirreling away equipment. World War 2 gave them unequaled access to Soviet military technology and training.

Afterwards, under Josef Stalin's direction, thousands of Russian and German engineers and scientists were exiled to Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan who were then snatched up (reportedly died in the gulags/trying to escape) and the E&S began building mirror factories modeled on the 'then current' Soviet production lines.

So, by the early 1950's, the E&S was building, flying and maintaining Soviet-style Antonov, Beriev, Ilyushin, Myasishchev, Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Tupolev and Yakovlev airplanes. First in small numbers because their pool of pilots and specialists was so small.

The E&S remedied this by creating both their own 'private' flight academies and technical schools. They protected their activities with the judicious use of bribes (they were remarkably successful with their economic endeavors on both side of the Iron Curtain) and murders (including the use of the Ghost Tigers).

By 1960, the proto-Khanate had an air force. Through the next two decades they refined and altered their doctrine ~ moving away from the Soviet doctrine to a more pure combined-arms approach (the Soviets divided their air power into four separate arms ~ ADD (Long Range Aviation), FA (Front Aviation), MTA (Military Transport Aviation) and the V-PVO (Soviet Air Defenses ~ which controlled air interceptors).).

It wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the independence of the various former SSR's that the E&S program really began to hit its stride. Still, while Russia faltered, China's PLAAF (Peoples' Liberation Army Air Force) began to take off. Since the Chinese could produce so much more, the E&S felt it had to keep those older planes and crews up to combat readiness. The younger field crews and pilots flew the newer models as they rolled off the secret production lines.

Then the Unification War appeared suddenly, the E&S-turned Khanate Air Force skunked their PLAAF rivals due to two factors, a surprise attack on a strategic level and the fatal poisoning of their pilots and ground crews before they even got into the fight. For those Chinese craft not destroyed on the ground, the effects of Anthrax eroded their fighting edge. Comparable technology gave the Khanate their critical victory and Air Supremacy over the most important battlefields.

What did this meant for those out-of-date air crews and pilots who had been training to a razor's edge for a month now? Their assignment had been to face down the Russians if they invaded. They would take their planes up into the fight even though this most likely would mean their deaths, but they had to try.

When Operation Fun House put Russia in a position where she wasn't likely to jump on the Khanate, this mission's importance faded. The Russian Air Force was far more stretched than the Khanate's between her agitations in the Baltic and her commitments in the Manchurian, Ukrainian, Chechen and Georgian theaters.

With more new planes rolling off the production lines, these reservist units began dropping down the fuel priority list, which meant lowering their flight times thus readiness. Only my hare-brained scheme had short-circuited their timely retirement. Had I realized I was getting people's grandparents killed, I would have probably made the same call anyway. We needed them.

The Kanate

The Khanate's #1 air superiority dogfighter was the Mig-35F. The #2 was the Mig-29. No one was openly discussing the Khanate's super-stealthy "Su-50", if that was what it was, because its existence 'might' suggest the Khanate also stole technology from the Indian defense industry, along with their laundry list of thefts from South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the PRC, Russia and half of NATO.

Her top multi-role fighters were the Su-47, Su-35S and Su-30SM. The Su-30 'Flanker-C/MK2/MKI were their 2nd team with plenty of 3rd team Su-27M's still flying combat missions as well.

Strike fighters? There weren't enough Su-34's to go around yet, so the Su-25MS remained the Khanate's dedicated Close Air Assault model.

Medium transport aircraft? The An-32RE and An-38. They had small, large and gargantuan transports as well.

Bombers? The rather ancient jet-powered Tu-160M2's and Tu-22M2's as well as the even older yet still worthwhile turboprops ~ from 1956's ~ the Tu-95M S16.

Helicopters? While they still flew updated variants of the Mil Mi-8/17 as military transports, the more optimized Kamov Ka-52 and Mil Mi-28 had replaced them in the assault role.

Bizarrely, the Khanate had overrun several Chinese production lines of the aircraft frames and components ~ enough to complete fairly modern PLAAF (Peoples Liberation Army Air Force) FC-1 and J-10 (both are small multi-role fighter remarkably similar to the US F-16 with the FC-1 being the more advanced model, using shared Chinese-Pakistani technology and was designed for export,).

They did have nearly two dozen to send, but they didn't have the pilots and ground crews trained to work with them, plus the FC-1 cost roughly $32 million which wasn't fundage any legitimate Cabindan rebels could get their hands on, much less $768 million (and that would just be for the planes, not the weeks' worth of fuel, parts and munitions necessary for what was forthcoming).

Meanwhile, except for the An-26, which you could get for under $700,000 and the An-71, which were only rendered valuable via 'black market tech', none of the turboprop and jet aircraft the Khanate was sending were what any sane military would normally want. The helicopters were expensive ~ the 'new' models Mi-24's cost $32 million while the Mi-17's set you back $17 million. The one's heading to Cabinda didn't look 'new'.

The Opposition:

In contrast, the Angolan Air Force appeared far larger and more modern. Appearances can be deceptive, and they were. Sure, the models of Russian and Soviet-made aircraft they had in their inventory had the higher numbers ~ the Su-25, -27 and -30 ~ plus they had Mig-21bis's, Mig-23's and Su-22's, but things like training and up-keep didn't appear to be priorities for the Angolans.

When you took into account the rampant corruption infecting all levels of Angolan government, the conscript nature of their military, the weakness of their technical educational system, the complexity of any modern combat aircraft and the reality that poor sods forced into being Air Force ground crewmen hardly made the most inspired technicians, or most diligent care-takers of their 'valuable' stockpiles (which their officers all too often sold on the black market anyway), things didn't just look bleak for the Angolan Air Force, they were a tsunami of cumulative factors heading them for an epic disaster.

It wasn't only their enemies who derided their Air Force's lack of readiness. Their allies constantly scolded them about it too. Instead of trying to fix their current inventory, the Angolans kept shopping around for new stuff. Since 'new'-new aircraft was beyond what they wanted to spend (aka put too much of a dent in the money they were siphoning off to their private off-shore accounts), they bought 'used' gear from former Soviet states ~ Belarus, Russia and Ukraine ~ who sold them stuff they had left abandoned in revetments (open to the elements to slowly rot) on the cheap.

To add to the insanity, the Angolans failed to keep up their maintenance agreements so their newly fixed high-tech machines often either couldn't fly, or flew without critical systems, like radar, avionics and even radios. Maybe that wasn't for the worst because after spending millions on these occasionally-mobile paperweights, the Angolans bought the least technologically advanced missile, gun and rocket systems they could get to put on these flying misfortunes.

On the spread sheets, Angola had 18 Su-30K's, 18 Su-27, 12 Su-25's, 14 Su-22's, 22 Mig-23's, 23 Mig-21bis's and 6 Embraer EMB 314 Super Tucano (a turboprop aircraft tailor-made for counter-insurgency operations), 105 helicopters with some combative ability and 21 planes with some airlift capacity. That equated to 81 either air superiority, or multi-role jet fighters versus the 12 Union Air Force (actually the Bakongo Uni o de Cabinda e Zaire, For as Armadas de Liberta  o, For a Area ~ Liberation Armed Forces, Air Force (BUCZ-FAL-FA) Mig-21-97's.

