by C. R. Daems
The good news was the Jeep was moving away; the bad, I was in the open and needed cover. I jammed in a new clip and jumped to my feet, firing off another couple of shots. I ran limping toward some small trees. With every other step, a stabbing pain shot though my leg as my left foot hit the ground.
Although I was aiming at their tires, it had the effect of making them seek cover.
I dove when I saw the embankment leading down to a small creek a few feet past the trees. The impact knocked the breath out of me, as my chest and ribs hit multiple rocks in the shallow water. I lay there exhausted, weak, and bleeding.
One thing those that survived the ZAP training learned was to control pain, injuries, and exhaustion. You found that place deep inside you that somehow overcame those inconveniences—at least temporarily. Those that couldn't failed or quit.
I rose to the roar of automatic weapons, bullets tearing through trees, ground, and rock. My only thoughts were my three opponents as I made it to the top of the small bank just in time to see one of the men running hard toward me. He looked berserk, laughing and firing as he ran. I fired twice, hitting him in the thigh and knee. His leg collapsed. As he hit the ground, I put a bullet in his head.
I idly wondered how many rounds they had left. I was running low—only a clip and a half remaining. The firing had stopped, and the driver was back on the phone. That didn't bode well for me. While there was a lull in the fighting, I tied off my leaking thigh and calf. Sometime later a truck and another Hummer pulled up. Six men jumped out and the group huddled for several minutes. Then most took cover with their guns pointing in my direction while one of the Hummers slowly made its way to the berserker, dragged him into the vehicle, and drove back to join the others. Seemed strange until I realized they were cleaning up and leaving. The Hummer with the flat tire was hooked to the truck and they drove off.
"Where’re you going? The party is just starting!" I shouted as loud as I could, which got me several bursts of automatic fire as they drove away. I laughed hysterically and immediately regretted it. I had lost my inner-control, and pain shot up my leg and consumed me. It took some time to get control again. Besides the wounds to my leg, I had the river version of road rash: my clothes were ripped to shreds and the skin underneath was scraped and bleeding where flying shards of rock had penetrated the cloth.
For a moment, I considered walking to the cars, but it didn't seem worth it. I rolled back down and lay in the freezing water. It felt wonderful. I must have slept—ZAP agents didn't pass out—because the sun was beginning to set when I heard the chop chop of helicopters. I crawled to the bank as one landed and six men exited in swat gear while the other chopper circled the area. I hoped they were my ride home—my adrenaline rush was long gone and I was bone tired.
I crawled over the bank, hands in the air, and began hobbling toward the helicopter. "I hope they're friendly," I mumbled just before I stumbled and collapsed.
* * *
I woke in bed, my leg raised in a sling and a man standing there—no—a ZAP agent, since he was standing against the wall and not sitting.
"Hello, Agent Mathis. I hear you're an out of control ZAP agent. I guess that explains why Director Liang has set up a complaint board—which looks like it's specifically for you, since only you have anything posted. You have a complaint from police Lieutenant Phillips. Seems you were aggressive and uncooperative during a routine questioning. And then there is a second one from Senior FBI Agent Babbino. He claims you used excessive force and should face an inquiry." He smiled. "I'm ZAP agent Ritter, newly graduated. Jasmin sends her regards."
"What day is it? And why are you here, Ritter?"
"It's Saturday evening. They had to operate to get the bullet out of your thigh. It cracked a bone, so you're in a cast and the tape is for the rib you cracked. That must have been some party. Director Liang wants to make sure the party doesn’t continue here."
"Why?"
"The boys you partied with were from an anti-government paramilitary organization. You were apparently aggressive and out of control, again."
"I do seem to remember having a few arguments."
"OK, let's hear your version," Ritter said with a smile. "Everyone back at Edwards is interested."
"It started when my client decided to go to Montana to … " After I had finished, they brought in a dinner tray. Although I didn't feel hungry, I ate, knowing I needed food. I think I fell asleep sometime during the meal.
