Life as a New Hire Ch. 43

"I'm doing it because he cares for you and that's counter-productive to what he should be doing," Pamela stated.

"What? He loves plenty of women."

"No. He loves one woman, but she has set him adrift, so he meanders from woman to woman who want to 'change him' and 'make him a better man', as if the real Cáel wasn't good enough," she gave a blistering retort.

I was busy retrieving her clothes bag and boot box (so they didn't get dusty).

"Who does he love?"

"It isn't love like you think of it. It's not a burning romance. It is the love of companionship and mutual respect and I am afraid he'll never recapture that level of devotion and passion," Pamela continued.

"Who is she talking about?" Anais asked me.

"Kimberly," I said sadly. "She taught me to ... Damn Pamela," I looked to my current mentor because she had reminded me of the woman who had helped create the man I was today. Dr. Kimberly Geisler had shown me that I shouldn't be ashamed of who I was.

People only became screwed up if they allowed events to screw them up. Personal responsibility and acceptance ... that I could be a somewhat selfish prick who thought with his dick more than his head, yet never abused a lover even though I'd let far too many women down. No jealousy. No emotional regrets. And flesh healed.

I missed Kimberly, but there was no going back ... to college, or the boy I had once been. I could be a bang-up Dad if I passed those lessons on instead of moping about a tragedy beyond my control. I could forgive Dot Ishara now because she was who she was and expecting her to change for me was the ultimate act of selfishness. Learn - grow - move on.

"Thanks Pamela," I whispered.

"You are welcome, Wakko," she replied softly. She was close to tears, as was I.

"What am I missing here?" Anais looked from one to another.

"I'm not going to be a good father if I try to be what I think a father should be. I need to be the man I am - to be truthful and trusting others to let them find their own way without foisting my expectations on them."

"This isn't about me, is it? This is about your nightmare," Anais reasoned.

"Bingo," I smiled compassionately. "You may be the very best investigator I've ever met."

"I apologize Anais Saint Amour. Sometimes Cáel need to be tricked in order to teach him a life lesson," Pamela grinned.

"You are still rude," Anais griped.

"And you are still thinking about how much better your life would be with Cáel in it."

"On that sour note, Anais, here is your stuff as promised," I handed her the gear.

"In a hurry?" she inquired.

"I'm expecting company," I said.

"What's she like?" Yep. Abysmal trust issues.

"Why do you think ... no, it is business," I promised.

"Mr. Nyilas?" A woman asked from the door we'd left open.

"Oh crap," I groaned.

She was pretty damn sexy with her closely-cropped black hair and an aura that expressed 'I'm physically fit, living healthy and feel comfortable lying to people about what I do for a living'.

She was wearing a long coat, despite it being summer in NYC. She'd also brought some friends who I couldn't see yet.

"Yes, that would be me," I bowed to the inevitable.

"Who is she with?" Anais glowered. "CIA? SVR RF (that would be the Russian CIA)? INTERPOL? SPECTER? The 2nd Department of the PLA General Staff HQ (that would be mainland China's CIA/DIA)? The World Crime League [look it up]? I seriously doubt she is with SCRS (that would be the Service canadien du renseignement de sécurité ~ the Canadian CIA)."

Damn it! Why was I still getting the 3rd degree? Hadn't we broken up?

"My guess is the DOD," Pamela mused. "Most likely the Defense Clandestine Service."

The stranger's mouth gaped open for a second. She might have recovered fast enough ... had I not worked with an insane warrior culture.

"Anais, this is work. You need to be going now," I insisted.

"Here Anais, have a gun," Pamela pulled one from her lower back. "This is going to be a ballet worth remembering."

"Who are these women?" the stranger asked. Her visual clues confirmed there were people behind her in the hall.

"Pamela - rogue octogenarian paramilitary insurgent," I made the introductions. "Anais is a Jedi vigilante mime."

Blink.

"They are my bodyguards."

"I am not your bodyguard," Anais snipped. Hey, she was pretty and dangerous enough to qualify, plus she had the 'beat me like a little bitch' down pat.

"Hush," I chided. "Mimes don't talk."

Anais took the offered gun.

"Don't make me shoot you," Anais hissed.

"You reallymake a lousy mime," Pamela joked.

"Are we in the right place?" the stranger worried.

"I'm afraid so. Anais, you need to leave."

"Not until you tell me what is going on here," she sizzled.

"She's not here to have sex, if that's what you worried about," I retorted. "Wait, are you here to have sex with me?"

