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August 18 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 18.
Can You Segue?
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

So exactly who was going to be sympathetic to their plight,
who we cared about?
Beyond my fevered dream of making a difference there was a pinch
of reality. See, the Cabindans and the people of Zaire were both
ethnic Bakongo and the Bakongo of Zaire had also once had their own,
independent (until 1914) kingdom which was now part of Angola. The
Bakongo were major factions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)
(formerly for a short time known as the nation of Zaire, from here
on out to be referred to as the DRC and in the running for the most
fucked up place on the planet Earth, more on that later)
- and Congo (the nation) yet a minority in Angola. Having an
independent nation united along ethnic and linguistic lines made
sense and could expect support from their confederates across
international boundaries.
The Liberation Air Force
The Earth and Sky operated under one constant dilemma;
when would Temujin make his return? Since they didn't know and it was
their job to be prepared for the eventuality if it happened tomorrow,
or a century down the line, they 'stockpiled', and 'stockpiled' and
'stockpiled'.
That was why they maintained large horse herds and preserved the
ancient arts of Asian bowyers, armoring and weapons-craft. That was
why they created secret armories, and sulfur and saltpeter sites when
musketry and cannons became the new ways of warfare. They secured
sources of phosphates and petroleum when they became the new thing,
and so on.
All of this boiled over to me being shown yet again I worked with
clever, creative and under-handed people. The Khanate came up with a
plan for a 'Union' Air Force {Union? More on that later} within 24
hours, and it barely touched any of their existing resources. How did
they accomplish this miracle? They had stockpiled and maintained
earlier generation aircraft because they didn't know when Temujin
would make his re-appearance.
They'd also trained pilots and ground crews for those aircraft. As
you might imagine, those people grew old just as their equipment did.
In time, they went into the Earth and Sky's Inactive
Reserves; the rank and file over the age of 45. You never
were 'too old' to serve in some capacity though most combat-support
related work ended at 67.
When Temujin made his return and the E and S transformed into the
Khanate, those people went to work bringing their lovingly cared for,
aging equipment up to combat-alert readiness. If the frontline units
were decimated, they would have to serve, despite the grim odds of
their survival. It was the terrible acceptance the Chinese would
simply possess so much more war-making material than they did.
Well, the Khanate kicked the PRC's ass in a titanic ass-whooping
no one (else) had seen coming, or would soon forget. Factory
production and replacement of worn machines was in stride to have the
Khanate's Air Force ready for the next round of warfare when the
Cease-fire ended and the Reunification War resumed.
Always a lower priority, the Khanate military leadership was
considering deactivating dozens of these reserve unit when suddenly
the (Mongolian) Ikh khaany khairt akh dÃƒÂ¡ÃƒÂ©
(me) had this hare-brained scheme about helping rebels in Africa,
West Africa, along the Gulf of Guinea coast/Atlantic Ocean, far, far
away, and it couldn't look like the Khanate was directly involved.
They barely knew where Angola was. They had to look up Cabinda to
figure out precisely where that was. They brought in some of their
'reservist' air staff to this briefing and one of them, a woman
(roughly a third of the E and S 'fighting'/non-frontline forces were
female), knew what was going on. Why?
She had studied the combat records and performance of the types of
aircraft she'd have to utilize... back in the 1980's and 90's and
Angola had been a war zone rife with Soviet (aka Khanate) material
back then. Since she was both on the ball, bright and knew the score,
the War Council put her in overall command. She knew what was
expected of her and off she went, new staff in hand. She was 64 years
old, yet as ready and willing to serve as any 20 year old believer in
the Cause.
Subtlety, scarcity and audacity were the watchwords of the day.
The Khanate couldn't afford any of their front-line aircraft for this
'expedition'. They really couldn't afford any of their second-rate
stuff either. Fortunately, they had some updated third-rate
war-fighting gear still capable of putting up an impressive show in
combat; providing they weren't going up against a top tier opponents.
For the 'volunteers' of the Union Air Force, this could very
likely to be a one-way trip. They all needed crash courses (not a
word any air force loves, I know) in Portuguese though hastily
provided iPhones with 'apps' to act as translators were deemed to be
an adequate stop-gap measure. Besides, they were advised to avoid
getting captured at all cost. The E and S couldn't afford the
exposure. Given the opportunity; this assignment really was going
above and beyond; not one of these forty-six to sixty-seven year olds
backed out.
No, they rolled out fifty of their antiquated aircraft, designs
dating back to the 1950's through the mid-70's, and prepared them for
the over 10,000 km journey to where they were 'needed most'. 118
pilots would go (72 active plus 46 replacements) along with 400
ground crew and an equally aged air defense battalion (so their air
bases didn't get blown up). Security would be provided by
'outsiders'; allies already on the ground and whatever rebels could
be scrounged up. After the initial insertion, the Indian Air Force
would fly in supplies at night into the Cabinda City and Soyo
Airports.
The composition,
14 Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21 jet fighters; though she entered
service in 1959, these planes' electronics were late 20th century and
she was a renowned dogfighter. 12 were the Mig-21-97 modernized
variant and the other two were Mig-21 UM two-seater trainer variants
which could double as reconnaissance fighters if needed.
14 Sukhoi Su-22 jet fighter-bombers; the original design, called
the Su-17, came out in 1970, the first 12 were variants with the 22M4
upgrade were an early-80's package. The other 2 were Su-22U two-seat
trainers which, like their Mig-21 comrades, doubled as reconnaissance
fighters. The Su-22M4's would be doing the majority of the ground
attack missions for the Cabindans, though they could defend
themselves in aerial combat if necessary.
6 Sukhoi Su-24M2 supersonic attack aircraft; the first model
rolled off the production lines in the Soviet Union back in 1974. By
far the heaviest planes in the Cabindan Air Force, the Su-24M2's
would act as their 'bomber force' as well as anti-ship deterrence.
8 Mil Mi-24 VM combat helicopters; introduced in 1972 was still a
lethal combat machine today. Unlike the NATO helicopter force, the
Mi-24's did double duty as both attack helicopter and assault
transports at the same time.
4 Mil Mi-8 utility helicopters, first produced in 1967. Three
would act as troop/cargo transports (Mi-8 TP) while the fourth was
configured as a mobile hospital (the MI-17 1VA).
4 Antonov An-26 turboprop aircraft, two to be used as tactical
transports to bring in supplies by day and two specializing in
electronic intelligence aka listening to what the enemy was up to.
Though it entered production in 1969, many still remained flying
today.
2 Antonov An-71M AEW and C twin-jet engine aircraft. These were an
old, abandoned Soviet design the Earth and Sky had
continued working on primarily because the current (1970's) Russian
Airborne Early Warning and Control bird had been both huge and rather
ineffective; it couldn't easily identify low-flying planes in the
ground clutter so it was mainly only good at sea. Since the E and S
planned to mostly fight over the land,
They kept working on the An-71 which was basically 1977's popular
An-72 with some pertinent design modifications (placing the engines
below the wings instead of above them as on the -72 being a big one).
To solve their radar problem, they stole some from the Swedish tech
firm Ericsson, which hadn't been foreseen to be a problem before now.
See, the Russians in the post-Soviet era created a decent AEW and
C craft the E and S gladly stole and copied the shit out of for their
front line units and it was working quite nicely; the Beriev A-50,
and wow, were the boys in the Kremlin pissed off about that these
days. Whoops, or was that woot?
Now, the Khanate was shipping two An-71's down to Cabinda and
somewhere along the line someone just might get a 'feel' for the
style of radar and jamming the Cabindans were using aka the Swedish
stuff in those An-71's. The Erieye radar system could pick out
individual planes at 280 miles. The over-all system could track 60
targets and plot out 10 intercepts simultaneously. NATO, they were
not, but in sub-Saharan Africa, there were none better.
Anyway, so why was any of this important?
Why the old folks with their ancient machines? As revealed, since
the Earth and Sky had no idea when TemÃƒÂ¼jin
would return, they were constantly squirreling away equipment. World
War 2 gave them unequaled access to Soviet military technology and
training.
Afterwards, under Josef Stalin's direction, thousands of Russian
and German engineers and scientists were exiled to Kazakhstan,
Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan who were then snatched up
(reportedly died in the gulags/trying to escape) and the E and S
began building mirror factories modeled on the 'then current' Soviet
production lines.
So, by the early 1950's, the E and S was building, flying and
maintaining Soviet-style Antonov, Beriev, Ilyushin, Myasishchev,
Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Tupolev and Yakovlev airplanes. First in
small numbers because their pool of pilots and specialists was so
small.
The E and S remedied this by creating both their own 'private'
flight academies and technical schools. They protected their
activities with the judicious use of bribes (they were remarkably
successful with their economic endeavors on both side of the Iron
Curtain) and murders (including the use of the Ghost Tigers).
By 1960, the proto-Khanate had an air force. Through the next two
decades they refined and altered their doctrine; moving away from the
Soviet doctrine to a more pure combined-arms approach (the Soviets
divided their air power into four separate arms; ADD (Long Range
Aviation), FA (Front Aviation), MTA (Military Transport Aviation) and
the V-PVO (Soviet Air Defenses; which controlled air interceptors).).
It wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the
independence of the various former SSR's that the E and S program
really began to hit its stride. Still, while Russia faltered, China's
PLAAF (Peoples' Liberation Army Air Force) began to take off. Since
the Chinese could produce so much more, the E and S felt it had to
keep those older planes and crews up to combat readiness. The younger
field crews and pilots flew the newer models as they rolled off the
secret production lines.
Then the Unification War appeared suddenly, the E and S-turned
Khanate Air Force skunked their PLAAF rivals due to two factors, a
surprise attack on a strategic level and the fatal poisoning of their
pilots and ground crews before they even got into the fight. For
those Chinese craft not destroyed on the ground, the effects of
Anthrax eroded their fighting edge. Comparable technology gave the
Khanate their critical victory and Air Supremacy over the most
important battlefields.
What did this meant for those out-of-date air crews and pilots who
had been training to a razor's edge for a month now? Their assignment
had been to face down the Russians if they invaded. They would take
their planes up into the fight even though this most likely would
mean their deaths, but they had to try.
When Operation Fun House put Russia in a position where she wasn't
likely to jump on the Khanate, this mission's importance faded. The
Russian Air Force was far more stretched than the Khanate's between
her agitations in the Baltic and her commitments in the Manchurian,
Ukrainian, Chechen and Georgian theaters.
With more new planes rolling off the production lines, these
reservist units began dropping down the fuel priority list, which
meant lowering their flight times thus readiness. Only my
hare-brained scheme had short-circuited their timely retirement. Had
I realized I was getting people's grandparents killed, I would have
probably made the same call anyway. We needed them.
The Kanate
The Khanate's #1 air superiority dogfighter was the Mig-35F. The
#2 was the Mig-29. No one was openly discussing the Khanate's
super-stealthy "Su-50", if that was what it was, because
its existence 'might' suggest the Khanate also stole technology from
the Indian defense industry, along with their laundry list of thefts
from South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the PRC, Russia and half of NATO.
Her top multi-role fighters were the Su-47, Su-35S and Su-30SM.
The Su-30 'Flanker-C/MK2/MKI were their 2nd team with plenty of 3rd
team Su-27M's still flying combat missions as well.
Strike fighters? There weren't enough Su-34's to go around yet, so
the Su-25MS remained the Khanate's dedicated Close Air Assault model.
Medium transport aircraft? The An-32RE and An-38. They had small,
large and gargantuan transports as well.
Bombers? The rather ancient jet-powered Tu-160M2's and Tu-22M2's
as well as the even older yet still worthwhile turboprops; from
1956's; the Tu-95M S16.
Helicopters? While they still flew updated variants of the Mil
Mi-8/17 as military transports, the more optimized Kamov Ka-52 and
Mil Mi-28 had replaced them in the assault role.
Bizarrely, the Khanate had overrun several Chinese production
lines of the aircraft frames and components; enough to complete
fairly modern PLAAF (Peoples Liberation Army Air Force) FC-1 and J-10
(both are small multi-role fighter remarkably similar to the US F-16
with the FC-1 being the more advanced model, using shared
Chinese-Pakistani technology and was designed for export,).
They did have nearly two dozen to send, but they didn't have the
pilots and ground crews trained to work with them, plus the FC-1 cost
roughly $32 million which wasn't fundage any legitimate Cabindan
rebels could get their hands on, much less $768 million (and that
would just be for the planes, not the weeks' worth of fuel, parts and
munitions necessary for what was forthcoming).
Meanwhile, except for the An-26, which you could get for under
$700,000 and the An-71, which were only rendered valuable via 'black
market tech', none of the turboprop and jet aircraft the Khanate was
sending were what any sane military would normally want. The
helicopters were expensive; the 'new' models Mi-24's cost $32 million
while the Mi-17's set you back $17 million. The one's heading to
Cabinda didn't look 'new'.
The Opposition:
In contrast, the Angolan Air Force appeared far larger and more
modern. Appearances can be deceptive, and they were. Sure, the models
of Russian and Soviet-made aircraft they had in their inventory had
the higher numbers; the Su-25, -27 and -30; plus they had
Mig-21bis's, Mig-23's and Su-22's, but things like training and
up-keep didn't appear to be priorities for the Angolans.
When you took into account the rampant corruption infecting all
levels of Angolan government, the conscript nature of their military,
the weakness of their technical educational system, the complexity of
any modern combat aircraft and the reality that poor sods forced into
being Air Force ground crewmen hardly made the most inspired
technicians, or most diligent care-takers of their 'valuable'
stockpiles (which their officers all too often sold on the black
market anyway), things didn't just look bleak for the Angolan Air
Force, they were a tsunami of cumulative factors heading them for an
epic disaster.
It wasn't only their enemies who derided their Air Force's lack of
readiness. Their allies constantly scolded them about it too. Instead
of trying to fix their current inventory, the Angolans kept shopping
around for new stuff. Since 'new'-new aircraft was beyond what they
wanted to spend (aka put too much of a dent in the money they were
siphoning off to their private off-shore accounts), they bought
'used' gear from former Soviet states; Belarus, Russia and Ukraine;
who sold them stuff they had left abandoned in revetments (open to
the elements to slowly rot) on the cheap.
To add to the insanity, the Angolans failed to keep up their
maintenance agreements so their newly fixed high-tech machines often
either couldn't fly, or flew without critical systems, like radar,
avionics and even radios. Maybe that wasn't for the worst because
after spending millions on these occasionally-mobile paperweights,
the Angolans bought the least technologically advanced missile, gun
and rocket systems they could get to put on these flying misfortunes.
On the spread sheets, Angola had 18 Su-30K's, 18 Su-27, 12
Su-25's, 14 Su-22's, 22 Mig-23's, 23 Mig-21bis's and 6 Embraer EMB
314 Super Tucano (a turboprop aircraft tailor-made for
counter-insurgency operations), 105 helicopters with some combative
ability and 21 planes with some airlift capacity. That equated to 81
either air superiority, or multi-role jet fighters versus the 12
Union Air Force (actually the Bakongo Uni o de Cabinda e Zaire, For
as Armadas de Liberta o, For a Area; Liberation Armed Forces, Air
Force (BUCZ-FAL-FA) Mig-21-97's.
It would seem lopsided except for the thousands of hours of flight
experience the 'Unionists' enjoyed over their Angolan rivals. You
also needed to take into account the long training and fanatic
dedication of their ground crews to their pilots and their craft.
Then you needed to take into account every Unionist aircraft, while
an older airframe design, had updated (usually to the year 2000)
technology lovingly cared for, as if the survival of their People
demanded it.
A second and even more critical factor was the element of
surprise. At least the PRC and the PLAAF had contingencies for
attacks from their neighbors in the forefront of their strategic
planning. The Angolans? The only country with ANY air force in the
vicinity was the Republic of South Africa (RSA) and they had ceased
being a threat with the end of Apartheid and the rise of majority
Black rule in that country nearly two decades earlier.
In the pre-dawn hours of 'Union Independence Day', the FAL-FA was
going to smash every Angolan Air base and air defense facility within
375 miles of Cabinda (the city). Every three hours after that, they
would be hitting another target within their designated 'Exclusion
Zone'. Yes, this 'Exclusion Zone' included a 'tiny' bit of DRC
(Democratic Republic of Congo) territory. The DRC didn't have an air
force to challenge them though, so,
Inside this 'Exclusion Zone', anything moving by sea, river, road,
rail, or air without Unionist governmental approval was subject to
attack, which would require neutral parties to acknowledge some
semblance of a free and independent B U C Z. Worse for Angola, this
'Zone' included Angola's capital and its largest port, Luanda, plus
four more of their ten largest urban centers. This could be an
economic, military and humanitarian catastrophe if mishandled.
The Angolan Army did not have significant anti-aircraft assets.
Why would they? Remember, no one around them had much of an air force
to worry about. The FAL-FA in turn could hit military convoys with
TV-guided munitions 'beyond line of sight', rendering what they did
have useless. It got worse for the Army after dark. The FAL-FA could
and would fly at night whereas the average Angolan formation had
Zip-Zero-Nadda night fighting capacity.
Then geography added its own mountain of woes. As far as Cabinda
was concerned, there was no direct land line to their border from
Angola. Their coastal road only went as far as the port of Soyo where
the Congo River hit the South Atlantic Ocean. Across that massive gap
was the DRC where the road was not picked back up. Far up the coast
was the DRC town of Muanda (with an airport) and though they did have
a road which went north, it did not continue to the Cabindan border.
Nope. To get at Cabinda from the south meant a long, torturous
travel through northeastern Angola, into the heart of the DRC then
entailed hookin
1 hr 25 min
August 17 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 17.
The last days before the Great Hunt.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Can the scorpion ever stop being a scorpion?
"Do we get our legally permitted weaponry back?" The
bishop still held my hand.
"Sure. If it makes you feel better."
"I would like to meet your people then," he gave my paw
one last shake then released me. "Shall we go?"
"I will have someone take you to your car. I want to briefly
meet with the President, of Havenstone, then I'll join you in the
garage. We'll drive over to JIKIT and I'll make the introductions.
Good enough?"
"That is acceptable," he nodded.
"What about you two?" I regarded the nun and the Swiss
Super-soldier. The nun remained vigilant, and silent. The Swiss' eyes
flickered to his boss before settling back on me.
"It is what I volunteered for," he stated
firmly.
"Okay. Please never say I didn't give you a chance to take
the sane way out. Also, Bishop NicolÃƒÂ¶,
circumstances have conspired to up my prospective wedding date to
January 1st."
"That will be more difficult. Why the change?" he
remained grim.
"We are having twins. By March, this will be very visible."
"That is, unfortunate," he shook his head.
"You have no idea," and then a brainstorm. "And I
am curious about resurrecting the Order of the Dragon, the Societas
Draconistarum." Technically that meant 'Society of the
Dragonists' which was more appropriate than the literal Ordo
Draconis.
"Precisely how do you plan to recreate a crusading Christian
Order which was the purview of the Hungarian monarchs?" he
didn't sound the least skeptical, just curious.
"I have billions of euros to fund such a thing," I
winked. "Of far greater critical importance, I know where I can
find the supernatural guidance and spiritual imperative for such an
organization."
"You are going to produce a dragon?" his eyes grew
larger even as he fought down his fear. Good man. He was adaptive.
He'd need to be.
"I never said such a thing. That would make me sound crazy,"
I smiled broadly. "Besides, when I say 'dragon', you think
'devil' and that's way too pedestrian for where we are going."
"I am not a moral relativist."
"Neither am I. I'm out to save lives and nurture the drive in
the human spirit to reach for freedom, love and liberty. As you might
imagine, I'm pretty freaking outnumbered."
"I think you are crazy," he re-evaluated things.
"I just might be. In all honesty, you should back out now.
Take your two compadres back to 25 East 39th Street (the Holy See's
Permanent Observer Offices to the UN in NYC) and report 'Mission
Failure'. You'll most likely live longer," I reasoned.
"I am not afraid to die," Sister Rafaela Sophia finally
voiced an opinion.
