Whom God Destroys Part One

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Whom God Destroys

An Erinyes Adventure

 

By E. E. Nalley

 

He said: "Thou petty people, let me pass.
     What canst thou do but bow to me and kneel?"
But sudden a dry land caught fire like grass,
     And answer hurtled but from shell and steel.

He looked for silence, but a thunder came
     Upon him, from Liège a leaden hail.
All Belgium flew up at his throat in flame
     Till at her gates amazed his legions quail.

Take heed, for now on haunted ground they tread;
     There bowed a mightier war lord to his fall:
Fear! lest that very green grass again grow red
     With blood of German now as then with Gaul.

If him whom God destroys He maddens first,
Then thy destruction slake thy madman's thirst.

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 10:42am, May 19th

 

The white plaster walls of the small complex of buildings that made up Holy Trinity Catholic Church gleamed in the mid-morning sun.  Nestled in the massive, vaguely rhomboid shaped ‘bowl’ that protected Georgetown University framed by the Reservoir, Wisconsin and M Street Canals.  Holy Trinity took up the entire block of the old roads and those walls had seen a lot of changes over the centuries.   Its first building having been erected in 1794, it was the oldest Catholic Church in the area, and one of the few that could boast both slaves and Presidents had been parishioners. 

 

It was not as ornate a building as some of the others of the Old Capital that had been saved from the rising oceans, but its classic Greco-roman edifice stood with a quiet dignity that went beyond embellishment.  Having been built and run by the Society of Jesus, such an austere dignity was fitting.  Still, austerity gave way to practicality in the late twenty first century; the sanctuary was full of cool air from the campus’s central HVAC plant against the May swelter.

 

Father Joshua Leonard, SJ, was glad of the cooler air as he made his way into the sanctuary, regretting briefly the traditional black suit that was the hallmark of a Catholic Priest.  The Jesuit vow of poverty had been expanded by Papal Bull to include personal air conditioners which made crossing the quad of the church’s campus quite a chore in late summer.  In spring, it was merely unpleasant. 

 

“Lead by example,” the priest told himself quietly as he paused to kneel and cross himself towards the altar before continuing into the chapel proper.  Father Leonard was nearly sixty, the very image of the kindly old parish priest; slightly overweight, balding and blessed with a round face that was never in want of a smile.  Despite the slight paunch, he was very fit for his age, perhaps because of the austere lifestyle of self denial he had led.  It had been his intention to make a sweep through the chapel to replace burned out prayer candles but as he rose from paying his respect he noticed the subtle signal that someone was in the confessional.

 

Father Leonard made his way there first, mentally preparing himself to be of aid to whatever brother or sister needed of him.  He settled into his place, sent a silent prayer upward for God to place the right words in his mouth, before closing the door with one hand and opening the small partition between his booth and the next with the other. 

 

Immediately a rich, lightly accented voice drifted from the decorative screen that separated the two.  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it has been three weeks since my last confession.”

 

A smile of recognition pulled at Father Leonard’s cheeks, “God forgives all things so long as we continue to strive towards His perfection, my daughter,” he told her.  “What trespass weighs down your heart?”

 

There was a slight pause from the screen before the woman’s voice asked, “How much time do you have, Father Leonard?”  Joshua couldn’t contain a soft chuckle at the worried tone of her voice.

 

“I have as long as you need me, Elisa,” he assured her. 

 

She seemed to think about that for a moment, and then finally continued, “I have committed fornication, Father.”  Joshua frowned for a moment as he dug out his PDA from a suit pocket and consulted it.  He called up the records he kept only to find his memory was not as faulty as he imagined.

 

“It’s been some time since you fell to that particular sin, my daughter.”

 

“I…I think I may have found a husband, father,” she admitted.  “I guess I couldn’t restrain myself.”

 

“I’m glad this isn’t some passing fling,” the priest told her from making his notes.  “I would be very disappointed if you had fallen so far after all the work we put in.  Has this young man given you indication he seems interested in more than carnal knowledge of you?”

 

“If you recall my confession from last year about the company Christmas party he is the same gentleman.”

 

“As I told you then, Elisa, that was not sinful.  You had no control of yourself, and you did not seek out that state.  God does not hold you accountable for the actions of others.  But, when we had last spoken I gathered that you were more interested in keeping this relationship professional.”

 

“I was,” she affirmed.  “We had to go through a very difficult piece of work and we finally came to an agreement about what had happened then.”  Joshua felt his eyebrows ascend his forehead.

 

“And this agreement included fornication?”

 

“No!”  She paused again gathering her thoughts to try and explain the situation better.  “He let me know that he had been interested in me for a long time, more so than I had realized, to be honest, Father.  I guess I had been using him as a yardstick, even though he was really everything I could want in a husband but I hadn’t let myself consider him because he was a co-worker as well as what had happened.”

 

“After your parents passed on,” the priest said slowly, “I was worried that perhaps you set your sights a bit too high.  Still, I must admit to being very proud of the strides you have made in your walk with God, Elisa.”

 

“It has been very hard,” the young woman admitted.  “I hope I haven’t accidentally ruined something by letting a beautiful place put me off my guard.”

 

“Elisa,” Joshua told her, “if you’ll allow me a bit of indulgence, let me quote his Holiness, who said, ‘the body, and it alone, is capable of making visible what is invisible: the spiritual and divine. It was created to transfer into the visible reality of the world the mystery hidden since time immemorial in God, and thus to be a sign of it’.  Now, what John Paul was saying, better than I could, is that our bodies are all we have to perceive the wonder that is God.  The unity of the act of physical love is the closest we poor mortals can come to the love God holds for us.  We of the Church encourage young people to hold off only because marriage is the best framework to understand something as monumental as that.  Sex, to use the vulgar term, is not of itself sinful.  It is a wonderful and glorious thing.  As wonderful as I’m sure you thought your time with this young man was, it would be so much more so if he were in fact your husband.”

 

“I know, father.  I am sorry I lost control, or rather I gave up control.”

 

“A small, but important difference, my daughter,” he chuckled.  “Still, if this young man is in Our Lord’s plan for you, I doubt you’ve done any damage to that.  I, however, must encourage you to be more mindful in your further dealings with him.”

 

“I will, father.”

 

“I think one Our Father and one Hail Mary will serve as a good penance for this, my daughter.”

 

“Yes father,” she replied before looking up into the screen.  Joshua could just make out her glistening, dark eyes before he forced himself to look away as was proper.  “Father, am I a good person?”

 

Her question drew his gaze back in surprise, proper or not.  “Goodness, child, what would make you ask such a thing?”

 

“Do you think I am a good person?” she pressed.  “I try to be a good Catholic, father, I really do, but there are times…”  She looked away for a moment before her eyes returned to the lattice board that separated them.  “I have always trusted you, Father Leonard.  You know more about me than anyone walking this Earth.  What do you think of me?”

 

“In many ways, my dear child, I think of you as the daughter I did not have,” he told her kindly.  “Having watched you grow up, I had taken pride in your successes, and agonized with you in your failures.  I suppose I should confess my own pride there in my next confession.  I knew for a good while that you were not fitting into the First Born Son mold your parents had made for you.  I was worried that perhaps you would have to struggle with repressing homosexuality through your adult life.  When you came to me with your decision to seek out a place with Themis, I understood my error.”

 

 He sighed and shook his head at his own wandering thoughts.  “I know you weren’t looking for a repeat of the Church’s stance on homosexuality and transgender issues.  Yes, Elisa, I think you are a good person, a good Catholic, and a good and dear friend.  Now, what brought this on; something at work?”

 

Her face was obscured by her voluminous black hair as she nodded and then forced her eyes up to meet his gaze again.  “Father, I want to kill a man.”

 

That gave the priest a moment of pause.  He took in the cold fire in her eyes and he realized this wasn’t some fit of pique as he might address in one of his other parishioners.  Elisa was a killer, her job demanded it of her, and there was murder in her eyes.  The priest had spent many an hour in this booth helping her see the difference in the lives she had taken to save others.  To compare her with the traditional policemen of old and how the violence their job demanded of them was no different.  But he knew it was a very fine line he walked.  More to the point, deep down through years of hearing her confessions he knew that if she desired to kill someone, they were only a few short steps from the Pearl Gates. 

 

That meant her own soul, which he cherished as if she were his own flesh and blood, was entirely in his hands.  Joshua forced his dry tongue to lick his dry lips.  “Murder is a very terrible sin, my daughter.  I’m glad that you have come to me first.  What can I say to keep you from throwing your life away in such a manner?”

 

A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her dusky cheek.  “He is evil, Father, an evil as pure and rancid as you could ask for.”

 

“It’s not his soul I’m worried about, Elisa, it’s yours.  Tell me what has happened to put you in this state.  We will work through this and then, I promise you, we will find some way that this villain is brought to heel.”

 

After a long moment she nodded, with a small, tired sigh.  “I suppose it all started about two weeks ago.  I had just gotten back from a well deserved vacation that was cut short due to the pressing needs of the company.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Themis Building, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9th, 9:15AM

 

The main office space of the Erinyes Division of Themis was normally a bustling place, filled wall to wall with inordinately beautiful women who were struggling under a fearsome, but manageable case load.  As Elisa entered the main operations floor, sipping on one the cafeteria’s better coffee offerings, she was forced to pause for a moment, stunned at the lack of people in what she had always known as a busy place.

 

Only one desk in five had an Erinys sitting at it, and there was none of the friendly chatter or subtle banter of a workplace normally so full of aggressive, alpha type women.  The silence was unnerving and only broken by the constant chirp of telephones and the clatter of keys on keyboards being worked. 

 

Even Kallie, the young office intern was at ‘her’ desk, eyes intent on a spreadsheet floating holographically before the T-Girl’s face.  While she wore her wig and the falsies she treasured, she was still wearing the (male) version of her school’s uniform.  That implied she’d been pressed into service as soon as she’d set foot in the building.

 

“It’s about time you got here,” greeted the Branch Supervisor, one Diana Davenport as she looked up from the copier near the door.  She collected the document’s she’d made and fell in step with Elisa, guiding her towards Diana’s office.  “We’ve been so swamped I’d considered sending an Ajax team looking for you.”

 

Ajax was another division of Themis, one that specialized in object recovery.  While they normally worked stolen property cases, they weren’t particularly picky if the object in question was alive or not.  Elisa kept her annoyance in check.  “It takes time to travel half way around the world, you know.  What’s going on, where is everyone?”

 

“You look tanned,” observed Diana as they reached her office.  “You must have had a good time.”

 

Elisa rolled her eyes at her superior’s off beat sense of humor.  “I was born this color.  Diana, what’s up?”  The older, but still breath taking blonde unburdened her arms of the archaic paper and crossed to behind her desk while waving Elisa into one of the comfortable chairs that faced it.

 

As she sat, Elisa could make out the documents were contracts, practically the only thing Themis did on paper that wasn’t evidence in nature and the stack was nearly fifty centimeters thick.  “What isn’t?” moaned Diana.  “In addition to our normal case load the U.N. is holding a Global Cooling Summit in Old Manhattan, the G8 Conference is taking place in Richmond and the World Fiction Awards are happening right here in Old Dee Cee.”

