ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "Yes, he is standing in front of the school entrance."

  "Arrest him."

  "He's local police. They drove up in a Boise police car."

  "Then exercise extreme caution, because they are smart as well as dangerous." I stepped over the one on the floor and stood so I was only partially visible but could see the main entrance at the end of the hallway. As I did, I saw the officer open the door and enter the school. I fired twice, hitting him in the chest and propelling him backward into the doors, which opened enough for him to fall through.

  "You shot him!" Bradley shouted in the phone.

  "Be careful. They have vests on. I only shot him in the chest, so he is at best stunned." Through the door I could see Bradley approaching the man, gun drawn.

  "I've called Timothy and the local police, since I have no way to secure him for now. I understand the Chief of Police is on the way. I hope you're right about them not being local cops."

  "They aren't dead. That's a positive," I quipped.

  "I'm surprised. You don't usually ..."

  "It would have upset the kids," I said, which was partially true. He would be dead if he had made an aggressive move or if I hadn’t had FBI backup to take him off my hands. As he intended to kill Lexi and me, he didn't deserve special consideration.

  Several minutes later, I saw Chief Ferguson striding down the hallway with another officer. He stopped at the doorway, knelt, examined the man on the floor, and then stood up facing me.

  "I may shoot them later myself, depending upon what they did to officers Perkins and Hines, but I'm glad you left them alive for questioning. What made you realize he wasn't a local policeman, or did you care?" He gave me a wry grin.

  "A feeling. A local policeman would have been more interested in me than the kids. He was identifying Miss Burns for later, which also suggested he had a partner."

  "You seem to rely a lot on your feelings, like with the bikers. That could be a problem," he said it more like a question than a statement of fact.

  "We are only assigned if assassins are likely to be involved. Unlike your average wacko, they will have a plan. Consequently, you have to be extremely paranoid and comfortable with your instincts."

  "I hope you've caught them all," he said, frowning and making eye contact.

  "Me too, but I doubt those three bikers were alone," I said, although I didn't expect his department could do much to help. He couldn't stop every motorcycle coming into town, even those with out-of-state license plates.

  "Garsen, cuff him and let get these two to the station for questioning." He said nothing more as they half carried the man toward the doors.

  Just then, the principal appeared, heading in my direction. "You and Lexi are causing a lot of trouble—"

  "Actually, Lexi isn't causing any trouble at all. She has been as inconvenienced as the other kids by the people who are trying to hurt her, and I've kept them from causing problems. Unlike many schools around the country, no one here has been harmed." Secretly, I had to empathize with her. Lexi was a dangerous person to have around, and if this situation wasn't resolved soon, I agreed that Lexi should be isolated. The people the grieving fathers were sending were out-of-control psychopaths, judging by their choice of locations.

  Mrs. Thomas dismissed the afternoon classes, no doubt because of the number of parents wanting their children out of school. Coach Danner cancelled soccer practice but did give Lexi her private lesson.

  "Thanks, Coach. Lexi is under a lot of stress, and this will help."

  "Yeah, I served in Iraq. I know what thinking you're going to die every day can do to a person. Whether they let her stay in school or not, I'll continue the lessons. She's a brave young girl."

  The coach spent an hour with Lexi, working her hard. It was just what she needed. Just ten minutes into the practice, I could see the tension in her dissolving as her focus became the soccer ball. I laughed softly—soccer-meditation.

  Back at the house, she was excited and spent an hour entertaining her mother as she described every detail of her private lesson with Coach Danner. We had just finished dinner when Timothy knocked at the door, which dampened the mood.

  "I just stopped in to update you on the police activities," he said as Denise waved him into the living room. Ironically, that was a topic everyone had been successfully ignoring. "They found the two policemen relatively unhurt. They had been tied up and chloroformed in a hotel room the two ... men had rented. Since they didn't really hurt the policemen, the US Attorney appears willing to talk a deal and the ... men appear willing to cooperate. That could end one threat."

