by C. R. Daems
"Well, they were rather rude, trying to handcuff me and haul me to jail," I said with a pouty expression. "What if the police weren't real police but the gunman's backup? Cuff me and shoot Neely and Burton."
"Wow, you are paranoid," Burton said as he approached. "But I, for one, am thankful. That SP-3 he was carrying is one awesome weapon. He could have killed the three of us with one pull of the trigger."
"What's next, Megan?" Neely's look was sober.
"A profession Assassin would be my guess. He has the money to afford one." Actually I was surprised that wasn't his first choice. More reliable and harder to trace.
"What do you think that gunman was?" Dugas asked.
"Gangland hitman. Professional Assassins have special talents and are a lot more expensive. The type of Assassins Kazak are especially trained to recognize."
"I've heard of them. Sounds next to impossible to stop—" Burton stopped abruptly, realizing Neely was the target they were discussing. Neely had paled.
"Neely, Megan, Markham would like to see you in his office," Alice, Markham’s secretary said, her chin resting of the top of the cubicle wall. I followed Alice and Neely back to his office where the door was open. He waved us to seats. I backed up against a wall.
"I called Witton and we had a long talk. He was surprised the gunman wasn't a professional Assassin." Markham paused and looked to me. "I imagine you agree, Megan."
I nodded. "Mr. Van Witt has the money to afford one, and it improves the odds of success."
"Would more agents help?"
I shook my head. "Unlikely to be more than one person, and the party will be over before anyone knows it started. Most likely your agents will think I negligently murdered someone since he or she won't initially appear to be what they are."
"Continue," Markham said.
"An FBI agent looking like someone everyone knows, say Agent Dugas, will approach us. I'll shoot him. Then the agents guarding Agent Neely will think I shot a fellow agent and will want to shoot me before I shoot someone else. The Illusionist will look exactly like that agent—until he's shot."
"How will you know?" Neely blurted before anyone could respond.
"By seeing what is in front of me and not what I'm expected to see." I held up my hand. "You will see someone you know by sight and immediately assume it's that person. I will see a person approaching I don't presume to know who might be a threat. So I'll watch how he walks, where he's looking, his clothes, time of day, place, etc., things which would appear not normal for the conditions. It's hard to explain. But now that I think about it, anyone you station in Agent Neely's hallway wouldn't stand a chance…what if the Assassin looked like you, sir?"
The office went silent as each person thought over that scenario.
"What about a code to identify us?" Markham asked.
"That might work for an Illusionist but what about for a Ghost, or Liar…" I went on to explain what I knew about each type. By the time I was finished, everyone was frustrated.
* * *
"Gear up, Neely," a short, broad-shouldered man shouted as he banged the side of his cubicle. I had seen him running toward Ted's cubicle before he reached the opening and had been prepared to shoot, but didn't when I saw his hands were empty.
"I had better warn the troops you're fast and deadly," Neely said when he saw my Glock in my hand. He looked serious as he rose and followed the man. When we reached the conference room it was crowded with agents putting on protective gear, guns, and jackets with FBI in large-yellow letters.
"Listen up," Markham shouted. "Nick Kowalski has been spotted and tailed to a house on Dayton Avenue. The Vice squad identified the house as a gang hangout so be careful. Judge Jordon has authorized a search warrant based on Kowalski having been seen entering the house. Kazak Megan, we have protective equipment and a FBI jacket for you since I assume you are going in with Agent Neely," Markham said. I nodded. This was ludicrous and I'd wager no one had ever considered a similar situation. I wasn't here to protect Neely from getting killed by thugs, who would also be shooting at me, but only from Assassins.
"Sir, you understand I can't watch for a possible Assassin and protect Agent Neely from gang members."
Markham shook his head as if to clear it after being hit. "Megan, I think I understand—myopic."
I nodded.
"Kazak Megan is telling us her attention will be on looking for a professional Assassin targeting Neely."
I doubt anyone really understood the irony of the situation. In a sense, they would also be somewhat myopic looking for Kowalski.