 

“Damn,” Elisa swore.  “You haven’t called for help?”

 

“I have Erinyes pulled from Kansas City, Alberta and even a couple on loan from Miami,” Diana replied tiredly.  “We’re still badly short staffed.”  She bristled a bit and crossly said, “I wouldn’t have cut your vacation short if it weren’t a real emergency.”

 

“I know, I know,” Elisa placated her.  “Still, I suppose the bonus this quarter should be rather nice.  How can I help?”

 

Diana tapped at her keyboard before rotating her monitor to where Elisa could see it.  On the screen were the details of a job bid form.  “A number of the girls are tied up helping out Cerberus with body guard work throughout these meetings.  The one major threat we have that I don’t have the manpower for is the World Fiction Awards.  Berndt Klaus is being awarded the Hefner for Adult Fantasy Novel and we’ve gotten word a number of religious groups plan to protest.  You’re the only Supervisor rated Erinys I have left.  I want you to take charge of security for the author as well as serve as Side man for him.”

 

“Why should the fundi’s care who wrote the best dirty book this year?” Elisa asked, somewhat confused.  Diana chuckled darkly as she returned the monitor to where she could see it and send the form to Elisa’s workstation.

 

“Obviously you haven’t read Herr Klaus’ work,” she said darkly.  “Do me a favor and don’t until this job is done.  I know you may find this job distasteful, Elisa, being Catholic…”

 

“I’m a professional,” Elisa snapped.  “I like to think I’ve done a damn fine job keeping my private life out of the workplace.”

 

“That’s the brief I got from Karen, and I’ve seen nothing to convince me otherwise,” she said quickly.  “I’m giving you this because you’re who I can trust with it, Elisa.  Even if I had the pick of the office, I’d still tap you.”

 

Elisa smiled demurely at the compliment.  “Thank you, and I’m sorry for my outburst.  I’ll see that this gets handled, Diana.”  The blonde nodded her dismissal as she wadded into the over flowing workload she was struggling with. 

 

At her desk, the Erinys found her monitor already displaying the bid form and a single white rose in her seat.  She picked it up and inhaled the soft, delicate aroma before opening the card that had been tucked into the keys on her keyboard.

 

It’s hard to write something here that won’t be sappy or overly romantic.  I think it would take me a lifetime to tell you how I feel, but I’m willing to start with dinner. 

 

Seven O’clock?

 

All my best

 

Tom

 

She smiled as her mind’s eye painted the image of the object of her affection bent over the card in her hand, mental gears turning loud enough to be overheard as he struggled with what to write.  Dropping the rose into a small glass vase he had thoughtfully provided Elisa tried to keep her thoughts from wandering as she read over the details of the job form and the threat assessment from Computer Intelligence.

 

It became apparent quickly that Berndt Klaus was a figure steeped in controversy which was exactly to his liking.  Indeed, hating Mr. Klaus seemed to be the one thing the various Christian and Muslim fundamentalist groups in the area could agree on.  “Some people,” she muttered as she flipped through the report, trying to pull a gist first before she would go back in and fill the details.   The report was a veritable who’s who of the radical fundamentalist movements; The Tribulation Saints, the Maccabees’, Crimson Jihad, The Hand of Allah, even the Daughters of Judith.  No one seemed to like this guy.

 

Then her eyes fell on the final name on the list and brought her up short; Cardinal Daniel Lethe, Dean of the College of Cardinals for the North American Federation.  While Elisa had never met the man, she knew of him by reputation.  Further, it was Cardinal Lethe, who was then Bishop Lethe that had signed the indulgence that had allowed her to remain Catholic after undergoing the Dragon’s Blood process and becoming Elisa due to the fact that she was now a genetic woman.

 

Frowning, Elisa brought up that specific page of the report and read.  “Freedom and respect for human rights and dignity has been the hallmark of the Catholic Church for the last two hundred years,” the document said.  “Beyond issues of faith, the Holy See does it’s best to remain neutral in the politics of humanity.  However, there are certain items that cannot be ignored or overlooked.  While the Church acknowledges Mr. Klaus’ right to write and publish whatever he wishes, we urge every good Catholic to distance themselves from his writings.  There is never a good reason to wallow in filth.”

 

“What in the world has this man written?” Elisa asked herself as she reached for her phone and dialed.  “Father Joshua Leonard, please,” she requested of the receptionist when the line connected.

 

After a brief moment, Elisa’s ear was filled with the rich baritone of the Priest’s voice.  “Elisa, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“Clean living,” she laughed.  “Do you have a moment, Father?  I need some information; it’s for work I’m afraid.”

 

“I can’t imagine how we might have run afoul of the Themis Corporation, but I’m quite at your disposal, my dear,” he replied.

 

“I’ve just read a statement Cardinal Lethe wrote about an author I’ve been assigned to bodyguard.  I can understand why the local fundamentalists may have issue with him, but I’ve never heard of the Church putting forth a pronouncement about what people can and can’t read.”

 

“Ah,” he muttered in understanding.  “The Church’s stance on pornographers has been fairly uniform throughout the last century, my daughter.  I’m familiar with the pronouncement you mention, and all I can tell you is, that as a good Catholic, you should distance yourself from this man.  Now, if this is something you cannot do because of work, I strongly recommend you not read any of his filth and keep your time with him as brief and professional as possible.”

 

“Father, what could Mr. Klaus…”

 

“What he’s written isn’t important, Elisa,” he interrupted her.  “You must trust my judgment in this.  I understand if your work compels you to protect him, but, please, my daughter, don’t let him corrupt you.”

 

“I won’t, Father,” she said, even more puzzled than when the phone call began.

 

“Good,” he replied with genuine relief in his voice.  “Will we see you at Mass, Sunday?”

 

Elisa checked the dates on her file.  “No, Father, the assignment occupies the entire weekend.  I’ll be there for midweek though.”

 

“I’ll look forward to seeing you; if there is nothing else, child?”

 

“No, Father, thank you for your time.”

 

“God and His angels watch over you and keep you safe until our next meeting, then.”  Elisa crossed herself as she accepted the Priest’s blessing and returned the handset to its cradle.  There were still many questions that were pressing against the back of her mind, but no time to puzzle them out.  As it was, she needed to find out what kind of resources she had available to build a team and get it ready.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Briefing Room 22, Themis Building, Old D.C. May 9th, 1:37PM

 

“This is our client,” Elisa told the small group she had managed to assemble in the briefing room, “Berndt Klaus, author, age 47.  Murphy, should the worst happen you should know he’s allergic to all penicillin derivatives, his cholesterol is forty points higher than it should be and he’s already suffered one heart attack.”

 

The ghostly hologram of a somewhat rotund man wearing an expensive suit floated between Elisa and the rest of the team as Murphy scribbled out notes to himself.  “Our length of contract begins at 1700 hours today when his flight arrives at Clinton International and will end Sunday at 2200 when we put him on the plane back to the European Union.  Overnight shifts will be in three, three hour blocks.  Threat assessment from computer intelligence is level nine; this guy has a long list of people who hate his guts and a history of violence.  Currently, we’re forecasting at least one attempt on his life, possibly as many as three.”

 

A chorus of groans drifted through the darkened room.  “That’s the bad news,” admitted Elisa.  “The good news is that it’s highly unlikely any of these attempts will be coordinated with the others.  While our ‘friends’ in the Fundi camp agree they hate this guy, that’s about all they agree on.  We’ll have to be on top of our game on this.  Our highest threat times are the award ceremony tomorrow night, the ‘meet the author’ panel tomorrow and the farewell brunch the day after.”

 

Elisa keyed the projector to display a floor plan before the team.  “This is our area of operation; the Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington.  The award ceremony will be taking place in the Reagan Auditorium here, the panel event in the Truman Room here and the dinner in the Taft Dining Hall here.  As this is a public hotel there are hundreds of entrances and exits all required by law.  We don’t have the man power to cover them all, nor can we have any of them locked due to fire and safety codes.  So, our focus will be on physical security and good old fashioned body guarding.  I will be playing ‘escort’ to Berndt while Tom takes Front Man slot with us.  Murphy, you’ll be playing Wing Man because if our boy is hit, I want you there ASAP.”

 

“I know the drill,” groused the young medic.  “In first, clear the room and get out of sight.  Who’s going to have my bag?”

 

“Sam will be doing over watch with the rest of the team in a command van here,” Elisa replied indicating the car port closest to the kitchen entrance to the hotel.  “Your bag will be in the van.  Carry as much trauma gear with you as you can.  As this is a black tie function, only Sam and the reserves will be able to use hard suits.  The rest of us have to make do with soft armor and tuxedo monkey suits.  Sam, I’ve already arranged to have the van access to their security system so you’ll be our eyes and ears.  We’ll try to use the kitchen exit as our primary evacuation point, with this side door as our secondary and the main doors here as the fall back.”

 

Diaz clicked off the projections and brought the lights back up.  “We’re going to be very exposed for this entire mission and it can’t be helped, guys.  This is considered a high threat mission and that bonus schedule applies.”

 

“Do we have any good intelligence on who’s likely to make a play for our mark?” asked Tom.

 

Elisa shook her head.  “Not really.  This guy’s at the top of a lot of people’s hate lists.  They could possibly all try for him, or we could get lucky and have a quiet time of it.  No way to know for sure.”  She examined their faces for a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink in.  “If there are no other questions, let’s get suited up and head out to Clinton International.”

 

“So I’m guessing dinner is out,” whispered Tom as he fell into step with her under his breath.

 

“Think of it as a working date,” she replied as quietly.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

William J. Clinton Air and Seaport, May 9th, 5:00PM

 

The Airbus 7000 was one of the few aircraft that still required a hard runway; an oddity considering the near omnipresence of massive inlets, bloated rivers and the sea culture humanity had adapted to in the twenty first century.  What it lacked in accessibility it made up for in comfort, lots of comfort.  This particular specimen was dressed in Lufthansa livery as it rolled to a stop at one of the older floating tarmac gates of Clinton International.  As the boarding ramp was maneuvered into position Elisa calmed her nerves by taking another visual sweep of the gate area.

 

The beautiful Erinys in her skin tight armored Fury suit with her clutch of heavily armed and armored gentlemen in waiting were drawing their normal stares, but no one seemed particularly interested in getting involved.  Most were more preoccupied with getting from A to B in the most expedient manner possible.  That made her happy, but she realized she wouldn’t relax until they were repeating this maneuver in reverse.  “Comm. check,” she thought at the transmitter that had been implanted in her skull.  She disliked using it as it gave a tinny echo to both her voice and everyone she heard through it, but it had the advantage of being the height of discretion. 

 

“One.”

 

“Two.”

 

“Three.”

 

“Four.”

 

“Five.”

 

Frontman,” came Tom’s mental voice after the chorus of her team.

 

“Wingman,” finished Murphy.

 

The ramp was now firmly secure against the double-decker airliner as Elisa felt the last bit of her relaxation slip away from her.  It was show time.  The First Class passengers began to dribble out in small clumps; a businessman who was struggling with his suitcase, a phone at his ear, a small family with a little girl who was crying and her father seemed livid, a steward who was trying to perform damage control for the airline as he trotted to keep up.