"That's idiotic," I scoffed before the bishop could
reprimand her for opening her mouth. "You should be."
"My soul is in God's hands," she set her jaw.
"Does he talk to you?" I countered.
"His message is clear."
"Not what I asked. I asked if he specifically directed you to
toss your life fruitlessly away as an object lesson for the reckless,
or careless?"
"This is uncalled for," NicolÃ³ intervened.
"Nope. I bet you a phone call to my Brother to physically
restore your bishopric that there are four people in this room who
have murdered in cold blood," I kept eye contact with the nun,
"and she's the odd one out. Right Juanita?"
"Yes, Ishara," Juanita slipped up. Her spycraft, like
mine, needed work.
"You were in the military?" the bishop asked my
bodyguard.
"Was? I am. Right now," she related. "I will be
until I die."
That earned me looks from the three Catholics.
"She is loyal," NicolÃ³ nodded slightly
toward her, referring to Juanita's declaration.
"Huh? To me? Nope. She's loyal to my office, which we shan't
get into right now. Back to you, Sister Rafaela Sophia. Are you out
to be a martyr, or has some saint, or angel, given you a directive
the other two seem to be unaware of which causes you to devalue your
life?"
"I am devoted to the One True God, Christ, our Savior,"
and Juanita snorted, "and the Virgin Mary," the nun stated
firmly. "I don't hear voices in my head."
"Juanita, that was rude. Apologize to our guest," I kept
looking forward.
"No." Well, fuck you too.
"Gun," I commanded. I held out my left hand.
"What? No. I will not give you one of my guns," she
resisted.
"Juanita, give me your primary weapon, or I will ask Pamela
to beat you up the moment I depart for the Great Hunt. After
yesterday's stunt, you know she will," I threatened. Fair, I was
not. She drew a Glock-20 and handed it to me. I went through the
routine, dropped the magazine then ejected the round before opening
the door.
Oh look, there were four SD chicks outside, ready to escort my
visitors downstairs. I didn't even need to waste a phone call. It
wasn't like the conference room wasn't being monitored.
"Excuse me," I took a half step out the door then hurled
all three items down the hall. Looking back at Juanita. "Go
fetch."
"Fuck you," she snapped.
"And insulting her faith was as degrading to both her faith
and her as me doing this to you is degrading to you right now,"
I lectured her. "It is important to her, therefore it is
important to me because she is my guest in the same way it is
important to me that I let my bodyguard do her job without being a
total asshole all the time. Now go get your God-damn weapon," I
barked. Off she went. I left the door open.
"Now Sister Rafaela Sophia, the point of all this is: I don't
give a crap if you are willing to die for God. In fact, that makes
you less than worthless to me and the team. I want to know if you are
willing to put other motherfuckers in the ground so that Bishop
NicolÃƒÂ¡, or Mathias, might get to keep
doing their jobs."
"Murder is a sin," she declared.
"Go home," I sighed while shaking my head.
"She answers to me, the Church and God, not you, Mr. Nyilas,"
the bishop stepped forward.
"Then you can go home too," I shrugged. "I'm not
asking for remorseless killers. I'm asking for people willing to kill
to get the hard work done and best of all, for people who know the
difference."
"Everyone on JIKIT is a professional soldier, or killer?"
he asked.
"No, but the ones who aren't don't carry guns and know to get
down when things get funky," I bantered.
"I vouch for her," he insisted. Juanita came running
back into the room.
"Cool beans. I don't know you either."
"You apparently know my service history," he volleyed.
"Yeah. Ten years a foreigner in the service of France, then
you went straight into a university which turns out Jesuits," I
riposted.
"What turned your life around?" he evaded. That was
okay. I'd gotten what I wanted. I was willing to bet he had read
every bit of public information about me and it was rumored the heavy
Catholic membership in the FBI had its benefits to the Church as
well. Not so much as to give them insight into JIKIT, but,
"Someone risked their life for me. It's been pretty much
downhill from there," I confessed. It was the truth. After
Katrina gave me the life line on Day Two, it had all spiraled to the
revelation of my heritage, Dad's death, Summer Camp, the Hamptons,
Romania and Aya's kidnapping.
"A person, a soldier, died saving my life," the bishop
empathized. "Her story is similar. She seeks redemption. She is
not suicidal. I am staking both our lives on it."
Did he mean him and Mathias, or him and me? I wasn't certain.
Still, it was good enough for now. I'd gotten a look at their
emotional make up, even the relatively quiet Swiss.
"Very well," I agreed. "I have to go see the
President about my new job description. I'll catch up with you at
your car." To the SD team leader, "Take them to the garage.
I will join the group of you very soon."
"Yes Ishara," she nodded. I exited the room, Juanita in
tow. Two SD entered. I was gone before the Papal team left. Upstairs
we went, with one last chore to discharge. I had to check on Ms.
French to be absolutely freaking sure it was Shawnee, because anyone
else would spell disaster.

{8:30 am, Monday, September 8th. Last day}
A Room full of asistants:
Well, there it was, the office of the Executive Director to the
President, and not 'Executive Assistant', because this was Katrina's
final 'fuck you, no, just her final 'fuck you' before the Great Hunt
got underway. I shouldn't assume things, dang it!
Anyway, according to the gray-haired matron running gatekeeper to
the Office of the President, this was where I was supposed to show
up. I shot Juanita a worried look. She glanced my way and shrugged,
momentarily willing to not give me shit about the past 24 hours
because where I was situated would determine how easily she could do
her job.
In we went. In the suite were three desks, the 'big' desk situated
at the far end of the office space and two far more modest ones on
either side of the entryway. The room expanded beyond the chokepoint
formed by the two closest desks into a cluttered area. The walls were
cluttered with inset bookshelves and portraits of women. Facing one
another were a loveseat on my left with bookend plush chairs in an
'L' facing and a full sofa on the right. There were end tables at the
ends of the sofa and the corners between the loveseat and each chair.
As the door opened, I hadn't knock as this was my office, or so it
seemed, the occupants, who had all been sitting in quiet conversation
in the central section, began reacting. Oh look; Constanza! I nearly
had a heart attack before I realized there were three other Amazons
also in the room. Sadly, none were behind the 'big desk', so I
couldn't tell who was in charge. Two of the other three choices
weren't too much better. First off,
"Ishara," Marilynn Saint John stood to greet me. I'd
last seen her when I'd dedicated her grandmother's (Hayden's) spirit
to the halls of my ancestors, not hers, after forcing the political
crisis leading to Hayden's suicide; her taking herself to the cliffs
and in doing so, destroying the Amazon Cult of Blood Purity.
Marilynne was clearly still bitter with me. Umm, I could still incite
passion in women I hadn't slept with, yet, woot?
"Cáel," the senior-most and only friendly face in
the room spoke next. Thank goodness it was Beyoncé
Vincennes, Head of House Hanwasuit and House Ishara ally.
"Cáel Ishara," the third individual was
deferential which I wasn't sure how to take as the last time I'd
encountered her, yeah, things hadn't gone well either.
"Beyoncé ," I started off with
a smile. From there, I had to figure out, ah, Beyoncé 's
eyes flickered to Constanza then Sabia. I knew Marilynn, with her
young age, had the least seniority, "Constanza, Sabia, Marilynn.
How's tricks?"
Glum faces by everyone except Beyoncé . I
didn't ask about Sabia's particular well-being. It had been months
since I'd beaten her into the mats of the Full-blooded gym. She'd
attacked Yasmin, the Brazilian Hottie and my Brazilian Jujutsu
sparring buddy, and I'd retaliated by ambushed her when she turned
her back on us. Besides, she'd been giving me shit before I even
could see straight.
Constanza was minus her left eye because of her dire insult to me.
If she wasn't capable of working, she wouldn't be here. If she
appreciated my 'mercy' in sparing her life; her insult was worthy of
her death; Constanza hid it well. I hadn't spared her expecting a
change of heart. I hadn't felt words alone warranted anyone's death.
I was a big boy and could take a few insults. House Ishara, as
represented by me, could care less. These days, my sisters would be
less understanding despite them knowing my heart.
"Constanza Landau of House Jaya and Marilynn Saint John of
House Anahit are Assistants to President Shawnee French,"
Beyoncé eased things along, "so will
be working closely with us, at least for the short term. Sabia Noel
of House Guabancex, who I now think you know as well, has joined you
as the other 'Assistant' to the 'Executive Director to the
President', (that would make me an 'adept', but adept at what?), and
since two of the three Regents are unfamiliar with the workings of
Havenstone proper, Shawnee has asked me to perform in that role."
Beyonce' was, or had been, Havenstone HQ's CFO (Chief Financial
Officer). From what I was quickly piecing together, she would
essentially be making all the day-to-day decisions concerning the
running of Havenstone (how the Host made the majority of its money)
until the Regents got up to speed.
Only Buffy had actual experience with the New York office and,
from what she had told me, solely within Executive Services. While ES
knew 'who' did what inside Havenstone, they weren't aware precisely
how those Amazons got their jobs done. That would have been an
impossible task. Katrina could do it, but she knew it was beyond the
ability of most of us 'mere mortals'. Since we were currently at war,
the Host needed Katrina completely focused on her duties as Chief
Spy-mistress, not baby-sitting the adults.
Shawnee indeed had much gravitas among the other House Heads. Not
only had she risen up to lead a First House, she had performed
heroically during the final days of the last Secret War. Afterwards
she had moved into the realm of Amazon jurisprudence and mediation.
Until yesterday, she had lived in a House Arinniti freehold in
Minnesota's Great Lakes region thus her desire for the 'Training
Wheels' period.
The Regency would not rule through telecommunication (the upper
echelons feared being eavesdropped upon beyond the standard Amazon
(read: paranoid) levels) and Havenstone: New York was the center best
situated for the current war-fighting operations, so here she lived.
I was sure a team from Executive Services was buying,
outfitting/spy-proofing and fortifying a dwelling suitable for the
President of a Fortune 500 company. Hayden's home would remain the
domicile of Sydney thus Marilynn.
The same rigmarole would be done for Rhada and Buffy (though I
imaged Buffy would bitch endlessly). Publically, they were VP's of a
company worth hundreds of billions of dollars and they had to present
the public trappings of such leaders.
Why did the Amazons do this; unmask their leadership to public
exposure? Legal-simple: they could request and expect all levels of
public and private security for their executives who happened to also
be important officials of the Host. Certainly not all executives at
Havenstone were officeholders, House Heads, or House Apprentices, but
the high level of competence which permitted one often led to the
other.
Beyonce':
As an example: Beyoncé wasn't the most
'bad-ass' lethal chick in House Hanwasuit. As she was preparing to be
casted, her intelligence, creativity and diligence at her future
craft, finances, was noted by the Host and the members of her House.
In due time her name was circulated as Apprentice and the elders
approved. When her elder cousin, the prior House Head, took herself
to the cliffs, Beyoncé assumed the top
spot. Beyoncé wasn't even one of that
woman's three daughters.
Mirroring her advancement in her House was her advancement in
Havenstone's Accounting, Acquisitions and Banking Divisions until she
was appointed CFO Havenstone HQ; the supreme financial authority
inside Havenstone, though the individual regional branches had a
greater degree of autonomy than you might normally expect from a 21st
century conglomerate, or a Bronze Age autocracy.
I had to constantly remind myself, despite the near-constant
feuding, Amazons exhibited a phenomenally higher level of trust than
I'd ever found in any other society I'd ever witnessed, or read
about, before. Though technically Beyoncé
could have gone to President Hayden to enforce her decisions; or now
the Regency; she was far more diplomatic in her approach in dealing
with the other 'continental' CEO's and CFO's.
That meant she had to wrangle the aspirations and resources from:
North America (including Latin America, the 'Canadian Arctic' and
the North Pacific Ocean),
South America (includes both the South Atlantic and South Pacific
as far as Samoa),
Europe (mostly Central Europe these days plus Antarctica, the
'Russian' Arctic and the North Atlantic),
Africa (mostly West-central Africa),
India (the subcontinent plus the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean)
and,
Southeast Asia (which includes Australia)
All of which suggested Havenstone hadn't redrawn the Amazons'
geographic demarcations since the late 19th century. As an example,
an East African venture, say in Tanzania, was as likely to be under
the purview of Havenstone: India (due to its control over the Indian
Ocean) as Havenstone: Africa (which traditionally had no East Coast
holdings due to their constant struggles versus the Arabic slave
trade).
Returning to Beyoncé : initially she had
held the proper 'conservative' (aka man-hating) mindset. My behavior
during that first Board Meeting began to change her opinion of me and
the New Directive. After the Archery Range incident, Beyoncé
became a vocal proponent of the New Directive and faced challenges
within her ranks. House Heads do not have to accept challenges and
Beyoncé didn't, reasoning with her
detractors they had no alternatives save the 'Old Ways' which spelled
doom for the Amazon Race.
Bing-bang-boom; I became the Head of a resurrected House Ishara by
the Will of the Ancestors and Beyoncé was
vindicated. Not necessarily in the New Directive, but in her support
of me thus the rebirth of a sister First House. The purge following
High Priestess' Hayden's death was her ultimate absolution. The
Ancestors and Destiny had spoken and shown Beyoncé
had been piloting House Hanwasuit along the proper course all along.
Back to my current circumstances:
Oh, why was I Assistant to the Executive Director to the
President? It gave me direct access to the finances of Havenstone
which was a critical leg of the war-fighting stool; people, morale,
money and equipment. As Chief Diplomat, I helped with all four of
those in varying degrees, allied troops, allied victories, allied
bank accounts and allied armaments.
The Great Khan, my spiritual 'Blood-Brother', was ramping up his
logistic support for my Amazons in Africa, Asia and the Americas. We
were 'Allies in the Struggle' and he wasn't going to wait for the
Condottieri to begin coordinating with the Seven Pillars to declare
them to be his enemies. They were already fighting the Amazons and 9
Clans, his allies, so their fates were sealed.
In Japan, my Amazons provided small yet highly effective strike
groups which the Ninja families furnished all the support services
for. Everything from food to bullets to medical attention as needed.
Without reservation, we shared their death-grapple with the Seven
Pillars.
From the dispatches I was getting back from my family members and
envoys in Japan, we were making serious diplomatic inroads with the
Ninja. Once again, it was the Amazons shocking capacity for violence
as well as their fanaticism, professionalism and proficiency which
all impressed our hosts and terrified our enemies, and this from
people of a philosophical mindset which had them historically
battling samurai.
The Black Lotus were running around like rhesus monkeys on crack
cocaine unleashed in a China Shop and given RPG's. While the Amazons
couldn't help them in China, Indochina and Thailand; the
Khanate could and was. The Amazons were of more help in the
Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia, where the Black Lotus and
Amazons were going everywhere on the offensive against the Seven
Pillars whil
1 hr 26 min
August 15 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 15.
A Butterfly wants to kill the World?
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Although Love is both fire and shadow, we often forget to take
comfort from the coolness of the memories when the burning flames are
absent
There were precisely two things, okay, four things, keeping me
alive. The fourth thing would come to her later when her 'furious was
replaced by her 'curious'; as in how I knew her inhuman lingo; which
would lead to my legacy with Grandpa.
The top three reasons -
She had poked my chest. It was a challenge, calling for one of my
guardians to come out and play. The avatar knew I was the chosen heir
of the Goddess Ishara and my goddess had devoted a good deal of time
and effort to my survival and continued service in her cause. If
Ishara made an 'appearance', it would be enough reason to not
eviscerate me for my foul treatment of her august personage.
Nope. It seemed Ishara was busy at the moment.
Still, she most likely knew SzelAnya had shown a keen interest in
me in Romania, though I'd never told Selena, or any other member of
the 9 Clans, the Dragon's Daughter had killed Ajax for me. Figuring
out SzelAnya, a storm deity, had helped me and Aya escape from our
kidnapping in the midst of a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean wasn't much
of a reach.
But no bolt of lightning coalesced from my chest to singe her
finger. No clap of thunder. Not even a cloud with a hint of disfavor
appeared above us.
Her obsidian fingernail began penetrating my shirt, touched my
skin, then drew my blood, and something 'twitched'.
That would be Contestant Goddess #3. She wasn't actually hanging
around me. She didn't have to. She'd left me a memento of our last
shindig before we parted ways. That was the nightmare-inducing
episode where she, the chthonic goddess Sarrat Irkalli, had
compressed one man's body into a dagger and then proceeded to suck
another's soul into it to use as a power source for an Airbus 350 (a
commercial airliner, if you didn't know).
I still had that snaggletooth-looking thing at my back. Well who
the Hell was I going to leave it with? Honestly, the only people I
felt could keep it safe I loved too much to curse with it. Anyway,
the second her divine claw touched my blood, the long dormant weapon
whispered to me in a somewhat bored, lofty feminine voice from beyond
the grave,
Do you want me to discorporate this pathetic has-been for you?
Quick check. Only the avatar and I, and her priestess-savant heard
that. Of course, in downtown, New York City, noon Sunday, how weird
would such a declaration be? The avatar's eyebrow arched. Her big
bat-ears (still looking human to the normal viewing public) flicked
this way and that, figuring out precisely where the threat originated
from. Slowly, her once poking hand began to slide across my chest,
along my ribs and around my back.
She touched the dagger. Nothing.
Gingerly, she drew it forth. I'd had a makeshift sheath made. As
the blade made its journey around me, she took a half-step back to
better observe it.
"Please don't kill him!" Theddy squealed. "We
haven't had sex yet!"
Being 'who' and 'what' she was, the avatar did what came natural.
Fortunately for Theddy, I'd become accustomed to working with
psychopaths.
She stabbed the dagger at Theddy. I clamped my hand down on her
wrist. The claws of her left hand came down on my constraining wrist.
My free hand came down on that hand, trying to pry it free. It was a
hopeless struggle, except.
Yes, my old friend 'except'. Except the avatar was holding the
dagger. As powerful as Itzpapalotl was, she wasn't pushing against
me. She was pushing against Sarrat Irkalli.
Itzpapalotl was a living, breathing terror machine who killed and
received sacrifices on a regular basis.
Sarrat Irkalli hadn't been actively worshipped in 3,000 years.
Uneven contest? Oh yeah.
See, Itzpapalotl had spent the past 500 years continuously
fighting against the Weave to keep her fingers on this side of
reality.
Meanwhile, for the most part, Sarrat Irkalli had sat upon her
throne in the Sumerian Underworld with hundreds upon hundreds of
thousands of souls toiling under her watchful gaze for eternity.
Sure, her version of Hell wasn't getting any fresh deposits, but she
knew how to milk the system well.
Even the bad karma for the dagger's creation wasn't hers. She'd
stolen it from the foolish Gong Tau sorcerers who had meant to
enslave my soul, aka one-third of the Baraqu-Alal-Cáel deal
she'd worked out millennia ago. It was the Weave giving her a
'freebie' for playing by the rules, if you considered the Weave
sentient.
And now Itzpapalotl was touching it. Whoops. It wasn't as if
Itzpapalotl was stupid. It isn't like there are tons of magic weapons
running around, much less soul-munchers like the one I had.
Rationally, who would give a novice like me, a weapon like this? I
say again, 'whoops'.
Once I'd figured this out, I couldn't stop being me.
"Theddy, do you like girls?"
"What?" she squeaked. Here was this psycho trying to
drive a Smilodon incisor into her bosom and I was giving her a sex
quiz.
Itzpapalotl was really starting to struggle now.
"I, ah, are you okay?" she continued.
"Oh, I'm dandy. I'm serious. You think this chick is hot? I
mean, would you do her in a three-way?" I proposed casually.
"Timothy?" Sovann.
"Bro?" Timothy to me.
"It's all good. Sovann, you want to know what my life is
like? This lady who came to discuss business with me today is an
immortal mass murderer. You give the word, I'll let go and this knife
is going to cut her up like a Ginsu blade on market day because just
cutting her heart out isn't going to be enough. Worse. Eventually
she'll get back up."
"Timothy?" Sovann repeated, this time with more concern.
He thought I was nuts. I released my left hand. The blade flipped up,
twisting in the avatar's grasp. That was the point her minions
figured out something was wrong.
