The Kazak Guardians (28 page)

"Slide down to the floor, warden." I sank down with him and whispered into his ear.

"If you touch me or move so that I fall, your throat goes with me." I laid my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes, and once again sought the temple. I remained cognizant of my surroundings and able to respond within the limits imposed by my current injuries. That meant I could probably rip out the warden's throat before I totally collapsed. I came back to full consciousness when I heard heavy boots running down the hallway. A minute later, the door flew open and two combat-armed men entered the room. They looked around the room at each person. One pointed to me.

"Are you Lynn the Fox?" he asked. I nodded. "What are your orders?"

"I guess I need a hospital. The Father is to accompany me, and this fool is under arrest." I let go of his throat and fainted.

***

When I woke, a tall, thin man sat in the corner. He was dressed casually, but I had no doubt he was a Kazak by the way he sat scanning the room. He was dressed for action and looked armed.

"Good morning, Lynn. I'm Al the Cheetah. It looks like you were in a bad mood yesterday. Those two skinheads were a mess and the warden's throat is black, blue, and purple. You'll have to show me how to do that without killing him. Sonny the Tiger has taken over your assignment. Witton thought you'd like to have a talk with the skinheads'
friends
tonight and asked me to accompany you."

"That's ridiculous," a short, chubby man in a white coat and the ubiquitous stethoscope said as he entered the room. "She'll be here for several days. Fortunately, those knife wounds didn't damage any organs. Doctor Gordano at the prison did a pretty good job sewing you up. We've redressed the wound. So long as you don't do anything too strenuous, you should be healed in three or four weeks."

"She's just after sympathy, Doctor. She'll have milked it for all it's worth by the end of the day."

The doctor ignored him, took my pulse, listened to my chest, and gave me some pills. "These will help you sleep. Right now you need lots of rest."

A little while later a big man in a police captain's uniform entered the room. He walked with the self-assurance of one in authority. His hair was thick at the temples but thinning on top. His weathered face supported a pleasant smile. I liked him right away.

"Good morning, Kazak Lynn. I tried visiting last night, but you weren't receiving guests."

"A girl needs her beauty rest, Captain."

"Especially when she's been partying. I thought you might want to know about the men's tattoos. My sergeant identified them as belonging to a skinhead group called the Sovereign Whites of America. Al said you might want to visit them for old times' sake. I wouldn't recommend it. You don't look up for another party." He looked like a no-nonsense man, who could see the light as well as the dark side of life.

"I'll keep her from overdoing it," Al said. The captain stayed for a while, asking questions about the previous day. It wasn't an interrogation but rather a polite inquiry to satisfy his natural inquisitiveness. I fell off to sleep as soon as he left. Al woke me after the sun had set.

"Ready to party?"

"Good idea. This laying around is boring." Al helped me out of bed and to get dressed. He had my weapons and somehow had found me new clothes to replace my old torn and stained ones. The nurse tried to stop me from leaving with all sorts of threats. When that failed, she insisted hospital policy required that I be wheeled to the entrance. We left her calling someone on the phone.

It didn't surprise me that the captain had given Al the Sovereign Whites of America address the police had on file. Although he couldn't and wouldn't do anything about the skinheads, he didn't break any laws giving us the address. Al managed to find the place after a few wrong turns and encountering one-way streets going the wrong way. The address turned out to be a house on an acre or more of land, with a barn-like structure well back from the house. We ignored the house and walked back to the barn. I opened the side door and walked in. Al stood leaning against the doorjamb. Everyone looked around when I entered.

"Who's in charge here?" I asked, looking around the room.

"I am, sweet thing. Want to join? You could get it on with some real Americans." He began strutting toward me, t-shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, displaying his tattoos and muscular arms. I shot him three times in the chest.

