by C. R. Daems
* * *
"Good morning, my name is Dillion. I'm your Game Master. Let me introduce you to your clients. Greg Ward, Joyce Roberts, and Scott Kelly. Each day, one of you will be assigned a client for twenty-four hours. You will take your client to your classes, meals, and at night to the small guesthouse we've had built just north of the barrack. Others of you will be assigned to try and kill the client. You will be notified on your tablets the night before whether you are a ZAP agent or an assassin. For these exercises, you will be issued special Glock-looking guns loaded with paint-bullets. The players will change each day at four hundred hours. Those with a client will find him or her at the guesthouse; the assassins will meet with me at four-thirty hours outside the barrack for instructions."
"Well Louis, how do you want to split the shift?" I asked after being notified that Louis and I would be guarding Joyce Roberts the next morning. I liked Louis. He was almost like the fictional Clark Kent, Superman's alternate identity: quiet and almost timid-like. He aced all his courses, was good with weapons and adequate at self-defense, but his real strength was his ability to assess a situation and react quickly.
"I don't think they want us to miss classes, so what if we split our normal off hours so we can get some rest?" he asked, eyes downcast thinking.
"All right. That's probably the best we can do," I said, not having a better idea and not wanting to try to stay awake for thirty-six hours, as we would have normal classes the next day. At four a.m. I met Louis and found our client waiting for us at the guesthouse.
"Hi, I'm Joyce Roberts, your client. I hope you can keep me alive. I don't fancy being shot with paint balls." She smiled. Joyce looked like a typical forty-something woman probably with grownup children: average height, a little overweight, light-brown shoulder-length hair, and a round face.
"We'll try. Paint on you is a black eye for us. Stay close to us, as we can't trust any of our classmates. Louis, I think we need to stay near the back or off to the side, and one of us hang back to watch the other's back," I said, and Louis nodded.
"We can alternate. I'll hang back at our first class."
We left the guesthouse and proceeded to our exercise class and decided only one of us would exercise while the other watched. At breakfast I let Louis go through the line with Joyce and stayed back. I went through the line after they had found a table against the wall and sat. Eating breakfast with the client was impossible—trying to watch the area and eat. In the end, we took turns eating. Joyce appeared to be enjoying the game.
My head reflectively jerked left as plates and glasses hit the floor with Max, who lay there laughing. Why was he laughing? My mind whirled as blue paint hit Louis in the back and a second later me in my chest as I reached for my gun. As I stood there with red paint dripping down my shirt and trying to breathe, Charlie stood behind the table to the left of us.
"We'll save Joyce the embarrassment of a paintball, since her ZAP guards have been zapped." He joined Max laughing and soon everyone in the dining room joined in. The exercise went on for six more hours with new replacements for the assassins Max and Charlie. We survived the next assassination attempt but were both wounded. It had been a great learning experience and a wakeup call—assassins killed ZAP agents as well as their clients.
I enjoyed the game, while others were clearly stressed when assigned a client. As a group, I thought we made a lot of mistakes and began keeping a list of why the agent failed and what he or she could have done to avoid the disaster.
Example: When your client eats at a restaurant, do not sit. Stand so you can view the room. Loud noises can be distractions. Draw your weapon and force yourself to scan away from the noise. Keep your gun hand always free …
When Jasmin found out what I was doing, she was quick to incorporate my suggestions and to contribute some of her own thoughts. We slowly became the top two performers.
* * *
"All right, what are you two doing the rest of us aren't?" Ann asked after the third phase when the six-month-review results were posted: seven men were dismissed, which left Liang, Jasmin, me, and four men along with Matel.
"We’re just good!" Jasmin said, trying to sound indignant.
I nodded agreement, trying to mimic Jasmin's piqued expression.
"Yes, you two are good, but something else is going on, and Matel and I need to know if we are going to produce agents second to none." She stared at me, somehow guessing I was guilty of whatever it was. I opened my tablet, clicked on the file Artemis I'd been maintaining, and handed it to her. She sat there for a long time frowning, smiling, and shaking her head as she read. "You're right. These are the typical mistakes the candidates make, and your solutions are creative. "Why call the file Artemis?"
