C.R. Daems - Kazak 2 - The Unthinkable (19 page)

No one wanted to try sleeping so Catherine ordered an in room breakfast.

"How did you know?" she asked, sipping on a cup of coffee.

"It felt wrong," I said, which got glares from Max, Sam, and an open mouth stare from Catherine. During the silence, I had time to let my mind sort out the earlier why. It had felt wrong because Tim followed too close behind the machine gunner and his friend, the shooting hadn't stopped when he shouted all clear, and he didn't look to see if his boss was all right. Of course, that wasn't how I made my decision. At the time, it just felt wrong.

"You shot someone who could have been Tim, because it felt wrong!" Max shouted. "What if it had been Tim?"

"It wasn't."

"What if it were?" he pressed.

"What if it had been you in the room with Catherine. You would have hesitated, since it looked like Tim. And if you had lived to see Catherine killed, you would have realized your hesitation had cost your boss her life."

"The police identified the bodies as belonging to a South American gang suspected of dealing in drugs, prostitution, and a series of murders. The fact that they had an Illusion Assassin with them suggests the renegade's involvement. I'd like to push on but I know that's impossible. I need to assemble a new team and...replacements for Bert and Tim." Her eyes sought her two bodyguards for a moment. "Lynn, do you have any suggestions where you and I could rest while the new people are recruited and brought up to speed?" Catherine asked.

"My condo. It'll be safer than anywhere else I can think of. An Assassin could infiltrate our building but it would set up a war they don't want. Therefore, it has always been a safe zone. That will also allow you to give your security team a well deserved rest." Bert and Tim's face perked up, turning towards Catherine.

"OK. Let's make it a week vacation for everyone. We'll assemble eight days from now." Catherine spent the next hour ensuring everyone at the three offices knew and arranged for transportation back to Regan International. I called Ann Marie to arrange for a limo to the Kazak building. Early the next morning, we boarded an unmarked Jet Stream.

"Good morning, Catherine," a young man said as we entered. "Would you like your usual?" When she nodded, he turned to me. "And what can I get you, Miss?"

"Coffee, black." I said and nodded to Catherine. "I'm impressed. You have a Jet Stream available for your personal use." I would bet it was dedicated to her exclusively, unlike the Kazak plane.

"I understand you have your own, which is occasionally lent to the Kazaks." She was either extremely informed about the Kazaks or the joke about the company plane and me were common knowledge all the way to the Committee. "And another at your beck and call."

She was extremely well informed about the Kazaks and specifically me if she knew about Gendel's offer to use his plane anytime.

"Working twenty-four hours a day does have its perks." I laughed. The flight from New York City to Alexander was short and we were approaching Regan soon after finishing a light lunch.

***

"I've never been inside one of your condo units," Catherine said as she took a quick peek into each room. "You're very neat or do you have a maid."

"I don't like clutter. Never know when a VIP will drop in."

For the next week, we stayed inside the building and ate in the cafeteria or fixed light meals in my condo. Catherine worked out on a daily basis: treadmill, exercise bike, and a thirty-minute swim. I found bored Kazaks to work out with. In the room, Catherine spent hours sitting on the couch, with her legs tucked under her, reading with a glass of Pinot Noir nearby. I spent an equal amount of time reading or meditating. I've found over the years it not only relaxed and refreshed me, but it helped my subconscious evaluate past decisions-like a workout with a Kazak earlier in the day or the fight last week in the restaurant. The last few nights, Catherine spent hours on the phone preparing for our return to work.

"Lynn, I think it's time to get back to work. It is obvious that Mr. X knows I'm searching for him and is desperate. His last attack slowed us down. We had no choice except to regroup but we don't have time to waste. I worry that the Committee may be at more risk than I am. My plane will be ready to leave tomorrow morning."

***

Catherine was silent on the way to the airport. Her plane was fueled and waiting when we arrived. When she entered the plane Jonathan greeted us with a big smile.

