ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "Is it safe?" She asked while scanning the area.

  "We may want to change locations. Judge, where would you like to go?" I asked. To his credit, he wasn't hollering about being dumped on his back.

  "Was someone shooting at me?" he asked rather calmly.

  "No. They couldn't see you to shoot." I couldn't help but be amused at the shooter's undoubtable frustration at not getting off a single shot while taking three.

  "For everyone's safety, I think the party is over for now," he said, and I helped him to his feet. With an apology and a quick goodbye, we entered the FBI's car and sped off.

  "How do you know the car you shot up had someone trying to kill me? There were no shots fired from that car." Singleton asked as he sat drinking wine he’d had sent to the room. Anita and I were the only others in the room, and she looked as interested as he did.

  "People in new cars don't roll down their windows in ninety degree weather. They are either down or up. Of course, the barrel of an automatic weapon as they got nearer did resolve any doubt."

  "Do you think you hit anyone?" Anita asked.

  I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the damage to the windows. "If I didn't wound the shooter or driver, they were lucky. My three bullets went through the front and rear passenger side windows. I know because I saw the windshield and the back passenger side windows shatter."

  "Good, I'll get out a bolo on the car and gunshot wounds," Anita said as she left the room.

  "When is this going to end?" Singleton said more to himself than me.

  "When do you vote on the issue before you?"

  "In a meeting after oral arguments."

  "That's when it will end. No point killing you after you've voted." That seemed logical to me, and I hoped to the assassin or whoever was paying him.

  "Two days from now," Singleton said as he rose and walked into his bedroom and called his wife.

  * * *

  The next day, the judge decided to stay in his room, and Anita provided extra security in the hallway as the assassin’s opportunity to impact the outcome had narrowed to less than twenty-four hours. After an in-room dinner, Anita and I sat discussing security for oral arguments.

  "What do you think, Kate? You seem to have anticipated their actions to date," Anita asked.

  I laughed. "If I had, I think I would have had Judge Singleton hire a private plane to Pasadena. No, the best I can do is anticipate there will be an attempt and be alert. An assassin has seven options: tonight, leaving the hotel tomorrow, while in transit to the court, walking to the courtroom, during oral arguments, walking to the conference room to vote, and during the vote."

  "What would be your choice?"

  "What would cause the most disruption to the en banc process?" I asked Singleton.

  "After oral arguments. I would think they would have to select a new group and start the process over," he said while looking off in thought.

  "Then that would be my choice," I said, not that I could afford to ignore the other options. I convinced the judge and Anita that we should leave immediately, which should eliminate the first four of the seven options. And we could control access in the court building. It meant a long night for the judge, but he consented as it reduced the risk.

  We left by the front entrance as if we were going out to eat. When we arrived at the court building, we went directly to the room where the oral argument would be held, and the judge found a comfortable chair and tried to sleep. By then, Anita had ten FBI agents on duty and I had been introduced to each and had memorized their faces. They would be controlling the hallways and courtroom access.

  People started filing in at nine a.m. Each participant was scanned with a hand-held metal detector. The Justices appeared exactly at ten and took their seats. Singleton had been sitting off to the side like a spectator. He rose, put on his robe, and joined the others.

  The oral arguments were fun to watch. Most of the judges had at least a question or two for the appellant and the appellee. I imagined all the court watchers were listening carefully, hoping to get a clue which way each judge would likely vote based on his or her questions. Both presenters were articulate and had persuasive arguments, but I didn't hear anything new. I decided you couldn't win your case during oral arguments but you could lose it in how you responded to the justices' questions.

  After the oral arguments were finished, the justices remained while the room was cleared, the hallway cleared, and the doors locked and guarded.

  "This is a bit unusual, but in the interest of everyone's safety the FBI has decided it would be safest if the voting be conducted in this room," the chief justice said to everyone's surprise. "Once we've voted, the threat to Judge Singleton should be over, as well as any threat of an assault on the conference room, which could involve us."