"El Amado?" the priestess-savant called out softly. The
three goons began reaching for 'things'.
"Call them off, or I open my other hand," I cautioned
the avatar. She spared me a swift, hostile look. My fingers tingled.
"Esten quietos!" she snapped. They stopped.
"Cáel, bad day, or not. This isn't you. Stop it. The
girl's in danger," Timothy spoke up. He didn't mean Theddy. He
meant the avatar.
"I'm being a real asshole, aren't I?" I sighed.
"Pretty much. You never let the bitches get to you before.
Girl pops an attitude, you smile and move on. Life is too short,"
he reminded me. Too true.
"I'm going to put my hand over the blade," I told
Itzpapalotl. "When I do, you can let go."
She didn't say anything for several seconds, even after my left
hand covered the semi-serrated edge.
"Why should I trust you?" she sizzled.
"Because 'me' letting anything bad happen to you would make
me a total, judgmental jerk. I don't know you. Whatever you did
before you showed up today shouldn't matter to me. I acted stupidly.
I should have stopped you. I didn't. I didn't even warn you and I
could have. I was angry, and not even at you. Just angry and I
apologize. Now, let go."
"Why?"
"Hi. I'm Cáel Nyilas. Can I have my knife back?
Please?"
Blink. She released it. For a millisecond, it wanted to do
something else because bitches are bitches. It didn't, so my palm
wasn't sliced open. My right hand took the hilt. I carefully put the
blade away.
"Yes," Theddy gulped.
"Huh?" Sovann shook his head at the sudden evaporation
of the life and death tension. Welcome to my life. Theddy meant 'yes'
to the 'girl-girl-guy' thing I had proposed earlier. It pays to keep
things prioritized.
"What is this movie you were talking about?" Itzpapalotl
asked. Had she forgiven me for anything which had transpired?
Bwahahaha, no way. She was taking the initiative and going with
Option 1 from my earlier insane diatribe.
"Wait!" Sovann nearly shouted. "You nearly, I don't
know, threatened Cáel's life and tried to stab Theddy and now
you think you can go with us to a movie?"
"I told you," Timothy put an arm around his shoulder,
"life with Cáel is rarely dull."
"I thought you meant he was fun to party with, or something
like that," Sovann looked up at his lover. "I thought his
uncle showing up, and trying to kill him and then being blown the
fuck away by those women and federal agents, and that other girl who
pointed a gun at us, is this the new normal?"
"I love you, Sovann," Timothy grew compassionate. "Cáel
is my best friend. He'd never deliberately hurt either of us and
normal friends are something he has in short supply. Today being a
great case in point."
Ten seconds passed.
"The title is 'As Above, So Below'," Sovann addressed
the avatar, "and what do we call you?"
Since 'if you are not a worshiper and addressing me, I normally am
about to kill you' would sound really cool in Olmec-ic, but I might
be asked to translate,
"How about we go with 'Obsidian', please?" I pleaded
with her.
She knew I was currying favor now; and behaving like a weather
vane caught in the wall of a tornado; she gave a gracious bow of her
head.
"Obsidian will do for now. Is the Legend of the dagger
'business'?" Translation: it had better not be.
"No," I smiled. "It's pillow talk." Rancor,
'how presumptuous', followed by 'but that dagger ups the count to
three Goddess interested in him', and next to recalling all the
trivial babble about me being a sexual dynamo (I prayed my PR was
that good) having some relevance. Her chimera emotions allowed me to
get a few more crucial words out, because even women who aren't
sleeping with me are jealous.
"Esta mujer fue la primera en ofrecer bienes funerarios tras
la muerte dee mi padre," I reinserted Theddy back into my close
company. For some reason, Obsidian considered me unreliable thus had
to verify what I'd just said.
"Did you make funerary offering upon his father's passing?"
she asked Theddy. Let's think about this. The wacko chick questioning
Theddy had tried to stab a huge freaking blade into her not a minute
ago. Fleeing in terror while screaming for the cops? Nope.
"Yes. I baked him some walnut and caramel chip cookies,"
she nodded. "It is a family recipe." Sovann looked over the
three of us, then back to Timothy.
"I told you 'that's impressive cocking like I've never seen
before'," he explained.
"She may remain," Obsidian 'permitted'. Theddy wrapped
up my right arm with her left and gave it a squeeze. She wanted
attention/explanation.
"Obsidian is a Master Vampire, Theddy," I leaned in and
whispered. "Before she was turned, she was captured in a raid by
the fey, mentally, spiritually and physically raped and made into
their sex-slave. Part of her spirit never healed properly. While this
imperfection allows her to walk around in daylight, her heart can
never hold on to any emotion for long, so she is forced to forever
seek passion, no matter how dangerous, from the world around her."
Revealing secrets? Ha. I had noticed Theddy had every work done by
Laurel K. Hamilton in her place, including the comic book series.
"You are not supposed to know, so act like I didn't tell you
anything, okay?"
'Okay,' she mouthed back at me. I could see it in her eyes. My
chaotic life suddenly 'made sense' to her because a best-selling
fiction author said so.

Obsidian thought the movie was; hilarious. She couldn't stop
snickering, giggling and poking at me as horrible shit happened to
the various actors. She thought the plot was 'insightful' and
wouldn't stop whispering to me throughout the entire thing. During
the closing credits, I told her I'd get her the DVD for Christmas;
she knew the concept behind digital technology, but didn't own any;
she kissed me.
The first kiss was fierce and joyous with the added benefit of her
tongue doing things no normal tongue could do, it stretched. Not sure
how I felt about that. The second kiss was more sultry, longer and
came with some accompanying body action which, I'm no virgin. Not
even close. She was on my left side, so when she twisted in her seat,
her left leg insinuated itself between mine. Her left hand cupped my
jaw and held my head in place as her lips played along mine.
A dance of the scorpion perhaps? Tender at first, then suddenly
stabbing, dominant and brutal. My lips and tongue battled back, using
my superior Kiss-fu to nullify her natural strength and agility. She
liked it. By her moaning, she liked it a lot. As the kiss progressed,
more and more of her flowed from her seat into my seat, body facing
me. Her body rose over mine, forcing my neck back to maintain
contact.
"So, Dot Ishara is hovering around somewhere close, isn't
she?" I murmured as our lips separated barely a centimeter
apart. One chick kissing you to make another one jealous. It's
happened to me plenty of times. Obsidian didn't give a damn about
Theddy, or any other mortal woman in close proximity so,
"Yes," she purred. "Do you mate with her?"
"A man does not brag of such things, but no, unless heavy
petting counts?"
"What will she do to you when I steal your seed?"
'When'? Why was I not surprised? Why was I not surprised another
concussion was in my immediate future either? Was it possible I was,
learning?
"Chastise me for not fighting harder," I breathed across
her lips, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on a date with the girl
beside me."
"Who I care nothing for," she sent a cruelly playful
look Theddy's way. Wisely, the girl shivered.
"Who I am indebted to and how I honor my debts might matter
to you," I hazarded. My words hurt Theddy's feelings. That was
on purpose. Obsidian took pleasure in me hurting Theddy because she
was basically a vicious monster.
"Yes?" I pressed her gently.
"Yes," Obsidian allowed, easing up slightly both
romantically and physically.
"And Theddy, if you believe I'm with you solely because of
some sense of obligation, you clearly haven't been listening to your
recordings," I shot the human girl a wink.
"Oh."
"Am I, or am I not, a sex-obsessed little monkey?" I
teased her. Theddy giggled. I paid for my diversion with four
obsidian claws to my ribs outside of Theddy's view. After all, it
wasn't like Theddy could possibly compete with her for my attention.
Considering Obsidian's legendary ability to rip open her opponent's
ribcages and feast upon their hearts, I slipped my left hand, the one
next to her between her legs and stroked her cotton-slacks covered
cunt.
Theddy hugged my right arm and put her head against my shoulder.
Not to be outdone,
" Qu un centenar dee hombres se quemaron vivos como el
sonido?" Obsidian inquired with sexually sadistic hunger. Ah,
memories of burning 7P Commandos.
Whoops. Theddy knew Spanish.
"No lo s . Ten an respiradores en," I replied casually.
"Si lo desea, puedo describir lo que se siente al tirar de una
flecha de guerra lanzar mi propio muslo."
"Eep," slipped out of Theddy's lips.
"Why did you do that?" Obsidian looked over us both.
"Well, I was showing a little girl I believed in her,"
"And she shot you?" Theddy gulped.
"No. She hit the target I was standing next to. A co-worker
mistook me for a cardboard cutout of a Jehovah's Witness and let fly.
Seems she had issues with organized religion as well as a reaction to
the oscillation effect of florescent lighting and ceiling fans."
"But why did you pull the arrow out?" Theddy asked.
"Couldn't you wait until you got to the hospital?"
"Mosquito," Obsidian menaced, insinuating Theddy was a
pest.
"I wasn't thinking rationally at the moment, I work in an
asylum, I had a hot date in a few hours, any of those three will do,"
I smiled at Theddy.
"Copil such as Cáel don't bother with petty human
conventions," Obsidian turned my gaze back her way with her hand
on my jaw. 'Copil's were 'god-touched' in her lingo.
"More than one girl?" Theddy mused.
"Four."
"Okay," she sighed happily.
"Theddy, three under-age girls and the police office he was
dating acting as their chaperone," Timothy intervened. "He
hurried home so he could keep a promise to the children, not for
sex." Bastard. He really was my best friend. He didn't mention
my post-injury, pre-festivity sex with Odette giving me a few extra,
urgently needed Brownie Points to suggest I might be a decent human
being.
"You are a wonderful guy," Theddy ran a fingernail over
my free hand. Clearly I was 'wonderful' enough to risk Obsidian's
anger over. The screen went blank as the last credits scrolled away
and the room was plunged into darkness. Five seconds later, the
lights snapped on.
Pain!
"Fuck," I hissed. It wasn't any extra physical trauma
causing me discomfort. No, a metaphysical dam had burst within and my
stream of conscious thought had been turned into a white-water
rapids. The competing cyclones of thoughts in my mind had stopped
cooperating and my hypothalamus was letting me know I was in danger.
"Cáel", "Cáel", "Bro",
and "Ishara" all came in rapid succession. I needed some
space both tangible and social.
"I need to step outside," I eased Obsidian off me and
stood up. My sense of my personal danger was ratcheting up. While I
had been studying Obsidian, so I could screw her, I had discovered
more and more Alal-badness.
The light display had ignited a series of pressing implanted
memories which had been clamoring for my attention. Things like not
all 'divinities' were stewards of the Weave. Some even wanted its
destruction, preferring risking all on a chaotic restructuring of
reality over what existed now; things like Obsidian. They weren't
attempting to do so because they thought they had no chance.
But there was. A real serious chance to unravel reality existed;
and it was staring her in the face. It wasn't 'me' as in 'I was the
Anti-Christ'. But with the torrent of memories pouring forth, I knew
where the peril lay and I was completely responsible for it. Hell, I
was a prime ally of Armageddon and hadn't even known it.
'Holy Shit!'
I blinked. Timothy was shaking me. We were out in the lobby.
"Oh my God, Timothy," I nearly wept. "What am I
going to do?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about. Is there someone
you can talk to about this?" he suggested. Normal folks were
around us. Obsidian was at my side. Sovann was behind Timothy with an
arm around Theddy's shoulder.
"Theddy," I looked at her. "Can I catch up with you
later? I just realized I've screwed up something fierce." I put
my best 'really don't want to go but I gotta' face on. Her worried
look brightened, she slipped around Timothy and gave me a tingling
French kiss.
"I'll hold you to that, Cáel," she murmured when
we parted.
"Timothy, go home, I got shit to deal with," I hoped my
grin didn't become as feeble as I felt it to be.
"I," he started to say something. "Time not to ask
questions?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"Wait." I pulled us to the side and went on to my toes,
leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Tell Pamela 'he' sent Ajax
to kill the Professor, his family and the sisters. They were the
targets all along. It wasn't me, or the other women. Just in case,"
"Okay," Timothy patted my arm. It was cryptic. It was
the best I could do. See, I wanted to cry so badly.
{2:09 pm Sunday, September 7th; Last day}
Where to begin:
Every
1 hr 27 min
August 14 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 14.
Guardian Goddess in Manhattan.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.
"Our Princess grew up around a woman whose keen intellect we
rely on to protect us from unseen enemies," Saint Marie's voice
became deeper and more threatening. "At the age of ten, she,"
Saint Marie looked my way as my hand shot up mimicking Aya's
identical plea for attention.
"Yes Ishara?" Saint Marie chose to acknowledge me.
"She's nine."
"Fine. At the age of nine, she earned an honorific, Mametu me
eda, which I didn't accomplish until my 19th year." 'Yes Ladies,
I'm an epic bad-ass and I've been out-performed by a child'.
"She was kidnapped along with the Head of House
Ishara. They tortured her by clipping off two of her digits, one at a
time, then seared the damage with a blowtorch. She gave them nothing.
At the end of the encounter, the two of them managed to defeat thirty
Seven Pillar's commandos, over fifteen she disabled personally."
"After killing nearly half as many enemies as the 35 I have
personally dispatched in my entire career, she crossed a mile and a
half of barren rock in the midst of a Category 4 Typhoon. Cáel
Ishara only helped her half of the way because he was engaged with
the last two members of the Seven Pillar's team."
"I have utter confidence the madness here today, while
assisted by House Epona and Ishara, was the brainchild of Krasimira.
I say 'assisted' because Cáel Ishara spared Kwenhamai's life
on the battlefield. Katrina Epona removed Kwenhamai from Romanian
custody to keep her out of the hands of those who wished us harm. I
was aware Kwenhamai was in New York, but not her precise location."
"My read on the situation is this:
"Aya of Kururiyahhssi was aware of Kwenhamai and Krasimira's
plot to adopt her into the bloodline of the first Amazon."
"She was not aware of Kwenhamai's plan to exit the Host in
the manner she chose. I read the shock and pain in, Aya's face."
"Our Princess has not given me a single order and I am the
only voice here today that matters, I am the Golden Mare and the
Council has consistently failed to agree on a Regency."
"Krasimira, why have you done this?" Saint Marie
abruptly asked for either a denial, or acquiescence of her perception
of events.
"As directed by the Ancestors, the statute of a goddess of a
First House was recast then returned to her perpetual spot. It
brought new light to a dark, sacred and painful place. In that moment
I realized that for the first time in nearly 3,200 years, the
descendants of every Amazon gathered before the walls of Wilusa
(Troy) had been reunited."
"I was troubled. Was this a portent the augurs couldn't
divine? In their council (the augurs) then came up with the words
'speak to our eldest'."
Oh shit, the rest of the Council was racking their minds trying to
figure who was the oldest surviving Amazon. I knew for a fact they
were overlooking the two top candidates.
"I sought out the eldest Amazon alive. They claimed to not
have the answer for my worries. She had far more numerous things
weighing on her mind such as her intimate demise. Though I hated
sharing the same air with her, I asked her to tell me her greatest
regret."
"I had given up on the Amazon Race until an Amazon reminded
me, through martial effort, valiant spirit and a kind heart, I was
wrong to abandon my faith with my people. Now I will die, unable to
pass on my renewed hope because the one Amazon I would trust with my
legacy is equally childless."
"I asked her the name of this Amazon she felt was worthy of
her legacy. Then I informed her she was wrong and the Amazon in
question did indeed have a daughter. She asked to meet the daughter,"
"Last night I requested the presence of a female child
residing with members of House Epona," the Keeper of Records
looked up at the Golden Mare. "I provided neither the resident
female (Caitlyn, Aya's Mother), or the House Head with an
explanation."
Female child
Since my revival, Amazons were using 'female' child a lot more
often. This meant, the motheer had never told her daughter farewell.
The true fate of Aya of Epona would never officially be recorded. She
has been born, but never recorded as an Amazon of her true House.
"The three of us met alone. The two embraced; birth mother
and daughter. The eldest of us proclaimed she saw the light of
Kururiyahhssi in her daughter's eyes. Words were exchanged. The child
agreed to be adopted then departed. Further arrangements were made
without the child's knowledge as we have recently observed."
"I testify that there is only one Amazon alive today who
knows what transpired and I will take those conversations to my
grave. Does that suffice?" Krasimira finished. I was already
regurgitating my mental quandary with my Isharans. Was Aya really a
daughter of Kururiyahhssi?
"I will leave it to the others to contemplate your, bizarre
actions, Krasimira," Saint Marie frowned. "As for the rest
of you, Aya has impressed me. If she has not impressed you, I do not
care. I think she is definitely influenced by those two," Saint
Marie motioned to Katrina and me. "It is a given since Katrina
was of her blood and she has risked much in the presence of a man she
calls 'Atta' and he calls 'Duma'."
"Katrina is a cold, heartless snake and I am convinced she is
one of the best 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of
Night and Death' the Host been served by in a long, long time.Ã¢â‚¬Âﾝ
Saint Marie paused then looked at me while she said;
Ã¢â‚¬Å“ Cáel is a fool
who leads with his heart when he should let better women take charge.
Fortunately for the rest of us, he is reliably successful despite his
multitude of handicaps."
Was I upset about being insulted? No. The truth hurts and a Man
needs to learn to roll with the punches. Buffy I could deal with.
Katrina most likely appreciated being associated with a dangerous
reptile. Saint Marie hadn't forgotten Katrina threating Saint Marie's
daughter that was for sure.
"I am considering much of what our Princess would like me/us
to do, because it is based in keen insight and well-reasoned thought.
She wishes to spare our sons so we will have more warriors in the
fight. We have already added men to Havenstone and one to the
Council, as was the Will of the Ancestors."
"Let me see, she wishes a bodyguard of fourteen (2 First
House and 1 from Africa, Asia, Europe and North and South
America, the Amazon presence in Australia was minimal and I doubted
they would bring someone up from Antarctica, plus the seven matching
Runners) without removing permanent members of any House and allowing
all Houses to have access to our future Queen. I approve. It is a
fine idea and I wish I had thought of it."
"Should we add Runners directly into the Royal House? She
doesn't think so and I feel this decision shows a remarkably
insightful into the long history of our People and protects the
Council's sensitivity on such matters. I approve."
"Placing our sons into the care of the Royal House? We need
to free up as many sisters as possible. Men under the care of the
Royal House will be tradesmen and help-mates. Not a single weapon
will be in their hands. If none of you have realized herlike will
take two decades to implement, it only increases my eagerness to see
her become 'casted'."
Aya's hand shot up again.
Yes?"
"I would hope the Council, or the Regents, will consider a
'like' which is not mine. It is a man's and it should be of no
surprise the idea is Caél's."
"If you feel it holds merit, Aya, tell us," Saint Marie
deferred.
"The 9 Clans have shown some interest in a children exchange
programs among our youth as it would provide new techniques we can
add to our arsenal an a new avenue to experiment with new ideas. I
find the idea to be promising as the Host takes part in affairs
beyond our own immediate needs. It would also supply partners between
families to be shared for a season or two."
Translation: Amazon women could breed with men of allied Secret
Societies to reduce our dependence on our own, much smaller, male
population. In the short term, it would go a long way to rectifying
the Host's child-bearing problems.
The Council's quarrelsome behavior was biting them in the ass big
time. Saint Marie was right, the only opinion that mattered was hers
until the Council elected a Regency. Had we not been at war, the
Council would have ruled, but we were, so we took orders from the
Golden Mare. Even if the High Priestess had been alive, she would
have deferred to our designated War Leader on most things.
"Cáel Ish, Cáel Wakko Ishara is a very
dangerous and devious male, Aya. Be careful of any council he gives,"
Saint Marie's caution was more playful than menacing.
"I'll be okay," Aya peeped. "He doesn't have sex
with any woman until she is eighteen." That wasn't what the
Golden Mare was cautioning her about. We all knew it. Aya was working
to defuse a sticky bit of mental juggling, listening to a man's
advice.
