by C. R. Daems
"Hi, Agent Mathis—" Dory began, holding a bottle of grape juice out in my direction.
"Kate, please."
"Kate, go right in. Director Liang is ready for you."
I grabbed the bottle, took a swig, and went in.
Liang rose from behind her desk, while waving me to sit at the small conference table. She joined me with her cup of coffee.
"The committee was concerned over Patterson's death and was quick to assign blame to us for not being there. The Director of the FBI apparently gave them a rather biased view of the incident. After I explained the incident outside of the Homewood Suites—and that the bus and the FBI sped off without waiting for us—they were impressed with our performance and the quality of the agents the school is producing. They have ordered the Director of the FBI to brief their agents on the responsibilities of ZAP agents and how they differ from theirs. Of course, Director Wegner is pleased since he is getting credit for the speed at which he got the section up and running and the initial results. They had no problem with our rules once they understood the reason behind them. My only concern is that their expectations are much too high, even though I went to great lengths to explain we are not robots and will not always be successful. I doubt they heard that." She stopped to take a drink, and I assume await my comments.
When I didn't say anything, she continued.
"The committee gave Wegner the authority to select clients when they didn't have any to give us, which will probably never happen. Between representatives, senators, and major contributors, I doubt we will ever be able to fill all of their requests." She gave me a long, considering look. "Which brings me to you. You indicated you may want to try working alone. Are you still interested?"
"Definitely. My reasons for wanting to be a ZAP agent are probably different from the others’, but I find watching the client and being involved in his or her daily life the interesting part of the job. Being with them twenty-four seven would give me the real person. Besides, the free twelve hours aren't enough to really relax and have fun. You need a couple of weeks off: a few days to wind down from the job and a few days at the end to get mentally ready for another assignment."
"Excellent. I'll let you take this assignment alone as a test case. You must keep me updated and be honest about any stress or problems that develop. If this works out well and others are interested, it may help us be more responsive to the congressional oversight committee, COC."
"Who's the client?" I leaned forward eager to know, not that it mattered.
"There is a woman CEO who has been getting threats on her home phone, cell, emails, tweets, and normal mail. The FBI has been opening all her letters and any packages she doesn't recognize. After someone shot out a couple of her house windows, the FBI is now providing twenty-four-hour surveillance on her residence."
"What did she do to attract such attention?"
"She's the CEO of Shale Energy Corporation, which is a major player in extracting natural gas from deep shale rock formations using Fracking techniques. They have major exploration and extraction sites in Pennsylvania, Michigan, North Dakota, and Texas. Over the past year, there have been several lawsuits filed against the company, claiming the process has resulted in contaminated drinking water and even earthquakes. The various lawsuits are seeking damages for a variety of health problems, birth defects, property damages, and even a wrongful death."
"Where do I find Mrs. or is it Ms. Fracking?"
"I've arranged for you to meet Ms. Vansise at her Chicago office tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. It's at 101 Wacker drive, fifteenth floor, suite 106."
"Any advice?"
"No. You have our ZAP protocol, but it's still a work in progress, particularly with how you deal with the client. You and the other agents in the field are going to be instrumental in writing the formal operating manual. Even then, it will only be a general guideline, because each client and their environment are unique. So in the end, the agent in the field will have to adapt it to the current circumstances. I'll warn you that the committee will be watching Jasmin and you closely because you're women. Frankly, they were expecting all men. Questions like: will your approach be fundamentally the same or different from your male counterparts, and if so, does that affect the final outcome. A good example is your wanting to work alone. No advice, but feel free to call me with any questions, and I want you to check in with me weekly—at least for this assignment. Check with Dory on the way out. She'll make the necessary reservations for you."
CHAPTER SIX
Shale Energy Corp: Ms. Vansise
Dory booked me first class on American Airlines out of Los Angeles International Airport into Chicago's O'Hare. I checked my luggage with airport security using my Homeland Security authorization, as it contained guns, knives, and a baton—which I preferred in a non-Uzi fight—and reclaimed it from airport security at O'Hare.
