ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "Wow, I'm going to try that chocolate mousse. It must really be good." She laughed as she walked back to the galley.

  A limo was waiting when I reached the Burbank Airport. Dory let me know that the directors wanted to see me as soon as I arrived.

  They both stood as I entered Liang's office.

  "Welcome back, Kate. It's hard for anyone seeing the pictures of the Burns's residence after the shootout to believe you survived," Matel said while Liang scanned me looking for injuries.

  "Luck. They hit the house early in the morning while it was still dark, the moon was only a sliver, and there were clouds. If they had attacked when it was even partially light, I'd be dead." The hard truth. "Oh, and I didn't have to worry about Lexi and her mother. The police gave me enough notice to get them safely hidden away and I was free to ... run."

  "We would like you to hold a debriefing for the agents on site. Maybe even use it as a training exercise. The actions you took may benefit some agents in the future," Liang said. We sat around for several hours talking about the various incidents and the choices I had made.

  * * *

  I spent a week at Edward Air Base with the instructors, setting up a mockup of several of the scenarios I had encountered. Then we exposed second-year students and on-station agents to each of the scenarios. When each had had several tries, I explained what had actually happened, and we had a full day of critiques. It was a fun week, and it helped me wind down. I spent several hours every day at the firing range and several hours in meditation each night. I knew deep in my heart that when the 5.56 millimeter lead was flying you had a clear focused mind and hit the target every time—or you died. There was no time for thinking about what to do, nor getting multiple tries to hit the target exactly where you intended.

  "If I were a client, I wouldn't want you assigned to me," Jasmin said late one night.

  I frowned, not sure what she was getting at.

  "You attract automatic weapons like blood attracts sharks."

  "There are too many wars going on, which makes combat weapons attractive. Almost anyone can buy a fully automatic weapon legally, which means they're readily available. And there is a huge black market for those who wish to avoid all that messy government paperwork, waiting periods, background checks, and picky restrictions. That's why they gave us those shoot first ask questions later cards." I laughed. "But when you think about it, I'd rather face an AK-47 than an M21 or Cheytac sniper rifle. At least you can see and hear the guy coming at you with the AK-47."

  "Did you know that two of the candidates resigned after they found out your exercise had really happened?"

  "It's not a life for everyone. I know one thing for sure, Jasmin. If you aren't mentally committed, that one or two-second indecision can cost you and your client your lives."

  * * *

  I was glad I had spent the week at Edwards rather than start my vacation. I had needed the time to unwind from my previous assignment and hoped sharing my experience might help save an agent's life. And if it helped someone realize this wasn't the life for them, that was also a good thing.

  Jasmin and I made a few trips into Los Angeles and San Diego, where I was batting thirty-three percent: good versus bad hookups. Jasmin was still looking for a steady. Good luck, I mused. I could hear it now: Darling, I'm going to be out of town seventy-percent of the time, so you will have to take care of paying the bills and bringing up the kids. Oh, and if you don't behave while I'm gone, you'll be collateral damage.

  I spent three weeks hopping around the Hawaiian Islands and had several two and three-night hookups. They were reasonable escapades but nothing like Jason or Ian—men who were comfortable being themselves. I returned to Edwards, helped with training, practiced regularly on the firing range, and meditated nightly in preparation for my next assignment.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Right-to-die.

  "Are you ready for another assignment?" Liang asked as we sat in the headquarters' cafeteria eating breakfast. I had to admit the cafeteria had a decent menu and the food was well prepared.

  "Why? Do I have a choice?" I grinned.

  Liang gave me a questioning look, since that obviously wasn't the response she expected. "Yes and no. On the one hand yes, an agent has a right to refuse an assignment for a valid reason. In your case, your last assignment was very traumatic and you would be justified in asking for more time to recover. You refused counseling, but you could change your mind. On the other hand, refusal without a valid reason would get you transferred out of the group. To be honest, I'm expecting a high rate of turnover. These assignments are beginning to look like combat missions, and unlike the military, we can't force you to take an assignment."