"On that we can agree," Saint Marie conceded. "Back
to what I would 'like' to say. The New Directive is being
implemented. I feel it goes beyond the purview of my mandate. I will
leave it for the Regency to deal with. Katrina and Tessa have already
invested in the groundwork in this endeavor, so I will endorse it if
that is the decision of the Regency."
"I have zero desire to add a single Runner to the Security
Detail. I will open up slots in the training program if that is what
the Regency demands. Each House's policy for dealing with the First
Directive is their business, not mine. If any of you wish to consider
something the Princess considers to be important, so be it. The idea
of 1,000 Isharans does not appeal to me. Look how much trouble their
tiny numbers have already caused us and take heed."
Buffy began growling, which amused/worried the Houses on either
side of us. Unlike me, Buffy didn't 'roll with the blows' and
considered all manner of insults to me, House Ishara and her Isharan
sisters to be answerable with violence. I loved her so. There was
also no way I'd let her go after Saint Marie. The Golden Mare would
crush her; I had no doubt.
"The unwelcome blood feud: are both House Heads ignorant of
my forbiddance of such things? Apparently so. Both defied me by
tossing insults back and forth. Considering we are at war with two of
the most powerful Secret factions, I am angered by both for their
idiocy."
"The solution the Princess likes is rather novel," Saint
Marie was punishing both Messina and me with her low voice and fiery
gaze. Krasimira coughed.
"Yes?" Saint Marie suspended her anger.
"The suggested resolution is not without precedence,"
Krasimira spoke with a scholarly detachment. "In our early days,
the Host settled such disputes in Spring and Fall gatherings by
contests of foot speed, hunting, horsewomanship, archery and
wrestling. If we revive the tradition, the competing Houses could
nominate one woman for each contest to settle the matter. Only the
hand-to-hand match would risk either contestant's health."
"I will consider it and render judgement before the Sun sets
today," Saint Marie nodded. "The final like pleases me
greatly. Dealing with the 52 of you is, Cáel?"
I was on the spot. I couldn't let down my fan base of one, Aya.
Perhaps it was five, Buffy (who would never admit it), Daphne (who
liked me), Katrina (because she liked fucking with my head) and
Desiree (who was less likely to admit she found me funny than Buffy).
I felt I gave a decent effort.
"'A ginormous pain in my hemorrhoids?' the basic one."
"'More painful than having my cornea scrapped with a spoon?'
more gruesome."
"'Enough to make me want to give Sakuniyas a surprise French
kiss?' most likely to be fatal."
"'Worse than waking up to discover I'm related to Cáel
Wakko Ishara?' most horrifying, for both of us."
"'Inspiring me to toss it all away and take up Professional
Bikini Mud Wrestling?' a personal fantasy of mine."
"Why do we put up with him again?" one House Head
remarked.
"Because I am worried that one," motioning to Buffy,
"will stab me in the elevator after a meeting."
"My First, are you acting psychotic around the Council
members?" I looked over my shoulder at Buffy.
"Wakko Ishara, it is not an act. I am psychotic," she
responded deadpan.
"Are you still packing that thermite grenade?"
"No Wakko Ishara. Daphne stole it from me and hid it,"
was her quick delivery.
"I love working with you two," Daphne whispered.
"What is it with you, your unsubtle sexual innuendo and me in
a bikini?" Saint Marie stared at me.
"I find the combination of brilliance and lethality sexy.
Just ask Elsa," I grinned. Then I grimaced as Buffy stomped on
my toes. The House Heads and Apprentices on either side of me noticed
and clearly expected me to do something, like to show outrage
(because she was my underling), or start crying (because I was a
guy).
"Prestige," Daphne hissed quietly. "Prestige."
She was reminding Buffy that beating me up in public made the other
Amazons think even less of me than they already did.
"I will go with (B), the cornea scrapping," Saint Marie
gave me a nod.
"Damn it," I muttered. I also got my foot out of the way
before someone did any more damage to my phalanges.
'Best Daddy Ever,' Aya mouthed to me. Back to the main action.
"It is not my place to order the rest of you to elect
Shawnee, Rhada and Buffy to be the Regency. I do admit I admire the
mixture of candidates," Saint Marie declared. I shot Rhada a
quick look. She seemed really, really enamored of the idea of being
part of the Regency, thus staying in New York for the next decade, or
so.
"Before the idea is rejected out of hand, I suggest we ask
the three people our Princess would like to be part of the Regency if
they would accept the nomination," the Golden Mare continued.
"Shawnee Arinniti?"
"I bow to the logic and reason of the proposal," Shawnee
replied.
"Rhada Meenakshi?"
"I wish to join my sisters in battle, yet I accept the
reasoning behind the proposal," Rhada nodded. "If my Head
of House agrees, I will stay and do my part for our People."
What was she saying to me? 'You are going to whip me, beat me,
torture me, humiliate me and push me to beyond the limits of any pain
I have experienced until I pass out; repeatedly'.
"I despair of finding any other compromise," Mahdi
frowned. "If my Apprentice understands the greater difficulty
she will face gaining prestige among her House-mates, I will consent
to this proposal." Essentially a 'yes'.
"Buffy Ishara?"
"I was really looking forward to ripping the spines out of
still living foes, but I would be a fool to go against Aya of
Kururiyahhssi's smarts. If Wakko Ishara wants to walk out of this
room unassisted, he will see the wisdom of this decision as well,"
she gave me a shark's smile. Daphne had surpassed her limit and
punched Buffy.
"Hell ya, I agree," I exclaimed. "Now I know there
will be certain times of the day when she isn't stalking me."
"I'll work more pain into our limited schedule," Buffy
grumbled.
"Are we sure he is the House Head and she is the Apprentice?"
Yet another House Head joined the 'shit on me' train.
It was telling of our group dynamic how we accepted the Pyramid of
Pain. The underlings dispensed advice and violence as they felt
necessary without their 'superior' getting pissy about it. Buffy felt
totally justified hitting me and accepted being hit by Daphne, who
continued to act unimpeded as Buffy's rapid-fire translator.
"If I was House Head, I'd handcuff him to me," Buffy
clarified for her.
"What she said," I pointed a thumb Buffy's way. I'd have
used a finger, but she might have grabbed, twisted and made me scream
in pain.
"Perhaps the Council can vote on this as their second order
of business," Saint Marie cloaked her command as a suggestion.
"Cáel Wakko Ishara, can I ask you a personal
question?" Kohar of Marda caught my attention.
"Shoot, wait, probably not the best terminology in this
crowd. Ask away," I replied.
"Have you faced a House challenge yet?"
"Yes. Just last night in fact. We free-climbed the north-face
of Havenstone. I beat the next closest contender by three floors. I
also had Princess Aya on the roof dropping bricks on anyone who
attempted to get past me."
"That means he isn't going to answer you," Beyoncé
interpreted for my audience.
"Can't you ever take these meetings seriously?" Febe
Mielikki glowered.
"La, Febe, in the past few minutes I have watched the person
I love most in the world get her life shat on," I shook my head.
"The only thing worse than seeing this happen to Aya is
knowing this is her sole opportunity to not lose her soul, so I'm
sucking up my heart's pain and putting forward a jester's persona so
I don't put any more pressure on her than she's already been
subjected to. Like me, she doesn't want the distinction of being a
Person of Note."
"Like me, she knows she must sacrifice her dreams for the
sake of our People, the Amazon Host. Trust me, you would rather have
'me, the jester' than 'me, the Amazon' furious with the destiny that
has foisted this pain on her'. Do any of you take responsibility for
forcing the events of this morning?" I growled. If they wanted
to see the other side of the Janus, so be it.
"Had you chosen a Regency in the fucking weeks you've been
bickering, Kwenhamai could have been dealt with privately. The fate
of the Royal House could have been put off a few years. Had you not
all been so dead-set on being heroines of the Host, three of you
would have sacrificed your bloodlust, your birthright and the future
accolades you could recite on your final night (before taking
themselves to the cliff), but none of you did."
"Instead, you set the stage for dumping all of your
indecisiveness on the slender shoulders of a nine year old girl most
of you had written off as too fractured and frail to survive her 12th
year only three months ago. So Febe how do you like the honest 'me'?"
I finished off furiously.
It was not lost on anyone in the chamber I was an Amazon raging
against the cruelty of fate. Every other bitch in the room knew they
had discarded my daughter's life as trivial and I was prepared to
unleash violence on the next one to show an ounce of disrespect over
Aya's surrendering of her destiny and my grief at failing to find a
way to stop this from coming to pass. St Marie had just reminded them
that I was 'reliably" successful despite my handicaps. Not an
enemy anyone in the room wanted any part of. Saku would have been
proud.
A Note:
I have been remiss in informing my readers of the names of the 53
Houses, even though I created it some time ago. I have made a few
alterations to the original version as I've had to rethink certain
parts of this tale, but here is the list I now use.
List of Goddesses:
The First Twenty Houses in no particular order :
1) Ishara, Oaths, Medicine and War (to North America) (died out
450 CE; Reborn in 2014)
2) (Deceased) Anat, Goddess of War, Fury and Blood Sacrifice (died
out 6th cent. BCE); possibly resurrected by Sakunyias
3) Anahit, water, wisdom and war (to North America)
4) Arinniti, Sun Goddess (to North America)
5) Hanwasuit, Sovereign Goddess
6) Illuyankamunus, Dragon God (to North America) (Special Case)
0 min
August 13 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 13.
Hana shines and Aya rises.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Ã¢â‚¬Å“It is selfish
to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you
will be asked to earn it.Ã¢â‚¬Âﾝ
My equilibrium decided to cut me some slack and not invoke the
reflexive vomiting. "It is only me, Hana, Imogen, Deidre, Mom,
Buffy, hi Juanita," I hadn't spotted my designated bodyguard
standing behind Chaz.
"Don't talk to me right now," she seethed. "I'm
furious with you." Yep, she was the Caribbean Buffy.
"Perhaps she's pissed about the five extra Illuminati
bodyguards added to the regular two around Hana plus the two circling
Ghost Tigers having not a fucking clue what those other armed parties
are doing in Hana's company," Pamela joked. She could. Everyone
else was giving me crap about my social gaff.
"Hey now. This meeting is important. Imogen and I
are going to have a child," I enlightened them. The door chimed
open and we piled in with two Amazons whose 'fresh' look indicated a
use of the showers within the past ten minutes.
"You consistently maintain particularly low standards,"
Chaz dryly remarked.
"I sent her here for a check-up and that gave Buffy a chance
to meet Mom, Deidre and Imogen, plus two unarmed bodyguards," I
kept bailing out the Titanic.
"Chaz, I am happy we aren't going to miss this one (lunch),"
Pamela smiled at her two grandsons.
"Cáel, are you going to tell your fiancÃ©
you've impregnated your aunt?" Chaz was back to being mildly
sympathetic to my 'totally fucked-up' life.
"Yes. I figured Buffy shooting death rays at me from her eyes
will garner me enough confusion to get the words out of my mouth
without her throwing her drink in my face, slapping me, then storming
out," I envisioned.
I got no more shit until I reached the garage for my vehicle.
There an armed FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox (did you know when a
Federal Agent adds 'Special' to their title it means they have a
gun?) stood next to my chariot. She'd drawn the short straw, meaning
she had been given the chore of driving today.
I found myself wondering when Yasmin would finally finish her
orientation. Her training involved some serious mental challenges
including a crash course from the FBI at Quantico concerning modern
judicial theory and practice as well as whatever pre-Iron
Age jurisprudence the Host practiced.
Javiera promised me (and Katrina) that she would not-so-subtly
remind those scholastically-groomed legal minds that a (couldn't use
the word 'Amazon') legal code they followed had existed, with minor
tweaking, as a successful social instrument for over 3,000 years. If
they truly behaved in a respectful manner, the owners of the code
might even show those people the Codex on the original horse-skin,
written in Hittite cuneiform.
Anyway, everyone assumed I had a good reason for heading to my
apartment (aka need to retrieve a sleepy Odette.) Had I repeated 'the
Bitch stole my fortune cookies', they might have simply taken me to
an Asian-inclined grocery store. As we hit the second story landing,
Chaz in the lead, we heard a passel of folks come down toward us from
the fourth level.
I didn't think there were that many people on the entire floor.
Chaz and Pamela each went for their holstered pistol, while keeping
them hidden in their jackets. Wieslawa, who went for her PDW, backed
up so she could fire through the stairs from beneath.
Juanita, bless her heart, and Virginia had remained in the S U V
because sending in more people would have left us piled into one
another. If a firefight did break out, Juanita could bring in some
serious hardware to back us up while Virginia called the appropriate
authorities before rushing in herself.
Around the corner on the third floor landing came a number of
women, early/mid-twenties, physically fit, foreign clothes and
downcast expressions. A few looked like they were about to cry. They
were all in shirts and jeans, with no obvious weapons. Not looking
lethal didn't ratchet down Chaz's vigilance. Me? I was instantly
reminded how much sex I had been missing.
"Prince Cáel! You are alive!" spilled out of the
first one, a fiery red-head with a billowing, thick mane, porcelain
skin and adorable freckles. Her Irish brogue was enchanting. I had to
wonder if she cried out in Gaelic during orgasm. Wasn't I about to
meet my future bride plus numerous other love interests?
She was fit, curvy and wearing an aqua shirt which exposed her
midriff with a belly ring bearing a pearl drop, the requisite
tattered skin-tight jeans and soft leather calf-boots.
"Why wouldn't I be alive?" I grinned, like a pirate
discovering an all-girls school oceanographic classroom in need of
plundering.
"How do total strangers know how unlikely it is that you
would still be alive?" was Chaz's spin on things.
"We talked with your roommate. He said you had moved to
Svalbard where you suffered an excruciating painful, yet richly
deserved, death in a lemming stampede," she pouted, "and
then the UN had your ashes exiled to Pluto because the Sun was too
good for you."
9, 10, 11 ; 12 of them looking, 3 with pale blonde hair that
eerily reminded me of my fiancé, another
red-head, two russet and five with deep, dark brown, or black hair.
They were all fit, fit, fit! With an air of 'I graduated college only
to discover: 1) no one was hiring Saline Soil Scientists, or 2) I no
longer want to do any of the things I wanted to do when I picked this
major. I was familiar with both types.
Timothy would have been at work and Odette would have invited the
troupe in to regale them with all sorts of tales, which would have
included a tour of my bedroom. They clearly had missed Odette so, now
I recalled; that particular excuse was one of the ten I had given the
guy in 4B should anyone suspicious come calling.
I imagine twelve hot, English-as-a-Second-Language girls might be
considered, a bit odd. See, his was my address of record. I lied
about my actual apartment, so random people who came looking for me
went to him instead. This arrangement had been made prior to my
understanding of the nature of my employment at Havenstone.
I'd neglected, telling him to move out and go far, far away? Poor
guy. I'd find a way to make it up to him later.
"Actually it was a southern vole immigration incident that
was set off by the Bulgarian consulate offering repatriation for the
first 10,000 applicants," I frowned, clearly traumatized by
memory of the incident.
"These poor southern vole, native to the vacationer-friendly
Black Sea resorts, were accidently introduced to the coldest
inhabited place in the Northern hemisphere and they've been trying to
get home ever since, that would be the equivalent of a century and a
half in 'vole-years."
"Despite the UN trying to quarantine any news of this
Cricetidae catastrophe, I decided to evacuate the six most critically
injured vole using a Bortolanza Pluto ultralight, which he must have
confused with the UN sending my ashes to Pluto," I explained.
Mind you, the 'southern' voles are native to, among other places,
Norway, the owner of Svalbard. They were also native to the Bulgarian
Black Sea coast so, The Pluto ultra-light, once built in Italy, is
now called the 'Puma' and made in Canada, has a maximum range of 675
km, which would leave me crash landing into the Barents Sea, 260 km
north of the northernmost airport in Norway, rendering me and my
voles so much frozen food.
"You are an animal rights activist too?" several of the
girls gasped. Yes. Yes I was. I was an animal and I was all for me
having rights.
"Please, don't tell anyone about this," I grew serious.
"I don't want my philanthropic efforts to be publicized. What I
do, I do for the Earth's endangered ecosystems because it is what
everyone should do, not because we suddenly feel bad about neglecting
it."
"E haere koe ki te whai kia nui ai," Pamela snorted. I'd
ask her why she knew Maori later, right after I figured why Grandpa
knew it.
"Ko toku mahere whanui," I replied. The girls looked
confused.
"I'm also trying to revitalize endangered languages and
revive dead ones. It is more of a hobby than life pursuit," I
informed them.
"You really are a modern-day noble warrior-poet," the
red-head leader sighed.
"Nah. I'm just a guy," I shrugged. "Besides, Ba ch
ir fear a bheith ar eolas ag a gn omhais, n a oidhreacht." (A
man should be known by his deeds, not his heritage).
"Sa ch s go bhfuil misneach, t s il agam," she replied
using my 'family' motto.
"Jos on jalot on toivoa,", "Ahol van b tors ga, van
rem ny," and "cesaret oldugu yerde umut vardir," all
followed. 'Where there is Valor, there is Hope' in Finnish, Hungarian
and Turkish. I got the sneaking feeling this wasn't a college field
trip gone awry. These chicks were coming at me with a purpose that
included more than sexual gratification and a kiss good-bye. Ugh.
"Thank you," I genuflected, paying honor to their
reciting of my personal vow. "Anyway, you appear to be looking
for me, but I am afraid I don't know any of you. Taking into account
that I have a late lunch date with my fiancé
in a half-hour and will be taking notes at a feminist convention at
8, what can I do for you?" I was establishing my escape plan.
"We have come here to join you," an assertive,
dusky-skinned one smiled. I had to think about this. I was a bit
tired. Taking all twelve of these girls on in one orgy was currently
beyond me. I'd do eight tonight and the last four before breakfast
tomorrow. Ah, happy thoughts of the Lacrosse Finals.
"What exactly do you plan to do with Mr. Nyilas?" Chaz
interrupted.
"We are the (Irish) 'Na conairte soith an S aghdha ar',
(Hungarian) 'A szuka kuty kat Herceg Nyilas', (Turkish) 'Prens ok u
Kaltak K pekleri' and (Finnish) 'Narttu koirista prinssi jousimies',"
they chorused.
Pamela snickered. All of those fancy sounding names were
variations on 'the Bitch Hounds of Prince Archer/Nyilas (with the
Irish going for O'Shea).
"You want to be my bodyguards?" I gawked. Lacking lions,
the Irish choice of the 'fur-balls of death' were hounds. Being women
technically made them 'bitches'. I had to move fast. Any second now
Wieslawa was going to figure out these over-anxious non-Amazons were
trying to replace her.
"You do realize I've left piles of dead bodies in my wake,
right?" I nearly choked. Pamela slapped me on my back.
"Of course," they sounded so chipper. Fuck you Internet
and 'First Person Shooter' games. This wasn't a fucking game! Trained
combatants who joined my retinue met grisly ends and this was their
freaking profession!
"Can I think about it? I mean, do any of you have any combat
experience at all? Attacked someone in anger? Send off a blistering
instant message?"
"Some of us have (combat experience I was assuming). We won't
let you down."
"You do realize Ms. Dubois is going to kill them, don't you
Sir?" Chaz sent me a chilling look.
"Ms. Dubois?", "who is that?" and "kill
us?" floated around.
"Ms. Dubois is my blood-hungry ferret who wears a 'naughty
berserker' human suit to trick the masses."
"Three of us have military training," one of the Finns
spoke up.
By that they meant they had volunteered for military service in
their native countries, then left after their first term because they
found military life to be boring. On the 'plus' side, all but one had
martial arts experience and six of the twelve had been a member of a
Gun Club of some kind. Yep, Buffy was going to kill them, all twelve
at once by herself.
"I'll make you a deal," I offered. Chaz was giving me
his 'I'm a stone yet clearly unhappy with you' face. "At 7:15
tonight, you will show up at Havenstone. I will sign you in, we'll go
upstairs to one of the gyms and then warm up for fifteen minutes.
When you are ready, or 7:30 rolls around, we are going to the sparing
mats. If I lose, you can stay. If you lose, you will write this off
as one of a legion of ideas that look good in print yet are foolish
in practice. Do you accept?"