Fortunately, I didn't need a rental car. After four years in college and over two with Section Nine, I not only didn't have a driver's license, I was sure I didn't want one after watching the traffic from the taxi window. The trip to Wacker drive was short but seemed like we had taken a wrong turn and somehow wound up on the track at the Daytona 500. I was tempted to kiss the ground when the cabbie finally stopped the car and I was on firm ground again. I had no trouble finding the Shale Energy offices and their middle-aged, red-headed guard dog.
"Good morning. May I help you?" she said in a cautious tone.
Couldn't say I blamed her. People dressed head to foot in black were immediately suspicious. Unlike the normal FBI, the ATG9 unit had no standard dress code, except for a generalized guideline to maintain a clean appearance. Today I was wearing a loose fitting pantsuit, silk blouse, and running shoes—in matching black.
"Yes, I'm ZAP Agent Mathis. I believe Ms. Vansise is expecting me," I chirped, feeling good about being on my first solo assignment—and having survived the taxi ride.
"Yes, she is," she said, relaxing with a visible sigh of relief as she reached for the phone. "Ms. Vansise, The ZAP agent is here." After a slight delay, she turned back to me. "Go right in, Agent Mathis. Ms. Vansise will see you now."
I walked over to the door she pointed at and entered into a large room, well lit from the wall of windows facing several parks, the Chicago Yacht Club, and Lake Michigan. Ms. Vansise stood near one wall alongside an oblong table filled with drawings and pictures. She looked to be middle-aged, dressed in an expensive tan pantsuit and an orange open-neck blouse. She stood appraising me like a hawk deciding on its next meal. I returned the appraisal. She was several inches taller than me, thin, with a narrow face. Her dark-brown hair was cut in a short shag-cut that rested over her ears and hung slightly longer in the back.
"You aren't what I was expecting."
"You were expecting a Navy Seal, a Shaolin monk, or maybe a sumo wrestler?"
"That's very rude."
"I'm ZAP Agent Mathis. You may call me Kate after you get over your disappointment." I smiled at the arrogance of the rich and powerful, who thought only they were entitled to be rude, tactless, and speak their minds. She stood there silently glaring. Then she gave a small shrug and walked over to her desk and sat.
"All right, Kate. You can sit in the waiting room. I won't be leaving until six or seven. I seldom go to lunch, but when I do it's with someone and we're usually gone for an hour or two. Susan can order you a take-out lunch when I stay in, but you'll have to wait for dinner until I leave for home," she said, sounding like she was lecturing a new employee on her duties.
I laughed and sat down.
"I don't know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn't a ZAP agent. I'm assigned to you to protect your life, because the powers-that-be not only believe the threat is real but that your life is worth special protection. What I am not is your for-hire bodyguard or standard FBI security." I held up my hand when she looked like she was going to say something. "A bodyguard you pay. He is, therefore, an employee who must cater to your wishes, even
if it exposes you to unnecessary danger. FBI security would typically sit out in the waiting room and provide area security. They would stop anyone from forcing their way into your office and have someone follow you at a distance to prevent someone from walking up and shooting you. I'm a ZAP agent. We are assigned when the threat appears not only real but could involve professional assassins. I'm not concerned with pleasing you if it potentially exposes you to harm. Therefore, if your convenience is more important than your safety, then you don't need me. Hire a bodyguard." I managed a smile, although the look on her face warranted a good laugh.
She stood frowning, considering her response. Eventually, she decided to be condescending. "What did I say that indicated you couldn't protect me? I'm safe in my office. No one is going to create a scene in a restaurant, and the FBI is watching my house."
