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

by C. R. Daems

  "Caroline, this is Kazak Megan." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the head then sat next to her and held her hand in his.

  "Hi, Megan," she whispered. "Daddy says you are a special bodyguard."

  "Yes. Trained to guard very special people like you from cowards like the person who is threatening you."

  "Gavan's vicious and vindictive and has lots of…" her gaze went quickly to the man who had opened the door for us and then back to me, "psychopaths working for him."

  "You follow my rules and I'll take care of Gavan and his hired help."

  "Rules?" Caroline and Van Witt said together.

  "Yes. I can't protect you unless I can see you. So you will be in my sight at all times. No exceptions. That way this Gavan and his minions must deal with me first. And I'm a bitch. The hundred men I competed against to make Kazak all agreed." I winked and got a weak smile from her.

  "What about bodyguards? She presently has six. They have eight hour shifts." Van Witt said, just as the second one entered the room from the kitchen. I walked to the pair, who stood a good six inches taller than me and double my weight.

  "Gentlemen, do you know this Gavan?"

  "Ya, Miss. Miss Van Witt is right. He's vicious and vindictive and his hired help are blood thirsty."

  "Yet, you're here."

  "We aren't virgins and the money is good," the one with tattoos on his neck said with a smile.

  "Mr. Van Witt, let's go back to your office. I'd like to talk to my boss. I think for the right price you can negotiate for three more Kazaks.

  "But, I thought—"

  "No, buts. Come, I'd like them there tonight." I nodded towards the door. The building is secure so your daughter will be safe. When they arrive, we'll move her…" I said quietly but not so quiet the bodyguards couldn't hear. I remained silent until we were inside the elevator. "I don't trust your hired bodyguards. If I'm right, they will have to move fast. If we are really lucky they will get Gavan involved." I pushed the buttons for the lobby and the fourteenth floor.

  "You’re putting my daughter at risk!"

  "Yes, but if I'm right this should solve the problem quickly. I exited the elevator. "Go back to the office. I'll call you." When the door shut I found the stairs, made my way to the fifteenth floor, and cracked the door enough to watch the door to Van Witt's unit. I hadn't been there ten minutes when the elevator opened and three men stepped out. Two hired guns and Mr. Gavan. I stepped out when they were about halfway to the Van Witt's units.

  "Mr. Gavan, I presume," I said loud enough to be heard. All three men turned, the two henchmen had their hands on the handles of their guns.

  "The Kazak Megan, I presume. So what now? You can't arrest me and you will lose a gunfight with Irie and Petra." He had no sooner finished talking than one of the men began to pull out his Glock. The gun had a silencer attached and it took him a second longer to get it free. I shot him in the head and spun down as the second man's Glock was coming into view. We shot together, but his shot was high, probably where my chest had been. He never got a second shot. Gavan stood there in shock for several seconds, then raised his hands and smiled.

  "I'm unarmed."

  "Too bad." My bullet entered his right eye. He had barely hit the ground when the door to Caroline's unit opened and the two bodyguards rushed into the hall. "If those guns turn in my direction, you will be joining your buddies."

  It took them several seconds to find me sitting in the middle of the hallway, my gun pointing in their direction. After looking at the three dead men, they both laid their weapons on the floor. "We didn't have anything to do with them," Burt said cautiously.

  "And the ones strapped to your ankles, please." I waited as they put their ankle revolvers on the floor. "Now, if you would tell the folks in the lobby there are three dead bodies on the fifteenth floor, they can get this cleaned up before people have to step in this mess to get to the elevators." When they entered the elevator, I entered the unit. Caroline sat curled up on the couch, shaking.

  "Miss Van Witt, call your father and tell him Mr. Gavan is no longer a problem. He's dead."

  * * *

  The police and Mr. Van Witt arrived at about the same time.

  "What happened, here?" a police sergeant asked. He had arrived with two officers who were currently examining the bodies.

  "I'm Kazak Megan. I rolled up my sleeve. I shot those three men when they attempted to abduct Miss Carolina Van Witt."

  "Sergeant, all three were shot in the head. Two of the men's guns were fired, but the third one still had his gun in its holster," the older of the two officers said. The sergeant looked to me.

  "I guess that's why he's dead and I'm not," I said, trying to maintain a serious face. I don't think I succeeded, as the sergeant look upset.

  "You think that's funny—"

  "Before you get to the ‘you're under arrest,’ call your captain. I'm a Kazak, can't be questioned or arrested or charged." He surprised me when he did, probably because Mr. Van Witt vouched for me.

  * * *

  I stayed a week while the police investigated the threats his daughter had been getting, the bodyguards who turned out to have been on Gavan's payroll, and the unit Gavan had managed to buy. But mostly to give Caroline a sense of security. I didn’t know if the FBI would ever link Van Witt to the attempts on Neely life. I couldn't help because of his client-attorney privilege once he became a client.

