1 Manic Monday Read online

  Jake found himself smiling just thinking about it. It was good to get his mind off of the upcoming "secret" mission. He hoped he would get a partner to spar that outweighed him considerably or had some high-level training in the martial arts. He was in the mood for a challenge.

  He licked his lips thinking of some of the more aggressive Krav Magra moves to put an enemy on the ground quickly. When it came to fighting, he found he was instinctive, but fought better if he planned the fight in his head prior to engaging. He was certainly flexible, but since many of the encounters for which they trained were over in a matter of seconds, planning the first move and the first counterattack were often the only considerations needed.

  Sergei called them into line and paired them off. Couples would then find a spot and begin the slow sparring, flitting jabs and uppercuts, blocking with slaps, forearm shivers, and elbows.

  Jake was paired with Violet. She smirked and then winked at him. Jake was aware that Violet was very adroit, but he did not imagine she would be much of a match. He fought the urge to be overconfident.

  Sergei, normally staid and humorless, revealed an uneven set of small teeth as he crossed his arms in front of himself and watched as the combatants paired off. His mirth was short-lived as he corrected and pushed students who did not meet his high standards of combat.

  "No. Not like that! No one moves like that. Get your feet under you, closer together. You aren't wrestling like an American. You are in no Sumo match. Turn, turn! That's it! Grab his belt! Grab it!"

  He would yell like that, short staccato bursts of cursing, counsel, and coaxing for the entire ninety minutes. Jake looked forward to hearing his broken English and his demanding regimen.

  Violet was putting on her sparring gloves. She had already donned her head gear, her hair tucked neatly into the padded straps. She wore tight spandex work out pants and a grey tank top already stained with perspiration.

  Jake put a heavy chest pad over his head and strapped on his head gear—a combination of a mask meant for a catcher in baseball and a fencer. He grabbed a knife and began making some feints and jabs, ducking and keeping his elbows out from his sides.

  He lunged, keeping the blade of the knife flat in a modified saber grip. Alternatively, he would bring his elbows down to protect his body and then bring his knife arm up to sweep in. He switched the knife to a backwards grip. The training knife handle was too big for his hand, so he compensated by keeping the blade out and his grip on the outer quillion. He missed the finger ring on his custom knife. It was designed for using in his off-hand so that he could draw and attack with his knife while holding his pistol.

  He sliced the air with a forward punch, bringing the knife edge out as he brought the punch across his body and collapsed his chest. The Krav Magra technique of blocking while punching, commonly called "bursting," was designed to propel a defender's force from their legs in a simultaneous defensive and offensive move. This is what he expected from Violet.

  She had chosen to be the defender first because of that technique. At least, that was his guess. His plan was to attack high in a common mugger's move—go for the jugular. That would be his feint, forcing her to block high and punch high. This would leave her exposed at her middle, and more importantly, at her legs.

  "You ready, Monday?" Her grin was seductive. She was confident. Jake understood that she had worked out an agreement with Sergei.

  He shrugged and returned the smile.

  He glanced across the room at Sergei. Sure enough, he was watching them intently with a smug look on his face. Jake suddenly wanted a chance to spar their instructor.

  "I am as ready as ever. You spend much time in martial arts over at Yale?"

  She raised her eyebrows at that and punched her sparring gloves together, sending talcum flying in the air.

  "Studied Tukong Moosul for five years under my grandfather's friend from Korea," she said proudly. Jake did not miss the intent. She meant to give him a sense of false security. Although Tukong Moosul was a deadly art, it incorporated many twists, kicks, and quick forward punches as well as more subtle throws, grabs, and pressure point exploitations.

  Jake knew she would go for a more aggressive, quick attack meant to embarrass him or send him to the floor in one or two moves. He was even more certain than before that she would use a bursting attack.

  He decided to use his first move to set her up.

  "Alright. Let's do this," he said.

  He stepped in quickly, the padded armor around his body constricting around his neck as he brought his knife hand high in a jab from shoulder height. Violet was six inches shorter than him, so the angle was awkward, but he knew that this would work to his advantage for his counter.

  He expected the block. She intersected his forearm with hers and brought it down at an angle away from her body. What he did not expect was her next move.

  He had been anticipating her heavy blow to his chest or neck region, as per the bursting technique. He had planned to counter by collapsing his back and absorbing the blow as they had been trained during the Spetznaz portion of Sergei's program.

  Jake even had his feet forward and his toes in so that he could execute a side step aimed at hitting the pressure point on the side of her knee and collapsing her base. He intended to follow up with a tackle and a left hook to the temple and a quick right elbow to the nose as he fell on top of her.

  None of that happened, though.

  Instead, she stepped inside his stance, grabbed his off hand by the wrist in a painful grip, and twisted his hand outward. To compliment this move, she stomped on his instep of his right foot and pivoted her hips. The pain and the momentum sent him in a dizzying spin to the mat.

  Before Jake had an opportunity to be embarrassed at the turn of events, he felt Violet collapse her body on top of him, wrapping his left leg between hers, one foot planted in his groin, the other crossed over. Her gloved hands pulled on his left arm, turning the wrist up and around from its natural position.

