The Kazak Guardians (9 page)

"You're only a woman."

"You and your minister will die as easily as me. Bullets and knives don't know the difference." I was out of words. They would capitulate or it was going to get physical.

After another look at the minister, Ihsan nodded. "We'll honor your customs, but our first concern is the minister."

"As it should be."

***

As the days and the endless meetings dragged on, I became more and more anxious. If someone was going to try something, they were taking their time. That meant they had carefully planned the time and place of the attack. That would make them more dangerous than someone who hates Iranians and thinks he can just walk up and shoot him. Security could handle that-maybe. They didn't seem to have done so well with Reagan. Well that was a little unfair.

After the minister had concluded his meeting with representatives of the Foreign Affairs committee, Senator Sidedell pulled him aside.

"Minister Yazid, if you have time I would like to talk to you in private. Afterward, perhaps you would like to join me for lunch. The food in our dining room is quite good."

Yazid nodded and followed Sidedell down the hallway to his office. When they entered, I followed. Ihsan and Nadir gave me a strange look but stopped at the door.

"You've no business here. My business with Senator Sidedell is private," Yazid said, looking to the senator and then back to me. "Get out!" he screamed.

"Minister Yazid, I'm here to protect you, not to make you happy." The minster's face turned a scarlet red. He pointed in my direction and looked back to the senator. Sidedell looked tired as his eyes followed Yazid's finger. He sighed.

"Minister Yazid, please sit. Our Kazaks stick to one like glue and are all as arrogant as her. I'm afraid if they weren't, some of us would be dead. Our Assassins will attest to the fact that your current Kazak's very lethal." Although Yazid remained furious, he sat and the two began their discussions without further comments. Afterward, Sidedell escorted Yazid to the Senate dining room. I insisted they take a seat near a wall, where I could stand without being too conspicuous and survey the room and the entrance. After Masson was killed on my watch, and the recent incident with the Ghost Assassin, I was even more paranoid than my fellow Kazaks. Ihsan and Nadir were allowed to sit at a nearby table and eat. I ordered a sandwich and ate standing.

The senator and Yazid were half way through their dessert when a good-looking, well-dressed man entered the room. As he walked in our direction, people waved at him and invited him to join them. He smiled and kept walking toward Sidedell's table. When he was only a couple of tables away, Sidedell waved for him to join them. Ihsan and Nadir turned and smiled at the approaching man.

I drew my gun and instinctively raised the other arm just above my eyes. We were both going for a headshot and my arm would give me about a ten percent chance of living through the experience. We fired simultaneously. My arm hit my face. Blood, bone, and brains sprayed the nearby tables as the Glamour Assassin's head exploded. I smashed against the wall. Pain ran up my arm, and I felt something warm running down my face. Some people were hiding under tables, while others were beginning to run. I fired three shots into the ceiling.

"Halt." I fired two more shots. "On the floor or sit immediately." I shot twice more before everyone had found a chair or a spot on the floor. "Stay there or get shot." I spotted a security guard, who was still standing. "If you draw that gun, you're dead. I'm a Kazak. Call 888-511-5111 and ask for a Kazak and medics to be sent here. Ihsan, Nadir, get over here."

They jumped up.

"Take a knife and cut strips off my shirt to bandage my head and put a tourniquet on my arm." They hesitated. I assumed it was because of their religious taboos concerning women. "Now!"

They cut my shirt into ribbons, then made a tourniquet, which they tightened with a knife I gave them. Without the wall providing me support, I couldn't have stayed standing. Even so, my head spun, and my vision blurred. I quieted myself, drawing on that inner strength I had found in the temple on the Hill. An eternity later, three men stood in the entrance to the dining room. I prepared myself. The first one to move through the door would die.

"Hi, Lynn, it's Jessie. Can I approach? You look in a bad mood," he shouted from the entrance. My vision was too blurred to distinguish one face from another.

"Tell me something about me on the Hill."

"You were a lousy shot."

"OK, Jessie," I said, as I slid down the wall.

***

I woke in bed with my arm bandaged, an IV in the other arm, and a bandage covering one eye.

