ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "I work for the FBI as a security guard. I'm on vacation, but they like to know where I am in case of an emergency," I said, not sure what reaction I expected.

  He stared at me for a long time. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Sounds like it could be dangerous. You don't seem the risk-taking type."

  "Primarily because I find the lives of the rich and famous interesting. It's potentially risky, but I can make a difference, in not only saving a life, but one that impacts the country."

  "You're even more special than I thought you were. If you ever want a tour of Ireland, give me a call."

  "I'd say the same, Ian, but I can't control my time off or where I'll be. But I may take you up on that Dublin offer some time."

  I left Madrid the day after Ian left, deciding I needed a few days working out before my next assignment. Although Ian and I had been active, it wasn't the kind of exercise I needed to stay sharp. When I returned, I found Jasmin was on assignment in New York. I notified Liang I was back and spent each day at Edwards at the firing range, working out with the instructors, and consulting with the second year candidates.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CIA deputy director

  "I appreciate you spending part of your vacation at the training center, Kate. The instructors need input from experienced agents who have seen action. It helps them improve the program and to produce agents better equipped to hit the ground running and hopefully better able to survive," Liang said, looking a bit more relaxed than the last time I’d seen her. Today she was dressed casually in black slacks and an open-necked maroon blouse.

  "I've come to the conclusion that agents need an extra week off after an assignment. The first few days you need to wind down from the last assignment before you're ready to enjoy the time off. Afterward, you need at least a week to get your mind and body ready for the next assignment. The exercise you get on vacation doesn't substitute for the exercise you need to keep in shape for assignments." I couldn't help a smile, thinking about my time with Ian.

  "That sounds like a valid point. But we could give less vacation time and then you wouldn't get out of shape," she said looking serious, but I could see the twinkle in her eyes.

  "True, but then we would be physically ready but not mentally," I countered.

  She nodded, looking amused. "I think you have a point. Maybe we should require a week at Edwards after an extended vacation. That would be good for the agent and the program. But since you are obviously ready, I have an interesting assignment for you ... a Deputy Director at the CIA."

  "Don't they have their own big-time security?"

  "Yes, but ironically their people aren't trained to handle assassins. An attack by armed soldiers or guerillas, yes, but not professional assassins. They assigned a detail to protect three of their Deputy Directors, who were involved in directing various Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, EIT, programs. The second was killed yesterday. So the director has asked me to assign someone. He probably hopes that it doesn't work but has to exhaust all the alternatives."

  My mouth dropped open. "Why would you think that?"

  "I'm not saying he'd like to see the man—who is retired now—killed, but I would think a part of him would hate to admit his people aren't superior to those in every other organization."

  "So this is a test or competition?" I was warming to the idea.

  "Yes, against the assassins, who I believe are either state sponsored or home-grown terrorists—not with the CIA. Of course, if you are successful, it will validate the ZAP concept ... and make us look good." She gave a choked laugh. "You and I are leaving on the company plane in the morning. I want to be with you for the initial meeting."

  * * *

  I doubted I'd ever get over flying on a private plane, and the group now had two—ATG9-1 and ATG9-2. It made commercial first class seem like flying on a military cargo plane. And Director Liang was a comfortable person to travel with. She gave me an update on the ZAP program. It appeared to produce three to four new agents each year, with one in three a woman. I got the impression the women tended to be more like Jasmin and not like me.

  As expected, the waiting list for ZAP agents was continuing to grow after three successful assignments where assassination attempts had been thwarted, two of them mine. As the list grew, it had to be continuously prioritized because we currently only had seven agents. To make matters worse, only I was working alone. Jasmin was paired with one of the new agents, and Gilman and Brock were each paired with two new graduates, which meant only the top four on the list were being provided agents. And it would be a year before we had new graduates. Liang hoped some of the agents would decide to work alone after their first assignment. Jasmin had indicated she would like to try after her current assignment.

  We landed at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport midafternoon Washington time, having lost three hours to time zones, and finally reached the director's office close to quitting time.

  "Ms. Liang, a pleasure to meet you," said a very average-looking man with close to the scalp grey hair while holding out his hand. "I think everyone has been following the new ATG9 organization's progress. I'm certainly impressed. Developing a program like that and producing functional agents in two and a half years is quite an accomplishment."

  "Thank you, Director Gammon. It helps when you have a blank check and your boss isn't looking over your shoulder. Matel and I couldn't have done it without Director Wegner's unconditional support." Liang turned to me. "This is ZAP Agent Kate Mathis. She will be the one assigned to your Deputy Director."

  "Agent Mathis," he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, but he made no attempt to exert pressure. His round face smiled. "Eddie isn't going to be happy with a woman bodyguard, especially if I understand the ZAP protocol for guarding clients. I'm not so sure I would be." He shook his head almost imperceptibly at the thought.

  "Eddie has a choice. He'll have to decide whether the inconvenience and embarrassment is worth ZAP security." I blurted before my mind caught up with my tongue. No one had asked for my opinion. Gammon's stare should have turned me to stone, but I felt at ease. My previous assignments, a satisfying vacation, refresher training at Edwards, and meditation had me ready to take on anything—including the Director of the CIA.