It would seem lopsided except for the thousands of hours of flight experience the 'Unionists' enjoyed over their Angolan rivals. You also needed to take into account the long training and fanatic dedication of their ground crews to their pilots and their craft. Then you needed to take into account every Unionist aircraft, while an older airframe design, had updated (usually to the year 2000) technology lovingly cared for, as if the survival of their People demanded it.

A second and even more critical factor was the element of surprise. At least the PRC and the PLAAF had contingencies for attacks from their neighbors in the forefront of their strategic planning. The Angolans? The only country with ANY air force in the vicinity was the Republic of South Africa (RSA) and they had ceased being a threat with the end of Apartheid and the rise of majority Black rule in that country nearly two decades earlier.

In the pre-dawn hours of 'Union Independence Day', the FAL-FA was going to smash every Angolan Air base and air defense facility within 375 miles of Cabinda (the city). Every three hours after that, they would be hitting another target within their designated 'Exclusion Zone'. Yes, this 'Exclusion Zone' included a 'tiny' bit of DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) territory. The DRC didn't have an air force to challenge them though, so,

Inside this 'Exclusion Zone', anything moving by sea, river, road, rail, or air without Unionist governmental approval was subject to attack, which would require neutral parties to acknowledge some semblance of a free and independent B U C Z. Worse for Angola, this 'Zone' included Angola's capital and its largest port, Luanda, plus four more of their ten largest urban centers. This could be an economic, military and humanitarian catastrophe if mishandled.

The Angolan Army did not have significant anti-aircraft assets. Why would they? Remember, no one around them had much of an air force to worry about. The FAL-FA in turn could hit military convoys with TV-guided munitions 'beyond line of sight', rendering what they did have useless. It got worse for the Army after dark. The FAL-FA could and would fly at night whereas the average Angolan formation had Zip-Zero-Nadda night fighting capacity.

Then geography added its own mountain of woes. As far as Cabinda was concerned, there was no direct land line to their border from Angola. Their coastal road only went as far as the port of Soyo where the Congo River hit the South Atlantic Ocean. Across that massive gap was the DRC where the road was not picked back up. Far up the coast was the DRC town of Muanda (with an airport) and though they did have a road which went north, it did not continue to the Cabindan border.

Nope. To get at Cabinda from the south meant a long, torturous travel through northeastern Angola, into the heart of the DRC then entailed hooking west to some point 'close' to the Cabindan frontier before finally hoofing it overland through partially cleared farmland and jungle. Mind you, the DRC didn't have a native air force capable of protecting the Angolans in their territory so,

In fact the only 'road' to Cabinda came from the Republic of Congo (Congo) to the north and even that was a twisted route along some really bad, swampy terrain. This had been the pathway of conquest the Angolans took 39 years earlier. The difference being the tiny bands of pro-independence Cabindan guerillas back then couldn't hold a candle to the Amazons fighting to free Cabinda this time around in numbers, zeal, training and up-to-date equipment.

Next option ~ to come by sea. They would face a few, stiff problems, such as the FAL-FA having ship-killer missiles, the Angolan Navy not being able to defend them and the Unionists having no compunction to not strike Pointe-Noire in the 'not so neutral' Republic of the Congo if they somehow began unloading Angolan troops. It seemed the Republic of the Congo didn't have much of an Air Force either.

Before you think the FAL-FA was biting off more than they could chew, Cabinda, the province, was shaped somewhat like the US State of Delaware, was half the size of Connecticut (Cabinda was 2,810 sq. mi. to Conn.'s 5,543 sq. mi.) and only the western 20% was relatively open countryside where the Angolan Army's only advantage ~ they possessed armed fighting vehicles while the 'Unionists' did not (at this stage of planning) ~ could hopefully come into play.

Centered at their capital, Cabinda (City), jets could reach any point along their border within eight minutes. Helicopters could make it in fifteen. To be safe, some of the FAL-FA would base at the town of Belize which was in the northern upcountry and much tougher to get at with the added advantage the Angolans wouldn't be expecting the FAL-FA to be using the abandoned airfield there, at least initially.

Where they afraid attacking Angolan troops in the DRC would invite war with the DRC? Sure, but letting the Angolans reach the border unscathed was worse. Besides, the DRC was in such a mess it needed 23,000 UN Peacekeepers within her borders just to keep the country from falling apart. Barring outside, read European, intervention, did "Democratically-elected since 2001" President (for Life) Joseph Kabila want the FAL-FA to start dropping bombs on his capital, Kinshasa, which was well within reach of all their aircraft?

Congo (the country), to the north, wasn't being propped up by the UN, or anything else except ill intentions. In reality, it hardly had much of a military at all. Its officer corps was chosen for political reliability, not merit, or capability. Their technology was old Cold War stuff with little effort to update anything and, if you suspected corruption might be a problem across all spectrums of life, you would 'probably' be right about that too.

If you suspected the current President had been in charge for a while, you would be correct again (1979-1992 then 2001- and the 'whoops' was when he accidently let his country experiment with democracy which led to two civil wars). If you suspected he was a life-long Communist (along with the Presidents of the DRC and Angola), you'd be right about that as well. Somehow their shared Marxist-Leninist-Communist ideology hadn't quite translated over to alleviating the grinding poverty in any of those countries despite their vast mineral wealth,

At this point in the region's history, little Cabinda had everything to gain by striving for independence and the vast majority of 'warriors' who could possibly be sent against her had terribly little to gain fighting and dying trying to stop them from achieving her goal. After all, their lives weren't going to get any better and with the Amazons ability ~ nay willingness ~ to commit battlefield atrocities, those leaders were going to find it hard going to keep sending their men off to die.

And then, it got even worse.

See, what I had pointed out was there were two oil refineries in Angola, and neither was in Cabinda. Cabinda would need a refinery to start making good on their oil wealth ~ aka economically bribe off the Western economies already shaken over the Khanate's first round of aggressions.

But wait! There was an oil refinery just across the Congo River from Cabinda ~ which meant it was attached to mainland Angola. That had to be a passel of impossible news, right?

Nope. As I said earlier, it seemed the people of northern Angola were the same racial group as the Cabindans AND majority Catholic while the ruling clique wasn't part of their ethnic confederacy plus the farther south and east into Angola you went, the less Catholic it became.

But it got better. This province was historically its own little independent kingdom (called the Kingdom of Kongo) to boot! It had been abolished by Portugal back in 1914.

The 'good' news didn't end there. Now, it wasn't as if the leadership of Angola was spreading the wealth around to the People much anyway, but these northerners had been particularly left out of this Marxist version of 'Trickle Down' economics.

How bad was this? This northwestern province ~ called Zaire ~ didn't have any railroads, or paved roads, linking it to the rest of the freaking country. The 'coastal road' entered the province, but about a third of the way up ran into this river, which they'd failed to bridge (you had to use a single track bridge farther to the northeast, if you can believe it). It wasn't even a big river. It was still an obstacle though.

How did the Angolan government and military planned to get around? Why by air and sea, of course. Well, actually by air. Angola didn't have much of a merchant marine, or Navy, to make sealift a serious consideration. Within hours of the 'Union Declaration of Independence' anything flying anywhere north of the Luanda, the capital of Angola, would essentially be asking to be blown out of the sky.

Along the border between Zaire province and the rest of Angola were precisely two chokepoints. By 'chokepoints', I meant places where a squad (10 trained, modernly-equipped troopers) could either see everything for miles & miles over pretty much empty space along a river valley and the only bridge separating Zaire province from the south, or overlook a ravine which the only road had to pass through because of otherwise bad-ass, broken terrain.