  The voting went smoothly and afterward the waiting reporters were told the vote had been taken and the issue resolved. Of course, the result wouldn't be announced until the end of the court's current session. Singleton and I flew back to San Francisco the next day, and five days later I flew back to Lancaster.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  An experience to forget

  "That was very innovative and incredible. Our instructors have been working with the San Francisco bomb squad to replicate your ... unique method of disarming a dead-man's switch." Liang shook her head like a dog after a bath. The meeting was a review of my after-action report, which had taken me three days to write. "They agree with the theory but have only had random success disarming similar dead-man's switches."

  "Because they are replicating the situation," I said, mentally smiling at the memory.

  "What do you mean? They worked with the bomb squad to ensure they had the same type of switch the bomber had and they used our standard Glock and ammunition. What did they miss?"

  "The switch wasn't connected to four blasting caps imbedded in four blocks of C-4."

  "Of course not!"

  "Believe me, that's when you find out if your meditation has helped you attain a peaceful mind. You have to believe it's the right course of action and that you can make the shot. You can't have any doubts." I said, believing that was the reason I'd survived several of my close calls.

  "How do we teach that?" Liang sounded frustrated.

  "I don't know, but I'm convinced it has saved my life several times. Panic kills. If you can stay calm and not question your intuition, you act with confidence—and the bullet cuts the wire." I smiled.

  "I assume you'll be here at Edwards a week before going on vacation?" When I nodded, she continued. "See what you can do to make that the gospel according to Senior ZAP Agent Mathis." She handed me a new identification badge which read: Senior Agent Mathis. "I know you prefer to work alone, but when you aren't, you will be in charge."

  * * *

  "Congratulations, Agent Mathis, on your promotion. Many of the instructors have been trying to decide if you're lucky, crazy, or super clever," Gunny Babcock said as all of the senior instructors sat around discussing my recent encounters and how they could be incorporated into the training. "I think all three with emphasis on crazy."

  "Master Ku?" I asked, thinking he might understand.

  "Yes, a good agent needs to have all three of those traits, but more so the confidence that comes from introspection, or as my masters would have said, internal peace. Kate long ago discovered the value of meditation. I'll bet she practices every day," he said looking at me.

  I nodded.

  As usual, the week was enjoyable. I worked with the instructors on new exercises and spent hours on the range and in meditation. By the end of the week, I was ready for my post-assignment vacation. I decided I'd like to see Lake Tahoe and the Reno area. Dory booked me my normal first-class travel and standard accommodations.

  For the first week, I stayed at the Cedar Glen Lodge and explored Lake Tahoe: took a boat cruise, water skied, attended a performance by the Reno Philharmonic Orchestra, and went hiking in the mountains. Then I de
cided I needed some excitement and switched to the Peppermill Resort and Casino and hit the nightclubs and did a bit of gambling. I don't know what I was looking for—to get lucky I guess. There were plenty of men roaming the clubs and casinos, but an hour or two with one of them and I was bored. I wanted a hookup but one I could tolerate when we weren't in bed. The first two nights, I failed and went to bed alone.

  The third night, I visited several nightclubs and finally settled in at the 250 Lounge, where they had table seating and dancing. For a twenty-dollar tip, I convinced the waitress to bring me martini-looking drinks periodically—water and an olive. I danced with several men and was considering allowing one to take me home.

  I had just finished a series of dances and was debating who the lucky man would be when the waitress brought me my fourth ‘martini’. I took a good sip while admiring the view of the Reno skyline and realized it was salty. Being naturally paranoid, all the time, I always have the waitress bring me fake martini-looking drinks with water because date-rape drugs like Rohypnol turn a clear liquid blue but are harder to see in a dark liquid. Ketamine turns water slightly cloudy, and GBT is salty.

  While I sat there deciding what to do, two men approached, one who I had decided I definitely didn't want as a hookup.

