Life as a New Hire Ch. 44

"Train?" Juanita griped. Chaz pulled out his phone and called Agent-86 for both the next train from Penn Station to Alexandria and an update to Virginia and the Homeland Security people for clearance to bring along our ironmongery. Pamela looked at me with pride. So did Mom. Whatever Juanita's opinion of me was, it was concealed by her call to someone else – probably updating Buffy on my itinerary.

"Vincent was the Federal Agent who was wounded at Miercurea Ciuc?" asked Mom.

"I need to have a talk with Delilah," Pamela glowered.

"I want to be in the room when you do," Chaz agreed.

"Juanita – Penn Station and call someone at Executive Services to pick up our car. Long term parking there is a bitch," I related.

Was it? I had no idea, but Alal apparently did. I had been to Penn Station three times; and I never had a vehicle that needed a parking space. All three times, Havenstone sent a car to pick me up. That was for my preliminary and final interviews, plus handling all the paperwork after I got the job.

I'd left Bolingbrook in a U-Haul truck (without much in it) a week before starting work. I had an iron-clad belief I could find a place to live within that time span. That was all the time and money I had allotted to that endeavor. My budget had been tight, or so I believed.

Unlike the other four chuckleheads who joined the New Directive, I hadn't received a signing bonus. Maybe I should have asked for one. Too late for that now.

"You taking your mother to meet Vincent?" Odette poked me. I looked from Pamela to Odette then back again.

Sneaky-ass bitches. They were introducing my widowed Mother to a really nice, mature guy who was brave, a good father, a widower and all-around stand-up guy. He had a ready-made family, an oldest daughter my age. Beyond some physical similarities, Vincent was not much like Dad. Dad was a quiet, private man.

By the nature of his job as a Field Agent, Vincent had to possess superior communication skills. Physically, they were nearly the same height, but Dad was broader in the shoulders. On the other hand, Vincent had both a warrior's spirit and the skills to back it up.

But why Mom? Her life was more a disaster than mine, and mine was colossally fucked up.

"Don't get any ideas," Pamela put out there. Was she talking to me? "Chaz and I don't like you. Your father is a rat-bastard with a mind like a snake. We have no idea if you are yet another one his plots to get at Cáel."

They were still taking her with us as we went to see Vincent in Virginia. Since this was going to be a quick trip – I had to be back at Havenstone at 6 a.m. – no clothing was necessary. Chaz received a call from Agent-86 with a follow-up call as we pulled up to the station. I didn't know the nature of the second call until we went to pick up our tickets for the 10:05 Northeast Regional.

Waiting there was my old buddy and now sister, Wilma Draper/Ishara. I was at a loss why. It wasn't as if I needed more firepower than Juanita, Chaz and Pamela in the confined environment of a train.

"Wilma?"

"Hello Ish – Cáel," she smiled. She was emotionally pumped.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh... Buffy told me that I was to be here on assignment to fulfill an Isharan obligation." This would be Wilma's first mission for House Ishara, no matter how brief and danger-free it might be. She was ecstatic.

Huh? I couldn't recall any obligation I owed Buffy, or Vincent. Unlike every other Amazon House, things regularly happened without the Head of House's knowledge. Face facts: I was the least prepared leader the Host had ever had. I compensated by having hyper-competent underlings – the very best of the best Runners-turned-Full-blooded Amazons.

"Ah," Pamela nodded, sensing my loss of understanding, "A promise to provide Vincent a bodyguard was made in your presence. Being the highest ranking member of the Host present, and failing to pass on that knowledge, it falls to your House to answer that pledge."

"Wilma, you are here to be Vincent Loire's bodyguard?"

"Only temporarily. The current state of affairs at HQ won't allow me to take more than three days leave. Your 'First' is seeking another appropriate Isharan for the task."

I had totally dropped the ball.

The initiative to bring JIKIT and the Amazons together was my creation. Katrina had approved it, yet it was my status as Chief Diplomat of the Host (as I had redefined that role,) that was responsible for that group, and thus Vincent. There was also another undercurrent to providing Vincent an Amazon bodyguard. I would be sending Vincent the message that he was still a valuable member of the team. His infirmity was simply a temporary difficulty.

I gave Javiera a call. I suddenly needed to know Vincent's status with the FBI. A little past Philadelphia, she called back. Vincent was on long-term leave and, barring a positive physical assessment, he would never be going back into the field. They were making him a desk jockey for the rest of his career. That would be a heavy enough blow to the man to put him in the dumps.

