“Don’t you blaspheme against the holy hedge hog,” Connie said, smirking at Danko. “The good Lord loves all creatures.”
It was with some relief for Connie that the bus deposited them at a resort hotel a few blocks from the highway in Chiang Rai. The other passengers headed for the swimming pool or the air conditioned lounge to await the dinner hour, but Danko pulled Connie away before she could even deposit her pack in their room.
“The bus station is this way, at the Night Bazaar. We can check the morning schedule.”
“… and your contact?”
“He usually does seasonal work at a restaurant on the far side of the bazaar. We should start there.”
“Good idea… and we can eat, too.”
The streets around the bazaar were in the process of shifting from their daytime bustle to the early evening occupations. Sidewalk food vendors added the last layer of coals to their grills. Bicycle messengers, who’d just made their final deliveries of the day, began to disappear from the avenues and side streets. Danko purchased the tickets and sorted out the schedule of early morning departures, while Connie found an ATM at one of the ubiquitous 7-Elevens, which function as de facto banks throughout southeast Asia.
“How confident are you?” Danko asked the slight man who worked the fire of his grill, and turned the various skewered meats.
“My cousin saw them three days ago near Mae Sai,” he said, in surprisingly clear English.
“He’s sure?”
“The Lady is unmistakable,” the little man snorted. “Sao Pha Khun Hsu and her brother, Sao Pha Tam Khun. They will make the crossing soon, or maybe already.”
“How many were with them?”
“He saw the entire guard, but he thinks the company has already crossed.”
Danko turned to Connie, his face alight with a new urgency. “We should have been there… we need to head north right away.”
10
Writing Home Writing Home Writing Home
Emily held Stone’s letter between two trembling fingers, admiring the fine calligraphy and marveling at the image she’d formed of his thick fingers being able to produce such fine strokes. Li Li’s hand was much more impatient, an adolescent’s scrawl, and maybe more authentic for that reason – if only she could recognize that about herself. Stone made more grammatical mistakes. At least, they seemed like mistakes… either that or he was a profound mystic.
When you leave us, I feel fear and weakness, and I wonder if I am strong enough to protect everyone. At school, the boys pay so much attention to Li Li, and I watch from a distance, wondering if I should shove them away. In the hallways, the athletes bump into me. I think they do it on purpose, trying to make me give way to them. But I stand firm, like a rock, just as I imagine Big Brother would do if he were here. I mainly like school, even if I don’t have any friends, because I like reading, and Li Li is there.
Mom and Yuki are working very hard to learn Mandarin. They make a lot of mistakes, and we laugh about it. I don’t remember when I first knew a word of Mandarin, but it seems very natural to me now, even though Li Li says I make a lot of mistakes, too. Sometimes I hear people speaking it in my dreams. Other times, I dream of you and me walking through a meadow and finding a waterfall. I also feel very tired after, like it’s hard to wake up, and maybe I don’t want to because the meadow feels like the last place I saw Big Brother. But I have to wake up to protect Li Li and Mom and Yuki until you come back.
She needed to take a breath before she could write back… and she had no paper in the apartment. It wasn’t worth disturbing Mrs. Gao this early in the morning. Now that Madeira’s post was complete, he was too busy packing up the house to stop by the embassy, which meant she had the Marine desk to herself. She could write pretty much in peace there, since none of the non-comms seemed to have any interest in ‘assisting’ her, and Jepsen had yet to assign her any of Madeira’s workload.
The pack waited by the door, and she crouched to put on her running shoes, and began to compose the letter in her mind… at least the main thing she wanted to convey to him: “You are mighty, my little brother, and Ba We would be proud of you. I am proud of you.” Another thought chilled her: he feels tired when he dreams. Could this be the beginning?
Emily shouldered the pack and took the stairs three steps at a time. Down in the street, she fished out the sat-phone and initiated a call. Stone and Li Li wouldn’t be home from school for another few minutes, which ought to be enough time.
“I’m sorry, Andie, this has got to be brief. I need to know, has Stone seemed extra tired lately?”
“Tired, Stone? You’ve got to be kidding. He’s more energetic than ever. Why do you ask?”
