The Kazak Guardians (5 page)

***

On our final day, the Master Johar, the senior Kazak master, led Jessie, Cory, and me up the Hill to what I considered a temple-my sanctuary over the years. It was just a small empty marble building, but inside a silence prevailed that was so intense it seeped into my bones. I, like others, went there to meditate, which was an integral part of our training. Like it does for Taoist monks, this meditation enabled us to withstand pain and remain functional. It enhanced our senses of sight, hearing, and smell, and allowed us to maintain control of our emotions under stress. I loved my many hours spent there. It was the forge that shaped the person I became.

When we entered the building, the witch Meztlil sat in the middle of the room on a stone bench. She was wrapped in a black cape and hood that obscured everything except her eyes. We had been told about Meztlil. She was the one who named you, and in so doing enhanced your inherent abilities. Typical Kazak dominant attributes were the Lion for strength, the Cheetah for speed, the Panther for stealth, and the Tiger for fighting. She pointed at Cory.

"Cory, come kneel before me and remove your shirt." Her voice was clear, yet only a whisper. For a long time after Cory had knelt, she sat there quietly staring at him. Then she took his left arm and laid it in her lap. Using one of her long black fingernails, she began drawing. After what seemed like hours, she sat back and scrutinized his arm. She then covered the area with her hand and closed her eyes. I could see Cory straining with all his considerable control to keep from screaming. Given our training the pain must have been unbearable.

"I name you Cory the Lion."

I knew from the masters that Meztlil had somehow tattooed a Kazak badge onto his forearm. The tattoo would be in shades of gray and contain four scrolls: in the top scroll the word
Kazak
; in the second scroll
Cory
with a lion's head below it; in the third scroll
Guardian
; and in the last scroll a number unique to each Kazak-his Diplomatic Agent number.

She waved him away and pointed to Jessie. When she had finished his tattoo, she announced, "I name you Jessie the Tiger."

That didn't surprise me. Jessie was a ferocious fighter. He epitomized the metaphor about catching a tiger by the tail.

Then she nodded to me. I approached and knelt, hoping to be named a Panther. She stared at me for a long time-an eternity. I wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then she smiled.

"No, Lynn. You do not have the stealth to be a Panther, the strength for a Lion, the speed for a Cheetah, or the fighting tenacity of a Tiger."

I panicked.
Was this another test? Had I failed the final challenge?
Bile rose in my throat. My mind was in turmoil as she took my arm and began drawing. What was she drawing? The pain caught me off guard, and I almost screamed as it ripped through my chest and into my brain.

"I name you Lynn the Fox. Your talent, Lynn, is cunning. It enabled you to successfully climb to the top of the Hill and to survive against all odds."

***

While we stood on the landing pad waiting for the helicopter, I pulled up my sleeve to examine the tattoo.

The Kazak Security Services organization was created in the late 1920s by eight immigrants from the Kazakh steppes. During the violent '30s, they earned a reputation as the premier bodyguard company for high-profile politicians and businessmen. As the demand for their services grew, they were forced to hire additional help. Although they had a rigorous screening process, they found the new hires couldn't live up to the Kazakh's high standards. In the end, they were forced to start their own one-year-long school. In the '40s, they increased the training to two years in length and their reputation as elite guards grew. Sometime in the '70s, they were
adopted
by a mysterious group, which provided them with diplomatic immunity. Their name changed to the Kazak Guardians and they were no longer available to the general public.

Because of the high-profile people the new organization guarded, the gold-colored nickel badges of the old Kazak Security Services, which could easily be cloned, were abandoned and replaced with a tattoo on the left forearm.

I couldn't stop starring at it. Inside an oval, light-gray shield surrounded by oak leaves were the words
Kazak
,
Lynn
,
Guardian
, and my Diplomatic Agent number-231. And in the middle was the beautifully inked head of a fox. It meant that I had entered the world of my dreams.

The chop-chop of the incoming 'copter broke my musing.

It was finally my time to leave on a helicopter, but I wasn't being dismissed. I was going to work.

