Girl Takes The Oath (An Emily Kane Adventure Book 5) (4 page)

The two girls harrumphed at Emily, until Stacie said, “C’mon, it’s getting late.”

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Chapter Four

Spirit and Spiritedness

Days slipped into weeks in the rigorous routines of the brigade. Bauer, or his buddies, shadowed Emily most days, skulking around corners, listening at doors left ajar, looking for some sort of actionable infraction. She proved an elusive target, even if her friends didn’t, especially McDonough, whose quick temper was easy to trip up. And the plebes of the Fightin’ 28 registered a slight uptick in the frequency of trivial incidents, the so-called harassment package, noteworthy for the rate at which they were disciplined by upperclassmen from outside their company, a development which should have caught the attention of battalion or brigade-level command, if anyone inquired.

Poetry had never been her favorite subject before now, and the loud grumbling among the midshipmen who could not see its relevance to their eventual command responsibilities didn’t do much to recommend it. But somehow, Lt. Commander Marquez, a Marine aviator taking a tour teaching literature at the Academy, made the Romantics resonate for her, as if they articulated the very essence of human spirituality in the voice of nature itself.

“What difference do you see between the English and the German Romantics, Miss Tenno?” Marquez asked in the middle of class. He’d taken to calling on her most days, no doubt because she showed some enthusiasm for the topic.

“The spirit Wordsworth finds in nature seems to be Christian, sir, but Hölderlin appeals to something older, something pagan. It’s not the poetry of grace and salvation.”

“Interesting,” Marquez replied. “If it’s not about salvation, in what sense is it romantic?”

“Doesn’t Hölderlin speak of sacrifice?” Kathy Gunderson offered. “Why isn’t that Christian?”

“But in ‘Bread and Wine’ he says we’ve come too late, that the gods have already departed,” Marquez observed. “Does that sound Christian to you?”

“It sounds like despair, sir,” said Zaki Talib.

“He also sounds a positive note,” Emily said. “He says the gods left poets behind as a token of their eventual return.”

“Yeah, but it’s still all about pagan gods, Tenno,” Gunderson said, now taking the opposite view, and perhaps not really caring about any side. “What’s that got to do with Christianity? Jesus doesn’t need poets.”

“That’s my point,” Emily replied. “He’s appealing to an older form of spirituality, and maybe he thinks Christianity is a variation on that, just as the bread and wine of communion is derived from Bacchus and Ceres, you know, Dionysus and Demeter.”

“But you don’t believe
those
gods are coming back, do you?” Gunderson sneered.

“Aren’t we talking about what Hölderlin believes?” Emily said, as if she shared nothing of the poet’s sensibility. But on some level, she did share his sense that an ancient spirituality could cut through the noise of the present moment and speak to us, as it had already spoken to her.

“Whatever,” Gunderson said, rolling her eyes.

“Does Hölderlin really think the gods, or the divine, or whatever name we have for the spirit, will one day return, Miss Tenno?” Marquez asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then is Mr. Talib right—is it about despair?”

“No, sir. Recognizing the departure of the gods is what he means by spiritual life. That’s why he thinks it takes courage. Spirituality isn’t easy.”

As the class prepared to file out of the room, Marquez made a few last second announcements. “And there’s a lecture on Hölderlin and Philosophy, next Friday at eight, across the street. I hope some of you can make it there.” The last bit he said with his eyes fixed on Emily.

“Yeah, like I’d be caught dead on the other side of that hedge, with a bunch of hippies and degenerates,” Gunderson said to her friends, laughing as they walked out the door. Emily hung back for a few seconds to avoid following them too closely.

“Hey, Em, that was profound, you know, what you said back there,” Talib said, poking his head back in the room to find her. “C’mon, let’s go, okay?”

They made their way through the network of corridors and tunnels connecting the classroom buildings in the yard. Staying indoors meant they could keep their covers off, and wouldn’t have to salute everyone they encountered, or be chastised for failing to.

“You could be right about Hölderlin’s despair, Zaki.”

“I kinda like your way of thinking about it better, you know, the departure of the gods being essential to spirituality. It’s not so depressing.”

“Is God closer in Islam? I mean, isn’t Allah much more present in daily life for Muslims?”

“Well, yes and no,” he said, after stopping in a corridor to consider her question for a moment. “There’s still lots of middle-men, if you know what I mean. Mullahs and Imams, people who guide worship, layers of organization. Allah is not any closer for all that.”

