Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

Rapp looked through the glass at the red-faced sensei and wondered if he would make an example of her. All instructors were not created equal. Some looked good in their white robes and black belts, and could hold their own when practicing one- and three-step moves. Jiyu kumite, or freestyle sparring, was a whole other matter. Worse, put them in a no-holds-barred situation where any form of fighting could be used and they were in serious trouble with their narrow, disciplined approach. Outside their particular area of martial arts, their ability to predict their opponents’ moves was all but gone.

This sensei appeared to be in his fifties and looked as if he’d been in a few scrapes. His nose was flattened out a bit, which meant it had been broken on more than one occasion, and he had scar tissue built up around his eyes. Rivera turned around to face him and put her hands stiffly at her sides. Rapp couldn’t tell what the sensei was saying to her, but after ten seconds Rivera bowed and walked away. Rapp laughed to himself and decided to go in. He dropped his coffee cup in the garbage by the door and entered the small foyer. It had benches on both sides and hooks on the wall. Shoes were lined up under the bench. Rapp looked through the glass into the training room and caught Rivera’s eye. He gestured for her to join him. She shook her head and motioned for him to come into the training room. Rapp hesitated for a second and then figured what the hell. He took off his shoes and placed them under the bench and then hung his trench coat on a hook. With his gun at the small of his back he kept his suit coat on.

Rapp stepped into the training room. The floor was covered with a wall-to-wall blue mat. Looking across the room at the sensei, Rapp bowed, showing his respect, and then looked at Rivera and said, “May I please have a word with you?”

She put one foot in front of the other and rested a hand on each hip. “Why don’t you go back to the locker room and put on a gi. We can talk while we spar.”

Rapp smiled and said, “I don’t think so.”

“Really.” Rivera walked across the mat and stopped just a few feet short of him. “Come on, tough guy. Are you afraid?”

“No.” Rapp shook his head. “I have more important…”

Suddenly, Rapp was jerked off his feet. He realized what was happening a split second too late. He recognized the hold. It wasn’t karate, it was judo. A double-handed shoulder throw. Midway through the air Rapp heard a tearing noise and knew instantly it was his suit coat. He was so caught off guard by Rivera’s lack of discipline that he never saw it coming. His only choice was to go with it and lessen the fall as much as possible. When he hit the ground, the gun that he was carrying at the small of his back dug into his spine. Rapp’s entire body arched with pain. Rivera held onto his arm and put her bent right knee against his side. The white-hot pain at the base of his back was excruciating. Above it all, though, he heard the voice of the sensei ordering Rivera to stand down.

The man’s face appeared above Rapp. “Are you all right?”

Rapp took a shallow breath and then another. The sensei offered a hand and Rapp took it. When he got to his feet he only had one thing on his mind. He looked at the sensei and said, “Gi, please.”

The sensei looked at Rivera with extreme disappointment and then ordered one of the students to go fetch one of the white uniforms and a belt. Rapp walked over to the corner and took off his suit coat. Reaching around he grabbed his gun and its holster and unclipped them from his waistband. Rapp held up the gun and showed Rivera what he had landed on. She looked slightly embarrassed, but her intensity didn’t wane a bit.

By the time the student came back with a uniform, Rapp had his tie and dress shirt off. Not caring a bit what the class thought, he peeled off his white T-shirt to reveal his scarred upper torso. Three pucker marks from bullet holes and a big half-moon scar on his back from a surgery he’d had to remove a lodged bullet and repair some vital organs. Rapp stripped down to his boxers and put the gi on. He paused momentarily as he looked at the brown belt. It occurred to him that he had never worn one. His original karate and judo training was done in secret and he’d worn only white belts. His training had been more about teaching him how to kill and disable than passing exams. It wasn’t until he showed up at the Gracie school that he was run through the wringer. After a solid month of training and fighting, where he had beat all comers except the Gracie boys themselves, he was presented with a black belt. At the time he’d had no idea how unusual this was, but the Gracies made their own rules and they prized the ability to beat an opponent over all else.

Rapp tied the belt the way he’d been taught almost eighteen years ago and looked up at Rivera, who was now in the middle of the room bouncing around rolling her head one way and then the other like a prizefighter.

She held up a clear mouth guard and said, “Freestyle.”

Rapp looked to the sensei and said, “Jiyu kumite.”

The sensei nodded and looked to his pupils, who without having to be told lined up along the far wall and dropped to their knees. Rapp walked to the middle of the room, his guard up this time. He had no idea what her problem was, or whether it was with him directly, men in general, or the entire world. At the moment, he couldn’t have cared less. Karate was as much a discipline as a sport and what Rivera deserved right now was to be taught a lesson. The only question for Rapp was how long to make the lesson. He didn’t give a shit how many black belts she may have racked up, she didn’t have a chance. If you could last a minute on the mat with one of the Gracie boys, who were basically bred to fight, there wasn’t a woman on the planet who could take you.

Rapp gave the ceremonial bow and Rivera did the same, although she had a smile on her face. She had no idea what she was in for. Rapp took two steps back and was just settling into a relaxed back stance when she came charging forward. Rivera unleashed a series of combination kicks and strikes, spinning and lashing out, up and down. The only problem was she never came within a foot of hitting her target.

Rapp’s hands stayed clasped at the small of his back. He countered her every move by stepping back to either his left or right and twisting his body clear of her hands and feet. Rivera chased him in a counterclockwise circle around the mat, unleashing five separate combinations of three moves or more, screeching a loud kiai, or shout, with each move.

She stopped after the last move, which happened to be her best. It was a spinning back kick that she’d used to knock out countless opponents. She’d assumed Rapp was good, but she beat men all the time. There wasn’t an agent at the Secret Service anymore who would step onto the mat with her. The first four moves usually had her opponent so confused and bewildered that they left themselves wide open for the spinning back kick. A little love tap to the chin and it was over before it really got started. Rapp was left standing, however, and his hands were still clasped behind his back. Rivera couldn’t believe it. He was taunting her. She paused to catch her breath and assess the situation for a second before redoubling her attack.

Rapp reversed his retreat, having identified the fact that like most fighters she preferred to mount her attack from right to left so she could get her strong side, which appeared to be her right side, into the fight with more velocity. She was coming at him even faster now, with more abandon, leaving herself open to counterattack. She came within inches of landing a rising elbow strike and left herself so wide open that Rapp couldn’t resist taking a shot. He was already dropping his weight to miss her elbow, so he simply continued the downward move and began to spin 180 degrees until his back was to her. His left leg shot out so fast Rivera never saw it. His heel struck the center of her solar plexus with about half the force he could have delivered.