"I barely know you."

"That rarely stops me," I muttered.

"He's a master of bedroom antics," Pamela praised me. "He's pretty much at a loss at doing anything else."

"Thanks Grandma," I griped.

"Your welcome, Grandson."

"We ... are here to meet someone," the stranger hedged.

"You came to the right place," Pamela preempted me. "He's definitely someone."

"Fine - redo. I'm Cáel Nyilas," [deep breathe], "NOHIO, HCIESI-NDI, UHAUL, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege plus a bunch of other honorifics that have yet to be confirmed. I am single-handedly bringing back medievalism to the center of Europe and the Near East. The woman to my left is Pamela Pale, and she really is my bodyguard. The woman to my right is Sgt. Anais Saint-Amour, RCMP, my ex-lover and the person that needs to leave - RIGHT NOW."

"I'm not sure I should leave at this moment," Anais shifted possessively. I had to recall earlier this morning ... the part where we'd broken up by mutual consent. Yep. That had really happened. I had thought I was whittling down my current list of paramours. Why do the Goddesses hate me so?

"Told you - she can't give up that dick," Pamela whispered.

"As you can see, I have limited control of my life," I told the strange woman. "I know you are here to meet somebody who isn't me. Now you know who I am. Who are you and your companions?"

"I'm Ms. Quincy."

"Sorry; I'm on a first name basis with everyone I meet," I interrupted.

"What's your rank, Honey?" Pamela added.

"What makes you think ...?"

"She doesn't think. That's what makes her so dangerous." I explained.

"Hey now," Pamela faux-complained.

"Okay. She's a fledgling telepath ... or medium," I shrugged.

"Captain ... Zelda Quincy."

"In case you are mesmerized by her tits," Pamela tapped me, "she's packing some serious hardware."

"One of those personal defense gizmos?" I leaned Pamela's way.

"Close, but no cigar. She's my kind of girl - big 'bang-bang', back-up at the small of her back and knife in her boot."

"What!" Zelda gulped.

"She's his knife-fighting instructor," Anais answered drolly.

"Are you Special Forces?" Zelda regarded my mentor.

"Nah - I got kicked out for a consistent failure to observe even the loosest Rules Of Engagement. I'm a free-spirit."

"Oh, you're a sniper," Zelda nodded.

"I like this one," Pamela smiled.

"Ah ... thank you." Then, over her shoulder, "I think we are in the right place." Zelda entered the room, followed by a Hispanic panther of a man (kind of like a tanned, slightly shorter Chaz without the cool accent) wearing a long coat, and a Subcontinent-cast woman who looked at everyone as if she expected us to sprout fangs, or start quoting the Koran any second now. She obviously was a brain seconded to this mission very much against her will.

The fourth person had that cagey 'when my lips move, I'm lying' look while seemingly unhappy with her current assignment. The heavy implication was that the lady was a career diplomat. Considering our current company and who we were talking to, she was State Department. She was in her late 30's or early 40's and giving off the sensation she had devoted so much to her career that she was starting to wonder if that was all that life had to offer.

The fifth member was a military man clearly uncomfortable about what he was doing here, thus not a spook. His off-the-rack suit wasn't terrible, so he expected to socialize somewhat while performing his duties. He also looked like a man who expected other people to speak half-truths and obfuscated lies as easily as they breathed. Numbers three, four and five were dressed for the weather and unarmed.

All of this meant they were good at what they did, though they probably didn't know the particulars of what was expected of them. They had their marching orders. Those orders were about to be made irrelevant in the company they would be keeping. The latter weren't the 'doing it by rote' kind of people they would normally be dealing with.

"I bet you she's a doctor," I murmured to Pamela, "she's with State and he's some sort of Foreign Service type."

"I bet the first guy is Air Force," she countered.

"Like one of those Para-rescue guys?"

"No. More like one of those Battlefield Air Operations guys, I'm guessing," she corrected me.

"That guy?" I nodded to the final guy. "Pentagon wonk?"

"More likely he's one of those embassy guys. I'm going to take an educated leap here - Office of Military Cooperation ... Mongolia?"

"That is pretty clever of you. Kazakhstan. Major Justin Colbert."

"I bet some people in the White House, Pentagon and Langley are disappointed with you right now," I reasoned. His jaw grew tight.

"Don't worry, Major," Pamela grinned. "We consider that a good thing. We don't like the people in charge and have a low opinion of their opinion on just about everything, including their habit of blaming the blameless for their government's fuck ups."