“Would people really blow themselves up if they didn’t feel the presence of something divine?”

“I don’t know how anyone could work themselves up to do something like that, but I can’t imagine it’s really about Allah. It seems more like weak-minded, frustrated young people being manipulated by ambitious types, you know, when they’re vulnerable.”

“It sounds horrible for them,” Emily said.

“I’m sure it is,” Zaki said, and then after a moment, he added, “It makes the divine seem even more distant from this world. That’s why I think you’re right to think true spirituality requires a sort of courage, just to see God across a distance that’s so vast and full of such distractions.”

“Now who’s being profound,” she snorted, punching him in the shoulder. “Whoa there, big guy,” she said with a laugh, shaking her hand in mock pain. “It feels like you’ve ratcheted up the workouts again. You’re like a total rock.”

“I’m just trying to keep up with McDonough, and Carnot. She’s like lifting every free moment these days. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s like she’s on some sort of mission. Maybe she should tone it down a little?”

“And you, how am I supposed to keep up with you?” Zaki chuckled.

“What? I don’t lift.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever. I see you out there every morning. And lately you and Carnot and Tanahill are on the field even earlier, doing some sort of workout.”

“Yeah, that’s just for CJ. She wanted to work on her hand-to-hand skills, and Stacie insisted on joining us.”

“You got room for one more, or is it girls-only?” he asked, in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Sure, if CJ doesn’t mind. But, you know, she’s not super-confident about her physical skills. She may not want any more attention.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t freak her out.”

“Okay. We’ll see you out on Sherman Field at 0500.” The mere sound of the words, oh-five-hundred, produced the desired effect on Zaki’s enthusiasm about joining his friends.

“Sherman? But you guys have been meeting on Farragut.”

“Obviously we’ve been drawing too much attention there.”

“But Sherman’s almost a mile away,” he groaned.

“More if you cross at Decatur, which is the way we’re going. And if too many more people start clamoring to join us, we’ll move it across the 450 Bridge to Jonas Green. You still up for this?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said as they turned down a corridor leading into Chauvenet Hall. “Hold up, I’ve gotta hit the head. Wait for me, okay?”

“You don’t have to keep watch over me, Zaki.”

He shot her one of those looks that said, “You’re joking, right?” She glared back at him.