"Artemis is the ancient Greek goddess of the hunt, and her name translates to 'Safe'," I said.
"Appropriate. I hope you don't mind, but I need to share these with the men. Our goal is to save lives—our clients’ and our agents’—and these observations and advice will help." She looked to me then Jasmin. I nodded. Liang was right. I had started the list to help ensure that I passed, but I was no longer afraid of failing.
"I don't mind. Jasmin and I ... still have an edge." I gave Ann an evil smile.
"What's that?" Ann exclaimed and even looked down at my tablet as if the answer were there.
"Meditation."
Jasmin smiled at me.
* * *
I should have been terrified to see the training end since it meant I would be in the field facing killers. But I was not only glad to see it end but looking forward to the experience. I had gotten several steps closer to achieving the old Zen saying: When you eat, eat. Simple advice with profound ramifications—enjoy what you are doing now and don't worry about what happened before or what is to come.
As I expected, Jasmin, Wilber Gilman, Louis Brock, and I were asked to join Matel and Liang the day after the course officially ended. When we entered, Matel and Liang stood.
"Congratulations, your instructors unanimously agree you have met or exceeded the minimum requirements of the ZAP program. Given you haven't changed your mind and you're still interested in becoming a special anti-terrorist agent for the FBI, raise your right hand and repeat after me," he said, looking at each of us in turn. I nodded, surprised I would ever commit myself to anything so patriotic and dangerous. From can't-make-up-her-mind party girl to FBI agent, I smiled mentally.
"I, Kathryn Mathis, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies ... duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God," I repeated after Matel. When he finished, he handed each of us our new identification cards and badges: a plastic card in a leather ID holder and a gold badge inside a leather pouch that could be clipped onto a belt or pocket.
"Welcome to the FBI's new Anti-Terrorist Group nine. As the first ZAP agents, we have much to work out over the months to follow. For example, how many agents do we need to protect an individual? Two working twelve-hour shifts or three working eight-hour shifts? How long does an agent remain on a given detail, since assignments are likely to last for many months? And what can or should we expect from our clients?" Liang said, giving a slight shrug. "And how much time off are you entitled to after working twelve hour days seven days a week for an undetermined number of weeks away from home, friends, and family? The good news is your starting salary is two hundred thousand per year. You have excellent health and life insurance plans and rent-free accommodations at the ATG9 headquarters in downtown Lancaster, whether you use them as a temporary or permanent residence. Of course, that good news just confirms the level of risk associated with the job."
When only stunned silence greeted her, she continued. "Dory has a limo waiting to take you there. I'll meet with each of you tomorrow there on the fifth floor, which is now our new headquarters."
CHAPTER FOUR
First Assignment
When we reached the limo, the driver, an e
lderly man in Dockers slacks and a tweed jacket, greeted us.
"Good morning, agents. I'm Freddie," he said with a broad smile on his round pudgy face. Easy to deduce as we all had our IDs hanging around our necks and badges hooked to something in plain sight. "Help yourselves to the refreshments in the cooler. I'm taking you to Meadow Circle in Lancaster. Is there any place you’d like to stop on the way?" When he heard a chorus of "No" he held open the limo passenger's door and waited to close it after we piled in.
Louis examined the cooler. "We have beer, wine, champagne, juice for the health-nicks, and an assortment of sodas."
"Give me an apple juice," I said, mentally shaking my head at the irony—a celebration and party was in order and I was drinking juice. I had decided a couple of months ago when I knew I would graduate that professional assassins and alcohol didn't mix—maybe on an extended vacation, but that was a decision for tomorrow. Louis and Wilber frowned but then seemed to understand when Jasmin also chose a juice. The men after some hesitation chose sodas. As Freddie headed for the main entrance to the base, I grabbed my identification card hanging around my neck and examined it in detail. The identification card had ANTI-TERRORIST GROUP 9 across the top, below that the FBI seal, FBI in large bold letters, and then my picture. I thought my face looked thinner and older—the new me. On the bottom line, ZAP AGENT KATHRYN MATHIS, and the number 93. And on the reverse side:
ZAP Agent Kathryn Mathis reports to the Director of Homeland Security and is immune from arrest and or detention under Senate bill S.999 and House bill H.R.999. There are no exceptions. Signed: Allen Wegner, Director of Homeland Security. Questions: 800-999-9999.
