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  THE KAZAK GUARDIANS: Book III

  MEGAN

  By

  C. R. Daems

  The Kazak Guardians: Book III: Megan

  Copyright © 2017 by C. R. Daems

  Previously published as ZAP Agent Mathis

  Copyright © 2015 by C. R. Daems

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from C. R. Daems.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0-9983251-0-4

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9983251-0-1

  Check out all my novels at:

  talonnovels.com & crdaems.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Graduation

  CHAPTER TWO

  Congresswoman Patterson

  CHAPTER THREE

  Shale EnergyCorp: Miss Vansise

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NHL Player: Mr. Harkin

  CHAPTER FIVE

  R & R Spain

  CHAPTER SIX

  CIA Deputy Director

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Retribution Required

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Senator Burns

  CHAPTER NINE

  Right-To-Die.

  CHAPTER TEN

  An Experience To Forget

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FBI Agent Neely

  Mr. Van Witt

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Envoy Itzig

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What Next?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Graduation

  I'll never understand why I applied for a position with the Kazak Guardians ten years ago—excitement, fame, and glory, a chance to hobnob with the rich and famous of American society. What I hadn't realized was the initial interview took a year, qualifying took seven years, and enhanced training another two years. I laughed. Ten years ago I had thought the idea of four years of college, with its parties and few hours of classes every other day, too much work with too little payoff. So I dropped out after my second year and on a whim answered the ad.

  NOTICE

  The Kazak Guardians are offering women a special program designed to prepare successful applicants for entrance into the Kazak Guardian School, which produces elite bodyguards who protect America's VIPs. Interested women should call 800-B-A-Kazak for further details. The work is dangerous but rewarding—Kazaks guard individuals whose lives impact America's national security and interest.

  I pulled up my sleeve for the hundredth time to look at my graduation certificate—a tattoo: a light grey oval shield surrounded by oak leaves. Inside were four scrolls and an image. In the top scroll the word Kazak and in the second Megan, underneath the scrolls was a beautifully inked image of a wolf, and below the wolf two scrolls with the words Guardian and my Diplomatic Immunity Number—252. The tattoo meant that I had entered an elite group of men and women called Kazaks. When I looked up, I saw Jody's ear-to-ear smile as she turned her arm so I could see her tattoo inscribed with Kazak Jody, the image of a Wolverine, Guardian, and 253.

  Our animals were…different. The Witch Meztlil, who named every new Kazak at graduation based on their inherent strength, had traditionally named the men for large cats—tiger, lion, panther, or cheetah, whereas the three women Kazaks were unique—fox, wolf, and wolverine. Before I could say anything, I heard the chop-chop of the approaching helicopter. It was the only method of leaving the Kazak School, which was located on the top of a mountain. This year's class had graduated two men and two women.

  It was a short ride to the Spokane International Airport where a Gulfstream waited to take us to Richmond International, where a limo delivered us to an eight-story red brick building.

  "What do you think?" Jody asked as we pushed open the two glass doors. The lobby looked like a high-end condo complex, complete with a large lounge containing comfortable leather chairs, couches, and walnut tables. A black marble reception counter sat at the back of the room near a bank of elevators. A receptionist and security guard stood watching us approach.

  "I think it's our new home," Matt the Panther said. "One of the Kazaks at the school showed me a layout of the building. It's a luxury condo complex, with the exception of the seventh floor, which is dedicated to Kazak operations. On the first floor there is a swimming pool, workout room, and dining facility. The second through the sixth floor are two-bedroom suites. One is assigned to each active Kazak."

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

  After registering our handprints, we were each assigned units and given a welcome package which provided information about the building and its facilities, a welcome letter, and instructions to report to a Mr. Witton at 8:00 a.m. the next morning.

  I toured my unit in shock. When we’d first applied for admission, Kazak Lynn had told us the benefits were substantial, but she hadn't elaborated. At the school I had no time to dream, surviving each day required all my attention. The two-bedroom condo was mine free and clear so long as I remained a Kazak. In addition to an annual salary of $250,000, all my expenses were paid while on assignment. I had just finished visiting each room which was fully furnished and grabbed a glass of mango juice from my well-stocked kitchen, when there was a knock at the door.

  "Come in," I said, and my years of training kicked in: answering the door would put me at a disadvantage. Better to stand to the side and watch who entered, legs prepared for action and hand close to my Glock. Jody burst through the door, hands up, laughing.

  "Don't shoot, Megan, it's me, Jody, your friend." We laughed. The last two years of Kazak training not only made you paranoid but it also fine-tuned your instincts and reduced your reaction time close to zero. The thugs and extremists had the element of surprise and professional Assassins had additional talents: Liars, who could make you believe what they said, Ghosts, who could make themselves almost invisible, Glamours, who you would instantly like and trust, and Illusionists, who could make themselves look like people you knew. Delay meant either you or your client or you and your client died, and you lost all these wonderful benefits you worked so hard to get.

  "What do you think, Megan?"

