Chapter 11: Waiting and Diversions

February, 1994

I spent the next two weeks dreading calls from the FBI or Rafael von Feldberg but heard nothing on either front. School and my internship had settled down into a fairly easy, if exhausting, routine that was only broken up by nastiness from Dr. Etherege, and event that was getting to be routine. His latest attempt to put me in my place was borrowing me when Dr. Hammarfeld was out of town and making me rifle through thirty boxes of documents bequeathed to CSIS by a former member and politician who recently died without heirs. I spent a week and a half cataloging and digitizing all of the late governor and ambassador’s papers. I was given the help of a junior archivist and a couple other interns, but it was still a tedious and tiring job that sent me home exhausted and dirty every night. By the time we were done, I knew more about the history of 1970s and 1980s Colorado and the history of U. S. relations with Czechoslovakia, Israel, Yugoslavia, and Mongolia then I ever really wanted to know.

I was still getting increasingly interesting visits from Jericho as he attempted to fill in my education on Rudelles, the Order’s word for a group/species of monsters. At the end of the third week in February, Jericho suggested that I drop by the warehouse to meet with the new people the Exarch sent them as reinforcements until I left at the end of the semester. And maybe get in some practice with people who fought monsters for a living. That last was said with a somewhat challenging grin as he left for the evening.

When the end of the second week came and went, I decided to go about my business as if neither the FBI nor von Feldberg even contacted me because the anticipation was making me so tense I came home with a tension headache every night.

After several unsatisfactory visits to the gym that did nothing to ease my tension that week, I called Jerome Friday night to see if he had any ideas about how I might pay a call on the warehouse on Saturday without having my American security detail discover all of my secrets. “Actually, I do,” he said, a smile plain in his tone. “I have been told you have been missing Sunday mass. Tell your security that Cardinal Hardt has invited you to brunch at the cathedral Saturday morning. We will smuggle you out the back in one of our trucks in the midst of a delivery of supplies for the Cardinal’s office from the warehouse. We should have no trouble pulling it off.”

When I ran the plan by Edgar, Ambrose, and Eoin that night, I got some very reluctant looks but Edgar and Ambrose agreed that it would probably work. “I guess we can’t sequester you until you come home in June,” Eoin said wryly, his expression and voice clearly saying that he wished they could do just that. “Just try to stay out of trouble. I am really hoping Sir Robin has no need to do damage control whilst you are here.”

Saturday dawned a little murky, but the temperature was well above freezing so any precipitation would just be rain. I woke up, dressed, and ate a blueberry muffin from a plateful that had appeared overnight with a note from Eoin telling me that the cook thought I was working too hard and not eating enough. I pulled out some classwork and polished that off rather quickly. I was reading ahead for my German class when there was a knock on the door. Putting a bookmark in Das Nibelungenlied, I opened the door on Edgar’s grumpy face.

“I would say ‘Good morning’ but you look like someone already ruined your day,” I remarked as I let him in.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yours, too,” he retorted sourly. “There is a new agent in charge of your detail and he wanted to be included in on your brunch with Cardinal Hardt. When I told him that we weren’t even going to be allowed in, as you would be discussing spiritual matters, he had a conniption. Half of them are already on their way to cover the cathedral to sniff out any assassins in waiting. The other half are waiting downstairs, prepared to follow us there. Are you sure Jerome said the Cardinal was up to playing his part in this charade?”

I smiled with a nod. “The Cardinal is surprisingly adept at the skullduggery. Jerome said he will simply take the time to polish his sermon for Sunday mass.”

“Whatever you are doing at the warehouse, be back by noon,” Edgar warned tensely. “I doubt those agents will believe a brunch between a seventeen-year-old college student and a Catholic Cardinal that lasts more than two hours.”

Laughing, I gathered my bag with its change of clothes and we were off.

The change of clothes was in case I took Jericho up on his challenge to spar with the new people. I was long overdue to spar with someone who was serious about their workouts. Mariko was good, but it wasn’t real to her yet and it wouldn’t be until she was standing over a body. From what she told me during our workouts, Mariko was still a virgin when it came to killing. The closest she had been to a dead body before the sorority party was seeing the remains of some minor monster native to the Western U. S. her grandfather killed using his magic. No blood. No dismemberment. I noticed the difference in sparring partners when people like Ambrose or Hestia would spar with me. They knew what they were doing was serious work towards when the skills being practiced would be used to survive. Martial arts were still more of a hobby to Mariko, despite her patrolling of G. U.’s campus.