"Who are these people?" the first man whispered to Quincy.

"She's a telepath." That was Zelda

"She's a psychic-medium." That was Anais.

"She can see through time." That was me. "Nice to meet you. Who are you?"

"Chris Diaz. Lieutenant Colonel, USAF."

"Dr. Saira Yamin," the second woman introduced herself. "Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies. Are you the man from Johnston Island?"

"Why yes, yes I am," I beamed.

"The APCSS is in Waikiki, Hawaii," Pamela educated me. "Your arrival probably cost her some prime surfing time."

"I was more interested in the fact that he survived a plane crash in a Category Four Cyclone," she admitted.

"Mother Nature hates me. No matter how hard I try, she refuses to kill me," I confessed. "My suffering is an endless source of amusement to that bitch."

"That ... that wasn't the helpful answer I was looking for," she stammered.

"So, Lt. Colonel Chris Diaz, you must be with JSOC - I have a deep and abiding respect for you guys. If you need something, just ask," I greeted him. "Captain Zelda ... you are not with JSOC."

"She's with the DCS ~ that is the Defense Clandestine Service," Pamela kept going. "Zelda, you love being in your uniform, you're proud, yet happy with the concept of dying in an unmarked grave for Constitution and Country. You are too old to have been in the first female class at Ranger School, so that means no 'in the field' JSOC for you. You've gotten around that stone wall by joining the US Defense Department's own little pack of killers."

"Also, you felt it was necessary to bring a Benelli M4-11707. That's a close-in action shotgun, but a bit over-kill considering the paper-thin walls in this building. That tells me you are used to being in the kinds of places where such a tool is a necessity. Or in other words, since you think you are meeting a band of terrorists, you brought along your favorite toy."

"Your personal weapon is a SIG Sauer P229R DAK in .357 which is a new weapon still under trial by the US Army and Air Force. Your boot dagger is ceramic so it will pass a cursory exam, or scan. You hate the idea of being trapped on a public aircraft weaponless. You have also given up killing power for a proper balance for throwing. I like a forward-thinking gal."

"Air Force ~ you've recently come back from Asia - most likely Tibet. It shows in your breathing brought about by a close call with Altitude Sickness. The only reason for an Air Force guy to be here is because he's familiar with the Khanate military and you are not US Army, or Marine Corp Special Forces. I know the type."

"You went with the MP5K in the standard 9mm, so you are more interested in sending bullets down range than looking into someone's face as you kill them. You may be a 'light' Colonel, which means you are almost somebody. What your higher-ups haven't appreciated is that our guests will respect you because they are like that ~ remembering past friends and comrades in arms. Of greater importance, you have Cáel's gratitude which will count for more than you currently believe."

I pledged then and there to be as good as Pamela at determining that kind of stuff before I died. She had assured me it was as much a matter of psychology as eagle-eyed perception. People were often a type that gravitated to various forms of destruction, be they old school, or going for the latest gadget.

"I told you all that firepower was excessive," State softly chastised her associates (what they really were, not the underlings she saw them as).

"So, you appeared to have forgotten to tell us your name," I regarded the State lass.

"Nisha Desai Biswal. I'm with the government."

"Oh ... Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs - I've examined your website," I told her. It clearly pissed her off somewhat that I so swiftly disregarded her crude attempt at subtle manipulation.

"Hey. I've got some real enemies at State, so it pays to know who might be the next suit trying to dick me over," I explained. I had to prioritize. It would take some serious effort to convince Zelda to have a MFF three-way straight out the gate and she was definitely the hotter number.

"Major, you came here unarmed," Pamela noted. "That won't do. They expect you to be armed because you are a warrior, damn it. Cáel get him one of your Glock 22's."

"Gotchya," I nodded. I went to my room, tipped away the false back to my closet (that Havenstone had installed recently so Odette wouldn't accidently fire off one of my weapons) and retrieved one of my spare Glocks - but not the one with the laser sight. Such over-the-top fancy gear would be inappropriate. I only gave him one mag. If he couldn't get the job done with 15 rounds, he wouldn't have a chance to reload.

Mind you, I took two in a twin-rig shoulder holster and four 22 round magazines ... because I tend to shoot two-handed which doesn't exactly give you a bullseye every time. I returned to our crowded living room, handed the Major his weaponry, and then directed the US group to the far side of the room (towards Timothy's bedroom. Saira and Nisha took the couch.