"How many of us do you have to beat for us to join with you
and your Crusade?" the lead Irishwoman asked.
"All of you. I will fight you all at once. The mat space is
quite extensive."
"You mean all twelve of us against you at the same time?"
one of the Turks blinked in disbelief.
"Yes. I am not disrespecting you, any of you. You've shown
initiative, courage and a spirit of adventure. I found all three to
be both admirable and worthy of reward (i.e. I will gladly have sex
with you). What I am also telling you is of the three people with me,
the only one I can most likely defeat in single combat is her,"
I motioned to Wieslawa, "and I'm only saying that because she is
19 and relatively new to the art of killing."
Their eyes flickered to Pamela. Chaz was scary without even
trying. Pamela could be threatening, or appear harmless, as she
wished.
"Chaz is a professional military man from a long line of
diligent warriors and in a branch of service that requires close
contact with hostile individuals, teams, tribes, clans and nations."
"The woman behind me is much, much worse. I've met precisely
three people who could possibly kill her and I killed one of them.
Would you agree, Chaz?"
"Absolutely," he concurred.
"We know who you two are," a Finn spoke up. She had a
dazzling smile and cleavage that had to obscure her toes when she
stood.
"You do?" Pamela played nice. For once, it was
technology biting her in the ass, not me. Yay?
"You are Rhingyll lliw Siarl Yfory," the Irish lass
looked at Chaz. That was Welsh, and meant Color Sergeant Charles
Tomorrow, I imagined his superiors in the British military weren't
going to be happy with any of us, him being a 'secret military
operator', emphasis on the 'secret'.
"And you are Sverkhsekretnykh Shpiona Vsemed Svaya," the
Turkish girl pointed at Pamela. Pamela snorted. In Russian that meant
'Super-secret Spy Pamela Pile'. Since Pamela in Russia was pronounced
'Pamela' they had gone back to the origin of the name of Pamela, a
fictitious 17th English novelist creation using mangled Hellenic,
which translated as 'all-honey'.
'All-honey' in Russian was Vsemed. Pamela snickered. Oh yeah,
those twelve had combed through millions of articles and pictures to
figure out who Chaz was and who Pamela claimed to be. Actually, one
of my Hungarian admires back when we were all in Eastern Europe had
suggested Pamela was a remorseful ex-SMERSH agent turned
Princely-sidekick. Pamela jabbed me, the unspoken 'sidekick' thing.
(For those who don't know, in Russian SMERSH loosely means 'Death
to Spies', it really existed from 1943 to 1946 and was resurrected by
Ian Fleming as a foil for James Bond.)
"Chaz, since Cáel is, without a doubt, already having
a stupendously wretched day, we must insist he inform Addison of all
three of these developments, in person. I want to see the look on her
face," Pamela plotted with the man who had thrown himself
between me and an explosive vest, probably out of some psychic
impulse that I would suffer far, far worse later, like in today,
within less than 24 hours of said act.
"Why am I here again today?" I lowered my head and
groaned.
"Are you okay?" a dozen innocent voices cried out.
"We are here to pick up Odette," Wieslawa reminded me.
"Oh yeah, fortune cookies," I mumbled.
"Is 'Fortune Cookie' a nickname for one of your other
operatives? Many of them are real enigmas. We can't find out anything
about her," one of the Hungarians said. Yeah, because SD doesn't
have a Facebook page, or Twitter account. Odette, she was protected
by a completely unremarkable lifestyle, but I had a feeling that was
fading fast.
"Excuse us," I asserted myself. "I need to get
something on the third floor. Chaz began pushing forward while Pamela
had my back.
"What are you doing?" to me and "Hey, is that a
gun?" to Chaz, then Wieslawa. Pamela was too sneaky to get
caught.
"I'm here to pick up Agent Fortune Cookie then head out to a
meeting with some really shady characters and my fiancé,"
I informed them.
"Agent Fortune Cookie," Chaz mused. "She's going to
love that,"
"And then," Pamela continued.
"She is going to want a gun," I groaned.
Oh goddess! No! Chaz had joined Pamela and my 'group think'.
"No, I have not," Chaz corrected me, about my mental
ruminations.
"I've been coaching him," Pamela faux-consoled me. As my
new prospective bodyguards parted for my current bodyguards,
"Do you have psychic powers?" "Where is your
android?" and "Is it true you can have sex up to ten times
a day?"
"Yes, but we can't talk about it," then, "Which
one? We have six models," and finishing up with, "Yes, I
can have sex up to ten times a day with each session lasting at least
an hour, though I do need breaks for food, drink, quiet romantic
conversations and showers, cause shower-sex is so damn fun."
While they mulled that over, I unlocked my door in time to see a
nicely-dressed (as if she was about to go out on an expensive lunch
date) Odette spring off the sofa. Looking at the crowd behind me, she
blessed me with an incredibly happy smile.
"Oh cool! Do we really have enough time for an orgy?"
I wanted to cry.
(A Family FUNction, minus the 'fun' part)
My fiancé giving me a congenial and
contented look. Good.
My fuck-buddy/friend Libra giving me a salacious 'you and me are
going to hook up soon' smile while dressed in a red, 'business
suite/slinky number' combo with a plunging neckline. I put her invite
on my mental day-planner. Fellas, if you can't keep it in your mind,
forget about it. Print equals pain, believe me.
Brooke had joined the lunch group, sharing a smile and wink with
Libra with the secret agreement for a three-way. Sweet! I could do
this, hmm, lunch break Friday, yum-yum-yum. She was wearing a beige
business suit with slacks, minus the shirt. Only her cunningly cut
jacket kept her goodies from exposure.
Hana was a saint for putting up with those two, and me.
Buffy was studying me with the clear desire to put me in a dog
cage for the rest of the week. Technically she had to produce my body
for work Monday. As for the hot, sweaty, intense Brooke-Libra-Cáel
m nage trois, Buffy was reading the undercurrents and setting up a
breakwater. At least her attire suggested well-paid, successful
international assassin. I wondered if I had paid for her clothing as
well. I'd given Chaz's wardrobe a serious upgrade courtesy of Pamela
faking my signature.
The gathering was rounded out by Mom, Imogen and Deirdre. Thank
God they all had different hair styles and forms of dress. Mom was in
'casual-durable' attire, Imogen was going with the military-chic and
Deirdre's get up was in the same style as Hana.
I was pleasantly pleased that Hana had reserved two adjacent
tables for what she assumed would be my support network, Pamela,
Odette, Chaz, Wieslawa and Juanita, plus Imogen's five and her
(Hana's) two Illuminati minders. That made me squeezing my twelve
newest over-eager admirers into the mix doable, if not comfortable.
Better yet, none of the new girls was dressed for a restaurant this
exclusive.
Hana was quietly amused. Buffy was volcanic. Thankfully she was
being a volcano on the mid-Atlantic ocean ridge; submerged.
"Chaz, Pamela, explain," Buffy seethed.
"I don't work for you," Pamela playfully bantered back,
"Sweet-Cheeks."
"They are part of a clandestine
0 min
August 12 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 12.
The first Ishara open House Challenge.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Odd Happenings.
{8:58 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd; 5 Days to go; the Final Salvo; at
this time}
I had deposited my Mother in the place I felt was safest for her
with OT (Oyuun T m rbaatar) at the Kazakhstan's UN mission. Her being
my family was what mattered to them most. I picked her up on my way
to work, which made my entrance into the lobby all that much more
cataclysmic.
I was traveling light with only Wieslawa iva providing me with
security. Chaz, Pamela and Juanita were catching up with their sleep,
with a promise of taking me out for a late lunch. That was really
them telling me to not leave JIKIT until they came for me around 2:00
pm.
So anyway, me, Mom and Wieslawa walked into the ground
floor of the Mil Ma Towers to find eleven people waiting on us. We
were in downtown Manhattan in a part of town the NYPD paid particular
attention to. What could go wrong, right? Two of the people were
Amazons from Havenstone. With them were two fine young men from the
US 'don't make me kill you' Department. By this time in my life I was
sure they had one which no one talked about.
Five of my expectant visitors were of the same mold as those who
protected Hana for me. Not the Ghost Tigers that would have put me at
ease. Sure, they were a gang of assassin and in this circumstance; I
would have preferred them. As it was, ten sets of highly-trained
Illuminati operative eyes kept me, my party and the four guardians of
JIKIT in their overlapping fields of vision.
The last two, were doing an impromptu family reunion. They were
Aunts 'X' and 'Y', and neither of them smelled like fish, or crab.
"Aunt Deidre," I tossed out there. "What brings you
here today?"
It looked like clobbering time! No. Wait. Neither Mom, nor my
aunts, were saying anything and they were normally so verbose.
"Sibeal."
"Imogen."
"Sibeal, you are looking surprisingly well for a dead woman,"
the other one said.
"Deidre, you are looking surprisingly alive for someone who
deserves to be dead," Mom bantered back.
"How long have you known about this?" Imogen's eyes
flickered my way.
"Not long, a while, more than a day, ah, take your pick,"
I mumbled. I decided to turn that frown aka 'my gut wrenching terror
that my Mother was about to die' upside down aka ramped up my sexy,
'glad to see you in a totally incestuous way'.
"So, what brings you here today and why aren't you waiting
upstairs with the rest of my band of cutthroats, malcontents and
ne'er do-wells? Oh, and I'm happy to see both of you." Karma was
about to bitch-slap the shit out of me and it was so well deserved.
"I'm pregnant," Imogen studied my reaction. Yeah, I had
banged her after Deidre, but before Baibre because I am a fucking
reprehensible human being and sometimes, I feel I am utterly
irredeemable.
"Great news," I exhaled. I so wanted to ask 'so, who is
the father?' except that was too cruel, even for an O'Shea.
No one stopped me from stepping up and hugging her. Everyone in
the lobby had heard her loud and clear. Anyone who knew me, or even
about me, knew she wasn't passing on the information because Imogen
liked sharing good news. I kept my hands on her hips while I leaned
my torso back until we could make eye contact.
"Does Granddad know?" It occurred to me in that second
that Pamela was going to kick herself for missing this and the
opportunity to kick me as well.
"I told him over the phone. His reaction was neutral,"
she responded.
"Whoa, girl? Boy? How are you doing? When are we going to sit
down and figure out a name? Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Come home with me," she suggested.
"No," Mom snapped. "Next time he steps into your
custody, we all know you won't let him get away." She meant the
plane trip to Ireland.
"No, Mom," I countered. "I'm a grown man now and I
make my own decisions. That being said no, I'm not going home with
you."
"Not only am I still in love with the concept of my personal
freedom, I have important work to do. People are counting on me."
"We are counting on you too," Deidre stated. "In
fact, that is the other reason we came here. We need you."
"Why do I feel that has to do with something besides sex?"
"Can we talk to you in private?" Imogen requested. There
were a thousand and one reasons to say 'no'. Things like 'common
sense', bad behavior they had murdered my homicidal uncle and the
fact they were as morally twisted as their creator. Oh and they were
hot and I hadn't been laid in forever.
"Sure. Let's go upstairs. You can have your people sweep the
room to ensure our privacy then the four of us can sit down and have
a family chat," I offered.
"We don't want her in the room," Deidre indicated Mom.
"We are a package deal," I denied her. "Like her,
or not, she is as much family to me as you both are."
They consented far too fast. Either I was falling into their
masterful trap, or something horrible had happened. Neither options
was palatable to me. The bodyguards departed, Wieslawa last of all.
"What's gone wrong?" Mom preempted me. Her sisters
glared.
"Father's body is not his own," Imogen told us. I was
trying to figure out the relevance of that when Mom gasped.
"Oh fuck," she said in a small voice. "No serum?"
Oh yeah, the refinement of those addictive pheromones Grandpa Cáel
had gifted me with. Whatever flesh-form he currently inhabited wasn't
one containing his genetic make-up meaning,
"Oh shit," I mumbled. "What can I do?"
"Yes," Deidre replied to Mom.
"Let them die," Mom insisted (to me). Less I forget, she
was raised by Grandpa Cáel too. Her being a loving mother to
me didn't translate over to her being a humanitarian of any kind.
"The Hell you say," I jumped up and stared down at Mom.
"You hate them. I don't. Letting them die makes me worse than
him." Grandpa.
"So you will help us?" Deidre moved to the edge of her
seat.
"Okay. This is the point where I threaten you into making
some concessions, we argue then you eventually cave in because no
matter how terrible your futures look, you aren't willing to give up
on living. None of that is going to happen. What do you need from
me?"
"Come back with us to Ireland so we can finish our
experiments," Imogen joined me in standing. Unwilling to give
her sister any physical advantage, Mom stood as well.
"No. That isn't even a believable lie," I scolded her.
"You don't need to blackmail me into helping you. I'll do it
gladly. That doesn't mean I'll let you trick me into doing something
stupid. I do 'stupid' all the time. I'm accustomed to it and I know
it when its ugly head rises up before me. Try again."
"We could pick a neutral location," Deidre suggested.
"How about Havenstone?" They didn't look like that plan
was even worthy of their consideration. "Imogen, inside you is
growing a possible heir to House Ishara. An attack on you would be an
attack on Ishara. Barring you betraying the Amazons, you would be
perfectly safe."
"Wonderful," Mom's sarcasm dripped off every word. "I'm
going to be a grandmother to my nephew while my son is bringing a
child into the world that can double as his cousin."
"That sound pretty horrible, Mom. It is the truth, but it
still sounds pretty terrible."
While those words tumbled out of my mouth, I did a little soul
back-searching. How in the fuck was outside of the actual fucking was
Imogen pregnant? My existence was a freaking fluke of nature. A few
words were bandied about the room while I was lost in deductive
reasoning and turning hunches into assumptions and turning those into
reasonable mystic hypotheses.
I created the Mojo-Little Engine that thought it could.
Specifically, the legacy of Vranus. Legions of little Vranusian sperm
had been jumping hurdle after hurdle to keep the faith alive that
Vranus would meet his Ancestors with his mission accomplished. I was
already half way there.
Still, the legacy of Vranus and the hopes of Dot Ishara hadn't
stopped in their struggle just because I had been born. They were
still trying to restore the mortal descendants of a Dead House. They
were also still spiritually pushing me on to fulfill his last command
to save the Arinniti sons.
I was halfway there by returning the offspring of Bolu, Vranus'
fellow guardian, back to the fold. It remained for me to round up the
purpose of the whole mission in the first place. My semen weren't
taking a chance that I could get gakked before that was accomplished.
Having knocked up an augur despite the toxic soup she called blood
should have been a dire warning to me, I'm an idiot.
When the curse of Sarrat Irkalli clashed with the actions of Dot
Ishara, Ishara had won. Sarrat Irkalli sought to deny Alal any
children of his own. Dot was insisting the male line of Vranus Ishara
continue on. The end result was Alal received his long-denied
grandson, who just happened to also want him dead because of a feud
that stretched back over two millennia.
As an added insult, his grandson then knocked up one of Alal's
genetically manipulated daughters, again giving him something he
couldn't accomplish on his own heirs grand-sons and daughters, most
who would also want to kill him, being Amazons and members of the 9
Clans after all. Why? Cause Goddesses are bitches, that's why.
That got me to wondering when would be the next time I was going
to meet Ishara. I hadn't suffered severe head trauma in while and she
was overdue for some snuggle time, witty banter and a fortune cookie.
I'd try to be careful. It wouldn't do any good, but I had to try.
"Why are you crying?" Mom touched my arm.
"No reason," I lied.
"Why don't we make plans for tonight?" Deidre insinuated
herself next to me. "We'd like to meet Hana. From what I
understand, Father likes her."
"No can-do," I sniffled. "I've got an orgy with 159
women at 8 o'clock, except there won't be any sex, or fun of any
kind. Basically, I have to convince a roomful of women to not beat me
up and take my stuff."
"You don't have to go," Imogen had finished boxing me in
I had a chair behind me and Momma-clones all around.
"For the same reason I'm going to take care of our child,
Imogen, I have to go to this meeting. People are counting on me to do
the right thing without telling me what the right thing to do is."
"That's unfair," Deidre empathized by stroking my chest.
"Not so. This is just another day in the life of a new hire
at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Every day is like this and in
five more days, the real fun beings." That wasn't entirely
accurate. I had one good, stress-free week. It was when Carrig put me
in a coma. That week I had done pretty well for myself.
{9:28 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd; 5 Days to go}
I trundled my latest 'Assistant-in-Charge of keeping the hopes of
future Isharans alive' (I didn't want to call Aunt Imogen, or any
other woman, my 'Baby-Mamma'), along with Mom and Deidre, for a
meet-and-greet with Buffy. I had spelled out in no uncertain terms
that Buffy was the power behind the Ishara Throne and thus making
'her' believe they were playing on the up-and-up was their best hope
for easing relations between the O'Shea and the Amazon Host.
After they left me (with the assurance we'd be getting back
together for lunch, with Hana), I made three calls. I needed to make
a formal request to Katrina (any Illuminati member(s) entering any
Amazon facility was her purview) and another to Elsa (as a sign of
respect) that Aunt Imogen and two unarmed bodyguards, max, needed to
see our medicos about a delicate issue.
The third call was to Buffy to enlighten her as to both the
arrival of another one of my aunts (so we needed to get along
peacefully with her) and that Aunt Imogen was carrying yet another
potential heir to House Ishara. I suggested it would be a symbolic
gesture if a member of House Ishara could hang around for the visit,
as it might impress upon Imogen our House had a vested interest in
keeping her alive.
"Another one?" Buffy sizzled. "And this one is your
aunt?"
"It is a date then," I stumped her.
"You are going to take your pregnant aunt out on a date?"
Buffy's sizzle meter was rapidly climbing to Krakatoa proportions.
"Nope. I'm setting up a date for us. You, me and a quiet
location at 12:01 am Tuesday morning, my First. Later in the morning,
I'll be heading out to wherever they have stored Felix so we can work
on some cooperative strategy."
"And if I say 'no'?" She was terribly grumpy.
"Ugh, I guess I'll go bar-crawling with Odette and Timothy,
Gay and Lesbian bars only. That way I know I'll behave."
"And if they say 'no'?" she was slightly less hostile.
"I'll know you threatened their lives, and then you and I
will finally find out who is better on the mats. Trust me, it will
not be an experience you will enjoy."
"I don't know. I think I'd like that."
"No. You start threatening the other people I love and you
will not be happy; I guarantee that, Buffy."
She realized I was both serious and angry. She had stepped out of
bounds, the 'bounds' I had set up two hours earlier during our
elevator ride.
"Is the meeting still on for the night?" she evaded my
disappointment.
"Yes. Will you be there?"
"Of course," she grumped.
"Buffy, don't bother showing up if you can't separate 'us' as
friends, 'us' as Wakko Ishara and my First, and you as my apprentice.
"Making me miserable in the first relationship doesn't help
the latter two one bit. I try not to be an irresponsible asshole as
House Head. More than anyone else, you know what I will sacrifice to
be Ishara and one with my Isharans. I'll also step out and be plain
ole 'Cáel Nyilas' when events permit."
"But I am sick and tired of people not taking my desire to be
foolish and care-free seriously. Being a dogmatic ass-hat isn't in
me, but if you can't work with that, from here on out we are Wakko
Ishara and Buffy Ishara and nothing more. I will still trust you as
an Isharan, but not as a friend. Your choice."
"Don't be such an asshole!" she snapped.
"Screw you!" I fired back. "I made a fucking effort
to plan out some personal time with you, disguised as a joke; you
knew it and you still decided to be a ball-buster. Like I need
another fucking ball-buster right now, with all the other shit on my
plate. You know better!" I was screaming. The people in JIKIT
were working overtime at not staring at me.
"I'm under a ton of stress here too," she snarled. "I
have to deal with the Council, keep our House growing and fulfill my
obligations with Executive Services."
"Do you want to quit? No longer by my 'apprentice'? Go back
to working for Katrina full time?"
"Really?" she whispered.
