ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "Why two years?" asked a tall red-headed young man.

  Director Matel answered, "So that you will be prepared to defend your client and yourself against the type of professionals who we expect will be trying to assassinate the people you will be guarding. You have much to learn. Although two years sounds like a long time, we believe it's the minimum amount of time necessary to prepare you."

  "How are women expected to be able to fight professional assassins, especially if it’s a man?" asked a woman on the other side of the room.

  Matel again answered, "You’ll be well trained in the art of self-defense and weapons, but it's the rules of engagement that will give you the most advantage. The FBI rules are in most cases very restrictive and consequently reactive. Your rules will allow you to be proactive. That means you can act with excessive force at the first sign of trouble, and that you can shoot an unarmed man if he appears to be a threat to you or to the person you are protecting. That's why two years. We want to ensure you are equipped to protect your client and yourself under any and all conditions."

  The questions went on for almost two hours. I had mixed emotions as I listened. It sounded exciting and damn dangerous.

  "You have two days to think about whether you are interested and wish to continue. If you are, report back here at noon two days from today. Remember, the program is voluntary. You may leave it anytime you wish," Liang said, ending the meeting.

  * * *

  It was crazy. Why would I want to spend two years sequestered on a base learning to protect people—actually, to kill people? Of course, I could leave any time I wanted, and the thought of protecting the privileged of society—well watching them—did sound intriguing. For two days my alter egos and I fought, so I hardly knew what or when I had eaten, or washed, or what I saw when I walked the streets. It sounded interesting—it sounded like a lot of hard work. It sounded like fun—it sounded dangerous. It sounded like something that would be worthwhile—it sounded boring. And how long would it hold my interest, since nothing else had? On the morning of the second day, the interesting, fun, and worthwhile won—but only because I could leave if it wasn't. I washed, had a good breakfast of eggs and bacon, and grabbed a cab for Edwards Air Force Base.

  I arrived an hour before noon and found about forty candidates already there. The room was full of a low buzz of whispered conversation as candidates speculated on what to expect. By noon most but not all had returned. Directors Liang and Matel entered a few minutes later.

  Director Liang held up a hand for silence. "Good afternoon. Today, we will get you registered, assigned beds, issued clothing, and given your schedules. Classes of forty-three will be too large to be effective, so until we have significant dropouts, we will break you into groups of fourteen or fifteen. And for those of you who counted the number who returned, Director Matel and I will be joining the classes. Why? Because those who survive will be the first graduates of the ZAP, Zero Assassination Program. So while we are trying to get you operational, we will be evaluating the training for the next group of candidates. Director Matel and I thought the best way to evaluate the course was to participate as candidates. We expect no preferential treatment from you or the instructors. This is not a college course where a C or even a B is passing. Only those considered 'Distinguished Students' will qualify.

  ZAP agents will be protecting individuals who will have professional assassins out to kill them. And the protocol we will be asking you to adopt will make you the prime target. To make someone a ZAP agent who isn't capable of handling the threat would be unfair to you and your client. I doubt any of you are ready for this course, so we have decided that anyone who has adequate performance but fails to qualify may automatically enroll for a second try. And I will warn everyone now, the only people who are going to pass this time are those who are willing to give one hundred percent of themselves for the entire two years. The hours will be long and the course mentally and physically demanding. We would like all of you to qualify, but I will be surprised if more than five do."

  "I'm going to take roll and then assign you to a group," Matel said, and he began calling names. " ... Kate Mathis, group B ..." When he finished, he smiled. "Phil Matel will be in group A, and Ann Liang in group B. If you will follow me, we will get registered." He motioned and we followed him to the other side of the building where three tables were set up, each with a sign designating a group. I went directly to the table with the Group B sign and was the first to arrive.

  "Your badge, candidate," a tall athletic man said while holding out his hand. He read my badge, reached under the table, and grabbed a knapsack and handed it to me along with a new badge. The old badge had, "VISITOR: Kate Mathis." The new one just had my name. "You will need to wear the badge for the first week until the instructors get to know you. After that you won't need it, because you aren't going anywhere so long as you are in the program. Your next stop is the barracks. The women’s entrance is B2. Good luck, Mathis," he said, pointing to a door at the far end of the room.

  I wended my way past the other candidates and outside. In front of me was a long narrow building with two entrances. The door at the beginning of the building had a sign with B1; the other door farther along had a sign with B2. Before entering, I stopped to take a good look at my new home. There wasn't much to see, mostly flat desert landscape, a bunch of Air Force buildings off in the distance, and planes of various types I couldn't identify, sitting next to several hangers. When I walked in, I was met by a young woman.

  "Hi." She turned my badge so she could read it then checked her tablet. "Kate. I'm Tara. You're assigned to bed five." She turned and pointed to a double bed on her left. "On your bed are three sets of workout clothes, sweat suits, nightwear, underwear, shoes, and miscellaneous toiletries. Try them on to make sure they fit. If they do, write your name on the inside tags. If not, let me know. We used the information you gave us on the application, so hopefully they'll fit. And this is your personal tablet. Your first class will be here in an hour, where I'll go over its functionality and purpose. Put all of your personal belongings in the knapsack including your cell phone, jewelry, etc., fill out the inventory sheet, and then give it to me. It will be returned if you leave the program early or upon graduation."