  "You don't look well, Kate. Come, Curt and I will see you safely home," the one called Jack said as his friend, a six-two bruiser, lifted me easily out of the chair. I tried to pull away but couldn't. I was dizzy, my legs felt like rubber, and his grip had me locked in his embrace. I decided to wait for a better opportunity. If I made a scene now, they would dismiss me as drunk. My only advantage was to let them believe I was under the full control of the drug.

  I was lucky I hadn't been drinking anything with alcohol in it or the combination would have rendered me unable to move at all. Even with the small amount I had swallowed, the effects were already obvious: dizziness, nausea, tremors, sweating, and trouble maintaining consciousness. They half-carried me downstairs and out to the parking lot, where they threw me in the backseat of a car.

  Curt crawled in beside me and began stroking my body. I shuddered but felt little physical movement. He was grinning as he put his hand inside my dress and caressed by breasts. "Not much in the tits department but she's a good looker."

  I endured, struggling to quiet my mind for what would be the real challenge. Sometime later, the car stopped and the engine was turned off. They supported me between them as they dragged me into a first-floor motel room that stank of beer and sweat, and threw me on the bed.

  "Party time, sweet thing," Jack said as he began removing his clothes. Meanwhile, Curt was struggling to remove my dress, for which I was thankful since it would restrict the limited movement I was presently capable. When he reached for my briefs, I attempted a strike at his throat, but the strike was weak and only partially successful. He stumbled backward, choking but able to breathe.

  "Bitch!" he shouted, and for a moment his face twisted in fury, but it slowly turned into an evil smile I knew I'd regret. "You need to be taught what happens to slaves who strike their masters." His eyes had a crazed look and his laugh was maniacal. Jack was quick to grab my arm as I tried to rise. I managed to sink my teeth into his wrist, but I didn't have the strength to cause real bone-crushing damage. He jerked his arm away, leaving skin and blood in my mouth, which I spat into Curt's face when he grabbed my throat. He let go as he stepped back, rubbing his face with his shirt just as Eric, who I recognized as one of the bartenders, entered the room.

  He stood there laughing.

  "Can't you two pussies control one drugged woman?" he sneered. Even through my foggy vision, I didn't like the look in his eyes. "Wait," he nodded slowly, 'I think our party girl had Sherry bringing her watered-down drinks ... and if she didn't drink it all ... Give me a minute." He disappeared into the bathroom while the two men watched me like I had a red hourglass on my now bare stomach.

  A couple of minutes later, Eric returned with a paper cup. "Give her this and we won't have any more trouble," he said, handing the cup to Jack who nodded to Curt. Eric seemed content to watch, while his eyes roamed my body.

  Curt went around the bed and grabbed my shoulders from behind and pinned me to the bed as Jack's hand locked onto my jaw, forcing my mouth partially open. Then he poured the liquid into my mouth.

  I managed not to swallow.

  Jack smiled and slapped me several times across the face and then grabbed my throat.

  I spat the liquid into his face, which was now only a foot away.

  He stumbled backward, rubbing his eyes and screaming, "Beat the bitch into submission!"

  As Curt leaned forward to push me into the bed, adrenaline surged through me, and I pulled my legs up and rolled backward. With my crouch in Curt's face, I locked my legs scissor-like around his neck.

  He straightened, leaving me hanging face down at his naked crotch.

  I sank my teeth into his balls.

  His scream must have been heard in every room in the motel—if anyone else was staying in this fleabag of a motel. He collapsed.

  I rolled off, gagging and vomiting blood, skin, and my stomach contents.

  Before I could recover, Eric grabbed me around the neck and yanked me upright. "If you would have behaved, we would just have fucked you and left. You wouldn't even have remembered the good time we gave you. But now, you are going to be my private property. I'm going to rent you out to every sadistic psychopath I can find. They pay very—" His scream echoed Curt's as my fingers sank into his eyes. He let go as his hand sought his face, blood dripping between his fingers.

