Life as a New Hire

This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

There are two distinct phases of falsehood. In the first, you realize you can lie to those closest to you. In the second, you realize you shouldn't.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

This time, I owe thanks to two people who created two key elements of this story. It wouldn't exist without them.

*****

(And the stars continue to shine forth)

"Stop trying to save me," Pamela remarked, once she was sure we were alone once more.

"Ask me to do something I'd at least consider doing," I sighed. "Let's go back to the party...I'm not sure where we are."

"You've been walking in one big circle, Dummy," she chided me.

Why was she letting me off the hook for walking off with the Grand Villain in the scheme of things? Well, if she started hitting me, she probably wasn't sure she could stop.

"One of these days I'm going to screw up and not get out of it," I noted sadly.

"That is the epitaph of anyone who has ever taken up a weapon and a cause," Pamela smiled.

Maybe she wasn't angry with me.

"Why aren't you more pissed off?" I wondered.

"You are a good guy, Cáel," Pamela enlightened me. "That means you are going to reach out to people you think you can save. Personally, I don't think Alal can be, but then I'm biased."

"Guy coming back from the dead?" I inquired.

"Damn right. No more surefire way to anger an assassin than to come back from the dead," she related. "Did you take note of his body?"

"Not really. What did I miss?" I requested.

"It didn't look right," Pamela shook her head. "Nothing more specific than that. I was hoping, since you touched him, you might have picked something else up."

"Nope. I was too busy slipping a GPS locator on him," I grinned.

"You don't have one and the technology doesn't work that way, ya numbskull," she play slapped my left bicep.

"Wouldn't it be cool if it did?" my grin broadened.

"Laugh it up, Monkey-boy," Pamela countered. "Buffy would have you tagged like a mule deer in Yellowstone."

"Eeeekk," I gasped. "Point taken."

"Well..." Pamela huffed.

"He's going to kill my soul," I observed. "Now I'm sure of it. All of that discussion was just gauging my personality so that when he offs me, he can become Cáel Nyilas / Wakko Ishara." Pause.

"Good for you," Pamela let go of a tense breath. She didn't have to ask.

"The whole Condottieri situation is a scam," I passed on that bit of information I'd first put together with the Vizsla. "It never left Granddad's control. Currently he's going to use various other factions to kill off the Condottieri and Illuminati leadership that oppose him, then it is Unity Time."

"If he takes your place, that gives him leverage on the Amazon Council plus your appeal to the 9 Clans and the Earth & Sky," Pamela helped me work things through. "He couldn't get his hooks into the Egyptians because they knew too much about him. Matters of race stymied his efforts with the Earth & Sky and Seven Pillars."

"Except I saved Temujin and he's been supplying them with weapons and tech for over fifty years," I told her. "Even when he was dead, his plan was working...he had predicted the path that warfare would take, invested wisely and left orders to implement his plans. When the time came, they were ready to take out the Seven Pillars."

"Without you saving Temujin, the E&S wouldn't have cared...but you," Pamela nodded. "If it comes down to his coalition of Illuminati, Condottieri, Amazons and 9 Clans, the Egyptians will join him - Global Unification has been their goal all along," she continued. "Besides, you made one hell of a positive impression on them the only time you've met. Bang up job, Stud."

"Temujin will join as well. He's anything but suicidal," I finished the roll call of my fate. We were almost back to the rave by this time. "You know, you could kill me and short-circuit all of this mess," I reminded her.

"No way. I plan to win, damn it," Pamela patted me on the back. "Save the Dum-sel in Disrepute, slay the Evil Warlord and re-retire with a boatload great-grandbabies to spoil."

"I gave the Vizsla a clue," I let Pamela know the possible complications to her plan. "In 1847, one General of the Condottieri tried to have the Italian Black Hand kill another. Unfortunately, the victim in question was a puppet for Grandpa and the assassin team attacked them both. Because they saw his face, he hunted them back to their base and slaughtered the entire Verona Chapter house of the Wolf."

"He must have fucked up a few other times as well," Pamela assured me. Speaking of miscalculations, Anya, Katalin and Orsi broke from the thrashing mob and ran up to me.

"Your crazy ex-girlfriend called," Anya seemed steamed. "She insisted must she talk to you." At first glance, it would be 'which crazy ex-GF'... except only one had Anya's phone number. I took her phone.