 

A coiled spring replaced Elisa’s spine as her eyes fell on the subject of their next few days.  He’d gained ten kilos from the hologram and probably nearly a hundred Euros in expense for his suit.  Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and Elisa was nearly certain she saw the muscles twitch around his mouth as if to pull it into a sneer of disdain but his expression remained neutral.  He practically marched up to Tom and presented his hand.  “I am Berndt Klaus,” he declared in a deep voice with only the mildest hint of an accent.  “You would be the leader of my detachment, yes?”

 

“No sir,” replied Tom smoothly as he shook hands.  “I’m Thomas Vannoy, squad leader of the Cerberus guards and I’ll be serving as what we call your Frontman or the obvious bodyguard.  Special Agent Elisa Diaz, Erinys, is in overall command of your safety and she’ll be serving as the ‘Sideman’ or ‘escort’.”

 

His eyes slid over her with all the cold ooze of a slug.  “Let us hope she is as skilled as she is beautiful,” he murmured as Elisa bit down on her temper hard.

 

“More than you’ll ever know,” she told him through gritted teeth in a macabre mockery of a smile.

 

Klaus held out his shoulder bag in Tom’s general direction.  “Well, let’s be about this, then.” 

 

The Cerebus used the muzzle of his PAS to push the doctor’s hand, and therefore the bag, back.  “Herr Klaus,” he said softly.  “It is our pleasure to serve as your body guards for the next few days.  That does not include fetch and carry, valet service or any other servant work.  And as saving your life is included; let me make you aware that the only services you may expect from Agent Diaz would be stopping bullets and/or assassins targeting you.”

 

The author sniffed his disdain and stiffly marched towards the baggage claim.  Elisa and Tom exchanged glances and fell in behind.  This is going to be a lovely weekend, she thought at her large friend.  He shrugged an exaggerated gesture through the armor.

 

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.

 

The wait at the carrousel was tense as bag after bag was claimed by the portly man; five in all counting a suit carrier he began cursing in German about due to its obviously rough treatment.  Sam detached himself from the group and sprung for a push cart when the third bag had been pulled off.  He let Berndt load it, however.  A soft tone in Elisa’s ear told her the vehicles were out front and ready, but it was obvious that their subject was not yet finished yelling to the Lufthansa rep about the state of his tuxedo.

 

Diaz was no longer amused and was feeling the minutes stretch out, increasing their vulnerability as Klaus went red in the face and, despite obvious appearances, seemed to be enjoying making an ass of him self.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a haggard looking, thirty something woman who was trying and failing to look younger taking more than a passing interest in the display.

 

Elisa hooked a hand into Berndt’s elbow with the intent of beginning to urge him out the door when the woman’s strident voice erupted with a spine chilling wail of, “Murderer!”  Diaz’s grip became an iron vise on Klaus’s elbow, pulling him from his argument with a surprised cry of pain.  Quickly she pulled the man to the side, into the clutch of armored men and away from threat.

 

Meanwhile the woman had snatched an improvised weapon from a passing bag of golf clubs and was intent on improving her handicap at the expense of Klaus’ head.  Elisa was vaguely aware of her team frog marching the protesting author out of the airport as fast as he could be forced into moving as she faced the threat head on. 

 

The woman made a clumsy swing at the author’s departing back, keeping up her screams of “Murderer!” as if a mantra to ward off evil.  Elisa interposed herself and locked up the woman’s arm while a foot sweep cost the woman her footing.  She didn’t seem to care about the pain Elisa was putting her in as she continued to try and claw her way after Klaus.  Finally it was apparent to her that her forward momentum had been halted and she turned on Elisa.  “Let me go!  Let me go!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.  “He killed my son!  My Son!” was the last bit of coherence that came from her as she dissolved into wracking sobs that plucked at Elisa’s heart.

 

The display didn’t keep the Erinyes from handcuffing her before her eyes looked up, seeing the first two of the three vehicles peal away from the curb.  Diaz to central, she thought, after a long moment; Code green, one in custody, target safe.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Themis HQ, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9th, 8 PM

 

“Janet Hastings,” Kallie’s voice said, injecting itself into the agent’s funk as she watched the aforementioned housewife through the two-way mirror.  The woman was out of her panic now, and sullenly sipping at the cup of coffee she’d been given and trying to repair her ruined hair do, somewhat impeded by the fact her hands were cuffed together.  Kallie continued reading from the file she had gotten from DC PD.  “Husband Michael, a tenner with a contract to Nolan, Parker and Weinstein; son Jonathan, deceased age ten, daughters Michelle and Sara, ages nineteen and thirteen respectively.  No priors, no parking tickets, not so much as an over draft on the family Visa.”

 

“Any signs of her being a kwick kroot?” asked Elisa softly.

 

Diana shrugged as she joined the two, passing out cups of coffee as she did so.  “We won’t know for sure until the results of the MRI come back.  The preliminaries say no, however.”

 

“What would make Mrs. Straight and Narrow here snatch up a five iron and go for a capital murder rap?” muttered Elisa to herself.  Turning back to Kallie and the report from the police she asked, “What were the circumstances of the son’s death?”

 

The intern had finally been able to get out of her school uniform and into a rather flirty sun dress that just tempted the office’s rather relaxed dress code.  The pages of the report rattled as Kallie flipped through them.  “Um, kidnapping by a known pedophile, one Gus Danner, who according to this did some pretty horrible things to the kid before he killed him and dumped him in the Pennsylvania Inlet.  That’s how he was caught.  A Mud-lark only identified here as Joshua saw the dump and fingered him to the cops.”

 

“Where is Mr. Danner now?” Diana asked with an arched eyebrow.

 

“The prison graveyard of Arlington Federal Penitentiary,” Kallie replied after a moment of digging.  “Death by lethal injection two years ago.”

 

“What is Klaus’ status?” asked Diana of Elisa after a moment of thought.

 

“Tom is sitting on him at the hotel,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the suspect.  She turned to Kallie once more.  “I don’t suppose there are any obvious ties with Mrs. Hastings and fundamentalist groups?”

 

The intern shrugged once more.  “According to this she’s a Unitarian.”

 

“Of course,” Elisa muttered as she collected the file from Kallie.  “I’m going to have a chat with her, see if I can get some kind of an explanation for this.”

 

“The video feeds are on,” warned Diana to Elisa’s department back, then she turned up the volume on the box next to the mirror slightly and settled in to watch.  Elisa felt the woman’s eyes on her as she dropped the folder to the table and made her self comfortable at the desk, pointedly ignoring her.  She opened the file and made a show of flipping through it before she finally decided to speak.

 

“My condolences for your loss,” she said softly.

 

Janet inhaled sharply before sniffing in anger and turning away.  “I want a lawyer.”

 

Elisa took out a pen and made a note on a blank sheet of paper in the file.  “That’s your choice, but it will make things harder on you.”

 

“I want a lawyer,” she repeated sullenly.

 

From a pouch on her utility belt Elisa took out a pocket voice recorder and turned it on.  “Case number 209758348, 8:07pm, People Vs Janet Hastings, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, attempted capital murder, let the record show that the accused…” was as far as she got before the woman interrupted, a bit of panic in her voice;

 

“Attempted murder?!  I didn’t try to murder anyone!”

 

“What were you planning on doing with the five iron, Mrs. Hastings?  Give Mr. Klaus a few tips on his chip shots?”

 

“That…that devil murdered my son!”

 

“Gus Danner murdered your son, Mrs. Hastings,” Elisa shot back.  “He was tried eight years ago for it.  Convicted and two years ago put to death for the crime.  Are you admitting that you perjured yourself and sent an innocent man to Death Row?”

 

“Klaus put that animal up to what he did.  He is the one that made Danner think he could get away with it!”

 

“So now you are alleging a conspiracy between Berndt Klaus and Gus Danner for what happened to your son?  I’m fairly confident Mr. Klaus’s whereabouts can be accounted for during that entire year.”

 

A single tear rolled down Janet’s cheek.  “You don’t understand…”

 

Elisa produced a box of Kleenex and leaned forward as she presented them, softening her tone considerably.  “Then help me understand, Mrs. Hastings.  What made you try and attack Mr. Klaus?”

 

Janet wiped at her eyes before they fell on the Fury Uniform and hardened again.  “Why would a pervert like you care?  You don’t know what it’s like to bring life into the world and have it snatched away; you’re just playing at being a woman!”

 

“You stupid perra!  Si usted fuera un hombre ....!” she shouted, jumping to her feet before she mastered herself and remembered they were being recorded.  “Just because you won a genetic lottery doesn’t give you a monopoly on motherhood!  I’ve been shot at and risked my life for fifteen years for the privilege of what you were born with so don’t you ever tell me I don’t know what it means to be a woman!”  She turned away cursed under her breath for loosing her temper. 

 

“Are…are you telling me that…you…”

 

“I bleed every month just like you,” snapped Elisa.  “And speaking of bleeding, that’s what you’ll be doing in the female wing of Arlington Federal.  The hard cases in there will eat you for breakfast!  Now, I tell you for truth, cachapera, you best tell me what was going through your head when you snatched up that five iron and it better make sense, or I’m going walk out that door and wash my hands of you!”

 

Mrs. Hastings seemed to find that funny and couldn’t suppress a nervous giggle as if she was only just on this side of losing her mind.  “You honestly don’t know, do you?  That piece of filth you’re protecting is a pedophile!  Not only does he lust after little boys but he writes books on how to get away with it!

 

The door to the cubical was snatched open and Diana’s strident voice cut in over the woman’s shouting.  “Diaz, out!  Now!”

 

Elisa was too stunned to fully comprehend what she had heard and her body was too used to following the orders of Diana’s voice.  As she stumbled out Janet shouted after her, “You don’t have to take my word for it!  Look it up!  Surely this place has Google!”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Themis HQ, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9th, 8:31 PM

 

Diana had the walls of the shark tank blackened so the few agents that were in the office couldn’t see Elisa pacing like a caged tiger, nor hear her shouting as she vented her spleen at her boss.  For all the rage and violence, in both English and Spanish, Diana coolly sat behind her desk, watching the agent vent, neither interrupting, nor answering the heaping abuse she was receiving.  Finally Elisa ground to a halt and flung herself into one of the overstuffed chairs that faced the desk, out of breath for the moment.  “Are you finished?” Diana finally asked after a long moment of silence.

 

“I can’t believe you put me on a detail to protect a pedophile!” hissed Elisa.

 

“An alleged pedophile,” Diana responded coolly.  “Klaus has never even been charged, let alone convicted of anything improper.  More to the point I put you on a detail to protect a client who has paid for our services.  As such, I expect you to fulfill the obligations of your contract and protect our client to the best of your ability.”

 

As string of obscenity in Spanish greeted the order, but Diana refrained from smiling as she drew her ace and played it.  Loudly over cutting the agent’s tirade she declared, “You swore an oath to follow the orders of the superiors placed over you by this company, Elisa; an oath that both legally and morally binds you to the obligation of protecting Berndt Klaus until 2200 hours the day after tomorrow.  Now, are you going to honor that Oath, or should I get in touch with your priest now about the excommunication?”