  "The mob father?" Denise asked. Timothy nodded.

  "Agent Bradley is feeling really embarrassed. He talked with both of the men and didn't detect anything amiss. They said the chief of police had sent them to patrol the school as added protection."

  "He's lucky they were professionals," I said.

  "Professionals?" Denise asked.

  Lexi had said nothing but was attentive to everything that was being said.

  "Yes, no unnecessary killing. A gang would more than likely have killed the policemen, and Bradley, and me—in that order. Well, tried to kill me—rather than scope out the room." I grinned. "That is now working to their advantage. If they had killed the two policemen and an FBI man, I doubt anyone would be willing to offer a plea deal for any information."

  When Timothy left, Denise and Lexi were very quiet. Denise sat haphazardly flipping through a fashion magazine, her mind elsewhere. Lexi sat looking at me.

  "What's next?" she asked.

  "Are you asking short term or long term?" I asked, not wanting to answer the wrong question and maybe raise the tension level unnecessarily.

  "Short."

  "Do you remember how you felt this afternoon when you were having your lesson with Coach Danner?"

  "Of course. What has that got to do with people trying to kill me?" Lexi's voice rose with each word.

  "Did you think about the men at the school, or the bikers, or what would happen tonight?"

  "No."

  "Bad things may happen in the future, but you were enjoying the here and now. Think of me. If I sat here worrying about all the bad things that could happen to me, when something happened, I'd be too depressed to move," I said and produced a sulky face.

  Lexi laughed, and even Denise produced a weak smile.

  "You may think your world is ending," I said, and Denise's face lost color, "but when the FBI ends the case, the news agencies will hound you for interviews, and you’ll become the next big star in Hollywood."

  "No wonder you’re always in a good mood," Lexi laughed along with her mother. "Nix the Hollywood star. Instead, how about I become the next Alex Morgan? I read she has over a million and a half Twitter followers. And the Olympics would be fun." She was quiet after that, but she had a small smile as she sat reading.

  * * *

  The next two days were uneventful. I noticed Chief Ferguson must have assigned a patrol car with two officers, since one appeared to be following the FBI security protocol: discretely parking nearby at the school, home, and the practice field. I certainly didn't mind a bit of help. Although they would be slow to shoot, they might be helpful after the first shot. Timothy indicated that the hit-men and the Attorney General had come to an agreement on testifying, which I thought might resolve one problem.

  I jerked awake when I heard the motorcycle engines only a few moments before I heard the automatic gunfire. As I reached the top of the stairs, Denise and Lexi appeared in their doorways. I pointed to the attic and waited until they had both disappeared up the ladder and retracted it into the ceiling.

  I had just reached the bottom of the steps when someone the size of a football tackle shattered the front door and crashed into the front entrance. I shot him twice in the head before he could recover and dove into the living room as automatic weapon fire shattered the doorframe and the stairs where I had been standing as it swept from left to right. It
stopped and began a right to left sweep as the shooter stepped through the doorway and over his biker friend.

  I didn't wait for the weapon to reach the living room, but ran into the adjoining dining room. I reach the opening into the kitchen just as the shooter stepped into the living room, and his automatic weapon continued to wreak havoc: wood and plaster filled the air, pictures were torn from the walls, leather upholstery was shredded, and dishes were exploding like bombs. As I stepped through the opening, the patio door to the kitchen nook burst open and another very big biker blundered in through a shattered door, hit a chair in the dark room, and went sprawling onto the table. He stood swearing and with one hand flipped the table into the bay window.

  I was thankful for the quarter-moon and clouds that made the rooms dark and the figures indistinguishable shadows, which I hoped meant they would have to hesitate before shooting as their friends were coming through every door. I didn't have that problem—every shadow was an enemy. While he fought the table, I crouched behind the island in the kitchen with only my eyes and the top of my head showing. When he stood scanning the room, I shot him twice in the head.