Philosophizing about sparring and the martial arts took me all the way to the cathedral. Getting out of the SUV, I saw a dozen dark sedans and other SUVs parked around the church. There was also a delivery van that looked like someone bought a surplus UPS delivery truck and painted it white with red lettering indicating it belonged to a Catholic charity. It was near a side exit of the cathedral and angled so that it would be impossible to see exactly who was coming and going from the open rear doors.

Brother Jerome was supervising the unloading and saw us arrive. He smiled and said something to one of the men doing the unloading before the man disappeared inside with a large box on his broad shoulders. Jerome then walked towards us with a grin, wrapping me in a hug and whispering, “This could be tricky. Secret Service and scary guys who claim to be Secret Service have been crawling all over the place for the last half hour. They searched the place top to bottom and then set up shop around the nave and out here. Father Mandzucić is irate at the insult to Cardinal Hardt and God, in that order.”

I grimaced. “Sorry. We got a new lead agent in charge of my detail. Would it help to apologize to the good Father?”

Jerome chuckled, pushing me out of the hug and shaking his head. “He already did not like you,” he replied impishly before holding out a hand to Edgar and then to John. “Gentlemen, thank you for bringing her. Our people are eager to meet her and Cardinal Hardt has missed her the last few weeks.”

The boys shrugged and John smiled. “It was either let her out voluntarily or try to find her after she broke out herself,” he retorted impudently. With a twinkling glance at me, he added, “At least this way we aren’t embarrassed in front of you Americans and we get to tag along on her adventures.”

The monk laughed and waved to the door. “Cardinal Hardt is awaiting you,” he told us. Then he looked at me and suggested, “You might want to change clothes before playing with Andre and the rest of the new people. That way you can wear those clothes home for the eyes watching us. There is a shower and blow dryer at the warehouse, too.”

My eye brow cocked involuntarily. “You think I will get that sweaty?” was my somewhat arrogant retort, to which he merely grinned wider and shrugged tauntingly.

Father Mandzucić was seemingly waiting for me when I walked up the stairs and into the nave. The fussy cleric was in what could only be described as a towering fury and his eyes nearly burst into flames when they caught sight of me. “Dame Alice-” he began only to be cut off by a jovial echo.

Cardinal Hardt’s welcoming smile as he said my name cut off the priest’s irate greeting before it could begin. I noticed the Secret Service agents noticing my reception as the Cardinal gave me a hug and then nodded to Edgar. “Thank you for bringing her, Edgar, John,” he said in what sounded like a heartfelt greeting to my guards before sweeping us out of the nave and back to a conference room set up for brunch. The four of us ate quickly, talking amiably, before Edgar and John left to get Jerome. They would make sure the coast was clear and then come sneak me out.

While we were waiting, Cardinal Hardt’s fierce gaze pierced me. “How are you doing, my dear?” he inquired softly, his eyes concerned. At my uncomfortable shrug, he smiled knowingly. “You, Alice Spencer-Killdare, are too much a free spirit to take well to caging. I am surprised they managed more than two weeks of limited activity before you decided to slip their solicitous protection.”

I smiled wryly. “OK, I am going more than a little crazy being confined to home, school, and my internship,” came my grudging admission. “Two weeks with no mass, no restaurants, no shopping, no outdoor exercise. John was right; I was probably only a couple more days away from a solo jailbreak.”

He laughed and then rose to show me to his office where he would “lock” us while we discussed those spiritual matters that would be our cover. The boys and Jerome caught up with us as I was about to close the door. With them was a scary-looking blonde guy. He was a couple inches over six feet with a bulky build that looked like it was mostly muscle, like an old fashion professional wrestler before they all started looking like poster boys for steroid dealers and supplement companies. His dark blonde hair was shaggy, shoulder length, and carelessly combed back. He was not so much bearded as unshaven and I saw tattoos peeking out from the wrists of his jacket and the neck of his black wool sweater. Worn jeans and black combat boots rounded out the aggressive ensemble. He looked like a member of a rather dangerous biker gang and the scarred knuckles and fierce nose that had clearly been broken at least once added to that impression.

