***
The next morning, Ann Marie called while I was still in bed daydreaming about La Paz, which I don't allow myself to do when I'm on assignment.
"Lynn, the boss would like to see you. I have coffee ready."
"You're an angel. I'll be right up."
Ann Marie gave me my coffee and waved me in. The door was open so I walked in.
"Close the door, and have a seat." I sat waiting for whatever he had in mind.
"I received a complaint from Justice Ramsey. She states in a three-page letter that you are an out-of-control maniac who threw her to the ground for no reason at all, killed three of her staff, and murdered a security guard in cold blood. She sent a copy to the police commissioner, insisting that you be tried for murder, and to the State Department demanding that your immunity be revoked, so that you can be tried for your wanton actions. She recommends that I hold you until the authorities can take custody." He shook his head. "It does sound bad. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Yes. Justice Ramsey was one of the easiest clients I've had to work with. She complied with my every rule. She's a very nice person. I'm a little disappointed that a Supreme Court justice would reach an opinion before reading the legal brief and listening to oral arguments." I took a sip of coffee.
He laughed. "I also received a call from the lieutenant in charge of the case, after he read Justice Ramsey's letter. He informed me that Ramsey's three staffers had been dead for a couple of hours before the shooting. The bullets they recovered from them were a different caliber and marked in a way that would indicate they were fired from a gun with a silencer. He also found a dead guard in one of the rooms. The guard you shot had the tattoos of an Assassin. He will send a letter with all the details to the police commissioner, Justice Ramsey, the State Department, and me. I believe that will ruin certain people's day at the State Department. It also means that I'll have to continue to put up with you. I did post the complaint on your board so that the other Kazaks will know that we have a maniac among us." He grinned. "I'm recommending you visit your psychologist for a few weeks. Maybe she can help you with your control issues."
"Can I get Ann Marie to book me on a flight?"
"You can use
your
plane if you take Jim the Tiger with you. He's going to Los Angels." His face turned serious. "That was good work, Lynn."
When I entered, Jim was already on board, sitting with a cup of something.
"Master Lynn, welcome aboard. I hope you don't mind sharing
your
plane with me." He grinned. Somehow Witton's, and probably Kathryn's, wisecrack had gotten around. I think word traveled faster because I was a woman.
"Anytime, Jim the Tiger. I'd like you to share the cost of fuel. I do have expenses."
"Sit, Lynn the Fox. I'm interested in hearing how you managed to piss off a Supreme Court justice. The rumor is that you are going to be tried for murder and executed as soon as the State Department can revoke your diplomatic immunity." He relaxed back and took a sip of his drink.
"After dinner." Ten minutes later Kathryn appeared with two trays.
Jim was off to guard the California governor, who had aggravated a lot of religious people by vetoing a bill that would have seriously restricted a woman's right to do everything except have babies. Beyond childbirth, all her decisions would have been governed by the state. The governor had promptly received death threats to him and his family-a non-Christian response.
Kathryn had taken away our empty plates and returned with a choice of banana cream pie or Creme Brulee. I chose the pie and Jim the Brulee.
"Now it's time for the maniac and the Justice Ramsey story," Jim said, pointing at me with his fork. Kathryn was standing quietly in the aisle.
"Would you mind if I listened, Miss Lynn? After all, I am your private stewardess."
"No. Have a seat, Kathryn. It started when I reported to Ramsey's chambers
...
"
"Peter the Lion read me Ramsey's letter over the phone this morning," Jim said. "Makes more sense when you understand the background. How did you know the two were waiting for you to come out and that a Liar was waiting?"
"First, it was too quiet for six o'clock. The threat was too cold to be your average crank, which suggested an Assassin might be used. A Liar Assassin would be the hardest to detect, so I played it safe. I think the plan was for the shooter to shoot at me and immediately run. A few minutes afterward, the Liar would enter and be the real killer. He gave himself away when Ramsey jumped up, and he began to raise his gun."
"I have to remember the earplugs for Liars and pain for the Illusion Assassins. I understand you're going to Denver to visit a
...
close friend. Rumors." He shrugged.
