Elite (35 page)

Daniel picked up the loaded cartridge, pressing on the top round with his index finger to make sure it was securely in position at the top of the cartridge.

“Now slide the magazine into the hole at the bottom of the gun, and make sure you jam it firmly into place,” Richfield instructed.

Daniel did as he was told.

“Good,” Richfield continued. “Now there are two ways to can move the slide into place. First, you can press the slide release button until the slide moves itself forward.”

Richfield pointed to the release button, but gestured for Daniel to wait before pressing it.

“Or you can do it the man’s way,” Richfield added with a bit of edge to his voice. “Pull back on the slide and then release it.”

Daniel kept the pistol pointed forward, and with his left hand pulled back on the slide and then let go, watching it snap into place over the barrel of the gun.

“Beautiful,” Richfield encouraged. “Now let’s work on your grip.”

Richfield proceeded to show Daniel the correct way to grip the gun, using the three fingers wrapped around the front of the hilt to pull the grip back into his hand, with his right thumb pressing into the grip. His left hand then wrapped around his right, his left thumb pressed against the left side of the grip.

“Now your stance,” Richfield said, moving on to the next lesson. “I’m going to teach you the Weaver Stance, because it’s the best.”

“What about the Isosceles Stance?” Blank chimed in from the back row.

“Fuck the Isosceles Stance!” Richfield yelled back to him.

“Now put your left foot out in front, pointed toward the target, and your right a step behind you at a forty-five degree angle,” Richfield directed, watching Daniel’s feet as he moved. “Feet should be a bit more than shoulder-width apart.”

Daniel got himself into position and held the gun out in front of him, ready to take aim.

“Now make sure you lock your right elbow, and keep your left arm slightly bent, pulling the gun back into your grip.”

Daniel followed Richfield’s instructions, standing ready to shoot.

“We’re going to have you shoot at targets twenty-five yards down range for now,” Richfield explained. “This is pretty average. Most
gunfights happen at seven to twelve feet, but to be honest only thugs and amateurs mess with that crap. If you’re dealing with a trained killer and they’re beyond twenty-five yards away, they probably aren’t going to be using a handgun, and if they’re any closer, they probably aren’t planning on using a gun at all because that’s just plain sloppy. This is why you probably won’t have to worry too much about using your sidearm, but occasionally a thug-amateur does get cocky and we have to be ready to deal with that.

“Now use your left thumb to release you safety and line up your sights.”

Daniel reached with his left thumb over to where the thumb-safety sat near the trigger of the gun, and carefully wrapped his right index finger around the trigger, remembering to maintain the proper grip.

“Remember – place the front sight in the middle of the rear notch, keeping the top of the sight parallel with the top of the notch. Keep your eyes focused on the front sight, and get ready for the kick.”

Daniel smiled. He had already planned to take care of that. He reached back through his neural pathways, feeling each signal as it was sent to each appropriate muscle in his body.

The target was blurry in his vision as he kept his focus on the forward sight. When he finally had it lined up just right, he reached back into his brain and commanded each muscle to freeze, rendering him virtually paralyzed, but with the target perfectly lined up in his sights. A gorilla could have crashed into him and it would not have altered his position.

“Now squeeze the trigger smoothly, making sure not to rub your finger along the inside and messing up your aim,” Richfield commanded. Little did he know it would take a lot more to alter Daniel’s aim in his current state.

Daniel released only the muscles in his right index finger, and began to squeeze the trigger.

The gun fired. Daniel felt the pressure on his hand caused by the recoil of the pistol, but his muscles remained lock, not giving an inch.

He altered is focus from the sight on his
Glock to the target, a bullet hole appearing just a hair right of dead center.

“Not bad,” Richfield commented.

“Steady hands are not going to be an issue,” Daniel commented, beaming with pride after such an impressive first shot.

“Yeah, well it gets harder,” Richfield retorted.

After six more shots Daniel proved that a single stationary target presented very little challenge for him as he was able to line it up and lock onto it every time. However when it came to multiple targets he found himself struggling to line them up in a timely fashion, each time have to twist in his stance, realign his sights, and lock himself back into place. He found himself having to choose between quickness and accuracy.

Even more of a challenge was when Richfield had him try his luck with moving targets. This prevented him from locking his muscles into place as he needed to be able to move along with the targets. This also meant that he had to adjust himself to fend against the recoil of each shot.

These things would all come to him with experience. For now he would just have to accept that a marksman he was not, and hope that Richfield was right about it being one of the least important aspects of being an agent.

“Just shooting at the guy is generally enough to chase him away, and in this line of work, that should be enough,” he had told Daniel when they were leaving the range.

It was a strange realization for Daniel. So much emphasis had been on becoming more than human and being able to kick ultimate ass, and yet he was now learning that eliminating your opponent should be the lowest item on your agenda when out in the field. The first and only priority is keeping the client safe.

The intensity of his previous training now seemed almost excessive in nature, not to mention his surgery. Why in the world did a personal security agency need a super-soldier on their team? It almost seemed to be a waste of his talents.

But it was too late in the game to be asking those questions now. He was here, and he was special, and he owed that to Blank, Richfield, and Horchoff. He was not going to let them down. They had made him more than he could have ever dreamed being, and for that they had gained his loyalty and respect.

“Go get lunch and meet me back at the sparring room,” Richfield told Daniel. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Daniel scarfed down a big taco salad for lunch then made his way to the sparring room. He was curious to see what kind of surprise Richfield had in store for him that afternoon. He hoped he would find Elise waiting for him, reassigned to work with him for another week or more, but he doubted it.