"If you are convinced the threat is from some troublemaker who wants to throw paint on you, then you need a bodyguard and I can leave. A ZAP agent will not presume to know who is threatening you or what means they will use to seek retribution or when or where they will strike. If it turns out to be an average person with a gun, then a couple of bodyguards who are allowed to stay close to you at all times may be sufficient. If it's someone with military experience, they won't be enough. And if someone with money wants you dead, they will hire a professional assassin. In that case, you need a ZAP trained agent, and you must be willing to be inconvenienced."
"How inconvenienced?" She sat worrying her lower lip as she re-appraised me.
"You will always be able to see me by turning your head, but like a perfect child, I won't speak unless spoken to."
"I'm not safe in my office? Besides, there are company secrets …"
"Ms. Vansise, professional assassins can get by your secretary and any security you have sitting in the waiting room. They will have false identification or be impersonating people you've dealt with over the phone. They could walk right by me into your office, kill you, and walk out without me knowing. If, however, I'm in your office, they will have to kill me first if they plan to reach you. As for secrets, I don't care whether you are a part-time prostitute or file false claims to the government. I only care about your safety. And, under the law governing ZAP agents, you have the same privacy protection with me that you do with your lawyer."
"No, you're not what I expected. I've apparently made several erroneous assumptions. What you would look like, what a ZAP agent was, and the potential seriousness of the threat." She stopped and took a sip of water from a glass she had on a tray with a Thermos jug. "What kind of qualifications do you have?"
"College and two years at the Zero Assassination Program qualification school. I was one of four individuals who graduated out of the one thousand four hundred who applied for admission."
"I understand why you don't consider yourself a bodyguard. And why ZAP agents are scarce." She stared at me for a long time before continuing. "What you are trying to tell me is that I have to determine if the inconvenience is worth the safety you provide."
I nodded. "Although the threat may be minimal or nonexistent, I have to assume it's going to be professional assassins. In that event, I have to be close enough that they have to disable me before they can attack you."
"All right, Kate. Rather than have you explain all the gory details—which I'm sure I won't like—stay and we'll see if we can tolerate each other. Do you need anything?" she asked.
I shook my head, stood, pushed one of her chairs into a corner so I could see both the door and her, and sat.
She frowned before picking up a document and beginning to read it.
Nothing much happened for the next several hours. She made and received several phone calls, typed on her laptop, and read.
Around noon, Susan opened the door and walked in.
"Ms. Vansise, would you like me to order something for you?" she said and snuck a quick look in my direction. When Vansise nodded, she handed her a sheet of paper, which Vansise proceeded to mark with a pencil. "Kate, I assume you're not going to lunch?" When I nodded, she continued. "What would you like me to order?"
"Anything I can eat with one hand with nothing messy inside that can drip or fall out. Milk or water to drink."
"You don't care?"
"No. At the ZAP training, you learn not to care what you eat and to keep one hand free while you do. Or not to eat at all when it's inconvenient."
She continued to stare at me as Susan beat a hasty retreat.
Susan returned a half hour later with several Chinese dishes for Vansise and a tray of pot stickers and a glass of milk which she set on a small table next to me. It was perfect, since the pot stickers had small skewers that were easy to pick up with one hand.
"Thank you, Susan. That was a good selection," I said and was rewarded with a pleased smile.
It was after three when Vansise answered a buzz from her phone.
"Send him in, Susan," she said, watching me until a man opened the door and walked in. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, with gray streaked brown hair, a few pounds overweight, and a round clean-shaven face. Definitely a lawyer, I mused as I assessed him as a potential threat.
When he saw me, he stopped and turned toward Vansise.
"Harold, meet Kate. You're aware of the threats I've been receiving. As a result, Homeland Security has assigned me a ZAP agent from the FBI's anti-terrorist group as a bodyguard."
"Nice to meet you, Kate," he said, giving me a warm smile.
I nodded, still evaluating him. Vansise appeared to know him, but you had to stay vigilant. Friends, co-workers, and employees aren't always loyal and don’t always agree with your causes. Therefore, you look for the telltale signs Dr. Duvall had taught us to look for.