We were crowded in three black Suburban sedans. During the ride to the designated location, I tried to imagine how an Assassin could take advantage of this raid. An Illusionist certainly could have set it up to draw the FBI and Neely to the location—imagining possible scenarios was easy. Figuring out how he could get away was harder. Before I knew it we arrived at the house and Markham was giving orders to deploy his agents. After the house was surrounded, six agents approached the house and knocked.
"FBI. The house is surrounded. We have a search warrant to search the house for a Nick Kowalski. Let us look and there will be no trouble," Markham shouted. When several minutes had passed and no one answered, Markham waved and two men came up the steps with a metal ram. When Markham nodded, one swing and the frame shattered and the door flew open. Agents with riot shields charged in, followed by Neely and me. The first men weren't two steps into the room when gunfire erupted. It sounded like a Chinese New Year's celebration with hundreds of firecrackers exploding—except they weren't firecrackers. Instinctively, I shot two men in the head, shooting from the top of the stairs, when the man in front of Neely went down and they looked to be pointing their weapons toward me. Neely and two others raced up the stairs, killing one who was coming out of a bedroom, but not before a man with an automatic wounded two agents. I shot him in the head. Halfway up the stairs I shot another coming out of a bathroom to the right when everyone’s attention was on the wounded agents. In each case I shot to protect me not Neely. It felt similar to the training exercises on the Hill.
Suddenly the firecrackers stopped and I could hear men shouting orders. I continuously scanned the upstairs and the stairs as everyone had their attention on the wounded. Several people were shouting for a medic. Just then a woman medic appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Need help up there?" she asked as her eyes went to the Neely and the others on the landing and back to me. I turned sideways and threw myself feet first down the stairs, firing as I continued to slide roughly down the staircase. My first shot hit her in the chest, throwing her…him backward, my second missed, but my third scored in the center of his face. He had fired almost simultaneously with me. I think his first shot missed because I had twisted sideways and he had been aiming for my chest. His second missed because of the impact to his chest from my second shot, and his third grazed my arm. As I lay at the bottom of the stairs, the pain from sliding down the stair overcame the adrenalin rush. Everything throbbed with pain.
Then Neely shouted, "Megan, you shot a medic!"
"Let's hope there isn't another one, because my clip is empty." I lay back, waiting for the dizziness and double vision to clear.
* * *
"You were right, I thought you had killed a woman medic we needed desperately. If I had been faster I might have shot you," Neely said when the doctor finished stitching up my flesh wound and the nurse was in the process of applying a dressing. "How did you know?" he asked as Markham entered.
I snorted. "Instinct, training. The medic arrived too soon, her eyes came back to me after looking at the group where the wounded lay, her right hand was behind her leg, and she was smiling."
"You shot her because she looked at you and was smiling?" Neely said in obvious disbelief.
"Yep."
"I imagine we are going to find the head shots were yours, Megan," Markham said as he sat."
"Probably, we don't shoot to wound,
unless we have no good kill shot because we assume they are wearing protective gear."
"I thought you weren't going interfere unless it was an Assassin."
"They looked like they intended to shoot me."
"I'm thankful you were along. Otherwise we would have had more wounded and maybe killed. My agents killed two, while you killed four. Our agents tend to shoot for the chest first as it's the biggest target."
"On the Hill, those who can't hit the kill zone every time, whether he or she or the target or both are moving, don't graduate. The woman medic, an Illusionist, and I shot at the same time. He relied too much on his special talent and the element of surprise it provided."
"I wouldn't want your responsibility," Neely said. "I couldn't have shot what I thought a woman medic."
"That is because you saw what you expected to see—a woman medic. The Assassin choose to look like a woman because that is less threatening and would delay your response even after you saw she had a gun. I saw a woman dressed in a medic uniform who had arrived faster than expected, whose gaze settled on me when it should have been on the wounded, who was smiling when she should have had a look of concern, and who was standing when she should have been racing up the stairs to help. I saw an Assassin in medic clothes."