[French] "Bonjour, ma petite amie méchante ," I greeted Anais, the Mountie. Yes, I was calling her a 'meanie'.

"Cáel, how are you? Where are you?" she was truly concerned. I didn't doubt her sincerity. I also didn't doubt she was convinced she knew what was best for me, as well.

"I've talked with the Hungarian Police too," I let my pique come through. "You screwed me over. I asked you to let me handled this and you didn't."

"You are still a Jerk," she snapped. "I've been trying to help. And from the sounds of it, you are at a party."

"It's a rave. It is a rave brought about by the police keeping people penned up in the town all afternoon. Now, if you would stop treating me like a freaking child, you would realize that I'm actually safer in a crowd than I am alone, holed-up in some room without a weapon because you've made it so that the TEK is now keeping a sharp eye on me," I retorted.

"Can't you tell I'm trying to help you?" she got loud, on the cusp of becoming enraged.

"Yes. I called you ... asking for help. I also called to apologize, without making it sound like some lame stupid stunt to get you back. I'm in real trouble here and I've put other people in danger at the same time," I told her. And yes, I planned to get some 'Anais' when I got back to North America.

"I'm telling you," she persisted, "let Hungarian law enforcement help you."

"I'm trying to make you understand," I countered, "that this is a situation that the police can't help me with. I called you because I believed I could trust you, even though you hate me."

"I'm angry with you, Cáel. I don't hate you," she grumbled. "I am trying to help."

"If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't still be talking to you, Anais," I allowed. "What did Timothy tell you?"

"Is that all you care about?" she grumbled.

"Actually, this is me trying not to be a selfish jackass," I said. "People are in danger because of me and I need to make sure they are safe before I take care of myself."

"That's...very unlike you," Anais sounded unsure.

"I've been doing some growing up since graduation," I replied. "I only wish I'd grown smarter."

"I...I'm sorry about your Papa," she quieted down.

"They gunned him down in his own home," I told her. "Dad never touched a gun in his life and they shot him with an assault rifle."

"Oh...well, I understand your Federal Justice Department is investigating the matter," Anais tried to comfort me. "I talked with your Prosecutor Castello. She wouldn't tell me much."

"Pity," I mumbled. "I know they are having difficulties."

"It is an American problem," she noted.

"Not really," I sunk in my hooks. "We've been working with MI-6 and the CIA. They are all part of that international task force I told you about {see last chapter}."

"Yes - how did you get Irish diplomatic status? That doesn't make any sense," she perked up. Anais liked puzzles. Actually, she liked solving conundrums. It made her a great cop.

[German] "We are missing the party," Monika protested.

[French] "That's right. Tell your

EX-

girlfriend good-bye, Cáel," Anya insisted loudly.

"Who is that?" Anais groused.

"It is Anya, the Bulgarian mechanical engineer. We've had sex since you and I last talked and I think she's feeling a tad possessive," I explained.

Pause.

"Bastard," Anais seethed. I was sure her pussy was twitching already. "Fine. I talked with your roommate - he says you have my uniform in a dress bag and my boots in a sealed box, so I forgive you. Anyway, he said Odette called, and she gave him a number to give to you."

Since it didn't have 555 in it, I had hopes it was genuine. This was not the time to give Anais the quick kiss-off.

"I appreciate it, Anais," I sighed with relief. "Have you decided which restaurant you want to go to when I get back?"

"I haven't given it much thought, Cáel," I could feel her defrosting further. "How can I keep in touch with you?"

"Ugh...I don't have my own phone right now. Tomorrow I'm going to steal some means of conveyance and..." I grinned.

"Don't tell me that," Anais complained. "I'm still an officer of the law."

"Well, the new 'me' is trying to be more honest with you, Anais. I've got to get out of town tomorrow. Would you rather I lied to you...again?" I confounded her.

"Well...no. Try to be careful, prends soin de mon amour," she sighed.

"I will call you as soon as I'm able. Thank you again," I signed off.

"I still say, 'that one' is confused about her 'ex' status," Orsi teased me.

"Do you know what is worse than having one woman save your soul?" I tossed out to them. They could not divine an answer. "Having three women do it at the same time, for different reasons. Now I believe we have a party starving for our attention."

(Reunions)

Pamela had convinced me the motorcycle driver who belonged to our newly acquired BMW K1600 GT would be at least four hours regaining consciousness and getting himself untied. We had stopped at a petrol station along the 431, between Kiszombor, Hungary and the Romanian border. She wanted to fuel up before the border crossing...in case things didn't work out...you know, with our guns and this stolen vehicle.