 

Elisa shot to her feet, trembling with rage.  “Don’t you dare try to use my religion against me!”

 

“Let me be clear, Agent Diaz,” Diana drawled as she almost leisurely stood up and locked eyes with her recalcitrant employee.  “I’ll use whatever I have to so that this office’s obligations to our Clients and Corporate are met.  If that means I have to use your baby brother against you I will!  And speaking of Juan, how will you pay his tuition at that very exclusive school I helped you get him into without a paycheck of your own?”

 

“If you were a man, I’d cut your heart out with a dull knife,” hissed Elisa.

 

“If I were a man, I’d probably ask you out as I’ve always had a weakness for ethnic beauties,” Diana replied smoothly as she came around the desk to get nose to nose with her agent.  Elisa, for her part blinked in confusion at the sudden turn the conversation had taken. 

 

“Wh..what?” she sputtered

 

“Are you finally thinking clearly?” Diana demanded.  “Good, so, now that I have my best supervisor back and not some Spanish hellcat let me paint you a picture, Elisa.  Berndt Klaus has paid for protection and we, being the professionals we are, took his money and promised him he’d live until 22:00 hours Sunday.  Now, you didn’t take his money and neither did I, more to the point if either of us had been the ones he’d come to we likely would have put out feelers to see who would pay the most for him to have a little face to face time with his Creator.

 

“But we weren’t, it’s shitty, but that’s the way of it, Diaz.  So, we grit our teeth and we do our job and we keep his slimy ass alive until 22:00 Sunday.  Now, you’re going to get your Spanish heart breaker ass down to that hotel and you’re going to keep Berndt Klaus alive until 22:00 Sunday.  Do you read me, Diaz?”

 

“Loud and clear,” the agent muttered.

 

“Good,” beamed Diana around one of her dazzling smiles.  “Now,” she said resting her shapely rear on her desk, “let me give you a little advice, Elisa.  Contrary to your opinion, I’m sure, I actually like you.  When you have your temper under control you’re an asset to this company and one of my best agents.  Now, if you’re not comfortable talking to me about this, I’ll understand, but Elisa, please get some help keeping your temper.  I want you to do well with Themis and go as far as I know you can go.  But I can’t recommend you for anything other than lateral transfers to Computer Intelligence or Internal Security if you can’t keep that temper of yours on a leash.”  She sighed and shook head.  “I’m not trying to lecture you, Elisa, you’re a grown woman, just think about what I said, alright?”

 

Diaz felt a smirk pull at the corner of her lips.  “What should I think about; the part about me keeping my temper or the part about you asking me out?”

 

Diana smiled an odd smile and shooed her out with a wave of her hand as she returned to her seat once more.

 

Vangie Blake whistled from her cubicle as Diaz emerged from the Shark Tank. “Hey, Elisa? How’s the case with this year’s Newberry Award candidate going?”

 

“Not funny,” Elisa growled. “I swear that man couldn’t be more aggravating if he tried!

 

“What makes you think that he’s not trying?”

 

“Trying?”

 

“Hey, you must have picked up by now, that Satan Klaus is a stone-cold wise ass, getting his rocks off by mooning the entire world.”

 

“I’m sure that there’s a lot more to this, than Klaus being a galactic threat pain in the ass.”

 

“Hey, that’s what wise asses always want you to think. I never met an asshole who didn’t like to be thought of as the victim.” Vangie paused, “Come to think of it, Klaus’ earlier work kinda reminds me of Angel and Slick.”

 

“‘Angel and Slick’?” Then Elisa paused and looked coldly at Vangie. “You read Klaus’ work?”

 

“Oh, not the stuff that he puts out now, no.” Vangie grimaced. “No, before he figured out how to bring his two passions together, Klaus used to write ‘Outlaw Porn’.”

 

“Outlaw porn? Caper crime fiction?”

 

“Yeah, only it was more like ‘how I beat the system and screwed over everybody’, and like that. Ol’ Bernie used to be very popular with the ‘thug for life’ crowd. Used to write books about this hard ass called ‘Walker’ who went around basically pissing on the world and making everyone look stupid. I read his stuff, ‘cause it was damn near a ‘how to beat the system’ handbook for career lawbreakers.”

 

“Sort of like what he writes now, only for an even more disgusting audience.”

 

“Yeah. I read the stuff cause I knew that the hard boys read it, and I wanted to know what tricks they thought might work. Now, here’s the thing- for professional criminals, Prison Apes got some surprisingly straight-laced ideas about some things. Short-eyes still take pretty hefty chances inside.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, Klaus alienated his entire core readership, when he started writing ‘how to fondle six-year-olds and make their parents take the heat for it’ books.”

 

Elisa shrugged. “I understand that his books fetch twenty times per unit what he’d get for his old stuff. Even if he’s selling to only one-quarter as many people, he’s still making five times as much.”

 

“Maybe, but like I said, it kinda reminds me of Angel and Slick.”

 

Elisa let out a martyred sigh. “And who were ‘Angel and Slick’?”

 

“They were a pair of wise asses in my old dike-town neighborhood.”

 

“I didn’t know that you used to live in a lesbian ghetto,” Elisa said with a grin.

 

“Very funny,” Vangie returned. “Diked-in neighborhood, twenty feet under sea-level, cheap rents, no maintenance, you grow up with the sound of substandard concrete cracking under the weight of seawater?” Elisa nodded. Every poor district in the world had a dike-town or two. They were usually formerly upscale neighborhoods that landlords bullied the local municipality into rescuing from the rising waters, but then turned around and let rot.

 

“Anyway, Angel and Slick were as prime a pair of smart-asses as you could ask for. They were always going around pissing everyone off, just because they got off on getting away with it. They picked up some cash doing it, when they could, but they did it even when there was absolutely nada in it for ‘em.”

 

“Vangie, every neighborhood has an Angel or a Slick, if not two of them. What-”

 

“Bear with me. Anyway, I was one of their favorite targets-nothing like picking on a blind kid for some safe giggles- so I learned to keep track of them. When I was 11, Angel and Slick went too far and got the cops after them. Now, from what I hear, they could’a got away with it, but Slick set up Angel to take the fall for it.”

 

“Why?”

 

Vangie grinned ferally. “That’s just it. As near as I can tell, he did it, just ‘cause he could. ‘Cause Slick was bored with pissing on other people. He wanted a BIG reaction, and the only person that he could be sure would have that big a reaction, and who would be totally surprised, was Angel. ‘Cause he got off on the idea of sticking to other people, and the biggest kick was sticking it to his best friend. But it had a happy ending.”

 

“Really? What happened?”

 

“Angel managed to avoid the cops long enough to get his hands on Slick and mash his head in with a plumber’s wrench.”

 

“You call that a happy ending?” 

 

“Hey, we never had to put up with Angel or Slick again. In my patch, that was a happy ending.”

 

Elisa chewed on that. “So, you think that Klaus has something up his sleeve?”

 

“I’d be amazed if he didn’t.”

 

“So, who do you think he’s setting up? The Hefner Awards people?”

 

“Nope; you.”

 

Me? Why me? I’m his bodyguard!”

 

“And Angel was Slick’s best bud and partner in crime. Look, Klaus obviously loves having people screaming at him, wanting his hide. Makes him feel important or lets him forget that he’s got this teeny-weenie or something. Now, from his point of view, what’s better than having all those people fuming at him as he sticks out his tongue at them? Having these killer babes with guns, ready to shoot anyone to tries to give him what he’s got coming. What’s better than having killer babes with guns guarding your sorry ass? Having killer babes with guns guarding your sorry ass in kinky black latex cat suits! And what’s better than that?”

 

Elisa’s face went hard. “Arranging it so that those killer babes in kinky black latex cat suits kill someone for you, so that you don’t take the heat for it.”

 

“Or he arranges it so that you violate your contract somehow, so you do any or all of that, and he gets to stiff us for the fee.”  Vangie shrugged.  “Either way, you’d better watch your back.”

 

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll catch you later.”  Elisa made her way back over to the holding tank and let herself in.  “You’re free to go,” she announced tonelessly as she crossed to Janet’s side of the table and removed her handcuffs.

 

The housewife was stunned.  “What?”

 

“As the Agent in Charge of this detail I have decided that there is not sufficient evidence to prosecute, further it is not in the interest of the People of the Boston-Atlanta Metroplex.”  She paused significantly as the handcuffs were returned to their keeper on her belt.  “Stay away from Berndt Klaus and you and I can continue to pretend this didn’t happen, right?”

 

Janet rubbed at her wrist as she stood and appraised the Erinys before her.  “Thank you,” she said at last as she laid a hand on Elisa’s shoulder.  “And I’m sorry for what I said.”

 

“Go home to your husband, Mrs. Hastings,” Elisa told her softly.  “Hug your children, cook them something nice to eat and forget about the ugly places in the world.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 10:55am, May 19th

 

Father Leonard was glad of a bit of break in his favorite parishioner’s confession to catch up on the notes he was taking on his PDA.  The story that had tumbled from her lips came in such a torrent that keeping notes to assist his failing memory had been difficult.  Now, however, he was caught up but there was still silence coming from the booth.  “Elisa?” he called softly.

 

Her shadowed eyes returned to his through the screen.  “Sorry, Father, I guess I ought to add envy to my list of sins,” she managed around a sniff and a forced lopsided grin.

 

“Ah, Mrs. Hastings,” the Priest replied with a chuckle.  “I feel very confident of telling you, Elisa, she is probably far more envious of you, than you are of her.  Still, envy is not something to take lightly so before you sleep tonight I want you to recite the Rosary and count all the blessings you have received from Our Heavenly Father.”

 

“Yes father.”

 

The priest nodded to himself as he notated the penance in the small computer in his hand.  “I can certainly see why you’re upset about this.  For myself, I must apologize to you for keeping you in the dark concerning the nature of Mr. Klaus’ work.  I’m sure you understand my reasons for doing so.”

 

“My temper,” the young woman answered softly.  “Father, do you think Diana is right?  That I let my temper control me?”

 

“Elisa, you’re still a young woman, biologically, if not by the calendar.  If I had to guess I’d put your physical age somewhere around 24.  Now, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve counseled enough of your peers to know that young people, young women especially, are just bubbling with hormones that us ‘old farts’ can only vaguely remember.  Your body is practically demanding you do things that society frowns on.”

 

“There are days,” Elisa whispered, “where I’m so afraid that I’ll do something I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting.”

 

“But you haven’t,” the priest responded.  “That’s what I want you to remember, Elisa, you haven’t.   Now, could you work on keeping your temper?  Who couldn’t?  I think that’s something we can overcome together with God’s help.”

 

“Amen,” she replied softly.

 

Father Leonard sighed and glanced over his notes.  “Back to the task at hand, however.  What happened after you released Mrs. Hastings?”

 

“I went back to the Canard hotel,” the Agent said, her voice growing cold.  “That…that thing was bouncing back and forth over gloating that I’d subdued Mrs. Hastings and outrage that I’d let her go.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9th 9:37 PM

 

“What do you mean you let her go!” thundered Klaus, the outrage painting his face scarlet.  Elisa counted to ten mentally as she wiped the droplets of spittle that had escaped his lips from her uniform.