  Seconds later, bullets raked the counter and walls behind me, sounding like a rag-time band gone wild as metal pots and pans were torn from their racks and propelled into walls and appliances. I slid around the island, giving me some protection from the shooter who had come in from the garage and the shooter who would soon be entering from the dining room.

  The flying pots and pans had just settled when a long burst of automatic fire came from the dining room opening, blowing out the family room windows as the biker in the dining room walked into the kitchen. I had my eyes level with the counter, trying to decide on my best option and hoping I wouldn't be noticed in the darkened room. Wrong. The light from the kitchen windows behind me had been enough.

  "Mac, is that you?" the guy from the garage asked as his weapon swung in his direction.

  "Yeah. And the bitch is behind the counter," he said as bullets from his automatic weapon raked the counter and blew out the windows behind me.

  I ducked down and then dove to the floor and slid to the end of the counter facing the shooter from the dining room.

  He was swinging his weapon back and forth across the island, which looked about ready to collapse.

  I shot him in his knee twice. As he collapsed, I sprung up, took two running steps, landed on his back with one foot, shot him, and dove through the door into the dining room. On the run, I grabbed one of the dining chairs, smashed the window open, and slid under the table.

  Moments later, the other biker came running into the room preceded by a burst of lead that decimated the window frame. He ran directly to the window, jammed in a new clip, and fired through it into the night.

  I shot him in the side of the head.

  Silence descended on the house except for the wailing of sirens in the distance. I rose in considerable pain and realized I hadn't been shot, but I had been hit with flying debris—like shrapnel. I picked up the biker's weapon, which looked like a MP5, and headed for the door to the back patio. When I reached the back, two bikers were just kicking their cycles on. I shot both, surprised how little skill was required—just point and pull the trigger.

  Back in the house, I made my way through each room, ensuring no one was alive. Then I went up the steps and examined each bedroom before pulling a chair out of one bedroom and sitting just under the trap-door to the attic.

  "Denise, Lexi, it's safe, but I'd prefer you waited until the FBI and police have checked out the area," I said, leaving off and removed the bodies.

  "Kate?" came the voice of Timothy. "The area is clear."

  "Upstairs," I shouted. A minute later he appeared. "What's the tally?"

  "Bad. Agent Murel was killed and Agent Turner is in serious condition. They were up against automatic weapons!" He shook his head as if to get rid of the image. "Both local policemen are in serious condition. When we and the local police arrived, the action was over except for a burst of fire from the back."

  "That was me trying out one of the weapons they left behind. Nice weapon. You should requisition some."

  "We definitely need to upgrade our standard stakeout weapons." Timothy's eyes looked sad. "Where are Mrs. Burns and her daughter?"

  I pointed toward the ceiling, stood, and pulled on the cord. The trap-door opened and the ladder extended to the floor. "You can come down now. The house is a bit of a mess, but it's safe," I said. I couldn't help a laugh at Timothy's face.

  Denise climbed down first, her eyes darting around. When she saw Timothy, she seemed to relax a bit. "They're gone?"

  "The police and the FBI have searched the area ... it's clear, although you may want to remain up here until we clear the downstairs."

  "You're bleeding!" Lexi said from halfway up the ladder.

  "You need a hospital," Denise said, looking at me for the first time.

  "Just a few cuts and bruises," I said, knowing I couldn't go without relief or their accompanying me. "Unless Lexi ... and you want to join me."

  "We haven't been hurt," Denise said.

  Wait until you see downstairs, I mused. We stayed in a bedroom which had been converted into a study while pictures were taken and the bodies removed. The room had a disco feel with the red and blue lights for the police cars dancing off the walls and ceiling. Bradley appeared what seemed like an eternity later—two hours by the clock on the wall.

  "The CSI teams have finished up, so you can come downstairs. It's a mess, but ..."

  I followed Denise and Lexi down the stairs.

  Denise had tears in her eyes as she walked in and out of the rooms.

  "How many?" Lexi asked.

