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“But for how long? How long are you going to insist we hang out at Guardian HQ? The summer is passing us by and I don’t understand what’s taking so long. Can’t Bravo team head over to Scott’s place and intimidate the hell out of him?”
“That doesn’t work with people like him. He’ll back down, then attack when we least expect it.”
“But Rosie got her acceptance at UCSF. What’s she going to do when the fall semester starts? She can’t do it from here? Same for Carmen and her graduate studies. Barbi too. She can’t miss out on her first day at Law school.”
“We’re working it.”
“I know you’re working it, but you’ve basically cut me out of the whole thing. I have no idea what’s happening, and while I won’t be starting this fall, I’m going to have to do something this coming year until I can apply to other programs.”
“Take your frustrations out on me. Come on.” He pivots sharply and heads to a gear locker.
I follow along, jogging to keep up with his long stride. He stops at the gear locker and pulls out two padded helmets. He puts one on and adjusts it, while tossing the other one at me. I falter when I realize what he means.
“You mean, like literally take my frustrations out on you?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d rather you just filled me in, rather than keep me in the dark.”
“I’ll make you a promise.”
“Okay?”
“Give me your absolute best for the next two hours. Do that, and I’ll take you to our next briefing.”
“Serious?”
“Fair warning, you may not like what you hear, or where the investigation is taking us.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Two hours.” He shifts to the nearest mat. “No questions for the next two hours, unless directly applicable to our lesson.”
“Fine, but for the record, I should be involved. I’m the one at risk.”
“Which is exactly why you’re not involved and precisely why you’ll be on this mat three hours a day, with me, or with the others for physical conditioning. You’ll also attend our new employee education.”
“But I’m not an employee.”
“It’s the education on how to endure torture and how to escape. Basically, Guardian HRS’s equivalent to SERE training.”
“I know what that is.” And I gulp. Should I be nervous Zeb wants me to know how to survive, evade, rescue, and escape? What the hell is going on?
Zeb cracks his knuckles, steps back, and calls out to me. “We start with technical drills, focusing on form and technique.
I assume the fighting stance Zeb taught me and we begin with basic drills on punches to the eyes and chin. As we work through the strikes, Zeb continues to instruct, correcting problems with my form and layering on new skills as I develop basic proficiency in the ones we work on.
My progress is slow, and I slog through the next hour. What did Zeb call it? Minimally proficient.
We take a break at the top of the hour and all I can manage is to lie flat on the mat, staring at the retracted dome far overhead.
“Are you ready to start incorporating some footwork?” He sits beside me and leans back.
“No.” I shade my eyes with my arm, but peek up at him.
“Come on. Break’s over.” He extends his hand, which I take, and pulls me nearly off my feet. Without any preamble, he gets right down to business.
We’re training again.