* * *
When I opened my eyes, Liang was sitting in one of the two wooden armchairs. Ritter was standing in his same spot. She rose and approached the bed when she saw me move.
"Well, Kate, I'd prefer our agents came back in condition to go on another assignment," she said, looking serious except for the twitch of her lip. "We agreed you could have time off after your assignments, but the ZAP agent you saved me for another assignment you need to protect you in the hospital.
"Ah, but now I need convalescent leave."
"There is that," she said, nodding. "Agent Ritter has given me the highlights, but I'd like to hear the details from you. Consider it your weekly report, which is late by the way." She smiled and sat. She asked several questions as I described the fight, probing my reasoning and thoughts before and after. When I finished, she sat looking at me like a horse she was considering buying. I was tempted to grin so she could see my teeth.
"That was good work, Kate. You're proof that the ZAP school produces well-trained agents ready for field assignments. Not only did your client get away unharmed, but so did all of her staff. Yes, even Vanderhoff. The first shot produced only a superficial wound, and before the man could shoot again, you began shooting and distracted him.
When they reached Williston, the police chief got the local FBI involved. The FBI—supported by several Comanche attack helicopters—searched the proposed Shale Energy area and discovered a militia group had created several camps: one for military exercises, another as a firing range, and a third for their stash of military grade weapons and illegal items including IEDs, grenades, plastic explosives, car bombs, and a couple dozen portable ground-to-air missiles. The FBI believes they were trying to disrupt Shale Energy from beginning operations until they could establish another base further north and move their equipment."
Liang stopped to take a few sips of her coffee. "From what the FBI has learned so far, the plan was to harass Vansise, hoping to delay the start of operations in Montana. When you foiled that and they learned she was coming to Montana, they decided to kidnap her and hold her long enough to get their operations moved, although their shooting Vanderhoff makes one wonder if they would ever have released her."
"Damn, I should have been watching those drivers. I knew my mistake when I saw him on a phone when there was no cell reception." I banged the bed and immediately regretted it when every cell in my body sent multiple complaints to my brain.
"Yes, and you wouldn't be in the hospital and I wouldn't have to give you time off," Liang said, clearly pleased with how everything worked out. She stood. "Given the client survived your mistake, and it led to the discovery of an anti-government militia, the committee will pay for your vacation." She left smiling.
* * *
I stayed five more days in the hospital. I had spent some time on crutches when I was younger and wasn't in a rush to repeat the experience. I was told if I waited, I could get along with a cane. I felt like Grandma Kate when they finally discharged me. Liang had provided the company plane and a limo to deliver me back to the condo. There I spent another week eating, sleeping, and meditating. I was convinced my regular meditating sessions had been a significant factor in my surviving the firefight. When your mind is at peace you can make those split-second decisions necessary to survive. I had seen everything clearly because I wasn't thinking about dying, being hurt, or living. Considering it a future investment, I spent hours in meditation reviewing the assignment, the fight, and finding that quiet place of peace. Five days later, I was feeli
ng better and bored and decided to visit Jasmin, who I learned was still at Edwards Air Base.
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time I reached the training facility, and Jasmin was critiquing the new second year candidates.
"Kate! Lose another client?" she shouted as I limped toward her. Of course by now she had heard at least an abbreviated version of my assignment. "And got all shot up in the process. Embarrassing."
The candidates, two women and eight men, stood watching, wide-eyed as she grabbed me in a bear-hug.
"Actually, I think she paid some thugs to get rid of me. We didn't see eye-to-eye over the ZAP protocol," I said, maintaining a thoughtful expression.
"What did Director Liang say?" Jasmin asked as if interested.
"She said I needed to be more like you and sent me for remedial training. So here I am."
"Candidates, this is a good time to review the ZAP protocols. Obviously agent Mathis didn't give us her full attention when she was in training. Agent Mathis, would you like to tell us how you managed to disgrace the organization?"
She had no sooner finished when the second year candidate and even the instructors found a place to sit near us.