“Does he have trouble waking up in the morning?”
“It’s hard to see how… I mean, he still gets up before everyone else. You remember how he is, bouncing off the walls by five thirty.”
“It’s just that in his last letter, I was reading it again, and he talks about how tired and weak he feels.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Emily. He seems like usual, cheerful, full of beans… except, I think he misses you a lot.”
“Thanks, Andie. Give them both a hug from me, and my mom, too. I have to go.”
“Okay. Bye, sweetheart. We all miss you.”
She went a different way to the embassy each time, partly for security – being unpredictable was always safer – but mainly to lengthen her workout. The most direct route took less than an hour. Later, a quick shower in the Marine House focused her mind, and she slipped into the civilian outfit she’d put together for the day, a black suit with pleated pants and a charcoal gray blouse.
“I miss you Emmy,” Li Li had written in dark strokes, like a primal cry. “I know Mr. Sung means well and all, but he expects me to be extra Chinese, and I don’t know how. Andie and Yuki keep telling me not to pay him any mind, but he and his wife have been so kind.”
Emily folded the letter between two fingers and leaned back in her chair to contemplate the ceiling tiles. How clearly she remembered the vertiginous feeling of not knowing who, or what, she was. Maybe every teenager experiences those feelings, the same ones Li Li was feeling right now, a stranger in her own skin, a million miles away from home, even as she’s surrounded by people who love her.
“Andie sounds so funny trying to speak Putonghua,” Li Li wrote at the bottom. “Yuki is better at guessing what the characters mean, because they are so similar to Ribenyu. I try not to laugh when they speak, but I love them for making the effort.”
It took a few minutes to compose her thoughts, and write two letters, and she had to laugh at how sloppy her hanzi turned out. Li Li would mock her to shame, and maybe she deserved it for leaving her behind… again.
“This way, Tenno,” Redmond called from the corridor. “Jepsen wants you.”
“What’s it about, Commander?”
“How should I know, but it’s damn out of the ordinary.” Redmond didn’t even pause to look at her, merely speaking over his shoulder, their footsteps echoing along the tile floor. The pressure of any departure from the ordinary, practically an offense in itself, radiated from Redmond’s words, his posture, his gait, as if she were as good as guilty of a court-martial offense on that ground alone.
“I don’t know what kinda pull you have, Tenno.” The muscles of Jepsen’s face barely moved as he spoke, sitting on the edge of his desk. “… and that line of bull you sold me about not calling in a favor to get assigned here, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”
“I’m sorry, you have me at a loss, sir.”
“They want us upstairs, Lieutenant. Better not keep ’em waiting.”
Two anterooms and a polished marble corridor separated the elevator from the Ambassador’s office, and the density of uniformed officers increased as they advanced, mostly Navy, but several Marines stood at attention near the final door.
“Go right in,” a man in a dark gray suit said.
Ambass
ador Bambrough sat on a leather sofa, a vision of aristocratic privilege, with his long legs and heathered-gray hair in blue pinstripes. Next to him sat his Deputy Chief of Mission, to all appearances a man unflappable in any company. General Lukasziewicz and Admiral Crichton stood the moment she entered, and stepped toward her little party, causing Jepsen and Redmond to retreat ever so slightly.
“It’s good to see you again, Tenno,” Crichton said.
“You, too, sir. May I ask what brings you here?”
“A state dinner, just like you, Marine,” Lukasziewicz said. “… though I gather the admiral and I will merely be spectators.”
“Now you’re scaring me, sir.”
“If the admiral is to be believed, nothing frightens you, Miss Tenno.”
Emily glanced around the room, at an array of expectant faces, as if she were the guest of honor at a game of blind man’s bluff – except for Jepsen and Redmond, who appeared to be at least as clueless, and wary, as she was.
“I didn’t like it when we agreed to it all those months ago,” Crichton said. “It was wrong at the time, and it shouldn’t have taken this long to set it right.”
