ZAP Agent Mathis

by C. R. Daems

  "It was around midnight at the 250 Lounge. I was dancing with several men and drinking water-martinis when ..." I detailed the entire incident, stopping many times to answer questions for Liang, as she would have to report back to the Director of HLS.

  * * *

  I stayed three more days in the hospital. When I was released, Dory had the ATG9-2 pick me up and fly me back to Burbank, where I spent several more days moping around my condo unsure of what I wanted to do—so I did nothing. On the fourth day, I went to Edwards and put together a two-hour lecture for all the women staff, candidates, and instructors. There they had an opportunity to taste each of the date-rape drugs and to see the effects they had in various drinks. My advice was to call 9-1-1 immediately if you thought you'd drunk something with one of the drugs, and to insist on a rape-kit immediately when police came.

  "That was good, Kate," Vanessa Duvall, the psychologist, said afterward. "These drugs are far too easy to get your hands on and used too often at nightclubs and parties. And it would be an effective way to get an agent out of the way."

  The course revived me—I had done something positive. Back at the condo, I noticed an advertisement for the PGA Expo in Vegas beginning the next day and remembered my promise to Jason. I spent the evening debating whether I was ready after the evil-threesome. At two a.m., I decided there was no shortage of evil men and women or of good men and women and called the airlines for first-class reservations to Vegas and a suite at the Venetian—something I normally don't do but felt the incident had somehow changed me.

  * * *

  As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I wondered if Jason would be there. He might not have remembered me—I doubted that. He might have gotten married—I wondered if I cared. Or maybe he wasn't interested—a very depressing thought. When I entered the lobby, Jason was sitting there scanning the entrance. He was a handsome man, but after the evil-threesome he looked gorgeous. I managed to approach him from behind without being seen.

  "Sir, do you have the time?" I asked, still behind him.

  "Ten thirty-five," he said after a brief look at his watch and immediately looked back to the entrance. I was impressed but wondered if it were my company or the good sex that had him so intent.

  "Expecting someone?" I asked.

  "I'm hoping she didn't forget and can make it." He still hadn't looked back at me.

  "A bit scatterbrained?"

  "Oh, no. It's her job."

  "Sounds like an excuse," I said, and finally got a reaction.

  He whirled around with a scowl on his face. He stared at me for several seconds with his mouth open, and then smiled. "You made it ... what happened to your face!" His smile disappeared into a look of horror. I had forgotten the bruising hadn't completely disappeared, and I didn't wear make-up, which might have covered it.

  "Have you eaten?" I asked.

  He shook his head, still staring at my face and throat.

  "Good. It's my treat since I have a confession to make." I put my arm though his and turned him in the direction of the Public House restaurant, where I arranged for a private booth. After we were seated, I took a deep breath. I had decided over the past week that I wasn't going to pretend to be anyone but who I was. If it scared men away, then they weren't right for me.

  "I lied to you last time. It was easier or maybe more convenient than the truth. No more. I don't work for a local security firm and I don't provide security for large estates or private security for special occasions." I paused, dreading the truth because I liked Jason and would miss him if the truth intimidated him and he left or his behavior changed toward me.

  He reached across the table and placed his hands over mine. "I just hope you aren't married." He smiled.

  I had to laugh. That was the last thing I expected. "No. I work in a special division of the FBI, guarding VIPs under reliable death threats."

  "Is that how you got injured?" he asked, seemingly not concerned about my occupation but only my injuries.

  "Ironically, no ..." I talked about my job in generalities, post-assignment time off, and my encounter with the evil-threesome.

  He listened intently but asked few questions. "All right," he said. "At the risk of scaring you off, my truth. I haven't been able to think about anyone except you for the whole year." His face flushed a bit while he talked.

  "OK, here's the deal. I earn a good salary so we'll split the expenses, and I have a room here so you can cancel yours.

