ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  I awoke, unsure why but certain something was wrong. I closed my eyes, seeking to quiet my mind because I wasn't going to hear anything with the adrenaline pounding in my ears. Slowly, I relaxed. A deathly silence persisted. It was very early in the morning and there was no traffic on the street below. And with all the blinds drawn, the room was dark and only the outlines of furniture were visible.

  Something had woken me, but I could hear nothing. Several minutes passed as I waited. The ZAP school had taught me to trust my instincts and to be patient. If someone besides the FBI agent had made a noise, he would wait hoping it would be dismissed as nothing. I focused on the staircase, about where I thought a head would appear.

  A long time later, I saw a dark object slowly emerging through the railing. A minute later the object looked like the size of a head. I took aim and fired. The sound seemed especially loud in the stillness of the house as did the body as it tumbled down the stairs. I bolted out of the chair, checked the staircase, saw the outline of a body on the landing below, shot it again, and raced up to the third floor.

  "Judge, it's Agent Mathis, so don't shoot." I walked into the room and found a spot where I could see the stair and the terrace and folded into a sitting position. "I suggest you and your wife sit next to the bed until the police arrive," I said while texting the agent outside and George, just in case.

  "Why aren't you searching the house instead of hiding up here?" Mrs. Singleton shouted.

  "My responsibility is Judge Singleton, not the house. Now quiet, please, so I can hear." Of course, that didn't seem to include the two whispering to each other. Sometime later, red and blue light could be seen bouncing off the windows. The two got up, to go Heaven only knew where. "Sit!" I shouted. "There could still be one or more assassins in the house. Stay put until the police have searched the house and grounds."

  "Kate, are you upstairs? Are the Judge and his wife all right?" It sounded like George.

  "Turn on the lights and come up so I can see you," I said, being overly cautious.

  George appeared a few seconds later. "It's all clear. It appears there was only one. He bypassed the security alarm and entered through one of the bedroom doors that had access into the backyard ... killed Freddie. The bastard was a professional. He was wearing night-vision goggles and using a Sig P232 with a silencer. How did you detect him?"

  "I heard something. He might have made a noise when he killed Freddie," I said, still unsure what had woken me.

  George's face was angry for a moment, probably wishing it were me dead rather than Freddie, but relaxed quickly.

  "I'm sorry, George."

  "I doubt Freddie knew what happened. At three in the morning, he had to be fighting to stay awake. The assassin shot him lying on the couch. Agents should know better ..." He shook his head in disbelief.

  Just then Singleton approached us. "What now?"

  "Up to you, sir. You could go to a hotel, or we could provide a safe-house, or you could stay here. I'm assigning two more men regardless what you decide," George said with a slight shrug.

  Singleton looked to me.

  "Physically, you'll be more comfortable at home. Mentally, you may be more nervous at home, but that's an illusion."

  "An illusion! A gunman broke in here and killed a man!" Mrs. Singleton said loudly as she appeared now, dressed in a thick robe.

  "He's not coming back," I said, maintaining a straight face. I was on an adrenaline high—not at having killed someone but at having survived a professional assassin and saved a life.

  She gave me a scathing look.

  "Ma'am, if there is another attempt, it will be by a different person at a different time and place. In my opinion, it's unlikely to be another assassin attempting to repeat what didn't work."

  "You think there will be another attempt on my life?" Singleton asked, frowning.

  "Who knows? Hopefully the others will be content to scratch your car or throw paint on your house or send you nasty emails. But I have to assume the threat still exists."

  "I tend to agree with Agent Mathis," said George. "While the house is easy to break into, the stairs make it easy to defend. And until you vote on the current issue, we have to take the threat seriously. The extra guard will ensure they are alert and able to handle any break-ins."

  Singleton and his wife huddled until the grey light of dawn before making a decision. "We've decided to stay here until I'm scheduled to leave for Pasadena. I'll work from home."

  * * *

  The next couple of days were close to boring, since he stayed home and had little contact except by computer and occasionally phone. I noticed the FBI agents were far more active than before, conducting periodic walk-around inspections and never sitting.

  After a long discussion which included George and me, Mrs. Singleton decided she would stay home, and George got permission to maintain two guards for her on the off chance someone might decide to kidnap her in order to pressure him to vote their way. Since she wasn't my responsibility, my thoughts were on the upcoming trip.

  "How did you manage to get first-class seating?" George asked as we got ready to leave for the airport.

  "Because he didn't want to sit in third class," I quipped, although it was true.

  "But he's safe on the plane," George said indignantly.

  "Even if he were, pretty soon he'd want other exceptions, and before I knew it I'd be riding in the Escalade with you." I put on a sad face.

  George laughed. "It's true and part of the problem with FBI security. We allow too many exceptions, having little leverage."

  The ride to the airport was uneventful, airport security had only a small line at the metal detector, and the plane was on time. We boarded first and the judge was relaxing with a glass of wine as George and his team entered the cabin. They had just passed when a non-descript man stopped and opened his coat. I stopped as I saw the C-4 strapped around his waist. He laughed, making sure I could see the dead-man's switch in his hand.