She was already peeved that I'd stopped in Szeged to pick up a few pounds of paprika. Rumor had it that the fields around that stretch of the Tisza produced the highest quality of that spice on the planet, especially the sweet kind. Pamela pointed out I knew 'jack' about cooking. I agreed. What I did know was cooks - the female variety.

Fresh spice from the 'source' was way better than a dozen roses, even with a box of chocolates added. Did I have a cook lined up in New York? No, but I was sure I could find one. Wait! Yasmin, my Brazilian, ex-Super Cop, hottie should be back in town by now. If she didn't cook, she'd definitely have a friend I could seduce.

Honest to Ishara, I was starting to believe this constant 'work-work-work' was ruining my normally poor judgment where sex and fidelity were concerned.

Pamela was getting some lunch for us while I gassed up my crotch-rocket. My luck kept being...exceptional. Two Hungarian motorcycle troopers showed up; both were women and they apparently had decided that I was worthy of attention. Hey, I'm good-looking...and I was wearing a ballistic vest. (The durability of my long coat wasn't so obvious.)

[Hungarian] "Nice bike," the first one - the one directly confronting me - said.

[Hungarian] "Thanks. It is a KT1600 GT - 2009," I smiled. "What are you two on?"

[Hungarian] "Yamaha FJR1300A's," she answered. I put up the nozzle, capped the tank and walked over to her conveyance. It was a really sweet ride.

[Hungarian] "You have a gun," she noted calmly. She and her partner both had their hands on their holstered weapons. Since the flaps were still down, I wasn't panicking.

[Hungarian] "Yes. More than one in fact," I kept pretending to look over her bike while I was really scoping her out. I'd nailed all six boat girls and then had the Macedonian babe for breakfast. So I still had three good sexual bangs in me before dusk and these two were nice and pleasant enough.

[Hungarian] "Do you have permits for those?" she asked. Her partner was calling something in.

[Hungarian] "Are we still in Hungary?" I mused. The question was a joke.

[Hungarian] "I believe we are," she smiled. Sure, I may have been a dangerous felon, but I was a nice looking and engaging one.

"Nope. I'm afraid not," I sighed. She understood my English.

[Hungarian] "Why are you so armed?" she kept calm. "Are you law enforcement somewhere?"

[Hungarian] "Does a secretive, non-governmental, paramilitary organization count?"

[Hungarian] "No," she sighed. "That sounds rather criminal. So, what are you carrying?" That was a nice way of saying 'give me your gun'.

"Left, right, back, or ankle?" I replied. "Which one do you want first?"

[Hungarian] "Let's try this again. Can I see some form of ID?" she remained rather comfortable despite this having to be the most bizarre traffic stop of her career.

"I'm reaching around to my right rear jean pocket for it," I related. Something dating Anais had taught me was that you always tell an on-duty cop what you are doing before you do it.

She nodded, so I pulled out my NY Driver's license, my US passport and my Irish Diplomatic ID. She began looking them over.

[Hungarian] "You are Cáel Nyilas?" she looked over my documents.

[Hungarian] "If that who it says I am, then yes," I grinned.

For a second, she was P-O'ed, then she realized I was playing with her. She snorted in amusement and returned to looking over my stuff. [Hungarian] "Nyilas is a Hungarian name," she hummed.

[Hungarian] "Székely," I clarified. "My family emigrated to America at the end of World War II. I've actually come back here to look over the homeland."

[Hungarian] "You couldn't land in Bucharest?" she handed me my ID back.

[Hungarian] "What?" I feigned an insult to my intellect. "Hungarian women are far prettier."

[German] "You don't appear to be Dortmund Schuyler," her partner looked me over.

[German] "Is that the guy who let me borrow his bike?" I responded.

[Hungarian] "Do you have any proof of that?" the first motor-cop asked.

[Hungarian] "What are you implying? Don't I look trustworthy?" I gave her my puppy-dog eyes. The two law-women exchanged glances.

[Hungarian] "No," they pronounced in unison. "Not at all."

[Hungarian] "Hello ladies," Pamela greeted the two. "Do they know your real name?" was aimed at me. I nodded. "Okay, Cáel, time for us to go."

[Hungarian] "There are the matters of your ID and Mr. Schuyler's bike," partner number two pointed out.