Because this tiny space wasn't crowded enough, there was a knock at the door. I checked. It was Juanita ... oh yeah, my real bodyguard.

"Listen up everybody," I announced to the room. "This is my other bodyguard - my official one. Her names is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza, she's from the Dominican Republic via Buenos Aires and she is armed, so don't freak out." I opened the door.

"What is going on?" Juanita hissed.

"I'm having a private meeting with a few heavily armed friends. The other side to this party hasn't arrived yet. Why don't you come in?" She came in.

"Why didn't you warn me?" she whispered her complaint.

"Long night - worse wake-up - needed to do some soul-searching. Pamela was looking after me ... then this came up and I forgot. I apologize," I lowered my head in shame. Juanita was only trying to do the job she'd been entrusted with and by not thinking of her, I was making that so much harder.

I made the introductions - first names only.

"Juanita, Anais, Pamela; please slip into the kitchenette," I suggested.

Anais "Why?"

Juanita "Where are you going to be?"

Pamela "Sure. I'm starving. I'm going to raid the fridge."

"Anais - because I need my faction in one place. Juanita, I will be refereeing this meeting, so I will have to remain in the living room ... roughly six feet from you." It was really a small apartment. "Pamela, if it is edible, it isn't mine and you'll have to replace it."

Great Caesar's Ghost! No wonder Big Wigs had their personal assistants handle this pre-meeting crap. I was on my last two fucking nerves and one of those was already stressed and tender. And the real reason for being here hadn't even arrived yet.

"Why am I in your faction?" Anais mulled over threateningly.

"Because you haven't walked out that door. There are going to be three sides to this meeting, not three plus Anais. That is the way it is going to be. Now, are you going to behave, or are Juanita and Pamela going to toss you out?"

"You ARE threatening me!"

"Finally catching on to that, aren't you, Sweetie?" Pamela chimed in.

"I'm only staying because I believe you are in trouble," Anais grumped.

"Why is she [Anais] here?" Nisha inquired heatedly. "This is supposed to be a very, very private encounter."

"I know Anais. I don't know you. I trust Anais with my well-being despite the fact she has numerous reasons to distrust me. She's staying because she is a straight arrow. That's good enough for me."

"But is she going to keep her mouth shut about what happens here today?" Nisha pressed.

"Anais, this is a clandestine meeting that isn't going to be recorded by anybody so, barring a crime being committed, you can never discuss this with anyone who isn't already in the room. Agreed?"

Pause.

"I agree," she nodded. I really was going to have to fuck her again. Not today. Well, maybe not today; I had to keep my options open. Her investigator mind was going into overdrive. Give it a week and she'd be knocking on my door late one night. Inquisitive, truth-hungry dames are like that, trust me. Then it would be 'bask in my genius' sex. It had been a while since I'd experienced that ... with Lady Yum-Yum.

There was another knock at the door. I checked before Juanita could do the checking for me ... in case someone was going to shoot me through the door. Fuck it. I was going to talk to Timothy about moving. Him, me and Odette. I couldn't give those two up. It was Kazak bookends. I opened up and invited them in. It turned out they had names besides Bookends #1 and #2 - Nuro and Roman.

Nuro (I think) checked out the rooms while Roman (I was pretty sure) kept an eye on my guests. I made introductions - first names only and specifying who was with who. Technically, they could trust my side because I was the Great Khan's brother and thus my servants were his servants. Technically.

Iskender came next followed by OT. A woman I didn't know (sadly, not OT's daughter) came in behind him while the other two quintuplets stayed in the hallway. Iskender and I hugged.

"Ulı Khaan süyikti ağası," he smiled. That was 'Prince-something'. My Kazak was a bit rusty. He then whispered into my ear. "OT bows to you first. His title is Hongtaiji." What?

"Ulı Khaan süyikti ağası," OT bowed.

"Hongtaiji Oyuun Tömörbaatar," I bowed back. I remembered I had to rise first. It was an etiquette thing. In retrospect, Iskender had stretched the bounds of tradition by hugging me, his titular superior. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"I thank you for your hospitality," he 'grinned'. His face wasn't made for that gesture so that faint gesture came across as rather unnatural.

My mind finally finished translating what Iskender and OT had called me. It wasn't 'prince'. It was 'beloved brother of the Great Khan'. Mother fucker!

"Wait," Justin, the military attaché guy muttered, "we are here to meet this guy?" indicating me.