When he was in Washington, Casey preferred to go to the NSA gym with its state-of-the-art equipment monitored by the agency's best physicians, kineticists and top-notch trainers who understood what was required to mold the agents under their charge into human weapons that were a precise meld of mind, bone and muscle.

When he wasn't in Washington, Casey made do with a local fitness pit.

Pushing open the glass door and shifting the equipment bag slung over his shoulder so it would fit through the opening, Casey walked in and approached the front desk. He swiped his membership card in the reader and then pocketed it to head for the change room where he switched his usual black ensemble for specially developed NSA trainers designed to look like a popular brand of shoe – complete with the swoosh – a pair of shorts, a long-sleeved shirt of lightweight, flexible fabric and soft but durable neoprene fingerless exercise gloves with a desert camo print.

Putting his equipment bag on the wooden bench that ran down the room in front of the bank of lockers, Casey carefully folded his street clothes and tucked them inside, then took a smaller nylon bag out. He did a final close inspection of the locker he had chosen, making sure the door wasn't bent in any way and the interior was clean before placing his equipment bag inside. As he closed the door to the locker – which was as far away from the entrance to the change room as he could get and on the side of the room that would allow him to see the doors to both the exit and the steam room – he pressed a small length of thread against the frame and held it in place until it was caught by the closed door. If anyone opened and then closed the locker again while he was away, he would know immediately by the position of the thread.

When Casey was satisfied that his makeshift trip system had been properly set up, he hooked a special NSA combination lock through the holes on the locker's handle and closed it, wheeling the dial around after the hasp had snicked into place. It was special because the casing was thicker to make it harder to hear or feel what the tumblers were doing, and any cracker who had the patience to roll through ten digits instead of the usual three deserved to take possession of Casey's sweaty socks.

Walking into the warm-up area, Casey scanned quickly in all directions and, without pausing, headed for the far corner, scooping up an elastic stretch band on the way and depositing it and his small bag on the floor in an empty space near a wall completely covered with mirror. He opened his bag and extracted a bottle of water, twisting open the lid and taking a mouthful. As he swished the water around in his mouth, he turned slowly and made one more assessment of the room and its occupants.

Some of the usual gym rats were here for this time period. Casey didn't always see the same group of people on each visit. His job didn't allow for regular or consistent scheduling of workout times, and even it if had, it would be bad field practice to show up always on the same days and at the same times. Despite this, Casey was becoming familiar with the people who did operate in this fashion.

There was the guy over there doing crunches on the floor in search of the perfect six-pack. His form needed some adjustment since all he would succeed in doing by flailing around like that was pulling something and going flabby when he couldn't exercise anymore.

The woman with pretty much no body fat was hopping around and punishing a large sandbag with short, sharp jabs, hard and tanned and glistening and about as sexy as a six-day bus trip. At least to Casey's tastes, anyway.

And off to his left, there was another woman he recognized, the one with the big butt and thighs who, headphones from her MP3 player firmly screwed into her ears and eyesight turned inwards, was doggedly doing half-squats and wobbly lunges, exhibiting a rare sort of courage by even being here trying to get fit. Casey hoped her friends and family either actively helped her or at least stayed out of her way, and he noted the improvement in her shape from the first time he had seen her at the gym, barely able to bend her knees but holding back her tears and trying anyway.

Finally satisfied that there didn't appear to be any bad guys about, Casey began to do some warm-up stretches, sometimes holding onto the barre that ran along the mirrored wall.

Every few seconds, he remembered to check in the mirror to see what was going on behind him. This meant he couldn't concentrate on his stretches the way he would have liked to, the way he could at the NSA training facility, but better safe than sorry, and caution and attentiveness were so ingrained in him after all these years that Casey wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he slept with his eyes open.

Finished with simple stretching, Casey took another mouthful of water before picking up the elastic band and using it to repeat his stretches while adding a bit of resistance. He continued with the mirror-checking routine and, when he felt he was limber enough to change exercises, put his water bottle into his bag and moved to the weight room.

When he got there, Casey had to make do with the only machine available. Pretty busy in here today. He put his bag beside the leg machine and leaned down to check the weight level, pulling the small pin out and moving it down to add two more metal bars of resistance. He then got a spray bottle and towel out of his bag and misted the padded seat and hand grips lightly before swiping the towel across them, disinfecting the apparatus quickly and efficiently. Casey was conscious of how swiftly an agent could be knocked out of commission by something as innocuous as a cold or virus. He wasn't a big fan of not being able to do his job. Plus he wasn't too interested in sitting in another guy's butt sweat.

He sat down and adjusted his hips into a comfortable position before grasping the handholds and placing his feet squarely on the rectangular platforms that were attached to the stack of weights behind him.