  * * *

  "It's been a fantastic week," Jason said as we sat waiting for our planes to depart. Jason had an American flight to Chicago in about an hour; I had an American flight in a little over two hours to Los Angeles. "I’d love to see you more often than yearly in Vegas," he said cautiously. I would have bet he had his fingers crossed—the ones that weren't holding on to my hand.

  "I'll make you a deal. When I get post-assignment vacation time, I'll email you. If you can get away or have time and want to see me—"

  "I want to see you, Kate. Anytime you're free," he said in a rush.

  "Then we can arrange something. I've given you my condo email, but don't expect much in the way of emails from me. When I'm working, I'm totally out of contact, so I'll only respond if I'm at Edwards."

  I was sorry to see the ten days end. It had been wonderful and he had even extended his vacation a couple of days.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Envoy Itzig

  "You look far more relaxed than the last time we talked," Liang said.

  Dory had set up a meeting with Liang several days after I had returned from Las Vegas. Liang had become many things to me over the years, fellow ZAP agent, older sister, boss, and friend.

  "I think I'm beginning to resolve the issues this job creates around men. When they find you are more macho—in their minds—than them, many get weird. Besides, who would want to marry a ZAP Agent who isn't home most of the time? So you lie, but that creates other problems."

  "Well, both women and men marry combat soldiers, and fighter pilots, and navy crew."

  "Yes, that's what I've decided. They can take me or leave me, because I'm not changing."

  "I think that is good advice for all ZAP agents." She paused to look inside a folder in front of her. "I've called you here to give you an assignment. There is an Israeli Envoy arriving tomorrow. I'd like you to escort him around while he is here."

  "Did he get death threats?"

  "No, which is suspicious in itself."

  "What about the Secret Service?

  "They will have their normal presence, but the Director of HLS was directed by the COC to provide a ZAP Agent. Maybe they have credible information of a possible assassination."

  "Sounds like fun. Where do I meet him?"

  "His name is Asif Itzig. He will be arriving on El Al Airlines at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport tomorrow morning at ten forty-five. You will be leaving on ATG9-1 at two this afternoon. Dory has hotel reservations for you near the airport."

  * * *

  Carolyn was her normal gracious self, and I enjoyed every minute of the pure luxury, the good food, and the pampering. I caught a taxi to the Renaissance Arlington Capital View Hotel—which was only five minutes from the airport—and found I had a deluxe room on the tenth floor with a good view of the city. At the concierge’s recommendation, I had a sit-down dinner of Salloppine Alla Sorrenta at the Portofino restaurant. I wouldn't go out of my way to have any specific meal, but it was nice to sit and relax and be served—and practice using a knife and fork. I spent much of the time thinking about Jason and our meals together. In the end, I concluded I couldn't tell the future, and it was a waste of time to try. Back at the hotel, I spent several hours meditating and then went to bed at peace with life.

  * * *

  My identification and badge got me through the airport checkpoint easily. When I arrived at the designated gate, four men in dark suits watched me approach.

  "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm ZAP Agent Mathis," I said,
holding up my ID. I was excited about starting another assignment.

  They didn't look excited. The oldest of the four took my ID, examining it like he thought it a fake, read the back, and handed it back to me.

  "OK, ZAP Agent Mathis, what can you do that we can't?" he growled, as if I were the problem.

  "Have babies," I quipped. I didn't want to get on their bad side, but apparently I was already there. I held up my hand. "Agent?"

  "Senior Agent Reynolds," he said, emphasizing senior.

  "Like you and the others, I don't get to choose my assignments or to refuse the ones I get. It's 'Yes, sir. Right away, sir.'" I said, giving a snappy salute. It had the desired effect. I received at least partial smiles from all.

  "So then, how do you differ from us?" The growl was back, although not as harsh as before.

  "I'm allowed to antagonize the client; you have to be polite." I smiled at the looks I got.

  "Antagonize?"

  "It's hard to explain, but it will be obvious when the envoy arrives."

  As the arrival of the envoy's flight was announced, two men approached and were greeted by Reynolds. "Good morning, Representative Willis, Estrada."

