by C. R. Daems
“Would you mind doing a demonstration for me?” he asked, looking a bit sheepish.
“Of course not, Craig. What would you like?” I asked.
“Try qualifying with your new holster,” he said, confirming what I thought.
I stepped up to one of the lanes the three had just exited, as Craig put a new target on the clip and sent it twenty-five meters down the range. I took a step closer to the table, reached my right hand under my jacket, and gripped the handle of the Sig Sauer while my left moved the other side of my jacket away from the business end of the weapon. Simultaneously, I twisted ninety degrees and fired ten times, removed the gun, ejected the round in the chamber, and stepped back. Craig reeled the target back, stared at it, and shook his head.
“You just scored better than two of the agents that were just here and tied the third. Would you mind if I examine the holster?” he asked. I shook my head as I unbuckled it and handed it to him. “Clever,” he said as he inspected it. “The thick leather belt in back protects your skin from the discharge. Why?”
I considered the question for a minute. It was actually several questions, I decided. “I thought I should conform to my group’s conventions because otherwise I would stand out as separate when in fact I’m part of the team. With my small frame, carrying my Sig in an underarm holster would make me look like a hunchback. Besides, by the time I got it out and aimed I’d probably be dead. And strapping it to my leg would make me stand out. The small of my back turned out to be the least conspicuous and the least uncomfortable. Once I had it in place, I thought it would be really fast if in an emergency I could fire it while it was in the holster. And it turned out not to require an excessive amount of practice since I’d spent long hours learning to shoot my Mfw from the waist after several assassination attempts on my life.”
“I asked because several of the c-agents have been interested and wanted to know if they could use a back holster.” He gave me a hard look.
“I leave that to you to decide, Craig.”
“Thank you. Would you mind working with me to revise our basic new-hire training?” he asked, and then grinned. “And maybe an enhanced bodyguard course. Your explanation of the assassination attempts on your life and the recent attempt has pointed out some glaring deficiencies. And you saved your security team’s lives.” The last he said rather defensively.
“No, Craig. My security team acted perfectly. If Leo hadn’t yanked me out of my front row seat and he and Fred hadn’t carried me towards the back, I would have been exposed and shot when the men entered the shuttle. Carrying me to the back hid me from the attackers’ view and forced one to come close enough for me to kill him. If your team had been carrying mini gas masks, they would have killed the assassins when they entered,” I said. “I think your training focuses on multiple assassins using brute force. That’s probably because most of you come from combat units and environments. But large criminal organizations have or hire professional assassins. They plan their attack, don’t want to die during the attempt, and therefore, can be very devious. The recent attempt on my life was a good example. They weren’t interested in a gun battle with c-agents, so they used gas to disable them, then shoot me, and leave before help could arrive.”
Craig laughed. “Seth said all the people he talked to said you had a very unorthodox style but they loved it. Most new directors come here and order us to make changes just to prove they are in charge or how much smarter they are than us. You haven’t asked us to change anything but we are all making the changes you want made. I’ll bet by the end of a year we will have convinced ourselves they were our ideas.” He waved a hand. “I like your style, ma’am. But if these changes had been your ideas I would have fought them.” He was still laughing when I left the room.
* * *
“You know, Director, you are entitled to an aide-de-camp,” Seth said several days later. Most mornings he joined Martha and me for a review of the day’s agenda. I smiled thinking of Lieutenant Banner when I became an admiral and was first entitled to an aide.
“I took on a young lieutenant.” I smiled at the thought. “He was almost my age at the time. I hired him because admirals are supposed to have one and because he thought he could benefit working for me. And in the end, he claimed he did benefit. He was excellent but just made my day more boring since he did things I would have done,” I said, thinking that although that was mostly true, David had been helpful.
Seth and Martha laughed.
“You do seem to have a lot of nervous energy, Anna,” Seth said. “I can’t remember a director who has been as active or directly involved…and yet not in an obtrusive way which is normally the case when directors do get involved. I’ll bet there are several women c-agents who would like to be your aide for the same reason as that lieutenant. It’s a style issue. We all thought the security team with you failed—you thought they acted exceptionally well. That boosted morale a hundred percent and solidified you as a member of the c-team not, just its director.”
* * *
“Mother, did you used to shout at your people when they screwed up?” I asked that night as we sat eating.
“On occasion. It’s sort of traditional. But I preferred to do it in private as it’s more effective. But from what I’ve heard your softer approach gets results.”
“You’ve never even talked harshly to me.”
“You’re the perfect daughter, although you do attend a lot of wild parties.” She snorted. “Besides, I think frowning at you would be more effective than screaming.” She leaned over and hugged me. Characteristically, Red ignored her nearness, except for a flicked tongue against her cheek.
“I’ve caused you so much worry and stress…”
“Anna, you’re the joy of my life. I’ve never regretted adopting you. The worry and stress are just the normal part of being a mother and are far outweighed by how proud I am of you.”