When I looked up, everyone was doing the same thing. Jasmin had an ear-to-ear smile as she turned her identification card so I could see her picture and the number 94. All ZAP agents' numbers would begin with 9 for the group. Matel got the first number, 91, and Liang the second, 92, and for some reason I received 93.
"I know what you're thinking." Jasmin laughed. "The irony of some senator, or judge, or high-and-mighty whatever relying on Jasmin, an ex-gang member, to safeguard him."
"Or Kate, the can't-make-up-her-mind and life-of-the-party woman," I said, raising my glass of juice. "To the new us."
"To us," Jasmin and the men said in unison.
"I didn't graduate as the class Valedictorian or even With Honors," Wilber said, grinning.
"And I wasn't editor of the school paper," Louis added. "But then I doubt those types would survive the training or want the job if they could. At the end of the day, those VIPs are getting the cream of the crop. Remember, one thousand four hundred applied, fifty-two were selected, but only four ... well six graduated if you count the directors."
"Good point, Louis," Wilber said, and I saw Jasmin nod. I agreed with him. We had earned our gold shields and positions.
The ATG9 Headquarters building was a five-story light-brown stucco condominium complex surrounded by manicured lawns, flowering bushes, and towering palm trees. Just inside the door stood a marble reception counter, and behind the counter sat a male security guard and a female receptionist, both in their early thirties. The guard wore a police-like uniform and looked to be ex-military by his posture. The receptionist was a trim redhead with a friendly freckled-face and a cheerful voice.
"Welcome to The Meadows Condominiums. If you’ll sign in, I will give you your welcome packages and the key cards to your rooms. This is a full service facility with a restaurant, exercise room, swimming pool, tennis court, and a concierge service." She nodded across the room to a smiling older-man in his fifties. "Smithy can get you anything you want, from tickets and plane and hotel reservations to advice on where to go and what to see."
I signed in and took the package she gave me. A small envelope contained my key card. I rode the elevator with Jasmin to the third floor and walked with her to the end of the hall to condo 301, my new home. I noticed Jasmin was across the hallway in condo 302. According to the sign as I exited the elevator, the floor contained thirty condos: 301-315 to the right and 316-330 to the left. I spent a quiet evening reading my welcome package, which contained information about the facility and the surrounding areas of Lancaster and Los Angeles.
* * *
I exited the elevator on the fifth floor at a few minutes to eight and stood there looking around. The entire floor looked like it was in the process of being remodeled, with workmen and painters in several of the rooms I passed. One glass-enclosed room had people hard at work on what I had come to recognize as state-of-the-art electronic equipment. At the far end of the building the rooms had been opened to create a large reception area and two large offices. Through an open door, I could see Jasmin sitting at a small round conference table with Liang. As I approached the office, Dory pointed to a bottle of apple juice and a glass sitting on the edge of her desk.
"Thanks, Dory," I said, grateful for something to do with my hands, realizing I was excited but also nervous.
"Good morning, Agent Mathis," Liang said as I entered. The office was the size of two living rooms with a large curved walnut desk at one end and a conference table at the other end where she and Jasmin sat. Today she was dressed in an expensive dark blue suit with a lavender silk blouse. Jasmin looked normal dressed in her workout clothes. She hadn't dressed up for her meeting with the Director of ATG9. I smiled mentally, realizing I hadn't either. On reflection it wasn’t surprising, as neither of us had civilian clothing except for what we’d been wearing when we arrived, and I doubted that would fit anymore, after two years of restrictive diets, exercise, and active days.
