by C. R. Daems
We reached the director's office close to quitting time and were ushered into the director's office immediately.
"Mr. Witton, it's a pleasure to meet you," said a very average-looking man with close-to-the-scalp gray hair, while holding out his hand. "I’ve followed the Kazak cases over the years but never had an opportunity to need one. The Kazaks have had some impressive results, but they have also had a lot of negative feedback from the various agencies. Hard to tell if it’s interagency competition or legitimate complaints."
"That’s true, Director Gammon. The Kazak, Lynn the Fox has probably been the most controversial of the Kazaks. Ironically, it’s caused by her perceived arrogance. When the agents on the detail ask how they can work together with her, she tells them they can’t. The agents get the feeling that Lynn thinks she is better than they are, or a Kazak has been assigned because they aren’t up to the task," Witton said, and paused for Gammon’s comments.
"Well, isn’t that true?"
"No. Most of the government agents are trained to provide general security: investigate potential threats, check out and secure areas the person will visit, and to discourage and stop non-professional attempts on the person's life. So agents could trace a threat back to an individual or organization, locate a bomb placed in a location the person would visit, and provide a barrier between the client and the person with a gun attempting to walk up and threaten or shoot the client. A Kazak is a personal bodyguard trained to stop professional Assassins—hired killers who would plan the assassination and wouldn't make amateur mistakes, and professional Assassins who have unique talents like Illusionist, Ghosts, Liars… That makes a Kazak extremely paranoid and myopic—his or her total focus is always on the client and the potential danger to him. Both agencies provide security but they are separate and distinct. So Lynn isn’t arrogant when she says they 'can’t work together,' she is just recognizing her responsibilities and the other agencies aren’t the same, nor is their training."
"An interesting perspective…the right tool or tools for the job at hand. Makes sense." He turned and gave me an appraising look.
"Director, this is the Kazak Megan the Wolf—"
"The Wolf?" Gammon asked, his forehead wrinkled in thought.
"A name given each Kazak at graduation by the Witch Meztlil based on their inherent abilities. Megan will be the one assigned to your Deputy Director."
"Kazak Megan," he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, but he made no attempt to exert pressure. His round face smiled. "Eddie isn't going to be happy with a woman bodyguard, especially if I understand the Kazak protocol for guarding clients. I'm not so sure I would be." He shook his head almost imperceptibly at the thought.
"Eddie has a choice. He'll have to decide whether the inconvenience and embarrassment is worth Kazak security," I blurted before my mind caught up with my tongue. No one had asked for my opinion. Gammon's stare should have turned me to stone, but I felt at ease. My previous assignments, a satisfying vacation, and hours of meditation had me ready to take on anything—including the Director of the CIA.
"Do you provide a level of protection that no one else could?" His voice was cold enough to cause frostbite.
"Yes, unless they too live by the Lynn Protocol."
"Live by?" he asked, somewhat taken back by the unexpected answer.
"Be unconcerned with your client's wants and needs and be able to kill reflexively without regard to who they are or what they intend."
"You can't—" he began, but stopped. "That’s right. Kazaks have diplomatic immunity. He looked to Witton. "I’d heard you had immunity but hadn't considered how that would impact your rules of engagement verses normal agents. So the client has to decide if the threat justifies the inconvenience. If it does, then you get someone...with combat rules of engagement."
"Very well put, Director. But be assured, our people are not psychopaths. They have been carefully screened, but their priority is their client's safety. They accept that collateral damage is justified because of the importance of their client," Witton said.
Gammon walked to his desk and clicked on his intercom. "Martha, send in Mr. Whitcome."
A minute later a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties entered. He looked to be an inch or two taller than me. After nodding to Gammon, he looked from Witton to me and his face stiffened. He shook his head while frowning.
"No—" He said and stopped when Gammon held up his hand.
"This is Kazak Megan. She has eloquently pointed out that a Kazak’s client, like you, has a choice. You must decide whether the potential threat justifies the inconvenience she is going to cause. I will leave it up to you, Eddie. I’m hoping she can provide the kind of protection you will need, but if you decide you don't want her—"
"I don't—"
"Then you will have to find your own protection, because I've come to the conclusion that none of the government agencies are adequate for this threat. Sorry," Gammon said, looking frustrated and genuinely concerned. "It would be like sentencing you and them to death."
"What about her?" He nodded in my direction.
"Kazak Megan?" Gammon looked at me.
"All I can guarantee is that they will have to kill me to kill you, and I'm not easy to kill, although after a week with me you may want to kill me yourself." I grinned
Eddie actually smiled. "All right, I'll see if putting up with you is worth the protection you provide." He gave me a crooked smile. "What now?"
"Go about your life and ignore me," I said. "I'll let you know my rules as we get acquainted. It's easier and might make more sense. Basically, if you turn your head you will be able to see me."
Gammon laughed. "Eddie, after this is resolved, I'll want a debriefing...over a case of lagers of your choice. I'm buying."
I followed Eddie down to the parking garage, where he got into a three or four-year-old black Suburban. I jumped into the rear seat behind him.
"You could ride in the front," he said, looking over his shoulder.