  The pain was more disconcerting than his shame.

  Jake quickly blunted the pain and put it outside of himself. Through gritted teeth, he pushed off the ground in a wild attempt to flip his body over and reverse her hold. The only way he could save face was to use his superior strength and focus.

  She laughed and pushed down, her foot squeezing his groin and sending his shoulder blades apart. A flare of fire and sharp pain erupted between his shoulder blades. But that pain was dulled by the ache he felt creeping into his lower abdomen from the damage her foot had dealt to his family jewels. Jake closed his eyes.

  That would be a dull ache until dinner time, he estimated.

  He raised his right foot and kicked out at her head. Both of her hands were occupied in pulling his arm out of its socket while breaking his wrist at the same time. She could not protect herself. He heard her grunt. He tried it again and heard Sergei laugh. The whole gym had stopped to watch the spectacle, he saw through a red haze.

  Jake cursed inside and planted his toe under her chin near where jaw line met the soft tissue of her neck. He pushed. Violet screamed. It was a low, guttural scream. Perhaps he had made her angry. Now that he understood that she had been practicing her Sambo, Jake did not care.

  He kicked once more, this time a sweep. He needed the momentum to swing his body out of the lock she had on his arm. At the same time, he leaned forward quickly, pushing his wrist painfully toward her, releasing the pressure from his shoulder. He hoped he would not break his wrist.

  He realized with a mounting fear that his left arm was numb.

  But, he was finally free. He scrambled sideways, seeking the toe of her foot with his right hand. He grabbed it with his thumb on the top of her arch and pulled down as he rolled.

  Violet growled and rolled with him, desperately trying to regain the hold on his legs.

  And then he was free, rolling to his knees and lurching forward to his feet. He whirled to meet her advance and managed to block two quick jabs.
He had lost the knife and the armor was cumbersome.

  She was quicker, more aggressive, and had him cornered.

  Jake fell into a quick trance, realizing that he could only make things worse if he did not get his head back into this game.

  As Violet closed on him, blood staining her perfect white teeth, Jake widened his stance and brought his both hands out to his sides. Violet let out a scream as she brought her foot up in a front kick.

  Jake dodged, used her body as a fulcrum, and ended up behind her. He brought his hands together behind her neck and pushed her supporting leg in from behind, pushing down with his weight over her shoulders. She collapsed.

  He could hear her leg pop.

  That is unfortunate. I hope the company medical plan will cover that, he thought. The voice in his head was full of poison.

  "No!" Violet cried out.

  Jake saw the knife on the ground beside him. He reached down to pick it up, watching Violet grab her injured left leg. He stepped up to her just as she jumped to standing, hobbling on one leg.

  "Done?" He asked. Jake held the knife at his side, his stance relaxed.

  The anger he saw in her eyes was shocking.

  "For now, pretty boy," she said through clenched teeth. She spit blood on the mat.

  Their audience was turning back to their sparring. The room was much quieter, several of the pairs half-heartedly going through the motions.

  "Sorry about your leg," he offered weakly.

  She glowered at him.

  "It's just a sprain. It will heal. I won't go easy on you next time," Violet said as she limped off toward the dressing room. She threw the gloves into a corner.

  Sergei offered her a smile and an approving nod.

  She just lowered her head and continued on, the sweat dripping down her matted hair as she pulled off her head gear.

  Sergei sauntered over, his eyes scanning the pathetic performances around him with a wry smile.

  "You got the upper hand, comrade. You fight well against women. They should not pursue you so much, I would think. Dangerous."

  Sergei Vissarionovich was rarely in a joking mood. Jake did not feel like being the object of his amusement.

  "I do what I must to win. Isn't that what you teach us?"

  He chuckled.

  "I teach no man to play hard-to-get. You take it too seriously, Sergei thinks."

  With that he turned and yelled at the rest of the room, his normal demeanor returned.

  "Everyone stop! No more bad fighting. Go run bleachers! Twenty minutes then shower."

  Jake removed the armor, his clothes soaked in sweat.

  Sergei turned back to him.

  "I think you should go to sauna now before it gets crowded. I think you need extra humidity today." He laughed as he sauntered back to his office. His assistants picked up the sparring equipment and wiped up Violet's blood from the mat.

  Jake frowned and then walked solemnly to the showers. He would be bruised and battered for days. Mostly his pride, though. Maybe Sergei was right. He took things too seriously. He needed a little fun. He made a mental note to find out what Gary had planned this weekend as he put the rubber knife back in its bin and hung the sweaty armor back on its hook.

  Chapter 5

  I Like the Night Life

  Jake looked at the lights of the city sparkling across the waters of Long Island Sound. Jake found that this was his favorite way to experience New York. Whether out here or looking at the city from the south up the Lower Bay, the city looked so clean, pristine, and orderly. He pulled the collar of his overcoat up to cover his neck. The winter wind was brisk out here on the deck of the yacht.

  Everyone else was inside. Drinks were being poured and Jake was uncomfortable with the level of sexual tension in the cabin. Six couples and several single people mingled in the confines of the multi-million dollar yacht. Lawyers, commercial real estate brokers, ad executives, and surgeons mingled with actresses, technology specialists, models, and professional assassins. He cringed, thinking of the prospects of the evening.