  * * *

  "I thought we would have a Kazak on Neely for years. With Van Witt's money he could afford to hire Assassins until they eventually succeeded. Just luck that he needed a Kazak. That was a better deal, but I still thought it a long term arrangement. How did you determine her bodyguards worked for Gavan?" Witton sat back and took a drink of his coffee.

  "Mostly because it explained how someone banged on her door when the building has excellent security, why the guards didn't appear nervous about a mob boss with Gavan's reputation, and how Gavan got her unlisted number. So I suggested Van Witt hire several more Kazaks to replace the current guards and move her to a new location. Thinking if I were right, they would have to act immediately or lose her."

  "The police report said Gavan’s gun was still in the holster," Witton said.

  "Maybe I need a vacation. The stress must be getting to me because I thought he had drawn his gun and fired several times." I managed to keep a straight face, although Witton didn't.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Envoy Itzig

  "Megan, you deserve several weeks off after your last assignment, but I have an assignment that can't wait and you're immediately available. The good news is that the assignment is only a week. There is an Israeli Envoy arriving tomorrow. I'd like you to escort him around while he is here."

  "Did he get death threats?"

  "No, which is suspicious."

  "What about Diplomatic Security?

  "They will have their normal presence, but the Committee made the decision for their own reasons. Maybe they have credible information of a possible assassination."

  "Sounds like fun. Where do I meet him?"

  "His name is Asif Itzig. He will be arriving on El Al Airlines at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport tomorrow morning at ten forty-five. Ann Marie will make the necessary transportation arrangements for you.

  * * *

  On the way to the airport, I spent much of the time thinking about Jason and our meals together. In the end I concluded I couldn't tell the future, and it was a waste of time to try.

  My identification tattoo got me through the airport checkpoint easily. As I approached the designated gate, four men in dark suits watched me.

  "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Kazak Megan," I said, excited about starting another assignment.

  They didn't look excited. The oldest of the four pointed to my arm and spent a minute examining it as though he thought it a fake, then called the verification number and handed me the phone. I typed in my password and handed the phone back to him.


  "All right, Kazak Megan, what can you do that we can't?" he growled, as if I were the problem.

  "Have babies," I quipped. I didn't want to get on their bad side, but apparently I was already there. I held up my hand. "Agent?"

  "Senior Agent Reynolds," he said, emphasizing Senior.

  "Like you and the others, I don't get to choose my assignments or refuse the ones I get. It's 'Yes, sir. Right away, sir,'" I said, giving a snappy salute. It had the desired effect, and I received at least partial smiles from all.

  "So then, how do you differ from us?" The growl was back, although not as harsh as before.

  "I'm allowed to antagonize the client, whereas you have to be polite." I smiled at the looks I got.

  "Antagonize?"

  "It's hard to explain, but it will be obvious when the envoy arrives."

  As the arrival of the envoy's flight was announced, two men approached and were greeted by Reynolds. "Good morning, Representative Willis, Estrada."

  Willis nodded then turned toward me. "You're the Kazak?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm Kazak Megan."

  "I'm told there is a credible threat to Envoy Itzig's life. Obviously, his death would create an international incident, and that's the reason you've been assigned. Clear?" Representative Willis said as though we were in the military.

  Clear as mud, I thought but kept my face looking attentive. "Do you know who the threat came from?"

  "Does it matter?" Willis snapped, probably because he didn't know.

  "It would help to know if I can expect an individual or a group, a Glock or an AK-47, a bomb or missile launcher," I said, wondering if this was a conspiracy to ruin my good mood.

  "Are you a smartass, Agent?" Willis's voice rose, and he leaned closer to me.

  "If you don't know just say so. But the more I know the more likely it is Mr. Itzig and I will live through the credible threat."

  Willis's face was flushed. He wanted to say something but knew I had a point and he would look foolish arguing. "The NSA has heard chatter about the envoy's visit. That's all I know," he said while striding toward the gate, with me following.

  The envoy's flight deplaned twenty minutes later, and Itzig was the first to exit. Two men in suits but no ties followed close behind him. I walked along with the two-man delegation as they went to meet Itzig.

  "Good morning, Mr. Itzig. I'm Representative Willis and my companion is Representative Estrada. We are both members of the Israel-Palestine relations committee. Welcome to America."

  "Thank you for allowing me to testify at your committee," he said, and his glance shifted to me. "And you are the Americans' answer to Assassins, a Kazak?"

  "Kazak Megan." I gave a small nod.

  "What makes you more lethal than my security or the Secret Service?" he asked. I knew a repressed smile was on the security men's lips.

  "If you feel your security and the Secret Service are sufficient, I can leave. There are others on the waiting list." I smiled, feeling real amusement.

  "You can't answer that, can you?" Itzig smiled as if having won an argument.

  "No, because the question was stupid and meaningless." I held up my hand to stop any replies. "We all have guns and can hit the bullseye every time so we are equally lethal. Your security and the Secret Service are brave men and willing to step in front of you to save your life. However, in this day and age, Assassins use AK-47s spitting ten bullets per second, and those brave men will be dead in less than a half-second and you in the half-second that follows. Today's Assassins are professionals and not only have the element of surprise but some have special talents. They can pick when, where, and how. The proper question is how does their training vary from Kazak training?"