The weight room was where a regular gym visit always got a bit tricky. Proper use of the machines didn't allow Casey to turn his head, thereby limiting his field of view, and there were usually no handy mirrors nearby. It was much more difficult than in the warm-up section to keep tabs on his surroundings. If Casey were training at the NSA facility, he could afford to let his guard down – as much as he was ever able to do so – and concentrate on his form and counting reps. Here, he felt the overwhelming compulsion of an active agent to remain vigilant so it meant his brain would have to work just as hard as his body during the workout. In a way, it was even more exhilarating, since the oxygen pumping through his tissues helped him to stay alert. It just meant he had to forgo some of the more visceral aspects of the kind of hard, sweaty, targeted workout a protected environment offered.

And pushing the experience to another level for Casey was the feeling of almost complete nakedness. He had a nice little piece in his small bag, of course, tucked into a secret holster attached to the inside of one end of the bag. It was right there within easy reach, but Casey was used to the feeling of maybe a handgun concealed in his back waistband or nestled up snug under his arm and covered by a suit jacket, ankle holsters and knife sheathes adorning his body the way some women wore jewelry, secure in the position it gave them in society and conferring an entitled confidence to the wearer.

As Casey got into a rhythm, remembering to breathe and not turn his feet out, he was instantly aware when the man started watching him. While keeping his head directed to the front, Casey flicked his eyes over and back again to get a better look. He slowed down the motion of his legs a bit just in case he had to dismount quickly and go for his gun, and when the man began to approach, Casey calculated how long it would take him at his present rate of speed to reach the optimum point at which the agent would have to make a move to retrieve his weapon. Luckily, the man stopped just before he reached that point.

A little loudly so his voice would carry over the general noise of the room, the man said, "Finish out. I'll wait," and crossed his arms in front of his chest, standing unmoving with feet apart and looking at Casey with a carefully assessing gaze.

Casey figured he should do about ten more reps to make it look good just in case this wasn't some kind of bad guy confrontation, and when he was done, made to stand up. The man moved quickly to stop him with a light hand on one of the foot platforms and said, "No, stay. I'm a new trainer here. I was just watching you work out. Nice form."

Casey, feeling his usual caution in situations with civilians, looked up at the man and grunted. Nothing for it now. The man was in between him and his gun. Maybe he was what he said he was. If not, Casey could always buckle the guy's knee with the quick application of a foot to the outside of the joint, ripping out the ligaments and crippling him in one motion.

Satisfied that this was a good backup plan, Casey grunted out a low, "Thanks," and waited to see what the man was going to do next.

"My name's Eustace Greenwood," the man said, extending a brown-skinned hand. "I hope you don't mind. I was hoping that, if you don't already have a trainer, I might give you some pointers today. If you like what you hear, maybe you'll want to hire me to help you out."

Casey was about to dismiss the man with a glare and another grunt when the trainer continued. "You Forces? I was Marines. Two tours."

Casey took another less cursory look at the man. That's what it was about him. A kindred spirit. Reaching up and grasping Greenwood's proffered hand, Casey said, "Nice to meet you. Mike Brewer. Former Air Force."

"Ha! I knew it!" the man exclaimed, smiling broadly as he pumped Casey's hand. Casey allowed himself a little smile at the man's enthusiasm. Well, this had already gone probably a bit too far. Might as well see what the guy had to offer. It might be entertaining to act like real people for an hour or so. Casey decided to think of it as a cover practice exercise and relaxed his face into a genuine welcoming smile as Greenwood said, "Mike. Let's get started. I've got some ideas you might like."

They spent some more time on the leg machine, and Casey was surprised to feel a little excitement when Greenwood got him to change the position of his hands on the grips just a small amount. The adjustment allowed him to produce a bit more energy down and through his legs, making this weight level feel suddenly lighter and easier to push. This guy was good.

They then moved to an arm machine that had become vacant and Greenwood did another assessment of Casey's movements before making a couple of suggestions that, when Casey followed them, resulted in an immediate improvement in the ratio of energy expended to exercise accomplished.

And then it happened. Casey was having fun. He mentally scolded himself when he realized that he had forgotten to scan the room for a whole minute, and when his smile disappeared, Greenwood's face clouded over as well.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Nothing hurting, I trust?"

"No, that's okay," Casey replied, bringing his movements to a halt. "I just remembered I've got someplace to go, that's all."

Standing up and then stooping back down to grab the nylon bag, Casey turned to face Greenwood. The man pulled a business card out of a small pocket on his shirt and handed it to Casey, saying, "Well, Mike, I hope I haven't scared you off. Us military guys have to stick together."

Casey put the card in an outside pocket of his bag, then held his hand out for a shake. As the men pumped hands again, Casey said, "Thanks, Eustace, that was great. I'll certainly think about giving you a call," and he paused and gave Greenwood a half-smile tinged with regret before turning to go to the change rooms.


