by C. R. Daems
***
"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 twent
y-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.
"We will keep him locked in our mini-Rendition container for forty-eight hours. There he will be subjected to mind numbing noise, hot and cold water sprays intended to keep him awake and afraid of what will happen next. We might even fill it with water. Drowning is an effective incentive. It would be interesting to see how a Kazak trained person would handle it."
"No, thank you. I'm not that bored."
Eighteen hours later, Mr. Tibour was dragged into the room. He made feeble attempts at being honest which didn't work, so off he went to another container. The containers were sound proof. You couldn't hear anything from outside; however, Catherine had a camera, ears, and speakers in each one. In less than twenty-four hours, both were screaming to talk. She ignored them. When they were released, they were eager to talk. While her team verified each statement, they were placed together in waiting containers with beds, and were served three meals a day. Of course, the container was monitored. The chatter between them was interesting as they speculated on who we were, revenge, and future schemes-just like any businessman.
Over the next several days, Mr. Liu, and Ms. Ottella arrived and the result was pretty much the same. Lodged in the same container, they slowly realized the mysterious group wasn't searching for some act of terrorism, nor their various connections to the underworld or illegal activities, and that cooperation was in their best interest. They did not seem to realize Catherine searched for an information leak, not some plot to blow up some federal building.
***
"Got it!" Catherine shouted as she exploded out of her chair, knocking it to the floor. "One million dollars-cash-goes missing each month. It's a payoff."
"Mr. Liu said it was money laundering, and it looks like it. Besides, there is no way to prove it isn't," Samantha said.
"Yes, Liu was very brave lying to us. Maybe he suspected that's what we were looking for. Money laundering requires you get some portion back. I can't see where he does, and his explanation doesn't hold water, although I couldn't prove it in a court of law. But...it coincides with several favorable events for him, which would have required inside information. And, payments stopped for three months just after the murder of a Committee member. Liu is our connection. Go get him."
Max and Sam were out the door and back in less than five minutes. Liu's eyes were darting around the room trying to identify who was in the room.
"Mr. Liu, you lied to me. As you have already figured out, I'm not after you or your activities. You will give me the name or contact information. I may kill you or I may let you go after I get what I want. That will depend on you. The only question is will it be quick and painless or take months of agonizing pain."
Liu sat there for a long time sweating, feet shuffling, and swallowing. Sam handed him a bottle of water, which he starred at for several minutes before taking a sip. Finally, the thought of months of pain like the two days he had been subjected to won out-probably because he had seen men tortured at his orders.
"Laurence Lee Sun," exploded out of him like a bursting dam that he'd been holding it back.
"Who is he?"
"He signs it Leesun now days. He's responsible for black ops...CIA. We were in the same Tong when we were young."
***
It was fascinating to watch Catherine's folks work. Leesun didn't appear to have a permanent office or staff, but they found a secretary who made his appointments and took his calls. That lead to the discovery that he was unmarried, a qualified pilot, and owned a Cessna Mustang. Further research revealed that he often flew to Millinocket, Maine, after missions. There they found he had a cabin somewhere on Lake Ouakish. Catherine decided to put a stake out on his plane and another at the Millinocket airport. Then we waited.
As usual, it was boring. Her two new security guards rotated with Max and Sam on twelve-hour shifts. With Mr. Liu and the other three still captive and Mr. Leesun out of town, Catherine relaxed somewhat and occasionally ate out. I knew Max had talked with the two new men, Eddy and Chuck, as they had a tendency to sneak looks at me when they thought my attention elsewhere. Even Catherine did it. The call finally came two weeks later.
"Nora, informs me that Leesun in back in town and has filed a flight plan for Millinocket tomorrow. Get packed, we leave in two hours."
I wondered what would happen when we finally caught up with Leesun-kill or capture. More importantly, what part would Catherine play, since it was my responsibility to protect her? Mr. Leesun didn't sound like the reckless type to go unprotected. When we arrived in Millinocket, it was late and the airport all but deserted. We arranged for parking and pretended to leave but stayed within sight of the airport. As his plane began its approach, we returned, arriving shortly after he had exited the plane and had just entered the hanger. Eddy and Chuck had intercepted the person bringing Leesun's car to ensure there were no bodyguards.
We approached four strong. Catherine strode a step ahead of everyone. I walked to her left, Max to her right and Sam to my left. I think she intended capture him. We were still twenty feet away when Leesun recognized the threat. He grinned.
"Max, Sam, Lynn," he shouted. "Catherine ha
s betrayed the Committee. Kill her."
Impulses clashed. She was a traitor and deserved to die-she was my client. Protecting my client won. I was a Kazak, protecting clients was my life. Sam and Max were drawing their guns. They meant to kill my client-but-they were Catherine's guards. If I killed them... Max stepped towards Catherine, ignoring me. As his gun cleared the holster. I grabbed his wrist and elbow and spun him into Catherine, causing her and Max to stumble backward into Sam, pinning his gun between him and her momentarily. While continuing to push the three, I twisted Max's wrist, forcing his arm straight and threw my full weight onto his elbow. It dislocated and his gun came loose in my hand, and I managed to push him away from Catherine. He staggered off to the side cradling his arm, tripped, and fell. I continued pushing. Although off balance, Sam managed to raise his Glock towards Catherine's head. I pushed her head into Sam's face, since we were all stumbling backward with tenuous balance. It had the desired effect. Sam lost consciousness for a second, and I pushed Catherine away. She landed face down on the floor. I landed on top of Sam, driving my elbow into his head.
Pain seared my hip. I twisted off Sam, located Leesun, and fired twice hitting him in the chest. He staggered backward into the nose of the Mustang. He fired again, missing this time. Cement chips seared my arm as I rolled over and over locating Leesun in the process. I fired and he jerked back against the plane and fired again. Pain seared my right arm and Sam's gun came loose. I rolled in the opposite direction freeing a throwing knife with my left hand. I threw it backhanded at him. It wasn't a good throw but it did cause him to duck and ruined his next shot. I rolled again this time freeing my backup gun with my left hand. As I sighted for a shot, one of Leesun's next two shots hit me in the leg. As I prepared to shoot, Leesun's head spewed blood and brains as a bullet hit him in the head. Catherine stood twenty feet away with a gun in her hand. Sam was out cold. Max stood holding his arm, and starring at Catherine.
