ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  By the end of the second week, Jason was a couple of hundred ahead and me about eighty down. He offered to return my hundred and split the profit, but I refused. By then he must have spent a year's salary, but then I'd bet he had no complaints. We were having dinner at the Hofbrauhaus when my cell buzzed with a tone that signaled Director Liang.

  "Yes, ma'am." I said excitedly, knowing it meant a client. The time off had been wonderful, but I was ready for another assignment.

  "Kate, I know it's short notice, but I expect you in my office two days from now, at eight a.m." The phone went dead before I could respond.

  "She's not much of a talker," I quipped. "I have to leave tomorrow. The company has an assignment for me."

  "I also have to leave tomorrow. I'm going to miss you, Kate. I hope we can see each other again sometime. Illinois and Los Angeles aren't too far apart—by air." He grinned.

  "I also had a great time and would like to see you again. But I travel a lot for my job. I'll make you a deal: if you plan to attend the PGA convention again next year and aren't attached, I'll try to meet you here."

  "Deal!"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NHL Player: Mr. Harkin

  "I’m sorry to have cut you vacation short, but we have a rather urgent case and no one immediately available," Liang said as we sat in her office.

  "It was a good vacation. I'm healed, rested, and ready for an assignment."

  "This assignment should be interesting. You'll be guarding Doug Harkin, a six-foot-two hockey player for the Arizona Coyotes. He killed some seventeen-year old gang-banger in a bar fight a week ago. Fortunately, the Coyotes have had away games for the past several days. They returned three days ago. The next night he was almost killed when leaving the locker room. He was lucky a new security guard was standing at the rear exit opening the door for the players while trying to get their autographs for his son. When Mr. Harkin stepped out the door, the firing started. Harkin is probably alive today because the guard pulled him back into the hallway and locked it. He wasn't so lucky. He received multiple gunshot wounds and later died at the hospital. Harkin got off with only a minor flesh wound to the arm."

  "The team owner got the FBI involved. They want him confined to his house while they try to find who was responsible for the shooting. But Harkin insists he wants to play in the upcoming games and needs to practice if he is going to be ready. The owners are reluctant to allow him to play because of potential lawsuits if someone gets hurt at a game or practice. But he's one of their star players, and they need him if they hope to get into the playoffs. It turns out the final seven games will be critical. So, they have reached a compromise—a ZAP agent."

  "And you picked me because I'm cute." I batted my eyelashes. "Sounds like fun." And interesting, I mused. What could be more fun than following some hunk of a star hockey player around—night and day? Of course, every client—whether sexy, brilliant, stupid, kind, cruel, or ... would be merely an object to be protected ... still.

  "He's expecting a ZAP agent tomorrow morning to accompany him to practice," Liang said, studying me.

  Then it hit me.

  "He's expecting a ZAP agent, not a woman. And you haven't enlightened him!" I gave her my best evil look and then smiled. "That's all right. I think it will be fun. I'm sure he'll love me." I rose, snatched the paper Liang was holding, and skipped out of the office, grinning.

  * * *

  Dory arranged for me to take the company plane. The next morning, a limo picked me up at four a.m. for my five a.m. departure from Burbank Airport. It was only a short flight to Phoenix and there was no time difference, as we were on daylight savings time. When I entered the plane, Carolyn was there to greet me. Today she wore a dark-blue jacket with a plain white blouse, white skirt, and her usual sunny smile.

  "Good morning, Ms. Mathis. You're our only passenger, so you can sit anywhere you want. Who could stop you anyway?" She smiled, waving toward the cabin. "Can I get you anything before we take off?"

  "Kate, please. I'm not sure I can handle complex decisions like where to sit and what I want to eat or drink this early in the morning. You make the decision. Whatever you have handy to drink." I shook my head at having a private plane all to myself. She turned into the galley as I wandered down the aisle and found a seat midway. Carolyn magically appeared while I was still admiring the interior and placed a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee on the tray in front of me.

  "I hope this isn't too much of a decision." She grinned.