I made my view clear. As Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L (UHAUL), I wanted Vincent on my team – JIKIT's field team. I had plenty of lethal shooters. I needed a trained investigator and a veteran lawman to keep us aware of the niceties the world's legal systems wished to live by. I finished that off with a very regal "Make it so!" Javiera, my boss, hung up on me; though I thought I caught a laugh before the connection was cut.

"Pamela," Chaz turned to Pamela, "I am proud to call him 'brother'."

"I think he is coming along nicely, Grandson Charles," Pamela preened. Wha- huh? My family had grown yet again. Grown yet again with people who were better than me.

"Does that make Aya your niece?" a sleepy Odette smiled.

"I guess it does," he nodded.

"Aya will love you," Pamela smiled.

"I hope Caitlyn loves him too," I smirked.

"A man could do worse than marrying an Amazon," Chaz blithely retorted. Less I forget, the Tomorrow Clan had its own long warrior tradition.

"Asking it to be three thousand years long is a bit too much," Pamela agreed with what I had not spoken aloud.

"On the plus side ..." I began.

"He's also getting several frisky sisters-in-law," Pamela finished. Hi-Five.

"Super Twin Powers Activate!" we proclaimed loudly.

Fuck Ishara for taking Tadêfi from me. I could be just like my Father. I could bleed off my pain with humor and look at my daughter with untainted love.

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you," Odette yawned. Which one of us she wanted to emulate wasn't clear.

{Wounded, but not forgotten}

{2:00 am, Wednesday, September 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}

The tickets were one-way. Katrina was having a private jet come down at 4 a.m. to fetch me. We arrived in DC at 1:30. Two bleary-eyed State Department flunkies met us with an SUV and a sedan. We took the SUV ~ we had seven people ~ while they drove the sedan back so they could try to make something of the night that duty had destroyed.

They looked curious about what this was all about and were a bit disappointed that no explanation was forthcoming from our crowd. We were polite, and I thanked them for their service. Being a decent human being doesn't cost you much and can pay serious dividends.

The drive to Casa de Loire took thirty minutes. Juanita informed me the small airport I would be flying out of was a twenty minute drive, so I had roughly an hour and half with Vincent and his family. When we arrived, Juanita sent Wilma to make a 'walk-around' Vincent's home so she could get the lay of the land as well as keep an eye out for voyeurs.

Pamela saved another series of frowns from Juanita by being the first person to the door. Tabitha had called her after all. Tabitha, Vincent's oldest and a Georgetown University senior, clearly didn't know what to make of us ... and we weren't making it any easier for her by showing up on her stoop three hours after she had called Pamela.

It wasn't going to get better. For starters, Juanita (and the not visible Wilma) had a MP-7A1. Ya know –military-grade weaponry. The door opened halfway. It was Gretchen Loire, the middle daughter.

"Hello. May I help you?" That wasn't her being uninformed about our imminent arrival. This was the child of an FBI agent allowing a stranger at her door to identify themselves instead of giving them a name to use.

"I'm Pamela Pile," my mentor answered. "This is Cáel Nyilas, my grandson. The gentleman to his left is my other grandson, Colour Sergeant Chaz Tomorrow of the British military. To the left is Juanita Garza, my younger grandson's bodyguard – the one without a gun in his hand. The young lady in back is Odette Sievert, another one of your father's co-workers. The woman beside her is Sibeal Nyilas, Cáel's mother. Don't trust her – long story. A seventh member of our group is checking out your backyard. Her name is Wilma Draper."

"You are heavily armed. Is my Da in trouble?"

"I want to talk to your father, if that is okay with you. I'll let Cáel answer your questions. He's our titular boss."

'Thanks Pamela', I groaned inwardly.

She was cute, exhausted and emotionally-vulnerable. Eager for answers and for someone to make sense of a world where her anchor – her father – had been nearly killed (not that his wounds had really been life-threatening). I hadn't had sex in over a day and that had only been a tension-breaker quickie with Odette.

As we entered, it was obvious that Gretchen and her younger sister, Mariyah, had camped out in the front living room, catching some 'z's' on a recliner and a sofa with light blankets for covers. Mariyah was on the sofa, sitting up on her elbows and struggling to wake up.

As Chaz shut the front door, Tabitha came down the stairs.

"Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. Well, I was an infamous celebrity. I even had two Facebook pages (Nyilas Nailed Me! and Az Új Magyarország királya [The New King of Hungary]) as well as four Instagram accounts devoted to me.