Two.

Zaire Province had roughly the same population as Cabinda ~ 600,000. Unlike Cabinda, which consisted of Cabinda City plus a few tiny towns and rugged jungles, Zaire had two cities ~ Soyo, with her seventy thousand souls plus the refinery at the mouth of the Congo River, and M'banza-Kongo, the historical capital of the Kingdom of Kongo, spiritual center of the Bakongo People (who included the Cabindans) and set up in the highlands strategically very reminiscent of Điện Biàn Phủ.

Of Zaire's provincial towns, the only other strategic one was N'Zeto with her crappy Atlantic port facility and 2,230 meter grass airport. The town was the northern terminus of the National Road 100 ~ the Coastal Road. It terminated because of the Mebridege River. There wasn't a bridge at N'Zeto though there was a small one several miles upstream. N'Zeto was also where the road from provinces east of Zaire ended up, so you had to have N'Zeto ~ and that tiny bridge ~ to move troops overland anywhere else in Zaire Province.

So you would think it would be easy for the Angolan Army to defend then, except of how the Amazons planned to operate. They would infiltrate the area first then 'rise up in rebellion'. Their problem was the scope of the operation had magnified in risk of exposure, duration and forces necessary for success.

The serious issue before Saint Marie and the Host in Africa were the first two. They could actually move Amazons from Brazil and North America to bolster their numbers for the upcoming offensive. Even in the short-short term, equipment wouldn't be a serious problem. What the Amazons dreaded was being left in a protracted slugfest with the Angolan Army which the Condottieri could jump in on. The Amazons exceedingly preferred to strike first then vanish.

There was reason to believe a tiny number could have stayed behind in Cabinda to help the locals prepare their military until they could defend themselves. They would need more than a hundred Amazons if Cabinda wanted to incorporate Zaire. The answer was to call back their newfound buddy, the Great Khan. While he didn't have much else he could spare (the Khanate was ramping up for their invasion of the Middle East after all, the Kurds needed the help), he had other allies he could call on.

India couldn't help initially since they were supposed to supply the 'Peace-keepers' once a cease-fire had been arranged. That left Temujin with his solid ally, Vietnam, and his far shakier allies, the Republic of China and Japan.

First off ~ Japan could not help, which meant they couldn't supply troops who might very well end up dead, or far worse, captured.. What they did have was a surplus of older equipment the ROC troops were familiar with, so while the ROC was gearing up for their own invasion of mainland China in February, they were willing to help the Chinese kill Angolans, off the books, of course.

The ROC was sending fifteen hundred troops the Khanate's way to help in this West African adventure with the understanding they'd be coming home by year's end. With Vietnam adding over eight hundred of her own Special Forces, the Amazons had the tiny 'allied' army they could leave shielding Cabinda/Zaire once the first round of blood-letting was over.

To be 'fair', the Republic of China and Vietnam asked for 'volunteers'. It wasn't like either country was going to declare war on Angola directly. Nearly a thousand members of Vietnam's elite 126th Regiment of the 5th Brigade (Đặc cáng bộ) took early retirement then misplaced their equipment as they went to update their visas and inoculations before heading out for the DRC (some would be slipping over the DRC/Cabindan border).

On Taiwan, it was the men and women of the 602nd Air Cavalry Brigade, 871st Special Operations Group and 101st Amphibious Reconnaissance Battalion who felt the sudden desire to 'seek enlightenment elsewhere, preferably on another continent'.

They too were off to the Democratic Republic of Congo, man that country was a mess and their border security wasn't worth writing home about, that's for damn sure, via multiple Southeast Asian nations. Besides, they were being issued fraudulently visas which showed them to be from the People's Republic of China, not the ROC/Taiwan. If they were captured, they were to pretend to "be working for a Communist Revolution inside Angola and thus to be setting all of Africa on fire!" aka be Mainland Chinese.

There, in the DRC, these Chinese stumbled across, some Japanese. These folks hadn't retired. No. They were on an extended assignment for the UN's mission in, the DRC. OH! And look! They'd brought tons of surplus, outdated Japanese Self Defense Forces' equipment with them, and there just so happened to be some Taiwanese who had experience in using such equipment (both used US-style gear).

And here was Colonel Yoshihiro Isami of the Chūō Sokuō Shūdan (Japan's Central Readiness Force) wondering why he and his hastily assembled team had just unloaded,

18 Fuji/Bell AH-1S Cobra Attack helicopters,

6 Kawasaki OH-6D Loach Scout helicopters,

12 Fuji-Bell 204-B-2 Hiyodori Utility helicopters,

6 Kawasaki/Boeing CH-47JA Chinook Transport helicopters and

4 Mitsubishi M U-2L-1 Photo Reconnaissance Aircraft.

Yep! 46 more aircraft for the FAL-FA!

Oh, and if this wasn't 'bad enough', the Chinese hadn't come alone. They'd brought some old aircraft from their homes to aid in the upcoming struggle. Once more, these things were relics of the Cold War yet both capable fighting machines and, given the sorry state of the opposition, definitely quite deadly. A dozen F-5E Tiger 2000 configured primarily for air superiority plus two RF-5E Tigergazer for reconnaissance, pilots plus ground crews, of course.

Thus, on the eve of battle, the FAL-FA had become a true threat. Sure, all of its planes (and half of its pilots) were pretty old, but they were combat-tested and in numbers and experience no other Sub-Saharan African nation could match.

The Liberation Ground Forces:

But wait, there was still the niggling little problem of what all those fellas were going to fight with once they were on the ground. Assault/Battle rifles, carbines, rifles, pistols, PDW, SMGs as bullets, grenades and RPG's were all terrifyingly easy to obtain. The coast of West Africa was hardly the Port of London as far as customs security went. They were going to need some bigger toys and their host nations were going to need all their native hardware for their upcoming battles at home.

And it wasn't like you could advertise for used IFV (Infantry Fighting Vehicles), APCs (armored personnel carriers) and tanks on e-Bay, Amazon.com, or Twitter. If something modern US, or NATO, was captured rolling around the beautiful Angolan countryside, shooting up hostile Angolans, all kinds of head would roll in all kinds of countries, unless the country,

A) had an Executive Branch and Judiciary who wouldn't ask (or be answering) too many uncomfortable questions,

B) wasn't all that vulnerable to international pressure,

C) really needed the money and,

D) didn't give a fuck their toys would soon be seen on BBC/CNN/Al Jazeera blowing the ever-living crap out of a ton of Africans aka doing what they were advertised to do and doing it very well in the hands of capable professionals.

And politics was kind enough to hand the freedom-loving people of Cabinda & Zaire a winner, and it wasn't even from strangers, or at least people all that strange to their part of the Globe. If you would have no idea who to look for, you wouldn't be alone.

That was the magic of the choice. See, the last three decades had seen the entire Globe take a colossal dump on them as a Nation and a People. They were highly unpopular for all sorts of things, such as Crimes Against Humanity and 'no', we were not talking about the Khanate.

We would be talking about Република Србија / Republika Srbija aka Serbia aka the former Yugoslavia who had watched all their satellite minions (Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Montenegro, Kosovo and Macedonia) slip away. Despite being reduced to a tiny fraction of their former selves thus fighting two incredibly brutal and bloody World Wars for nothing, Serbia insisted on maintaining a robust armaments industry.