  "I'll drink both. That way I won't have to decide," I quipped. Carolyn not only had a cheerful personality but also a good sense of humor. "Thanks. It's perfect."

  After the plane attained cruising altitude the pilot visited and Carolyn served me the kind of breakfast I would have expected in a good restaurant. We arrived at Phoenix Sky Harbor shortly after 6 a.m.

  "I hope you've enjoyed your flight with us, Kate."

  "No," I said, and Carolyn's face turned to stone. "You've ruined traveling first class for me. After you, first class is going to feel like traveling on a UPS mail carrier. Thank you, Carolyn, for a delightful experience." I left her blushing.

  I caught a taxi and was treated to a good look at Phoenix—crowded, dry, and flat. The terrain improved as we left the city proper, entered the suburbs, and approached the foothills. Before long, we were passing very large houses bordering fairways. After checking his GPS unit, the cabbie pulled into a large, circular, bricked driveway.

  I'm not sure what I was expecting. The house appeared large and had a three-car garage, but it seemed modest for the money I was sure a star NHL payer demanded. The house was radically different from what I was use to in the Northwest. It looked like several round structures of different heights attached together. The exterior was gray adobe and had lots of picture windows.

  As I exited the taxi, an average-looking man in dark blue slacks, a white shirt, a flak jacket with FBI on the front, and a cap with FBI in large letters left his black Suburban sedan. They weren't taking any chances after the shooting at the rink, where automatic weapons had been used. The message was clear—you're shooting at the FBI. The taxi beat a hasty retreat as he approached with his hand on the gun holstered at his side.

  "Can I help you, ma’am?" he said, and then he drew his gun as he scanned me and realized I was armed. "Raise your hands, or I'll shoot."

  "I'm ZAP agent Kate, and Mr. Harkin is expecting me," I said, raising hands palm up—I didn't want to reach into my jacket with him pointing a gun at me—turned, and walked toward the steps to the front entrance.

  "Stop or I'll shoot," he hollered. I knew he wouldn't, since he would have to shoot me in the back and the consequences would be disastrous. He would get on his phone to whoever was inside. I continued walking up the four semi-circular steps set between large boulders and down a path surrounded by a variety of cacti. My peripheral vision showed him tagging along, gun pointing in my direction. At the front door, a tall older man stood waiting, hands empty.

  "Agent Mathis, I assume. I'm Kevin Wickman, the senior agent in charge of Mr. Harkin's detail. Can I see some identification please?"

  "Good morning, Agent Wickman." I opened my jacket to show the badge clipped to the inside pocket, reached in and pulled out my leather identification case, flipped it open and held it up for him to see. He looked at it and nodded.

  "Thank you, Agent Mathis. I'm looking forward to introducing you to Harkin." He grinned and waved me into a large open area, which seemed to be two or three circular rooms separated by walls which extended only partway into each room, like partitions meant to define each room. A semi-open floor plan, which I found interesting, if awkward in a firefight.

  "Kate will do," I said as he led me to a curved stairway which led up to a large circular room with a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and golf course. Seven or eight plush leather chairs were dotted around the room, and a very large LED television hung on one wall. Three men were in the room. Two sat eng
rossed in a hockey game on the TV. A third, a big man, sat off to the side glaring at me. An underarm Glock was clearly visible. When one of the two men looked up, Wickman spoke.

  "Mr. Harkin, this is the ZAP agent you were expecting."

  "Very funny, Wickman. I don't know why you let her in, but show her out." He turned back to the TV. I picked an empty wall and went and leaned against it. Wickman stood there grinning, knowing he couldn't throw me out since I was a Federal agent and authorized to be there. Besides, I suspect he was enjoying this and wanting to see what would happen when Harkin realized I wasn't leaving.

  Ten minutes later, the same young man turned off the TV and rose. "Well, it’s time to leave for the Ice Den." He looked well over six-feet, muscular, short straight sandy hair, and a square rugged-looking face.

  "Wickman, why is she still here?" Harkin asked, frowning.