  My legs were still wobbly and I could do nothing except sink to a sitting position.

  "Kill her!" Eric shouted as he backed into a chair and sat, blinded and clutching his bleeding eyes. "Kill the bitch!"

  Jack drew a switch-blade from his pants and slowly advanced toward me. He wasn't smiling and moved toward me slowly and cautiously.

  "You plan on killing me with that tiny knife? Well, Jack-the-idiot, to stick that knife in me, you’ll need to be close enough for me to jab my fingers in your eyes. You'll be blind even if my fingers don’t pierce your brain and kill you." The fight-or-flight situation made adrenaline energy surge through me. "Right now you are guilty of attempted rape. If you kill me, it’ll be murder. The murder of an undercover FBI agent investigating date rapes. Why do you think I was drinking watered-down drinks? The FBI are going to descend on that bar like army-ants. They take it really personal when one of their own is killed. So, blindness, death row for murdering an FBI agent, or run now while you have a chance."

  "Kill her, Jack! Kill her!" Eric kept screaming.

  While Jack debated his options, I fished in Curt's pockets and found a cell phone, opened it, and dialed 9-1-1. I didn’t have to say anything with Eric shouting. Besides, I didn't know my location.

  Finally, Jack turned toward Eric, eyes wide in horror. "You kill her, Eric. You wanted this one. Well she's yours." He thrust his knife in his waistband and jerked open the door. Footfalls pounded as he ran away.

  Eric's head swiveled toward the door as Jack's car engine started up and the sound of screeching tires was heard as the car left. Eric turned back in my direction, his face a twisted gargoyle of fury and hate. He slowly moved toward me, probing with his foot and listening for me.

  I had recovered a bit and thought I might be able to scramble across the bed and make it to the door, but if I were wrong ... I decided to save my strength and wait.

  Eric reached Curt's body, stopped, and then attempted to step over him, but the heel of his foot came down on Curt's arm and he lost his balance and came crashing down on me.

  My head slammed against the floor and stars danced before my eyes. Eric's insane laughter kept me from passing out, knowing I’d never wake if I did.

  His hands worked their way up to my throat and held me like a vise.

  I put my hands on his chest as if to push him away.

  He roared with la
ughter. "I'm going to enjoy this," he said as one hand maintained its grip on my throat and the other worked its way to and into my briefs. "The last thing you are going to remember is being raped."

  My vision had cleared enough to see, if not to read. I folded my hand into a fist with my index and middle fingers extended. I straightened my arm with all the force I could and drove my two fingers into his throat. I heard his trachea crunch as it collapsed beneath my hand.

  He heaved upward, face going purple and gasping like a fish out of water. Gurgling, he fought for air that would never reach his lungs as his hand tightened around my throat.

  * * *

  The sounds of people in the distance, the smell of antiseptics, the warmth of blankets were hazy thoughts as I tried to focus. Where was I? Where had I been? I couldn't seem to think or remember, and I began to panic.

  "She's waking up." It sounded like Liang.

  Why was she here? Where was here? My eyes flew open and I jerked upright. My body exploded with pain that took my breath away and caused me to collapse in tears.

  "Relax, Kate. You're in the hospital and safe." Liang stood holding my hand and sounding concerned. Before I could reply, a nurse came into the room.

  "Finally awake. How do you feel?" she asked as she checked the monitors I was attached to. "What's your pain level?"

  I had to wait for my breathing to return to normal before answering. "Tolerable, so long as I don't have to move or talk," I said as the waves of pain slowly subsided. "What happened?"

  "You don't know?" Liang asked, frowning.

  "After I passed out."

  "The police responding to a 9-1-1 call found you lying under a dead man and rushed you here, to the Nevada Hospital. The man on top of you still had his hand pushing against your throat. Another minute or two and you would have died. They wanted to question you, but the Director of Homeland Security gave me the responsibility. So, what happened?"