"Anyone else like to get it on with one pissed-off white American Kazak woman?" I heard two shots, as I shot a lanky boy to my right who reached for a gun. The two Al shot were on my left. I had seen them but knew Al would take them. I only beat him by a second to the one I shot on the right. It was obvious why he was a Cheetah. "Father Joseph is Kazak business. If so much as one piece of graffiti appears on his property, I or another Kazak will be back. You don't want that. We aren't the police who have to justify their actions to an injury board if they hurt one of you. We don't have to read you your rights, nor will we arrest you and take you to jail where you can have a lawyer. And instead of prison, you'll go straight to the morgue without passing through all those messy constitutional rules-just like those four. Next time no one will walk out of here." I said. Al and I departed without any further trouble.

"That was fun, Lynn. You throw a good party," he said and grinned. When I staggered, he helped support me back to the car.

"Where are we going, D.C.?" I asked.

"No. I'm going on to California for an assignment. You're going to Denver. Witton called your friend Clare. You've got the company plane-again-to go wherever you want."

Kathryn pampered me on the flight to Denver. She sat near me, jumping up every time I moved to see if I needed anything. I had pillows, blankets, hot soup, and plenty of tender loving care.

"I could get used to this, Kathryn."

"I could too. You've got more frequent flyer miles than any other Kazak. Besides, you could become my employer. I think Mr. Witton said something about giving you the plane, since it seemed dedicated for your exclusive use anyway."

***

Clare was in the cabin almost before the pilot turned off the fasten seat belt sign. I was still lying on the pull-out couch. She stopped and stood looking down at me, tears in her eyes. I couldn't think of what to say, so I just held out my hand. She took it and knelt down next to me.

"When Witton called, I spent five minutes screaming at him. I asked why he didn't give you an easy assignment once in a while. He said he tries but somehow they turn out to have major consequences. What could be easier than watching after a priest who received a few crank emails or a software programmer working inside the Pentagon?"

I conceded Witton had a point.

"When I asked how badly you were hurt-this time-he said your injuries would heal; however, you were tired. You didn't need sympathy. You needed someone who understood and loved you." Clare lapsed into silence for a long while. "He knew because he had been there. I wonder if he ever found that person. I hope so."

Clare lay holding me all night, never saying a word. Words weren't necessary. She had come because I needed her. I could feel her tender love and slept contented.

I woke when I heard the cabin door open. Kathryn and the pilots entered and began preparing the plane for takeoff. I think Witton had been right. My wounds weren't so bad that I should be feeling as weak as I did. I had left the hospital too soon, but I was a Kazak. Clare helped steady me, and we found adjoining seats.

"Well, love. Where have you decided we're going?" I asked. I certainly hadn't told the pilots anything.

"Witton said I could go anywhere I wanted, so I picked La Paz. It's quiet and I liked it last time we were there." Her lips were pressed together but turned up at the corners and her eyes were shining-a smug and impish look. I thought it a good choice. When we reached cruising altitude, Kathryn served us a tasty breakfast of crepes. I had two, or maybe three, helpings. Afterwards, she topped it off with scones, jam, and coffee.

"I know you hate my life, love," I said, feeling sorry for the pain I caused her.

"Yes, I know you do, just as I know you aren't going to change. I'm reconciled to seeing you injured and for only short periods of time. If I could change you, by definition you wouldn't be the person I love, just as I know if I tried to change, I wouldn't be me any longer. So, we're stuck with the way we are."

"I've got another story. One you can print this time."

"Damn you, Lynn." She hit me on the shoulder. I winced. "I don't care if it hurt. I'd rather see you without injuries and stories. I hate to tell you, because it will just make you insufferable, but I got another promotion. I'm now a senior editor."

"No, Clare. Your series on Kazaks helped focus the attention on you, but you earned the promotions on your own." Our talk changed to less serious topics. I ate a lot and basked in the company of Clare.

Ann Marie had booked us a cabana again at the Hacienda Del Sol. We were there for nearly four weeks. We ate at every restaurant within twenty miles of the hotel, went scuba diving, sea kayaking, laid on the beach talking about our lives, and spent the nights in each other's arms.