  "Sir, she's a ZAP agent and has FBI clearance to be here. I can't throw her out. You can, but I can't." He tried not to smile, but only partially succeeded.

  "You're a ZAP agent? Rubbish. I could kick your ass with one arm tied behind me." He sneered, which ruined his good-looking features.

  "Please don't try. My boss would be unhappy," I said, leaving off the putting you in the hospital part. I wondered if this was what Liang had been referring to. She thought it frustrating; I thought it amusing.

  "Mack, throw her out." Harkin pointed at me.

  Mack got out of the chair with a smile on his face. He was as tall as Harkin, but he massed half again Harkin's weight, and except for a bit of a stomach, it looked to be all muscle. He was bald, clean-shaven, and had a prize-fighter’s scarred face. He looked like a bouncer in a biker bar.

  I moved away from the wall as he approached.

  "OK, bimbo, that way." He pointed toward the stairs and smiled.

  "Sorry, Mack, but Mr. Harkin has confused thugs with professionals." Rule something or other, get your opponent so mad they stop thinking.

  Mack's face twisted in anger but his eyes sparkled with excitement. He stepped closer and threw a head-sized fist at my face.

  I twisted sideways, and my right arm blocked and guided his fist only inches by my face. Like a revolving door, as I twisted right my left fist slammed into his temple. It felt like I had hit a stone wall. I uncoiled, twisting back to the left and delivering a back fist to his left temple.

  He looked frozen, but showed no sign of collapsing.

  I shrugged. My instructors had stressed when you have the advantage you don't give your opponent time to recover. Mack was used to knock down bar fights and had a head like granite. Placing one foot behind his, I drove my knee into his groin and my elbow into his solar plexus.

  He stumbled backward gasping for breath, hit a chair, and tumbled over it. He rolled over, moaning.

  I leaned back against the wall and smiled at Harkin. He glared back at me for several minutes. The way Wickman stood looking at Mack, there must have been bad feelings between them.

  "I'm not having a woman following me around. I'd look like a wimp. What can you do that my bodyguard and the FBI can't?"

  "Your bodyguard would be good protection from your fans and drunks. The FBI, while extremely competent," I thought that a nice touch, "will catch your killer and make sure they do jail time—after you’re dead. That may sound harsh, but most FBI on security details have never shot another human, and they know shooting one will be scrutinized afterward by people who will expect the agent to have used minimal force regardless of the situation. Therefore, they will be inclined to shoot after your killer has taken a shot." I looked to Wickman, who unconsciously gave an imperceptible nod of agreement.

  "And what about you?"

  "I'm a ZAP agent. I'll shoot if I think someone intends to harm you. And before you ask, yes, I've killed people. More importantly, my client lived through the experience because I did. None of that matters. No ZAP agent: no training and no playing on the ice."

  "OK, so I want a ZAP agent, just not a woman."

  I took out my cell, hit "1" on the speed dial, and put it on speaker.

  "Put Mr. Harkin on," Liang said. She obviously anticipated the problem. Harkin moved closer to me.

  "I want a male ZAP—"

  "Mr. Harkin, you have been assigned ZAP Agent Mathis. If she isn't acceptable, I have other clients who need a ZAP agent and would welcome her. But in that case you go to the bottom of the list. I warn you, the list is long because ZAP agents are scarce." Liang had the nerve to disconnect.

  "Well?" I asked.

  Harkin stood there in shock, looking from his friend, to Wickman, to Mack, and back to me several times.

  "You can stay, but you will keep out of sight!"

  "Sorry. I'll be a good girl and not talk, but you'll be able to see me by turning your head. One of the reasons the FBI have trouble protecting individuals is that the individuals don't want to be inconvenienced. Therefore, they can't always be where they know they should be to protect the person they are guarding. Instead, they try to keep the trouble away from you by securing the area. I on the other hand don't care what you think. I'll be close enough to you to force the killer to take me on before he can get to you. In that case, the FBI will be in action and you should live through the experience. I will not compromise with your life. I can't protect you if I can't see you."

  "What if that is unacceptable?"

  "I leave."