[Hungarian] "Please, let us go," I pleaded. "I swear to God, we are leaving your beautiful country as fast as we can. When I come back, I will be able to explain all of this. Right now, I'm horribly pressed for time."

[Hungarian] "What is the rush?" the first inquired.

[Hungarian] "People I barely know are trying to kill me. The TEK told me to stick around, but if I do, I'm going to get offed in police custody. My pursuers are some horribly bad people and they don't give a damn about law enforcement. Worse, they are armed to the teeth," I confessed. There was a long pause. In my short stay, I'd turned portions of Hungary into war zones.

[Hungarian] "You are serious," the first one gasped. They didn't want to believe my claim. In my favor was that law enforcement knew that both the Metro killings and the inn shoot-out were 'unsolved' (as in the authorities didn't know what the fuck had happened, or why) and there was even an attempt to blow up the near-by ferry (after all, the CIA wouldn't lie about that, would they?)

I was a really nice guy, packing guns and wearing body armor. There weren't warrants out for Pamela's, or my arrest yet. They wanted to believe me ... plus attempting to restrain me was looking to be a terribly difficult undertaking with an attendant mountain of paperwork and several annoying internal investigation afterwards. The only thing they'd called in so far was Dortmund's bike plate.

[Hungarian] "Please," I made my final appeal. The two cops looked at one another. Finally, the first one made a brief dismissive gesture ... while slipping me her card. Pamela and I were mounted up, helmeted and out of there in less than five seconds. We were racing toward Romania and freedom.

"Care to explain that?" Pamela shouted to me over the rush of the wind.

"What do you mean?" I replied.

"I can't believe they bought that. You told them the truth and the believed it. I'm stunned - in awe," Pamela was both confused and amused.

"It wasn't the truth, it was the 'please'," I innocently informed her. "Law enforcement folks like things black-and-white. I needed help and they probably believed I was in danger. Easy-peasy. Besides, they know about all the trouble I've caused, the ordinance expended and that people are asking a ton of questions and not getting many answers," I added.

"I really need to meet Dr. Geisler," Pamela laughed, "and thank her." My current mentor meeting my former mentor? Fun? I caught a glimpse of

something

out of the corner of my helmet's visor. I looked that way, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

The Romanian checkpoint was a breeze. The man who waved us through was more interested two co-eds in the classic Karmann Ghia convertible behind us. Having exited Hungary's south-eastern border, we now had to angle north to catch up with the majority of our troupe in Arad. DJ682 was our route of choice and, as we raced along, it highlighted the fact that...Western Romania looked remarkably like Eastern Hungary. The Mures River provided an adequate distraction. Unfortunately, the distraction was proving more spooky than amusing.

I caught glimpses of something swimming underneath the river's surface - again, close enough to the outer edge of my perception that I couldn't form a complete mental picture of what was there. Just that it was very big, whatever it was. Even Pamela's sixth sense was getting that '

creepy

' feeling. The closer was got to Arad, the stronger the sensation became. On the city outskirts, I made the call to the number Anais gave me.

Riki Martin, our US State department liaison, answered, "It's about time!" She sounded slightly exasperated. It was the 'hurry up and wait' phenomena.

"Ummm...I come bearing news - some good; some bad," I offered up.

"So do we," Riki replied. "You could have called us to let you know you survived the inn. Selena was less than helpful when she finally showed up," she chastised me. "She and Ildiko (Alkonyka's real name) arrived with her sister, Angyalka, early this morning," she gave me the good news.

"What kind of shape are they in?" I inquired.

"They're alive. Now, make it snappy. Delilah is heading down to the lobby as we speak. Come to the XO Residence, Dr. Iona Ratiu 13," Riki informed me. "How much longer before you get here?"

"We'll have to ditch our ride and hitchhike in, so it will be a while," I answered.

"Hurry up...do you listen to the news?" Riki tossed out there.

"Only when I'm dating an activist, or a poli-sci major," I said.

"You are hopeless. Be happy you are good-looking and reputedly hell in the sack," Riki grumbled then hung up. I wondered what that was about.

I turned to give Pamela the news - she had remained seated on the bike - when I nearly jumped of my skin. There was a woman, but only in the context that it was an eerie facsimile of a female human body. She reminded me of demon wearing a human suit actually. She was behind Pamela, on the edge of the highway. My mentor followed my gaze which only confirmed my thought that only I could see her/it.