  Willis nodded then turned toward me. "You're the ZAP Agent?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm ZAP Agent Mathis."

  "I'm told there is a credible threat to Envoy Itzig's life. Obviously his death would create an international incident, and that’s the reason you have been assigned. Clear?" Representative Willis said like we were in the military.

  Clear as mud, I thought but kept my face looking attentive. "Do you know who the threat came from?"

  "Does it matter?" Willis snapped, probably because he didn't know.

  "It would help to know if I can expect an individual or a group, a Glock or an AK-47, a bomb or missile launcher," I said, wondering if this was a conspiracy to ruin my good mood.

  "Are you a smartass, Agent?" Willis’s voice rose, and he leaned closer to me.

  "If you don't know, just say so. However, the more I know the more likely it is Mr. Itzig and I will live through the credible threat."

  Willis's face was flushed. He wanted to say something but knew I had a point and he would look foolish. "The NSA has heard chatter about the Envoy's visit. That's all I know," he said while striding toward the gate with me following.

  The envoy's flight deplaned twenty minutes later, and Itzig was the first to exit. Two men in suits but no ties followed close behind him. I walked along with the two-man delegation as they went to meet Itzig.

  "Good morning, Mr. Itzig. I'm Representative Willis and my companion is Representative Estrada. We are both members of the Israel-Palestine relations committee. Welcome to America."

  "Thank you for allowing me to testify at your committee," he said, and his glance shifted to me. "And you are the Americans’ answer to assassins, a ZAP Agent?"

  "ZAP Agent Mathis." I gave a small nod.

  "What makes you more lethal than my security or the Secret Service?" he asked. I knew a repressed smile was on the security men's lips.

  "If you feel your security and the Secret Service are sufficient, I can leave. There are others on the waiting list." I smiled, feeling real amusement.

  "You can't answer that, can you?" Itzig smiled as if having won an argument.

  "No, because the question was stupid and meaningless." I held up my hand to stop any replies. "We all have guns and can hit the bull's-eye every time, so we are equally lethal. Your security and the Secret Service are brave men and willing step in front of you to save your life. However, in this day and age, assassins use AK-47s spitting ten bullets per second, and those brave men will be dead in less than a half-second and you in the half-second that follows. Today’s assassins are professionals and have the element of surprise. They can pick when, where, and how. The proper question is how does their training vary from ZAP training?"

  "You are very arrogant but have a point." Itzig conceded with a small nod.

  "ZAP agents have to be arrogant, because our security protocol is invasive and clients tend to want exceptions."

  "Invasive?"

  "Yes. In general, if you turn your head, night or day, you will see me."

  "That would be invasive and certainly different from current security protocol. Please stay. You intrigue me, and I'm interested in the concept."

  Envoy Itzig had reserved the Richmond Suite at the Jefferson Hotel and an extra room for his security team. When he was settled in the room, he and the two representatives discussed his upcoming schedule while in Washington. When they left, Itzig, his two men, and Reynolds discussed security arrangements. I found the agreed upon arrangements interesting: one of Itzig's men would accompany him at all times during the day; one secret service member guarded the hallway at all times, and one accompanied him when he left the room.

  When they finished, Itzig looked to me. "What is your schedule, and who is your relief?"

  "When you turn you head, except when you are in bed, you will be able to see me."

  "Twenty-four hours a day? That's impossible." He glared at me as if to force me to change my answer.

  I shrugged. "And invasive. If, however, you know when the assassin will make his or her move, then I can give you some space."

  He snorted. "We Israelis are always willing to learn."

  * * *

  After he had changed into a loose shirt and slacks, he opened a smart phone, stopped, and looked to me leaning against the wall some twenty feet away.

  "I need to make some personal calls," he said, the implication being I should leave.