“Just wait for me.”

~~~~~~~

“This is not right,” Captain James Crichton said, standing by the window of the Commandant’s office. Autumn color had faded earlier than usual this year, but not all the leaves had fallen yet.

“I’m only telling you because you knew her father, but nothing leaves this office,” Captain Raymond Jefferies said.

“I’m just saying, it’s not right. We don’t dangle one of our own like this. Whose brilliant idea is it anyway?”

“I got it from the Admiral, who got it directly from SECNAV. That means the Chiefs must have signed off.”

“It reeks of CIA. You know the way they think, they dream up some scheme and dump it in someone else’s lap, without a thought of the human factor, unit cohesion, nothing.”

“With Cardano running the National Clandestine Service, I doubt this plan could have come through CIA,” Jefferies said.

“Then who, NSA?”

“Jim, I think our speculations on this matter have exceeded their usefulness. How’s the girl holding up?”

“Top of her class in AOM and MOM,” Crichton reported, beaming.

“I imagine that’s produced some resentment.”

“Her company commander reported an uptick in plebe harassment in the 28th, which seems to originate mainly from the 17th. So, yeah, she’s attracted her share of heat,” Crichton said.

“I hear she wants to do Leatherneck. Has she been down to Quantico?”

“I see where you’re going with that. She missed Durant when she was there for her Professional Training. He had a leave.”

“Are you saying you’re not curious about what that reunion might be like? Because she may be doing some follow-up professional training.”

Crichton smiled at the thought, since just three years ago, sitting in another office in this very building, he and Jefferies had watched a video of their last meeting. A karate tournament in Norfolk, packed with marines and assorted sailors—and a high school girl dominated the men’s
kumite
, which Durant had practically owned for the previous few years. She even dominated Durant himself.
Yes, it would be worth an awful lot to see that reunion
, Crichton thought.

“It’s just that… I don’t think SECNAV understands the kind of roots she has in the fleet,” he blurted out.

“You mean because the Leone brothers happen to know her?”

“It’s more than that, Ray. One or another of those guys is always calling to check up on her. A week doesn’t go by… she’s not just an acquaintance of theirs. It’s strange to say, but it’s deeper than family, the way they feel about her.”

“Do you have any idea what that’s about?”

“No, and it’s not just the Leones. It’s her whole company, the way they rally around her. You remember how we wondered if she was officer material when we first met her?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jefferies said. “And when McDonough and Talib hurled her to the top of Herndon like she was a damn rag doll, you remember what you said?”

“You mean once I could breathe again? I thought she was absolutely fearless. That was like twenty feet straight up.”

“Yeah, but you said she took too many risks for an officer.”

Crichton let out a long breath at the reminder. He did remember saying something like that. “Maybe I did. It looks like I was wrong. I’m sure you’ve seen how those guys follow her around the yard, keeping an eye on her, making sure nobody hassles her. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“What are you trying to say, Jim, that we should tell SECNAV about the camaraderie she inspires?”

“No, I just mean if they think they can isolate her with this assignment, they are likely to be disappointed. She develops that kind of loyalty wherever she goes.

“Well, she may need it,” Jefferies said. “Maybe more now than ever.”

“And we’re still sending her back down to Quantico over break?” Crichton asked.

“If she wants Leatherneck, SECNAV’s willing, but he wants her to have an extra turn down there.”

“I don’t like it when the upper echelons start paying so much attention to our business here. What are they planning for her?”

“Nothing they’ve explained to me, Jim. But she’s sure to cross paths with Durant this time.”

“Maybe we should make a point of happening on by,” Crichton said with a chuckle.

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Chapter Five

Theo Brings a Warning

Yuki’s eyes gave everything away, the gnawing terror hiding behind her otherwise stoic visage. And her hand trembled when Emily reached across the table to touch her. The commotion of a large party of what must have been college students leaving the restaurant had given her some little bit of cover, but now they were gone, the return of the quiet left her exposed.

“What do you mean they’re looking for me?” Emily asked, after the waitress left them alone.

“That’s all Michael knows,” Theo said. “They made a formal request through State and he got wind of it.”

“And they’ve got the wrong name?”

“Yeah. Apparently an old passport of yours.”

“I never used Emily Hsiang for anything, as far as I can remember.”

“Michael thinks you may have used it to enter New Zealand. He’s looking into it, but quietly. If the wrong people hear of his interest, it won’t be hard to connect the dots right back to you.”

“What do the Chinese say I did?”

“Well, they claim Emily Hsiang killed three of their nationals in Kathmandu a coupla years back,” Theo said in a low voice.

“That’s the part that makes no sense,” Yuki said. “There’s no way it’s true. But then why make an accusation they can’t substantiate?”

“And you weren’t using that passport then anyway,” Theo said. “I mean, why connect the accusation to that name?”

“When you went to Nepal after high school, you went as Michiko Tenno, right?” Yuki asked.

Emily said nothing, biting her lip as she tried not to remember too much about that trip. She’d never told anyone the full story of what happened in Kathmandu, not even her mother.