"Normally, I'd tell you to relax for a few weeks while I find you assignments. You have certainly earned it. But I need one of you on an assignment and one to take responsibility for overseeing the second-year candidates' training, since I will be out of the office. I thought your list of things to do and not to do was particularly insightful and would benefit the next group of graduates. The one who gets the assignment will be paired with me. In the future, it will be another ZAP agent, but I'm hoping the experience will help me answer some of the questions I said needed answering." She sat back and took a sip of her coffee. I looked to Jasmin, not sure what to expect. I wanted an assignment but I assumed Jasmin would also.
"I'll take the candidates, Kate. It sounds like fun. Besides, you'd just tell them what to do. They will need hints, but they need to discover the best techniques on their own. Besides, I know you want to start annoying the rich and famous." She grinned as she reached across and took my hand. She was a good friend who I’d come to think of as a sister. I gave her hand a squeeze.
"Are you sure, Jasmin?" I asked, feeling a bit guilty that I wasn't protesting. She nodded.
"I'm surprised that was settled so quickly and pleased one of you wants to do it. And you sound like the right choice, Jasmin. We won't do any of these candidates a favor by making the training easy. I'll give you three days off while I arrange things. Until then, you are free to do whatever you want," Liang said, appearing relieved as she rose, ending the meeting.
* * *
"Where would you like to go?" I asked as Jasmin and I sat relaxing in my condo.
"It will have to be local, seeing as we only have two days. You decide. I have no idea or preference."
"Let's try Los Angeles. It's a big city and I'm sure we can find something or someone to entertain us. At this point I'm not sure if the wild sex I remember really happened or is just the hallucinations of a sex-starved young woman."
"We should be able to find a suitable man in a metropolis of twelve million and find out." Jasmin laughed. "How do we get to wherever we're going?"
"I understand the organization has cars that we could borrow, but I'm not sure I remember how to drive. Besides, neither of us has a valid driver's license. Let try our concierge," I said, rising to go. Downstairs, Smithy called a cab and gave us a bunch of tourist brochures. The cab arrived only minutes later.
"Where to, ladies?" asked the cabbie
, a middle-aged man of Indian descent, grinning.
I looked to Jasmin, who gave me a shrug. "I haven't a clue."
After being sequestered for two years, it felt like I had been transported to a foreign country. I took out my smart phone and did a Google search for luxury hotels. While Jasmin and the cabbie sat staring at me, I found what I was looking for. Several minutes later, after typing and entering the number from my new Visa, I sat back and smiled.
"The Hotel Shangri-La in Santa Monica."
"Very nice hotel but very expensive. Are you sure?"
"Yes, we have a two bedroom suite reserved for tonight and tomorrow," I said.
"We do? We aren't exactly dressed for high society," Jasmin said, pointing to my workout clothes.
"Jasmin, we are going to be confined again, you with the second-year candidates, which I suspect isn't going to give you a lot of free time, and me on assignment. So let's celebrate our graduation: stay at a five-star hotel, buy some good clothes, eat at expensive restaurants, and have fun. We've earned it and we can afford it. They gave us a fifty thousand dollar bonus for finishing the training, we have free accommodations, and we'll be earning over eight thousand a month. We need work clothes, and we should indulge ourselves and buy party clothes for vacations.
"Thanks, Kate. This is a new world to me. I grew up in bad neighborhoods and never had much money. And my scholarship didn't nearly cover my expenses, so I had to work a couple of part time jobs to make ends meet. Now that I have money, I'm not sure what to do with it." She laughed. "Yes, let’s pamper ourselves."
The Shangri-La was an expensive luxury hotel, which was obvious just from the people coming and going, their clothes, cars, and luggage. When we exited the cab, we got stares from everyone as we entered the hotel and made our way to the reception desk. It was no wonder since we were dressed like we just came from the gym or were here to rob the place when we put on our ski masks: everything black, cotton pants pegged at the ankles, long sleeved shirts, and running shoes. To top it off, our haircuts were short, just over the ears. It took the receptionist, a young girl in her early twenties, several seconds before she could speak. I suspect she wasn't sure whether to direct us to the service entrance or personnel, call the manager or security, or … Her training won out.