As he walked onto the mats in the combat training area of the complex, Richfield and Blank stood waiting for Daniel in the center of one of the sparring mats.

“Here I am,” Daniel said as he stopped in front of them, ready for his surprise.

“Daniel,” Richfield said, a shit-eating grin on his face, “meet your sparring partner for this afternoon.”

After finishing his brief introduction, Richfield and Blank moved apart, revealing a stout, tan figure jumping up and down behind them, getting himself pumped up for a bout against his new, old foe.

Jitters turned to Daniel and hopped up to him, jerking his head back and forth on his neck in an attempt to get the kinks out.

“Ready for round two?” He asked Daniel in an all-too-cocky manner.

Daniel, now feeling a growing anger for both Jitters and Richfield, pulled his shirt over his head and made his way to the edge of the mat where Richfield was now holding out a pair of gloves for him to wear.

“What is this?” Daniel asked angrily, as he grabbed the gloves out of Richfield’s hands and feverishly pulled them over his own.

“I was watching you a lot last week with Elise,” Richfield explained. “You’ve gotten a hell of a lot better, but you always hold back with her. I want to see what you can do when you let it all out, and this way I can be sure that you will.”

Daniel turned to face his stocky opponent, bouncing up and down in the center of the mat.

As others in the room began to pick up on what was happening, they suddenly began to lose interest in whatever else they were doing and turned their attention to the rematch between Daniel and Jitters about to go down in the center of the room. Even folks from the fitness room next door started making their way over to watch the two arch nemeses throw down.

“Go get your mojo back, Danny Boy,” Blank said into Daniel’s ear before pushing him toward the center of the ring.

The room was silent as the two men began to circle each other. Daniel took the opportunity to start pumping himself up. It was becoming easier to do with each passing day. It was almost second-nature now. All he had to do was open the neural pathways Horchoff had implanted inside his brain and just think about making a certain area of his body stronger and his subconscious mind would sync up and do the rest.

It no longer needed to be his conscious mind sending the signals, as long as the commands were those he had become accustomed to sending. Daniel’s mind had become very familiar with making him stronger.

Emotion also played into the equation, intensifying the command on a subconscious level.

As the two men circled the mat, Daniel could feel his lungs expanding and absorbing at maximum capacity. He could feel oxygenated blood and adrenaline surging to all of the areas he wanted strengthened.

From somewhere in the room one of the agents took the liberty of shouting “Ding, ding!” Jitters took the cue and began dancing around Daniel.

Daniel threw a couple of small jabs every time Jitters got too close, knowing well that the rabbit-quick Jitters would easily dodge each one.

Daniel was more than willing to wait for Jitters to make the first move this time around. He threw the short, little jabs to keep the much smaller and faster Jitters honest, hoping it might entice the little man into attacking, opening himself up to a goliath right hook from Daniel.

This time, one shot would truly be all Daniel needed, and this time he would get that shot.

Again and again, Jitters would bounce his way closer and closer to Daniel, and each time Daniel would jab his left arm to fend him off and send Jitters scurrying back to a safe distance. Jitters thought that he was toying with Daniel – the overly cocky bastard that he was – but little did Jitters know that with each passing swipe of the left, Daniel’s right arm muscles became more and more prepared for an attack of epic proportions.

Then it came.

As Daniel swiped, Jitters jumped quickly to his left. Daniel now appeared vulnerable after his quick jab. Jitters slung his leg upward like an elastic band, generating a great deal of force as it moved toward Daniel’s head.

Daniels jab had been very compact however, and he had more than enough time to move his arm into a position to defend himself from Jitters’ kick. As he brought his arm up into position, he turned his palm outward and locked his arm muscles into position, only his fingers still able to move. The action was similar to the one he had used in the gun range a couple hours earlier, only with far greater contraction in his muscles.

As Jitters’ leg made contact with Daniel’s arm it was like smashing it into a brick wall, not giving an inch even with the impressive amount of force Jitters had been able to put behind it.

At the precise moment Jitter’s shin made contact with Daniel’s open palm, Daniel grasped down hard with his fingers, contracting and locking them into place with the rest of his arm, making it impossible for Jitters to break free from his grip.

There the two men stood in the center of the mat. Daniel, perfectly upright and in control, and Jitters with his leg pinned helplessly up in the air, unable to break free.

With only one leg available to stand on, Jitters had to throw his arms out to the side to maintain his balance, leaving his face wide open.

Daniel put the focus of his now greatly increased strength on the right side of his body, contracting all of his middle and upper body muscles beyond all normal human capacity and drove his fist into Jitters’ face.

Jitters’ dark eyes grew wide as he saw Daniel’s fist headed right for him, completely defenseless to do anything to stop it.

As Daniel’s fist made contact with the bridge of Jitter’s nose, Jitters’ head shot backwards under the force of the impact, blood flying through the air in the direction of Daniel’s fist.

Daniel felt Jitter’s leg go limp as he let it go, leaving Jitters’ unconscious body to flop to the mat like a rag doll.
The fight was most certainly decided.

The room stood in stunned silence, everyone trying to comprehend what had just happened. Never had they seen such a ferocious attack encompassed in just a single blow.

After realizing the need for assistance, the medic stationed in that area of the complex rushed over to aid Jitters, who lay motionless in the center of the mat.

It took a moment for Daniel to come down from the high of his pump. After regaining his composure, he turned and slowly made his way through the silent group of onlookers toward the locker room, not even bothering to glance over at Richfield and Blank.