Kazak Guardians: Book III: Megan (Kazak Guardians Series 3)

by C. R. Daems

  Joy frowned for a minute then beamed an award-winning smile when she realized the analogy. Standing back against the wall, I was soon ignored. A lot of small talk about the team, individual players, and the upcoming playoffs. When Susan called everyone to dinner they took their places, and I backed up against a wall with a beef sandwich Susan had brought me. I think she tried to make it bland tasting, but couldn't quite bring herself to remove all the seasoning.

  "Don't you ever sit, Megan?" Joy again. She had an inquisitive mind and a good sense of humor, judging by her actions to date. I shook my head no.

  "Why? Seems you could protect Doug while sitting in a chair over there. You could still see him."

  "If some emergency happened right now, how long do you think it would take you to stand up and get clear of the table and chair?"

  "Three or four seconds," she said after a little thought.

  "A lifetime if someone entered the room with a gun, or threw something dangerous in the room, or…"

  "It must be a difficult life." Joy said, looking serious.

  "But then there are the men's locker rooms," I quipped.

  "There is that," Joy snorted. Faye gave me a look of disgust. Afterward the conversation turned to the women's lives. Joy worked as a women's clothes buyer for a small department chain in California, Nevada, and Arizona and was a part time model. Faye worked in a marketing department of an advertising firm. Faye had been giving me disapproving looks for most of the meal. She probably thought I was evaluating her table manners or watching to see she didn't steal the silverware. Susan was just pouring coffee when shots rang out.

  Chairs scraped backward, napkins flew in the air, and coffee spilled as everyone began a flight to safety. Of course, they had no idea where that was.

  "STOP! ON THE FLOOR!" I shouted, sweeping Doug's feet from him as he pushed his chair back and tried to stand. I waved my gun in their direction to make sure they understood it wasn't just a request. When they were all on the floor I lowered my voice. "Slide behind the island. Harkin, over here. NOW!" Someone, probably Faye, was sobbing and others mumbling as they worked their way to the island in the kitchen. I dropped my half-eaten sandwich, grabbed the house remote which I carried while in the house, and killed the lights. Harkin looked at me angrily while rubbing his arm.

  "I'd be safer by the island than here. Why aren't you out there helping the FBI rather than hiding in here?"

  I ignored him, listening to the racket outside. It sounded like several automatic weapons and hand guns—gang vs FBI—if I wasn't mistaken. A minute later I saw the top of a head rising above the island counter.

  "Get down or I'll shoot you!" No sooner had I shouted than automatic fire ripped through the kitchen windows. The pots and pans clanged, a triple layer cake exploded, and granite chips flew like shrapnel as bullets from an automatic weapon raked the area. Next it shredded the dining table, spraying dishes and food against the walls and exploding the coffee pot. The torrent of metal moved from left to right. I stayed put as the spot where I stood wasn't in a direct line with the window. When I stuck my head out enough to see out the window, I couldn't see the person firing but did see the bursts of light from the gun's nozzle. I fired multiple shots at the light and was rewarded with a scream. At the same time, the sound of an automatic weapon came from the living room area. The deafening sound of destruction moved from right to left, shattering the TV, electronic equipment, chairs, walls, and pictures as it moved in an arc toward the dining room. I could feel the wall I was stand behind vibrate as multiple rounds impacted as the bullets continued their march toward the kitchen. Fortunately, the curved wall that shielded me was constructed from cement blocks. Even still, it couldn't have survived if the shooter had concentrated his fire on one spot. But he continued his sweeping arc through the dining room and into the kitchen. The shooting stopped and I heard a clip being ejected. I stepped out, looked in the direction of the sound the clip made hitting the ground, and found a shadow standing at the foot of the landing which led down to the ground floor. I emptied my Glock at it. The shadow was thrown back against the wall, dropped the weapon, and fled or fell down the steps. Several minutes later I heard a car leaving and the shooting outside stopped. All I could hear was harsh breathing and sobbing from behind the kitchen island. Doug lay curled in a fetal position against the wall. Couldn't blame him. I wasn't in a hurry to leave the protection of my wall and venture out. Whoever they were, they had bigger guns than I.