 

“Mr. Klaus,” she replied in an even tone, voice completely devoid of its normal lilting emotion.  “The inner operational details of Themis Corporation are no concern of yours.”

 

“That woman attacked me!”

 

“And you don’t have a mark on you,” interrupted Tom with a martyred sigh. 

 

“You stay out of this, hübscher junge!” Klaus started and would have said more but Tom drew his arms across his chest and drew himself up to his full, more than formidable height.

 

“Let us be perfectly clear, Mr. Klaus,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.  “You paid our company to protect you.  Agent Diaz and my team were assigned to protect you, so you will be protected.  You don’t have to like us and we don’t have to like you.”

 

“How dare you…?”

 

“And just so everything is out in the open, we don’t answer to you.  What occurs within Themis Corporation, who that body does or does not charge with law breaking, or any other internal matter is none of your business.”

 

The man’s eyes narrowed.  “I demand to know who your supervisor is and be put in touch with them right now!”

 

Tom grinned as he took out his cell phone.  “That would be Rupert MacDonald, Supervisor in Command, old D.C. Detachment, Cerebus Division, Themis Corp.  I have him on speed dial.”  Klaus went to take the phone but Tom kept it from his grasp.  “Of course, it would be unprofessional of me not to inform you that if I have a worry of being in Dutch with the boss, well, that will occupy my mind very considerably.  I might miss someone with a gun, or a knife, and an itch to use either on you.”

 

Tom held out the phone which Klaus batted away with a growl of, “Get out!”

 

“Sleep well, sir,” Vannoy told him with a grin and he and Elisa withdrew.  “Asshole,” he muttered once the door was firmly shut between them and the object of their ire. 

 

“It would be unprofessional of me not to warn you if you tattle on me I’ll do a slipshod job of protecting your sorry ass?” asked Elisa with a chuckle as they walked next door to the makeshift command post they had set up.  Tom grinned like a school boy being told finals had been canceled.

 

“Every action has an equal and opposite re-action,” he quoted around his grin.  “Besides, I learned long ago the best way to deal with a creep like Klaus is to use their own weapons against them.”

 

“I think we can count on not getting an ‘extremely satisfied’ rating on the customer service survey after this one,” she replied. 

 

“Ask me if I care.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 10th 7:18 AM

 

“Elisa?  Elisa wake up,” Coaxed Tom's voice into a tumbled and chaotic dream.

 

No quiero ir a la escuela,” she murmured as she scrunched down into the sofa where she'd fallen asleep in an attempt to get more comfortable.  Tom smiled down at her sleeping form, so angel like relaxed in slumber as it was now.  A number of hairs had escaped the braid she'd set it in the night before to fit into her helmet and these framed her face and made her look vulnerable.  The armor, so similar in appearance to a black latex cat suit hugged every curve and left no doubts as to her magnificent form underneath.  The Cerebus commander couldn't help but smile at the object of his affection, even as he reached over and tipped the sofa with a free hand. 

 

The primary advantage of the Erinys armor, other than its visual appeal, was that the fabric was molecularly locked.  This gave it a glossy appearance, but more importantly it meant that it made her impossibly slick and next to impossible to grab.  In combat, this was a must; however it meant that she slid off the sofa like warm butter off a non-stick pan.  The flop turned into a roll as she slid across the carpeted floor and vaulted to her feet, mayhem in her eyes.  “Good morning!” greeted Vannoy with a smile.

 

“You didn't have to flip me onto the floor,” she groused as she accepted a cup of coffee from Murphy as the medic passed. 

 

“Shake you while you're asleep?” demanded Tom around his grin, “no, I like my bones in one piece, thank you!”

 

She humphed and planted a hand on her shapely hip as she took a gulp of the coffee.  “What time is it?”

 

“Seven twenty,” he replied as he walked to the other couch to shake awake one of his troopers for the morning shift.  “You've got plenty of time for a shower and to get ready for a fun filled day of being Herr Klaus' 'date'.”

 

“Don't remind me,” she mumbled as she drained the coffee before plucking her overnight bag from the small pile of luggage and made her way to the bathroom. 

 

It was as palatial as the room had been, nearly to the point of being gaudy to her way of thinking as she removed her shampoo, conditioner, and the other toiletries from the bag to a shelf in the shower stall.  Still, she noticed there were four nozzles for the shower which would make for a very interesting experience.  Once the various soaps and body washes were as she liked them she reached her thumb into her armpit to the hidden pad there that would read her finger print and open the armor down her side to her hip.

 

From there it was like peeling off a second skin as the various machines built into the armor, bio-monitors, stimulant and pain suppressive injectors, released themselves and she was once more in the condition that she'd entered the world.  As usual the neck collar had destroyed her braid and she found herself meeting her own reflection in the full length mirror in one corner, her head surrounded in a halo of ebony tresses. 

 

It was always a subconscious thrill to catch her reflection in the mirror and see her inner self staring back out, curvy and taunt and so wildly female.   To be as she'd always felt she should be outside and in was a feeling that never failed to send a shiver down her spine.  Still there was work to be done, however distasteful.  The piper had to be paid for the reflection in the mirror so she rushed through the shower and, as much as she didn't want to she used the hotel's 'complimentary' hair dryer to be ready that much faster.

 

Finally the bag gave up its final secret. 

 

Everyone even remotely knowledgeable about police subcontractors in the modern world knew about the Erinyes Combat Armor.  How a fabric so remarkably thin could stop the incredible amount of firepower it could, or that it's molecularly locked state acted as if the material was made of Bucky Balls that allowed her the nearly impossible mobility that the Erinyes were famous for.  Some even knew about the built in gimmicks and tricks that, along with the cybernetic implants in her body allowed her supervisors and team leads to know where she was, what her physical state was, IFF transmitters and a host of other little toys that gave her an edge in combat.

 

But everyone knew they were black, liquid latex.

 

No one knew about the other Erinyes armor.  The suit that was painstakingly matched to the agent's skin tone where it needed to be opaque and was a slick transparent oddity where not that allowed the Erinyes to dress however the assignment might demand and still be ready to be as lethal as needed.  Indeed, most of the Cerebus guards outside that Elisa worked with were ignorant of it. 

 

Once she was certain she was dry she pulled the armor on made sure her actual nipples were under the pair that had been painted onto the armor while ruefully shaking her head at the macabre sense of humor some designer had had to ensure even a wardrobe malfunction would appear to be accurate.  That accomplished, she pulled on a white silk tank and, even though the armor served as all the bra she would need, got the one built into the top settled and a pair of tight designer jeans and four inch heels. 

 

Now dressed as the expensive 'professional girlfriend' that was the role she would play for the next few days, Elisa relinquished the bathroom for one of the boys to use while she did her makeup in the sitting room of the suite that served as their command post.  “Any updates from corporate?” she asked as she fished her makeup bag out of her purse.

 

“There's some net chatter about our favorite author,” replied Tom from the act of donning the soft armor he'd wear under his clothes.  “And Murphy gave us the URL of a web 'journalist' that Klaus says has been stalking him.”

 

“Why wasn't that in the initial report?” Diaz demanded from making sure her lipstick was evenly applied.

 

“Ask computer intelligence,” Murphy said with a chuckle as he presented the Fury with a tablet that already had the Net channel pulled up.

 

“This goes back quite a ways,” Elisa murmured as she flipped through the website.  “It seems our boy here is on his own personal crusade.  Any criminal stuff linked to him?”

 

“Nothing violent,” the Medic answered.  “Slew of harassment charges and restraining orders, but nothing like what Crimson Jihad or The Hand of Allah are known for.”

 

“Make sure the others get a good look at his photo anyway,” she ordered from applying her mascara. “He doesn’t look like much, but no sense taking chances.  Who’s with Fatso now?”

 

“Sam,” informed Tom as he brought over a bagel that had been stuffed and topped with every imaginable ingredient and thickly slathered in cream cheese.  “Mr. Popularity is having breakfast in his room.  When you’ve eaten we’ll go relieve him and get started.”

 

“My hero,” she enthused as she took a huge bite out of the bagel.  “What kind of goodies did Operations spring for us?”

 

Tom waved over one of his men with a hard plastic case.  “I knew you’d want that Beretta 93R of yours, but I also knew there’d be no place to keep it on how you’d be dressed.”

 

“A woman appreciates a man who can dress to match her,” she mumbled around her mouthful.  He placed the case down and opened it.  Nestled in protective foam were two small pistols, one a silver revolver with an enormous chamber wheel, the other what appeared to be a black semi-auto pocket pistol.

 

“First, your primary, an oldie but a goodie,” Tom enthused as he took the revolver from the case and opened the wheel.  “Taurus Judge a .45 Long Colt pistol and a 410 shotgun all in one tidy little package.”

 

“My favorite jurist.”

 

“I’ve alternated the chambers for you,” he went on, “the 410 shells are upland game loads and bird shot out of a one inch barrel will expand into a nice cloud quite fast if you have to discourage a crowd.”

 

“Ouch,” she sympathized as she took the pistol and closed the wheel. 

 

“The .45 Long Colts are actually tungsten sabots in .357.   With that much powder behind them they’ll punch through most hard suits up close and any soft armor on the market.”

 

She tested the heft of the pistol, her middle finger finding a plunger hidden in the grip.  “What’s this?”

 

He chuckled darkly.  “Can’t get anything past you,” he said around his laugh.  “Ops added that so you could select which chamber you use.  Give it a squeeze and it rotates the cylinder without dropping the hammer.”  She nodded appreciatively as the pistol disappeared into a holster that was hidden by the bunches of the tank top’s silk and the waist of her jeans.

 

“What other toys do you have for me, Q?” she asked in a most lamentable imitation of Sir Sean Connery.

 

“Knowing your fondness for automatics I've included a Kel-Tec P01 Pocket Protector.  Rotary magazine holds fifty, one millimeter rounds.”  A perfectly arched eyebrow ascended her forehead. 

 

“One millimeter?” she asked drolly.  “.22 long rifle would be 5 times larger and still worthless...”

 

“Yes, but there are fifty in each magazine, and the pistol only fires in full auto mode,” he replied.  “Probably not something you'll want to use against a person, but if there's technology you need to wreck, this will do nicely.  And, after all, it is a hold out.”

 

“True,” she admitted as the pistol was carefully slid into a pocket on the jeans, safety on.  “What's the ring?”  He reached in and carefully withdrew a silver ring with a gemstone so large as to obviously be costume jewelry and carefully placed it on the ring finger of her right hand.

 

“It's a shock ring.  Squeeze the band and your next punch has a fifty thousand volt extra.  Battery is only good for one shot, so make it count if you need it.”

 

“I'll likely end up using it on you,” she teased him.

 

“Only if my luck changes,” he shot back as he closed the case and began to pull on a shoulder rig system that had a pair of holsters under each arm pit.  “And yes, since I know you just won't be comfortable without it, I'll have your 93 with me if things get that bad right here,” he said patting his right armpit. 

 

“How can a girl sleep at night without her security blanket?” she demanded as she dropped the few touch up items she’d need from her makeup bag into a clutch purse.  “We ready?”