  "Sorry, that wasn't as amusing as it seemed at the moment. Yes, I'm ready for another assignment. I've spent over a hundred hours at the range and more than that meditating in preparation for my next assignment. Notwithstanding wackos with AK-47s, I enjoy the work. The trick is to outthink them."

  "How do you outthink ten bullets a second from an automatic weapon?"

  "By having a place to hide Lexi and her mother so I was free to move."

  Liang stared at me. "You’re right. Mental preparation is critical. There is no time for planning when the Tsunami hits. You are either on safe ground or you suffer the consequences." She sat quiet for several minutes, sipping her coffee. "How do you feel about euthanasia?"

  "Working for ATG9, it would be hard to criticize," I quipped. Although the job was a high-risk profession, it didn't feel any more dangerous than driving in LA, and far less than a combat soldier’s duty in a war zone. It was dangerous, but I felt I had reasonable control over the situation.

  "There are some pretty extreme positions on the topic. Do you have an opinion on the subject?"

  "I guess if I knew the person who wanted to be euthanized, I'd have an opinion. However, I suspect like most opinions, including mine, unless you've walked in that person's shoes the imaginary blisters aren't the same as the real ones."

  "I'll take that for a no. There is a unique situation occurring, maybe a once in a lifetime fluke. The 9th Circuit Appeals Court has a case before it involving a Right-to-Life issue. They have agreed to hear it en banc. But because of the size of the 9th Circuit—twenty-nine active judgeships—a panel of eleven have been randomly selected. Unfortunately that creates a situation where the resulting decision may in fact not represent the majority of its members. People who watch the courts believe the eleven don't. Ten of the judges selected are evenly split—five for and five against—and the eleventh judge is believed to lean against the current law. Usually that wouldn't matter, as the case would then go to the Supreme Court on appeal. But in this case, the 10th Circuit has already struck down a similar law; therefore, it's likely the Supreme Court will leave it stand, since both appellate courts agreed."

  "So if judge eleven conveniently dies, a more suitable one may be appointed," I said, stating the obvious reason for a ZAP bodyguard. "Well what's his name and where do I find him, or is it her?"

  "Judge Lloyd Singleton, and he resides in San Francisco, but the panel will be hearing the case in Pasadena at the Richard H. Chambers U.S. Court of Appeals in ten days. He's expecting you tomorrow at his home. I'll send you directions and general information on your smartphone, and Dory has your flight plans. You will be flying on ATG9-1."

  * * *

  As usual, Dory had everything under control; a taxi was waiting as I exited the condo at five the next morning. An hour later, we were in the air and Carolyn had my breakfast ready before we hit cruising altitude. And I had a Federal judge in my care. It felt like a wonderful dream, and I was tempted, for a minute, to stick my fork in my hand, and smiled.

  "Agent Kate, you look like you just won the lottery," Carolyn said as she put a Carmel Apple Crisp down in front of me.

  "If I didn't, please don't wake me." I dug my fork into the crisp, put a large piece in my mouth, and it melted in my mouth. "And take the batteries
out of all the clocks. I don't want them striking twelve."

  Again, a limo awaited when I walked out of the San Francisco airport. The drive up route 101 and through the city was interesting with its narrow up-and-down streets and houses stacked like sardines. The drive ended in front of a four-story house on a street elevated well above the city.

  "Wait until I'm sure I have the right address," I said, giving the driver three twenties for the forty-five dollar tab on the meter.

  He smiled and nodded.

  I rang the doorbell next to what looked like the garage entrance—and was.

  "Who is it?" a male voice asked.

  Looking around, I found the speaker box and pressed the red button. "I'm Agent Mathis here to see Judge Singleton," I said while identifying the camera and holding up my ID and badge.

  A minute later, a man in his late twenties opened the door. He had it only partially open, which hid half his body, and I would wager his gun. "Let me see your identification," he said while scanning me from head to toe.

  I opened my ID again, holding it close to my face so he could compare the picture on the ID to my face. Then I flipped it over to show my gold shield.