  "Hi, Tara, this feels like what I would think basic training in the military would be like."

  "Judging by your schedule, I would say more like Hell week at some sorority repeated one hundred and four times." She laughed, then sobered. "But those that qualify will be very special people and belong to a very special group. Good luck." She turned to greet the next woman entering the building.

  In the first class, I learned the tablets kept our daily and weekly schedules, alerted us to any changes to our daily routines, held reading material and class exercises, and provided a way to communicate with staff on personal issues—no Internet or email service. We got a tour of our fenced-off compound and were served dinner and told to get a good night's sleep as tomorrow would be busy. Naturally, I ignored the advice and sat around with the others, chatting and getting to know my classmates.

  * * *

  I jerked awake as a loud siren blasted through the barrack and a tall athletic woman entered the room. "Good morning, candidates. I'm Sara, one of your fitness instructors. I hope you had your full eight hours of sleep, because today will be busy." She smiled, I think. My eyes still hadn't adjusted to the room's bright lights—it was still nighttime judging by the windows. "You have ten minutes to jump into your running outfits and join me outside. You don't want to be late and come to the attention of our head instructor, George. He's not a morning person." She laughed and exited the building. I wasn't sure what I put on as all my clothes looked alike, and I staggered out the door just as a tall athletic man shouted.

  "This isn't a social get together. Form three lines: group A, B, and C." He waited as we sorted ourselves in lines by group. "Now, spread out so you have several feet on either side of you." Again he waited. "You were
awakened at six hundred hours. That's six a.m. military time. That gives you ten minutes to get out here, five to get organized, and forty-five minutes for this class. Unless you run very slowly, you should finish at seven hundred hours, just in time for breakfast. Your next class is at eight hundred hours, so if you take longer getting out here, getting into place, and performing the required exercises, you could miss breakfast—an important meal if you expect to survive the rest of the day. AM I CLEAR?" he shouted. He received a variety of mumbled responses.

  "I DIDN'T HEAR YOU!" he shouted. I tried shouting back but it came out rather weak. What the hell did he expect at this time of the morning? I protested quietly to myself. The others around me sounded louder.

  "Better. Although you are all young and healthy, you are not in the kind of condition you will need to be for the job you are applying to. Your conditioning affects your alertness, reflexes, and judgment. Attributes essential for a ZAP agent. So, if you are serious about being a ZAP agent, this class is essential to your success. All right, on the ground. Give me fifteen pushups."

  The exercises were a combination of strength and stretching routines followed by a short three mile run. That proved a reality check on my current physical condition—poor to pathetic. The instructor had maintained a good steady pace and except for a few showoffs, I and most others were panting hard at the finish.

  I staggered into the dining building and proceeded down the serving line, picking up French toast, sausages, lots of syrup, and milk. I followed Jasmin, one of the female candidates in Group B, to an empty table. I knew from my college sports that this had been a very light workout, but I was exhausted. Of course, getting up before the sun didn't seem fair.

  "What do you think, Jasmin?" I asked while pouring three containers of maple syrup over my toast, hoping that would give me additional energy for whatever was to come.

  "About the exercises or getting us up in the middle of the night? Don't care. I'm staying." She had a stubborn look on her face that dared me to contradict her. "I like the ZAP concept."

  "Maybe you can give me a little of your enthusiasm. My brain is still asleep in the barrack. What's next?"

  "A class on the FBI organization and procedures."

  "I guess I should have a quick shower. I doubt the instructor will ignore sleeping in class."

  It turned out the class was interesting. The instructor, Bryon, obviously had real experience in the field, unlike many of the college professors who had never worked a day in their area of expertise. Oh, they had talked to a few people who did, which wasn't exactly the same thing. The class lasted just long enough to digest breakfast and for the maple syrup to begin to work. There was a fifteen-minute break—so I could get my ass to the big building ten minutes away—before Group B's next class, combat self-defense, which had three women: Ann Liang, Jasmin Williams, and me, and twelve men.

  "I'm Gunny Sergeant Babcock. You will refer to me as Gunny. This is the first of three classes on the same topic—how to defend yourself when someone is trying to kill you. I will teach you combat techniques used by the elite groups within the military. Master LeBeau will teach you knife techniques, and Master Ku will teach you an alternative style which some of you may prefer. We'll tend to ignore techniques that don't disable or kill. Instead, we'll assume that if you are being attacked it's by an assassin or thug attempting to kill your client, not some obnoxious drunk in a bar while you are off duty." He laughed. "Although as I understand your rules of engagement, that same obnoxious drunk has no immunity if you are with your client."

  Williams seemed to enjoy the class, while Liang and I found the techniques hard to perform against the bigger and stronger males in the class. And most the males seemed to take extra pleasure in thwarting our efforts at stopping their attacks. I found the knife self-defense better since they required no strength, just an understanding of the technique.