  "Four in the house," I said, looking to Timothy and Bradley.

  "Four. The FBI and police on duty killed two, and you killed two in the back. Eight, which corresponds with the number of bikes outside. How many got away?" Bradley asked looking at me.

  I shook my head.

  Denise made extended stay reservations at the Oxford Suites in the Bell Tower King Suite.

  * * *

  My cell rang around ten in the morning. Denise and Lexi were halfway through an in-room breakfast.

  "Good afternoon, Director Liang," I said, as it was one o'clock in DC.

  "Do you need to be relieved?" she asked, sounding concerned.

  "No. I changed clothes and sent the soiled ones to the incinerator," I quipped, only partially in jest.

  "I understand you weren't shot but were pretty cut up. The doctor said they wanted to admit you."

  "I got hit with everything except a 5.56 millimeter round: plaster, wood splinters, broken china, pots and pans, granite chips, and glass. You can tell Jasmin that one AK gives you an adrenaline rush, two doesn't, and four causes migraines." I gave a snort.

  "I understand. They tell me they counted over a thousand shell casings inside the house. I also just heard the gang-member father of one of the girls who died was killed. They found him in the kitchen. He had been shot in the knee and in the back of the head." It was more of a question than a statement.

  "He did seem more out-of-control than the others," I said, remembering being chased by him and trapped in the kitchen. I had been lucky to escape.

  "The good news is that between the professional hit-men willing to make a deal and killing the other grieving father, the threat to Lexi may be over."

  "Good. My adrenaline needs time to get replenished."

  * * *

  The next several weeks were quiet, not that I could relax. The gang problem appeared to have been resolved, since the gang had no reason to kill Lexi—maybe me but not her—now that the father was dead. Secret negotiations were going on between the Attorney General and the mob, probably because sending the mob-father to jail wouldn't necessarily solve the problem. The day the family was notified the house was fit to move back into, Liang called.

  "Kate, your assignment has been successfully concluded. The COC, S
enator Burns, Director Matel, and I are pleased with your handling of the assignment."

  "Meaning my client is alive and I'm uninjured and fit for duty."

  "Exactly." She laughed. "You have a month of vacation coming, but Director Matel and I would like you to return here for a debriefing before you depart. Dory will make your reservations."

  "You are in luck, Kate," Dory said a moment later. "ATG9-1 is in DC and due to depart later today for here. I've diverted it to Boise to pick you up. They will land today, but the crew will require rest, so they are scheduled to depart tomorrow morning. That will give you time to say your goodbyes."

  "Thanks, Dory. I do like the company plane." When I hung up, the entire family was staring at me. "Yes. It's official. Your houseguest is finally leaving."

  "I'm going to miss you, Kate," Lexi said, and gave me a hug. "I wish you would come and visit sometime ... maybe for my graduation ... or the birth of my first child." She giggled at her parents' open-mouth expressions.

  "Send me an invitation, and I will if I'm not on assignment."

  "We would love to have you visit, Kate, anytime you want." Denise smiled. "But no wild parties, please."

  "You have a friend in the senate. If I can help, all you need to do is call. My secretary has your name on my VIP list. I didn't know what to think of the ZAP initiative when I heard about it, but your group has a staunch supporter in Congress."

  * * *

  On the plane the next day, I sat reflecting on my life, my last assignment—which had almost been my last one—and my decision to join ATG9. The steak dinner and the chocolate mousse dessert, the condo and the pay, and the private plane were nice, but they didn't justify the danger. Lexi did. And as a bonus I’d gotten to see inside the private lives of a senator and his family—the real people, not the façade they displayed in public. Looking around the plane, I couldn't help feeling like I’d stolen the Le bleu de France and gotten away clean. A smile of satisfaction split my face.

  "You look like the cat that caught the mouse," Carolyn said as she collected my tray.

  "Nope, the Hope diamond," I said, closing my eyes and imagining the forty-five carat blue diamond between my thumb and forefinger. "It's beautiful."