"It started when I entered Ms. Vansise's office ..." As I recounted the story, Jasmin and the other instructors used it as a training opportunity, questioning my reasoning and pointing out my use of the ZAP protocols. Afterward, Jasmin and I went off to dinner alone.
"Director Liang has asked me to stay on for this year's second year candidates. She thinks I’m good at helping the candidates internalize the ZAP protocols and that you are proving how important they are. I'm anxious to get an assignment, but I don't mind working with the candidates. It's rewarding, and I feel like I'm making a real contribution. She promised I'll get the first assignment after this class graduates."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Intermission – party time
Dory had booked me a limo to Los Angeles International Airport. There I found I was in first class, and it was on the company's dime. Since leaving the training, it felt like I had died and gone to Heaven, or maybe Valhalla would be more appropriate. After I had been seated and served tomato juice, a good looking, young, well-dressed man sat down next to me.
"Hi, I'm Jason. Are you traveling to Vegas?" He asked, followed with a gorgeous smile. And the rest wasn't bad. He had a pleasant angular face with blue eyes, straight nose, and kissable lips. While he looked athletic but not muscular, he was thin and around six-foot, which I like, since I'm five-nine. And he didn't have a wedding ring on, not that it mattered as it was unlikely we'd ever see each other again.
"Yes. Are you going on business or to break the bank?" I asked with my own I'm interested smile, which I've been told would make any man look twice. Of course, I wasn't exactly dressed to kill in my striped cotton hoodie and jeans, although they were of good quality and expensive.
"Sort of. I'm attending the annual PGA Expo in Vegas. I'm a golf pro in Naperville, Illinois," he said. "What about you, planning to break the bank?"
"No. I'm on vacation."
We spent the all-too-short flight to Vegas evaluating each other. As we were getting ready to leave, he took the plunge.
"How would you like to meet for a drink or better yet, dinner?" he said, and I would’ve bet from the look on his face that if I could have seen the hand behind him, I would’ve seen that he had his fingers crossed.
"I'd like that."
"How about eight p.m. in the lobby at the Venetian Resort and Casino?" he said, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number. "In case you need to get in touch with me."
We separated when we deplaned, as I had to retrieve my leather sports bag with my weapons—in case Liang needed me to go directly on assignment. From there I caught a taxi to the Bellagio Hotel, where Dory had booked a small suite. Normally I'd prefer a standard room. Why waste money when I didn't plan to spend much time there? But Dory had insisted, as the COC was paying for it. I had to admit it was spacious and the view breathtaking from the fifteenth floor. This was the life I wanted: interesting work with plenty of time off and the money to see the world in comfort.
* * *
When I entered the lobby of the Venetian, I saw Jason sitting off to the side in a small waiting area. He stood when he saw me and waved. He had dressed casually, with a short-sleeved US Open dark-blue pullover, white slacks, and tennis shoes. I approved. I wore a knee-length short-sleeved flared summer dress, blue and V-necked almost to the waist, where it transitioned into gold and faded to white toward the bottom, and a pair of blue sandals. My only jewelry was a rectangular Chinese mother of pearl gambling-chip hanging from a smoky topaz beaded necklace. He must have approved, because he stood there with his mouth open for several minutes, eyes wide.
"Wow! Sorry, but you look … gorgeous."
"You didn't like my hoodie?" I couldn't resist. He stuttered and blushed slightly. I smiled. "Well, now that I'm overdressed for McDonalds, where are we going?"
He shook his head and smiled. "I guess Wendy's is also out. So, lovely lady, what kind of food would you prefer: Italian, French, Asian, Continental, Steak, or something else?"
"Italian, and I'll let you pick the restaurant," I said. He scored points letting me pick the cuisine, but since I didn't know what he could afford, I let him pick where. He took out a slip of paper and scanned it.
"How about Lavo?"