"Let's dispense with the rumors. I met Clare on the Hill. The Committee had agreed to let her do a story on Kazak training. She was just a reporter, until the masters decided she would act as my client. We became friends. When I began visiting her, I let her interview me anonymously after each assignment. Usually I was injured, and we went off someplace to relax. We always considered ourselves heterosexual. Clare planned to find a guy, marry, and have kids. After my foster-care life in gang-infested neighborhoods and an incident after I ran away, I wasn't interested in sex-with men or women. Somehow along the way, we found we were soul mates. You have my permission to tell that to anyone who may be interested or has the rumor all screwed up."
Yes, Clare and I were soul mates.
"Thanks, Lynn. I appreciate the candor. The truth is always better than rumors."
By the time I finished, we were descending into Denver International. When I entered the terminal, Clare stood waiting.
"I thought you said you weren't injured. What are all those bruises on your face?"
"Ramsey decided to take her anger out on me with a few whacks to my face. I didn't think it wise to whack back. Anyway, a few bruises don't count."
After a frown, she pulled me into a warm, welcoming hug.
"I'm afraid I can't take much time off," she said. "There's too much happening. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. We'll have the evenings, hopefully the weekends, and a bedtime story. One you can print this time."
Clare's new responsibilities did preclude getting together in the day, but she managed to have most nights and the weekends free. I didn't mind. I amused myself reading, updating myself on current politics, and exploring the city. I spent several days walking around in the poorer neighborhoods, eating at local restaurants, and talking with the people. It was interesting and gave me an opportunity to brush up on my Spanish. The nights and weekends where spent with Clare, mostly at home cooking, talking, and feeling the closeness we could only share briefly during the year. I had been there three weeks when Witton called. It was a weekend and Clare was home. I put it on the speakerphone.
"Hello, Clare. Someday we have to meet in person. Any close friend of Lynn has got to be special."
"Thank you, Mr. Witton. I would like to meet you. If I ignore her assignments, you've been good to us. In the beginning by encouraging our friendship and giving us time to be together," Clare said.
"Now to business. Ramsey has sent everyone a long letter of apology. She expounded on the outstanding protection, professional conduct, and personal interaction you displayed. I had to read that part twice." A small snort followed. "She candidly said the stress of the previous month had exploded, and you were the closest person to take it out on. You had saved her life and she had tried to ruin yours. The threat still exists, and she would welcome your return. Peter the Lion is more than competent; however, she misses you and your rigid rules. How about that, Lynn. Someone actually misses your rules. That's got to be a first. The decision is yours. If you decide not to, I have another assignment."
"I think I'll decline. Words were said that can't be taken back. The words aren't important to me. I did my job as best I could, and that's all that matters to me. I think she's a good person with or without her apology. But she will remember and that will make it awkward for her. She needs to move on and can't do that if I'm there."
"I think that's a wise decision. I'll tell her your reasons for not returning. I believe she'll agree." He paused for a moment for some reason. "Let Clare interview you on your last assignment, if she hasn't already. The Committee approves of those articles."
"'Your plane will pick you up two days from now and fly you to St. Paul, Minnesota. There you will contact Caitlin Babbcox at the ACLU office. She is your client. Miss Babbcox is the Executive Director of the Minnesota ACLU. Over the past month, she has given several interviews on local talk shows about gay and lesbian rights. Her office has filed a suit to stop a proposed petition from being put on the November ballot, which would restrict homosexuals' access to certain jobs and functions. This caused the inevitable hate letters and emails trashing her, the ACLU, and specific judges for their past liberal decisions. They included the normal amount of threats of various kinds. One or more of the writers appear intent on carrying out their threats. The past week she has been assaulted twice. The last one resulted in injuries, serious but not life threatening. The Committee believes that the violence is escalating." He paused. I smiled to myself.
I knew he was loath to ask the next question.
"What are your feelings on taking his assignment?"
"I'm a Kazak. I guard people, not their ethics."
