The Kazak Guardians (10 page)

"Can you tell me what happened on your last assignment?" Clare asked.

"I was guarding a diplomat when
...
" I gave a brief synopsis of the events, withholding certain details that could identify me, the senator, or the diplomat-although everyone in the senate could-or the method I used to discover the Glamour Assassin. It took two hours before Clare was satisfied she had everything she needed.

"Thanks, Lynn, that's going to make another great addition to the Kazak series. I'm becoming famous thanks to you. I only wish you'd benefit from this."

"Watching my best friend prosper is reward enough."

Gabe interrupted us. "Wow. What a great story. It explains why you lasted to make Kazak. You're like a real Wonder Woman."

"If I remember correctly, she never gets hurt." I held up my bandaged arm and pointed to my forehead. "Maybe I could borrow her magic bracelets for next time."

"Next time?" Gabe said shaking his head. "You can't mean it."

"Like Wonder Woman, I wouldn't want any other life." I meant it. I was content with my life regardless of what happened in the future.

"To think I knew her when she was sane." Gabe smiled and blew me a kiss.

***

Clare decided she had to return to work after almost two weeks in Vegas. I stayed, visiting some of the people I knew and places I had frequented. I told everyone I met that I was a security guard at a bank. Gabe still studied with Master Jianyu and taught some of the classes, so I went with him one night. Jianyu looked like he hadn't aged a day. I'd bet he'd look the same in another ten years. I sat in the visitor's section, enjoying the class. It brought back old memories I would always cherish. After class, Jianyu walked over to me with Gabe following.

"It's good to see you Kazak Lynn." He bowed. "I thought you were meant to be a Kazak. I knew it was you after the
Denver Post
reporter wrote the first article on the mystery Kazak. The news about the attempt on the Iranian visitor also felt like you. Your arm and head confirm my suspicions. I've stopped an arrow but never a bullet." He gave a small smile.

"Yes, I was determined to do whatever it took to qualify. It was the life I knew I wanted more than anything."

"It would be interesting to see you fight a senior student like Gabe. You've been trained to win or die, like the old Ninja or Samurai. An old custom brought back to life in the Kazaks. Even I'd lose. I'm a master of Kung Fu and know how to kill, but never have. I'd hesitate, where you wouldn't. The difference between theory and experience, knowing and doing."

"You're right, Master Jianyu," Gabe said." I could feel it when Clare was interviewing her. When she explained the fight with the Assassin, you knew she'd faced death without fear. It was scary."

"You exaggerate, Gabe." But I knew he was right. Fear was a fraction of a second delay too long. Jianyu was right. Killing wasn't an option, fighting wasn't a game. Fortunately, Jianyu made us tea and the talk turned to other things.

Three weeks went by in a flash. I had enjoyed the time with my friends and reminiscing about old times, but I was operational and ready for another assignment. No, I wanted another assignment. I called Witton.

"Boss, I've milked my injuries long enough. What do you want me to do?"

"Yes, you have. My private secretary, Ann Marie, will get you reservations and call you when she has your schedule. By then, I'll have decided on an assignment."

A few hours later, Ann Marie called with my flight schedule. At the airport, I sent my bag as luggage, since it had weapons. I identified the bag as belonging to a Kazak and gave Witton's office number for verification. I was pleasantly surprised to find Ann Marie had booked me in first class. I found it hard to spend money when the Kazak Guardians picked up all my expenses. Ironically, if I had booked the flight, I would have flown economy class.

When I arrived back at my condo it was early, so I went up to Witton's office and was ushered in almost immediately.

"Did you enjoy your convalescence?" Witton asked as he looked up from his laptop.

"Yes, sir, very much. I don't have many friends, so it's nice to see the few I do have whenever I can." Ironically, it was Witton who had shaken me loose from my room and out to see Clare. Now I would take every opportunity to see her and Gabe.

"Good, I've an easy assignment for you, while you're recovering."

"That's all you ever give me," I said with a straight face.