"When is this going to end?" Neely said just above a whisper.
"Megan, any suggestions?" Markham asked.
"No. He isn't going to run out of money. He has too much money for you to assume Witness Protection will work indefinitely, and you are forced to act within the law." I shrugged, thinking Van Witt was committed once he hired the first Assassin and wouldn't give up.
"What do you mean?" Markham asked, frowning.
"You can't kill him or threaten his family, or arrest him on terrorist charges…" I left the other possibilities hanging.
"Of course not," Markham said then shook his head. "But I see your point. We have to prove he is acting illegally and even if we do there is no assurance that will stop his revenge."
* * *
The next week went by at a snail's pace. Markham had a team of people working on Van Witt's life, trying to find some connection that would get a judge to provide them better access to his files and business records. Nothing.
I was surprised when Ann Marie called me. It took several seconds for me to answer as my mind raced through possible reasons. Ann Marie meant Witton and he almost never called me.
"I didn't do it no matter what they claim," I chirped. "All right, I confess."
"You shouldn't have confessed. They had no proof." Ann Marie laughed. "Relax, I don't think you're in trouble. "Mr. Witton wants to talk to you. She sounded amused. Hang on, I'll connect you."
"Megan, how is your assignment going?"
"Good. Neely and I are still alive."
"Still?"
"Well, Van Witt isn't going to run out of money, so I might achieve an honorary Master title before too long." The thought was exciting and scary—five Assassin kills would require a lot of skill and a triple dose of luck.
"I talked to Mr. Van Witt yesterday. He wants a Kazak to protect his older daughter by his first wife. I checked with the Committee for their approval," he said and snorted. "They said I should leave the decision to you."
"Me?" It didn't make any sense. Whether I approved or disapproved the Kazak, it didn't change my situation. It certainly wouldn't give me any satisfaction to disapprove it. Did the Committee think… "The Committee is damn sneaky," I muttered.
* * *
Mr. Van Witt
The next day Daniel the Tiger, arrived at the FBI offices around midmorning.
"Senior Agent Neely, this is Kazak Daniel. He will be replacing me temporarily."
"Hi, Kazak Daniel. Why? How long?"
"She has some business to take care of and we don't feel like we should leave you without a Kazak," Daniel said.
I waved goodbye before Neely could ask me for an explanation, and made my way out of the building, smiling as I went. Outside I caught a taxi to Minneapolis where Van Witt had his corporate offices. I arrived shortly after lunch. The lobby had several security guards that seemed to collect around me as I approached the information counter. Wearing all black and a gun strapped to my leg, I didn't blame them.
"Good afternoon, Miss. How can I help you?" A tall blonde asked as I approached, her eyes darting from me to the security guards.
"Yes, if you would tell Mr. Van Witt a Kazak is waiting to see him." I smiled and kept my hands on the counter, hoping the guards didn't get overly zealous. Fortunately, they were content to wait Van Witt's response. Several minutes later, the receptionist handed me a visitor's pass. "His office is on the thirty-first floor. His private secretary will meet you at the elevator."
"Thank you," I said, taking the badge and walking to the bank of elevators, with one guard following me. When the elevator door opened at the thirty-first floor a small Asian woman stood waiting.
"Kazak…?" she asked motioning me toward the hallway on her right.
"Megan."
"Kazak Megan, I'm Caroline, Mr. Van Witt's private secretary. May I inquire as to your business?"
"Mr. Van Witt asked for a Kazak and here I am like magic," I said cheerfully. She was quiet for the rest of the walk to the end of the hallway. There she knocked on the door, then opened it for me to enter. A rather average-looking man, with a round face, plump and soft looking stood as I entered.
"Mr. Van Witt, this is Kazak Megan."
"Nice to meet you Kazak Megan. I wasn't informed that you were coming." He stood appraising me against some unknown standard.
"If we could talk in private, I'll explain."
