Girl Takes The Oath (An Emily Kane Adventure Book 5) (19 page)

Emily looked down at Jiao’s face, pale and gaunt, the spray of blood now stilled, even as more puddled in the dirt around his head, soaking slowly into the ground. Sticky and beginning to congeal, she felt it on her hands and face too, her blood and his, and the sickening realization that she’d killed again, that another voice had been absorbed into the silence in her heart, along with all those men on the bridge, and the gangsters in that courtyard in Kathmandu, the North Koreans in Kamchatka, and in the deepest recess, her uncle David. They were wrong, unjust, cruel, bent on killing her and anyone she loved. No matter how many people told her she’d had no choice, that sentiment, couched in the terms of mere morality, did nothing to alleviate the crushing stillness of her thoughts, as if she’d become a living mausoleum for all those spirits.

“Once again, I am Kali, taker of souls, goddess of death,” she muttered. Glancing about with only partially focused eyes, she saw the faces of the men she hoped to lead someday blend, blur and begin to spin as she pushed herself up off her knees. The scene grew dark and then darker, and the voices closed in, louder, more earnest, and finally gentle.

The confused crowd of Marines had become suddenly glutinous, letting no one pass, not NCIS, not FBI, not even Theo, who they could recognize as a fellow soldier, but not a Marine. As they peered at her, wishing to do something but not knowing what, they all knew one thing, reacting with a shared instinct: protect. When Connie’s voice brayed at them to let Yuki through, they yielded to maternal authority, and when Connie cradled Emily in her arms, they formed a passage for the three of them to the end of the bleachers where they all somehow knew her family had been sitting.

“What are you doing?” she asked no one in particular, her head resting in the crook of Connie’s elbow. “I’m okay. I can stand.” She pushed herself up on slightly wobbly legs to look at the faces again.

“Marines never leave a man on the battlefield,” someone said, and the rest of the crowd grunted its assent to the proposition.

“
Semper fi
,” she replied, and the crowed barked its approval.

“Oh my god, Chi-chan, your face,” Yuki cried.

“Is it bad?”

“You’ll have a scar.”

“And a shiner,” Connie added, as she blotted the blood with some cotton wadding she found in a first aid kit. “Looks like he got you on the arm, too. Let me have a look.” In the end, a few bandages sufficed to stop the bleeding. “Try not to flex that shoulder too much or it may start oozing. You’ll want to put something sturdier on it after you wash up.” Emily watched as Connie collected anything with blood on it and put it in her shoulder bag.

“My blood must be all over him.”

Connie nodded, and Michael, listening from a few feet away, spoke quickly into his phone, not waiting for a response before snapping it shut. “It’s in the grass, too,” he said to Connie. “You know what to do?”

She nodded and made her way around the edge of the field. NCIS agents tried to push through the Marines, until Michael managed to make eye contact with Tom O’Brien, who turned to one of his assistants. Seconds later, the NCIS agents withdrew, leaving the family in peace for the moment.

“Thanks, guys,” Emily said to the assembled Marines. Theo heard her and waded into the crowd that no longer seemed to resist him.

“Mission accomplished, guys,” he said. “The family’s grateful, and she won’t forget.”

Within a few minutes, an ambulance glided across the field to where a thick crowd of men in suits argued over the body of Jiao Long. A couple of chirps from the siren cleared a path and, practically invisible in their obtrusiveness, two paramedics bundled up the body and whisked him away without disturbing any of the ongoing arguments.

“You’ll have to talk to NCIS soon,” Michael said.

“I know.”

“He said something to you, didn’t he?”

“Just an apology.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about his mission?”

“Maybe you don’t want to hear this,” she said, “and now may not be the time, but I’m pretty sure the knife cut through his spinal cord. I felt it hit bone.” She glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “He wasn’t really able to talk. More gurgling than words. The apology was all I could make out.”

“Obviously, we’re not continuing the tournament,” O’Brien barked at his assistant as he approached. “Have the judges make an announcement, and then clear the field.” Then turning to Emily he said, “I’m speechless, Miss Tenno. Of course, there will be an inquiry, and you’ll need to make yourself available to NCIS, as well as to the Ambassador’s team.”

“The Ambassador’s team, sir?” Emily asked, one eyebrow raised in a high arch. “Permission to speak freely?”

“What do you want to say?”

“Doesn’t it occur to you that something is very wrong at that Embassy? Jiao Long was their man. He can only have attacked me under orders, probably from the protocol officer, Dong Zhuo, that much ought to be obvious. Shouldn’t you investigate
them
?” She felt her face grow warm as she spoke, and the expression in Michael’s eyes told her she may already have said too much. Much as she would have liked to shout her suspicions to the skies, for all to hear, something told her this wasn’t the moment, she didn’t know who all the players were, and Michael’s face said as much, too.

