CI: Take Me Anywhere Chapter Three

Richard Eames was not okay with the idea of his daughter armed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He did. But it was so much easier for him to lay the responsibility for his daughter’s safety on someone else’s doorstep, namely Goren’s. Maybe it was the fact that the two of them were already conspiring against him: He had to hear about a purchase of a gun for his little girl from one of his spies, a/k/a the other guards who overheard them. This was not exactly what he had planned when he hired outside help to look after his daughter – instead of being kept in the loop, details were being kept secret instead.

So, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, a quiet day in the castle, Alex and Goren crept down an old winding stone staircase that was supposed to lead to an old basement that had been converted into an underground shooting range that not many people used anymore, let alone knew about. As a country with a history of peace – where firearms and gun laws have never been a problem, where the royals were for the most part cared for and lauded after, not threatened – so far as the secret service in the castle never felt an overwhelming need to use the place much.

They began this excursion right after brunch.

And they were still descending.

Alex brushed her hair out of her face, “How far down is it? I’m getting vertigo.”

“I think I heard my ears pop about three floors ago,” Goren conceded, like Alex keeping his hands out to his sides to brush the narrow stone walls to help him navigate the spirals in the low lighting. “According to the map,” he waved the folded paper and flashlight, “it shouldn’t be much farther.”

Of course. No wonder Alex felt like she’d been dragged around the castle by him since she’d met him: He’d memorized the floor plans. He led her around the palace practically by her ear. It irritated her that he all of a sudden knew the place so well. It was HER palace! Meanwhile she couldn’t even find the bathroom.

“Ha!” she heard him call out in success as he rounded the last corner before her. She forced her gaze down to maneuver the last few uneven cobblestone steps. She had gotten out of the heels hours ago but she still felt like she was walking on stilts. He glanced back at her and absentmindedly offered his hand, which, under the circumstances, she gratefully took to help her hop off the uneven last step, and looked up.
“Huh,” she marveled with him. “Who knew?” Before them was a thick, soundproof Plexiglas door through which you could see the range: a half a dozen dividers designated the spots each with a pulley system that allowed you to hang your target and move it downrange toward the new walling that had been put in to absorbed the bullets. It wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art, but it would work. The view took some getting used to: the mix of the centuries old stone and the new-age technology.

Alex followed him through the door. The air was stale because of the tight seal the soundproofing had created, whereas the rooms in other parts of the building were high and breezy. Goren put the case he had been carrying down on the counter. The locks clicked open and in the case sat Alex’s new handgun – a .99 mm Glock. Goren picked up the piece and began fiddling with it. He’d been quiet ever since their day in the conference room, when she’d first learned about the threats on her life. And besides the crack on the stairs earlier, Alex was finding he wasn’t a real talkative guy. Meanwhile, Alex had to spill her life story and movements on a regular basis.

“So where are you from?” she ventured, as she stood helplessly to the side.

The personal question visibly threw him, his hands on the gun stilled. “Um . . . a lot of places,” he resumed concentration on his task, removing pieces, examining them, and putting them back together.

Alex didn’t appreciate the brush-off, “A lot of places?” she crossed her arms, “What the hell does that mean?”

He shrugged, “Means I’ve lived in a lot of places. Grew up in many places, many countries.” Alex studied him, obviously uncomfortable under scrutiny. “Here, I . . . I’ll show you how to load it.”

Fifteen minutes later, Alex took a strong stance and lifted the gun downrange, finger off the trigger. Goren stood behind her and reached around her with his right hand. “See this . . . this divot in the front on the gun, and the white dot, back here,” he explained patiently, fingering the items with his thumb and index finger. “You line the dot in between the two divots and your target on top.”

He adjusted his body closer to hers, his arm brushing hers to point out some aspect of the weapon. At first, his movements were hesitant – a combination of her standoffishness and his nervousness. But, as they both focused on their task and their roles as teacher and student, he became more confident. His hands danced across her body, once to adjust her shoulders, again to tighten her grip in one place, loosen it in others. It kept her slightly on edge, not knowing where she’d feel him next.

His fingertips slid down her arms, starting at her shoulders and ending at her fingertips, where he gripped harder.

Once to her wrists to fine-tune them.

Her hips to straighten them.

Her thigh to move her leg into a stronger stance.

She was hyperaware of his close proximity and when it was actually time to shoot, she had to take a few deep breaths to better concentrate on the figure eight her hands naturally made. Alex inhaled, exhaled, watching the movement of her gun, and squeezed the trigger with her fingertip. The kickback pushed her more firmly against his chest. The effort forced him to take a step back and steadied her by gripping both her elbows.

They were suspended for a moment . . . just like that. Alex felt his hands grip her tighter and, for just a moment, she let herself sink back into him ever so slightly. Then, just as suddenly, the air broke. Goren cleared his throat and eased her back steadily onto her feet. Alex let out an uneven breath and brushed herself off.

He reached around her to pull the target back to them to examine. There, in the upper left area of the paper was a perfect round hole. It wasn’t the bull’s-eye, but it was the quadrant she had been aiming for.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, as happy with her as his ability to teach, which he wasn’t sure in – people tended to be turned off by his seemingly unrelated tangents. But anytime he lost her, she’d stop him assertively and tell him to slow down and clarify.

At first his efforts were clumsy – he wasn’t used to being part of a team. He usually worked alone – his hirers preferred he deal with whatever the circumstances were by himself, give them an occasional update, but let them know when it was all done. But this case was different . . . Alex was different.

They stood so close Alex could smell the mix of her spray with his cologne, heightened by the enclosed windowless space and the heat of their bodies. And Alex noted the scent wasn’t completely unappealing.

“Germany,” he murmured, he had his head down as he was loading another clip.

Alex shook her head, still lost in her own thoughts, “Huh?”

“Germany. I was, ah, I was born in Germany. I was an ARMY brat and I was born in Germany. But I grew up mostly in New York.”

Alex couldn’t help the softening of her features and the small smile on her lips.

“I’ve . . . never told anyone that.”

TBC