Later while relaxing on the sofa in our living room, I pondered the timing of the assassination attempt. From the time I told my security I wanted to go to the NIA headquarters building until we boarded the shuttle, less than twenty minutes had elapsed. Twenty-five if I count from Martha’s call to Commander Weaver’s office. Intriguing, I mused. For a team of assassins to respond that quickly, they would have had:
1. The team assembled and on ten-minute availability.
2. A plan of attack developed.
3. A car loaded with the equipment they would need.
4. A place close enough to arrive within five minutes of being notified.
5. Access to and from the Committee compound.
6. A method of being notified within ten minutes of my decision to go somewhere.
Looking at my list raised very disturbing implications. This assassination attempt was not hurriedly put together but a carefully planned attack. The group had connections within the Committee organization, well-funded, organized, and didn’t like me. Red agreed since after I finished the list, he slid off my forehead and settled down within my nightdress.
“You’re awful quiet, Daughter. Concerned about the attempted…attack?”
“Not the attack directly—the bread crumbs they left.” I grinned. “In a way, the attack was a good thing, especially since no one got killed—no good guys. I can’t catch them unless they continue to make their presence known, because each event produces bread crumbs which will eventually lead us to them.”
“What about the one you killed?” Alexa asked.
I shook my head. “Hired help with a criminal record longer than his leg. Actually, a good choice since it made the attack appear as if the thieves were after Red. Even if I hadn’t heard one of the men tell the one I shot to kill me, I would have to be brain dead to believe they were after Red. The attack was too well organized, funded, and risky for such a small return.” A look at Alexa’s worried face made my heart pound against my chest—I was causing her more worry and stress. “Mother, the c-agents’ response saved my life. And now that
they know more about assassins, they won’t be caught off guard again.” I hoped that thought would ease her concern, if only a little.
“What about Red?”
“The lazy bugger slept through the whole event. Well, maybe he did help. He didn’t strike Leo when he jerked me out of my seat or Fred as they carried me to the back of the shuttle.”
Alexa laughed quietly and seemed to relax.
* * *
Four days later, Weaver informed me he had the results back from the NIA stations. He offered to come to the Committee building but I declined the offer. Staff Sergeant Leo Fields was again the team leader as we left the building.
“Ma’am, we would like you to sit in the middle of the shuttle if you don’t mind,” he said and quickly added, “New rules from Colonel Ballard.”
“No problem, Sergeant Fields, I’m for any procedures that provide the best security for you and me.”
“Thank you for what you said to Major Olson,” he said sheepishly. I imagined Fields had initially felt he had somehow failed me during the assassination attempt.
“I told him nothing but the truth. You and your team saved my life with your quick thinking. Stopping a well-organized assassination requires a team effort. You did your part so I could help.” I smiled. “We know we did a damn good job because we're all alive and they aren’t.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He beamed a teeth-flashing smile as he waved me into the waiting shuttle, which Maxine had already inspected. The ride was short and we landed on the top of the Headquarters building.
“Leo, how did we get access to use the roof?” I asked. I knew there was roof access for a shuttle or skimmer but thought the access was for very senior officers or VIPs.
“Ma’am, you’re the Director of UAS Committee Security. You’re definitely one of the top ten most powerful individuals in the Alliance, probably number four since there are currently three Core members,” Leo said, looking amused. “You didn’t know, or care?”
“Leo, I don’t like promotions. They lead to strange new environments I have to adjust to, increased responsibility before I’m ready, and more pomp and ceremony than I’m comfortable with,” I said, hating I sounded like I was whining, which I was. He laughed.
“Ma’am, you have everyone fooled,” he said while scanning the area. He led me toward two guards standing by a metal sliding door which I realized opened to an elevator. After inspecting my badge, the guards inserted a code into a key pad and the elevator door opened. I smiled when I saw the lowest numbered button was level eighteen—the lowest floor with admirals.
When the door opened, Commander Weaver was waiting. “Welcome, Director Paulus, do you mind if we meet in Admiral Lulltrel’s office?”
“No. I’d love to see Admiral Lulltrel. I know it’s only been a few weeks but it seems like years,” I said, pleased with the idea. When we arrived, Commander Spalding, her aide, smiled and held out his hand.
“Congratulations, Director Paulus. NIA isn’t quite as exciting since you left. Go on in, the admiral is expecting you.”
When I entered she was standing, and I almost braced to attention and saluted. Seeing her smile, I walked up to her and gave her a hug. She had been my superior but also a dear friend.
“I always wanted to do that,” I said, glad I had.
“Thank you, Anna. I’ve always thought you special like a daughter—well, except that time you had me investigated.” She laughed and held me by the shoulders at arms’ length. “You look good. Have a seat, there is coffee coming. I hear there was an assassination attempt on you.”
“Someone doesn’t like me being the Director of Committee Security,” I said.
“Someone smart enough to know he’d rather someone else was chasing him. Who are you chasing?” she asked as she and Weaver sat.