When we returned one night, there was a message to call Witton. It wasn't a surprise and in truth it was time for Clare and me to get back to work. The month had enriched our lives and given us memories that would last until next time. I put the phone on speaker and called.

"Hi, boss," I said and waited.

"Thank you, Clare. She sounds like Lynn again."

"Thank you for the time with her. I'm returning her to you in good condition."

"Hey, I'm right here, you two." I had to smile. Witton and Clare had formed a conspiracy, which I was beginning to appreciate.

"Oh, the Fox that keeps duping me into thinking she's injured and needs time off. That Lynn. You sound well, so I have an assignment for you. I wish I could tell Clare it's an easy one, but I give up trying to determine easy from hard. Hard seems to gravitate toward you. I'll give you a day to stop in Denver to give Clare her interview. I expect you back the following day." The phone went dead.

"I actually believe him," Clare said. "However, I think your rules increase the odds. It makes you the perfect bodyguard but puts you more at risk." She shrugged and pulled me over to the bed. The plane would be there the next morning, but we had that night.

The interview went smoothly. By that point, everyone was aware of the rules, and Clare was at ease with the interview. We completed the whole session without any retakes. The next day I headed back to D.C. and some unknown assignment. As usual, I didn't care. They were all interesting.

"Sonny said they had no more trouble after Al and you talked to the Sovereign Whites of America. He also said Father Joseph had mixed feelings about the incident at the prison. He felt he would have rather died than have those men killed," Witton said, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Sure, he'd go to heaven. Where would I go? Besides, I'm too young to die, and your life would be in danger."

"Why? Oh, yes. Clare would be after my hide. Can't say I'd blame her. It's time to get down to business. The Committee continues to take a personal interest in you. Most religious people, even those that don't go to church services on a regular basis, are unhappy with many of the courts' decisions concerning abortion, gay rights, and the separation of state and religion. The Supreme Court is getting ready to hear three separate cases affecting those issues. As usual, the decisions are expected to be five to four votes against all three issues. A judge who has consistently voted for freedom of choice has been targeted. So far, it has been verbal assaults on her character and beliefs. Religious people are righteously passionate about their beliefs, and a few believe everyone must adhere to their interpretation. They have convinced themselves that God gave them the right to kill, although one of the Ten Commandments they defend so aggressively forbids it. That isn't important. The Committee wants us to protect that judge. It's not her beliefs but the fact that a Supreme Court judge is being threatened. Her name is Justice Janette Ramsey. She's expecting a Kazak tomorrow in her chambers."

"Why do I always have to tell them?" I asked, although I knew.

"No one would want you if I did, and it would take hours to convince them. This way you can save me the time. Anyway, you have to fight about your rules, so you can accomplish both at the same time." He had the nerve to grin. I couldn't help grinning back. He was right.

***

I arrived at eight, thinking she probably wouldn't arrive until nine at the earliest. I was wrong. Not only had she arrived, but also the room was full of people, who I assumed were her staff. The usual guard dog was waiting as I entered the room.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Justice Ramsey is expecting me. I'm Lynn," I said expecting the usual nonsense-she's not, your not...

"She's expecting a Kazak, but you're a woman."

"Last time I looked. Please tell her I'm here. It'll save me from having this conversation twice." I smiled, trying to be nice. She lifted her phone, told Ramsey I was there, without mentioning I was a woman, and told me to go right in. I suspected she was looking forward to the coming confrontation. I opened the door, walked in, closed it behind me, and waited.

"You're very good-looking, but I doubt you could protect me in the event I was to need protecting." She gave me what I thought a grandmother's smile would look like-if I'd had one.

"You're old and I'm only here to ensure you get a proper funeral in the event you do get killed," I replied.
I can be petty too.

She gave me a long look before speaking. "Witton said you have rules; I have rules too. Mine are more important than yours." No smile.

"My rules are meant to keep you safe and don't conflict with the Constitution you defend."

Her eyes turned downward, a sign that she was thinking-a good attribute for a judge. She looked back up at me. "What is your religious preference?"