Jessie, Cory, and I were flown by helicopter to the Spokane International Airport. We talked very little, entranced by our new tattoos. It was no wonder. We had endured unimaginable pain and stress, survived the five challenges, and sacrificed nine years of our lives to earn those tattoos and be called Kazaks.

At the airport, we were led onto the tarmac where a white Gulfstream sat glistening in the sun. On the aircraft's tail were the letters KG in black. As we entered the plane, an attractive woman in her early thirties met us, wearing a light beige suit and a plain white blouse. She had a trim figure, auburn hair, green eyes, and a sunny smile.

"Welcome aboard, Kazaks. My name is Kathryn. You may sit anywhere you want. Who'd dare argue with you?" she gave us a cheerful grin. "Besides, you're our only passengers. I'll be back in a moment to get you whatever you'd like to drink. And after we've reached cruising altitude, I'll serve dinner."

"What do you think, Lynn?" Jessie said, as he settled into one of the plush leather seats. Cory stood in the middle of the aisle, his mouth hanging open. I flopped down on the couch across from Jessie.

"I think we've died and this plane is our chariot to heaven."

"You know what they say," Cory said, still looking around. "Wait until you get the bill."

After a fillet mignon dinner and a glass of red wine, I fell asleep. A light tap on my arm brought me to full alertness-my mind assessed my surroundings, my body came to life, and hands were poised to act. To the casual observer, I had merely opened my eyes. I smiled at Kathryn.

"Please fasten your seatbelt and return your seat to an upright position. We are on our approach to Richmond International," she said with a warm smile. I noticed Jessie and Cory were already awake and their seats in an upright position.

A limo waited as we exited the plane and drove us into the city of Richmond, Virginia. An hour later, we stood in front of an eight-story, red-brick building.

"What do you think?" I asked as we entered the building. It looked like a high-end condo complex complete with a reception desk, large lounge, elevators, and a security guard.

"I think it's our new home," Cory said. "I did a little research at the school before we left. Although it looks like a condo complex, the seventh floor is dedicated to Kazak operations. On the first floor there is a swimming pool, workout room, and dining facility. The other six floors are two-bedroom suites. One is assigned to each Kazak."

"Your friend is right," a young man standing behind the marble counter said. "If you will sign in over here, I'll get you checked in."

We were each given the key to our new unit and a package, which gave information about the building and its facilities. It also included a welcome letter and instructions to report to a Mr. Witton at 8:00 a.m. the next morning.

My unit was located on the fourth floor. I stood in the doorway speechless, staring into the-
my
-living room. The walls were beige, the couch and recliner were fawn-colored leather, the rug was a plush light brown, the tables were a rich cherry, and a large LCD television hung on one wall. It was too much to absorb.

I walked around my new condo, inspected each room, sat on each piece of furniture, looked in the refrigerator, which was well stocked, and soaked in the bathtub for an hour. There were even clothes in the closet, clothes which fit surprisingly well. Later that evening, I lay in my queen-sized bed content for the first time in my life.

***

Close to eight the next morning, I rode the elevator to the seventh floor. When I exited, I saw Charlie Stoffer, a fifth-year drop out. He had been one of the seventeen I began Kazak training with nine years ago.

"Hi, Charlie."

"Hi, Lynn. Congratulations. I used to envy those who survived the fourth challenge, but no longer. I'm married, have a son, and a wonderful wife. I'm glad I didn't qualify. By the way, you'll see some familiar faces here. The agency employs those of us who survived the third challenge and want a job. We act as guards and supervise the repair crews."

"I'm glad things worked out for you, Charlie. Where do I find this Mr. Witton?"

"Last office on your right. He's the second in command and runs the day-to-day operations. I've no idea who's number one." He shrugged.

The hallway had a beautiful blue rug and pale blue walls with pictures of cities from around the world. I passed several glassed-in rooms with people hard at work on what I had come to recognize as sophisticated electronic suites. The door to Witton's office was open. Jessie and Cory were already there. Witton's office was impressive. It looked to be the size of my condo with a bird's eye view of the city, a large ebony-wood desk, comfortable leather chairs, a small conference table surrounded by several office chairs, and a built-in liquor cabinet.