  "What am I going to tell my team mates?" He stood there shifting from one foot to the other obviously nervous.

  "To treat you well. I shoot people who I think are going to harm you."

  "What do you think, Sean?" Harkin asked the other man who had been sitting with him watching the TV. He shrugged, although a grin creased his lips.

  "You're going to get a lot of ribbing, but the threat is real and serious. Isn't that worth the inconvenience and some ribbing?"

  After a few minutes looking at the floor, Harkin shrugged, picked up his black-leather bag, and headed for the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he cut through the kitchen and then through a door into the garage. There he stood, surveying the area. The garage had three cars: a Mercedes-Benz SL convertible, a Jaguar F-type convertible, and a BMW X6 SUV sedan.

  "That one, unless Sean has his own transportation," I said, pointing to the BMW. The convertibles were two-seaters.

  "The FBI has their own transportation." He stood staring down at me.

  "I don't have a driver's license. Even if I did, you could lose me in traffic or I could have a flat and I wouldn't be there when the gang drew even with your car and the AK-47 shredded you and your vehicle," I said.

  He looked a bit pale when I mentioned AK-47.

  "And what can you do if that happens?" Harkin grinned again.

  I didn't know what he had to grin about since they would be shooting at him.

  "Well this is the West, so think of me as riding shotgun," I said, patting my Glock. "I repeat, I can't protect you if I can't see you."

  Harkin said nothing. He turned and went over to the BMW, with Sean following us. When we reached the car, Sean looked to me. I nodded toward the passenger's side and took the rear seat behind Harkin.

  "Shit, we're late," he said as he accelerated to well over the speed limit—no matter what it was. As I scanned the area, I couldn't help but be fascinated by the names of the roads—Running Deer Trail, E. Dynamite, N. Cave Creek , Agua Fna Freeway. After he ran the second red light, I wondered if I might have more to fear from him than whoever wanted him dead. I'm not sure if I was more surprised that we made it without an accident or that the cops hadn't stopped us.

  As we pulled in the parking area, I scanned it but didn't see anything suspicious. We parked in reserved parking, which was only a short walk to the entrance. As we exited, Wickman and another man left their Suburban. The security guard on duty nodded as we entered the building.

  "Good morning, Mr. Harkin, Mr. Aaronson."

  "Hi, Tony," Sean said as we proceeded down the hallw
ay. When we reached the locker room, Harkin stopped with his hand on the door and turned toward me.

  "This is as far as you go, Agent Mathis. You can sit with Agent Wickman and watch us practice. Another agent will be guarding the hallway." He nodded to the man accompanying Wickman.

  "Are you going in there?" I asked. When he nodded, I shrugged. "Where you go, I go. No exceptions."

  "Women aren't allowed!"

  "It will help if you stop thinking of me as a woman. At the ZAP school, I was a candidate—not a woman candidate. Now I'm a ZAP agent—not a woman agent."

  "But you're a woman!" His voice rose a couple of octaves as he talked. "I'll let agent Wickman come in and guard me."

  "Then you don't need me and I can get another assignment," I said, pulling out my smartphone. "Oh, no point in you attending training. I think the condition of you returning was a ZAP agent as a bodyguard."

  "Wait. There has to be some compromise we can reach."

  "Mr. Harkin, think for a moment beyond your own needs and wants." I held my finger to my lips before he could respond. In reality, the concept was probably new to him. "If a gang were to enter the hallway and kill or disable agent …"

  "Billings," the agent with Wickman said, as amused as Wickman.

  "Billings, and enter the locker room, they would not only shoot you but also several of your teammates as well. Some of those will be trying to save you while others will just be caught in the crossfire. Your mere presence puts everyone around you in danger. The least you can do is provide them some protection."

  Sean had paled as I talked. I don't think he realized being close to Harkin exposed him to danger. A security guard had lost his life for that exact reason.

  Harkin looked to Sean and then nodded. He opened the door and waited for me to enter. I shook my head and held the door while he entered first. As I fell in behind him, I noticed Wickman followed. He was enjoying the interaction between Harkin and me.