  "I've put a pot of coffee on, and there are drinks in the refrigerator. It's funny. Ten years ago this would have been cause for a week of celebration—with lots of drinks, drugs, and guys. And here I sit nursing a glass of mango juice and looking forward to being assigned a client." I took a sip of my juice and saw Jody grin.

  "I know what you're feeling. Think of the irony—some Senator or Judge or high and mighty whatever relying on Jody, an ex-gang banger, to safeguard him."

  "Or Megan, college dropout and life of the party." I raised my glass of juice at her. "To the new us."

  "To us," Jody said, laughing as she raised her coffee cup.

  * * *

  I exited the elevator on the seventh floor a few minutes to eight and stood there looking around. The hallway had a beautiful dark 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 recognized as sophisticated electronic suites. The door to Witton's office was open, and I could see Jody sitting at a conference table, sipping a cup of coffee. To my surprise, Lynn the Fox sat next to her. As I approached Witton's office, a thirty-something lady sitting behind the L-shaped desk handed me a glass of juice. I smiled my thanks, feeling I needed something to occupy my hands.

&nbs
p; "Good morning, Megan the Wolf," the man said as I entered the office. He sat behind a large ebony desk and looked like a typical businessman dressed in an expensive dark blue suit. His black hair had streaks of gray and his narrow face was clean shaven, but his penetrating gray eyes said he was a Kazak.

  "Normally I would tell you to relax for a few weeks while I find you an assignment. You have certainly earned a rest and a vacation. But I have one hundred and ten women arriving at the Nevada facility in four days to begin the special First Challenge that Lynn developed ten years ago, which produced a Wolf and a Wolverine. I need one of you to take responsibility for that training. The other one will be given an assignment with Master Lynn." Witton reached for his coffee cup and sipped slowly as he watched us. I looked to Jody, not sure what to expect. My immediate reaction was disappointment. The ideal of guarding important people had driven me for the past ten years. I could forgo the vacation but I wanted—no—had earned an assignment. On the other hand so had Jody.

  "I'll take it, Megan. It sounds like fun, besides you'd be too soft on them. It would be more like a year-long sorority party." Jody grinned. "I might not be as cruel as Master Lynn, but I'll try."

  "Cruel?" Lynn asked, clearly surprised by Jody's remark.

  "Yes, for which Megan and I will be eternally grateful. Without that year of training, neither she nor I would be a Kazak today. Anything less than what you put us through would not have prepared us for the Hill, which would make Guantanamo Bay seem like a rest camp. I want the new generation of women candidates to have the same advantage."

  Witton leaned forward and put down his cup. "I'm surprised that was settled so quickly. You sound like the right choice, Jody. We won't do any of these candidates a favor by making the First Challenge easy. We'd just waste your time and theirs. As you are well aware, on the Hill women get no special treatment or consideration." Witton turned his attention on me. "Megan, we normally pair new graduates with an experienced Kazak. But for some reason we never did with Lynn. She didn't seem to need one or care. As the Operations Manager for the Kazak Organization, I need to understand if you and Jody are like Lynn or prefer to work with a partner. Your first assignment will be with Lynn. Until I find you one-, you and Lynn can help Jody get started."

  "Can we use my plane?" Lynn smiled at some private joke between her and Witton.

  "When?"

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "I should make you pay for part of the gas and maintenance, since you use the company plane more than any one else. Tell Ann Marie I said it's all right."

  "Megan, Jody, I'll meet you at Richmond International the day after tomorrow. Ann Marie will have the details. Until then, you're free to do whatever you want. You will also have a few days free in Las Vegas before the class officially begins," Lynn said as she rose to leave. "I know you deserve more time off, but that's the life of a Kazak.

  * * *

  Jody and I decided to go into Washington D. C. for the day. We hadn't decided what we were going to do, but we had been confined for ten years with only two meals a day, a twenty-four/seven work schedule, and no partying—or sex. The last time I’d had sex had been so long I didn’t know if the wild sex I remembered had happened or was just the hallucinations of a sex-starved woman.

  "I understand the organization has cars that we could borrow, but I'm not sure I remember how to drive. Besides, neither of us has a license," I said as we entered the lobby. The clerk behind the reception counter smiled.

  "That's correct. The company maintains a small fleet of cars, but you do need a valid driver's license…except in an emergency. But there is usually a cab outside and, if not, I can call one for you."

  "Please. We'd like to go…we'll figure it out when he gets here." I shrugged and looked to Jody. "At twenty-plus thousand a month salary, I think we can afford one."

  The clerk dialed someone and five minutes later a gray van, with Virginia AirLink, printed on the side in yellow, pulled up at the curb.

  "Where to ladies?" asked the cabbie, a middle-aged man of Indian decent, with an ear-to-ear welcoming smile.

  I looked to Jody, who gave me a shrug. "I haven't a clue."

  After ten years, I felt like I had been transported to a foreign country. I took out my smartphone and did a Google search for luxury hotels while Jody and the cabbie sat staring at me. After a few minutes I found what I was looking for, typed in the number from my new Visa, and sat back, satisfied.