"Of course the fuck not!" I shouted. "I didn't pick
you for the job because of your sterling personality, or your bedroom
excellence. I picked you because I had, and still have, utter faith
in your ability to do whatever is necessary to overcome the
landfill-sized colossal ill-fortune the Ancestors have dumped in our
lap."
"I'm just asking you to stop being a whiny, over-sensitive
cunt and remember: it was the psychotic bitch who I chose for the top
spot," I rumbled.
"I'm going to kick your ass," she seethed.
"Nice to know. We on for Monday night?"
Pause.
"Yes," and she hung up. Two seconds later my phone rang
again. "Buffy?" I answered. "And don't be late!"
she menaced, then hung up again.
"So," Addison turned my way, "are you praying for
World Peace to break out, or Nuclear War?"
"Hardy-har-har," I griped.
"Now that your personal drama is temporarily derailed, we
have something for you to look at," Mehmet motioned for my
attention. "Ever heard of Kofuku no Kagaku?" I shook my
head. "It translates over as 'Happy Science' and it is a
cult-like organization in Japan."
"Cool beans. Why do I have a sinking impression it is not a
front for the Ninja?"
"That is what we want you to find out," Addison took
over. "Of critical importance is the news conference their
leader, Ryuho Okawa, gave earlier this afternoon/morning (~ 3:17 pm
Tokyo time = 2:17 am East Coast time ~), especially a very relevant
part of his interesting public announcement.
"He claims to be the Earthly manifestation of the Supreme
Being. That is old news. Today he claimed that Temujin of the Khanate
was the reincarnation of the original Genghis Khan and, with him,
Ryuho, as the unifier of theological forces and therefore serving as
spiritual advisor to Temujin, they would usher in a new period of
Peace throughout Asia."
"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," I exhaled.
"He also claims that Japan is in the midst of an epic
struggle, both spiritually and in the physical sense. The 'ancient
guardians' of Japanese purity, the 6 Ninja Families, are at war with
the depth of all Evil, the Chinese Seven Pillars of Heaven by name,
who are determined to drag all of Asia away from the Light and into
the Darkness of pain, degradation and slavery.
"In fact I quote: 'Alone among the nations of the Earth, only
the Japanese cultural identity can stand firm against this global
menace. Only the Japanese can keep the torch of true Enlightenment
aloft. Only the Japanese can guide the development of the Khanate
into the Supreme Empire it is meant to be'."
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this guy is
pseudo-religious, a Japanese ultra-nationalist as well as anti 'all
things Sino'," came out of my mouth.
"Correct."
"None of the Secret Societies would do something so public.
Temujin's background is a mystery, but no one in the Khanate is
calling him a reincarnated spirit, and they know the truth," I
continued.
"This guy is pretty nutty," Mehmet confirmed. "He
also claims to channel Buddha, Mohammed, Christ and Confucius. His
followers worship him as the Earthly manifestation of the 'Supreme
Being' named El Cantare, which is yet another name for any number of
ancient supreme deities. And he claims to consult with the 'spirit
guardians' of national leaders and aids in their mystic defense, with
the aid of the Five Sacred Sisters' Spirits."
Clearly this man was insane. Unfortunately, insane didn't make
someone wrong,
"Ah Hell," I muttered.
Mehmet and Addison perked up; after all, figuring out the bizarre
was my position on the team.
"He probably is insane, and I can't blame him," I
sighed. "He isn't El Cantare; he is in touch with the Weave."
"I have a feeling this is 'not good'," Addison murmured.
"How bad is it?"
"The Five Sacred Spirit Sisters are most likely the five
augurs who died in order to save Temujin, which, in turn, allies the
9 Clans with the E and S and Amazons to 'save' Japan, though it is
not 'saved' yet."
"Technically, the Weave IS the Supreme Being. It's largely
indifferent, yet capable of doing both good and ill in response to
outside (aka mortal) stimuli. If you can observe the Weave, you might
be able to see the most likely path destiny is taking as well as the
key players screwing with that destiny.
"That would include the Gong Tau sorcerers and the ninjas use
of their own brand of magic; and God only knows what other mystic
tricks the others have been attempting."
"How do we get them to stop?" Captain Delil
0 min
August 12 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 3
Cáel's second vacation with Aya and
friends.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Loving your enemy is easy. You know precisely where the two of
you stand
Just in case anyone cares, I do not hate China or the Chinese
People. As a Global Power, the PRC is fair game as a great
antagonist. Not only do they have, as of 2015, the world's largest
economy, largest population and a truly global Diaspora, they also
have a rather totalitarian governance system that enables them to
devote scary levels of resources to any endeavor they set their minds
to.
I usually paint all governments to be entities capable of great
good (rarely achieved) and great evil (because it makes such enticing
fiction). In my stories, it often falls to the people within those
institutions to make judgment calls on what is the right thing to do.
In my final analysis, there are no 'Evil' governments, just evil
people who use the system to get what they want
(Right where we left off)
"Aya," I spoke to her when she'd finished up by giving
Mu a strong dose of a pain killer, "Now go back to the galley
and find the nice medic-lady there. She has a bottle filled with some
of those kick-ass sedatives. Inject everyone else but me, you, Zhen
here and Mu, Mu's had enough drugs for one day."
"Okay," she popped up. She turned fearlessly to face her
former tormentors and jailors.
"I had them all swear an oath to Ishara to not kill, harm, or
restrain you in any manner, so have fun hunting them down. You've got
about thirty minutes."
"Is Dot with us right now?" she gave me a bone-tired
smile. I nodded. "This is going to be fun," she shouted and
off she went.
'I'll be by her side', Dot whispered to me. She rose forth from
the seat within me and followed Aya out into Seven Pillars Hell.
Technically, I believed it was the Diyu of the Fiendish Child. Those
malicious bastards suffered every accident, misfortune, and
nearly-impossible odds malfunction in the process of being subdued by
a 9 year old Amazon.
Four of them died in the process of trying to kill her, when
stopping her became obviously impossible. Two had their guns blow up
when they tried to shoot her, dismembering their hands and wrists.
One guy was strangled in his emergency oxygen supply mask. The last
guy lunged forward, slipped on a cup and broke his neck when his head
was caught in a folded armrest.
Twenty-eight nerve wracking minutes later.
"All done," she gave me an exhausted yet triumphant
chirp. "Should I strap Mr. Mu into a chair? He's passed out."
"Zhen, buckle your brother into a chair and hurry back. I'll
hold us steady until you get back."
Remember, I had only the use of my left hand. My right had to stay
on the dagger to keep things powered up.
"Buckle-up after you've gotten Duan Mu secured, Aya. That's
his proper name."
"I know that. I was trying to keep them irritated so they
would act irrationally. You taught me that," Aya bathed me in
her sinister ways and means.
Finally, it was down to me and Zhen.
"Do you think we will succeed, Cáel Wakko Ishara?"
"I'm giving it my best shot."
"The little girl was right," Zhen groaned. "She
told us we'd regret not killing you in New York when we had the
chance. I thought she was being an annoying spoiled brat. I was
wrong." Pause. "I know you have no reason to answer me
truthfully, but when we, the rest of us, die, could you make sure my
brother's body is returned to my father so that he can join our
ancestors in the family grave?"
"Why do you think I would lie to you now that we are alone?"
That was a loaded question. I did the majority of my lying when I was
alone with a woman.
"I, will you give me your Oath, in your Goddess's name?"
"Nope. My Goddess has pretty much been exhausted by your boys
trying to break their vows to me and Aya. I'll tell you what I will
do, "
"What?"
"Show me your tits and I'll promise to do my best."
"What? You want to see me naked?" she grew indignant.
"No!" It was her being a vaginal virgin (I knew the type;
good oral technique and bed play, but no 'go-uppy' the cunt, or ass)
and me not being Han Chinese, therefore being a 'Stinky Barbarian'.
"Listen, I've never flown a commercial jet before and neither
have you. Odds are we are both going to be dead in the next ten
minutes. After all the hell you have put me through, can you at least
give me some fucking inspiration. No one will ever know. Besides,
imagining the perfect swell of your breast and the smooth tautness of
your stomach, well, you are so damn perfect it is distracting!"
I protested against the World's grand injustice (me not being Han and
thus not worthy of seeing her goodies).
"Do you really think we are all about to die?" she
studied me.
"I'm doing my best, but, yes, I believe we are," I
stared deep into her dark brown orbs.
'You are despicable,' Ishara chortled. 'I promise you, plant your
seed and she will bear you a son.'
"Very well, hold onto the controls," she said as she
released her joystick. She rolled up her padded (high-tech
body-weave) shirt carefully. I was a past master of looking while
pretending not too look. Still,
"Can I look yet?" I hesitantly questioned. Sure, we were
about to slam an Airbus-350 into the Pacific Ocean, or a concrete
runway, no lights, in a cyclone, but she was 'working it'. For all
she knew, this striptease would be her last living memory.
"No." A few seconds passed.
"Now?"
"No." Oh, her top was just cresting her highly aroused
nipples, she had tiny, erect nipples. The smallest I had ever seen,
but long, almost like tiny awls. Finally she'd played it out as long
as possible.
"Okay."
"No, wait," I begged. "Let me make sure everything
is stable. I want to look at you for as long as I can. This will
probably be the last happy moment of my life, so I want to make the
most of it." That made her happy. I puttered around for five
seconds, then pivoted around to take in her full, topless view. I
didn't say anything for the longest time.
"Aren't you done yet," she grumbled. "We are about
to crash."
"Oh, sorry," I turned away. She rolled her top down
quickly and we returned to trying to keep the people we loved most in
life alive. I sensed as sense of disappointment in her nonetheless.
"Perfect," I whispered. She caught it.
"What did you say? Is something wrong?" she worried,
studying her crippled command console for any errors she might have
missed.
"I said 'perfect'. I knew it, your body is perfect," I
confessed. Pause.
"Oh, "
"Now I have something to live for," I declared.
"I will never let you see me naked again. This was a one-time
thing!"
"That's two things I have to live for then," I
countered.
"Bringing us in alive and seeing me naked once more?"
she had to be sure.
"I was going to say 'seeing you naked again' and 'living',
but I can see that your priorities make more sense," I conceded.
"Ah, you are right, that I am right." Pause. "Good
luck."
"On seeing you naked again, or surviving our landing."
"Let's start out by landing the plane.
"And then, Duan Zhen?"
"We will see, Cáel Ishara."
{9 pm, Tuesday, August 16th; 23 Days to go}
{aka 2 am Wednesday, Aug. 17th; 22 Days to go (Havenstone time)}
(The following is in Mandarin until I note otherwise)
"What are you doing?" I struggled to keep the panic from
my voice.
"Killing all these alarms," Zhen responded. She was
grinding her teeth in frustration and fear. "There is nothing we
can do to fix those problems."
"My, right rudder, its barely responding," I grunted.
This was fly-by-wire, not typical manual control, so my concern was
entirely mental, not wanting to miss our turn south into the sole
runaway on Johnston Atoll. With the steady degradation of the plane's
electronics, we wouldn't make the 360 for another pass.
Landing from the southern end of the runway would put the cyclone
force winds behind us. There would be no way for the plane's two
inexperienced pilots to make that miraculous landing happen. No, we
had to approach form the north, into the winds and allow nature to
slow us down.
"On it, I'm good," she confirmed that her co-pilot's
systems were still doing their job. "Tell me when we are making
our final approach." Zhen, my Seven Pillars of Heaven co-pilot
(and designated assassin), couldn't see where we were going. Our
avionics had perished earlier in this disaster.
Goddess Dot Ishara was communicating with Goddess SzélAnya
who was frolicking in this maelstrom; the Draconic Storm Divinity was
in her element. Dot was 'in' her element as well; her last living
mortal descendent (me), if you didn't count all those unborn
offspring I'd been contributing to in the past few weeks.
'Are you thinking about me, Wakko?' she whispered into my mind. I
was Wakko Ishara. I was supposed to be Yakko, but that hadn't worked
out. As the 'main girl' in the relationship between me, the leader of
her Amazon House, and Yakko Ishara; my first Ishara ancestor; she
earned the slot of Dot (see Warner Bros.) Ishara.
One of her earliest gifts to me was to make my mind inviolate to
ALL supernatural penetration which was the reason she was bothering
to ask about my thoughts and intentions.
'Yes,' I thought back. 'I'm worried you are expending too much
energy on my behalf, Dot.'
'Opposed to leaving you alone with SzélAnya?
I don't trust her around you. She'd make a little
Dragon-offspring/avatar with you if I'm not careful.'
'If you aren't careful? Don't I get a say in all of this?'
'No. Trust me, she's clingy and you are more active than a whole
temple of Babylon's whores. Her mortal avatar would further bond your
two legends together and your Legend is already the prop, placed with
House Ishara.' Translation: My Goddess was clingy. After all, she'd
meant to say my legend was her 'property'.
"Flaps!" Zhen yelled at me. "Check your flaps. Mine
keep shorting out."
"On it," I replied. I'd 'zoned out', so she'd screamed
at me to get my attention back on task. Altitude, 1200 meters, which
meant flaps at, fuck if I knew.
"What do I set them, Oh Shit!" I realized I'd forgotten
something horribly imperiling.
"What?" Zhen shot me a furious look.
"Fuel! We've got to start dumping the fuel!" I screamed.
"Why?"
"Fireball, Zhen. If we hit hard, this bitch will barbeque
us," I spit the words. "Don't you watch any airplane crash
movies?" I added.
"The Airbus 350 has plenty of, safeguards,"
"You mean like all the other ones that have failed us in the
past half hour?"
"Opening main tanks #1 and #2," she grumbled. "If
we are struck by another lightning bolt we could blow up in mid-air."
"Won't happen," I feebly jested. "The Storm Goddess
loves me."
"Does she love my brother and I?"
"Nah. She wants you and everyone else on this plane dead, but
she's humoring me right now."
"Flaps," she reminded me. "Why would she care about
you?"
"Having no other useful skills, I am a truly remarkable
lover."
Zhen spared me a blistering look.
"You have seized this aircraft from my brother, me and forty
of our best Special Operations Strike Warriors. That does not qualify
you as 'unskilled'," she lambasted me.
"Oh no? You should see a 'real' Amazon in action," I
teased her. "I'm just an intern who hasn't yet completed his 84
day trial period." I also worked the flaps.
"Too much," she snapped. "If we drop below 400
kilometers per hour, these winds will slam us into the Pacific."
I was adjusting the flaps appropriately as we began our final roll
to the left when a cloud-to-cloud bolt of electricity coursed through
our craft. We didn't blow up.
"Thank you, SzélAnya," I
whispered.
"What?" Zhen worried. Fucking up now would be the end of
us all.
'Your gratitude is overdue, Cáel,' SzélAnya
slipped her murmur into the crashing thunder and another lash of raw,
natural fury. 'We will talk later.'
"I thought you said she loves you."
"Umm, did I forget to mention I told her I was going out for
pizza and never called her back?"
"That makes no sense," Zhen glared at me briefly. I was
gifted with a visual of our plane in perspective to the runway. Yay,
five meter waves were smashing into the atoll. I adjusted our yaw to
the right.
"We are three kilometers out," I advised her.
"Flaps, spoilers," I went over my limited
Alal-knowledge. This stuff worked on a piston driven commercial liner
and it was the only flight data I had.
"Landing gear," Zhen responded. She had to throttle up a
little because all that drag was cutting into our speed.
'You are being blown too far to the east,' SzélAnya
advised. I did the best I could.
"What are you doing?" Zhen was starting to sweat.
"Responding to divine intervention."
"I, I see it!" Zhen's panic turned to exultation as she
could finally make out the pale concrete runway surrounded by the
angry sea.
Too disasters hit us simultaneously.
"The left landing gear is not fully deployed," Zhen
cautioned me.
"We are coming in too fast anyway," I dryly noted. The
Goddess had brought me in on target, but she knew nothing about
aircraft aeronautics.
The Airbus came down too hard, too fast and our left landing gear
snapped on impact. Sarrat Irkalli's parting gift was decay. Every
design weak point gave in. The front fuselage broke apart, my hand on
the dagger slipped and the power died. The front 25% of the plane
spun off to the west while the remainder shot down the runway and off
the southern end of the island.
Sadly we went off into the lagoon between the western side and the
barrier reef. In a delayed bit of good fortune, our careening section
went head to head against a massive storm surge.
"Go!" I screamed at Zhen.
She snatched up her Jian that she had used to pin the undead
necromancer Tsu. I was right behind her, though I did stop to
retrieve Sarrat Irkalli's dagger and pluck the two bone reliquaries
from his neck before following Zhen's tight, athletic buns out of the
cockpit and toward Aya. My diminutive better half was still in her
seatbelt and clutching the medical bag to her chest.
(English) "Cáel, I think we are sinking," she
noted with a twinge of concern and more courage than I felt like
utilizing. As Zhen was rescuing her brother the enormity of my
mistake sunk in. All the Seven Pillars people were unconscious thus
unable to save themselves from drowning. Aya's survival came first.
I'd worried about my 'would-be executioners' later.
I swept up Aya so fast it took me a second to realize she was
poking me. She had retrieved the trinkets Felix had given Mu, our
phone cards, my Dot-treats and my Amazon blade. I quickly strapped
the blade to my arm. The water was rushing in through the severed
back section.
I turned to see Zhen struggling with her brother. Her look said it
all. She expected them both to die. She wouldn't abandon him to save
herself and the waves were too rough to make it with him.
"Get as far as you can," I shouted to her over the
typhoon strength winds. "I'll come back for you."
Her face expressed how little faith she put in my promise. Zhen
had no choice left to her. I cut off two lengths of seat-belt to give
Aya a harness to wrap over my shoulder and opposite underarm. I used
the second piece to create her harness I linked with my own. {Back to
English as the primary language}
"He'll come back for you," Aya tried to assure Zhen
while I worked.
"Aya, take a deep breath then expel it," I advised. The
second she did I dove into the water. I had never attempted to swim
in water this nasty, but I had been dumped into a white water rapids
before. That was the best I had.
Somehow in the madness, I pointed myself in the right direction.
Once more, the storm came to my rescue. Two monster waves picked us
up and pushed us toward the edge of the runway.
'Go to the north end of the island,' Ishara told me. There is a
building there that will shelter you, and Cáel, I must leave
now. Don't do it.'
'I can't not try,' I replied. 'Can you help Aya?' I gave one last
appeal. No reply. I twisted southward to locate the next monster
wave. My precious cargo pressed tightly to my upper torso, I flipped
over so that my feet were facing toward the onrushing runway. I'm not
as dumb as I look, or sound.
I bent my knees in the same way they instruct you when you go
cliff diving. Up we went. I pulled Aya and I as deep into the water
as possible, up, up, crest and then down-down-down. My bare right
foot hit something jagged and sharp. I'd worry about bleeding later.
The momentum of that contact tried to tilt me head-first, but I
resisted.
My left foot slapped down on a hard, smooth, granular surface, the
sea wall. Now I swam backwards with my free arm while I raced to get
my right foot back under me. My body ended up surging forward, yet I
was in control of my movements once more. I rolled with the impact,
taking the brunt to my left shoulder while shielding Aya with my
right. Three rolls and I was on my feet again.
"Aya!" I beseeched my companion.
"That was fun," she yelled back over the hurricane force
winds. "Let's try to do this next year," the rest was lost.
I kept staggering forward in about a foot of water that the storm had
flooded over the land. I looked behind me.
The next wave was unfriendly. The one behind that one appeared to
be a lot like what I imagined a Berlin Wall-sized tombstone would
look like. I ran. I survived the first wave then gave Aya a
cautionary squeeze. I felt her tiny lungs inflate, soak up the
salt-water spray and oxygen then flush the air back out.
A few more steps then we plunged back sideways into the monster
current; the wave had already crashed.
"What did you say?" I shook Aya as we surfaced once
more.
"Next year, much later next year," she grinned up at me.
"Aya, do you think you can,"
"Yes. Go find them. You gave her your word," she hugged
me.
"Stay on the runway, head north, Dot says there is a building
up there that is still intact. Aya, take this," I handed her the
pistol and a spare mag.