Mind you, they didn't make the very best stuff on the planet. That didn't stop them from trying though. Of equal importance was their geographic location and the above mentioned desire for some hard currency without asking too many questions. The geography was simple, you could move even heavy gear unnoticed from central Serbia to the Montenegrin port of Bar by rail and load them up on freighters and off to the Congo you went.

The Serbians produced an APC called the BVP M-80A's which weren't blowing anyone's minds away when they started rolling off the production lines back in 1982, plus some over-eager types on the Serbian Army's payroll sweetened the deal by offering 'the rebels' some BVP M-80 KC's and a KB as well.

Then they slathered on the sugary-sweet Maple syrup by upgrading a few of the M-80A's to BVP M-98A's. Why would they be so generous? The KC's and KB were the Command & Control variants, so that made sense (C = company & B = battalion commander). The -98A had never been tested in the field before and they were kind of curious how the new turrets (which was the major difference) would behave. 'Our' procurement agents didn't quibble. We needed the gear.

Besides, these Slavic entrepreneurs gave them an inside track on some 'disarmed/mothballed' Czech (introduced in 1963) armored mobile ambulances and Polish BWP-1 (first rolled out in 1966) APC's which were either in, or could be quickly configured into, the support variants those ground-fighters would need. The 'disarmed' part was 'fixable', thanks to both the Serbians and Finland. The 'missing' basic weaponry was something the Serbians could replace with virtually identical equipment.

It just kept getting better. Unknown to me at the time, the Finnish firm, Patria Hágglunds, had sold twenty-two of their 'most excellent' AMOS turrets ~ they are a twin 120 mm mortar system ~ then the deal fell through. Whoops! Should have guarded that warehouse better. Those bitches were on a cargo plane bound for Albania inside of six hours.

The ammunition for them was rather unique. Thankfully, it was uniquely sold by the Swiss, who had no trouble selling it to Serbia, thank you very much! Twenty-two BWP-1's became mobile artillery for the Unionist freedom fighters, though I understood the ship ride with the Serbian and Chinese technicians was loads of fun as they struggled to figured out how to attach those state-of-the-art death-dealing turrets to those ancient contraptions.

To compensate, the Serbians added (aka as long as our money was good) two Nora B-52 155 mm 52-calibre mobile artillery pieces and one battery of Orkan CER MLRS (Multiple Launch Rocket System) for long-range artillery, two batteries of their Oganj 2000 ER MRLS for medium range carnage and six batteries of their M-94 MRLS for 'close support' as well. More field-testing new gear for the "freedom fighters" We also managed to 'purchase' ten M-84AS Main Battle tanks plus an M-84A1 armor recovery vehicle. It should have been twelve tanks, but two had 'loading issues'.

Not to be deterred, our busy little procurement-beavers discovered four tanks no one was using, in neighboring Croatia. Why wasn't anyone immediately keen on their placement? They were two sets of prototypes, Croatia's improvements on the M-84; the M-95 Degman which was a 'failed redesign' and the M-84D, which was a vast up-grade for the M-84 line which had been sidelined by the 2008 Global economic collapse, after which the project stagnated.

It seemed they were all in working order because late one night 'my people' exited a Croatian Army base with them, never to be seen again, until two weeks later when an intrepid news crew caught the distinctive form of the M-95 sending some sweet 125 mm loving the Angolan Army's way. Whoops yet again! At least they hit what they were aiming at and destroyed what they hit, right?

By then, millions of other people would be going 'what the fuck?' right along with them as Cabinda's camouflage- and mask-wearing rebel army was laying the smack-down on the Angolans. That was okay; over a million 'free Cabindan Unionists' were in the same boat. Over a thousand Asians with their mostly-female militant translators were right there to prop up their 'Unionist Allies', but then they were the ones with the tanks, armored vehicles, planes and guns, so they were less worried than most.

To pilot these tanks, APC, IFV and man this artillery, they had to go back to the Khanate. Sure enough, they had some old tankers used to crewing the T-72 from which the M-84's and -95 Degman were derived. They'd also need drivers for those BVP M-80A's and Polish BWP-1's and OT-64 SKOT's... who were, again, derived from old Soviet tech (just much better). The Serbian artillery was similar enough to Soviet stuff, but with enough new tech to make it 'more fun' for the reservists to 'figure out' how to use.

More volunteers for the Liberation Armed Forces! More Apple sales, great apps and voice modulation software so that the vehicle commanders would be heard communicating in Portuguese if someone was eavesdropping. As a final offering the Turkish Navy spontaneously developed some plans to test their long range capabilities by going to, the South Atlantic.

On the final leg they would have six frigates and two submarines, enough to give any navy in the region, which wasn't Brazil, something to think about. This was a show of force, not an actual threat though. If anyone called their bluff, the Khanate-Turkish forces would have to pull back. These were not assets my Brother, the Great Khan, could afford to gamble and lose.

If someone didn't call that bluff, he was also sending two smaller, older corvettes and three even smaller, but newer, fast attack boats, a "gift" to the Unionists ASAP. The frigates would then race home, they had 'other' issues to deal with while the submarines would hang around for a bit. The naval gift was necessitated by the reality the Unionists would have to press their claim to their off-shore riches and that required a naval force Angola couldn't hope to counter.

As things were developing, it was reckoned since a build-up of such momentous land and air power couldn't be disguised, it had to happen in a matter of days ~ four was decided to be the minimum amount of time. More than that and the government of the Democratic Republic might start asking far too many questions our hefty bribes and dubious paperwork couldn't cover. Less than that would leave the task forces launching operations with too little a chance of success.

Our biggest advantage was audacity. The buildup would happen 100 km up the Congo River from Soyo, the primary target of the Southern Invasion, in the DRC's second largest port city, Boma. Though across the river was Angolan territory, there was nothing there. The city of roughly 160,000 would provide adequate cover for the initial stage of the invasion.

There they grouped their vehicles & Khanate drivers with Amazon and Vietnamese combat teams. The Japanese were doing the same for their 'Chinese' counterparts for their helicopter-borne forces. Getting all their equipment in working order in the short time left was critical as was creating some level of unit dynamic. Things were chaotic. No one was happy. They were all going in anyway.

What had gone wrong?

While most children her age were texting their schoolmates, or tackling their homework, Aya Ruger ~ the alias of Nasusara Assiyaiá hamai ~ was getting briefings of her global, secret empire worth hundreds of billions and those of her equally nefarious compatriots. She received a very abbreviated version of what the Regents received, delivered by a member of Shawnee Arinniti's staff.

When Aya hopped off her chair unexpectedly, everyone tensed. Her bodyguards' hands went to their sidearms and Lorraine (her sister by blood), also in the room on this occasion, stood and prepared to tackle her 'former' sibling to the ground if the situation escalated into an assassination attempt. No such attack was generated, so the security ratcheted down and the attendant returned her focus to her Queen. Aya paced four steps, turned and retraced her way then repeated the action three more times.

"How many people live in the combined areas?" she asked.

"The combined areas? Of Cabinda and Zaire?"

"Yes."

"I," the woman referenced her material, "roughly 1.1 million."

"What is the yearly value of the offshore oil and natural gas production?"