"Then I might have to shoot across you if a car drove up next to you and began shooting."
He shrugged and drove off and into traffic. He got onto the George Washington Parkway and followed the Potomac River for about forty-five minutes before exiting onto some side streets and eventually onto Powhatan Street. Near the end of the street he pulled into a parking area and parked. His building, a three-story condo, stood among several others connected by red brick walkways. The entrance was recessed and seemed to divide the building into two sections. We rode the elevator to the third floor and proceeded to unit 306, which was at the end of the hallway. I wasn't sure if I preferred a house or a condo. This hallway had six units, which wasn't too bad if I could identify his neighbors.
"Well, what now?" he asked.
"A tour so I can get a feel for the layout," I said, and he gave a snort.
"Not much to see. Twelve hundred square feet, open-plan layout with two bedrooms." He led me down the short hallway past a laundry unit and a bathroom, and pointed to a small bedroom straight ahead. "Second bedroom. You can use that since your protocol appears to indicate you and your relief will be with me twenty-four/seven."
"Just me."
He frowned and, after a few seconds staring at me, turned left into an open area: kitchen to the left, then a dining room and then a living room, which ended at a bow window. He pointed across the room.
"My bedroom."
I walked into the room, which was a master suite: large bedroom, walk-in closet, and bathroom suite.
"Nice view. Your blinds appear adequate to preclude a sniper from targeting you, and there is limited access. Of course they could set the building on fire, which would result in you having limited access."
"Cheery thought." His face turned to a grimace.
"I'd like to get to know your neighbors and the janitor."
"Why?"
"It will preclude me shooting one of them." I held up my hand. "I have combat rules of engagement. If I see
someone who looks suspicious, I can just shoot them."
"You wouldn't." He shook his head in disbelief.
"I would. Not only do I have immunity but it’s my training protocol."
He gave a wry smile. "What do you eat?"
"Anything that doesn't require a knife and a fork. The less taste and mess the better. Juice, milk, or water to drink."
"You sound like a combat vet. Were you ever in the military?"
"No. But to learn the Lynn Protocol the school limits sleep, prepares two tasteless meals per day, and teaches you multiple ways to kill and be killed. So we exit extremely paranoid, light sleepers, and highly reflexive."
"The enhanced interrogation techniques were to protect—" he began.
But I held up my hand. "Mr. Whitcome, I imagine you felt you were doing the right thing, just like I will if I have to kill someone to protect you, even if that person turns out to be an innocent bystander. The powers-that-be believe you are worth protecting. That's all I care about. I'll let them worry about right and wrong. My only concern is your safety."
"Call me Eddie, since we're living together." He grinned. "You appear to be the perfect combat soldier," he said as he made his way to the kitchen. There he spent an hour preparing dinner: a salad, steak, mashed potatoes, and creamed green-beans. I did sit but not at his dining table, and I declined most of the dinner, just putting the steak between two slices of bread, retrieving a glass of milk, and sitting in a chair facing the entrance to the hallway after having stuck a chair under the door handle.
"You are paranoid," he said with a snort.
"And not suicidal."
* * *
"You don't like beds?" Eddie said as he exited the bedroom and saw me pulling the leather recliner back to where it had been.
"You get too comfortable in a bed. Takes several seconds to wake up, could get tangled in the covers, and it's farther to go to get where you should be."
"Interesting concept, Kazak. The FBI would consider the hallway the right security, but they would be easy to shoot because they couldn't shoot everyone stepping out of the elevator or entering from the stairwell. You, on the other hand, can shoot anyone entering the door with a hundred percent assurance they are coming to kill me." He pursed his lips and nodded as if agreeing with himself. "Well, it's off to the fitness center. I'm sure you don't need it, but I do. Retirement is hard on conditioning."
I stepped out first to check the hallway. About halfway, I heard the elevator stop and begin to open. I had my hand on Eddie's shoulder, my foot behind him, and my Glock in my hand before the door began to slide open. A woman and man stared at us as they walked hesitantly out of the elevator.
"Good morning, Ellen, Harry," Eddie half shouted, which saved him from being dumped on his ass, and me scaring the crap out of the elderly couple.
"Good morning, Eddie. Who's your...friend?" Harry asked.
Eddie hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Security. We've had two Deputy Directors assassinated recently, and Director Gammon is concerned."
"But you're retired."
"He's being cautious. Doesn't pay to try and guess what some wacko will do for a cause. This is Megan, a special agent. Megan, this is Mr. and Mrs. Dobbson in unit 302."
"Hi, nice to meet you," I said with a wave. I thought that a good explanation. No sense getting people panicky over an unknown. We met two more tenants in the lobby, but they didn't live on the third floor.
"I usually walk to my fitness center, Old Town Sports and Health. It's only about six blocks away," he said, looking at me.
"Do what you do. Walk, run, drive, it's all the same to me. I won't interfere with your life, unless I think it prevents me from doing my job," I said as I scanned the parking lot and the people moving about. Nothing looked suspicious.