  "The Hay Adams Hotel."

  "Very nice hotel but very expensive. You sure?" the cabbie asked.

  "Yes. Jody and I have a suite reserved for today and tomorrow night," I said.

  "We do? We aren't exactly dressed for high society." Jody looked ready to panic.

  "Jody, you're going to be confined, again, for a year with the new women candidates, and I'm going to be on assignment with Lynn, which isn't going to give you or me a lot of free time. So let's celebrate our graduation, stay at a five star hotel, buy some good clothes, eat at expensive restaurants, and…and have fun. We've earned it."

  Jody nodded slowly, then more emphatically. "Thanks, Megan. This is a new world for me. In a way, I'm much like Lynn. I grew up in bad neighborhoods and never had much money. Now that I have, I don't know what to do with it." She laughed. "Yes, let’s pamper ourselves. We've earned it."

  The Hay Adams was an expensive luxury hotel, which was obvious just from the guests' clothes, cars, and luggage. When we exited the cab everyone stared as we entered the hotel lobby and made our way to the reception desk. Probably thought we were there to rob the place. Not totally unreasonable since we were dressed in typical Kazak garb: everything black—cotton pants pegged at the ankles, long sleeve shirt, and running shoes. To top it off, our hair was cut close, like a man's. The receptionist, a young girl in her early twenties, stared open mouth for several seconds before speaking. I suspect she wasn't sure whether to direct us to the service entrance or to call the manager or security. Her training won out.

  "May I help you…Miss?" she said, and a welcoming smile appeared. Ten years ago I would have been embarrassed wearing these clothes and would have been looking for someplace to hide. Jody, on the other hand, would never have had the nerve to walk into the lobby to begin with. Today a small grin played on her lips, and I was feeling sorry for the girl behind the counter.

  "Yes. My friend and I have reservations. Megan Wolf and Jody Wolverine. I took out my credit card, which had my picture on it, and slid it across the counter. Ann Marie had set up a checking and savings account in our Kazak names prior to us arriving and had deposited an advance of three months salary in each account. As we left Witton's office, she handed each of us a credit card with our picture and a thousand dollars cash.

  "Yes, Miss Wolf," she managed after a wide-eyed look at the monitor screen. An older man walked up behind the girl as we talked. Frowning, he picked up the card and ran it through the credit card machine, typed in the cost of our two-night stay, and waited. His slight sneer disappeared when it came back approved. What can you say to a five-thousand dollar guest?

  After collecting our key cards we found the elevator, which we had to ourselves, when several people decided to wait for the next one, and made our way down the third floor hallway to our luxury suite.

  "Wow, this is nice," Jody said as she walked around the room, opened the French doors, and went out onto the terrace, which provided a view of the Capital building. "Look at the view. Think about it, Megan. We could be guarding people in that building. Lynn was right. Kazaks live in a world few ever see, and we will get to see those people behind their public masks."

  I walked over and examined the two bedrooms. Yes, this was very nice. Jody and I may not have fought all those years for these benefits, but they were definitely the chocolate icing on the double-chocolate triple-layered cake.

  "You've done well, Megan. What next?"

  "Clothes. It doesn't bother me wearing Kazak garb, but it won't hurt to have some clothes for going ou
t on the town or someplace nice or hunting guys—like tonight. Wouldn't want to scare them off." I laughed, feeling like a bird let out of a cage. We had a quick wash and made our way downstairs, where I headed for the concierge desk.

  "Hi, my friend and I are in need of some party clothes. Any suggestions?" I asked the good-looking man behind the counter.

  "Good morning, Miss. D.C. has lots of clothes shops. Chico's is very popular for the younger set and they get consistently good reviews." He had an athletic build, wavy brown hair, and stood close to six feet—only a few inches taller than me—and had a nice smile on his angular face.

  "Thanks." We got lots of stares as we walked through the lobby and out of the hotel. Outside, I had one of the attendants call us a cab. At Chico's, we spent several thousand dollars on slacks, skirts, blouses, dresses, shoes, underclothes, handbags, and twenty-four-inch carry-on luggage to put them in. The weather was warm, so I bought a paisley halter dress for night clubbing. Jody chose a swirl print tank and maxi skirt. Neither of us bought any accessories nor clothes that might restrict our movements. We knew accessories—not counting guns and knifes—would be liability in a fight.

  Back at the hotel we stored our clothes, ate lunch, and had the concierge find us a private guide who drove us around all afternoon, showing us the sights while we decided what we might like to do tomorrow.

  That night we hit a couple of the nightspots and eventually wound up at the Josephine Lounge. I latched on to a six-foot-two, middle-aged junior executive at one of the large banks. He looked Italian with his black hair, Grecian nose, full lips, and nice trim body—maybe he latched onto me. Jody danced with quite a few guys but couldn't seem to find one she liked well enough to take home. But then she was looking for something steady and not a one-night stand. Whereas, I was looking for sex. I didn't want the one I found as a steady. He thought too much of himself.