I took it all in and then shot Jerome a questioning glance, brow raised dubiously. The man grinned and walked over to me to offer a large, oddly calloused hand. “You have got to be Alice,” he said with relish, light gray eyes alight as he took in my scrawny self with an appraising glance. He had a relaxed accent that was like a washed out Texas drawl that I think made him from Wyoming or maybe Idaho or Montana. “I am Mack Hammar. Andre sent me out as the strong back and weak mind to drop off supplies and pick you up. You’re even smaller than Andre and Tascha led me to believe. Interesting. Anyhow, we got lots of feds keepin’ an eye on this place, so hows’bout we skedaddle?”

The Cardinal gave me an encouraging smile before handing a folded note to Jerome. “Give that to Father Mandzucić, if you would. That will get him out of our hair for a few hours in case he wants to get curious about why Alice and I are cloistered for so long.” Jerome nodded, took the note, shot me an encouraging smile of his own, and left.

The plan to sneak me out of the cathedral and into the truck worked flawlessly. Mack walked ahead of me, scouting corners and generally making sure the coast was clear. I jumped into the back of the truck, he closed the door, and he casually drove away. He knocked on the door dividing the cargo area and the cab when we were clear of the surveillance blanket around the cathedral. I opened the door and crawled into the jump seat folded against the wall of the cargo area on the passenger side.

The man I was assuming was an Order monk like Karl grinned at me like an urchin. “I just love the idea of pulling something over on that many feds,” he said with an ecstatic shudder, adding, “Delicious!” I had to chuckle at that.

The rest of the drive to the warehouse was quiet. When we got there, the door was already open and everyone was waiting in the vehicle bay, most with looks of intense curiosity or anticipation on their faces. They were all dressed in sweats except for Tascha, who was dressed like Tascha. She could be a cover model for Ms Corporate Fashion magazine, if there were one.

“You assholes started without me,” Mack groused with a mock pout as he got out of the truck.

I hopped out too and heard somebody of the female persuasion demand, “You sure you picked up the right kid, Mack? She isn’t even grown up.” They all chuckled.

I scowled. Now females were finding me amusing, too?

“Manners, people,” a tallish guy with medium brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and a Midwest accent chided, even though he was grinning and his medium brown eyes were twinkling with their own amusement. He stepped forward and offered his hand. “I am Andre Anderson, ring leader to this traveling circus. Karl and his people in England warned us but we thought they were yanking our chain. I think God has a sense of humor after all.”

My scowl darkened even though I did shake his hand without breaking it. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” I demanded irritably.

He shook his head, using his grip on my hand to turn us to face the crowd. “Just that you turned out rather petite for someone with such a heavy fate,” he replied more seriously. He waved his left hand at his people, saying, “Allow me to do introductions, Dame Alice. Mathia Eugenia is my second and our unarmed combat specialist. She’s also got a double doctorate in history and literature.”

A very petite woman who looked like she was part black and part Asian with long, braided black hair stepped forward with a slight smile and a nod. “Dame Alice. A pleasure to finally put a face to the tales,” she said mysteriously with a light, accented voice.

“The big man who looks like Shaquille O’Neal’s little brother is Hephestus Lee, our armorer,” Andre said as Eugenia stepped back and a black man well over six feet tall and probably pushing three hundred pounds of hard muscle with white burn scars spotting his arms stepped forward to engulf my hand with his gentle grip.

“Miss,” he said laconically in a soft, subterranean bass that was a little rough, like he did a lot of yelling.

“Next is Jaime Hickok, our gunsmith and marksman,” Anderson introduced a lanky, youngish man with auburn hair, brown goatee, green eyes, and a cocky handsomeness that probably made him seem younger than he was. His darkly tanned forearms were corded with muscle despite his slight build.

“Pleasure to meet ya, ma’am,” he said with an accent that I knew was pure West Texas. Dad had a corporal in Missouri from Odessa, Texas who sounded just like this guy. “Been lookin’ forward tuh meetin’ ya. Bin eager to see the Order’s newest rebel.”