“Thank you for your input, Miss Tenno. Let us handle those sorts of decisions. NCIS will contact you tomorrow. Don’t leave the base.”

Back in the parking lot, Emily finally had a moment for her friends, Melanie and Wayne. In the past, comforting Melanie had been one of the main tasks after an incident, but this time, Emily felt like she could use some comfort herself.

“Oh, Em, is this the way it is all the time in the Navy?” Mel asked, her long arms wrapped around her friend, holding her against her chest. “Because this is too much.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Wayne said, until Emily’s eyes stopped him short. “Oh, hell, you need to hear it. You are as amazing as ever. I can’t believe you stood up to that guy, to all those guys. I mean, there you are fighting off a guy with a knife in your face, and the rest of ’em are just standing around…”

“Wayne, enough,” Melanie said, with a sharp glance. Then, looking back at Emily, “I wish you could just come home with us. Wouldn’t that be better than staying here?”

“Look at you, Mel,” she said. “Now you’re the one comforting me.” She wrapped her arms around Melanie as tightly as she could manage without straining Connie’s bandages too much.

“Mel’s right,” Wayne added. “Come back with us, leave all this behind. It’s not worth it.”

“Thanks, Wayne, but I’m sort of obligated to finish, you know, legally speaking. And there’s someone else who may need me, someone I can’t let down.”

“Your family and friends need you, too,” Melanie said. “Is this person more important than us, than Li Li and Stone, than your mom?”

“It’s more of a sacred duty, guys,” Emily said, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to make her friends understand her meaning, and maybe not fully comprehending what she was saying as she said it. “The god who speaks in my heart, when she calls, I have to respond.”

“I didn’t know you were religious, Em,” Wayne said.

“I’m not.”

Melanie noticed the family group forming around them, and bent her neck to kiss the top of her friend’s head, then said, “We’ve got to go, Sweetie, and maybe it’s for the best, since we should probably let your moms and the kids have some time with you.”

Emily didn’t want to let her go, since she and Wayne would take with them the only calm voices she’d likely hear for the rest of the evening. Of course, she knew the kids needed to have some time with her, after what they’d seen, or not seen but only heard. If only her mother could be as composed as Stone. She hoped Andie’s misplaced anger at Theo might deflect at least a little of the excessive solicitude she dreaded.

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Chapter
Sixteen

PROTRAMID

“Whatever happens, don’t let him get on that plane,” Connie barked over a secure connection.

“And don’t let him call her, I know,” Theo said. The cabin noise from the transport plane roared in the background. “It’s gonna be tough on him. You’re talking like two weeks without any contact.”

“No need to worry about that. She won’t take his call. She knows better.”

In fact, Emily hardly ever took phone calls, least of all on a cell phone, a habit she picked up in high school out of a concern for being tracked. It drove her friends crazy how hard it was to keep in touch with her—no phone, no email, no social media, no blog. Snail mail to Bancroft Hall would find her eventually, and she’d respond in her sweet time.

It hadn’t been quite twenty four hours, but Perry had undoubtedly already seen video of the tournament, and everyone standing in Andie’s kitchen knew what he was bound to do next. He’d try to rig up a call through a SEAL sat-phone, but she’d know it wouldn’t be near secure enough to have the kind of conversation he desired.

“What’d that guy say to her?” Andie asked, after they lost the connection. Ethan shuffled his feet to press his gigantic frame up against the refrigerator door, as if he were afraid to hear the news and hoping to conceal himself from it in the opening for the icemaker. Yuki put her hand on his chest to reassure him.

“She said he apologized to her,” Connie said.

“For trying to kill her?” Andie asked.

“For not succeeding.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? It makes no sense.”

“No, it makes perfect sense, whether we like it or not,” Yuki said, darkly. “It’s just like three years ago, only the Chinese aren’t searching any more, because now they know who she is. And where.”

“So they’re stalking her now, like she’s prey,” Andie said.

“Whatever their plan is, Jiao Long didn’t like it,” Connie said. “I think that means it’s not a sanctioned operation. Exposing them, whoever they are, might be enough.”

“And we’re supposed to think he’s honorable?” Andie howled, the corners of her eyes glistening. “He tried to kill her,” she wailed.

“That doesn’t seem to mean much to her,” Connie said. “You know how she gets at these moments.”

The kitchen went silent as the same question gripped each of them.
Exactly how did she get?
Positive things occurred to each one to describe her: resolute, decisive, intrepid, courageous. Eventually, less wholesome ideas presented themselves: fearless, fatalistic, foolhardy, and finally, morbid. She seemed to court death, they’d all seen it at one point or another, and the mere fact that she hadn’t been killed yet didn’t mean she was invulnerable.