"Welcome, Lynn the Fox." He motioned toward one of the tufted beige leather wing chairs. "I'm Mr. Witton, and I'm in charge of the day-to-day activities of the Kazak organization. I've asked you here to congratulate you on becoming Kazaks and to discuss your responsibilities. The condo units are yours as long as you are Kazaks, then they revert back to the agency. You're free to live elsewhere if you wish, but the condos remains yours. Your salaries are a quarter of a million a year, and we will take care of your medical needs. Your assignments aren't optional. You wanted to be Kazaks and we've spent a lot of time and money getting you your dream. Any questions?" He leaned back and surveyed each of us. He looked like a typical businessman. He wore an expensive dark blue suit, and had black hair with streaks of gray and a narrow, clean-shaven face. It was obvious from his no-nonsense attitude and penetrating gray eyes that he was a Kazak.

"Relax for a few weeks while we find you an assignment. The Assassins have been very active the last several months and everyone wants a Kazak for a bodyguard; however, we don't have enough to go around. That means we have to determine those whose loss would have the greatest impact on the country."

"Do we have to stay here while we wait?" Jessie asked. I didn't really care. I had fought long and hard to become a Kazak and the rest would be welcome.

"No, you'll each have a smartphone of your own, so that we can keep in touch with you. You must, however, be available to go on assignment within forty-eight hours after I call. Other than that, there are no restrictions."

***

A week later, I answered the door to find Witton standing in the hallway.

"Come in, Mr. Witton." I waved him into the room. He walked in and surveyed the room.

"You're very neat, Lynn."

"I don't like clutter. It makes it hard to find things and who knows when a VIP will drop in."

"There's always that. I've many requests for Kazaks and can't fill them all. Sometimes it's impossible to determine which is the most important. The group that funds us must approve each assignment and, therefore, has the final say. There are three of you available at the moment, so I have a choice-a Tiger, Lion, or Fox. This particular governor is an asshole but his support is critical to the economic development of Arkansas and the region. This assignment should be boring, but you never know. There are factions that would like to see him dead; otherwise, he wouldn't need a Kazak. These factions may be all bark and no bite. Only time will tell. Report to Governor Masson's office in Little Rock the day after tomorrow. Take no nonsense from him. You're a Kazak."

***

Witton's secretary called me later in the day. She had booked my flight, provided me with a credit card and expense money, and arranged for a rental car at the airport. The next day, I went into Richmond and did a little shopping. I didn't need much in the way of civilian clothing, but I did need panties and bras, and I bought a pants suit and shoes to match, in case I needed to wear something other than my blacks: pull-over long-sleeved shirt, pants with elastic at the ankles, and running shoes. The Kazaks had no uniforms but their normal day-to-day clothes tended towards action clothing, which allowed extensive freedom of movement and easy access to weapons. The next day I caught my flight to Little Rock. I was glad I wore my pants suit, since I found myself in first class.

The state capitol building looked massive as I stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front entrance. It was a long rectangular three-story gray-white building with a three-story dome. The entrance had four two-story high columns leading into the atrium. I found the governor's office easily. An impressive elderly woman at a large desk sat guarding the door to the office.

"How may I help you, Miss?" She had a pleasant face, immaculate appearance, and was clearly ready to protect her domain.

"Yes, I'm the Kazak, Lynn. The governor should be expecting me," I said quietly so as not to disturb the hundreds of people who were coming and going. Suddenly, there was a lot of screaming from the office behind her-his office. Before his guard dog could respond, I stepped by her and jerked the door open. One man stood shaking his fist at another. When I entered, the fist-shaker glared at me.

"Who the hell are you, get out," he said, pointing to the door.
Nice man.

"I'm Lynn, the Kazak you requested."

"You are to stay outside and guard the entrance to the room I'm in. You're not supposed to be in the room. There's no threat in any room I enter. Now get out and do your job."