Van Witt nodded to Caroline who disappeared out the door. Would you like something to drink, Kazak Megan?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Van Witt. The Committee has asked me to decide whether you are entitled to a Kazak since, for the foreseeable future, there are no Kazaks available for an assignment. Therefore, to assign one to you would mean depriving someone of an assigned Kazak." I sat in one of the two leather padded chairs near a small coffee table. He sat in the other chair, facing me.
"And how are you to decide?" He sat leaning forward trying to read me. Money? Favors?"
"The Committee doesn't work that way. I don't know how much money they have but they command more power than you. No, on the merits of your request." I was enjoying myself far too much. He sat back and closed his eyes before speaking.
"My daughter has made some very bad choices over the past several years: drugs, prostitution, and association with gangsters. She came to me a year ago, wanting to leave that life behind her. I felt she was serious and paid for her to be sent to a private retreat. She's a new woman, free of drugs and wanting a normal life. But several weeks ago her old…I don't know what to call him—lover, pimp, master—contacted her. She was his mistress and occasional escort for influential people he wanted to please. Somehow he found out she was back in town. When she refused to meet with him, he tried to have her kidnapped. She only escaped by luck. I called him… He told me she was his property and if I took action against him, he would have my wife, ex-wife, son, and everyone related to me killed. She's petrified and afraid to go out. He is going to break her, driving her to use drugs again and then entice her back. I've hired bodyguards but I'm having trouble keeping them. He terrifies them into leaving. Two have already been killed." He looked like man stuck in quicksand with his head about to go under, desperate for something to grab on to. I smiled to myself.
"I'll let you decide whether you get a Kazak or not. A Yes answer will make a Kazak available immediately, whereas a No answer will mean a Kazak will be permanently unavailable."
"I thought you said it would depend on the merits of my need."
"That is true. I'm guarding an FBI agent whom someone is hiring Assassins to kill. Consequently, I’m busy killing them. If that someone could be persuaded to stop hiring Assassins, then I would be available."
"That bastard kil
led my daughter, a child!" he shouted bolting to his feet, knocking over the coffee table, and sending his chair shooting backward.
"That's true and, although he is sick with grief and would do anything to bring her back, he can't. Nor can he or anyone else feel the pain you're feeling or compensate you for your loss. And while you may think killing him will make you feel better, it won't. You child will still be dead and you'll be a murder." I put my finger to my lips when he looked ready to shout. "You will be just like the man who is threatening your daughter." I paused for him to consider the idea. He collected his chair and sat but said nothing.
"You have a chance to save this daughter or to let her be turned into a monster while you pursue your hollow fantasy." I got up and walked to a small table which had coffee and poured two cups, returned, and placed one cup on the table Van Witt had picked up.
"Can you protect my daughter?" His gaze bore into me, looking for truth or something.
"I'll make you a deal, sir. You call off the revenge on Neely while I guard your daughter. If I resolve the situation, leave Neely alone. You don't have to forgive him, just stop paying to have him killed. If I can't, then you are free to continue your revenge, given you haven't seen the senselessness of it."
Van Witt sat drinking the coffee without saying a word for a long time. "How do I know this isn't an FBI trap?" he asked, watching my eyes. I rolled up my sleeve to show my tattoo.
"Call Mr. Witton and verify I am who I said I am and that I am authorized to make the decision. If we agree, you have client-attorney privilege with me."
"Deal," he said and held out his hand.
* * *
I followed Van Witt outside where a limo waited. Less than five miles later we arrived at a very expensive condo, judging by the lobby and the security. Each visitor had to be authorized by the owner prior to signing in and out. Of course, Van Witt didn't. I imagined he owned the unit where his daughter was staying. I received a security badge and was entered as having total access within the condo. Then we proceeded to the fifteenth floor. Someone from Hell's Angels answered the door, but stepped aside when he saw it was Van Witt. A small shapely brunette sat on the couch, looking pale and nervous, although her face relaxed and a smile appeared when her eyes went from me to her father.