"Do you promise you won't let me die today?" she shouted
over the winds. I had to think about that. Aya rammed the pistol and
magazine into her medical bag's side pocket. Oaths had their own
power and maybe, just maybe, Dot Ishara would help me honor this one.
"I swear to you, I will not let you die today," I yelled
back.
"Then go and hurry," she hugged me as I cut her loose.
"She needs you more than I do. Go!" With that, we
separated. Aya slugged forward a few steps, was staggered by another
wave then turned and gave me her 'thumbs up'.
I turned to the south and the blinding winds and terrible surf. I
had to try. Alal kicked in. Jumbo commercial airliners = no help.
Shipwrecks = he'd survived a few. I mapped out in my mind the waves,
winds and their direction relative to the plane. I could still make
out its half-submerged shape.
The edge of the runway had a U-shaped seawall which created a peak
that channeled the waves. I couldn't see the structure itself due to
the high tide, but I could locate the wall by watching the waves
break. If I could get to the outside of the eastern peak, I would
have a
1 hr 19 min
August 12 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 2
No Longer An Enemy.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

"My Sister wished to know if you speak Mandarin,"
the brother translated for me.
"Hi, I'm Cáel," I greeted him. "Who are you
guys?" He looked to one of the two goons holding on to me. I
received a painful kidney punch. I discovered a whole new
super-power. It hurt for about two seconds then nothing.
"I asked you a question," he repeated.
"No, I don't speak Mandarin," I lied so well it came
across as a dour confession.
"Yet you know the secretive language of the Earth and
Sky," he stated.
"Yes, I do. I have a thing for dead languages.
Maybe in a few more years, I'll pick up your Mother Tongue as well,"
I bantered.
No punishment was immediately meted out, so I suspected no one
close to me, besides him, spoke much if any English. Jian Bob (my new
name for him) didn't relay my insult. I wasn't worth it. He went
straight for the reason for our get-together.
"You are going to die, Mr. Nyilas. That is a given," J B
began.
"We both know you have done enough damage to our cause to be
worthy of elimination a hundred times over. I'm going to show you
respect by not lying to you about your possible fate. What you can do
is save your young companion. We understand you two are close,"
he appealed in a very polite manner. Aya snickered.
"Cáel, these people are mentally challenged," she
giggled to me, "or hideously misinformed."
"I know, I know," I smiled down at Aya. "Still,
they have gone through a great deal of effort to insult our intellect
today, so let's humor them a little longer." Jian Bob issued
several casual orders.
In short order, a third man had hold of me by the jaw with one
hand while trying to hold my eyelids open with the other. One guard
held her by the shoulders. A second held her right hand, extending
her ring finger. A third man held a knife to her top knuckle. A forth
stood close with a small blowtorch.
"She may be a small person, Mr. Nyilas, but she can still die
by the Death of a Thousand cuts," he explained.
"I love you, Aya," I told her softly.
"I love you too, Fehér mén"
she succeeding in keeping most of the fear from her voice.
Neither one of us could stop this. Aya certainly didn't expect me
to compromise the Host for her benefit. She was as much an Amazon as
the first Epona.
"First, I wish to know what alerted you to the attack at the
Summer Camp," Bob began the interrogation.
"We know you were responsible. We want to know what
happened." I looked into his eyes and waited patiently. He
nodded to the guard, who shoved my face toward Aya's extended finger
until I was less than a foot away.
"Do it." The Order came in Mandarin.
The guard cut the top part of the digit off, one knuckle. I looked
at the flesh and bone being cut away. In a clinical manner, I noted
how sharp the blade was. I saw the blood shoot forth and heard Aya's
little voice cry out in pain. I was pulled back and pointed at Jian
Bob again.
"Do I need to repeat the question for you?" he said.
"No, I caught it the first time," I grimaced. "It
tells me that you haven't the slightest idea who you are fucking
with." Bob made a slight hand gesture and the blowtorch
cauterized Aya's stump. Her little lungs belted out a terrible
screech that wound down as her feet gave out and she hung limply in
the guard's grip.
"Revive her." The blowtorch guy, clearly not his first
day on the job, snapped some smelling salts under her noise. Aya
revived, sobbing and in a great deal of pain.
"Cáel," she whimpered. "I have found my
stillness. I'll be okay now." Her sobs subsided.
"Shall we try this again?" J B remained coolly polite,
almost urbane.
"Nah," I joked, "we are both pretty good over
here."
"Again." The Mandarin order came. Off went another digit
of her ring finger. This time her scream was much more exuberant and
forceful. We all know it hurt like Hell, but the world had turned.
"He's going to kill all of you," Aya snickered while she
sobbed. "You are all going to die."
"Mu, what is the little girl saying?" she asked Jian
Bob, real name Mu.
"She is stating her belief that Cáel will somehow kill
us all," he and his sister shared the joke.
"Let us see what her tune is when they start in on her left
hand," the woman smiled at her sibling.
That implied they'd cut off her right thumb and fingers, digit by
digit, until one, or both of us cracked. The man nodded and Aya's nub
was burned again. Her scream was more of a cleansing shout.
"Cáel, do you think I will have a nice horse to ride
when I join Epona's herds, or will I get a pony?" Aya whimpered.
"Not a clue," I began before Mu had the face-hugging
guard apply a finger strike to my solar plexus. Alal's gift had
allowed me to partially organize my brain functions. Coping with pain
was a whole lot easier now, but I had to be careful to monitor it
because pain was Nature's way of letting you know that there was
something wrong with your body.
"What color would you like me to pick up and have waiting for
you," punch, "when you finally take yourself to the
cliffs?"
"Again."
"This is accomplishing nothing," the senior bald Mo Fo
grumbled. "He clearly cares nothing for the child and has been
trained in counter-interrogation techniques."
"There is nothing to indicate that," Mu bristled.
"XiÃƒ sh, burn the tip of his left
forefinger," senior necromancer commanded. The guy holding my
face coordinated with the men holding my arms to free me of my bonds
and wrestle my left arm forward. I didn't bother resisting.
It didn't take the commandoes long to figure I had stopped caring.
On came the flame and the pain. Oh, I screamed. The pain was real.
What had changed was my ability to shuffle it off to an isolated
memory file to be tackled later. The bald creep stepped into my field
of vision. His eyes were windows to the abyss. My "spirit"
sight opened my eyes to the truly inhuman sections of his mind and
soul.
"See, normal techniques will not be affective. We will do it,
" and they realized the enormity of their mistake by assuming I
was paralyzed by the pain. I broke free of the guy on my left and
began twisting around the guy on my right. I wasn't getting away, I
was going for his QCW O5. I knew their favorite martial arts styles
and their weaponry now.
The guy I was rolling behind realized what I was doing (going for
his gun), but mistook my intentions. I wasn't trying to get away, or
steal the gun (still strapped to his body). That cockhead even helped
me out by lurching ground-ward. I swung the gun up, hit the selector
and fired two quick bursts.
The first three rounds hit Mr. Blowtorch in his right thigh,
shredding it. The second burst caught Mr. Knife guy in the crotch, a
triple 21mm castration. Had Blowtorch Guy not been busy trying to
keep the strands of his right hip connected to his right leg, he
could have stopped the blood fountaining from his buddies shattered
groin. That was the end of my joy.
I was born to the ground and the guy whose gun I'd borrowed pulled
away. I hit the concrete surface hard. That was only the beginning of
my issues. Radiating from the floor was cold beyond cold. I had the
sensation of falling into the heart of a cold, dead star. How I even
knew what the felt like was an impossibility.
"He feels very cold," protested one of the two guards,
in Mandarin; pulling me back to my feet groused.
"If your incompetence has led to his terminal condition,"
the male twin threatened. I felt the approach of the female twin, her
reaching for me. A new intense pain seared me to the cores of my
bones. Before she yanked my hair up, my body reignited.
I found myself stared into her pitiless eyes that regarded me with
the casual callousness of a veterinarian preparing to put down some
rabid stray dog. She ran three fingers over my cheek.
"What are you babbling about?" she snapped at the two
commandoes. "If anything, he is feverish."
"Zhen, have him sedated," Chief Necromancer demanded.
"Mu, now we will do this my way." Once more I was bound.
Someone stabbed a needle into my right triceps. That was a mere
discomfort. If I had any consolation, it was hearing Mu ordering the
execution of the two men I'd shot.
They didn't have the time and facilities to tend to their
immediate emergency needs and taking them to a trauma center wasn't
going to happen. Those two went into body bags. I had to assume they
would be joining us on the plane, though they'd be in the cargo
compartment.
"What are you smiling at?" I heard Zhen snapping before
my world collapsed down to a pinhole of light.
"Lady, I don't know what you said," Aya declared
happily. "You are probably angry that Cáel has already
killed two of you and we haven't even got off the ground yet." I
heard a sound I couldn't make out followed by another and finally a
third. That resulted in an Aya-squeak. Ah, she'd tried to hit Aya and
Aya had dodged the first two blows. Good girl.
"Cáel isn't going to like you doing that," Aya
chirped.
"Aya's a winner," I mumbled. I wasn't in control of my
senses when they dragged me onto a waiting jet. I wasn't worried.
With Aya at my side, I was invincible.
Dreaming
I looked at her face, so youthful, beautiful in her own way, yet
far from innocent. She bore a terrible weight. The armor she was
wearing, that of a heavy horseman of the steppe, was a leather coat,
chain links over her vulnerable regions (throat, underarms and
skirt), with the rest being covered by darkened bronze plates.
Her iron helmet was open-faced with mobile plates covering her
cheeks as well as the sides and the back of her neck; it bore a white
horse-hair plume, it was the only feature of her panoply that would
draw any special attention her way. She carried no shield. Instead,
she wielded a powerful horn and sinew composite recurve
bow. She used her knees to rise up on her mount and fire over the
mare's head.
Similarly attired women rode close to either side of this young
woman. Both were older; one in her early forties and the other; late
thirties. The one to the left bore a lance, not in the couched
fashion most people today are familiar with, but used in a
double-handed over-head fighting style.
The woman to the right fought with a strange blade. It wasn't
saber; an ancestor of that blade perhaps. It was about a meter long,
no hand guard, single-edged except for the top 4 cm on the back side
which was equally sharp. Her left hand remained free. I think I saw
her purpose. If the young woman got into difficulty, her guardian on
the right could pull her horse away and lead the woman to safety.
Behind and beside those three rode perhaps three hundred of their
sisters. Those in the center were as heavily armored as those three.
On each flank were the lighter, faster bow-women, on smaller steeds.
The women in the center rode larger mounts that were good for
carrying weight and pushing home a charge, while the flanking steppe
ponies were virtually tireless.
In the center, identified only by her long golden-mane helm, was
the Golden Mare; War Leader of the Host. The Amazons didn't fly
pennants or carry banners. They judged the course of battle by that
woman's head movements (the mane was quite long) and the shrill horn
blasts unique to the Amazons.
Let the barbarians have the all too common deep booming horns
calls and their totems raised high for the world to see. Let the
Romans keep their trumpets and Legion standards. Amazons had been
putting those fools in their graves from time immemorial. Right now,
those horns had summoned the Host to a trot.
The Hun, Attila, had tasked the Sarmatian Chieftain, under whose
banner they rode, to deal with another crisis, the third this short
day. Once more, they directed their horses over Catalaunian Fields.
The Ostrogoth had gotten themselves into a world of trouble, those
filthy, stinking Germans (why was I even thinking that way?)
First the Amazons had ridden forth on Attila's right, reinforcing
the allied Germanic tribes on the Right Wing in their attempt to
force a wedge between Aetius' Romans and King Sangiban's Alans.
They'd shown the fools the way, but the supporting Gepids cavalry was
too timid and by the time they began to approach, the Golden Mare had
been forced to sound 'retire'.
The Roman auxiliary cavalry, though of poor quality, had plugged
the gap. The Host were too few and too valuable (in their estimation)
to die holding a position that their 'allies' might not rescue them
from. Next, they had been directed to attack the center of the Alan
cavalry line in support of the Huns.
Despite the cowardice of their king, the Alans were hardy fighters
and too accustomed to the style of steppe warfare that the Host
practiced to be lured away from their position. Arrows were exchanged
and brief, brutal skirmishes developed, but no advantage was gained.
With their mounts exhausted, the Golden Mare had ordered the Host to
retired to their camp to water their horses and refill their quivers.
That bit of common sense and tactical wisdom placed them in their
present crisis. Their Ostrogoth allies had been beating themselves
against their Visigoth cousins all afternoon, charging up the same
cursed slope that any sane commander would have found a way to flank.
No, the Germans had failed seven times using the same plan, so they
tried an eighth.
Miraculously, they had gained a toehold on the ridgeline and
killed the Visigothic King. Like a mob of mindless farmers, the
Ostrogoths stopped to celebrate their 'victory' and taunt the
Visigoths with the mutilated body of their fallen leader. The
Visigoths had been properly incensed and counter-attacked. That's
what Princes were for, to avenge their fallen Sires.
As the Host exited the Hunnic laager, they'd seen the calamity
unfold. The wavering Visigoth infantry had stiffened their line.
Believing the Ostrogoths would press forward, the Horse-tail banner
of Attila himself broke away from the central Hunnic body, pivoted to
his left and thundered into the Visigoth's exposed flank.
In the din of battle, it may have looked to the Great Warlord that
he had a vanishing opportunity for victory. From the valley below, it
was much clearer to the Amazons that the moment to break the
Visigothic infantry had passed. The Huns were too tired; their mounts
frothing from a long, hot afternoon of battle. Without a swift
follow-through, the attack was doomed.
At that point, headlong flight for the Amazons wasn't possible.
Their long term survival hung on the Hunnic King keeping his Germanic
'allies' in line. They were still somewhere in eastern Roman Gaul,
with the Rhine to ford and a land thick with perpetually vicious,
blood-thirsty, crotch-scratching, flea-bitten Germanic barbarians to
cross before they saw the green rolling hills of home again.
No, the Golden Mare, and that young lady knew they had to do
something to stem the tide of this disaster for another hour, then
darkness would force the combatants to separate so they could try
their hand at battle the next day. As the Golden Mare rode to the
Sarmatian Chieftain, a rider came through the dust from Attila. The
Visigothic cavalry had returned with a vengeance and the Ostrogoths
were folding up.
The Sarmatians (with their attached Amazons) were to 'somehow'
repair the situation. As the Chieftain, the Golden Mare and three
Sarmatian tribal leaders hastily discussed the actions. They saw the
Hunnic Right, under hard pressure from the Roman attack, beginning to
disintegrate. Of immediate concern was the rift opening up between
the retreating Hunnic Gepids and the Hunnic horsemen holding the
center.
King Sangiban had finally discovered his manhood. The Alans
attacked through that gap in the Hunnic lines and a rout was in the
offing. The Sarmatian Leader decided he had to answer Attila's call.
The Golden Mare offered to take her Amazons and whichever tribal
leader volunteered first to ride with her against the Alans.
She drew her sword and held it aloft then motioned the Sarmatians
to look at her shadow.
"We will hold them off until the length of our swords double
(the shadow). Then we are all on our own," she offered. There
was no further discussion necessary. There was nothing else to say.
The Host and their allies had the fresher horses and full quivers.
The Alans had numbers but no heavy horse present, yet. The Host
had answered Attila's call to war and now, nearly a year away from
their homes in the forested steppe lands of modern-day Bukovina. At
that moment they were wondering how few of them would ever see their
horse herds roaming free this side of life.
That was where my vision came in; that woman was 'Ishara', the
last of my major bloodline of the first Ishara and this was the last
hour of her life. The other two women were the only other two members
of that vanishing bloodline. One was her aunt and the other a cousin.
Despite the dire peril to their lineage, they joined their sisters in
battle.
Even though they were outnumber 2 to 1, the Amazons swept aside
the first burst of Alans, scattering their bands and hunting the
slowest of them down. Rushing alone to fill the gaping hole in the
main battle lines was to abandon all tactical sense. Eighty Amazon
heavy horse and perhaps twenty more Sarmatians; they were integrated
now; alone simply weren't enough.
For the roughly 300 lightly armored horse-archers, it would be a
pointless suicide and that was not the Amazon way. Instead, they
scattered the initial Alan rush then gently trotted back down the
slope. Of course, the Alans regrouped and followed. It was the battle
pulse of steppe skirmishing.
By simply existing, they turned the rushing wave of that first
Alan charge into a slowly strengthening tide. The Alans' mounts were
tired and in need of water. Their quivers were nearly empty and some
were seen at the top of the slope looting the quivers of the fallen.
Whenever they could, the Amazons killed those clever souls.
Killing an archer closer to you who only had two arrows left
wasn't as economical as killing the one who was both dismounted, thus
an easier shot, and about to have fifteen bolts to use against you.
Without the constant harassment, the Gepids were able to keep their
retreat orderly. In turn, the other Germanics farther to the right
kept their mobs relatively intact as well.
Their success earned them the inevitable enemy reaction. From his
vantage point, the Roman Aetius saw the vulnerable and unsupported
position the Amazons held. If he could push past the Amazon screen,
he could still achieve a route instead of accepting a mere victory
for his side. The solution was a force of over two hundred Roman
Heavy Horse, many of them Sarmatians in Roman service. The troops may
have been Sarmatians, but their commander wasn't.
Pro forma, when the larger Roman force advanced downslope, the
Amazons obliged them by slowly zigzagging down slope away from them.
To a warrior born to the steppe, the Amazons weren't running away,
they were simply increasing the numbers of arrows they could fire
before the final contest of arms began.
The Roman commander sounded the 'full advance' and obediently, his
men rolled forward. The Golden Mare looked to the last Isharan and
smiled. Surely the Seven Martial Goddesses (one of which was Ishara)
had given them a great gift, a stupid enemy. The Amazon light cavalry
scattered to the flanks. The heavies bunched up tightly and went to a
trot while still moving away.
By that time, they were on the flat, somewhat muddy floodplain and
the Romans kept coming, right along the stretch of ground the Amazons
had been churning into mud with their own mounts. Belatedly, the Alan
horse-archers realized the catastrophe the Romans were riding into
but they hadn't the discipline to form up fast enough to do much
good.
When the Romans had cut
1 hr 20 min
August 12 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 1
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 1
A Walk In the Park and Aya's Finest
Hour.
Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand.
Listen to the
► Podcast at Explicit
Novels.

Professional, conscript, or volunteer, they all have run away
from battle.
A Note on terminology and the metaphor of Cael's World
The terms Weave of Fate and 'Weave ' are interchangeable. Weave
expresses the intersection; the sieve that all the possible futures
entered to create what we perceive as this 'now'. Fate is the keeper
of the sieve. The Present is what is happening right now. It is that
infinitesimal which we interpret as Reality.
The Legend is what happens when the present is pulled back through
the weave and becomes the past. It is called the Legend because, as
the former presents fade into the past, they blur; each becomes less
precise and more open to interpretations. (It is as if you were
looking at one thing through a prism; as you shift your stance, what
you see appears to change.) Within the Legend exist mystic creatures,
divinities, demons, spirits, all the Paradises and Hells.
The Endless Black Sands is the final resting place for
all failed legends. It is the place where all is forgotten until even
former realities break down into the Black Sands. That Alal found a
way to cheat this doom and retrieved Shammuramat, was truly
remarkable; even though Fate 'balanced accounts' with him by sending
Ajax and his war band along that path as well.
If you wonder how that was a balancing, consider this:
The only people Alal cares for (in his own brutal fashion) are
Shammy, now Sakura, and his only true offspring in 5,000 years, Cáel.
Fate sent Ajax.
With Ajax available to test Cáel, how could Alal resist the
temptation to place one of the planet's greatest killer on a
collision course with both of his loves in order to test Cáel?
The Veil is a function of the Weave that protects sentient
perception from perceiving the Weave and disguises the otherness of
creatures of legend, unless they willingly allow themselves to be
seen, which they usually do only so they can 'physically' interact
with the Present. Some sentient minds, through horrific trauma such
as the Augurs' self- poisonings, through the quirks of Fate via Holy
Men, Mad Prophets and Doomsayers such as Temujin, or through the
touch of legends such as Ishara, can sense the fluctuations in the
Veil and the things behind it. Cáel, in truth, has been shaped
by all three vehicles (Ishara, the Augurs and Temujin's legend.)