"Yes. You are the quintessential Kazak. Try not to get injured. Neither of us wants to incur the wrath of Clare."
***
"Good morning, Lynn.
Your
plane is fueled and ready to take you to St. Paul. Can I get you anything before we depart? It will be a while. We're tenth in the queue," Kathryn said in her usual cheerful way. Over my many flights, I had gotten to know a little about her. She was just past her mid-twenties, single, and loved to travel. The flights frequently had layovers of several days to a week, giving her time to enjoy the local attractions and to mingle with interesting people. She had dated many young men, but still hadn't found anyone she wanted to marry. I liked her.
"Coffee and maybe something sweet and gooey." She somehow managed to find a chocolate souffle for me. Afterward, I sat back and closed my eyes, enjoying that peaceful and quiet place I had found on the Hill.
I wondered if being a homosexual was genetic. The more tolerant thought so-like breast cancer. Or a hereditary propensity that some inherited and others didn't. Maybe it was simple happenstance, finding the one person who was your soul mate.
Was hate like that? Something hereditary that produced a propensity toward intolerance, or just something a person found satisfying-a righteous feeling of superiority-which came from hating those who weren't like you and were therefore inferior.
I thought about Clare and me. Whether hereditary, fate, or luck, I didn't care. I had found something precious. I was brought back to the present when the pilot announced our descent into St. Paul. I departed with my luggage and found a taxi.
"The ACLU headquarters on Wadsworth Boulevard."
"Are you one of those lawyer types? The ACLU is less popular lately than usual. They've stirred up a lot of people's hidden prejudices. I'd be careful if I were you."
"Thanks for the advice, I'm not a lawyer but it pays to be careful when emotions are running high." That was a joke. Kazaks usually guard folks who are the center of emotional situations. The ride seemed short as I contemplated my new assignment. I paid the cabbie with a good tip, entered the building, and found the ubiquitous guard dog.
"Can I help you, Miss... ?"
"Yes, I'm Lynn and I'm looking for Miss Babbcox. She's expecting me."
"She is?"
"We can save a lot of time if you will tell her a Kazak is waiting to see her."
"You can't be
...
"
I turned and walked down the hallway, with the guard dog howling, "You're not allowed!" Eventually I found a door with a
Caitlin Babbcox
sign, knocked, and walked in. A middle-aged woman with no makeup and mousy-blond hair tied in a ponytail sat behind a beat-up wooden desk. A plump older man sat in a chair with a stack of papers on his lap.
"Miss, you're interrupting a meeting," the woman said. "You should see the lady at the reception desk. She will either make an appointment for you or tell you when your party is available."
"Miss Babbcox, I'm the Kazak assigned to you. You didn't inform the reception desk that I was coming, therefore, I'm getting the runaround. If you want me, I'm here. If you don't, I'll get on a plane and get assigned to someone who does." I didn't feel in a good mood.
"You're very rude-"
"Call Witton and tell him you don't need or want a Kazak. Goodbye," I said, as I turned and walked out the door. When I reached the reception desk, the guard dog stood and raised a hand.
"Miss Babbcox apologizes, and would like you to return," she said, all sweet and friendly. I walked back to the office. The door was open and the man had departed. Babbcox stood and waved me to a seat.
"You're right, I should have told Dorothy that I was expecting a Kazak and given her a name. That would have prevented some of the confusion. I have to admit I expected a man. I didn't know there were any women Kazaks."
"At present, there is only one-me. I'm as mad at Witton as you are. He does this all the time. He fails to tell the client that I'm a woman. It saves him the hour it takes to convince the client that I'm one of his best. Instead, he leaves it to me. So, it takes me the hour to tell them I'm a woman, and it's me or nothing. Usually, they call Witton and find out I'm right. I earned the title of Kazak, like every male Kazak did. I've earned the honorary title of Master Kazak, which does recognize that I'm good at what I do. And I make no apology for being a woman."
"You shouldn't have to, especially to an ACLU lawyer. I do want a Kazak rather than a normal bodyguard. I'm scared for the first time since I joined the ACLU." She sat.