"Forty-nine billion, eighty hundred and sixty-seven million by our best estimates at this time,"

"How many live in Soyo City proper?"

"Roughly 70,000."

"We take Soyo," she spoke in a small yet deliberate voice. "We take and hold Soyo as an independent city-state within the Cabindan-Zaire Union. From the maps it appears Soyo is a series of islands. It has a port and airport. It has an open border to an ocean with weaker neighbors all around."

"What of the, Zairians?"

"Bakongo. As a people they are called the Bakongo," Aya looked up at the briefer. "We relocate those who need to work in Soyo into a new city, built at our expense, beyond the southernmost water barrier. The rest we pay to relocate elsewhere in Zaire, or Cabinda."

By the looks of those around her, Aya realized she needed to further explain her decisions.

"This is more than some concrete home base for our People," she began patiently. "In the same way it gives our enemies a clearly delineated target to attack us, it is a statement to our allies we won't cut and run if things go truly bad."

"In the same way it will provide us with diplomatic recognition beyond what tenuous handouts we are getting from Cáel Wakko Ishara's efforts through JIKIT. Also, it is a reminder we are not like the other Secret Societies in one fundamental way, we are not a business concern, or a religion. We are a People and people deserve some sort of homeland. We have gone for so long without."

"But Soyo?" the aide protested. "We have no ties to it, and it backs up to, nothing."

"Northern Turkey and southern Slovakia mean nothing to us now as well," Aya debated. "No place on Earth is any more precious than another. As for backing up to nothing, no. You are incorrect. It backs into a promise from our allies in the Earth & Sky that if we need support, they know where to park their planes and ships."

Aya was surrounded with unhappy, disbelieving looks.

"The Great Khan is my mamētu meáeda," she reminded them, "and I have every reason to believe he completely grasps the concept's benefits and obligations."

The looks confirmed 'but he's a man' to the tiny Queen.

"Aya, are you sure about this?" Lorraine was the first to break decorum.

"Absolutely. Do you know what he sent me when he was informed of my, ascension to the Queendom?"

"No," Lorraine admitted.

"We must go horse-riding sometime soon, Daughter of Cáel, Queen of the Amazons."

More uncertain and unconvinced looks.

"He didn't congratulate me, or send any gifts. He could have and you would think he would have, but he didn't. He knew the hearts of me & my Atta and we weren't in the celebratory mood. No. The Great Khan sent one sentence which offered solace and quiet, atop a horse on a windswept bit of steppe."

Nothing.

Sigh. "I know this sounds Cáel-ish," Aya admitted, "but I strongly believe this is what we should do. We are giving the Cabindans and Bakongo in Zaire independence and the promise of a much better life than what they now face. We will be putting thousands of our sisters' lives on the line to accomplish this feat and well over two hundred million dollars."

"What about governance of the city ~ Soyo?" the aide forged ahead.

"Amazon law," Aya didn't hesitate. "We will make allowances for the security forces of visiting dignitaries and specific allied personnel, but otherwise it will be one massive Amazon urban freehold."

"I cannot imagine the Golden Mare, or the Regents, will be pleased," the attendant bowed her head.

"It is a matter of interconnectivity," Aya walked up and touched the woman's cheek with the back of her small hand. "We could liberate then abandon Cabinda with the hope a small band could help them keep their independence. Except we need the refinery at Soyo so the people of Cabinda can truly support that liberty."

"So, we must keep Soyo and to keep Soyo, we must keep Zaire province. There is no other lesser border which makes strategic sense ~ a river, highlands, a massive river, an ocean ~ those are sustainable frontiers. You can't simply keep Soyo and not expect the enemy to strike and destroy that refinery, thus we must take Zaire province."

"But the Bakongo of Zaire cannot defend themselves and will not be able to do so for at least a year, if not longer. That means we must do so, and for doing so, they will give us Soyo and we will be honest stewards of their oil wealth. We cannot expect any other power to defend this new Union and if we don't have a land stake we will be portrayed as mercenaries and expelled by hostile international forces."

"So, for this project to have any chance of success, we must stay, fight and have an acknowledged presence, and if you can think of an alternative, please let me know," she exhaled.

"What if the Cabindans and Bakongo resist?"

"It is 'us', or the Angolans and they know how horrible the Angolans can be. Didn't you say the average person their lives on just $2 a day?"

"Yes."

"We can do better than that," Aya insisted.

"How?" the aide persisted. "I mean, 'how in a way which will be quickly evident and meaningful?'"

"Oh," Aya's tiny brow furrowed. Her nose twitched as she rummaged through the vast storehouse of her brain.

"Get me in touch with William A. Miller, Director of the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service. He should be able to help me navigate the pathways toward getting aid and advisors into those two provinces ASAP."

"I'll let Katrina know," the attendant made the notation on her pad.

"No. Contact him directly," Aya intervened. "We established a, rapport when we met. I think he might responded positively to a chance to mentor me in foreign relations."

"Really?" Lorraine's brows arched.

"Yes," Aya chirped.

"Are you sure, Nasusara?" the attendant stared. She used 'Nasusara' whenever she thought Aya had a 'horrible' idea instead of a merely a 'bad' one.

"Yes. He owes me. Last time we met I didn't shoot him."

"Didn't?" the woman twitched.

"Yes. I drew down on him with my captured Chinese QSW-06. I didn't want to kill him, but I felt I was about to have to kill Deputy National Security Advisor Blinken and he was the only other person in the room both armed and capable of stopping me."

"Why is he still alive?"

"Cáel Ishara saw through my distraction and then took my gun from me, asked for it actually," she shyly confessed.

"Would you have shot him?" the aide inquired.

"What do you think?" Aya smiled.

And Then:

So, given the extended scope of the operation by both a second province and the Queen's demands, which necessitated the increased time table by an extra two weeks, the Amazons, Coils of the Serpent and Cult of the Jaguar were forced to bring in extra people. For the Amazons, the primary additions were Security Detail from North and South America and every available runner and House Amazons they could risk removing from Brazil.

For the Coils, it was the advantage of sending three Cult 'cells' after their hardest targets, the two Provincial Governors and the Head of the Northern Military Region (aka Cabinda) plus their staffs. The Coils spent their resources subverting a few MPLA (the ruling party of Angola) members into enticing other key members to gather as the coup d'etat was going down so they could all be swept up quickly. Such was the arrogance of the ruling elite that a roundup was possible.

They were also able to recruit non-aligned yet sympathetic Portuguese-speakers, so once the takeover was successful they would be able to translate the transition over to the actual Cabindan revolutionaries, who weren't being informed because they weren't really trusted.

Finally, the Coils also made use of the extra time to plot out their own desperate inter-clan operation which they would hope give them some 'personal leverage' which would turn their temporary battlefield successes into a cease-fire which, in turn, would result in the lasting peace the Angolan government wasn't expecting. Indeed, theirs was a different battlefield all together.

And now, back to Cáel

{12:30 am central time, Tuesday, September 9th ~ Three days before the Great Hunt}

I doubted my home would ever look the same. A firefight had happened here and no amount of cleaning and patching up of the bullet holes would change that. The police had taken away the heavy floor lamp Dad had used in those last minutes of his life to strike at those trying to kidnap him, even if he had battled on the correct side by accident.

There was also the damage caused by the two grenades used on the property, one outside at the southeastern corner and the other inside. Grenades. I couldn't imagine any house built to withstand such blasts, though I'm sure the Amazons built them, somewhere, for some contingency. Bless their paranoid little hearts.