 

He pulled an obnoxiously loud floral print shirt over the shoulder rig system and purposefully didn’t button the shirt up.  Tom started to answer but Klaus' strident voice echoing through the hall outside cut him off; the author screaming for help.  Faster than any woman in four inch heels had a right to move, Elisa had relieved him of her pistol and bounded out the door into the hallway.

 

There she was just in time to see Sam forcibly separate Klaus from a mousy looking young man whose scruffy clothing, the microphone he was desperately trying to keep Klaus from taking away from him and the camera built into a pair of glasses labeled him admirably as the aforementioned web journalist.  Finally Sam separated the two, the young journalist retaining his microphone allowing the Cerebus to shout, “What the furry fornication is wrong with you?” at Klaus.

 

“Gun!” Shouted the Author.  “He has a gun!  Shoot him!”

 

On hearing this, the journalist, obviously no stranger to altercations with the law, and law enforcement subcontractors promptly dropped the microphone and threw both hands into the air.  Elisa slowed to a more leisurely stroll while tucking her pistol behind her jeans in the small of her back.  “Oh yes, a regular menace to society here,” she observed.  After a withering glance at the author she turned back to the young man and ordered, “Put your hands down and go talk to the steely jawed boy toy behind me.  And don't do anything stupid or he'll hurt you.  A lot.”

 

“Yes, ma'am,” he acquiesced meekly in a voice slurred with a mild Germanic accent.  Elisa watched him go for a moment, then, as Tom took charge of him with a surreptitious sweep of the chemical sniffer built into his hand checking for firearms and explosives, turned back to Sam.

 

“Exactly what happened here?” she asked softly and, sensing Klaus building up to a tirade held up a meticulously manicured finger.  “Mr. Klaus, the English Language does not have words for the contempt with which I hold you.  Don’t speak to me.  Don’t interrupt my team member and don’t try what little patience I have left for you. Sam?”

 

Sam’s eyes darted between his team leader and their client.  He was old guard, close to the end of his current contract and not far from retirement.  After a quick moment of thought his action plan quickly materialized in his mind. “We were having breakfast, Miss Diaz.  We got an unexpected knock on the door and before I can even think of getting up, Mr. Klaus is rushing the door, yelling, ‘I got it’ and then as soon as he gets the door open he starts screaming and wrestling with the kid in the hall.”

 

“And you didn’t stop him because…?”

 

“I was hard on his heals, ma’am, but he was closer to the door than I was.” She thought for a long moment and sighed. 

 

“Mr. Klaus did you receive, read and understand Themis pamphlet 48-10527A entitled Cerebus Guards, Rules for the Protected?”  Klaus’ face was red with suppressed anger; however like most men who prided themselves on being as obnoxious as possible, he had a keen sense of how far he could push someone before they would react in a manner contrary to his best interests.

 

He was also smart enough to know that Elisa Diaz was at that limit and leaning over it badly.  “Ja, Agent Diaz, I read and understood the pamphlet.”

 

“Then I do not need to remind you that you just committed a contract nullification action and, had the young man at the door been an assassin, Themis would incur no liability to your estate for your death. That, as we say in America, was your one freebie.  If you commit another breech of contract action, our contract will be null and void as of that instant, no matter the situation on the ground and we will leave.”

 

The author’s jaw ground his teeth under the rolls of fat.  “Apologies, Agent, I will not forget myself again.”

 

“No, Mr. Klaus,” she told him, her brown eyes cold and hard.  “No you won’t.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 11:29AM, May 19th

 

Much to his dismay, Father Leonard's stomach growl interrupted Elisa's confession.  “I'm so sorry!” they both said in unison.  From her side of the confessional the priest could hear her gathering her belongings.  “I've kept you far too long Father,” she continued.  As quickly as his old bones would allow him, Joshua got out of the booth before her and managed to catch her as she exited, still offering apologies for how long her story had tied him up.

 

“That's enough,” he told her firmly, catching her short in her making her exit.  “Now,” he said a fair bit more jovially, “as it was my stomach that interrupted things, it’s only fair that I spring for lunch.  So, why don’t we continue this conversation over a meal that will silence my anatomy and, as I promised you, we will find an answer to your problems.”

 

“Father, I…”

 

“My daughter, this is where you meekly say, ‘Yes, Father,’ and we walk to your car.”

 

Her dark eyes rolled, but much to the elderly priest’s relief she was smiling again and her smile was genuine.  “I don’t do meek, but, ‘Yes, Father,’ will that do?”

 

“Close enough,” the old man replied with a chuckle as the pair began walking to the door of the chapel.  “So, who was the boy?  The web journalist you’d heard about?” She nodded thoughtfully as she adjusted the drape of her Cool Cloak over the bat winged blouse and jeans she was wearing.  The dark fabric of the cape was impregnated with nanotubes through which compressed Arctron gas was allowed to expand then pass through the barrier of the inner and outer fabric where it was re-compressed and the entire affair was powered by micro solar cells throughout the outer face.  Inside the cape it would quickly be twenty degrees cooler than the outside air.

 

“Johann Gevalia,” she said with a sigh.  “Wannabe Edward R Morrow, still I can’t be mad at the kid he’s determined to ‘out’ Klaus for the ladrón humano del oxígeno he is.  For all I know he’s one of Klaus’ victims.”

 

The tall Jesuit looked down on his favorite parishioner as an eyebrow ascended his forehead.  “You’re not exactly Methuselah yourself, Elisa.”

 

“There are days I’d argue that, Father,” she replied as she slipped on a pair of large sunglasses to protect her eyes.  Joshua made do with a Fedora he had rolled up in his suit jacket that snapped back into shape thanks to the memory material it was from.  In short order the pair were getting comfortable in Elisa’s powder blue BMW and rolling towards the M Street Flood Lock.   “We found out later that because of Johann’s personal crusade against him that Klaus had leaked some of his schedule to the internet.  He’d hoped that Johann would show up and Klaus would use us to commit murder for him.”

 

“I think I’m starting to agree with your assessment of this…person…Elisa.” He admitted, both to her and to himself as he fretted over how he would be able to keep not only a murder from being committed, but a conspiracy to cover it up as well. 

 

The BMW raced up the ramp to the top of the canal dyke and splashed into the transition pool.  There it converted itself into a speed boat and was soon roaring down the canal.  “D'angelo's’?” he asked.

 

“Best Italian in the metroplex,” she replied with a grin.  “And don’t worry about the cost, I’m buying.”

 

“I thought I said…” he started before the emotionless lenses of her sunglasses fixed him into his seat.

 

“Call it my tithe for missed weeks at mass, Father and just say, ‘Thank you, my daughter,’ meekness optional.”

 

“Thank you, my daughter,” he quoted with a chuckle. 

 

“We didn’t know it then, but that leak would come back and bite Mr. Klaus in his fat…rear… later, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

 

“What did you do with Johann?”

 

“Nothing,” she replied as the BMW cleared the canal and began to make better time on the less regulated Pennsylvania Inlet.  “He was in the country legitimately on a Press Visa, he had no wants or warrants and he had credentials to the Hefner Awards so he had a right to be in the hotel.  There was nothing we could do with him, other than a bit of empty threats about staying away from Klaus.”

 

“Our first bit of excitement occurred in what we thought would be one of the high threat times, the ‘meet the authors panel’ that day…”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 10th 1:22 PM

 

The World Fiction Awards drew a curious dichotomy of people, hipsters, literary mavens, Nouveau Bohemians, not that any of them wanted anything to do with the Hefner Awards.  It seems the Hefner brought out the real weirdos.  While there was no shortage of strange at any convention, the attendees of the Hefner took this as licenses to out do each other.

 

In a particularly cutting piece of irony, the bondage crowd seemed to be the most dressed and leather, latex and rubber where the fabrics of choice.  At least their genitals are covered, Elisa thought to herself, an official issue vapid 'date' smile glued to her face as she stood behind Klaus and watched with growing disgust as his fans fawned over him.

 

Distorted and tinny, Tom's voice sounded through the implant, Look on the bright side, said his thoughts broad cast to her.  Their eyes locked as three corpulent men who were leashed together to a woman paraded by.  The men were all nude, their 'modesty' contained with little metal cages while being led by the woman who had managed to squeeze into a latex cat suit that highlighted every roll of fat on her body.  Nobody is going to have an easy time sneaking a weapon in this way.

 

Diaz swallowed forcefully as the woman laid on the praise to Klaus thick and heavy while ordering her compatriots to clean his shoes...with their tongues.  I don't think I'll ever want to have sex again, she thought at the amused body guard.  I'm going to pour bleach in my eyes and then take vows in a convent.

 

His mental voice chuckled.  The village idiots are just looking for attention, he assured her.  These poor devils have as much to do with love as mud has to do with rocket science.

 

A woman who was almost good looking enough to have been an Erinyes walked by, waving a cat o'nine tails and while the uniform 'armor' suit she was wearing was a good facsimile, there were just enough details off that Elisa knew it to be a fake.  Cosplayers, she thought, sniffing in disdain.  What is it about conventions that bring out cosplayers?

 

Tom's mental voice only chuckled without an answer.  Before he could, Sam's voice broke into the circuit.  “Alert one, potential hazard.”

 

Report Status, Elisa thought, one hand casually shifting to allow easy access to the revolver in the small of her back. 

 

“Two black SUVs just came through the water lock to the front door.  I have one male, young, mid-teens on a guess, dressed in classic Arabic clothing with two individuals in burqas, gender unknown, getting out and entering.”

 

Tom and Elisa shared a glance.  We have any face recognition on the male?

 

“Stand by one,” Sam's voice replied.  As the minutes drug out while Elisa waited for an answer, the phone in her implant rang and, superimposed over her vision was a medium close up of a caller ID from her contact list.  The ghostly figure of an older woman, obviously stunning in her day and still aging extremely gracefully floated transparently with various facts to call her to memory.

 

Karen!  What a pleasant surprise!

 

“Elisa, your IFF has you at the Canard Hotel, is that right, hun?,” Karen's smooth Texas drawl whispered in her ear. 

 

A chill ran up Elisa's spine.  Karen Astor had always been one to observe the social niceties.  Even when called to the carpet there would be five to ten minutes of polite chit chat before the ass chewing would start.  It was one of her quirks that had made her a very pleasant boss to work for.  She only went straight to business when bullets were about to fly.

 

Yes, I'm on station for a Sideman job.  What...?

 

“No time, sugar, wanted to give you a heads up.  Intel made me aware of a possible threat with a punk we've had our eye on, Kareem Abdul Azhiz.  He's been very sloppily trying to worm his way into the Hand of Allah.  He's thrown a lot of flags, gun buys, charter jets some other stuff and now he's brought vehicles where you are...”

 

“Got him” Sam's voice interrupted.  “Kareem Abdul Azhiz, he’s a fifth son of an eighth son of some minor noble family in the Trans-Jordan Arabia Sultanate.  Daddy dearest still manages to be richer than the Catholic Church.”

 

“Alert two, the burqa wearers are breaking off from the man...”

 

Where are they headed? Tom and Elisa demanded at the same time.   Karen, you're a life saver!  Can you roll...?