He turned onto Montgomery Street and walked at a brisk pace. I was on high-paranoid alert with traffic, parked cars, and people everywhere. The only good news was that Montgomery Street traffic was one-way moving toward us, so I didn't have to worry about a car coming from behind me. We were passing a park on the opposite side of the street when I noticed a parked car with the engine running and two men with their heads at the windows facing our side of the street.
When I saw the rear window begin to lower, I swept through Eddie's legs and continued spinning down into a sitting stance and fired almost simultaneously at the man in the rear seat. His weapon sounded like an automatic, and I swear I could feel the wind from the bullets whistling over my head. The store windows behind me shattered and a large sheet of glass hit the ground and exploded, spraying shards in every direction.
One or more of my first three shots had hit the shooter. He jerked backward, tilting the weapon upward. With pressure still on the trigger, bullets ripped through tree’s branches and the second and third stories of the building behind me.
My next three shots shattered the rear window as the car sped away. As I uncoiled back to a standing position one of my next three shots may have hit the driver, because the car swerved before turning right onto Royal Street and disappearing out of sight. I looked down at Eddie. To his credit, he had stayed down and begun crawling toward a large tree. As I looked around, miraculously, no one appeared to have been hurt, although the building behind me looked like it stood in a war zone. Although the gunman had only managed a short three or four-second burst, at least thirty or more rounds had been disgorged in a tsunami of destruction.
"Are we clear?" Eddie asked in a surprisingly calm voice. He had obviously been under fire before.
"Unless they drive around the block for a second try. Hard to tell," I said, thinking aloud. "At a minimum I wounded the shooter and maybe the driver. If so, they are probably finished for the day."
"You are unbelievably fast and clever. I believe most security people would have been inclined to shield me—after the firing started. The first would have been too late, and the second would have gotten the agent and me killed."
"As I said before, I'm not suicidal and my boss would be pissed if I let you get killed," I quipped. I felt a mega adrenaline rush as I continued to scan the area, remembering the multi-pronged attack on Patterson. Nothing. "All right, I think it's safe for now. We can continue to your workout place."
"You're joking," Eddie said, rising and brushing debris from his clothes. "What about waiting for the police?"
"They will just have a lot of silly questions, waste our time, and delay your morning workout. Since they can't arrest or detain me, my boss can give the chief of police my report when I file it."
"I think it's me who is going to buy Gammon a case of lagers at my debriefing. He was right. I was wrong, and I apologize to you," he said. I smiled my acceptance. He smiled back. "It's crazy, but let's go work out. It's just around the corner."
The gym looked like a typical exercise-mill setup, designed to handle large crowds with hundreds of pieces of exercise equipment. I paid twenty dollars for a guest membership to avoid the hassle of explaining my function. I stopped all attempts to develop an exercise program for me by saying I was only there to watch Mr. Whitcome exercise. He worked out on the treadmill, then lifted some weights, and finished it off on a bike. I positioned myself where I could watch him and the door. Whoever was targeting him appeared to know his routine. This had been a carefully planned assault on a route he took regularly. We caught a cab back to his condo complex and encountered no trouble.
"The workout was a good idea, although I didn't think so at the time. It helped calm my nerves. Do you want to eat in or out?" He smiled. "The way you treat food, I don't imagine you care."
"Consider me your shadow and do whatever is normal or grabs you. On second thought, it may be well to ignore things you do consistently at certain times or days." I grinned.
Just then Whitcome's phone rang.
"I'm fine. Megan didn't feel like talking to the police, so we left," he said and snorted a laugh. "Sure... I can drive." He hung up, frowning. "Director
Gammon wants to see us. He wanted to send a car but I told him it wasn't necessary. You agree?"
"Yep. Your greatest exposure is going to and coming from a car. So the exposure would be the same. Just more bodies in the way when the shooting starts." I hoped the fun for today was over and the bad guys had had enough for one day—actually I hoped they were in the morgue and they didn't have any friends. I'd had my adrenaline fix for the day.
We had no trouble on the way to Gammon's office, and we were ushered right in. Gammon had obviously cleared his schedule for Eddie.
"You all right, Eddie?" he asked, giving him a quick hug and a pat on the back.
"Except for the bruises on my ass where Megan dumped me when they began firing." He laughed. "She has no respect for age."
"I had my doubts about using Kazaks, but I had run out of options. Sit." He waved to the two empty chairs. I shook my head and stepped back against the wall. "The police found the car several miles away near the Aspen apartments. One man lay dead in the back seat with an assault rifle on the floor. He had been shot in the head and chest. The driver was also dead. They believe he bled to death from two bullet wounds, one in the neck and one in the shoulder."
Gammon stood looking at me while he talked. "We've identified them based on paperwork in the vehicle. They were American citizens and lived in the Aspen complex. Our preliminary search of the apartment has discovered a lot of al-Qaeda, Islamic State, and ISIS literature, besides articles on our enhanced interrogation program. The ISIS material called for retribution and listed you, as well as Thomas and Chuck. We found personal information on each of you: home address, routines, type of car, people and places you regularly visit."
"So they have been tracking us for a while," Eddie said, nodding. "I missed my workout yesterday because of our meeting. I wonder if they were there waiting yesterday."