“Any volunteers for today’s demonstration?” Montenegro asked, adjusting the rawhide around her forehead.
Three men and two women stepped forward, everybody else stayed in place.
“All right, begin,” Montenegro said calmly, both hands at her side.
Instantly, the group of five charged forward, three of the students assuming the cat stance, the last two dropping into the horse position. Separating fast, they all converged on Montenegro from different directions.
“Pitiful,” Kirkland muttered. “Five will get you six she drops them all in under a minute.”
“No bet,” Bolan said, shaking his head.
As the first student got close, she collapsed into a dragon crouch and did a leg sweep. Swaying out of the way, Montenegro caught the foot by the ankle, and twisted, sending the woman tumbling away.
Extending both arms, a man dove forward, obviously intent on trying merely to touch the teacher. Montenegro ducked under the arms, then spun around the man and slammed him in the back, adding her force to his own rush. Out of control, he slammed into the cushioned wall and rebounded, bleeding profusely from a broken nose.
The third student flipped over backward like an acrobat to land in the drunken monkey position, both arms raised for a double strike. A split second later, Montenegro buried her heel into the stomach of the man. Turning bright red, he doubled over, gasping and choking.
The last two students immediately retreated slightly, circling the motionless Montenegro. Then they both moved with blinding speed, the man chopping for her neck, while the woman kicked for a knee. A classic hi-lo formation.
Swatting aside the punch, Montenegro lashed out a foot to block the kick, then threw the man over her shoulder to crash into the woman. They went down in a tangle of limbs.
“Enough!” Montenegro called, straightening her stance. “Now, class, what was wrong with—” Spinning, she blocked a punch from the man with the bloody nose, then effortlessly flipped him sideways.
“While I applaud your tenacity, Steven,” Montenegro said, walking closer to stand over the panting man. “The next time you attack after I called a stop, I’ll break both of your arms.”
“Yes, sensei,” he muttered, his face pressed into the mat.
“Only try something fancy when you’re desperate,” Montenegro continued, kneeling to massage his spine with her knuckles. Almost instantly, the bleeding stopped and he began to breath more easily.
“Better?” Montenegro asked, ceasing the administrations.
“Better,” he muttered, stiffly getting to his feet. “You’re fast, sensei.”
“True. So never underestimate an opponent,” Montenegro said sternly, then turned about. “All right, class, as I was saying…” Her voice faded away at the sight of Bolan and Kirkland across the room.
“What the hell are you two doing…aw, crap,” Montenegro said, yanking off the rawhide strip.
Politely, Bolan gave a short bow of respect, while Kirkland waved in greeting. “Hiya, toots! How’s tricks?”
Scowling in annoyance, Montenegro deeply inhaled, then sighed. “Barbara!”
“Yes, ma’am?” replied the short blonde wearing the brown belt.
“Please take over for me. Work on disarming an opponent armed with a knife without breaking their bones. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Days,” Bolan corrected.
“After that, who knows?” Kirkland added with a grin.
Frowning for a moment, Montenegro then shrugged in acceptance. “Barbara, the class is yours until further notice.”
Barbara seemed flustered. “But, ma’am—”
“Hey now, wait just a damn minute!” said a burly man wearing a white belt. “I came here for Montenegro, not some teenager barely out of diapers!”
Without comment, Barbara stepped sideways to grab him by the wrist, then twisted hard, sending him to the mat. Then she buried a thumbnail into his throat. Twitching with unbelievable pain, the man broke into a sweat, his mouth opening and closing, but nothing coming out.
“What were you saying again?” Barbara asked, easing her grip.
“Yes, sensei,” he wheezed softly.
“Senpai,” Barbara corrected. “I’m only a teacher, not a master.”
Seeing that everything was in order, Montenegro bowed to the class, then crossed the mats to kiss Bolan warmly on the cheek. “Nice to see you again, Blackie.”
“Same here, Heather.” Bolan smiled. “You look great.”
“You, too!” Montenegro chuckled.
“I see you’ve updated the curriculum,” Kirkland said diplomatically.
“Shut up! Never speak to me again,” Montenegro growled. “And just who the hell do you think you are?”
Confused by that, Kirkland struggled to formulate a response as Montenegro strode down the hallway to the locker room.
After a moment, the men followed.
“So, where are we going, jungle or desert?” Montenegro asked, taking off the black belt before going into a private changing stall.
“We’ll discuss that somewhere less public,” Bolan said, leaning against the wall. “But pack light.”
There came the sound of a running shower. “Guns, guts and garters?”
“That sounds about right.”
“If you need any help with the garters, just let me know,” Kirkland said teasingly.
“Why, are yours slipping?” Montenegro asked as the shower stopped. “Colonel, are you sure that we need the shaved ape?”
“Wouldn’t have brought Bill along if he wasn’t necessary,” Bolan said, trying not to grin. “And call me Matt during this gig.”
“Matt it is,” Montenegro replied. “I suppose that somebody has to carry the luggage.”
“Heather, don’t say things like that!” Kirkland exclaimed in a shocked voice. “We don’t think of you as the luggage! More like…deadweight.”
Just then, the door swung open and Montenegro stepped out of a steamy cloud. She was still barefoot, but was now wearing a loose khaki shirt tucked into cargo shorts that showed a lot of leg. Her tousled hair was damp, but Montenegro was wearing full makeup, with jade earrings and a silver necklace.
“What happened to your legs?” Bolan asked in surprise.
“Laser surgery,” she replied, stepping into sneakers. “Scars make a man look tough, but aren’t very attractive on a woman.”
Just then, his cell phone vibrated and he took the call.
“Heads up! The main NASA launch facility at Cape Canaveral has just been attacked,” Bolan announced. “Over a hundred dead, including the head of NASA. The assembly building is gone, along with the prototype for the new Falcon rocket. Most of the base is on fire…”
He scowled. “Okay, Base. Striker out.” He put away the cell phone.
Instantly, the atmosphere in the locker room changed.
“Okay, I brought a full kit, and Matt has an arsenal,” Kirkland said quickly. “Anything special you need at home?”
“Yes, some new Glocks that I’ve been training with, and my body armor,” Montenegro replied, tucking away the knife.
“Don’t