"Lead on," I said, and hooked my arm in his. The Lavo was a beautiful restaurant and lounge, overlooking the Strip. I imagined this was going to cost him a pretty penny. Of course, I was worth it. After a slow dinner, we went up to the Lavo nightclub. I liked the fact they had table seating, which gave us an opportunity to talk as well as dance.
Jason was single, so he claimed. It really didn't matter—I was single and not breaking any vows—but I believed him. He was a graduate of the University of Ohio with a Liberal Arts degree. He had entered some small tournaments and done well but hadn't managed to get his PGA tour card yet. He had attended Q-school several times and had managed to reach the second stage. He entertained me with highlights of the school and the wannabe pros he had met. Then it was my turn.
"So what do you do for a living?" he asked.
I lied. I'm proud of being a ZAP agent, but I felt the truth would make most men uncomfortable.
"I work for a small security firm in Los Angeles. We provide security for large estates and private security for special occasions. Boring mostly." Except for uninvited guests with AK-47s and professional assassins, I mused.
"I notice you have a slight limp. Job related?" he asked nodding toward my leg.
"No. A recent car accident, and it hasn't healed completely."
"Bad accident?" he asked.
I made up a story about some drunk running a red light and then spent an hour giving a condensed version of my ZAP training into a few watered-down stories. In retrospect, there had been some funny incidents, if you looked at them as a spectator and not as a student.
"Rough school," he said after I finished.
"Yes, but necessary when you're dealing with rich clients. You not only need to know what to do but also what not to do."
"Like get in the way of a bullet?"
"More like when to call the office and when to call 9-1-1," I said, producing a hearty laugh.
"I notice you don't drink a lot. You didn't finish you wine at dinner, and you've only had two drinks here."
"You don't need to get me drunk." I grinned.
He blushed.
"I'm more fun when I'm sober." In fact, both of my drinks contained no alcohol. I had bribed our waitress on my way to the Ladies. "So unless you're planning on ditching me, we could retire to somewhere more private—like your room," I said and was rewarded with a stunned nod.
After he paid the bill, we made our way back to the Venetian. He wore a silly grin all the way back. He had a standard room, which I approved. Why waste money when you knew you wouldn't be spending much
time there? Just someplace to keep your clothes and accessories.
In the room, I put my purse in the drawer of one of the night tables, knowing I would wake if I heard it being opened. Under my skirt, especially on a date, wasn't a good place to hide a gun and knife, so I had bought a purse large enough to hold one of each.
While exploring tongues, we managed to strip and landed on the bed. There I relaxed as he kissed my face, eyes, and began working his way down my neck. He spent luxurious minutes on my breasts. It produced a nice, warm feeling that spread throughout my body. As he slowly worked his way to my stomach, my pulse quickened, and I knew I was wet and ready. I felt like a nun who had left the convent after two long years.
Before I knew it, he was at my crotch, and I felt my body spasm. I automatically scissored my legs around his head and pulled him into me as I climaxed. Fortunately for him, I realized he couldn't breathe and let go. He knelt back, gasping for air. He shuffled forward and slid easily into me, then slowly moved in and out, like I was a virgin. I locked my legs behind him, and he began moving faster. All too soon, he climaxed but managed to continue until I did—again. To his credit, he didn't collapse on me, but rolled on his side, facing me.
"That was nice, ready to go again?" I asked. He choked. "All right, if we can wait a few minutes." This time I laughed, and then I laughed long and hard when I saw the look on his face.
* * *
The next five days were fun. We usually skipped breakfast—after a late night and morning delight—for an early lunch at one of the casino's cafes. I attended several seminars and workshops with him. We managed to drive out to see a few of the many surrounding attractions: the Hoover Dam, Valley of Fire, and Red Rock Canyon. Before dinner, we sometimes spent a few hours in the casino. The slots were boring, craps too difficult to understand, and blackjack too fast to enjoy. After watching for a while, we settled on Pai Gow. When we sat down, I dropped two hundred-dollar bills and got a stack of ten-dollar chips, which I split and slid half to Jason.