After Casey took a quick shower and changed back into his street clothes, he exited the building and returned to the Crown Vic, activating the security override and tossing his gym bag onto the back seat. He reached into the bag's pocket, pulled Greenwood's business card out, and got into the driver's seat, fastening his seat belt. Before he started her up to leave, however, he pulled a cell phone out of a small cubby hole under the dash and dialed a ten-digit number. He then entered six more numbers and raised the phone to his ear before saying, "Casey, secure," into the mouthpiece.


Eustace Greenwood had spent an enjoyable afternoon with the Air Force guy. The man had more than the basics down pat and Eustace was proud that he had been able to show Mike – what was his name again? – oh, yeah, Mike Brewer – something a bit new. Maybe he'd be lucky and get a call from the man. His first client! And somebody it wouldn't be a chore to train. Eustace knew they wouldn't all be like Mike. Hell, he knew that probably none of his future clients would be like Mike, somebody who actually enjoyed the rigors of physical activity the way only a real serviceman or woman could.

He couldn't wait to tell Neesie. She'd be thrilled. Maybe he'd take her out for a romantic dinner and make it an event. He walked into his office and picked up the phone, hit speed dial number one and said in a low, seductive voice, "Bernice, how would you like to go out for dinner with the most handsome, most successful fitness trainer in L.A.?"


After he had finished for the day and showered and changed into a nice casual set of trousers and a sports jacket that he kept in his office for just such eventualities, Eustace walked out into the foyer of the gym. As he was about to push the front door open, calling out, "'Bye, Nancy!" he stopped and snapped his fingers, whirled around and walked back to the front desk.

"Nancy, can you please get the file on a Mike Brewer and put it on my desk for me for tomorrow? I might be able to drum up some business."

"Oh, good for you, Eustace," Nancy said as she swiveled around in her chair and tapped the keys on the keyboard. After a moment, her brow creased in puzzlement. "Brewer, did you say?" she asked, looking up at Greenwood. "We don't have a Mike Brewer in the system."

"Well, you must have," Greenwood insisted, coming around the front desk to stand behind the woman as she tried again. "Tall guy, white, big arms, short brown hair, looks around a lot."

"Oh, him," Nancy said, a sly smile forming on her face. "Mr. Sexpants. I don't know why I can't find it. I saw him sign in and sign out today."

Eustace, a bit scandalized, gaped at Nancy for a moment as she explained, "It's kind of a lottery around here, who gets to be on desk duty when he comes in. I won today."

Laughing as he moved back out from behind the counter, Greenwood shook his head in amusement and said, "Well, if you wouldn't mind having another look, I'll see what I can do to make sure he comes around here a lot more often."

Once again going towards the door to leave, Greenwood had to retrace his steps when Nancy called out, "Eustace, you have a call. The woman says it's really important. I'll put it through to your office on line three."

Now he was going to be late meeting Bernice. Well, it couldn't be helped, and Greenwood marched back to his office hoping that this really was important so he could use it as an excuse for making her wait. He picked up the phone's handset and punched the flashing button, saying a curt, "Hello?"

The woman's voice on the other end was all business. "Mr. Eustace Greenwood?" she asked and waited for his confirmation. "My name is General Diane Beckman. I have a proposal that you might be interested in."

Eustace listened, dumbstruck, as the woman outlined a very generous offer from the NSA of a job in Washington, D.C., as a physical trainer in their new agent program. The catch was it started immediately and was only being offered once. Could he pick up the first-class tickets at LAX and fly out right away and, of course, bring Bernice, certainly. They had an attractive position in her field she might be interested in as well.

Eustace eagerly replied that he could. Now, this was something that he and Bernice could really celebrate!


The following evening, Casey listened to the general as she informed him of Greenwood's acceptance of the position and thanked him for the lead. The agency's latest recruitment drive meant that they were going to need competent trainers in all departments and she asked him to keep his eyes open for more hopefuls in any discipline.

Before she signed off, the general commented on the speed of Casey's decision to make the recommendation.

Casey looked at the floor for a moment before raising his head to reply. "I'm afraid I compromised myself, General. I had to act quickly to maintain my cover."

The general nodded her head, understanding immediately.

"Friendship can sneak up on a person very quickly, Major. You did the right thing. I'm afraid you can't use that facility anymore, though. We hacked in and erased all of your records. Let me know which gym you select so we can send some personnel in to do a sweep. We'll try to get you back to your exercise regimen as soon as possible."

When the screen had blacked out, Casey turned and went into the kitchen to start preparing his supper. It had been nice, having a friend for one afternoon. He marveled for a moment that lots and lots of people had the opportunity to have friends for life. As he pulled open the refrigerator door, Casey hoped that they knew what a privilege that was.