[Brackets] (34 page)

“So you side with Many Hands?” Tucker couldn’t keep the tone of incredulity from his voice, and Mongkut heard it.

“No, no, not at all. It is my opinion that they are a very dangerous organization, and certainly not to be trusted. They did not come through the front door, to use your American expression. They are a threat to our political system, but the prime minister is a politically expedient man.” Now it was Mongkut who couldn’t conceal a tone of disgust. “He understands that it will not be the Chinese who will re-elect him, so he is reluctant to alienate the many people who depend upon Many Hands. He has not been pleased with the ambassador’s decision to attract the world’s attention in this way.”

“So is Wol Pot going to lose his job?” Tucker wondered for the first time what Wol Pot’s decisions might mean for his many staff members. Mongkut smiled and squared his shoulders.

“Perhaps. But not before d
oing all he can. He is a very crafty politician, despite appearances. He will work hard to keep as many doors open as possible, until it becomes clear which door is the right one.
”

Tucker swallowed hard. This was his best opening. “I think I might be able to
help
with one
of those doors,” he said softly,
feeling a little light-headed now that the moment had arrived
. “I actually have something for the ambassador, if you would be willing to give it to him. It’s from me and a couple of friends that really want the best for your country. It’s one of the reasons I invited you here.”

Tucker unzipped his bag and removed some bubble-wrap from around a wooden frame. Inside the frame was a copy of Tucker’s perfect bracket, all of the winners highlighted through the Sweet Sixteen. In his sloppy cursive, he had signed it, “To
Ambassador Wol Pot: Champions Endure.” Mongkut smiled widely.

“March Madness!” he said, holding the frame closer so he could read the teams. “My class at medical school would have a brackets contest every year. I was very bad.”

“Most people are.”

“This is amazing. Did you really get them all right?”

Tucker felt suddenly embarrassed, getting praise for tournament picks from a man whose leader had just finished a daring international gambit. “So far. We’ll see how I do after the Elite Eight.”

“I am certain you will be successful, after so many intelligent guesses.” Mongkut carefully folded the bubble wrap back around the frame. “The Ambassador will be pleased. It is a rare and unusual gift.”

“Yeah
,” Tucker said, remembering his task at hand. “It was r
eally the id
ea of some new friends of mine. If the ambassador doesn’t like the frame, he should feel free to change it.”
He pronounced the last words slowly, deliberately. Mongkut looked up into his face quickly and read his meaning.

“
I see,” he said, inspecting the frame. “
I think you should give this to him yourself,” he said.

“Uhhhh…” Tucker uttered. He hadn’t expected that. “No, thank you, I’m sure he’s still tired from everything this week, and I know you all gotta pack. You can go ahead and deliver that for me.”

“Please,” said Mongkut earnestly. “I believe he would be greatly honored by your visit.” Tucker paused
indecisively
, but the doctor seemed insistent.

“Fine,” Tucker surrendered.

“Very good,” said Mongkut, looking back through the door at the players waiting for them restlessly on the court. “But first, one more game.”

*
             
*
             
*
             
*

They drove up to the Mollifly Motel in a non-descript car with tinted windows, driven by a member of the ambassador’s security team. Tucker sat in the back with Mongkut, and even though he’d showered just ten minutes earlier, he was sweating.

When they reached the police barricade, the car slowed down
and rolled past the place that had been
crowded
with Lena’s
fellow vigil-keepers
just a few days before. The area was empty now, save for some litter, some congealed wax, and a few leftover signs drawn in crude magic marker. A news truck was parked just down the street, but it was closed and locked. Tucker was glad. He didn’t know if he’d most fear being seen by Lena, Tonkin,
or Carla
; any footage of him going into Wol Pot’s locked motel room would make his life much more complicated than it had already become.

Wol Pot and his delegation occupie
d just one small room on a floor that smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and Indian take-out
. There were five people crammed inside but very little activity. The ambassador was lying on his bed calmly, dressed lightly in spite of the chill outside. Wol Pot looked visibly thinner, weaker, his characteristic glimmer diminished. But he still smiled when Tucker came in. The old man recognized the student, and he reached out a hand for Tucker to shake.

“I give you my thanks for removing my physician from the room for a few hours. He has been making me eat and drink things and they have not agreed with me well.”

Tucker laughed obligingly, but Mongkut moved forward quickly and put the framed bracket in Wol Pot’s hands.

“Tucker and
his
friends wanted to send a gift to you with their compliments to Thailand,” he said, glancing back at Tucker.

“I read of this,” said Wol Pot as he examined the gift. “The Perfect Bracket of Mr. Tucker Barnes. I was given your school newspaper and saw the article on the sports page. It helped me to forget about eating for several hours.” The ambassador looked at the gift thoughtfully and quietly repeated the phrase ‘Champions Endure’.

Tucker tried not to look self-conscious as Mongkut leaned down to speak quietly in the ambassador’s ear, then removed the back of the frame. Wol Pot lifted the bracket out and saw the small note card taped to the back. The room was completely, attentively, stiflingly silent as the old man considered the message. Finally, the ambassador closed the
frame
, looked knowingly at his physician, and leaned his head against the wall.

“In your tournament,” the ambassador
addressed
Tucker, “there is a phrase, ah, for a team that is small but achieves beyond
their expectations. A Cinderella team, correct? As in the story?”