I began crying again. A delayed soliloquy for my departed patriarch. I had so much else to do in my life since his death, no, his murder, that I hadn't really had a good cry in a while to mourn him with the sympathy he deserved. I wondered how he'd feel finally realizing Mom was still alive, out there and reunited with her Son.

Knowing Dad it would be something like, "Don't blame her, Cáel. She had to go and you and I had to stay, so we picked up the pieces of our lives and carried on. Now that she's back, embrace the time you do have."

I never saw him stay angry with my Mom about anything, such was his love for her. Now he was gone and I had her back.

Most kids couldn't imagine how lucky I was to have two parents so dedicated to their offspring they would surrender their own happiness for that child's life. In that moment I realized I was indeed a lucky man. I had a titan of a Father who cared for me deeply and allowed me to be the best me I could be. And I had a Mother, who was a genetically engineered super-spy. What was not to love?

"Ishara," Juanita called out softly. I thought she was respecting my sorrow. "Ishara, a car has pulled up in front of the domicile." Or, maybe not.

I walked over to take a look out the front window to see who it might be. One sports sedan wasn't what I thought a hit squad would come in. The driver got out and looked my way. It was Cameron Sanders.

"I know her," I related. "We went to High School together," was added because I knew a whole host of scurrilous women who could kill me if the mood took them.

A second woman got out, this time from the passenger side. It took me a moment through the darkness to make her out under the light of the street lamp. It was Cameron's BFF in High School, Tiffany Christiansen. While not as volcanically hot as Cameron, she was definitely stroke worthy.

I had to wonder why they were here, not really. The last time I'd seen Cameron, she had this wistful smile on her face and a freshly-fucked glow ~ smile and glow courtesy of yours truly. I had then gone off to get my ass kicked by some 9 Clans hotties, one of whom was now carrying two of my offspring, Miyako. Those two local girls were walking up the walkway toward my front door.

I noticed Juanita had her Glock drawn.

"I think they are here to offer their condolences, not kill me," I reminded Juanita. Well, maybe they planned to kill me with sex, but they clearly had no clue who they were dealing with if that was the case.

"The death of your father was months ago," my bodyguard countered.

"Yes, but not everyone I went to high school with has had the chance to express their condolences over his passing," I volleyed. I also stepped up and opened the door before they could ring the bell.

"Cameron and Tiffany, long time, no see," I greeted them.

"Cáel, you look as good as ever," Cameron responded.

"I'm surprised you remember who I am," Tiffany smiled. "Cameron tells me you have so many women around you these days." She wasn't too surprised.

"Come in. Come in," I stepped aside. "The woman with me tonight is my bodyguard, Juanita Leya Antonio Garza."

"Oh," Tiffany's mouth gaped and her breath caught. "You need a bodyguard now?"

"Yes. I'm reckless. I need to be protected from myself, most often."

"Ain't that the truth," Juanita muttered.

"Juanita, this is Cameron Sanders and Tiffany Christiansen," I made the introductions. "So ladies, what brings you two to darken my doorway tonight?"

"I, I'm embarrassed to say," Cameron blushed. "I paid one of your neighbors to give me a call when you stopped by, and she did, so here we are."

"We?"

"Yes. Tiffany and I were on a girl's night out when the call came and she recalled me talking about our last encounter and wanted to see you, too," Cameron explained.

"I'm just surprised you are already the director of a Fortune 500 company," Tiffany added.

"Dad was full of surprises," I sighed. "I inherited the position from his family tree. My Mother's family came with other gifts."

"Like your Irish diplomatic position, or was that your Khanate patent of nobility?" Tiffany guessed.

"Actually, I earned my position in the Khanate, I did a friend a favor, but you are right about the Irish side being my Mother's doing," I allowed.

"So Tiffany, what have you been up to?" I tacked on.

"I'm a loan officer at Wells Fargo.

"So, you are a bastion of the Establishment," I teased.

"Yes, yes, I am. I'm crushing the hopes and dreams of the Work Class on a daily basis," she snickered. "What about you?"

"I'm nobody," I snorted.

"A director of a fortune 500 Company is hardly a 'nobody'," she countered. "Besides, aren't you engaged to a billionaire heiress?"

"That's all just window-dressing for my otherwise dull life," I insisted.

"Weren't you kidnapped several weeks ago only to be rescued by some US Marines in the middle of the Pacific?" Cameron piled on.

"I also don't remember you being this fun in High School," Tiffany added.

"We ran in different crowds, which is to say you ran with the Elite Clique while I ran in a circle of one. Even my D and D buddies didn't want to be seen with me during school hours," I joked.

"That's harsh. Well, you are definitely somebody now. In fact you may be our most distinguished alum," Tiffany pointed out.

"You aren't ashamed to be seen with us now, are you?" Cameron moved close to a cuddling contact.

"No, but let me take care of something," I disengaged and hot footed it over to Juanita.

"Just so you know, I will leave your ass here until I come back from the Great Hunt," I whispered to her, "if you so much as make one crass, or uncalled for comment. Before you decide to test me, that will mean you will have to explain to Buffy why I drove myself half way through Chicago alone. Clear?"

"As Crystal, Ishara," she grumbled.

"Thank you," I patted her on the shoulder.

"Gurr," she growled. I turned and rejoined the two ladies who were here for 'me', Mr. Sexy Stud-muffin, not 'me', Wakko Ishara.

"Care to take a tour of my home away from home?" I suggested.

"Yes."

"Sure."

"How about we start upstairs and work our way down?" I offered.

"Great," Cameron exhaled very erotically.

"I'm all for that," Tiffany agreed and off we went.

Since I knew the layout, I went last. That this gave me a view of their shapely legs and perfect asses never entered my mind, yeah, right. Cameron was in the lead so I had to give her directions. We went to my Father's room first, I had to get this emotional hurdle out of the way. I could almost hear him say, "You had company upstairs? Was your room clean?"

'Why, yes it was, Dad' I answered his phantasm.

The bathroom came next and was quickly brushed over. My room, the amalgam of two much smaller bedrooms, came last of all.

"This is a nice space," Cameron glowed as she moved over to my bed and flounced down upon it, facing us at the door.

"Are those for real?" Tiffany pointed at my weight set, a Christmas gift from my Dad from four, almost five, years gone by.

"Very."

Tiffany tried to lift my arm curl weights with little success.

"Here, let me help," I told her.

I then walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her from behind then lifted the forty-two and a half pound weight.

"You're strong," she noted. She also pushed her tushy into my much neglected hard-on.

"My roommate in New York is even stronger," I murmured into her ear.

"Is he currently seeing somebody?"

"No, but I'm not sure you are his type," I challenged her.

"Why don't you let me decide that," she looked over her shoulder. Now our faces were only inches apart.

"He's gay," I grinned.

"Oh, damn it," she punished me with her ass grinding against my crotch.

"What are you two talking about?" Cameron was feeling neglected.

"My roommate in New York City," I looked Cameron's way. "He's a famous tattoo artist, and gay. He and my best gal-pal are currently seeing to it I get a more palatial pad once I return from this excursion."

"What's your current place like?" Tiffany wasn't willing to allow Cameron to steal my attention away from her quite yet.

"It is the same place I inhabited when I was a mere intern. Nice and cozy with the external feel of a low-intensity war zone."