  "Go ahead and shoot. I don't like killing a plane full of people, but I'll do it if it permits my daughter to die with dignity. I wonder how you would feel if one of your children had brain cancer and had to live with constant pain and the certainty her last days would be spent in madness."

  "I can’t imagine that and would be as sick with grief as you are, but I'm sure they can give her medication to make her comfortable. And there is always hope for a cure," Singleton said with genuine sympathy.

  But he left no doubt how he would vote.

  "Yeah, that's the answer your kind always drag out, a miraculous cure. When did we, any of us, give you the right to force us to live? You pompous bastard. There is nowhere in the US Constitution where you have the authority to stop me from killing myself if I don't endanger others in the process."

  "But you are—"

  The man laughed. "Then you can send my pieces to jail."

  I sat with my eyes closed, seeking calm. If he eased the pressure off that switch, the C-4 would turn this plane into an inferno, so most of my preferred options were off the table. When I finally had found peace, I opened my eyes and examined the home-made bomb: four blocks of C-4 with a single blasting cap in each. One wire from each cap was twisted together and went somewhere—I assumed a battery, and the other four wires twisted together and connected to the lead coming out of the switch in his hand.

  If I shoot him, his muscles will relax and ... If I punch him, he might tighten his grip for a second and maybe I could grab his hand, but if he didn't or I missed ... raced through my mind as he laughed insanely. My vision narrowed as I focused on the switch in his hand, the red button his thumb rested on, and the black wire running to the blasting caps stuck into the four blocks of C-4.

  "Tell you what Judge: come with me quietly and you can save all these innocent—"

  The crack, crack of my Glock shattered the frozen stillness of the plane as the bullets jerked the bomber backward. He ricocheted off the seats across the aisle, blood spraying a
s he twisted around and hit the floor.

  Silence as everyone awaited the explosion that would end their lives.

  "You idiot! That’s a dead-man's switch ..." George shouted as he pushed forward and knelt next to the man, carefully examining the switch. "It must have been defective ..." he said just above a whisper as the red button was no longer depressed.

  He had no sooner spoken than the first-class passengers behind him were rushing to get out the cabin door.

  "STOP!" He drew his gun and pointed at the first person in the aisle.

  By now most of third class was up and wanting to leave. It took several minutes for him to convince the flight attendant to open the emergency exits rather than move the bomber.

  George sat in a vacant seat across the aisle, looking ashen and glaring at me. "You're crazy. If that switch hadn't been defective, the explosion would have killed everyone on this plane!"

  "I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal," I said, but wondered if George was at least partially right. I had taken a huge risk. If I had missed that single wire—boom.

  "Is that going to explode?" Singleton asked as the passengers were being evacuated.

  "No. C-4 is very stable. It takes a shock from a blasting cap or extreme heat to get it to explode. But we should let the bomb squad dismantle it," I said as several men with "Bomb Squad" written on their jackets entered the plane.

  One man knelt next to the bomber and cautiously examined the device. "Who's the idiot who shot a man with a dead-man's switch attached to C-4?" he asked looking up at George.

  I raised my hand. "That would be me."

  "You either have more balls than my entire bomb squad or you're certifiably insane."

  "Probably, but our bomber wasn't a professional bomb maker, and it appeared obvious that the dead-man's switch ran directly to the battery and the blasting caps. Therefore cutting either wire would make the switch inoperative—"

  "But if the bullet touched both wires the circuit would be completed ..."

  "True, except standard bullets are made of Antimony, which is a metalloid and a poor conductor."

  He laughed long and hard. "So, you bet your life on the assumption your bullets were made of Antimony, were poor conductors of electricity, and you could sever ... at least one of those wires with a bullet. Who are you?"

  "ZAP Agent Kate Mathis," I said, holding up my identification for him to see.

  "Well, ZAP Agent Mathis, I wouldn't want to play chicken with you." He laughed again and turned to the two men behind him. "Let's get the bomb dismantled so the police can remove the body."

  It took several hours for the police to get statements, remove the body, and reload the passengers. I didn't mind answering questions but refused to repeat myself, which detectives are wont to making you do, maybe in an effort to trip you up.

  Judge Singleton was mostly quiet during the entire time. In the air and after a couple of glasses of wine, he sighed as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

  "What if you had been wrong or missed what you were aiming at?"

  "You would have died." Silly question, but I guessed Federal judges weren't normally involved in assassination attempts.

  "As would have you and all the people on the plane!" His voice rose with each word.

  "My only responsibility is you, according to the ZAP protocol. Otherwise, I guess I would have let him remove you and kill you someplace with less people. Given that, the risk was reasonable—if I let him take you, you died, and this was my best and probably only opportunity." Perhaps the collateral damage would have been excessive in this case and the protocol would need to be reexamined, but for now those were the rules. "Judge Singleton, if I had any doubt about making the shot or the result, I wouldn't have taken the shot. I may be crazy, but I'm not in a rush to die."

  "You are crazy, but thank you, Kate." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  We were met at the cabin door by four additional FBI agents, and everyone was asked to remain seated. The woman agent approached us without hesitation, obviously aware what seats we occupied.