  To my surprise, Liang helped teach Master Ku's class. I thought I'd prefer his style better after I got over my tendency to fight my opponent rather than to use his force against him. Gunny and Ku's objectives were the same; it was the approach that was different—active vs passive.

  After an hour break for lunch and nursing my bruises, the next class was weapons. I found the class difficult as I had never handled a gun. Not only were the damn things noisy, but also the recoil was like a bomb when it exploded. Both affected my concentration and made aiming difficult. However, I enjoyed learning how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble the standard Glock we would carry.

  Afterward, we were introduced to Master Choden, a bald-headed man in a saffron robe.

  "Good afternoon, my name is Choden. You may call me Cho. My task is to introduce you to meditation. Sounds strange to teach FBI agents to meditate. Sounds almost contradictory, since meditation is associated with non-violence and you will be surrounded by violence. But meditation is the path to a clear mind—a mind without turmoil. In my opinion, that will be an essential quality for a ZAP agent. If your mind is in turmoil, how will you be expected to decide whether or not to shoot a potential threat? You won’t. And resolving the turmoil will cause seconds of delay. And that could be the critical difference between life and death—yours, the client’s, or that of the individual in question. Something to consider."

  His words were soft and somehow soothing. "Sit, please. Lotus style would be nice but it is not essential. The object is to quiet your mind. For now, that will be impossible, so I ask you to think about only one thing ... your breathing, what you had for lunch, something you learned today. That and only that."

  "That was almost as bad as exercise class," said a classmate named Louis as we exited the room.

  "Yeah. It was like a there was a bunch of people inside my head each battling for attention for something," said Wilber, another classmate. I agreed but had been impressed by Choden and found myself concentrating on him with some success. He seemed so content.

  Then there was another longer exercise class, which involved muscle building and endurance. Afterward, two classes on Psychology and Government. In total, twelve-hour days, if you didn't count reading assignments. By the end of two weeks, I felt exhausted to a point of collapse, had problems in most of my classes, and was chose to admitting defeat.

  * * *

  In the end, meditation saved me. Almost from the beginning, the hour-long meditation class felt like a cleansing from the stresses of the day. In desperation, I began getting up an hour early to meditate and spent another hour before bed.

  Over the subsequent weeks, the morning exercise became invigorating, where it had been tiring. I approached the self-defense courses without any expectations of winning or losing and began to understand my attacker. That in turn made the encounter an exercise and the techniques options for me to choose from.

  Master Ku's classes were my favorite because the attacks felt ... smoother ... less stressful ... like a graceful dance. And so I stayed and passed the first six months' performance evaluation. Three women and ten men were told to leave, although one woman and five men were told they could reapply in six months when the new class would be starting. Williams and Liang survived along with me, and the original three groups were consolidated into two.

  I lost five pounds and could actually see muscles in my stomach, arms, and legs. Meditation had even helped with shooting, as the gun began to feel like an extension of my arm. Consequently, my aim improved. Like pointing at something, you don't need to sight down your finger.

  * * *

  The second six months were much of the same, except more intense. The targets were no longer stationary, and we were frequently moving as well. Self-defense required padded equipment as the matches became more physical and closer to what we could expect in a real-life encounter.

  And we were introduced to the ZAP rules of engagement. Unlike the FBI rules of engagement, which varied by situation and were more reactive, the ZAP rules were proactive and applied regardless of the situation. In addition, we had real
istic exercises with hypothetical clients. And we were allowed less sleep: we had guard duty and unannounced night break-ins that made light sleepers of us. I should have hated the chaos but found it challenging.

  Without meditation, I would have failed to qualify if I hadn't quit out of frustration. The meditation let me enjoy each day without the worry of what would happen tomorrow or next week or whether I'd survive to become an agent. Liang, Williams, and I passed the second evaluation. That left the three of us the only women. Thirteen men were asked to leave, a few with invitations to try again, and the two groups were consolidated into one for the final year.

  * * *

  "Kate, I never thought you would survive two months, much less a year," Liang said as we sat eating dinner. They had given us three days off while they prepared for the next phase and registered a new group of first-year candidates.

  "One course saved me," I said, reluctant to call her Ann or even Annette as she would be my superior if I managed to qualify.

  "Ann, please. This year, we’re both recruits trying to qualify as ZAP agents. Between you and me, I'd just as soon Matel manage the organization alone." She grinned and glanced at him. "What was the course?"

  "Master Ghoden's class on meditation. Without that course I would have failed if I hadn't quit first. Guns and physical fights aren't my style. I'm more of a party and fun girl."

  "That was my impression," Ann said, nodding. "What about you, Jasmin?"

  "Kate got me hooked on meditation, but for me it's hard work. I grew up in a gang-infested district, so I enjoy the self-defense classes and weapons. But I have to give her credit. It does help to clear the mind of distractions."

  "That's interesting. Thanks. Part of the reason for the break is for Matel and me to adjust the training based on what we've learned over the past year. I think you're right. Meditation is important, so you'll be happy to know it will remain and be increased. It will replace an hour of sleep." She laughed.