“Chi-chan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom… nothing’s wrong.”

“You didn’t use that passport there, did you?”

“No.”

“Not even at your hotel?”

“No. I destroyed all the extra passports after New Zealand. I’m officially Michiko Tenno everywhere I go.”

“Then what is it, sweetheart?” When Emily didn’t answer, Yuki’s eyes teared up and her voice quaked. “Nothing happened over there… did it?”

While the waitress refilled water glasses at the next table, Emily said nothing, keeping her eyes focused on the ice cubes melting in her glass. The vinyl upholstery and high back of the booth in which they sat probably provided some protection against casual eavesdroppers, but she had little confidence in its sound-muffling capabilities. What she had to tell her mother, if once she let the words pass her teeth… how could anything drown it out ever again?

“You didn’t kill those guys, did you?” Theo asked, in a tone of voice hardly in keeping with what one might expect from a Navy SEAL. “I mean, I’m sure they were security operatives, if they were in Nepal,” he added, in an attempt to palliate whatever they might hear next. But they heard nothing.

“Well?” he said, gripping the table with both hands.

“No… maybe… I don’t know,” she finally replied.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Theo asked, now demanding the sort of clarity a SEAL would expect in an after-action report. Yuki, meanwhile, had melted back into her seat, eyes beginning to glaze over, no longer able to hear what was said.

“I’m sorry, Mom, for not telling you when I got back. There was an incident in Kathmandu, and it was nasty.”

“How nasty?” Theo pressed.

“A little boy, caught between rival street gangs, each side trying to use him to hurt the other. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“What did you do?” Yuki asked, revived by the news that a child provided the occasion for whatever happened. Finally, something in those events sounded like her daughter.

“What could I do? I stepped into the middle of it. One of the gangs, Sherpas and Tibetans, they grabbed me, and a young man I met there. And they tried to force the boy to hack off our heads with a khukri.”

“A khukri?” Theo asked with more than professional curiosity. “What’s that?”

“You know, those huge knives the Ghurkas carry, the ones with the curve in the blade.”

“I’m afraid to ask what happened next,” Theo said.

“I’m almost afraid to tell it, but maybe I should just get it out there. I… I… killed them… all of them, with their own blade,” she said, and then fell silent, her eyes smoldering, glowering at the world for transforming her once again into a goddess of death. “But I don’t remember seeing any Chinese operatives in that crowd,” she added after a moment.

“Holy crap,” Theo said, finally relaxing his grip on the edge of the table. Yuki reached out to touch her daughter, almost as if she wanted reassurance of her physical reality.

“Now you know,” Emily growled. “I’m a monster. Everywhere I go, death follows right behind, haunting me, oozing out of my pores, dripping through my fingers… and it seems to be getting worse. All those people…”

“No,” Theo said sharply. “I’ve seen you go to war, and you are the most righteous soldier I know. You protected a child in Nepal, just like you did that same summer at Michael’s house, and before that at Burzynski’s house. You faced the devil then, the real monster, in the form of your uncle, and you risked everything to protect others, even safeguarding the lives of the stooges he’d enlisted to kill us all. I’ve never seen anything like it, and as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more to say about this story either.”

Emily thought about Theo’s little vote of confidence as she walked back along Maryland Avenue. Her reflection peeked out of shop windows at her, and she noticed the little spark in her eyes, the glimmer of satisfaction at Theo’s words. A delivery van rumbled by, belching exhaust fumes, and she hardly noticed. Of course, the ominous content of his news hung there in the back of her mood, like decaying hydrocarbons, feeding on whatever oxygen they could find. But facing a past she had buried so deeply, and finding it didn’t disgust the people she cared about, gave her the wherewithal to work through the thought of a Chinese conspiracy, no matter what its import may turn out to be. Could this be the danger Kano wanted to warn her about? And did it have anything to do with whatever threatened Toshi’s safety?

Behind one of her shop-window reflections she noticed a dark sedan idling against the curb, some fifty yards or so behind her. Tinted windows and an overcast day concealed the occupants, and their intentions remained inscrutable. With Gate Two a mere two blocks ahead, even in the fading twilight of the evening she doubted an attempt would be made on her, when a quick sprint would bring her (and them) into full view of the guardhouse. But why wait to find out who they might be, or what they wanted?

Emily crossed Prince George Street and, searching in the side-view mirrors of cars parked along the avenue, caught a glimpse of the sedan, drifting furtively forward at roughly walking pace. Midway down the next block, at Cumberland Court, she turned to look directly at the car, smiled innocently and bolted into the side street, which was too narrow for a pursuit by car. Having explored the alleys back here after a garden party, she knew to take two quick turns and a two-step hurdle over a brick wall and a trio of trash bins—still able to hear the commotion unfolding behind her—ultimately popping out again on Maryland Avenue, a few yards behind the now empty sedan.