“It certainly feels like she’s being hunted again,” Andie said. “And there’s really nothing we can do about it?”

“Oh, there’s definitely stuff we can do about it,” Connie growled.

“But we’re not gonna do anything like that just yet, right?” Michael intoned from the doorway.

“What can we do?” Yuki asked. “She’s there and we’re down here.”

“She can’t leave Quantico without going AWOL, and she’s as safe as we can make her on base.”

“You have people watching?” Andie asked.

Michael nodded. “O’Brien would be furious if he knew, but yes, I have people keeping an eye on things.”

“Fine,” Connie muttered, scowling eyes fixed on Michael.

“She’ll be here in two weeks,” Michael said, “and we’ll have her for three days. Let’s everybody just take a deep breath and make sure we can enjoy her company while we have it.”

~~~~~~~

Echoes of the incident that closed down the Leatherneck Brawl died down sooner than Emily expected. Within a day, official inquiries ceased, and NCIS made themselves scarce by the next evening without asking her more than a few cursory questions, and the Chinese Ambassador’s investigation never materialized. Grumbling among the base personnel at Quantico may have persisted a little longer, though she saw no sign of it. Or perhaps no one had the nerve to bring it up around her.

If she needed any confirmation that Michael was right to counsel caution in speaking to SECNAV about what happened in the ring that night, this seemed like it, since it was difficult to see why a full-scale investigation had not already paralyzed the base. Of course, since Jiao Long was dead, and the odds of discovering evidence of a broader conspiracy in the Chinese Embassy were negligible, and the only other obvious place to look for conspirators was the Navy, perhaps she should be relieved not to be the target of an inquiry herself.

Emily had completed her Marine week the previous summer, with the rest of her class, though in practice the Professional Training for Midshipmen (which the Navy, in its abiding love for acronyms, dubbed PROTRAMID) had felt to her more like a tour than training. They seemed to watch as much as participate. Of course, squad tactics were enacted in the woods around Quantico, and a good deal of weapons training occurred—CJ shone in this area—and rides in amphibious assault vehicles gave the mids a feel for tactical maneuverability in various conditions. Stress-enhanced environments, like the gas and smoke chamber, as well as night-vision training and underwater disorientation exercises, spiced up the experience.

This time around, as practically the only midshipman on the base at this time of year, Emily’s experience shifted to air training. In much smaller groups, with fewer elements to be exposed to, she logged many more hours in the V-22 Ospreys and the heavy lift CH-53’s. Urban Terrain exercises took up almost every evening, as soon as night fell. Her satisfaction in the experience was diminished by not being able to share it with her roommates, since Stacie would have loved the night-fighting, and CJ might find a new calling in an Osprey. Of course, after that night on the bridge, perhaps even the night-fighting would appeal to CJ.

“The Marines don’t have much use for ninjas,” an instructor who introduced himself as Gunnery Sgt. Perez barked out to a group of trainees. “Our firepower, mobility and communications assets make hand-to-hand combat almost obsolete. That’s what the tech guys have already told you, I’m sure. And there’s some truth to it. Unless your position is overrun, the only person you are ever likely to punch is another Marine. And I, for one, hope that turns out to be the case for each one of you.”

He paused to let that idea sink in, while Emily used the moment to glance around the room, sizing up the twenty or so other trainees, mostly women, in the class. Officer candidates working through OCS, she supposed, as well as a handful of ‘civilians’—they weren’t hard to spot, since they didn’t seem to know how to stand at attention or at ease. Probably would-be FBI agents hitching a ride. Two other instructors leaned against a side wall whispering to each other, one of whom she recognized. Another meeting was inevitable, she supposed, and the only question was whether he’d recognize her with shorter hair and a new name.

“But I am here to prepare you for that moment when the unexpected happens,” Gunnery Sgt. Perez continued, “the worst case, when everything goes to hell and you have to man up and claw your way out of a deadly situation. Sgt. McIntyre, Staff Sgt. Durant and I will show each of you how to use the skills you already have, and we will test your mettle, but it is up to each one of you to find the wherewithal within yourselves to prevail.”

The length of the speech began to exceed its usefulness, or so it seemed to Emily—
That’s a lot of words for a Marine
, she thought. Durant had noticed her, glancing her way a couple of times already. He had to have been disappointed the other evening, when the tournament ended so abruptly, before he’d had a chance to defend his title. The USNA insignia on her sweats made her stand out from the rest of the group, and he could hardly fail to remember her from the quarterfinal match, since he’d been standing at ringside.