"Welcome aboard ladies, is-humph," he started to say when I punched him in the solar plexus. He appeared to shimmer for a second. As he bent in pain, his left hand, which was hidden against his side, revealed a gun. I swept his feet from under him, and as he went airborne, cut his throat. Just for good measure, when he hit the ground, I kicked the gun out of his hand. Didn't want to be shot by accident. Catherine's eyes darted back and forth, as she tried to look everywhere at once. But they kept coming back to me and the dead attendant who now didn't look like Jonathan, who was tall, good looking and friendly. The body on the floor had a narrow face, beady eyes, and looked like a weasel of a man.

I pulled Catherine into the narrow attendant's preparation area, put my finger to my lips, and whispered, "Stay." I checked the pilot's cabin where I found the Captain, copilot, and Jonathan. A further search of the plane showed it was empty.

"All clear, Catherine, but we are going to have to make other arrangements to New York. Our Illusionist killed the pilot, his helper, and Jonathan."

"How?" Catherine stood looking from the floor to me.

"Whoever you are chasing is on the Committee. He or she knows you have a private plane for business. Since the plane landed at Regan, it wouldn't be hard to assume I had taken you to the Kazak's headquarters. When the plane returned, it was to pick you up again and provided an excellent opportunity to kill you. Our fake Jonathan would have let you and me pass, shot me, and then you."

"How did you know Jonathan...him," she nodded at the floor, "wasn't Jonathan?"

"I didn't. But since this was such a good opportunity for an assassination, I felt confident there would be an Assassin somewhere. Because we weren't attacked on the way to the plane, he had to be on the plane. Oh, pain causes Assassins to lose focus so it's an easy way to detect one."

"What if it had been Jonathan?"

I smiled. "Remember that bit about not apologizing for doing your job. I would have considered it his price for keeping you alive."

I could see Catherine had resolved the situation in her mind and was now thinking about what to do next. While she thought, I punched "1" on my iphone. Witton answered.

"What now?"

"We need a ride. Her plane is without a pilot and flight attendant. And, no, I didn't kill them, but I did kill their replacement." Silence.

"Wait there. I'm sending a cleanup crew and pilots. It should only take a couple of hours." He hung up.

"Witton said to wait here. He claims we will be on our way in a few hours."

True to his word, three men arrived within the hour. I recognized Charlie, a fourth challenge dropout, who Witton employed as a guard.

"Hi, Lynn. Go ahead and punch," he said with a grin. I did.

"Hey, I was just kidding. You're as paranoid as they say. But then you're still alive. Since I joined the organization, four Kazaks have been killed."

Charlie and his crew were obviously experienced because they had the four bagged and the mess cleaned up just as the new pilots arrived. One of them had a Kazak badge tattoo.

"I'm Ian the Panther, and yes, I'm real. I like flying and special assignments better than babysitting clients." He looked all muscle, relaxed, but ready. An hour later, we were on our way to New York.

"I too thought you were being paranoid when you told me what you saw at the restaurant in Houston." She shook her head like a wet dog-purebred and gorgeous. "How do you live like that, constantly alert."

"I love the idea that I'm protecting important people from fanatics, thugs, and the greedy, and the challenge of outwitting them. Their only real advantage is the use of their talent to surprise their opponent. If you take that way from them, they are little better than the average street thug."

***

As the weeks went by without any incidents, I began to worry. I preferred quick responses from my opponents in the game of Assassin-Kazak chess, where the Assassins were black, the Kazaks white, and the client the king. The longer black took to move the more planning he had invested in the move. So, each day I became a little more of a paranoiac.

By the end of two weeks, Catherine had eliminated another eight, leaving only four. I could feel the group's excitement, like a pack of hound dogs closing in on...an animal. My paranoia increased, if that were possible. Catherine was getting too close to Mr. X's contact or maybe contacts.

"Hey, Catherine. Could your Judas have more than one contact? If so, you could find yourself in an endless loop. Or you could have two Mr. Xs." I usually don't get involved in my client's business, but I was bored. She sat thinking for so long I had begun to think she was ignoring me.

"You're right of course. Perhaps it is time for the direct approach. It's more my style anyway. Let go visiting."