"In N Y C?" Cameron appeared worried. "I thought it had been cleaned up, of crime and stuff."

"Some of the local wildlife didn't get the message," I shrugged then put the weights down. I also wrapped Tiffany up in my arms on the rebound.

"You are very, muscly," she noted.

"I live a demanding life," I told her. She turned around in my arms. We made meaningful eye contact, and then began kissing.

"Wow, you are easy," Tiffany panted once we came up for air.

I noted Cameron coming off the bed, coming my way and snuggling up behind me. She wanted some attention too. I have been told I get sex effortlessly. I found that ridiculous. I lifted weights religiously, cycled like my life dependent on it, and ate the right kinds of food so I could put forward a most pleasing physique and facade which girls found attractive.

That and a persona which was equal parts masculine and playful put women around me at ease. All it took then was a bit of initiative and there you have it. I was also lucky to run across women who were looking for sex, which I admit. Being lucky enough into run across a Cameron and Tiffany two-way, okay, that happens to me way too often to be anything except exceptional lucky, but I would be remiss in ignoring them, now wouldn't I?

I shifted so I had hands around both Tiffany and Cameron's waists. Kissing Cameron came next.

"I've missed you," Cameron sighed happily. "I was a little hurt to learn you ran off and became engaged to that other woman."

"It is an arranged marriage, Cameron," I half-lied. "It helps me with my contacts in the Khanate plus I was able to repay a debt to her family by doing so."

"I figured it was something like that," she wiggled against my hip.

"Did you really think I could forget our night together, Cameron? That shower?" I taunted her.

"No, not really," she looked away while smiling wistfully.

"Well, I haven't," I assured her.

"I'm sure you haven't been, lonely," she teased right back. She was also implying I was a bit of a man-whore, which was the truth.

"Cameron, you and I shared something special. Yes, there have been other women, but none of them shared our common history, or expressed our desires with such symmetry." Yes, I was bull-shitting like a champ.

Sex with Cameron had been special for many reasons, even those beyond her being my personal demon. Not only was she Brooke-hot, our sex had actually been quite pleasant, say Odette on a good night (but not a great night).

"We did, didn't we?" Cameron was happy to assert her position as the dominant woman tonight, if not in my life as a whole.

"What about me?" Tiffany wasn't willing to concede the race to the top spot quite yet.

"I don't know you as well right now," I allowed. Even as I said those words, I pulled Cameron to me tighter.

"Here, let me become more familiar," Tiffany purred, and she did.

Fast forward two minutes and we had most of our clothes off and were on my double bed, real cozy. Cameron was on her back, head on my pillow and legs spread wide. Tiffany was above her, standing, with her beige stocking-clad legs spread even wider so that she was barely on the bed. Her black garters made a nice contrast with her pale flesh. Her palms were against my wall above my headboard.

Me? I was behind Tiffany and between Cameron's legs. I had my right hand hovering beside her love box, penetrating it with two fingers while rubbing circles around her clitoris with my thumb. Higher up, my left hand was alternating between petting Tiffany's kitty and sphincter. I was also performing anilingus on her because it turned out she really loved anal play.

Tiffany was clearly getting into the attention I was giving her, but I felt I needed to take care of Cameron first. After all, she had been nice enough to bring Tiffany along plus she was still my personal demon.

"Don't go anywhere," I told Tiffany after playfully nipping at her ass. She looked back at me with feverish eyes.

"Have I been neglecting you, Cameron," I looked down at the sweaty babe.

"Just a little," she hiccupped. I had been really riling her up with my fingers, that was for sure.

"How about I take care of you right now?" I gave her a fierce look. She nodded. While I was kissing her on the back of her knees, I palmed two condoms from my sneakily placed wallet.

I still had to be somewhat worried Pamela had sabotaged them, if Dot Ishara was sabotaging my prophylactic efforts I was plainly screwed, but I'd been keeping an eye on my wallet when she was around, which wasn't terribly comforting anyway. On one went as my kisses and licks trailed down toward her twat.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

Hey, who was I to ignore a woman asking me to do what I wanted to do? I serpentined beneath Tiffany and worked my way up Cameron's body rapidly so that my penetration caught Cameron somewhat off-guard. I was inside her with barely a 'yip'. After the initial penetration, I began rocking us back and forth, up and down, incrementally allowing me to delve deeper.

At the entrance to her uterus, I slowed down and turned this into a slow, romantic screw. Our eyes met and our gazes locked. Cameron's and my worlds collapsed down to just the two of us, allowing Cameron to ignore her jealous Bestie staring down at us from just a foot away. At the point Cameron surrendered her resistance to her orgasm, I began to turn her over to the doggy style position.

This pressed my head against Tiffany's bosom. Yeah, I had boobs on either side of my ears. More importantly, my rocking motion as I slammed into Cameron's posh posterior were being transmitted through my body into Tiffany's. I didn't have to look up to tell she was getting into it, me fucking her friend with her getting all the pushback she could ever want.

Cameron coughed up her climax in a series of shuddering gasps. I reached down, found her clit and strummed it to create an extra level of carnal violation to the orgasmic explosion going off in her brain. When she collapsed forward, I knew I'd stunned her for the next few minutes. That would be all the time I needed to jump onto Tiffany.

And that is what I did. I removed one condom and put another one on as I slithered off Cameron then stood up behind Tiffany.

"You've been very good, Tiffany, but," I began.

"But?" she looked back at me with her hair draped over her eyes.

"But I'm going to own this ass right now."

"Oh, I like the sound of that," she rocked that ass back and forth, taunting me. Fortunately for me and my time table, I had already loosened her up for the upcoming assault. Still, I worked two fingers into her prepped bunghole, getting it covered in her elixirs. No sense being cruel and I didn't have any lotion handy.

"Huh, huh, huh, huh," she gasped as I began driving up her. Her sphincter gave way immediately thanks to my earlier efforts. In I went. God, she was tight and could really work those muscles to make this a pleasurable ride into the darkness. Like my early adventure with Cameron, I wasn't out to slam my meat deep within her. I took it nice and slow.

This allowed Tiffany to show me what a naughty slut she was. She could really work her anal muscles.

"Do this much?" I leaned down onto her back and whispered into her ear.

"Oh yes," she hissed. "My first, first boyfriend, in college, showed me how much, fun this could, be."

"Thank him for me," I grunted.

"No way," she giggled. "He was a, real asshole and, cheated on me, with my roommate." Oh, the 'me' of boyfriends.

"Let me guess," I nibbled the top of that ear, "You find it difficult to ask, other guys to do this for you."

"Yes," she gasped. "How did, you know?"

"I'm a bit of a bastard of a boyfriend. A girl who forgave me told me the same thing."

"You," she huffed. She was really sweating it now, "bad, bad boy."

"I'm never going to forget this ass," I pledged.

"Why don't, you, move to, Chicago?" she panted. By the feel of those tremors working their way through her thighs, she was on the cusp.

"Work has me constantly moving around, but I could try to make Chicago a constant layover," I proposed.

"Works, for me!" she squealed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Her orgasm shook through her like a tidal wave of lust. She trembled there for several seconds before she began to slide down. I was able to surround her waist with my arms as we collapsed back. As I began to hit my own climax, my legs started to give way as well. We collapsed back with my hard rod shooting off deep within her ass, deeper than I had ever gone before. Thankfully the condom held because I came a bucket-full.

