Ken Goddard - Double blind

"If you're talking about the CIA, I believe they call the local people they recruit 'agents' or 'resources,'" Wintersole replied. "I have no idea what the FBI calls them."

"You have some practical experience with the CIA?"

"In Vietnam," the team leader explained. "The spooks pretty much ran that war. Every now and then, one of them would suit up and go out on recon with us."

"'Us' being…?"

"U.S. Army Rangers. At the time, I was a combat infantryman, buck sergeant, in charge of a long-range recon team," Wintersole tossed out casually. "I retired as an E-8, first sergeant. I'm not a spook, Henry. Just a thirty-year man trying to get by on a military pension."

Lightstone gestured toward the young man seated to his left. "Your associate looks a little young for retirement," he noted, watching to see if the comment caused the quasi-soldier with the cast on his wrist to lose any of his polite, respectful, and attentive demeanor.

He didn't.

Wintersole smiled pleasantly.

"David's a classic example of all the highly trained and extremely dedicated young men who, sadly, are being tossed aside — wasted, actually — by the current downsizing of our military forces," the hunter-killer recon team leader explained. "But then, too, I suppose our nation's loss is my gain. Once I decided to go into business for myself, I found it very easy to put together a small team of highly qualified instructors."

'Your business being a civilian version of basic infantry training?"

"That's right."

"And you want to add me to that team?"

"Only temporarily." Wintersole nodded. "I won't insult your intelligence by making any promises I can't keep, Henry. David's an excellent hand-to-hand instructor, and I expect him to recover very quickly. However, if things work out in the manner in which we hope.." The hunter- killer team leader shrugged.

"And for whatever it's worth, I want you to know I don't hold any grudges." Wintersole's young associate spoke for the first time. "I would personally welcome you on board as an associate. Only thing I ask is that you walk me through that wristlock sequence a few times.. ideally after I get this thing off." He held up the cast and smiled.

"That's the least I owe you, whether I work for you or not." Lightstone nodded agreeably.

The young man grinned openly. "Fair deal."

Lightstone searched for some hint of anger or frustration beneath that controlled smile, but saw nothing.

Where in the hell do they get these guys? he wondered.

Shrugging internally, Henry Lightstone turned back to the supposedly retired Army Ranger first sergeant.

"So what are we talking about in terms of hours and pay?"

"I've scheduled eight hours of hand-to-hand instruction per student, broken down into two four-hour blocks. We've got a total of sixteen students, and we're training them in four-man teams. Figure thirty-two hours of instruction, eight hours for prep and grading, which makes it a full forty-hour week. I'm offering two grand even, payment in cash at the end of the week, if you handle your own taxes."

"Pretty decent pay," Lightstone noted casually.

Wintersole shrugged. "We're interested in generating repeat customers and picking up more through word of mouth. You don't accomplish that by providing your customers with second-rate instruction. These are unusual circumstances; however, I do expect you to earn your pay. Any questions?"

"Just one. When do I start?"

"How about tomorrow?"

Lightstone hesitated briefly. "Tomorrow's as good a day as any, but there's one thing about me you probably need to know."

"What's that?" Wintersole's eyes narrowed slightly.

"In spite of my Southern heritage, I'm not very good at saying 'yes sir' to people."

"That won't be a problem, Henry." Wintersole smiled. "The very first thing we teach raw recruits in the army is never to call a sergeant 'sir.' We like to think we work for a living."

"I take it that goes for retired first sergeants, too?"

"Especially for the retired ones," the hunter-killer team recon leader replied, his cold gray eyes glistening with a sense of amusement that Henry Lightstone couldn't even begin to interpret.

Henry Lightstone was still sitting at the table, sipping his nearly cold coffee, when Karla came over and sat down beside him.

"So what was that all about?" she asked softly.

"I seem to have stumbled into a temporary employment situation."

"With them?"

Lightstone nodded solemnly. "Looks that way."

"Would you care to explain what the hell is going on?" A half-troubled, half-dangerous glint brightened her gold-flecked green eyes.

He described the retired army sergeant's job offer.

"They want you to teach hand-to-hand combat techniques to the Chosen Brigade?" Her expression suggested that she couldn't quite believe her ears.

"Apparently."

"Are they serious?"

"I guess so. At any rate, two grand for forty hours of work sounds pretty serious to me."

"But why you? I mean, no offense, my friend, but it's not like you go around waving a 'Don't Tread On Me' flag. And you may not have been around here long enough to notice," she added, "but these Chosen Brigade folks are pretty paranoid about newcomers."

"I have no idea why they chose me," Lightstone confessed. "Maybe they figure it's my fault their martial-arts instructor got hurt."

"They're lucky I managed to get Sasha stopped in time, or that broken wrist would have been the least of that kid's problems," Karla muttered darkly.

"Yeah, well, she definitely put the fear of God into those two," Lightstone smiled, remembering the expression on the retired Army Ranger sergeant's face. "And besides," he added, "it's not like I'm going to teach them something dangerous."

"You're not?"

"In eight hours? Not hardly. If these guys are anything like I've heard, I'll be doing good to teach them how to fall down without getting hurt. And besides," he added with a smile, "I can use the money. Two grand is two grand. Might even be able to make a dent in my restaurant tab."

She dismissed his teasing comment with an aggravated wave of her hand.

"You do realize that these future students of yours advocate the violent overthrow of the federal government?" she asked after a long moment.

"So what? You do, too," he reminded her.

"All I'm doing is exercising my First Amendment rights to express my opinion," she argued irritably. "There's a big difference between mouthing off and taking action, Henry. A very big difference."

"I'm not going to wave flags, or march in any parades, or throw any bombs," Lightstone explained patiently. "At best, I'm just going to teach those idiots how to survive a fistfight. And if that's all it takes to overthrow the federal government these days, then the government's in a hell of a lot worse shape than I think it is."

"You're really determined to do this, aren't you?" She tapped her slender fingers on the table.

"I'm not sure that 'determined' is the right word. I just can't see any reason not to do it. But if the idea really bothers you…" he added to see how she'd respond, "I'll reconsider. I'm not that hard up for money."

The woman sat quietly for a while, then suddenly got up. "I'll be right back," she murmured softly, and disappeared into the Inn.

Four minutes later, she returned with a claw necklace in her hand which she draped over his chest and tied securely behind his neck.

"What's this?" Lightstone asked as she sat down opposite him again.

"A cougar-claw necklace."

Henry Lightstone looked down at the eight sharp claws surrounding what appeared to be a thick light green jade medallion with a cougar carving on its face, all of which was strung on a beaded leather cord.

"Cougar claws? Why a cougar?"