  "Stay down! And don't move," I said since I suspected at least one of them thought it was now safe and they should go…to heaven knew where. "We will wait for the police to tell us the party is over. Until then, stay where you are."

  It was at least ten minutes before multiple sirens could be heard and flashing red and blue lights danced on the scarred and debris splattered walls.

  "Stay put until I say to move," I reiterated. They may have thought it was safe. I didn't.

  A couple minutes later the door opened and I heard Wickman shout.

  "Megan, is it safe to come up? Is anyone hurt?"

  "It's not safe. There was a shooter in the back of Harkin's house and one on the stairs. I wouldn't consider it safe until someone determines they are dead or gone. Until then, you shouldn't consider this house safe."

  "She's right." It sounded like Joy's voice.

  "Get us out of here." The voice sounded as though it was from Faye. "We're going die if we stay here."

  "We're safe here, Faye." Joy's voice. Thirty minutes later, Wickman opened the front door.

  "Megan, it's Wickman. It's safe to come out. The area is clear and there are two ambulances waiting to take everyone to the hospital for a checkup. Slowly, everyone rose and stood, examining themselves in the dim moon light coming in the shattered windows.

  "Turn on the lights," Doug snarled. I guess he was still mad because I dumped him on his ass or maybe because I had seen him scared—the fearless, rough, tough hockey jock. Personally, he would have had to be an imbecile not to be. If I had been sane, I would have been. I wasn't. Besides, I was all hopped up on an adrenaline high.

  * * *

  Although no one was seriously hurt, everyone had some cut or bruise either from falling, banging into things, or from flying debris—glass, granite, dishes, silverware. And everyone had cake on them. Over the next week the team owners decided Harkin was a liability, and he decided he needed to get out of town and signed a contract with the Kelowna Rockets in the Canadian Hockey League.

  * * *

  Two days later I sat with Mr. Witton, nursing a glass of mango juice Ann Marie had given me on my way past her desk to his office.

  "Well, Megan, that was good work. Your client survived. You're unhurt, except for a few scratches, and no written complaints. Although Mr. Harkin did say he felt like he was being stalked by you, and he thought you didn't need to kick his legs out from under him to get him down. He claims you could have broken his arm and ended his career." Witton smiled. "With his permission, I taped the conversation and have posted the audio recording to your board so everyone knows how you treat clients."

  "Harkin's not my type. He prefers passive women."

  "Since I have no assignment for you right now, you can have a couple of weeks off for saving me a second Kazak. Any plans?" he asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

  "Since my languages are Spanish and Chinese, I thought I visit Spain and find some Spanish hunk to entertain me. The Chinese tend to be small and it would take me most of my vacation to find one big enough."

  "That could be a problem. Make sure Ann Marie knows how to contact you in the event something comes up. Everyone needs time off to relax but assignments take precedence," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. Since it didn't require a comment, I rose.

  "Well, I’m off. Don't want to keep the lucky man... men waiting." I waved as I left.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  R & R Spain

  As I closed the door, Ann Marie waved me over. "Megan, do you n
eed me to make any reservations for you? Lynn prefers me to make them. Says if she had to do it, she would wind up flying on cargo planes and bringing home bed bugs from one-star hotels. And we don't want bed bugs in the building."

  "If you don't mind, that would be a good idea. That way you'll know how to contact me in an emergency, and I won't have to worry about telling you where I'm staying or going next. But only on one condition," I said, knowing it was extra work, which I was sure she didn't need.

  "What condition?" She looked cautious as though maybe she shouldn't have offered.

  "You and a guest eat at a four or five-star restaurant once each quarter, on me."

  "I can live with that," she said, smiling. "Where to, and what kind of accommodations do you prefer?"

  "Barcelona. I like to travel first class, but I would prefer normal rooms rather than suites. I don't spend enough time there to justify the extra cost."