  He nodded and opened the door for me to enter. "I was expecting a man."

  "No refunds I'm afraid. Who's in charge of the judge's security detail?" I asked, wanting to understand their numbers, shifts, and involvement.

  "Senior Agent George Padilla. I'm Ron Cruz." He smiled like he was interested.

  "Hi, Ron. Call me Kate. Where is the judge?" I asked, anxious to meet my client.

  Ron spoke into his police headset mic before answering. "He's on the second floor eating breakfast. George is with him. You don't have to use the stairs. There's an elevator." He pointed to the right, midway just past the staircase. "I'll let George know you're coming."

  "Thanks."

  The elevator was large enough for three but a tight squeeze for four. When the door slid open, a middle-aged man stood giving me a once over. I raised my ID for him to see. He nodded after scrutinizing it. I stepped around him and walked over to the table were a man in his fifties and a redhead in her thirties sat eating. His meal looked substantial: eggs, bacon, toast. Her meal looked more healthy and diet friendly: Special K cereal, small plate of fruit, and skim milk. Their eyes tracked me as I neared.

  "Good morning, I'm ZAP Agent Mathis. You can call me Kate, it's easier and faster in an emergency."

  "I was expecting a man," the man said.

  "Actually, you were expecting a ZAP agent. You assumed it was a man." I said, noting that judges were driven by preconceived ideas like everyone else and wondering what that said for our judicial system.

  "You're very rude," the woman said.

  "Actually, I'm glad you pointed that out ... Mrs. Singleton?" I asked, since I hadn't been introduced.

  She gave me a curt nod.

  "The ZAP protocol is very invasive because of the nature of the threat and the potential for professional assassins. That means unlike your normal FBI security, I will feel free to interrupt you and insist you do or not do things when I believe it limits my ability to protect you. There are few exceptions, and they must be approved by me in advance."

  "That's unacceptable!" The judge’s fist came down on the table like a gavel, causing some of his coffee and his wife's milk to splash out onto the table.

  I opened my cell and tapped on Liang's number. "Director Liang, His Honor doesn't like our protocol," I said and handed the phone to Singleton.

  "Your agent is rude and arrogant. I want her replaced ... She thinks she's going to dictate my actions ..." He listened for a long time before closing the phone and handing it back to me. "That was rather clever, Kate. You have obviously encountered resistance to the ZAP protocol before, and you and Director Liang have this routine well established. All right, I believe the threat is real, so what is your protocol?"

  "It's simple in principle: if I can't see you, then I can't protect you. Most clients have this false view that they are safe in their office, in restaurants, or during certain activities and times of the day. Those turn out to be the best times and places for professional assassinations."

  "I did talk with Senator Burns, and he was impressed with the ZAP agent assigned to his daughter. Of course, the agent wasn't assigned to him, so he didn't talk about the protocol. He did mention a woman agent, but I thought that was because the protection was for his daughter. Was that you?"

  "Yes. Unless you have to be someplace immediately, I would like a tour of the house and to speak with Agent Padilla to understand his detail and security arrangements," I said now that the hard part was over—introductions.

  Singleton nodded to Padilla and then returned to his breakfast.

  Mrs. Singleton didn't look happy.

  "I have a six-man team," said Agent Padilla. "Two are present around the clock. Usually, someone is downstairs to answer the door and one is outside watching the house. When Judge Singleton is out of the house, at least one agent follows him, depending on where he's going, two if he is going to be out in public."

  "I'd like to know when they change shifts and be introduced. Hate to shoot an agent because I didn't recognize him."

  "He'll have a badge—"

  "Our rules of engagement are very different, Agent Padilla. If I have the slightest doubt, I'll shoot to kill." I flipped open my ID and twisted it so he could read the back.

  "I'll make sure everyone understands."