  "Do you provide extra protection that no one else could?" His voice was cold enough to cause frostbite.

  "Yes, unless they too live by the ZAP protocol."

  "Live by?" he asked, somewhat taken back by the unexpected answer.

  "Be unconcerned with your client's wants and needs and be able to kill reflexively, that is, shoot to kill without regard to who they are or what they intend."

  "You can't—" he began, but stopped when I held up my identification card so he could read the back. He actually stopped and read it. And then looked to Liang. "I’ve heard about the ZAP program but obviously didn't understand the protocol or your rules of engagement. It sounded like well-trained bodyguards. It's obviously a new paradigm. The client has to decide if the threat justifies the inconvenience. If it does, then you get someone ... with combat rules of engagement."

  "Very well put, Director. But be assured, our people are not psychopaths. They have been carefully screened, and their priority is the client's safety. They accept that collateral damage is justified because of the importance of their client," Liang said.

  Gammon walked over to his desk and clicked on his intercom. "Martha, send in Mr. Whitcome."

  A minute later, in came a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties and an inch or two taller than me. He looked from Liang to me and his face stiffened. He shook his head in the negative while frowning.

  "No—" He said and stopped when Gammon held up his hand.

  "This is ZAP Agent Kate Mathis. She has eloquently pointed out that a ZAP client, like you, has a choice. You must decide whether the potential threat justifies the inconvenience she is going to cause. I will leave it up to you, Eddie. I think she can provide the kind of protection
you will need, but if you decide you don't want her—"

  "I don't—"

  "Then you will have to find your own protection, because I've come to the conclusion that none of the government agencies are adequate for this threat. Sorry," Gammon said, looking frustrated and genuinely concerned. "It would be like sentencing you and them to death."

  "What about her?" He nodded in my direction.

  "Agent Mathis?" Gammon looked at me.

  "All I can guarantee is that they will have to kill me to kill you, and I'm not easy to kill, although after a week with me you may want to kill me yourself." I smiled.

  Eddie actually smiled. "Alright, I'll see if putting up with you is worth the protection you provide." He gave me a half grin. "What now?"

  "Go about your life and ignore me," I said. "I'll let you know my rules as we get acquainted. It's easier and might make more sense. Basically, if you turn your head, you will be able to see me."

  Gammon laughed. "Eddie, after this is resolved, I'll want a debriefing ... over a case of lagers of your choice. I'm buying."

  I followed Eddie down to the parking garage, where he got into a three or four-year old black Suburban. I jumped into the rear seat behind him.

  "You could ride in the front," he said, looking over his shoulder.

  "Then I might have to shoot across you if a car drove up shooting."

  He shrugged and drove off and into traffic. He got onto the George Washington Parkway and followed the Potomac River for about forty-five minutes and then exited onto some side streets and eventually onto Powhatan Street. Near the end of the street, he pulled into a parking area and parked. His building, a three-story condo, was among several others all connected by red-brick walkways. The entrance was recessed and seemed to divide the building into two sections. We rode the elevator to the third floor and proceeded to unit 306, which was at the end of the hallway. I wasn't sure if I preferred a house or a condo. This hallway had six units, which wasn't too bad if I could identify his neighbors.

  "Well, what now?" he asked.

  "A tour so I can get a feel for the layout," I said, and he gave a snort.

  "Not much to see. Twelve hundred square feet, open plan layout, and two bedrooms." He led me down the short hallway past a laundry unit, and a bathroom, and he pointed to a small bedroom straight ahead. "Second bedroom. You can use that since your protocol appears to indicate you and your relief will be with me twenty-four seven."

  "Just me."

  He frowned and after a few seconds staring at me turned left into an open area: kitchen to the left, then dining area, and then a living room area ending in a bow window. He pointed across the room.

  "My bedroom."

  I walked into the room, which was a master suite: large bedroom, walk-in closet, and bathroom suite.

  "Nice view. Your blinds appear adequate to preclude a sniper from targeting you and there is limited access. Of course they could set the building on fire, which would result in you having limited access."

  "Cheery thought." His face turned to a grimace.

  "I’d like to get to know your neighbors and the janitor."

  "Why?"

  "It will preclude me shooting one of them." I held up my hand. "I have combat rules of engagement. If I see someone who looks suspicious, I can just shoot them."

  "You wouldn't." He shook his head in disbelief.

  "I would." I took out my identification and gave it to him. "Read the back."

  He gave a wry smile. "Congress is really scared." He handed it back. "What do you eat?"

  "Anything that doesn't require a knife and a fork. The less taste and mess the better. Juice, milk, or water to drink."

  "You sound like a combat vet. Were you ever in the military?"

  "No. But to learn the ZAP protocol the school limits sleep, prepares two tasteless meals per day, and teaches you multiple ways to kill and be killed. So we exit extremely paranoid, light sleepers, and highly reflexive."

  "The enhanced interrogation techniques were to protect—" he began.

  But I held up my hand. "Mr. Whitcome, I imagine you felt you were doing the right thing, just like I do and will if I have to kill someone to protect you, even if that person turns out to be an innocent bystander. The powers-that-be believe you are worth protecting. That's all I care about. I'll let them worry about right and wrong. My only concern is your safety."