  Why are you here, then? Jake asked himself.

  He was startled to attention as a figure came slinking up to him in the semi-darkness. Jake had hoped this part of the deck would remain private. He needed some space to think. He was disappointed to see someone had found him.

  "I love the lights out here. It makes the city look like a huge Christmas ornament," Giselle said, her breath catching in the frigid wind.

  Jake smiled.

  Gary would want to take credit for this “date.” Jake knew that Gary secretly coveted Ms. Chaput’s company for himself. He never should have told Gary that he needed a break. The yacht was owned by one of Gary's friends at Galbraith, Paul Weston III, an executive in recruiting who had rich parents and even richer in-laws. Paul was asleep below deck, his wife still partying loudly with the revelers in the cabin.

  Giselle Chaput was a remarkable specimen, Jake had to admit. Her porcelain skin was delicate, her arms well-defined, and her hair like a long, flowing, golden silk scarf. Jake had guessed that she was a model.

  Man, was I ever wrong, Jake thought.

  "Are you staying in New York long?"

  At this Giselle smiled wryly and arched an eyebrow.

  "I suppose I could be persuaded to stay a little longer. Perhaps I could stay to watch the ball drop in the Big Apple this year."

  Jake had been avoiding her advances all evening. , Since she was technically his date, he should have expected some interest in further contact. Her pursuit was mostly subtle. However alluring her charms, Jake found himself increasingly uncomfortable.

  You are just crazy, he chastised himself.

  "The holidays in New York are amazing," he admitted as he turned back to the lights.

  He felt her get closer to him and take his arm in hers.

  "It is so cold out here," she said.

  "I like the cold."

  She put her head on his shoulder, facing the lights. He resisted the temptation to turn to look at her face. He knew he would not be able to resist the enchantment of her illumined by the lights reflecting off the water. He closed his eyes, concentrating. He tried to avoid the image of her blue eyes sparkling, looking up at him.

  "Gary says you are very private. Very shy."

  "Gary talks too much," he said, allowing a smile to touch his lips.

  She chuckled at this.

  "That is what my friend Melissan says, too."

  "So you aren't a model, after all. Are you sure?"

  "Oh, I am positive."

  "So, how long have you been working for Sinegem?"

  "It might be hard to believe, but I was recruited in 2009 when Sinegem first became publicly traded."

  "Who owned it before that?"

  "China, of course."

  "I see. So were you always a corporate spy?"

  He could feel her smile against his shoulder.

  "No. I was a model."

  "Ah. So I wasn't too far off."

  "Sinegem saw that I could be quite persuasive and began training me to infiltrate other companies to obtain corporate secrets, recruit key personnel, or act as a liaison in matters regarding mergers or take-overs."

  Jake was impressed. He wanted to be ambivalent.

  "I have to admit that you seem to have quite a resume."

  She looked up at him, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. Her hand snaked its way inside his coat and caressed his chest through his shirt.

  "I didn't know this was an interview, Mr. Monday," she said, her voice sultry.

  "I usually have my dates more properly vetted, to be sure," he said.

  "Speaking of qualifications, Mr. Monday, I still do not know what you do for a living," she teased.

  Jake understood that under that teasing tone was a serious question. For a moment, he considered telling the truth. Would the truth surprise her? Would it push her away? He could only hope. Despite what his body was saying, he did not need this.


  "Once your interview is finished, I will be happy to answer your question."

  She raised her eyebrows and stepped away from him. She crossed her arms in front of her. She did not wear a coat. He almost felt sorry for her.

  "What more do you need to know about me? You already said I was impressive." She sounded closer to serious now. He preferred that. He didn't want to cloud his impression of her with a false sense of motivation or intent. Honesty was always better.

  Gary thought that Giselle had been his idea. Jake knew the truth. This was a sanctioned Galbraith meeting. Gary was a convenient middle man. He would be shocked to know how he had been used. His ego would be bruised for days. Sinegem was a client. If the material in the folder was any indication, Giselle might just be his next assignment. She had not been named, but the synopsis had indicated a corporate spy was threatening corporate interests.

  This meeting was even more curious than it seemed.

  "I am just being cautious."

  She looked at him warily.

  "What have you been told?"

  He shrugged.

  "I don't think it matters what others say. I need to hear it from you directly."

  "What, exactly?" She had not moved her arms. She was obviously cold. Jake enjoyed making her squirm.

  "Why Sinegem wants to hire an assassin."

  He let it hang there in the moist, cold air. He watched her closely, looking for surprise. He was disappointed. She never batted an eye.

  Why do I always underestimate women? Jake asked himself.

  "I thought you came here tonight to have some fun," she replied, disappointment gracing each word like icing dripping from a cake.

  "This is fun."

  She shook her head and took his arm again, nuzzling beside him. She felt colder than before. Stiff. The magic had died. He had offended her. It was better this way. No more pretending.

  He was not sure she would answer. He tried to make himself impervious to her charms. It was difficult. Somehow, he felt that something more was at stake here than information.

  "I have a different idea of fun," she said huskily.