  The next morning I called a taxi to take me to the Washington Dulles International Airport and found Ann Marie had booked me first class on Lufthansa. On board I was treated in the manner I plan to become accustomed.. At El Prat, I caught a taxi to the Hotel Serhs Rivoli Ramvla, where I had a room on the fourth floor with a good view of the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hotel was four-star, and their standard room was spacious and more than adequate for my needs. It was early afternoon so I spent an hour in the exercise room, working out. The problem with assignments was I got no chance to exercise and, if I wasn’t careful, I would lose the muscle tone I had acquired on the hill, and that could affect my performance. I concluded vacations had to be for more than relax and have fun.

  For the next two evenings I visited a few of the local nightclubs: the Cub Catwalk, the Shoko, and the Razzmatazz. Lots of men dancing and raising hell, but I didn't find anyone I wanted to spend time with—even a night. Ironically, they all seem too mindless, which was kind of scary because that was probably what I was like before the Hill. Consequently both nights I went back to the hotel alone. The next day I walked around the city streets, visiting several of the local tourist attractions. A little after one I stopped for lunch at the George Payne Irish Bar.

  I was sitting at one of the small two-chair tables, eating a chicken curry when a middle-aged man approached my table.

  "Good day, I'm Ian. Since you're the most attractive lady in the building, I thought I'd stop and enquire if you were alone and wanted company," he said, looking down at me with a friendly smile and twinkling green-gray eyes.

  "I'm alone, bored, and in need of some good Irish blarney," I said, looking up at him. He stood just under six feet and had a neatly trimmed full-beard, ear-length brown hair, and a playful smile. He was older than I was looking for by maybe ten years, but what the hell. Maybe a change was what I needed. The young men I'd met so far hadn't interested me. He laughed while pulling out a chair and sitting. "I'm Megan."

  "It's my lucky day then, and I didn't even have to follow a rainbow to find you, Megan. What brings you to Spain?"

  "Because I've never been to Spain, wanted someplace different to relax and have fun, and I speak Spanish."

  "Well now, I know an excellent guide who is available and free for a darling girl the likes of you."

  "I'll give you today to impress me," I said, deciding to give him a trial run.

  He smiled and spent the next hour over tea, getting to know what I'd seen so far, my interests, and my dislikes—smart man. After a quiet dinner later that day, he took me to the Sala Apolo nightclub, famous for its outstanding electronica, jazz, and guitars, and was the number one nightclub in Barcelona. Afterward we retired to his room and had hours of slow luxurious sex, which was a nice change from the 'slam, bam, thank you ma'am' that the young tend to be famous for—not that it doesn't work sometimes.

  We left the next day in a Ferrai Scaglletti for a whirlwind tour down the coastline to Valencia, Murcia, Malaga, and Gibraltar, visiting famous plazas, cultural centers, museums, and cathedrals, not to mention nightclubs, five-star restaurants and hotels—and plenty of morning and evening sex. He was a gold-mine discovery and the days flew by.

  "Well, Megan. I'm afraid the clock is striking midnight and work must bring our magical tour of Spain to an end. I've business in Madrid the day after tomorrow and then I must fly back to Dublin."

  "You've been a prince charming, Ian, and have made this a memorable trip. I too must get back to work. If you don't mind company, I'll fly back with you to Madrid and catch a flight back to the States from there."

  "I noticed you check in with the office regularly..." he said, leaving the unspecified question hanging. He had been good about not pressing me on what I did for a living. At the time I had been vague, only saying I worked for a security firm. I hadn't been sure what I could or should say. Being a Kazak wasn't a secret, but I wasn't sure it was what I wanted to tell men on a first date. Hard to tell how they would take it. But Ian had been the perfect date, making sure we did things I would enjoy and never pushing—not that he needed to.

  "I work for the Kazak Guardians as a bodyguard. I'm on vacation, but they like to know where I am in case of an emergency," I said, not sure what reaction I expected.

  He stared at me for a long time. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Sounds as though it could be dangerous. You don't seem the risk-taking type."