"You two okay?" Cameron sat up on her elbows, causing her bare breasts to bounce suggestively. My cock was gearing up for round two alright.

"Just fine," I responded. Tiffany was still coming down from Cloud Nine. "How about we grab something to drink then start on round two?"

"Oh, my ass," Tiffany moaned.

"Okay, umm, I'm up for another round," Cameron smiled both over her own freedom to get more sex from me as well as her friend's discomfort, no doubt.

"Sorry, Mr. Nyilas," Juanita knocked on the open door and looked in, "but you have to get ready for your flight out of town, like right now."

"No!" I howled up at the ceiling.

"Well, can't you rescheduled your flight?" Cameron asked hopefully.

Since my itinerary had been set by Krasimira, no it couldn't.

"I'm terribly sorry ladies, but this trip, I can't put off any longer. How about we exchange numbers so we can get together the next time I come through?"

"Okay," from Cameron.

Wiggle, wiggle and then another wiggle, from Tiffany. "Are you sure?"

"Believe me both of you, I don't want to leave, but I gave my word I'd be at this meeting and a good friend will be in a world of hate if I'm late, or don't show up," I explained and lied. Felix wasn't a good friend after all.

We exchanged numbers then got dressed (under Juanita's watchful gaze) with the occasional bodies rubbing against one another and wistful glances. After I bundled the girls out, with the resulting French kisses, I locked up and go into the car with Juanita.

"You did better this time," I congratulated her.

"What do you mean?" she eyed me suspiciously.

"This was much better done than your tsunami lie back with Rhada."

"Oh, well don't think I'm not going to make sure Buffy Ishara knows about this bizarre liaison," she threatened.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded. "No lives were in danger."

"Hmm, I think your life was in danger," she griped.

"From you?"

"Yes."

"Well, we are improving our relationship," I acknowledged.

"How so?"

"A week ago you wouldn't have confessed to me you wanted to hurt me for stepping out on House Ishara."

"Oh, you have got a point there. I need to be more duplicitous," she decided.

"You don't need to. You could simply lie to Buffy."

"Not happening. I like to dream about all the pain she is going to put you through once you two are alone. Then my job will be complete."

Great, my bodyguard was getting perverse pleasure knowing the First of my House was going to scar me like her personal scratching post. Honestly, I couldn't wait to get back up with Rachel and out in the field where only the opposing side wanted to cause me personal harm. Then I could fight back with a good conscience. As it was, I was off to the Great Hunt, which would require me to arrive 24 hours to get to, according to Krasimira.

Preview of the Great Hunt

{10:15 pm, Wednesday, September 10th ~ Two days before the Great Hunt}

We were at the Send-Off dinner. It was festive. Felix and I were introduced to the thirty Amazons who would be hunting us down. In reality, it was the first chance for the thirty to meet one another, Felix and I were window dressing, their prizes. That was their set up anyway. I had other plans and had already laid the groundwork. Step one was easy. All I had to do was get Felix to trust me, implicitly.

"Excuse me," I called out from the 'head' of the table. It was a symbolic placement. They might as well placed glazed apples in the men's mouths for all our situation meant. A few quieted. I tapped my water glass with my fork. "Excuse me." I had maybe twelve of their attention. "Sisters! Shut your yaps!" I shouted. That got most of them. The few holds out were being purposely rude. No problem.

"Felix," I motioned for him to stand. When he did so, I drew my 'honor blade' and handed it to him. "Felix, I am trusting you with the honor of all Isharans, Brother to Brother. I know you will not let me down." His artfully crafted right eyebrow arched slightly then he took it.

"I won't let you down, Cáel," he clasped my other hand palm to palm and gave it two good shakes.

I hadn't told him what I planned to do because, being a smart guy, he might have figured out what I had planned, decided I was insane and refused to participate. Mainly because what I was about to ask him to do was insane.

"Sisters, all of you have blades. Will none of you offer me your honor to make this a fair contest of arms? We all know each of you have more experience than both of us," I motioned to Felix and I, "combined many times over. Who can I count on?"

No one did anything though I saw Rachel and Elsa eye me suspiciously. What I was asking for was both out of the ordinary and I 'knew better'.

"Oh, come on now," I faux-pleaded. "With all your advantages, none wish to give me a fair chance?"

"You gave your blade up," Tamarin of House Farānak noted with a sneer. "If you really thought you would need one, you shouldn't have been so hasty. I heard you were smarter than this."

I nodded then gave the assembly one last scan then sat back down.

"I am," I grinned. "I was giving the thirty of you a chance to make this a fair contest and none of you chose to do so. Now I'm going to beat you like little bitches. See, I have three Goddess on call, a series of other supernatural allies and the ability to access my ancestors. I was offering to not do any of that and all of you declined," I kept smiling.

"You would cheat?" Torm, of House Maeve darkened. That would be Katrina's #1 assassin.

"Cheat? I am doing nothing more than what you consider the value of an Honor Blade, which all of you possess. I, as your prey, was under no obligation to explain myself. You thirty, with every other advantage, chose to allow me to use these abilities."

"So, you can talk with your ancestors," Parul of House Nammu shrugged. "Big deal."

"By all means, tell that to Ajax and his War band," Elsa's words dripped with sarcasm. "Oh. You are not an augur, so you can't. Ajax the Unconquered, who no Amazon, or Trojan, could touch, traded blows with Wakko Ishara and now his few survivors will be burying him among his kinsmen on Salamis."

Later that night:

"What they would not allow by ego, you permit by reason," Felix verbally congratulated me. What he meant was I had ensured the Amazons would come at me first. My worry was Felix wouldn't get a chance to shine with the added concern I could recover far faster than him so encouraging the Amazons to strike at me first increased our mutual chance of survival.

"If you think it is bad now, wait until I start praying," I told him.

"And you are sure you want me to knock you out for this to work?" Felix was perplexed.

"It is how this has to work. I wish it wasn't, trust me," I confirmed.

Together we walked out of the Hapantali Freehold's main building and looked up at the Moon.

We were in the southern half of Argentina, closer to Patagonia than I ever thought I'd get though not so far south I actually got to see any penguins. No, we were in the Southern Hemisphere's version of the Northern Hemisphere's Great Plains, though at the southern extreme of said feature. It was bone-numbing cold this far south that was for sure. It wasn't spring here yet on this side of the globe.

"Is your stamina going to be up for this cold?" Felix inquired.

"It had better be. I know we are only getting a light coat and light sleeping bag for our journey."

"And this is all going to be on horseback," Felix frowned. He had only gotten two weeks training with the Epona on horsemanship having no previous lore.

"It wouldn't be Amazon if they weren't stacking the odds in their favor," I bumped him. "That is something you have to get used to around here. They play to win."

"Thus them inside choosing up sides," he scoffed.

"They are not just choosing up sides to capture us, but to fend off the others should they be the first to capture us," I reminded him.

"I'm already trying to figure out where to hide your nifty little knife so they don't take it off me when I get bound," Felix surprised me, by insinuating he could be captured.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I figure I'll get captured trying to rescue your ass, Nyilas, then have to save both of us."

"Asshole," I snorted.

"Realist," he replied.

"Let's go to sleep. It is going to be a tough three days."

"That's the damn truth," Felix conceded. "Come on." And off we went.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.