Tucker nodded.

“Do you think there will be a Cinderella team in this tournament?”

“There already is:
Georgia. They’re good, but people
have
kind of ignored them.” Tucker answered too eagerly, and his words died
quickly
in the
solemn
room.
Wol Pot studied the bracket again.

“And yet you have
predicted
them losing.”

Tucker cl
eared his throat and mumbled “Y
es.”

“Hmm,” the ambassador pondered as he looked
again
at the contents of the note card. “I trust this message comes from a trustworthy authority?”

Tucker said yes again, but less eagerly. He still had little evidence that Rick and Abby were anything legitimate.

“Do you know, Mr. Barnes, that Thailand is a wonderful country with wonderful people and a wond
erful culture? I don’t suppose
you have ever been there, but you should try to go in your lifetime.
Perhaps by then
we will have
achieve
d
the destiny that we would choose, the destiny that our people deserve.” The ambassador’s face became reflective, and he seemed to lose hi
s train of thought for a moment.
“But Cinderella is a fairy tale,
”
he sighed.
Then, abruptly gathering himself and smiling, he said, “Thank you for your visit, Mr. Barnes.
Thank you for this extraordinary gift.
We have been pleased to know you and to visit your university. And please thank your friends as well.”

Tucker let out a relieved “You’re welcome,” and
found
himself b
eing
shepherded to the door. Looking back one more time, he nodded to Mongkut and retreated to the car.

A few minutes later and several blocks away from the motel, Tucker received a text. He had another meeting that afternoon. A much more stressful meeting.

*
             
*
             
*
             
*

The “Corn On Blue,” located downtown, held a special significance for Tucker and Lena. There was a table against the wall, beneath an abstract painting of Charlie Parker, where they had broken up two of the three times in their relationship. It was also where they had gotten back together once. Whenever one of them
invited the other to the C.O.B., it meant something important had to be said. For this reason, Tucker walked through the doors with the pace and resolve of a man at peace with condemnation. Lena was already at the table, swirling a half-empty glass of water with a lemon slice on the rim. Happy hour was still thirty minutes away, so the crowd was light.

Tucker sat across from her but didn’t look up immediately. When he did, Lena was scrutinizing him with tired eyes.

“Did you remember that we have that quiz in West African History
on Monday
? I know you haven’t studied.”

“I’ll study in the morning,” Tucker groaned. “I have a lot to catch up on before that.”

“You should at least look over the…”

“Tomorrow,” he said more forcefully, “if that’s fine with you.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s fine with me. It shouldn’t be fine with you.” She brushed the napkin
under her glass
, flattening it out. “You should come over tonight and we can make dinner and review. Or talk. We haven’t had a night together in a long time.”

Tucker sighed and looked over at the bar counter. “I can’t. There’s a big game tonight.”

“I thought you said the big game was Thursday night!”

“This is a bigger game.”

Lena rubbed her temple and nodded to herself. “That’s right. There’s always a bigger game. I don’t know why I keep forgetting that this will never end.”

“What are you talking about?” Tucker
protested
. “It ends next Saturday. I mean, Monday. There
’s
a
whole
week between games. I promise you, I will take you out on Monday night. We can go get sushi or something.”

“I don’t want a man who buys me sushi after weeks of ig
noring me because of basketball,
” Lena snapped. “I want a man who actually does something useful with his time, who’s actually going somewhere.”

Tucker thought about all the
basketball he hadn’t watched
in the last two weeks. “Fine with me,” he said, standing up. “I’ll go somewhere.”

Lena grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Tucker,
don’t be like that. I’m just having a really, really hard time figuring you out.”

“That shouldn’t be so hard by now.”

“But it is. Do you know what people say to me about you? ‘Oh, he’s such a nice guy, so fun, so genuine, everything right there on the surface.’ I don’t know what to say to that, because you and I both know that there’s a lot more under the surface that people never see because you never show them. And sometimes that makes you seem like two different people. You say you don’t want to go into politics after law school, but you do so much work for Tonkin that it puts you way behind in school work. You say you respect Wol Pot, but you won’t stand up for him, even with me. Sometimes you act like you want me around, but sometimes it seems like…like you don’t. You tell me that you know life isn’t a game, but all you ever seem to think about are games. I’m getting tired of trying to make sense of what you do.”

Tucker stared at Lena’s exasperated face.
“I have no idea where all this is coming from, but I’m going to change the subject to what we should really be talking about. What is all this with Carla?”

Lena pursed her lips and looked carefully at Tucker.

“We should talk about that, you’re right. But before we do, I want to ask you how you’re doing. I mean, how you’re really doing.”

“What?” Tucker raised his hands in complete disbelief. Only Lena could dodge a question about her suspicious connections with the spy in his boss’s office by delving into the details of his emotional well-being.

“I’m just… I’m worried about you. I’m worried that all of this stuff that’s been happening has made you revert to the place you were the last time we broke up. You seem to be doing the same things, wasting a lot of time watching basketball, just losing direction generally, getting obsessed with that bracket thing—”

“I am not obsessed—”

“—I don’t even know how you’re spending your time anymore. I don’t even know what you did this mornin
g. You didn’t go to your parent
s
’
house like you usually—”