The last body hit the deck with a solid thud, followed by two quick knife stabs to the neck that hissed red paint. Dhiya Castillo lasted longer than any of her previous attempts, having rapidly absorbed Jessica's instruction. For her small size, she fought viciously and relied heavily on her martial arts training to disarm Jessica. Inevitably, all of their matches ended with Dhiya eating dirt, the victim of splitting her attention between edged combat and martial arts acrobatics. With a little patience, Jessica always found an opportunity to knock her off-balance, though she had to admit, as Dhiya shifted more of her attention to the blade, Jessica had experienced some close calls. A few more months of intense knife work would turn the tide for this one, she thought.
With no more takers, she took a deep breath and sheathed her knife. She glanced around for Daniel, who she thought had been present earlier. She shook several hands and accepted a dozen or more slaps on the back as she waded through the group looking for her husband. She saw Richard Farrington breaking free from the group and jogged over to talk to him.
"Rich! I missed you in the circle today," she said.
Farrington turned and regarded her with a grin. "I can only have my ass handed to me so many times in one month before I develop a complex. You start to join us on the range, and I'll jump back into the circle," he said.
"I hate guns, but I might take you up on that. I know Danny likes to see you get your ass kicked. Might bring him around to watch. Have you seen him today?"
"He was there for a few minutes. I saw him head off to the armory."
"Thanks. See you around," she said and took off jogging, energized by the prospect of seeing her husband after his two-week absence in the field.
She still felt a twinge of disappointment that he never stuck around for "the circle." Logically, she knew that their strong attraction and protective instinct for each other would make it almost impossible for him to stay and watch. From an observer's point of view, every attack looked like a close call, and some were closer than she would care to admit. He'd seen the results of the closer calls. A black eye, split lip or bloodied nose wasn't uncommon. Every Friday yielded multiple bruises, and she knew that Leo's desperate attempt to take her down would leave several bruises on her forearms from blocking his devastating strikes. She'd have to wear long sleeves on their trip to Buenos Aires. Luckily, she had been spared any damage to her face.
As she approached the armory door, she heard him talking inside the secure facility. Constructed of log and timber on the outside, the inside of the armory had been considerably upgraded to store the program's weapons and ammunition. Personal weapons were also kept in the armory, though they served no real purpose in the grand scheme of the program, other than an indulgence. Operatives mastered weapons common to their AO and were familiarized with weapons beyond that scope, in case they were needed in a more general role outside of their specialty area.
She entered the armory and heard the distinctive metallic snap of a rifle bolt sliding forward. Daniel looked up as she crossed the threshold, placed his sniper rifle against the bench, and sprang up to greet her. He had nearly two weeks of grit and camouflage grease on his face, compounded by thick, filthy stubble. She knew he would reek of dirt, sweat and possibly urine, but she didn't care. She embraced him, and they held each other for a few seconds, until one of the other operatives grunted.
"I'll be up in about an hour. We need to clean all of the rifles and stow our gear," he said and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I'd tell the two of you to get a room, but you already have one," said Enrique "Rico" Melendez, ex-marine sniper, and Daniel's most promising trainee.
"Rico, don't upset the lady. I'd hate to see her turn up the heat on you in the 'circle' next week," Daniel said.
"We're not headed back out?" Rico said.
The other trainee started to add to the complaint, but Daniel cut them off. "We're taking a little R&R trip to the city, but we'll be back for next Friday. Jess didn't want to miss out on the fun."
"I need to make sure he's not coddling you guys out there. Put a little balance back into your lives," she said, and her long, black Simknife flashed out of its sheath in a blur.
"Shit. More of that? I thought I wouldn't have to deal with that anymore."
"Nobody has to participate, especially a fragile guy like you, Rico," she taunted, and the other sniper trainee, a harsh-looking Caucasian with a flat nose, blurted out laughing.
"You’re fucking pure evil, you know that? You and your husband. And what are you laughing at, Jared? Who the fuck names their kid Jared, anyway?"
"It's a Jewish biblical name. At least my parents didn't idolize Julio Iglesias. Fucking Rico? Living la vida loca," he started to sing.
"That's Ricky Martin, you racist Hebrew," Enrique countered.
"I thought they were the same, man. They look the same," he whispered.
"Don't make me come over there and shove this sliding bolt where the sun doesn't shine," Enrique said, and Daniel pulled Jessica out of the armory.
"You might want to get out of here before this escalates. It was a long field exercise. I'm really looking forward to spending some time alone with you. Out of here," he said, and they touched hands briefly.
"They're in separate dorms, right?" she said.
"Thankfully. See you in few," he said.
She kissed him again softly. "The quicker you get me out of here, the better chance you have of getting lucky tonight," she said, turning to walk away.
"I thought my chances started at one hundred percent?"
Jessica stopped and turned around. "That's usually at the beginning of any given day, and goes downhill from there, but when you go into the field and leave me here by myself…you start at zero, and work your way back up. Time's a wasting," she said and twirled around again.
She heard him walk back into the armory, followed by some laughter. She accepted the fact that it might be longer than an hour before Daniel reached their "residence."
As part of their agreement with Sanderson, they occupied a stand-alone residence, unlike the rest of the staff and operatives, which didn't strike anyone as particularly unusual, since they were also the only couple at the compound. Sanderson housed the instructors and other support staff, like Munoz, Parker, Farrington and many others, in separate dormitories from the "trainees," due mostly in part because of the continued immersive environment maintained for each SAO's operative.
On the inside, each of these dormitories was a separate world, where the food, merchandise, furniture, appliances, everything, was imported directly from the assigned SAO. Internet service, satellite TV, magazines, books, even the linen, was all designed to give the trainees lasting, imprinted memories that could spell the difference between success and disaster in an overseas operation. They would be required to blend in with local populations on the surface, and the deeper they could take the deception, the better. Something as innocuous as referencing the wrong magazine or an unavailable satellite channel could draw the wrong kind of attention and bring an operation to a grinding halt.
The post and beam house gave them about 800 square feet of privacy, which included a bedroom loft. Designed in a basic A-frame style, the entire first floor was open, except for the home's only bathroom, which was stashed behind the stairs on the right side of the large room. A large two-story stone hearth, with imbedded wood-burning stove, adorned the left side of the structure and kept them toasty during the frigid, snowy winter months. As Jessica opened the unlocked door, she took in the comfortable, rustic design and felt a slight longing for the home in Maine that she couldn't fully erase from her mind. They had done pretty well given the circumstances, but they both wanted more than this life at Sanderson's commando training sanctuary.