"Ms. Loire," I met her halfway and shook her hand.

"Call me Tabitha."

"Call me Cabbage-Head," I grinned. That caught her off guard.

"Oh ... kay ..., not what I expected." (I get that a lot) "We need to talk," she failed to stifle a grin.

[OKH] "If you sleep with any of these girls, I will shoot you," Pamela warned me.

"Excuse me?" Tabitha looked her way.

"Don't worry about it, Tabitha," Pamela gave her a congenial look. "I simply warned the boy that if he acted inappropriately, I would scar him."

"Aren't you engaged?" she turned on me.

"Yes. Yes I am. Hana is a wonderful woman; beautiful, smart, with a big heart and a serious nature. Sadly for her, I'm a lousy human being, untrustworthy cad and perpetually prone to making bad decisions where women are concerned. Very bad decisions."

"Miss, since my associate appears to be eminently capable of mangling the English language, let me help you clarify the situation: Cáel can't say 'no' where a woman is concerned. He can't even say, 'no, please don't hurt me', or 'no, not now. I'm talking to my date'."

"Hi. I'm Odette. There are four sane people in this room and I'm one of them."

"Says the woman who snuck aboard a transatlantic fight and hid in a place in the galley which you couldn't get out of," Pamela snorted.

"I got to go to Europe for free," she defiantly perked up. "Oh, and ladies," to the Lorie girls, "your father is a wonderful and brave male. (OK, too much time around the Amazons for her.) "He saved my life in Budapest."

"He was in Budapest?" Gretchen.

"When?" Tabitha.

"Why?" Mariyah.

"We need to talk to Vincent – your father – first," I explained. "There are reasons we can't openly talk about this with you without his permission."

"That's not helpful," Tabitha frowned.

"I'll let you go up without me," Juanita grimaced. "I will be up after I finish duct taping Odette to the inside of the refrigerator door."

"What?" Odette squeaked. "What did I do?"

"You talked about something you shouldn't have talked about and I'm not about to let three daughters of an FBI agent interrogate you."

"What kind of Federal task force are you?" Gretchen wondered.

"Miss, we are an international situations study group," Chaz's lie had risen to Cáel-caliber.

"Who walk around the suburbs with PDW's?" Gretchen arched an eyebrow.

"Who drop what they are doing in New York City and race down to Arlington Virginia to visit our Father in the middle of the night?" Mariyah added.

"Who are led by a 22-year old man engaged to a billionaire heiress?" Tabitha finished annihilating Chaz's fib.

"I'm praying to Dot Ishara that Vincent lets us talk about this," I turned to Pamela. "I'm nearly out of game."

"Who is Dot Ishara?" Tabitha.

"My matron Goddess. I'm a pantheist. Can you take me to your father now?"

She hesitated. Her dad was in bad shape, inside and out. She had let us show up so she could get answers. Me showing up and having urgent business with him wasn't in her game plan. Her dad had to be looking like death warmed over.

"Come on," she led the way back upstairs.

"Pamela, Mom," I said. Pamela was coming along because she wanted to touch base with Vincent. Stopping her wasn't an option. Mom was coming along because I wanted to give her an idea what I was doing now. I was only giving Vincent information about what had happened, not future plans. In my own way, I was seeking my Mother's approval. Chaz was coming along to keep an eye on Mom.

"Da, Mr. Nyilas and some of his people have stopped by."

Vincent looked bad. Most of it was cosmetic. A combination of Alal knowledge, my memories of his wounds and an understanding of how good American medical skill could be (for the right money) told me a different story.

He had a face wound, which always looked worse than it was. His ear was swollen and an angry red color. I guessed that was a minor infection post-surgery. His left eye socket was a mixture of purple, yellow with the tell-tale puckered line indicating surgery a week ago. His eyes worked just fine.

Vincent's shoulder was in a cast, arm in a sling and his left leg was in a gel-like cast, with a brace attached, to make sure the shattered bones reknit properly. He also had to be in a shit-load of pain because he tracked the four of us easily ... which was a clear sign that he wasn't on the prescribed dose of pain-killers.

"Cáel – Pamela – Chaz. Sorry Ma'am, I am not sure which one of Cáel's aunts you are," he greeted us. Vincent was cerebrally desperate to see us, missing the action because he felt he was a necessary part of our team dynamic. He was always the most practical member on Unit L ~ the unfortunate folks who followed me around on my misadventures.

"I am Sibeal Nyilas. Cáel is my Son," she informed him in a pleasant tone.