Andre cuffed him on the shoulder and shoved him back towards the others with a scowl. “Ignore him. Katya?” A very tall, statuesque woman with a sculpted, athletic build, straight platinum blonde hair, ice blue eyes, and an odd look on her face stalked forward. “Katya Mystislavova is former KGB and our explosives expert. We don’t need explosives much but she also comes in handy in a fight.”

“Zdravstvuy, Dama Alica,” she said with a heavy Russian accent. Then I realized it was Russian. She looked down at me dubiously, then quirked an eyebrow at Andre. “Dis is Varrior of God? Same Varrior who kill Alexandrios? Is hard to believe one so small kill Master of Soviet Empire,” she said, a slightly crazy smile flowing onto her face and lighting up her eyes. She bowed gracefully to me, saying in a respectful tone, “Spacibo, dama. Spacibo.“

Instead of falling back to stand with the rest of Andre’s crew, Katya turned to stand next to me, her muscled arms crossing and her stance looking very bodyguard-ish. I looked over at Andre and he shrugged resignedly and mouthed, “Later.”

While that exchange was happening, a muscularly stocky woman with creamy light brown skin stepped forward. She was only a few inches taller than me and built like a gymnast. Her face was striking with a fierce nose, heart-shaped face, gray eyes, and red-streaked, long, straight black hair. A blade-scarred hand was thrust at me as a beautiful smile lit her face. “Anais Rajasthan, blademaster and linguist,” she said in an Irish accent tinged with India.

Andre grinned. “Anais was the happiest when the Exarch called us to come here to support you,” he said, eyes alight with teasing amusement.

“What he means is I squealed like a little girl meeting Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny at the same time. More than a little fan-girly,” she corrected in that lilting, singsong voice before walking back to stand next to the last unknown member of their team. I was kind of amazed and a little paranoid about the idea that they were called in by the Exarch himself.

I banished the thought until I had time to think about it and looked at the last person, a remarkably unremarkable gentleman with plain features of a medium quality. Medium brown hair and eyes, medium complexion, medium height and build. There was literally nothing that stood out about him aside from the fact that he was wearing workout clothes like everyone else. His were gray and showed he didn’t have remarkable musculature like the rest of them; just medium, as with the rest of him.

“You know Mack already,” Andre said, interrupting my inspection of the walking example of average. “Believe it or not, he is our archer and he is a fair shot with a rifle or pistol as well. The last member of our little group is Grayson Smoke, our spy and assassin.”

I nodded understanding, taking the proffered hand with a smile and asking, “Grayson Smoke?”

He smiled slightly, mysteriously. “A moniker not of my own choosing but one I have gotten used to. Pleased to meet you,” he said in a predictably average voice that was accentless American. He looked at Andre, a question or challenge (I wasn’t sure which) in his eyes.

Andre shrugged in answer and inhaled deeply. “I understand Jericho passed on our invitation to join us in training,” he said somewhat hesitantly; his eyebrows rose in question, almost challenging in their blatant cockiness. When I nodded, he grinned and nodded with satisfaction. “The Order built a nice training sale on the roof, which is how we knew you were coming. Katya saw you turn onto the street while she was doing laps. Shall we?”

They led the way up to the roof where I saw what looked like a barn. The steel structure was about a hundred feet long by about fifty feet wide by about twenty-five feet tall with huge, barn-like doors on each side that were thrown wide despite the cold. Inside was a painted twenty-five foot circle on the floor, racks of weapons all around the room, and various pieces of fitness equipment along the walls. There were bags and bottles of water lying around the circle, showing that they indeed had been up here before my arrival.

After I changed clothes in a separate structure that had showers, a hot tub, and lockers, we adjourned to the sale and Mack closed the doors. The next hour was intense. You could tell from the first movement that these people were not practicing; they were training. When you train, you try to do it harder than the real thing so that the real thing is as close to a cake walk as possible. Andre claimed privilege and took the first bout with me. He picked up a couple of bamboo practice swords like they use in Japan, throwing one to me and bowing. My preferred sword length is somewhat shorter but I gave it a go.