  "You're very arrogant but have a point." Itzig conceded with a small nod.

  "Kazaks have to be arrogant because our security protocol is invasive and clients tend to want exceptions."

  "Invasive?"

  "Yes. In general, if you turn your head, night or day, you will see me."

  "That would be invasive and certainly different from current security protocol. Please stay. You intrigue me and I'm interested in the concept."

  Envoy Itzig had reserved the Richmond Suite at the Jefferson Hotel and an extra room for his security team. When he was settled in the room, he and the two representatives discussed his upcoming schedule while in Washington. When they left, Itzig, his two men, and Reynolds discussed security arrangements. I found the agreed-upon arrangements interesting: one of Itzig's men would accompany him at all times during the day, one secret service member guarded the hallway at all times, and one accompanied him when he left the room.

  When they finished, Itzig looked to me. "What is your schedule, and who is your relief?"

  "When you turn you head, except when you are in bed, you will be able to see me."

  "Twenty-four hours a day? That's impossible." He glared at me as if to force me to change my answer.

  I shrugged. "And invasive. If, however, you know when the Assassin will make his or her move, then I can give you some space."

  He snorted. "We Israelis are always willing to learn."

  * * *

  After he had changed into a loose shirt and slacks, he opened a smart phone, stopped, and looked to me leaning against the wall some twenty feet away.

  "I need to make some personal calls," he said, the implication being I should leave.

  "I don't listen and don't understand Hebrew or Arabic. And whether you speak English or some other language, you have lawyer-client privileges with me. I think my director said they would cut out my tongue if I repeated one word of a client's personal business or life. But I could stuff something in my ears if that would make you feel better, or you could make the calls from your bedroom," I said, emphasizing I wasn't going anywhere.

  Itzig frowned and was silent for several minutes, then shrugged and punched in a number. He made several phone calls, some business and some personal, alternating between English and what I assumed was Hebrew. When he was finished he made dinner reservations at the hotel's restaurant, the Lemaire.

  After reviewing the table arrangement at the Lemaire, I had Reynolds negotiate a table on the far side of the room, away from the two walls of windows, where I could stand and watch the entrances and out the windows. It felt like being in a fishbowl, but it was the best I could do. Itzig's personal guard and the FBI man assigned stayed by the entrance to the dining room.

  Itzig had three guests, all males—and all Jewish, I assumed, since each wore a kippot. I wouldn't have doubted I was a significant part of the early conversations in Hebrew, judging by the looks I got. The dinner seemed to last forever as I tried to watch the activity outside through the six windows, the other diners at the twelve tables, and the restaurant staff. By the time they retired to the envoy's room, my eyes felt as though I'd been the chair-umpire at twenty consecutive tennis matches.

  "When do you get relieved?" asked the smallest man of the three. He looked to be in his late sixties, with a gray goatee and mustache and was slightly overweight.

  "When I see Mr. Itzig on to his plane back to Israel." Or when an Assassin punches out my client's lights, I mused.

  "You have to sleep!" said a heavyset man with a well-trimmed beard and mustache, as if that made me a liar.

  "I'm a very light sleeper."

  "It must be a very stressful way of life," said the third man. He was average height and overweight. His round face had a full beard and mustache and penetrating brown eyes. I surmised he wasn't talking just about the hours but the responsibility and killing.

  "Some of us are called to a way of life. This is my calling," I said without thinking. But on reflection, in a strange way, it did feel like a calling. Like a priest or rabbi I believed in what I was doing, and that enabled me to act decisively and without hesitation.

  He nodded and that appeared to end the conversation—also strange.

  They left an hour after midnight, and I settled down on a lounge chair
after checking the identity of the hallway guard and securing the door.

  * * *

  Itzig didn't emerge from the bedroom until nearly nine o'clock. "Megan, what do you fancy for breakfast? That sandwich last night couldn't have been very satisfying."

  "Something tasteless I can hold in one hand and juice or milk."

  "You're joking."

  "No, sir. I prefer not to enjoy my meals while I'm working. It's distracting," I grinned.

  He shook his head, picked up the phone, and ordered breakfast. About forty-five minutes later there was a knock at the door and a few seconds later his private guard, Shet, opened the door halfway.

  "Sir, your breakfast is here."

  When Itzig nodded, he opened it all the way and a tall thin woman entered, pushing a cart with silverware, plates with covers to keep the food warm, and a silver coffeepot. Shet stepped inside and closed the door while she wheeled the cart to the small dining table. She stood facing us with the cart in front of her as she set the table. She had a shapely figure which was partially obscured by the loose-fitting clothes she wore. She faced Itzig and me as she emptied the cart's contents onto the table, naming each item as she did: bacon and eggs, coffee, toast, milk, and an egg sandwich.

  "Mr. Itzig, if there is nothing else you need, would you sign this room charge?" she asked while holding out the slip in her left hand while her right hand dangled behind the cart.