“Not sure. Someone is killing Committee delegates—a group probably. They claim to have an agenda and want the Alliance agreement modified. I think it’s a ruse. I hope you don’t mind me using the NIA to investigate.”
Lulltrel surprised me by laughing. “You really don’t understand, do you, Anna,” she said but it wasn’t a question, more a statement of fact. “Your old team had a unique policy, if a team member wanted to do something, the team member got to do it. Every senior officer thought that a stupid rule because by tradition the team leader decided on the team’s priorities, not the individual members. You have finally reached a position where what Anna wants, Anna gets. Only the Core Committee can say no to you.”
I sat stunned. I knew I had permanent P1A authority, which gave me a lot of authority if I wished to exercise it, but I didn’t consider my position as Director meant I had the implied backing of the Core Committee.
“So, Director Paulus, the NIA will be delighted to help you.” She smiled. “We would anyway, Anna.”
“Thank you—”
“Sharon,” Lulltrel said, interrupting me. “Now that you are a civilian and we have long been friends, we can dispense with formalities in private.”
“Thank you…Sharon.”
Fortunately, Weaver filled my awkward silence. “The stations have reported four delegates’ deaths over the past two years.” He opened his tablet and after a few clicks a chart appeared on the wall monitor.
Name
System
Cause of death
Erik Chapman
New Zheng
Vehicle accident
Julia Butler
Sutan
Drowning
Kevin Reynolds
Oasis
Robbery
Owen McDonald
Black Water
Vehicle accident
“I’d like an in-depth investigation into their deaths. They are to understand this is a P1A query by”—I smiled and had the urge to giggle—“the Director of UAS Committee Security.”
After another hour talking about old times, I returned to my office. I think my security was relieved to get me back there. I sat thinking about what Lulltrel had said and wasn’t sure how I felt having that much power and the responsibility that went with it. I loved chasing bad guys and destroying their clever schemes but had never sought or wanted power. I liked being part of the team, not its leader.
Just then Red emerged from my jacket and wound around my arm, and I suddenly had an image of the Rod of Asclepius. Maybe that was Red and me—snake and rod—healing the wounds caused by evil people. I pulled my arm close and kissed Red, feeling a sense of agreement, peace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
UnCab: A New Approach
“What went wrong, Maria?” Harold asked as the four met again at his upcountry estate.
“That cat definitely has nine lives. My two survivors claim everything went off as planned but somehow one person managed to survive the sleeping gas, to kill one of the two who entered to kill her, and to wound the other,” Maria said. Harold wasn’t sure if the look on Maria’s face was respect for the Paulus girl or the anticipation of killing her—probably both. “It doesn’t matter,” Maria added. “I have a mole on the inside of her organization so I’ll know her movements in advance. Worst case, I’ll have the mole kill her.”
“Good. Because from what I hear she isn’t falling for the manifesto gambit. She has good instincts and is potentially a real threat,” Ryan said. “It wouldn’t take much to derail the whole plan.”
“I agree,” Harold said and looked to Maria, who looked like the kind of girl a man could bring home to meet his mother. She looked like easy prey, but he wouldn’t have wanted to take her on with less than four bodyguards. Maria had never served in a military unit but rumor had it she was a freelance fixer for underworld crime syndicates. She was obviously well informed and connected, and for that reason he had used her on a couple of his off-the-books operations.
“I just learned of an opportunity which may work better than assassins. The Coaca Virus is apparently active again, although not widespread. That may be a double-edged sword we can use to either kill
her or taint her value.” Maria was speaking but her mind was elsewhere. “That krait of hers is her Achilles’ heel.”
CHAPTER NINE
Shades of the Past
My earbud squealed in my ear, bolting me to my feet. At Seth’s insistence, I had begun wearing one. It not only allowed me to tune into all of the department channels but also to each c-agent’s individual channel and them to my channel. I hadn’t seen the reason at the time, since they could always contact me through my tablet, or through Martha, but I knew it made me an integral part of the team in their eyes and special. Directors, like admirals, while in charge, weren’t considered part of the working team—not one of the troops.
Following the squeal, I heard someone’s near panicked voice, “Director, there are three men with Mfws shouting to see you. They have blisters on their faces.” He had hit the emergency channel so every c-agent could hear him.
“C-agents, this is Director Paulus. Do not engage those men unless they begin shooting at you or someone. They have the Coaca Virus and shooting them will contaminate the area. No one should get within four meters of them. Tell them I’m on my way.” I ran as I spoke. “Seth, call Doctor Renata at Mercy Hospital and tell her the situation here.”
When I reached the lobby, three men stood with Mfws just outside the entrance lanes and at least fifteen c-agents stood, weapons drawn and pointing in their direction. I raised my hand in a Stop gesture as I approached the security lanes. Red had exited my jacket and wound around my neck with his head on my shoulder, watching the three men.
“I’m Director Paulus,” I said as I swiped my ID through the card reader to avoid setting off the alarm and walked through security lane one, drawing the three men to the far side of the lobby and away from the information counters.