 

“The cavalry is coming, hang tight!” she replied before the line dropped.

 

“Your way,” Pete replied from his perch in the lobby where he was pretending to be a bored businessman reading a newspaper.

 

Birdcage, Elisa thought.  All units, birdcage.

 

So casually, only those who knew would have taken the gesture for anything other than a lightly placed delicate hand on the author's shoulder, Elisa leaned forward and pouted, “Berndt, sweetie, I'm hungry...”

 

The code phrase caused Klaus' normally flushed face to pale and he began to sweat.  Last night he'd been diligently instructed in a series of innocuous sounding phrases that would give him orders without alerting those nearby, or inciting a panic.  Then, he'd waxed eloquent about how smooth and debonair he would react to keep the appearances up.  Now, having been told they had identified a threat that was heading his way, his acting abilities failed spectacularly to live up to their advertising.  He stammered something incoherent as the Fury guided him up and out of his chair towards the kitchen door the hotel's wait staff where refreshing the buffet table through.  

 

The Ki that had been awakened in Elisa by the Dragon's Blood process allowed the Erinyes to perform seeming superhuman feats of agility and strength.  And while the 'flashy' abilities of the Furies made them famous, it was the quiet abilities that kept them alive.  The Ki responded to feelings of aggression near her that caused the hairs on the back of Elisa's neck to stand up, despite the armor that actually went up to the base of her skull.  In the space of a heart beat, the world around her seemed to slow down and every sense sharpened to razor focus.

 

Elisa looked up and saw the wait staff that were working the buffet, realized for the first time that all of them were dark complected with black hair and eyes, but none had Latin features.  She saw the contempt those eyes were filled with as their gaze swept the room that went beyond working class envy of haves by have-nots.  She felt more then heard the doors to the room be kicked open by the 'women' in the burqas.

 

Her hand collected a large chunk of Klaus' suit jacket and she pulled, hard.  Off balance, the author began to fall to Elisa's right, his cry of pain and surprise drowned out by the shouts of “Allahu Akbar!” that began to sound both from the door of the conference room and the 'waiters' who had begun to produce aging AK-74s.   Ironically, the first shot fired was a verdict from the Judge whose tungsten gavel descended on the precise center of the forehead of the closest waiter to Elisa. 

 

The young terrorists head exploded, leaving a stump of a neck that fountained blood all over the buffet and everyone around him.   This was lost in the general commotion of the waiters firing the machine guns into the ceiling.  Fire retardant tile bits mixed with the blood and gun smoke as the crowd slowly began to realize the seriousness of the situation.

 

Madman!  Madman! Tom's mental voice shouted into the radio, announcing the go word for his team.  Unchained for fast and hard action, the hard suits began to spill from the van.  Vannoy threw himself on top of Klaus with sufficient force to push the author the rest of the way against the wall that Elisa had already thrown him towards.  As his body dove past her, Diaz twirled, retrieving her Beretta from the armpit of the object of her affections and coming in line with her next target.

 

His eyes widened to nearly impossible lengths as he realized he was staring down the barrels of a pair of pistols.  The machine gun he held was pointed at the ceiling still and across his face Elisa could see him realize he was looking at his own death.  The Beretta spoke striking him in the eye and pulling most of that side of his head off.  It pulled the corpse to the left, causing it to launch the rifle it was holding in Elisa's general direction.

 

She used the muzzle of the Beretta to loop into the sling of the flying rifle and flipped it towards Tom who, used to somewhat showy things like this from her caught it began shooting terrorists while protecting the prone and cringing form of Berndt Klaus.

 

The crowd finally realized they were in the middle of what was likely to be the lead story of the evening news, doubtlessly spattered with words like dead hostages, collateral damage and unavoidable casualties, which instantly converted the crowd to a mob.  This added to the general confusion the terrorists, yelling in a collection of languages, none of which was English, trying to get the mob under control kept them several further critical seconds from realizing someone in the crowd was shooting back.

 

Elisa used this as she ran, part parkour, part dance along the wall, trying desperately to circumvent the mob before, like cattle, they stampeded in place and turned the room to a charnel house.  A soaring back flip over a particularly confused looking matron in an outfit that was unspeakable in it's tastelessness,  allowed her to kick off the high heels that was impeding her speed and send another final judgment this one to the gun wielding waiter that was blocking the fire exit.  The sabot shattered both his head and the glass of the door behind him, giving the mob a way out.  The mob seized on it and began to push forward.

 

The sound of battle from the kitchen caused them to surge faster, despite the terrorists trying to stop them as the Cerebus team fought their way to their team mates.  Barefoot, Elisa landed in front of surprised looking man trying to peel out of a burqa.   Their eyes met and the Fury snapped out a knife hand strike against his throat that was given solidity by the pistol she was holding.  His cry of agony was turned into a wet gurgle as his trachea collapsed under the blow and he fell, clawing at his throat, drowning and suffocating at the same time.

 

His cross dressing partner was faster on the uptake, firing his rifle in full auto and sweeping it across the crowd to get it in line.  The 5.45mm rounds struck Elisa across the stomach, both knocking her down and the wind from her lungs.  She happened to fall next to the woman she'd noted earlier who was dressed as an Erinyes, a confused looking expression still on her face.  The armor saved Elisa's life, the pain cut short as her suit injected her with enough Dopeine to not care about the pain in her stomach, but not cost her reflexes too much. 

 

Gasping for air to refill her lungs, she fired a burst into the man who had shot her.  He fell to his knees in surprise as she sat up and snarled, “Bastardo!” and shoved the Judge into his face to complete his journey to the here after. 

 

Elisa percieved the faintest of mechanical whines before the implant in her head completed it's Friend or Foe challange to the little drones that were spilling out of the kitchen hallway and interrupted the nerves that connected her ears to her brain.  Suddenly deaf, Diaz didn't hear the ultrasonic tone the drones emmitted, and brought a halt to the combat, crowd and terrorists alike falling to their knees, clutching their ears.  The stun effect lasted long enough for the remainder of Tom's team to storm in through the kitchen and begin binding up the fake waiters.  Six more hostiles down in the kitchen, Sam said through the implant's radio.

 

Clear in here, Elisa thought at him.  Take Tom and Klaus to the safe room.

 

Suddenly her hearing was restored as the drones ceased their sonic assult and the cries of wounded and dying people returned.  Pete?  Do you still have eyes on Azhiz?

 

“Yes ma'am, he's headed for his car looking mighty worried.”

 

Arrest him and toss him in a hurt locker, Elisa's mental voice snarled.  Not central booking, you understand?

 

“Yes ma'am.”

 

Elisa accepted Sam's help to her feet and looked down at the two dead burqa wearing terrorists at her feet.  “George, you're demolition rated, yes?”

 

“Yes ma'am.”

 

“Get over here.  There's enough BoomX on these two to take out Hover Dam.  Diaz to Central...”

 

“DC Central, go ahead agent.”

 

“I'm declaring a level 3 incident, roll ambulance and fire assistance, multiple wounded and killed, option Themis for the resultant contract, initial responce suggests envolvement of the Terrorist Organization Hand of Allah.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Themis 'Black Ops' Logistical Center, Abandoned City of Travilah, May 10th 9:22 PM

 

As the seas rose early in the century, there were many different methods of dealing with it as there were people.  A popular method was to build dikes to protect areas against the rising waters.  The Unincorporated City of Travilah had chosen that method to protect the expensive homes of its fifteen square miles of bedroom 'community' for the Old DC area.  Despite the money spent, most of the well to do residents either quickly sold off their properties or abandoned them outright for safer places to live.  So, like many regions of the country, the growing urbanization had turned the neighborhood into a maze of abandoned streets, lined with once expensive homes and exclusive shops that were slowly deteriorating back to nature.

 

Or, at least that's how it looked to the casual eye.

 

Because Travilah had been purchased through a holding company, that was a subsidiary, of a division, of a partnership of a wholly owned branch of Themis through an accounting maze of trusts, foundations and LLCs that would drive an accountant mad to try and sort out, it was exactly the kind of place to train people, warehouse equipment and otherwise stage for activities that weren't exactly legal.

 

While Themis refused to engage in any kind of wet work, governmental or free lance, there were plenty of contracts that were questionable at best and one a hazy shade of gray above open warfare at worst.  For work in the northern hemisphere, those contracts started in Travilah.  Under the abandoned subdivisions was a complex that had been very discreetly built with great care taken to leave the above ground fixtures untouched.  Themis maintained several warehouse distribution centers as discreet entrances and exits of the facility so there was a reason for folks to be coming and going without raising any eyebrows.

 

In a dimly lit room, dozens of feet underground, Kareem Abdul Azhiz sat, handcuffed to a table and despite the cool, somewhat clammy temperature, was sweating profusely.   His cheek ached from where who he had taken as an innocuous Am-FED businessman had punched him and he had a splitting head ache.  He'd been able to get the black bag off his head that he'd suffered the journey in, but it really did him no good as the walls of the room were bare and had no windows.

 

Kareem desperately needed a water closet.

 

The door opened and a woman entered, wearing one of the decadent westerners wickedly immodest 'uniforms' that clung to her in such a way that she might as well have been naked.  She carried a folder that she threw onto the table and a gun and gun belt that Kareem told himself that if he could get his hands free, he would be able to take from her after easily overpowering her.  “I have diplomatic immunity; I demand you release me at once!”

 

The woman said nothing, but opened the folder and began to lay out photographs in front of her.  They were horrific pictures of corpses, blood spattered, organs ejected, brains exposed, with rulers placed in them for scale.   Despite his manly pride, Kareem felt his stomach roll in protest and he turned away, desperately trying to keep down his lunch.  “I would have been here sooner,” the woman finally replied in an off hand manner from the pictures.  “But as you can see, you made quite a mess; it took a long time to clean up.”

 

She raised her gaze and her dark eyes flashed.  “I'm glad we've established that you speak English.  So we're clear, every time you try to pretend you don't understand what I'm saying, I'm going to break a bone.  Every time you answer in any language other than English, I'm going to break a bone.”

 

“I do not know what you're talking about, I...”  Kareem couldn't continue because the woman had slowly stood backhand slapped him with sufficient force that his lip split and a spurt of blood went flying from his head.  Her gloved hand grabbed his face and covered his mouth, cutting off his screams of pain while forcing him to meet her cold, remorseless eyes. 

 

“Do not ever lie to me again,” she told him softly, forcefully enunciating each word.  She squeezed his jaw painfully to emphasize her command, then released him and turned to walk back around to the other side of the table. 

 

Kareem inhaled to spit in defiance at the American bitch, but before he could let fly his eyes crossed, trying to focus on the barrel of the pistol.  She had drawn it faster than he could follow and it was now pointed squarely at the bridge of his nose.  “Spit at me,” she commanded.  “I dare you, you pathetic, maldito burro sin pene.  Go ahead, hombre!”  She moved the pistol so the he could see her face and the smile she wore sent shivers down his spine.  He knew that smile, been around paid men his father had hired who wore it to do violence and evil in his name and it erased any fantasy he had about 'overpowering the helpless woman.'  “Spit in Death's face and see what it gets you...!”