"Ah. Nice to meet you. I had heard you were dead. Cáel, how are things going back at the asylum?"

"Vincent, we need some alone time. I need to brief you."

"I'm off the team," Vincent stated with grim acceptance. He knew the verdict of the FBI office: he was riding a desk the rest of his career.

"The only way you get off Unit L is if you die, or betray us. You can't get rid of us that fast, old man," I grinned.

"What does Javiera say?"

"She is 100% onboard. If we let you go, we'd have to bring someone else into the insane mess we call day-to-day life. She is merciful in that way."

"Hmmm," he grunted.

Vincent wasn't by-the-book. He was a flexible, diligent lawman. He also loved field work, dealing with the information first hand and making the arrests. He wouldn't be arresting anyone while working on my team. But two out of three wasn't bad.

"Tabitha, I need some time alone with these people."

"Da, I didn't bring Ms. Pile and Mr. Nyilas here so they could put you back in the field," Tabitha grew defiant.

"Tabitha, I'm months away from field work. I'm still a member of JIKIT, if in a different unit for the time being. They need me."

"Need you? Da, you can barely walk to the bathroom," she protested.

"Tabitha – Ms. Loire, my team has plenty of members who can bench press a 100kg, run the 400 meter in 50 seconds flat (probably closer to 60) and are intimately familiar with over a hundred ways of permanently removing people from any discussion, i.e. killing them."

"We need experienced law enforcement personnel to provide our missions perspective on the legal repercussions of our actions. I won't lie to you. When you father is ready, he is back in the front lines, along with the rest of my people, me included."

"You nearly got him killed."

Time for me to play the hard-ass.

"No. I've seen plenty of dead people. Your father was badly wounded, but was never in danger of dying. One of my bodyguards made sure of that. She gave her life to defend him when he was down. She wasn't protecting an old man. She was fighting for a valued member of the team."

"Died?" Tabitha was close to tears. I'd let Vincent handle this one. He had to deal with this in his own way as well as explain it to his oldest child.

"Yes. Her name was Charlotte and she was a professional soldier ~ Special Forces," he told her.

"When my shotgun was empty and I was reaching for my pistol, an enemy jumped me. Charlotte killed him then knelt over my body while firing at other men who were trying to kill us both. I saw her fall down. She was shot in the face and dead instantly. Honey, I wasn't fighting alone. I had various combat experts, included some elite Romanian troops, with me.

"Those people tortured and murdered women and children. They had to be stopped and I am an armed law enforcement officer. This is what I do, what I have trained for and I would do it again if the situation warranted."

"I don't want you to die," she did cry this time.

"I understand," Vincent responded.

"Me too," Pamela grinned (not wanting Vincent to die).

"Me three," I added. Tabitha looked to Mom.

"I am not on their team. I'm here to reconnect with my son, who I haven't seen in fifteen years," Mom explained. "If my son thinks well of your father, that is a good sign to me that he is surrounding himself with top shelf people."

"I think my Father has risked his life enough," she persisted.

"Your father is one of the best men in his profession and I need the best," I explained. "The back-up FBI agent is good, but she's under thirty and still has a lot to learn. I know you love him deeply, but we need him."

"You need him so much it took me calling Ms. Pile here ..."

"Call me Pamela," my mentor interjected.

"Okay – Pamela – here to bring you to our front door."

"I have a critical assignment in five days. I won't be back until a week from next Monday. I am dealing with this issue alone – the team stays in New York. What I was remiss in doing was assigning your father a bodyguard. That is what I am here to correct."

"He's in the FBI. Do you think his life is in danger?"

"If our enemies figure out 'he' is still with JIKIT, then 'yes'," Pamela replied. "Cáel is leaving one of his associates, named Wilma, here for a few days until he can send someone more appropriate for the task – someone who will be more familiar with your family, your patterns and the pulse of your neighborhood."

"Da, quit this. We can't afford to ..." What Tabitha was trying to say was that after losing her mother three years ago, she didn't want to go through life without her father too.

"Tabitha, if I didn't think I could do a good job with JIKIT, I would refuse Mr. Nyilas' offer. I am a field agent. Unit L is a field unit that has to digest information on the run and react with clarity of purpose."

"Now Baby, I am not going out with Cáel's people until I am judged to be physically fit. If I make a full recovery, in the field with these people is where I need to be. We are trying to shut down a well-financed, well-connected terrorist organization which has penetrated several intelligence agencies."