  "Call me Eddie, since we’re living together." He grinned. "You appear to be the perfect combat soldier," he said as he made his way to the kitchen. There he spent an hour preparing dinner: a salad, steak, mashed potatoes, and creamed green-beans. I did sit but not at his dining table, and I declined most of the dinner, just putting the steak between two slices of bread, retrieving a glass of milk, and sitting in a chair facing the entrance to the hallway after having stuck a chair under the door handle.

  "You are paranoid," he said with a snort.

  "And not suicidal."

  * * *

  "You don't like beds?" Eddie said as he exited the bedroom and saw me pulling the leather recliner back to where it had been.

  "You get too comfortable in a bed. Takes several seconds to wake up, could get tangled in the covers, and it's further to go to get where you should be."

  "Interesting concept, ZAP. The FBI would consider the hallway the right security, but they would be easy to shoot, because they couldn't shoot everyone stepping out of the elevator or entering from the stairwell. You on the other hand can shoot anyone entering the door with a hundred percent assurance there are coming to kill me." He pursed his lips and nodded as if agreeing with himself. "Well, it's off to the fitness center. I'm sure you don't need it, but I do. Retirement is hard on conditioning."

  I stepped out first to check the hallway. About halfway, I heard the elevator stop and begin to open. I had my hand on Eddie's shoulder, my foot behind him, and my Glock in my hand before the door began to slide open. A woman and man stared at us as they walked hesitantly out of the elevator.

  "Good morning, Ellen, Harry," Eddie half shouted, which saved him from being dumped on his ass and me scaring the crap out of the elderly couple.

  "Good morning, Eddie. Who's your ... friend?" Harry asked.

  Eddie hesitated for a moment before answering.

  "Security. We've had two Deputy Directors assassinated recently, and Director Gammon is concerned."

  "But you're retired."

  "He's being cautious. Doesn’t pay to try and guess what some wacko will do for a cause. This is Kate, a special FBI agent. Kate, this is Mr. and Mrs. Dobbson in unit 302."

  "Hi, nice to meet you," I said with a wave. I thought that a good explanation. No sense getting people panicky over an unknown. We met two more tenants in the lobby, but they didn't live on the third floor.

  "I usually walk to my fitness center, Old Town Sports and Health. It's only about six blocks away," he said, looking at me.

  "Do what you do. Walk, run, drive, it's all the same to me. I won't interfere with your life, unless I think it prevents me from doing my job," I said as I scanned the parking lot and the people moving about. Nothing looked suspicious.

  He turned onto Montgomery Street and walked at a brisk pace. I was on high-paranoid alert with traffic, parked cars, and people everywhere. The only good news was that Montgomery Street traffic was one-way moving toward us, so I didn't have to worry about a car coming from behind me. We were passing a park on the other side of the street when I noticed a parked car with the engine running and two men with their heads at the windows facing our side of the street.

  When I saw the rear window begin to lower, I swept through Eddie's legs and continued spinning down into a sitting stance and fired almost simultaneously with the man in the rear seat. His weapon sounded like an automatic, and I swear I could feel the wind from the bullets whistling over my head. The store windows behind us shattered, and a large sheet of glass hit the ground and exploded, spraying glass in every direction.

  One or more
of my first three shots had hit the shooter. He jerked backward, tilting the weapon upward. With pressure still on the trigger, bullets ripped through tree branches and the second and third stories of the building behind me.

  My next three shots shattered the rear window as the car sped away. As I uncoiled back to a standing position, one of my next three shots may have hit the driver, because the car swerved before turning right onto Royal Street and out of my line of sight. I looked down at Eddie. To his credit, he had stayed down and had begun crawling toward a large tree. As I looked around, miraculously no one appeared to have been hurt, except the building behind me which looked like it stood in a war zone. Although the gunman had only managed a short three or four-second burst, at least thirty or more rounds had been disgorged in a tsunami of destruction.

  "Are we clear?" Eddie asked in a surprisingly calm voice. He had obviously been under fire before.

  "Unless they drive around the block for a second try." Hard to tell, I mused. "At a minimum I wounded the shooter and maybe the driver. If so, they are probably finished for the day."

  "You are unbelievably fast and clever. I believe most security people would have been inclined to shield me—after the firing started. The first would have been too late, and the second would have gotten the agent and me killed."

  "As I said before, I'm not suicidal, and my boss would be pissed if I let you get killed," I quipped. I was on a mega adrenaline rush as I continued to scan the area, remembering the multi-pronged attack on Patterson. Nothing. "Alright, I think it's safe for now. We can continue to your workout place."

  "You’re joking," Eddie said, rising and brushing debris from his clothes. "What about waiting for the police?"

  "They will just have a lot of silly questions, waste our time, and delay your morning workout. Since they can't arrest or detain me, my boss can give the chief of police my report when I file it."

  "I think it's me who is going to buy Gammon a case of lagers at my debriefing. He was right. I was wrong, and I apologize to you," he said. I smiled my acceptance. He smiled back. "It's crazy, but let’s go work out. It's just around the corner."