  The judge gave me a tour of the house beginning on the fourth floor, which was exclusively dedicated to him and his wife: a master suite consisting of a bedroom, walk-in closet, and bathroom suite. The third floor included the kitchen, breakfast nook, and living area. The second floor had two guest bedrooms and a bath, and the ground floor a full size garage for three cars, plus heater, electrical panel, and hot water. Not many rooms for a four-story house, but it was narrow and the staircase and elevator took up a lot of space. It also had a small backyard. The problem from my perspective was too many houses not only close but many on elevated ground and too many possible entrances on the ground and first floor bedrooms, which exited into the backyard.

  Judge Singleton drove his silver Audi A6 to work with me in the back seat and George and another agent following in their black Expedition.

  "Why do you sit in the back?" Singleton asked. He drove at a moderate speed and even stopped for yellow lights, which I approved of considering the traffic and roller-coaster streets.

  "So I don't have to shoot across you," I said while scanning the cars that raced by us.

  "Are you naturally paranoid or were you taught that at the ZAP school?"

  "Taught at the school and reinforced on the job. An assassin has the element of surprise, so you have to out-think him or suffer the consequences."

  "That makes sense and is the reason you are in the car rather than following."

  "Exactly. If I knew when and where and how, I could avoid the headaches."

  He laughed. "It’s equivalent to knowing the long-term consequences of approving or rejecting an appeal." He was quiet after that. He parked the car and had the sense to wait for the FBI to arrive before entering the grey granite building.

  The four of us entered the elevator with five others, which made me nervous. It was a perfect place for a hypodermic needle or knife, so I moved to put myself between him and the strangers in the elevator. By the fourth floor, only one other person remained. When we exited, the judge took a left and proceeded down the hallway, which had people coming and going in and out of offices.

  My paranoia peaked when we passed one man standing against the wall reading a brochure of some kind and with a laptop carrying case hanging from his shoulder. He looked out of place, and his eyes left the paper in his hand as we passed, but he turned and walked away as the judge entered the office area.

  After saying hello to his colleagues, Singleton entered his office, with me following. The FBI stayed in the office area. George wou
ld leave but the other agent, Henry, would stay. A second agent would join him for the ride back to the house.

  "You intend to stay here?" Singleton asked, frowning.

  "Yes, ZAP agents have lawyer-client privileges that extend twenty-four-seven. Congress isn't stupid. They knew ATG9 agents would be guarding their members and other important people. They wanted their lives and secrets protected. I imagine I would wind up at Guantanamo Bay designated a Jihadi terrorist if I divulged anything about a client—secret or not."

  "And I would support the charge." He looked serious.

  I dragged a chair into a corner where I could see who was entering, and sat. He frowned but sat and began working. He talked to a few of his staff that were doing some research he had them working on relating to several pending cases. Around one he stood.

  "Do you eat?"

  "If you do," I said, standing. "I prefer a table near a wall where I can see the room, and food I can eat with one hand."

  "Why?"

  "So an assassin can see me and therefore must engage me before you."

  "That sounds suicidal."

  "I stand with a wall behind me, keep my gun hand free, and stand so I can see everyone because I'm not suicidal." I smiled.

  He nodded and I followed him out the door. Henry fell in behind us. The day was mostly a day of explaining the ZAP protocol to Singleton as it applied to his life and work. That night, I positioned myself on the second floor so I could watch the stairs from the first floor, those leading to the third floor, and the terrace under the third floor one. This was only possible because the third floor was an open floor plan. I did insist that all the shades were drawn and the door to the terrace locked. I wasn't happy, but it was the best I could do given the current layout.

  The next several days were much the same. If I didn't enjoy watching the daily routines of my client, I guess I would have been bored. Of course, trying to anticipate when and where an assassin would strike also kept me occupied. If I wanted to kill the Honorable Singleton, how would I do it, kept running through my thoughts when things got slow. His house was the answer I kept coming up with. Lots of points of ingress and only two guards inside. The courthouse provided opportunity but would be messy: too many guards and people roaming the building. My second and third choices: his office at the courthouse if the assassin had the right disguise, or in his car on the way to work if there was more than one assassin.