She stood quietly beneath the reaching branch of an elm that had not yet lost its foliage. A short distance away, a man in a gray suit scratched his head, cursing as his partner scoured the cul-de-sac she had disappeared into. Without a clear sign of her, he would not lightly invade the private gardens of this part of town. The suit said government official of some kind, but maybe not federal, and the license plate suggested city police, though Emily knew not to trust that. When the partner returned empty-handed, the two of them conferred by the front fender of the car. Still within sight of the gate, she decided to risk approaching them.

“Lose something, fellas?” she asked, as innocently as possible, and stepped toward them.

“That’s her, right, Ed?” the second man whispered, a little too loudly.

“Shut up, you dumbass,” the first man hissed. Then turning to Emily he continued in a more settled, professional tone. “Do you have some ID, Miss,” he asked.

“I do if you do,” she replied. “Otherwise, I’m headed back to the Yard,” she added after his initial hesitation.

“We need you to come with us, Miss,” he said, extending his hand toward her.

“Show me some ID, or I’m moving on.” Emily glowered at him as she said this. After a moment’s deliberation, he pulled out a badge-wallet and flipped it open and shut, too quickly for her to examine. “Not so fast, Mister. Let me have a closer look at that.”

He held his ID out again and, when she reached for it, surreptitiously brought his handcuffs around from behind his back to slap on her wrist. Meanwhile, his partner circled around behind her. But in a sudden reversal, she seized the first man’s hand across the back and gave it a sharp twist, spinning him around so she could apply his cuffs to his own wrist. The second man lunged for her from behind with a telescoping baton, not expecting to find himself shackled to his partner in the very same movement. She stepped down on the chain connecting the two men, forcing them to kneel on the pavement, and reached down to pick up the ID that had fallen in the confusion.

“Assaulting an officer, this is only making things worse,” the first man groaned.

“An officer, you say,” Emily replied, perusing the ID she’d picked up from the ground. “Edwin Braswell, it says here, but it doesn’t say APD, or even FBI. I’m pretty sure this gives you no legal authority to detain me.”

The second man reached awkwardly for his gun with his left hand, but before he could bring it around, Emily twisted the cuffed wrist, forcing his free hand down into the pavement, and then kicked the gun into the gutter.

“That’s a dangerous toy you have there, young man,” she sneered at him.” You could hurt someone with that.”

“Lemme go, damn it,” he howled.

“Now, how’s about you tell me who you really are, and what you want from me.”

“It’ll be easier for everyone if you just come with us now,” Braswell finally managed to say between clenched teeth.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Ed.”

“Fine,” he said after an agonizing deliberation, “we’re with the Diplomatic Security Service, you know, from the State Department.”

“And what’s the DSS want with me?” she asked, though she’d already begun to develop a notion of what they might be after.

“We just want to talk, to avoid a diplomatic incident.”

“If you just want to talk, then what’s with the cuffs?”

“Why’d you run? We thought you’d made us.”

“I did spot you. But, as you can see, I didn’t run. And anyway, I’m in the Navy. Where am I supposed to run to?”

“We still need to talk.”

“Here I am,” she said, and released the wrist of Braswell’s partner. “Let’s talk right now.” She took her foot off the cuffs and helped them up from their knees. Off in the distance, a shadowy figure caught her eye, standing in a doorway on the previous block. The two DSS agents were too busy undoing the cuffs to notice what she noticed. It might be Kano, but she couldn’t be certain from this distance.

“Put that away,” Braswell hissed at his partner, when he tried to point his gun at her again, tipping his head toward the gatehouse. “Look, Miss, headquarters would be more… private.”

“So would the Commandant’s office,” she said, well aware the Commandant would point out their lack of jurisdiction. “I’d be much more comfortable there.”

She glowered at Braswell with all the anger and self-doubt she felt bubbling just below the surface of her eyes. He blanched at the sight, and took a step back.

“Fine,” he said, after another moment. “The Chinese Security Services are looking for you, Miss Tenno, and we’d like to know why.”

“For me?” she asked with as much surprise as she could muster. “What do they want with me? And how do they even know who I am?”

“Don’t play the innocent with us,” Braswell said. “We know you met with Commander Leone and Dr. Kagami, and they must have told you about the extradition request.”

“I just had dinner with my mom and uncle Theo,” she huffed at them. “We talked about my niece and nephew. Now what’s this about an extradition? What on earth would the charge be? Are the Chinese really trying to extradite me?”

“Well, not exactly,” Braswell admitted. “But we’re reasonably certain there will be a valid request soon.”

“So, there isn’t an extradition request? You’re way too subtle for me, Ed. What exactly is going on here?”

“They made a request for someone we believe to be an alias of yours.”

“I have no alias. My name is Michiko Tenno, though my cousins used to call me Emily Kane, ’cause my Dad was named Kane.”

“That’s what any search of official records will show…”

“I should hope so,” Emily said.

“But those aren’t the only names you’ve ever used, are they, Miss Tenno?”

For some reason, this question posed a sudden challenge to her skills of dissimulation. Perhaps the reminder of her father’s solicitude in crafting those identities for her made a demand on her heart. Whatever it was, the lie she needed to tell stuck in her throat for just an instant. She hoped Braswell hadn’t noticed.