"Your shooting has improved, Lynn." I recognized Jessie's voice. I had spent nine years competing with him. It had more or less ended in a draw only because I had been more devious than him. "I'm jealous. You now have your name twice on the
Assassin Killers
board. Maybe you could direct one to me, please. Just out of curiosity, why did you have everyone glued to their seats and ask me a silly question before you allowed me to move?"

"Hi, Jessie. My vision was blurred, so I couldn't see if there were any more Assassins in the room or trying to enter. Keeping everyone frozen in place, I could just shoot anything that moved on the assumption it was an Assassin. I needed assurance it was you in the entrance and not some other Assassin."

"The president would have been upset if you shot a senator that supported him. On the other hand, he probably would have given you a medal if you shot one of the opposition." He didn't smile. "You were lucky. The bullet ricocheted off the bone in your arm and only grazed your head. They've put a plate in your arm to hold the shattered bone together and stitched the gash in your head. The Glamour Assassin wasn't so lucky. Oh, you ruined the senators' lunches."

"I hope the doctor realizes if he screwed up my arm I'll shoot him," I said seriously. It did concern me that I might not have full functionally with that arm. A one-armed Kazak wouldn't be very effective. Sweat beaded on my forehead at the thought that one bullet could screw up nine years of work and a lifetime career.

"I promise, it'll be as good as new within a month," a man in a white coat said from the doorway. He was smiling. "I'm Doctor Gerald. I'll have to remember that, if I have to operate on another Kazak. As your friend said, you were very lucky."

Against my will, they kept me for two more days. Cory and several Kazaks I had only met briefly showed up to visit. Every time a Kazak shoots an Assassin, everyone wants to know what he, or in my case she, saw or heard that gave away the Assassin's identity. I think they were beginning to think that I shot first and determined who it was later. In a way, I guess that was true. One didn't have time to procrastinate. Witton stopped in on the second day.

"Lynn, this is a sneaky way to get time off. You could've just asked," he said.

"You would've said no," I responded. In this business, you had to laugh or cry, and crying got your cheeks all wet.

"I wish you'd learn to kill the bad guys without getting shot up. I had another assignment ready for you." His lips twitched in an attempt not to smile. "Minister Yazid said he apologizes for all the nasty things he said and thought about you. You're going to get a bonus and an Iranian medal of some sort. The Senate, however, has lodged several complaints against you for shooting up their dining room and for forcing them to stay when they were in harm's way. It's funny." He snorted. "They were in more danger from you than anyone else. Jessie explained your logic. It was very creative. In mass confusion, it would have been easy for someone to kill you and the minister. His guards were also very impressed after Jessie explained about Assassins and your response.

"Take as much time off as you want but be careful. I'd imagine you've pissed off the Assassin's Guild. As a bonus for getting shot up, I'll fly you wherever you want to go. I'll expect you to call me when you feel ready to resume work. Three or four days should be enough." This time he did smile.

"Hi, Clare, can you get some time off
...
for a story?"

"Lynn, is that you?"

"It's me. I'm going to Las Vegas. Want to go?"

"If you've another story, you bet I can get the time off. Where do I meet you in Las Vegas?"

"Meet me at Concourse A in about four hours."

"You're not giving me a lot of time to pack. Forget it. I'll be there. Bye, got to rush. I'm meeting a friend with a private jet." She hung up.

I smiled. My exploits were helping a friend and giving me something I'd never had-an adopted sister.

***

I stood in front of the ramp admiring the sleek Gulfstream and the circumstances that had brought me to this moment in time. Strangely, my early life in foster homes, callous foster parents, and abuse had led me to a life I wouldn't change for money or fame. The minute I entered the plane, Kathryn met me.

"Miss Lynn, welcome aboard. Can I take your bag and get you anything before we take off?"

"I'll keep the bag, but if you have a sandwich and coffee, I'd like that. No rush. You can wait until we're in the air." I thought I should keep the bag as it had a few weapons in it-two guns and three knives. I couldn't imagine who was going to steal it at 50,000 feet, but you never knew. I took a seat and relaxed as the plane taxied and took off. It seemed weird to be the only passenger on a plane. Before long, the-my-stewardess arrived with a platter containing bread, an assortment of luncheon meats, cheese, coffee, cloth napkins, and real silverware. I think I had expected one of those sandwiches that came wrapped in cellophane and are found in vending machines.