Some demonstrations followed: escape techniques, what to do when confronted by two or more opponents, how to use a gun without firing it, and a few fundamental, but effective knife techniques.

“You don’t seem very interested in our presentation, Midshipman,” Durant said, having taken up a position behind her. “Is it too basic for you?”

“No, Staff Sergeant,” Emily said. “The key in these things is simplicity. Five simple techniques are better than twenty sophisticated ones for most people.”

“But not for you?”

“I’ll leave you to be the judge of that, sir.”

“Have we met, Miss…” Durant fumbled for a name.

“Tenno, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, Miss Tenno, that’s right. You’re the one who ended the tournament. Whose chuck-wagon idea was it to have you fight with the men?”

“Mine, sir.”

“And SecNav went along with it?”

“I don’t imagine he oversees the brawl that closely, Staff Sergeant.”

“Well, I guess the women’s division probably wouldn’t have been much of a challenge. But what you did was reckless, and it ended badly.”

“You lost your chance, then?” Emily asked to needle him for his preposterous statement—as if responsibility for the bad end it came to could by any sane judgment be laid at her feet.

He grunted, and scowled at her. She knew him, and his type, always ready to use their authority to impose on the personal space of their trainees—in fact, this is an important training technique—but uncomfortable whenever a conversation imposed on theirs. He could hardly pretend not to be disappointed, however much he might have liked to.

The demonstrations had now begun to focus on the women in the group, and for her this was the most distasteful element of hand-to-hand training. Of course, like anyone else, the women needed to discover their limitations in a fight, and these were often quite different from those of the men. Unfortunately, the scene in which these limitations would be revealed often verged on sexual harassment. In practice, this would be difficult to avoid, and perhaps unwise to exclude completely, since in combat one could hardly expect an enemy to respect such fine distinctions. Still, it rankled.

Sgt. McIntyre held one of the women in a bear hug from behind, and the class watched as she struggled to escape, trying to strike him in the groin, to stomp on his feet, even attempting at one point to strike him in the face with the back of her head. The size difference was simply too great for any of these techniques to succeed.

“You think you can do any better?” Durant asked, tilting his head to the scene unfolding on the central mat.

“You know I can, Staff Sergeant. But I wouldn’t want to disrupt whatever lesson you think he’s teaching.”

“McIntyre, Miss Tenno would like to have a chance,” Durant called over to his colleague.

When McIntyre released his victim and waved her over, Emily turned to Durant and smiled. “We’ve met before, you know. Perhaps you don’t remember.” His quizzical expression told her he didn’t.

McIntyre’s bear hug pinned Emily’s arms to her side, effectively immobilizing her. “Let’s see you get out of this one, tough guy,” he said. As much larger than her as he was, no obvious escape presented itself, at least none that wouldn’t risk injuring him.

“The thing about this hold is that you have also immobilized yourself. Would my hypothetical attacker just want to hold me? Or would he try to carry me off?”

“Fine,” he grunted, and took an uncertain step to the side as he tried to simulate carrying her off, the extra weight of Emily’s body throwing his balance off slightly. To compensate, he leaned forward slightly, just far enough for Emily to press one heel to the mat. With the other foot, she pressed on the back of his exposed knee, forcing his calf and shin to the mat. Once she’d commenced the pressure, he could no longer straighten up.

“Hey, what the…”

In his surprise at the unexpected turn the demonstration had taken, unable to free his leg, and alarmed at how much pain she could inflict from what had seemed like a hopeless position, he turned to his colleagues for assistance. In the meantime, Emily took advantage of a slight relaxation of his grip and slipped her fingers under his upper hand to grab across his thumb and palm. When she twisted the wrist outwards, releasing his knee and pivoting underneath his captive arm in a single movement, McIntyre found himself cartwheeling across the mat. Emily was on top of him in an instant, applying light thumb pressure to the back of the hand she had twisted awkwardly and painfully behind his back, his face pressed into the mat.

“Now, here we have a much more effective hold,” she announced to the group. “He’s controllable through pain-compliance, not brute force, and my other hand and my feet are free to defend against other assailants. If need be, I can disable him more permanently.” Scattered laughter echoed around the gym.

“Let me up, goddammit,” he said.

“Absolutely, sir. Would you like another try?”

McIntyre seized her about the neck, locking one arm at the elbow with the other hand. “In a chokehold, you’ll only have a few seconds before you black out,” he announced.

Emily tapped his forearm to get his attention and said, “This is a more dangerous hold. I can’t guarantee your safety. Do you still want to go through with this one?”

“Give it your best shot, slugger,” he sneered through gritted teeth. “I’m wearing a cup.”