  "Judge Singleton, Agent Mathis, I'm Senior FBI Agent Anita Roush. Because of the incident at San Francisco International, the director has assigned additional agents for your protection. If you will follow me, we have a car waiting to transport you to your hotel. Don't worry about your luggage, we'll take care of it for you," she said and stepped back for us to get out.

  It was like a tidal wave sweeping through the airport with Singleton and me surrounded by Roush and her three agents and George and his two clearing the way. Three cars were waiting by the curb and we were soon on our way to the Westin in Pasadena, where he was booked in the Rose Suites, which provided him a private bedroom and room for his security.

  "After San Francisco, Kate, you're going to be a legend. I understand the bomb squad there is running tests on your theory to see if it's one hundred percent reliable. It's difficult to claim it doesn't work." Anita laughed. The judge had retired, and it was just Roush and me in the living room. "I don't think I could have pulled the trigger even given I had the facts you did."

  "You and any of your team would step in front of the person you were protecting, wouldn't you?" I asked, and when she nodded, I continued. "How is risking my life to save his any different?"

  "True, except there were a hundred others involved in your decision," she said, frowning.

  "What if it had been the President of the United States you were guarding?"

  "But Judge Singleton isn't ... I see your point, sort of. Still, I wouldn't want to have to make that decision. I guess ZAP agent is out for me."

  "I’m sure the COC, Homeland security, and the ATG9 directors will be debating the issue for years. Well, Anita, now that you are in charge of the FBI security, what are you planning?"

  "Normally, I leave one man in the room and another in the hallway ... but you're here."

  "Ignore me. As you've discovered, my protocol is very myopic. You will want to do what you consider best to protect Singleton and your agents. And they need to understand my rules of engagement and that it's best I can recognize them." I held up my ID and reversed it so she could read the back.

  "That sounds great until you think about it," she said after a long pause. "All right, two men on duty at night, one inside. Two following him when he goes out. And two to check out where he's going before he gets there. And make sure everyone knows not to try and arrest you no matter who you shoot." She left after introducing the agents on night duty.

  * * *

  Singleton went in to the courthouse the next day for a pre-meeting of the eleven-person panel that would be hearing oral arguments set for the next day. Much of their time was spent discussing the threat to Singleton—and me.

  "Agent Mathis, you aren't authorized in this meeting. You should wait outside with the other FBI agents," said a white-haired man who looked to be in his seventies after everyone was seated. I was leaning back against a wall so I could view Singleton and the doors to the room. All eyes were on me.

  "By Senate bill S.999 and House bill H.R.999, you have lawyer-client privileges with me and I have a right to accompany my client, in this case Judge Singleton, anywhere he goes. Judges, the threat is real and my presence may benefit you as much as Judge Singleton."

  The subsequent discussion went on for hours because they knew it would apply to future meetings where a ZAP agent was assigned. In the end, it was agreed I could stay. It seemed to me the actual meeting had nothing of a secret nature: seating arrangements, who would be at the oral arguments, time limits, etc. I found it interesting but most people probably wouldn't. Singleton ate lunch in the cafeteria with a couple of his friends, who were interested in the two assassination attempts.

  "I'd like to have dinner tonight with a couple of friends. Any restrictions?" he asked on the ride back to his hotel.

  "I would prefer tables to booths and inside away from windows, otherwise no. Agent Roush will wa
nt to know where so her folks can check it out beforehand." No sense making a big deal out of it as no restaurant was safe—some just less so than others.

  He nodded and used his cell phone to set up the dinner at Maison Akira, where he arranged for a rectangular table for eight near a wall. While he dressed that evening, I had room service send up a plain hamburger, French fries, and a glass of milk.

  "You could have ordered a steak or something interesting," Anita said, watching me eat. She had decided to accompany us to the restaurant.

  "I like food I can eat with one hand and that isn't messy. Seems ridiculous, I know. But assassins are sneaky people. You never know when they will show up or how many friends they'll bring, so you have to be ready all the time—seconds can matter."

  "That's extremely paranoid."

  "ZAP is an extreme sport," I quipped, producing a good-natured laugh.

  * * *

  The dinner went well. Singleton had invited three couples. From the discussions, it appeared they were old friends of his and of Mrs. Singleton, who normally accompanied him to Pasadena. When we exited the building, Anita had the two black Ford Expeditions double parked at the curb waiting. The group stood talking for several minutes, which increased his exposure and my nervousness.

  A minute later, I saw a dark-colored Chrysler Town and Country turn right onto the street where we stood and the passenger window begin to lower. I swept my right arm across Singleton's chest as my leg swept in the opposite direction through his legs. He went airborne and landed on his back as I drew my Glock and attempted to track the Chrysler through the parked and double-parked cars. But even at a slow speed the spacing and height of the SUVs made it impossible until it passed the last SUV. I fired three times, shattering the side windows and the car accelerated away without firing a shot. Seconds later, Anita's team had clustered around the judge and the party had crunched down next to the parked cars.