For the next three days, Catherine consolidated her multiple information gathering groups, moved them to Seattle, and reduced the number by half.

She had four possible connections to Mr. X: Mr. Santori, Mr. Tibour, Mr. Liu, and Ms. Ottella. Another day passed while Catherine and her new project leader, Samantha, reviewed what they had. During that time, six more security men arrived. I had a feeling things were going to get interesting. Mr. X had to know Catherine had changed strategies by the change in activity and that meant the net was closing. If I wasn't mistaken, the attacks would come on multiple fronts since he had money, power, and a connection to the Committee.

That morning Catherine gathered Samantha, her ten security team members, and me in her new office. Each two-man team was assigned a person and given their addresses and haunts. Only Max and Sam were left as her personal security or maybe just kept in reserve. After all, she had me. After everyone had gone, she pulled a letter out of her jacket.

"I just received correspondence from the Committee asking what I was working on. They claim to have several urgent problems they want me to address immediately. I think Mr. X is getting nervous. What do you think, Lynn?"

"I don't know Mr. X, but I would doubt he's nervous. I suspect you have moved from amusing to annoying, and annoying rich, powerful, and well connected people is not healthy. He's broadening the war by using his influence on the Committee, alerting his connections to your identity, and hiring Assassins." That was easy. The hard part was what to do about it. "I would tell the Committee you think you've found a Kazak plot that could have national implications and you're chasing leads that you're sure will unravel it."

"'My problem is more important than yours'. I like it." She laughed. "All right, tomorrow we get serious."

***

Max and Sam dropped us at a dilapidated warehouse. On the inside six twenty-foot shipping containers sat, giving the room a surreal feel. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why she needed a warehouse and shipping containers. Clearly, things were going to get interesting.

"If we're going someplace, I'd prefer traveling first class," I said. Being a bodyguard was mostly boring after you got use to the client's environment. I'd bet this wasn't going to be.

"One is our interview room, one a waiting room, and four are mini-Guantanamo Bays." Catherine said with a grin. "Those four containers are specially modified. They are sound proof, can inject scalding hot and freezing cold water, have a 110 decibels siren, and can be completely filled with water. They provide Extraordinary Rendition without all the time consuming travel, and expensive and time consuming international paperwork." Her grin was evil.

Within a day, the warehouse had temporary sleeping quarters, a fast food diner, and communications hub. Two days later, our first guest arrived, sedated.

***

The interview container was bare except for a steel table and chair in which a slightly overweight middle-aged man sat handcuffed. His short brown hair was ruffled and damp, and his pudgy face pale and drawn. Bright light directed at him from above, created shadows in which Catherine and I stood. At my suggestion, we each wore traditional Islam garb with a niqab covering our faces, although it was probably unnecessary. Max and Sam were in military fatigues with no insignia and ski masks. If the guy in the chair wasn't intimidated, he should be.

"Where am I? Who are you? I'll see you-" He was cut short when Sam jammed a rag in his mouth.

"Mr. Santori, you are being investigated as a possible terrorist under the Patriot Act. Until we decide your guilt or innocence, you have no rights. You have stepped outside the Constitution. You can't call your lawyer, no judges, no bail, and no jury, only us. We do not care about your gambling, prostitution, money laundering, or drug activities. Those are police business for which you are entitled to due process under the law. For terrorism, you are not. I am going to ask you some questions. If you answer them honestly and completely, we can resolve the issue quickly. If you don't, I will, out of the goodness of my heart, give you a small example of what your life will be like if you don't cooperate. It's commonly called Rendition. Perhaps even worse, after you spill your guts, which you will, you will not exist anymore." Catherine nodded to Sam who removed the rag. I thought Mr. Santori's options simple-tell all. "Begin by describing your various businesses."

"I'll an honest business man. I pay my taxes, sponsor kids events, and contribute regularly to local charities. I-"

At Catherine's nod, Sam jerked Santori out of the chair and dragged him towards the door. "I'm sorry you are refusing to cooperate. You will be given one more chance before being charged with aiding and abetting terrorist activities."

"What happens now?" I asked. This certainly wasn't boring.