Witton nodded. "Touche. No one can ever tell which assignments will be boring and which interesting. You do seem to gravitate toward the interesting ones, probably because you seem to attract Assassins. If
I
needed a Kazak, I don't think I'd want you." He grinned. "Foreign dignitaries are out for a while. The State Department protests every time they hear your name. Apparently, you and their security don't see eye to eye. Now that I think about it, everyone complains about you, until you save his or her sorry ass. The life of a Kazak." He shrugged. "I'd planned on a congressman; however, I'd like to wait a few days. Something is developing that may take precedence."

"I'll be nice if that will help." I thought the remark somewhat amusing, because it never occurred to me that
being nice
was part of my assignment.

"Take a few more days off but stay close."

***

Three days later, Witton called me into his office.

"Sit, Lynn. I've some disturbing news. Your reporter friend and the
Denver Post
have a serious problem. Her stories about you have attracted either an Assassin or a nut case who's intent on killing you. The day your friend Clare returned from Vegas, the perpetrator sent this email to the
Post
."

He pushed a piece of paper across his desk toward me. It read,
I want the
Post
to get that Kazak back here and have him admit he's a fake. You have five days. If you don't, I'll give you an incentive.
I looked back up at Witton, waiting for the shoe to drop. That email sounded like a nut case, so there must be more to come.

"Five days later he shot at a male reporter, Sam Egon. The reporter had just entered his car when the shot shattered his back window. The next day the
Post
received another message."

I read the paper Witton handed me.
That fake still isn't back, and you haven't admitted your fraud. I'll give you five more days to disclose that was a publicity stunt.
The action had escalated but still could be someone looking for publicity-I hoped-but Witton wasn't finished.

Witton continued. "Five days later the night watchman was shot in the arm. He lost a lot of blood, but he'll recover. The attacker shot him while he was making the rounds. A retired policeman has replaced him. The following day another email arrived."

This one read,
Five days to get that fake back here and get him to admit he lied for that bitch reporter. She and that fake Kazak are going to admit what they did or pay. If they haven't, in five days I'll show you what is going to happen to them.
Now I was worried. Nut case or not, the person was dangerous and threatening the person I loved. I was caught in a storm of emotions. I need to be with Clare-now.

"Last night a weatherman from the
Post
was killed." When Witton finished, he sat watching me.

I stood up but didn't move. I was frozen like a deer caught in a car's headlights. The Kazaks were my life, but Clare was like a sister to me. I wanted to run to the airport and catch the next flight to Denver. To do so, I would have to desert my new family, probably for life. My mind spun in turmoil.

"Lynn, sit!" Witton said with authority. Conditioned to obey senior Kazaks, I sat.

"This situation affects your friend Clare, but also the Kazaks. Whoever it is, they have challenged us. Not through the powerful we protect, but through the weak and innocent. Even if they weren't threatening the Kazaks, you could go to Denver. We're not heartless, asking you to choose between us, your adopted family, and a friend you consider a sister. We will give you all the support you need to protect her. Our plane will be awaiting your arrival by the time you get to the airport. Oh, don't forget to kill the bastard. A trial might delay your return."

I almost fainted with relief. I don't know what I would have done if Witton had refused to let me go and given me another assignment. Without an assignment I could have gone. The Kazaks were my life, but I loved Clare. Her death would've ripped something good out of me. Maybe Witton realized that.

***

When I arrived, the plane sat ready. I ignored Kathryn's pleasantries and found a seat. She didn't seem offended. She brought me a cup of coffee and waved off the pilot-a very smart woman. I assumed she had seen a Kazak in a bad mood before. I restrained the urge to run up to the cockpit and scream for the pilot to ignore the tower and go. Instead, I picked up the coffee and had a sip. It was scalding hot and I almost dropped it. The shock brought me back to myself-a disciplined Kazak. With effort, I cleared my mind and began to think.