  "I don't listen and don't understand Hebrew or Arabic. And whether you speak English or some other language, you have lawyer-client privileges with me. I think my director said they would cut out my tongue if I repeated one word of a client's personal business or life. But I could stuff something in my ears if that would make you feel better, or you could make the calls from your bedroom," I said, emphasizing I wasn't going anywhere.

  Itzig frowned and was silent for several minutes, then shrugged and punched in a number. He made several phone calls, some business and some personal, alternating between English and what I assumed was Hebrew. Afterward, he made dinner reservations at the hotel restaurant, Lemaire.

  After reviewing the table arrangement at the Lemaire, I had Reynolds negotiate a table on the far side of the room away from the two walls of windows, where I could stand and watch the entrances and out the windows. It felt like being in a fishbowl, but it was the best I could do. Itzig's personal guard and the FBI man assigned stayed by the entrance to the dining room.

  Itzig had three guests, all males—and all Jewish, I assumed, since each wore a kipot. I wouldn't have doubted I was a significant part of the early conversations in Hebrew, judging by the looks I got. The dinner seemed to last forever as I tried to watch the activity outside through the six windows, the diners at the twelve tables, and the wait staff. By the time they retired to the envoy's room, my eyes felt like I'd been the chair-umpire of twenty continuous tennis matches.

  "When do you get relieved?" asked the smallest man of the three. He looked to be in his late sixties with a grey goatee and mustache and was slightly overweight.

  "When I see Mr. Itzig onto his plane back to Israel." Or when an assassin punches out my client’s lights, I mused.

  "You have to sleep!" a heavyset man with a well-trimmed beard and mustache said as if that made me a liar.

  "I'm a very light sleeper."

  "It must be a very stressful way of life," said the third man. He was average height and overweight. His round face had a full beard and mustache and penetrating brown eyes. I surmised he wasn't talking just about the hours but the responsibility and killing.

  "Some of us are called to a way of life. This is my calling," I said without thinking. But on reflection, in a strange way it did feel like a calling. Like a priest or rabbi, I believed in what I was doing, and that enabled me to act decisively and without hesitation.<
br />
  He nodded, and that appeared to end the conversation—also strange.

  They left an hour after midnight, and I settled down on a lounge chair after checking the identity of the hallway guard and securing the door.

  * * *

  Itzig didn't emerge from the bedroom until nearly nine o'clock. "Kate, what do you fancy for breakfast? That sandwich last night couldn't have been very satisfying."

  "Something tasteless I can hold in one hand and juice or milk."

  "You're joking."

  "No, sir. I prefer not to enjoy my meals while I'm working. It's distracting," I grinned.

  He shook his head, picked up the phone, and ordered breakfast. About forty-five minutes later, there was a knock at the door and a few seconds later his private guard, Shet, opened the door halfway.

  "Sir, your breakfast is here."

  When Itzig nodded, he opened it all the way and a tall thin woman entered pushing a cart with silverware, plates with covers to keep the food warm, and a silver coffeepot. Shet stepped inside and closed the door while she wheeled the cart to the small dining table. She stood facing us with the cart in front of her as she set the table. She had a shapely figure which was partially obscured by the loose-fitting clothes she wore. She faced Itzig and me as she emptied the cart's contents onto the table, naming each item as she did: bacon and eggs, coffee, toast, milk, and an egg sandwich.

  "Mr. Itzig, if there is nothing else you need, would you sign this room charge?" she asked while holding out the slip in her left hand while her right hand dangled behind the cart.

  When Itzig rose, I shot her in the chest as I began moving fast toward Itzig's private guard, who I knew was going to be a problem. The impact drove her stumbling backward, her face twisted in anger as her right hand fumbled under her apron. My second shot hit her in the head, sending her sprawling backward onto the couch.

  Shet was drawing his weapon as his head turned in my direction but too late. I was now within a step of him. As I had observed, he was loyal and brave. Telling him to freeze—even with a gun pointing at him—wouldn't have stopped him from trying to save his employer, not even at the cost of his life. My hand slammed down on his gun hand as I swept through his legs. He and the gun went airborne.