 

For the first time in his pampered, sheltered life, the 'prince' felt fear.  Not the fear of not getting his way or what he wanted, or even the fear of men, like her, that had been bought and paid for, they had all been properly deferental.  This was fear as deep and bitter as he had laughed about hearing from his father how he had shown his mother her place with the back of his hand, on their wedding night.  As total as he imagined those same violent men caused in his father's victims, the fear of anyone who knew they were looking their own death in the face.  His bladder let go and Prince Kareem urinated on himself.  “I...I come from a wealthy and powerful family.  If you harm me...”

 

“If I kill you,” she corrected him, returning the pistol to it's holster.  “Your 'wealthy and power family' will never know it, and you, they won't ever find you.  Well, what's left of you...”  She noted the darkening stain on the front of his thawb and the grin widened.  “I'm going to take my time with you,” she promised.  “Days, at least, weeks if I can.” She crossed around behind him and leaned to whisper in his ear.  “I have a paramedic friend that's wanted me for years.  I bet if I give him what he wants he'll help me keep you alive.”

 

“Please...” Kareem stammered.  “My family!  They have money, power!  Whatever you want, they can give it to you!”

 

 The door opened again, revealing a tall man in a suit with close hair and a tanned, weathered face, before she could answer.  His lip curled in disgust at what he saw.  “That's enough, agent,” he ordered, causing her to pout and return to his side of the table.  He glared at her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the captive.  He produced a key and released him from the handcuffs.  “Your highness, my name is Smith, John Smith, I'm with the State Department.  I see you've met Agent Mary Jane.”

 

“You have to get me away from here!  I have diplomatic immunity!”

 

Smith nodded.  “Yes, I know.  Unfortunately, your highness, you've been involved in a very serious diplomatic incident.”  He collected up the photos and returned them to their folder.  Then he removed a new set of photos and began to lay them out.  “There are a number of fatalities and your highness has been very outspoken in support of groups my government considers outlaw terroristic organizations.”  He sighed.  “Your immunity may not be recognized.”

 

“And when it's not, you're mine,” agent Mary Jane purred.

 

Real terror lit up behind Kareem's eyes as he took in the pictures.  They were all pictures of him; in night clubs and stripper bars around Old DC.  Pictures of him out side the headquarters of the Pan-Islamic Brotherhood that was a front for the Hand of Allah; then there photos of him at Clinton International recieving the dead waiters he had flown in from Arabia.  Photos of him with a certain gun smugglar in a certain alleyway he thought he had been very discreet with. “No!  You can not!  She threatened...!”

 

The prince ground to a halt as Mary had produced a knife from somewhere, a long, wicked black instrument of war, and was running her tongue down the flat of the blade.  After a moment Azhiz realized Smith was talking.  “If your highness could give us something to counter balance the doubtlessly innocent, but unfortunate cooincidence of being in the Canard Hotel exactly when agents of the Hand of Allah attacked.  An organization I must remind your highness you have been most vocal in supporting, both with words and, rumor has it,” he said, tapping the photograph of him at the airport,  “considerable funds.”

 

“It is entirely innocent!” Kareem declared in a panic.  “I...I may be sympathetic to certain principles, being a faithful and dutiful servant of Allah...”

 

“Of course,” Smith agreed, returning the folder to his brief case.  “But, your highness must realize how this will play out in the media.  So many people dead, there will be a demand for action.”  He shrugged.  “Now, if your highness might have noticed other men who might have been traveling at the same time as you, men that perhaps your highness might have noticed did not seem to be as peaceful.  If they were to turn out to be criminals, well, your highness' cooperation would make you something of a hero.  My government could then explain your highness being present.  We would have no difficulty honoring your highness' diplomatic immunity.”

 

Kareem's eyes darted back and forth between Smith and Jane as he frantically processed the offer.  They knew he was tied by the hip to the men who had done this.  He knew it was a pleasant lie to save himself by sacrificing the rest of Allah's soldiers that were with him.  Well, they would be martyred and have their reward, while he would be returned to be able to finance other warriors to the fight against the Great Satan.  The Hand knew there were always casualties.  “There...there may have been some...” he started, trying to concentrate on the man.

 

He noded sagely as he removed a recorder from his case and put it on the table.  “Go on.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Themis 'Black Ops' Logistical Center, Abandoned City of Travilah, May 10th 10:40 PM

 

“Agent Smith?” demanded Elisa as she and Tom walked down the hallway away from the detention room that held Azhiz.  “Agent Mary Jane?” she added with a rueful chuckle.

 

“Well, as far as he knows,” Tom replied with a smile as he loosened his tie.  “And, by some miracle if he does get loose of whoever we sell him to he won't know we are.  He might be a useless piece of dog shit, but he does have money and money buys professionals.”

 

“Speaking of, how is the bidding going?”

 

Tom made a stylized gesture that his phone recognized, causing the holographic emmitter in his watch to paint a 'screen' hovering ghostlike before him.  A few more gestures got the icon he wanted.  “Shin Bet wants him pretty badly.  I doubt they'll show him much mercy either.”

 

“After all that time and effort this brat put in to coozying up to Hand of Allah?  I bet he has plenty of beans to spill about them,  if I worked for Shin Bet I'd want him too,” Elisa agreed.  “Still, we don't know what they'll do to him.”

 

“We can guess,” Tom retorted.  “You ok with that?”

 

She hugged herself and then leaned into him for support.  “I'm not sure how much of that was an act, Tom, but it wasn't much.”

 

“It was enough,” he assured her.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex 12:22PM, May 19th

 

“You call that a little excitement?” Father Leonard demanded, one eyebrow raised as he buttered a slice of the fresh loaf of bread they were sharing.  Elisa shrugged from her sip of tea and favored the priest with a radiant smile. 

 

“Compaired to most of what I've had to deal with in my career, it was little,” she said sadly her mind on old, bitter memories. 

 

“True,” he admitted, his mind on old confessions and long forgiven sins.  She sighed and put the glass down, looking at him expectantly.  As he chewed, Leonard came to recognize the expression on her face and ask, “Are you waiting for something, my daughter?”

 

“We may not be in the confessional any longer, father, but I did believe you'd have something to say about my treatment of Kareem,” she replied softly.  “I was waiting for my pennance.” 

 

“I do have something to say,” he said finally, fixing her with a steely gaze.  “This boy is responscible for getting six people killed, wounded two dozen more, some for life, isn't that right?”   She nodded, not quite sure where he was going with this line of questioning.  “So, you surrendered a criminal into the hands of a governmental, anti-terrorism taskforce, isn't that right?”

 

“Not my govern...” she started, but he waved her into silence.

 

“I didn't ask you that,” he scolded her.  “You delivered a multiple murderer to a government where he will face justice for his crimes, yes?”  She nodded.  “Then my only regret is that you did not hit him more and harder,” he declared with deep finality.

 

“Father Leonard!”

 

“Father Leonard!” he repeated, mimicing both her surprise and the mild spanish accent that tinted her voice.  “I may be a Priest, and I am happy to live peacibly with any one who will also live peacibly, but I have no use for cut throats and murderers who sneak knives into my house while claiming to be my friend.  I am also a Jesuit.  I will not tolerate evil being done in the name of God.” 

 

The waiter arrived with steaming plates, laden with pasta and sauce which silenced the conversation for a while as both enjoyed themselves.  Finally the priest sighed and asked, “What about the other accomplices Kareem named?”

 

There was nothing pleasant about her smile.  “We didn't have time to deal with them ourselves, so corporate dispatched a Myrmidon dynamic entry team to round them up.  The few that resisted won't trouble anyone else ever again.   The rest are being...debriefed.”

 

The priest raised a sardonic eyebrow.  “Debriefed?”

 

Aggressively,” the Fury replied.  “Kareem's little stunt has delt the Hand an major set back in their NorthAMFed operations.  I imagine he's actually safer in the custody of Shin Bet than on the street.”

 

Leonard seemed satisfied with that answer and returned to the original narriative.  “What happened after you got back to the hotel?”

 

“Well, Tom and I didn't go back to the hotel directly,” she replied.  “We were both hungry and were talking about getting something to eat before we had to deal with Klaus again, and that's when things got really strange...”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

To Be Concluded…

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Comments

WGD...

Great to see you back EE!! I've seriously missed reading your stories! The Erinyes tales are some of my favorites too, right up there with your Caregiver tales! Now I'm off to do some reading. lol

Blossom

Hey! Good to see you writing

Hey! Good to see you writing again (here). Looking forward to the rest of the story, I've always enjoyed the Erinyes universe.


I'll get a life when it's proven and substantiated to be better than what I'm currently experiencing.

"Boom Boom" KAIT

Wow... great start to a new Erinyes tale.

With all the potential mayhem that appears to be waiting in the wings, I hope "Boom Boom" Kait doesn't decide to make a showing. Then again... She's a great plot device along with "Mary Jane". If the "mayhem duo" do show up then it's almost a certainty that all hell is about to break loose.

Thank you for yet another entry into the Erinyes Universe.

Anesidora

that's when things got really strange..

I've been waiting for this ever since you posted the teaser over on crystal hall. it does indeed live up to the promise and was worth the wait. hopefully part two won't be so long in coming. great job, thanks

Thrilled!!!

I am overjoyed to read a new story set in one of my favorite universes by one of my favourite writers! Thank you for this!!

Good to see you posting here.

It's been awhile since anyone did an Erinys story and it's good to see another one here.

Maggie

Agreed...

And, frankly, a very well written posting at that. I'm really looking forward to seeing how this turns out. :)

Peace be with you and Blessed be

More Please!

terrynaut's picture

My violent inner woman loves this stuff. Please keep up the good work. I'll be reading....

Thanks and kudos.

- Terry

Great!

Somehow I missed the "Erinyes" at the top, and was wondering where this was going until I hit the word "Themis". From that point my eyes were glued, and they were not disappointed!

Always glad

to see a new story from you and one in this universe especially! Great stuff!
Grover

I adore your work.

First story I chose for my catch up on my reading day was this. I love the characters but the setting...I keep getting Shadow-run meets Judge-Dredd meets Heavy Metal Magazine all in a good way.

So much of this would make an excellent movie or graphic novel series.

*Amazed Hugs*

Bailey Summers

What is a Christian really.

Diesel Driver's picture

This line bothered me. "hating Mr. Klaus seemed to be the one thing the various Christian and Muslim fundamentalist groups"
I know this is just a story but a lot of people seem to equate the hate groups that call themselves "christians" with real Christians. They aren't. Jesus teaches us we are to love everyone, especially our enemies. He also teaches that hate is wrong. I can document all the places that show this in the new testament but there isn't room here. I can also list a lot of references of the Koran that teach the opposite, to hate and kill anyone who isn't a fellow Muslim. Same problem with room. I love these stories. They are greatly entertaining and many times show a different way of thinking about things that I wouldn't have seen otherwise. I would like to discuss this privately with anyone who is interested.

Thanks for writing. There is so much wonderful talent shown here. I think it's a pity that there isn't a process like the "Dragonblood" treatment that could help so many people, so much. Even if it only just converted them into what they think they should be without all the enhancements. I hope someone is researching that direction.

Chris