"If you want anything else, just ask. I'm here to make you comfortable." She disappeared up front.

I had yearned for a life that obliterated Lynn Sagal as a person. I knew only a life dedicated body and soul to something challenging, worthwhile, and rewarding could do that. Looking around me, I realized that I had found it. Lynn Sagal was dead and out of her ashes had been born Lynn the Fox.

My thoughts were interrupted when one of the pilots (I hoped there were two) stopped next to my seat. My arm was still in a splint, my hand black and blue, and my head bandaged.

"Miss Lynn, I hope you're enjoying the ride. It isn't often we fly one person anywhere. I see by your injuries, you earned it." He appeared to be in his early thirties. He had one of those ever-popular goatees, wavy black hair, blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. Normally, he might have been worth dating.

"It's not too bad; I'm just playing on my boss's sympathy."

"You're really good then. I didn't think he knew what the word meant. We'll be landing in about thirty minutes. You should buckle up. Kathryn isn't good at landing, yet." He grinned and made his way back toward the cockpit.

I barely felt the landing. The pilot announced our landing and a few minutes later the cabin door opened and Clare poked her head through, then walked tentatively through the door when the stewardess welcomed her aboard. Looking around, her eyes settled on me.

"Well, you've come up in the world
...
you're hurt." She came running down the aisle, stopped, and stood inspecting me with a frown.

"Of course, how do you think I got this VIP treatment? The injuries aren't too bad." I stood and gave her a hug. "It's good to see you."

"I wish you'd come to see me when you weren't all shot up. I'd rather do without the stories."

The pain from her bear hug wasn't doing my arm any good. "Clare, the arm."

"Oh, sorry."

"Ladies, would you please take your seats and fasten your seat belts, the pilot is getting ready to begin taxiing."

"I could get used to this, Lynn, but please, no more injuries." Clare's eyes were misty. "There's one good thing about injuries-you survived." We lapsed into silence until the plane had leveled off.

"Why are we going to Las Vegas?" Clare asked, nursing a cup of coffee.

"There is a boy
...
young man now, who talked me into going to the Kazak competition. To qualify for entry to the school, you had to climb the sheer rock face of this several-hundred-foot mountain. He failed to make the climb, but I'll forever be grateful to him. I've been feeling guilty I haven't visited him since then. I owe him, so we're going for a visit. I've called Gabe and asked him to meet us at the airport with transportation. He said he'd be there."

***

As we entered the terminal, Gabe stood there grinning, then he frowned.

"Damn, Lynn. You look like road kill. Being a Kazak looks like dangerous business, although I noticed you flew in on a private jet." He grabbed me in a hug. I managed to tolerate the pain. Gratefully, he let go quickly. "Who's your friend?"

"Clare, meet Gabe, who spends all his money partying. Gabe, this is Clare, an editor and reporter at the
Denver Post
."

"Nice to meet you, Clare. Are you Lynn's official publicity agent?" He shook hands with her, giving her the once-over.

"It does seem that way, except she won't let me use her name."

"Oh, I've seen those articles about some Kazak. Did you write them? Were they really about Lynn?"

"Yep, that was me and your reckless friend."

"My God, Lynn. You just made me happy that I fell off the cliff. Let me take you two to dinner. I'll buy, although I should let Lynn. She never spends any money on herself. She must be a millionaire by now." He grinned.

***

Gabe managed to get some time off. He gave us a grand tour of Vegas and the surrounding attractions. We spent a day hiking on Mount Charleston, another exploring the Valley of Fire exploring, went on several boating excursions on Lake Mead, and visited Hoover Dam. We visited all of the new casinos, ate at the better restaurants, took in several of the acts, and talked incessantly. I was amazed at how much Vegas had changed over the past ten years.

I hadn't fully recovered but I was feeling much better. Since I couldn't be sure when Witton would want me to return, I had Clare tape record an interview with me, which she could use to write the article when she got back to the office.