After a long pause, he turned back to her.
"We need to talk—alone."
"Kate says discussions with ZAP agents have attorney-client privilege, and from what I've learned so far, I don't think she plans on leaving."
"Kate, Ms. Vansise and I need to talk," Harold said, straightening his posture and glaring in my direction, an interesting reaction right out of the animal intimidation handbook—make yourself look bigger and stronger.
"I understand." I did; he didn't.
"Alone."
"Sorry." I maintained eye contact. When he took a step in my direction, I laid the gun which had been concealed by my leg onto my lap.
He froze and then stumbled backward.
"Harold," I said, "someone is threatening to harm, maybe kill Ms. Vansise. This is not a game where you or she can call for a timeout. Until Ms. Vansise no longer needs or wants my protection, she stays within my sight. And yes, I'll enforce that rule with deadly force if necessary."
"Harold, pull up a chair," Vansise said, picking up the phone. "Susan, get me Director Liang."
Harold glared at me while Vansise's eyes glanced from Harold to me and back. "Director Liang, ZAP Agent Kate seems a bit— ... Yes, that's the word ... Oh. She claims ZAP agents have attorney-client privilege ... And she threatened one of my associates when he confronted her ... Oh ... Thank you, Ms. Liang." She turned and looked in my direction for a minute before turning back to Harold, who was glaring at me.
"Is this Liang her superior? Hopefully you can get her replaced."
"Yes, Ms. Liang is the Director of the Anti-terrorist Group. She agrees the ZAP protocols are invasive and confirms all ZAP agents have attorney-client privilege. She says Kate will be justified shooting anyone she feels endangers my safety. She emphasizes that ZAP agents are presently in short supply and says she could use agent Mathis on another assignment if I don’t want her."
"I'd hire a couple of bodyguards if I were you. She's a lunatic."
"I don't know. Based on what Kate has told me about ZAP agents and her actions, I believe her logic is correct ... it depends upon the level of threat and the risk I'm willing to assume. I think I'll wait to decide. Besides, I find the ZAP concept intriguing."
Harold
reluctantly stayed.
They soon became immersed in the details of a lawsuit arising from an issue at one of their sites and forgot I was in the room. I didn't care about the specifics of the issues accept to assess reasons individuals might want to hurt Vansise and the level of threat that might represent. He gave me a hostile look as he left the office. I was nice and didn't wave goodbye, although it was tempting.
"You were good to your word—seen but not heard." She looked toward the back wall at a large stainless-steel wall clock with moving gears. "I guess it’s dinner time. Are you joining me or going home?"
"If you're going to dinner, so am I." I stood and stretched my legs, debating whether I should stand in the future, but standing all day also had its disadvantages.
Vansise frowned but said nothing. I followed her to her car, a blue BMW 550 with a light-blue leather interior. Rather than use Interstate 290, she used Clark Street to West Madison Street going west. She was quiet on the thirty-minute drive to Forest Park and the Francesca's Fiore restaurant. Inside, we clashed over my stipulation that her table be next to a wall, preferably in a corner. It took the restaurant manager another fifteen minutes to arrange for a table acceptable to me and come to terms with my refusal to sit to eat.
"You're very conspicuous standing against the wall. It's embarrassing," Vansise said at just over a whisper, her face slightly flushed. "I won't be able to show my face here again."
"In less than five minutes, the novelty will wear off and life will return to normal."
"Maybe for them. I assume you're going to eat standing up with one hand. I don't think they have a stand-up-and-eat-with-one-hand menu," she said with a got you grin.
"If they can't handle a special request, that’s all right," I grinned back.
"You're more aggravating than the environmentalists plaguing every one of my sites. Never mind. What kind of food do you like?"
"I don't care. The more tasteless the better," I said as a good-looking waiter in his early twenties warily approached the table.