Oblivion is what awaits Reality if the Weave ever fails beyond its
ability to heal itself. This threat is what keeps the creatures of
legend from constantly traversing the Weave. They have to weaken the
Weave to do so or to use powers in Reality, the greater the
distortion they create, the greater the weakening that occurs.
End Note
(Two days ago, with thirty days left)
"That was fantastic, Lady Yum-Yum," I sighed.
"What did you just call me?" she panted softly. We were
naked in one of our Task Force bedrooms that was actually used for
sleeping, and now sex. I was still pressed against her reposed body,
despite our recent exertions. She was on her stomach, arms stretched
down her sides.
She was sweaty and short of breath. She still had her wits about
her and an awareness of our situation: victory sex, me still aroused
and her fingernails scratching my thighs and buttocks. My equally
sticky body was pressing down on her, even though I supported my
weight with outstretched hands placed on either side of her
shoulders.
"Lady Yum-Yum," I mumbled as I kissed the back of her
head. "That was the first thing that sprang to mind when you
introduced yourself." I could see her working that through her
highly complex mind.
"When writing your memoirs, please remember to me refer to me
that way," she began to flex her thighs and abdominal muscles,
so that her ass was pumping against my hips.
"Only if this helps persuade you to give me a repeat
performance."
"I'll consider,," she purred, then paused to catch her
breathe. "You are in phenomenal shape, young man. Do any of your
other lady-loves have pet names?"
"Nope," I grunted as I withdrew.
She had teased me with anal sex hints repeatedly, yet never
delivered. She liked the game and the power she wielded. My body
being on top of hers was only an illusion of a tactical advantage.
She knew me pretty well already. I wasn't the kind of guy who would
use physical strength to overwhelm her vulnerable position. This
being so, a cerebral skirmish only excited her more.
We waged a war that was based on intakes of breath, the shimmying
of muscles and the trembling of fatigued flesh. The prize for me was
the winning. Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke played tricky-clever, but
I was better. And at times like this, she admitted it. She gave me
what I wanted. I rolled her.
Straight, face-to-face fucking. The Lady's pulsar gaze trapped my
vision. She smiled, grudgingly at first, then more and more sensually
as my glans returned to her g-spot that it had scouted out earlier.
This was 'surrender by the Fathom method'. She gave me what I wanted,
so I took what I wanted, and pleasured her at the same time.
"Mmm, you are a bad, bad boy," she lapsed into her
trashy West-End Londoner accent. It was perfect and an erotic
whiplash when added to her native, refined manner of speech. This
wasn't a trick this time, it was a treat. It was a gift,
reciprocated. The tactile sensation of her cervix becoming a soft,
spongey chalice for my final penetrations was icing on an
all-so-luscious cake.
I tendered her a tribute worthy of my first love, Dr. Kimberly
Geisler. It was strange to find a woman like her. Outside of
Kimberly, I had found only one other woman who graciously offered her
ultimate pleasure paean to the hundreds of lovers who had become
before. That other woman, it still floored me, was Buffy Du, no,
Buffy Ishara, First of my House.
"Oh!" and several heartbeats later, "Cáel!"
several hissed series of breathes and then, "Goddess! You are
better than good!"
Two thoughts collided within me:
A) I had never seen a more controlled orgasmic explosion in my
life. I was going to have to tell Buffy about this, once we were
safely in bed. If it was office talk, she'd punch me through a window
and that would make Aya cry. I couldn't have that.
B) Goddess? I thought she was Anglican. This needed further study.
This treatment was really nice. I leaned in, kissed her. Lady Yum-Yum
smiled. "Take me to the shower. Play time is over, Cáel,"
and she was back to all business.
"You are treating me like a fleshy vibrator," I pointed
out.
"But you are a very finely-trained, fleshy vibrator, you
wonderful boy," she stroked my cheek. "Shower! Now!"
So, like a Good Boy, International Merchant of Death and Chosen Son
of a Divine Amazon Goddess, I slid off her, then cradled her in my
arms as I rose from our totally trashed mattress.
I didn't smile when it was confirmed that I wasn't carrying her
out of any romantic after-coitus gesture. She couldn't walk. Woot! It
took a bit of effort to get us into the walk-in shower and to get the
water just perfect, all while keeping her cradled. She helped out by
keeping her arms tightly around my neck.
"Cheeky bastard," she whispered in my ear. "You are
gloating." Then she nibbled on my earlobe for good measure.
"Damn right," I did gloat as I let her slide down to her
feet. "You are pretty sweet for an Old Chick." She wasn't
angry, oh no.
"If you were trying to get me to say, 'I'll get you next
time," she licked, nipped and sucked on my nipple as if I was
the one with the mammaries in this relationship, "it worked."
Double-Woot! I was going to get that damn four-way! I did coax a
vigorous shower-quickie out of my Lady. Afterward, she shifted
herself so she could get under one of the steaming showerheads.
"Cáel, why didn't you use a condom," she mused.
Gak!
"You aren't on Birth Control?" I panicked. She laughed
at me.
"No. I've never been a fan of hormones replacement. I like
the way I am. Do you expect the women to do all the anti-pregnancy
measures?"
"No," I gulped.
"Don't' be so worried," she laughed. "We had
unprotected sex one time. The odds are astronomical that an 'oops'
happened, right?" Yes, it was a single sexual encounter, but
included three firings of the one-eyed hydra, sigh.
"You are asking a man who has five children on the way,
Fathom," I cautioned her.
"Oh, I'll update my files and make an appointment to seen a
local, reliable O B G Y N," she slipped back into her
unflappable British resolve. "Get along. I need to get cleaned
up," she cupped my scrotum, ", again. So scoot." I
scooted.
I had updated my condom supply despite the forbiddance Dot Ishara,
my Matron Goddess, beamed to me from the Other Side. She could only
complain so much. I'd upped my selection of fortune cookies and added
a fresh raisin chocolate brownie for my next visit with her. I had to
get over to the other side of the floor to get a fresh shirt, and
boxers.
Yum-Yum had ripped off my shirt (a little kinky) and boxers (a
little painful). I wasn't going commando, so I decided to quick step
it before something important happened that required me to yank yet
another solution out of my sexually-fueled creative imagination.
How Lady Yum-Yum and I ended up in bed
The Secret Societies' long awaited war had begun in Africa and in
India. The Amazons couldn't effectively reinforce these two homeland
regions. No, my people's edge came from my stupid stunts (e.g., the
fight outside that club in Chicago), the judicious application of a
few kind words and a whole lot of targeted killing on my part along
with that of my Amazons.
Those actions convinced the Booth-gan (aka the Thuggee, but we no
longer say that because it irritates them) and the Coils of the
Serpent to toss in their lot with their local Amazons. They did the
whole 'hostage exchange' thing as well. Two children from each side.
That was a no-brainer on my part. All three concerned parties were
willing to let their adults die if necessary. Their children were
another matter.
In Asia, the Seven Pillars had made only minimal progress. We now
suspected the 7P had planned to roll over the three of the 9 Clans
that were in their Sphere of Influence, the now 6 Ninja Families, the
Black Lotus and the Booth-gan in rapid succession. A preemptive
strike against both the Khanate and the Ninja were supposed to
cripple those two factions.
Against the Khanate, that had been a dismal failure. In Nippon,
the Ninja were in dire straits and would be decades recovering from
the original 7P blitz. But the combination of US black ops help and
the infusion of Amazons and Okinawans had staved off extinction for
the moment. Strategically, these failed actions were tying down 7P
resources that the largest Secret Society had planned to move
elsewhere.
In China, the Black Lotus exhibited the same resilience and
deceptiveness they'd shown in combating the Seven Pillars by
themselves for the past 65 years. The chaos gripping the PRC was a
blessing from the Ancestors, the four sacred spirits (lung/dragons,
phoenix, unicorn and tortoise), and the nine entities (I now really
had to know this stuff.) Word that a 'dragon' had appeared in the
West had only heightened their desire to aid in our new alliance.
Those factors meant a reprieve for India. As the 7 Pillars began
ramping up their operations; increasing racial tensions, minor
terrorist action and military and industrial sabotage; the Booth-gan
and Amazon united resources and purpose. The Booth-gan would
assassinate 7P operatives and pawns while the Amazons would hit 7P
front companies and businesses based out of the People's Republic of
China. (This activity also helped ratchet up India-PRC tensions and
anti-PRC public sentiment in India.)
In Africa, the Condotteiri had squandered precious hours
reallocating resources before launching their assaults. Like everyone
but the 7P, they had been caught flat-footed by the renewal of the
Secret War. The Coils of the Serpent had never been overly
antagonistic toward the Condos, since their interests rarely
collided. The same went for the Coils and the Amazons.
Two factors inspired a deep Amazon-Coil bond. They were both
groups with deep African roots and a shared Central-Western African
spirituality. Added to that was the growing power of the Coils of the
Serpent in the past fifty years. Their main opponents had been the
Illuminati who had a Eurocentric view. Pan-Africanism was in the
Coil's best interest, but ran contrary to European economic
interests.
Long term, allying with the African Amazons was a good investment
for the Coils. The 9 Clans relationships had already proved to be
advantageous on multiple occasions in the past. The leaders of the
Coils knew their power was rising with the fortunes of Sub-Saharan
Africa. To them, the rise of the PRC and the Seven Pillars was a
looming threat in the East.
They had been handed a golden opportunity to deal with this enemy
before the enemy was ready to deal with them. They had been 'gifted'
with over 2000 highly-skilled, fanatical Amazon warriors as stealthy
muscle to add to their own, more subtle arsenal. For the Amazons, it
was access to continent wide clandestine intelligence network that
could unmask their enemies' hiding places.
The Condotteiri wiped out an Amazon freehold in Cameroon and a few
Coils safe houses in Lagos, Nigeria. In the Republic of Mali, over
250 Condo mercenaries were slaughtered at a 'secret' installation and
their armory was looted. Ebola kept breaking out in the West. The
dominant regional powers, the Republic of the Congo and Nigeria, were
tottering as a result of decades of economic mismanagement, civic,
ethnic, tribal and religious strife, corruption and unreliable
militaries.
The scene was ripe for a secret conflict as well as public
carnage. For the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce
(JIKIT), this presented a dilemma. They were involved with a growing
global struggle that went far beyond the Khanate and Central Asia.
Their secret society allies strenuously objected to bringing any more
'outsider' people into the group.
Handing over covert intelligence to other governmental agencies in
the US and UK, then telling them they wouldn't divulge their sources
went over like scuba diving with cement goulashes. Explaining to
upper level bigwigs that they had a 'trust-based' team went nowhere.
Those officials didn't care about a bunch of domestic/international
criminals' sensibilities.
They wanted names and faces. They wanted addresses, phone taps and
bank account numbers. It would all be 'Secret', 'Top Secret', or
'Eyes Only'. It would all be vulnerable to all kinds of governmental
subpoenas too. No threats were made from 'my' side. They'd killed
more people than the Black Death and the lives of a few thousand
bureaucrats (and their families) in London and Washington D.C. didn't
mean shit to them.
Selena did offer to kidnap some family members to get the message
across. Javiera put her hands over her ears and began singing
'la-la-la' as she stormed out of the room. Lady Fathom suggested that
we arrange a private meeting with the UK Prime Minister and the US
President. It took a few seconds for Mehmet and Javiera to realize
she wasn't kidding.
That was a nearly impossible task, which on this taskforce meant
we had to give it a shot. Let's just say that the US Attorney
General, Eric Holder and Chairman John Jay of the British Joint
Intelligence Committee thought their respective representative had
lost her God-damn mind. I went to the Khanate for help.
Twenty-four hours later Azerbaijan, Turkey, Tajikistan, Armenia
and Georgia (yes, two tiny Christian nations) joined the Khanate. The
integration of the first two nations had been in the works since the
formation of the Turkic Council in 2009. For me, Temujin upped the
time table strictly for our benefit. Turkey and Azerbaijan became the
two newest states within the Khanate.
The third, Tajikistan was different and the shakiest addition. The
unoccupied title of 'Khwarazm Shah' was created, suggesting the
Iranian Tajiks had a special status inside the Khanate. 'Khwarazm'
referenced the Khwarazmian dynasty that ruled the last of the great,
Persian-led, Iranian Super-States and dated back to the 13th century
AD. 'Shah' was Persian for King.
The announced status of Armenia and Georgia was quite a bit
different. They become 'Protectorates', i.e., semi-autonomous states
within the Khanate who were 'vassal' states, responsible only to the
Great Khan and his personal representative in the region (ah, that
would be me.)
So, the first three entries made sense, strong geographic, ethnic
and/or religious ties, plus this was part of the Khanate's agenda
anyway. But Armenia and Georgia? That was the doing of the other
regional secret society, the Hashashin.
The Caucasus Mountains were the backyard of the Hashashin. They
knew who to blackmail, pinch and kill to make the 'take-over'
possible. The main stumbling block was the long Khanate-Hashashin
history: the Mongols had destroyed the historical stronghold of the
Hashashin, Alamut, in 1256 CE. In a way, that disaster had
transformed the sect, making it move away from their strict Nizari
Ismaili roots and into a more ethnically and religiously diverse
group that was centered in the Caucasus region.
Temujin made it clear to this group that he was making a deal
under my auspices. Both Armenia and, Georgia (as well as the future
Kurdistan, his plans for the creation of that last state were told to
me under condition of secrecy) would be part of my palatinate
principality (along with Hungary, if we ever got there). Riki Martin
defined the terms for me: I was the voice of those three regions in
the Khan's court.
They wouldn't have to deal with Muslim Khanate officials. They
would deal with me and 'my officials'. If the Khanate had a problem
with my principality, they came to me to resolve the issue. That
translated to me giving a nod to the existing regimes ruling in
Armenia and Georgia (along with the infusion of a few Hashashin
supporters.)
Publically the future of those three political and ethnic entities
would be confirmed later. The existing governments knew three things.
1) I was that madman who had led the charge in Romania, clearly a
man of bravery and humility. The odds were good that I was going to
be a man they could rely on to adequately represent their interests
with the government that currently mattered the most (aka The
Khanate.)
2) The Great Khan thought the world of me and in this nascent New
World Order that meant way more than membership in NATO, or begging
the United Nations to apply sanctions of dubious value.
3) There would be a change of leadership by about 2040. Children
of excellent ethnic parentage would succeed me in this ceremonial
role in the region. These new princes and princesses would be the
scions of the line of Nyilas and representatives of the various
states (translation: I was going to be sexing it up with Georgian,
Armenian and Kurdish members of the Hashashin).
That would establish the three 'cadet' branches of House Ishara
(Nyilas) (which I've listed because all three alphabets are so
freaking beautiful) that could weave the Amazons, 9 Clans and the
varying ethnic identities into a quilt that could stand together as a
force in the Great Khan's inner circle. This new spate of
aristocratic, 'Archer'-themed lineages would be:
1. Moisari, in Georgia.
2. Agegnajig, in Armenia.
3. Ram- alsham, in Kurdistan.
This fiction made the key named entities happy. The combination of
all these events applied another jolt to the heart of the global
power structure (after all, Turkey was in NATO) and made the US and
UK governments back off.
By tidying up the world map, we'd brought our governmental chiefs
to the chilling revelation that their sole conduit for insider
information regarding the ongoing global calamity had reacted to
their intransience by simply letting them be blind-sided by events.
After the fact, Javiera and Lady Fathom relayed that message very
clearly.
This wasn't 'bargaining with te
1 hr 21 min
August 11 Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 11
Vincent, Buffy and other family matter.
Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it
The
main front was stabilizing. The 2nd Army was in tough shape though all
three divisions were still in the fight. The 1st Army's 2nd and 9th
Divisions had corked up the advances out of Cambodia. As soon as night
fell, they would maneuver the majority of the 2nd Division to crush the
Alliance forces north of Bangkok. The rioters would be crushed tomorrow
morning. They would survive.
This
realization came too late to them. The rot of fear had infected the 1st
Army, 1st Division and the police force commands. Of more importance, a
small group of secretive individuals convinced two senior Thai officers
that something had to be done before the city fell, or the Prime
Minister reasserted control over the city.
Those
two conspirators had the same problem as the Loyalists, enemy troops
and protestors in the street. Those officers had no way to contact the
crucial enemy commanders, but they knew who did, the Indian Navy.
Surreptitiously, they contacted the Indian Navy's Expeditionary Fleet.
The fleet's Admiral quickly put them in touch with the Alliance Command
Authority and within two hours, a deal was made.
The
Great Khan would stop the Alliance offensive if the King of Thailand
made a public appeal, no strings attached. This new group of rebels and
the Alliance worked out the path they needed to take to reach the King
so that the Alliance forces were out of the way and no planes, or
helicopter attacked their formations. They even had a TV station that
would broadcast the King's speech ending the conflict. All they needed
was nightfall.
And
that was the true story of how the counter-coup was pulled off, how the
King of Thailand was able to talk to the Great Khan and how the Thai
government was overthrown. In the final analysis, the Loyalist hadn't
fallen before the might of the Alliance. They were done in by a tiny
number of Black Lotus operative almost no one knew existed, with a small
amount of assistance from JIKIT.
"No
wonder the Seven Pillars has never been able to wipe out these guys,"
Addison yawned. "They are slippery as eels and thrice as lethal. I am
glad they are on our side." Several sets of eyes looked at her
skeptically. "I mean, I am glad we are currently working toward the same
goals."
Thus,
"I suggest we all get some sleep," Addison declared as she stood up and stretched.
Odette
was comfortably asleep, so I curled her up and carried her to the
elevator. I wanted to go home and forget that I had lost any semblance
of a normal life. I didn't know what was worse; me doing the shit I was
doing, or me understanding what I was doing. Juanita had gone down ahead
of us to pull the car around to the front.
Chaz,
Pamela, Odette and I went down in the first wave of the exodus from the
workplace. The door opened on the ground floor. I wasn't the first
person to notice her. My reflexes had improved to the point I had a
moment to recognize her before the people around me sprang into action.
Pamela
side-stepped to the right, pistol mystically appearing in her two-hand
grip. Chaz, Chaz bore Odette and me to the ground. His level of
dedication astonished me. He was shielding us with his body. From what, I
hadn't been able to determine.
"Deadman switch," one of my aunts stated. "I want to talk with Cáel." The voice had a stressed tenor to it.
"Back outside," Pamela simmered.
"No."
"Chaz, what is going on?" I asked him. He hadn't moved and wasn't letting me wiggle around to see.
"Explosive vest," he responded coolly. That's right. Chaz was shielding Odette and me with his body.
That
is what I found astonishing, his desire to give his life for me. His
expectation that Pamela could kill the threat while he was currently
occupied was understandable.
"We seem to be at an impasse," Pamela edged further away.
She
wasn't avoiding the blast radius. That was impossible in this lobby.
No, if it came to firing, she was making it easier for Chaz to get a
shot off since the shooter couldn't cover both angles of attack.
"Let me talk to him," my aunt insisted. This made no sense.
"Chaz, let me deal with this," I told my bodyguard.
"Are you sure?" he questioned.
"Not
really. As Pamela said, she's not going to let any of us leave until
she talks to me and if you kill her, she kills all of you." Chaz let me
stand.
Odette
was just awakening to the threat. Chaz rose to stand by my side.
(Sadly, Odette didn't rate him dying for her.) I prayed I didn't fuck
this up.
"Cáel,
is that really you?" the women with green eyes and red hair asked me.
She sounded desperate, which would explain the suicide vest.
"Yeah, which one are, Mom?"
{9:10 pm, Tuesday, September 2nd; 6 Days to go}
"Yes, I'm Sibeal. Are you my son?"
"Do
you mean No! Grandfather Cáel hasn't supplanted my spirit with his
own," I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how I can convince you of
this."
0 min

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