The thought of Clare dying had panicked me. Strangely, the idea of the death of someone I protected didn't worry me. They were my responsibility, and it was my duty to put my life on the line to save theirs, but it wasn't personal. I'm human. I liked some and disliked others, but they were only objects in my care. To think otherwise would affect my reactions, benefiting neither them nor me. I would have to force myself to think of Clare the same way, or risk getting us both killed.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn," I said, as she placed a tray of steaming hot food in front of me. She smiled.

"It always amazes me how fast you Kazaks get control of your emotions. I wish you luck." She returned to her station at the head of the compartment.

I called Clare from the aircraft and asked her to meet me at the airport. If this threat was from an Assassin, she wouldn't be safe in her apartment. I wanted her with me as soon as possible.

***

When I reached the terminal, Clare stood waiting for me.

"I hoped you'd come." A tear rolled its way down her cheek. I scanned the area as we hugged, but saw nothing unusual. "They're killing innocent people so they can kill you."

"I'm here because you're my sister. I can't promise anything except I'll eventually kill whoever's responsible. Until I do, we're going to be Siamese twins."

On the way to the condo, Clare explained the facts, as she understood them. I understood that the realities of the incidents weren't necessarily the same.

"It appears the incident with the first reporter was intended to get our attention and prove he was serious. We think the night watchman might have been shot because he interrupted our killer. He told the police he never saw the shooter. The weatherman was killed in his apartment. The police found no indication of forced entry. They believe he may have known the person. Now, we're waiting for the next email. The
Post
's owners can't decide what to do. No one is sure what the killer will do next or how to stop him." Clare was in tears as we entered her condo. There was little I could do except hold her in my arms. The situation had escalated. The killer no longer had any choices. If caught, he would spend the rest of his life in jail. So long as he avoided capture, his hate wouldn't let him stop. If it wasn't obvious to the owners, I could see that he wouldn't stop until he killed Clare and me, or at the very least, me.

In the condo, I tried to settle Clare down. She was panicking.

"Clare, you can't change the past and you're not responsible for the injury or death of that man. A deranged person is responsible. You need to put your investigating hat on and help me find him. Tomorrow you and I are going to review each newspaper article, since you first started writing about me. Somewhere in there is the clue to the man we're looking for." I gave her a small shake.

"Of course, you're right. I'm used to writing about other people's problems and grief. Although I can feel sorry for them, I can't feel their pain. This time, I'm not observing a tragedy, I'm involved in one. I'll never see other people's problems the same again." She sobbed, while I saw her to bed. I slept on the couch, although Clare wanted me in her bed, close to her. I was tempted but felt it was more important to be close to the door, just in case.

***

In the morning, Clare looked like she hadn't slept. "How are we going to find him? He's going to go on killing, and he wants to kill you. What if I say I'm a fraud and made you up?"

"Won't work. His hate won't be satisfied with an apology. It's too late for him to stop. We'll find him."

We ate breakfast quickly and drove to Clare's office. When we entered the floor Clare worked on, everyone seemed nervous and ready to run or hide at the slightest noise. I talked to the managing editor and two of the owners. They agreed with me that the only way to stop the killer was to catch him. They promised me whatever support I needed.

"Clare, we need to review all of the
Post
's newspapers starting from the time of your first story on me and isolate all the articles involving people that might feel they were wronged or embarrassed by the
Post
's editorials that exposed them, their activities, or companies. Focus on local businesses and people."

We had no sooner retrieved the electronic files from storage when an email arrived.

I guess the fake Kazak is nowhere to be found. The fake should come forward and admit it was all a hoax. I guess the Post needs another example. I'm running out of patience.

"My God, when will it stop?" Clare whispered.

"When we catch him," I said, putting my arm around her.

Although the newspaper was printed on paper, every article, including the reporter's notes, was stored in their computer system. The managing editor freed up a couple of his people to retrieve the information I wanted. It had to be somewhere between the first and last article Clare had written about me, although I wasn't ready to discard the theory that the killer was maybe using me as an excuse to discredit Clare or the
Denver Post
.