  "Primarily because I find the lives of the rich and famous interesting. It's potentially risky, but I can make a difference. Not only saving a life, but one that impacts the country."

  "You're even more special than I thought you were. If you ever want a tour of Ireland, give me a call."

  "I'd say the same, Ian, but I can't control my time off or where I'll be. But I may take you up on that Dublin offer some time."

  I left Madrid the day after Ian left, deciding I needed a few days working out before my next assignment. Although Ian and I had been active, it wasn't the kind of exercise I needed to stay sharp. When I returned, I spent a couple days getting rid of the two pounds I had accumulated in Spain, working out with every available Kazak, and spending hours at the firing range in the building's basement. It had an impressive collection of weapons to both examine and take for a test run. The trainers at the Hill thought it a good idea to be able to recognize the type of weapons your opponent was using and to know the type of ammo, rate of fire, clip capacity, etc. That could not only give you an advantage but it might be the only weapons available in an emergency.

  Four days later Ann Marie called.

  "Hi, Megan. How were your accommodations?" she asked.

  "Perfect. You're hired," I said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CIA Deputy Director

  "I noticed you spent several days of your vacation working out with other Kazaks and at the firing range. Get bored in Spain?" Witton asked as he took a drink of coffee while watching me with those penetrating eyes that I’d wager missed nothing.

  "On the contrary, Spain was a good choice, although I didn’t hook a good-looking Spanish fish but a stray Irish one. A lucky catch. No, I've come to the conclusion that Kazaks need extra time off after an assignment and vacations before a new assignment." I stopped and took a drink of my mango juice. Not because I was thirsty, but to await Witton’s comments.

  Witton’s eyes narrowed. "After an assignment you usually get time off and take a vacation before the next assignment. Isn’t that enough?"

  "Not to relax. The exercise you get on an assignment and on vacation doesn't substitute for the exercise you need to keep in shape for assignments." I couldn't help a smile, thinking about my time with Ian. "Consequently, you need at least a week after either to be mentally and physically fit for duty."

  "That sounds like a valid point. We could give less vacation time, then you would have an extra week after the assignment but before your vacation and a week after before your next assignment," he said, sounding serious, but I could see the twinkle in his eyes.

  "True, but then we would be physically ready but
not mentally, since we didn’t get sufficient rest and relaxation," I countered.

  He nodded, looking amused. "I think you have a point. Maybe we should require a week here at the facility before and after an extended vacation. That might be good not only to keep Kazaks fit but to promote the sharing of experiences. I’ll think about it." He smiled. "But since you are obviously fit for duty, I have an interesting assignment for you...a Deputy Director at the CIA."

  "Don't they have their own big-time security?"

  "Yes, but ironically their people aren't trained to handle professional Assassins. They assigned a detail to protect three of their Deputy Directors who were involved in directing various Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, EIT, programs. The second was killed yesterday, despite their security. So the Director of the CIA has asked me to assign someone. He probably hopes that it doesn't work, but he has to exhaust all the alternatives."

  My mouth dropped open. "Why would you think that?"

  "I'm not saying he'd like to see the man—who is retired now—killed, but I would think a part of him would hate to admit his people aren't superior to those in every other organization."

  "So this is a test or competition?" I was warming to the idea.

  "Yes, against the Assassins who I believe are either state-sponsored or home-grown terrorists—not with the CIA. Of course if you are successful, it will further validate the Kazak concept, and maybe make them less reluctant to consider using Kazaks in the future. A matter of choosing the best resource for the situation at hand." He paused until I nodded I understood—he sought interagency cooperation, not glory. "You and I are leaving on the company plane in the morning. I want to be with you for the initial meeting."

  * * *

  Witton had a limo take us into Washington. He proved an interesting person and comfortable to travel with. He spent most of the time updating me on Jody’s program. The feedback was good and Jody felt she would bring five to seven women to the Hill and hoped at least one or two would make Kazak. I got the impression the women tended to be more like Jody or Lynn and less like me. Witton felt Jody would prefer to work alone, like Lynn and me, and wondered if that were unique to us or more prevalent with women.