Lukasziewicz picked up the first of three small boxes from the ambassador’s desk, and held it open with a flourish that perhaps exceeded regulation, but clearly displayed a pair of double silver bars. “In my capacity as Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and under the authority of the President and the Congress of the United States, I hereby offer you promotion to the rank of Captain.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emily said, at first displaying the beginnings of an inappropriate salute, since they were indoors and she was not in uniform, and then bowing her head slightly.
Admiral Crichton handed the second box to Lukasziewicz, who gave it a similar flourish and pronounced the following formula: “In respect of ample evidence of wounds received while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in armed conflict with an opposing force, it is my honor to present you with the Purple Heart.”
“Don’t go anywhere yet, Capt Tenno,” Crichton said as he opened the final box. “We have one more item on the agenda, and we’ve agreed that I get to do this one.”
“Sir, if that’s what I think it is, you know how I feel about…”
Crichton waved off her objection, and paused to gaze at the contents of the box. “I don’t get to do this very often, and I never get tired of it.” Raising his eyes to Emily he continued, with a bit less panache than Lukasziewicz. “On the basis of ample evidence of extraordinary heroism in combat while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in armed conflict with an opposing force, it is my honor to present you with the United States Navy Cross.”
Her initial reaction to Crichton’s words rose up from deep in her chest and stuck in her throat. She wanted to cry out a primal protest. How could she accept such an honor with so many dead men weighing upon her? Tarot’s face came to her, and she remembered Racket’s embarrassment, and Jacob’s words, and thought differently. Her voice quaked, when she said, “Thank you, sir,” but she pulled herself up tall and thrust out her chin.
“I must admit, I’d expected more resistance, Captain,” the admiral said.
“I’ve come to think differently, sir, after seeing….”
“However you come to it, I’m pleased,” he said, when she paused for a long moment. “The evidence of your valor is plain, the testimony of your comrades is compelling… and your country needs to honor its heroes.”
Before Emily could even catch a breath, or turn her mind to the tiniest reflection, the uniforms crowded around to congratulate her, even Jepsen and Redmond. Finally, Ambassador Bambrough offered his congratulations.
“We look forward to seeing you at the Great Hall of the People in two days, Captain. I’m sure you’ll do your country proud.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’m not sure I know what to do at such an event.”
“No need to worry. You have an appointment with my protocol officer this afternoon to go over the niceties. As for the dress…”
“The dress, sir?” Emily was expecting to get her dress blues back today from whatever tailor the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Mission had arranged, and she hoped the Ambassador didn’t mean there was a problem with her uniform. Had they lost it?
“Yes, Captain,” the Deputy Chief of Mission said. “President Liang has decided to make an innovation in the program, and has hired an orchestra for ballroom dancing.”
“Sounds like hazardous duty to me,” Lukasziewicz said.
“You may earn that medal yet,” Redmond said, with a snort, though no one else laughed, and Emily shrugged it off.
“Sir, I don’t have a dress suitable for such an occasion.”
“Go see Margie Cabot on three,” the Deputy Chief said. “She’ll fix you up.”
Later, once the Ambassador’s assistant had managed to clear the room, and only Crichton and Lukasziewicz remained, a fuller explanation emerged.
“When President Liang’s people originally requested your attendance, we assumed it was about putting the finishing touches on the purge of all the coup plotters.” Bambrough stood up to adopt the posture of statesman-like wisdom. “By honoring you, he could shame them and intimidate any other potential threats. But in recent days, we learned that he intends to recognize you more concretely, by pinning a medal on you.”
Crichton cleared his throat. “I meant what I said before… I hated not being able to honor your valor on Itbayat at the time, and I wish we could have had more of a ceremony today, but we are pressed for time. If we allowed Liang to honor you when we hadn’t, it might have repercussions elsewhere… even in Japan.”
“Speaking of Japan…” Emily fidgeted with the Navy Cross as she searched for the right words. “Has the Imperial Household…”
“The PM has been informed,” Bambrough said. “They may be planning something for the spring, which is the season for medal ceremonies.”
“The dress… is that really necessary?”
“It’s a bit irregular for this sort of thing,” Crichton said. “But I gather the entire event is going to be a break from tradition for the Chinese, too.”
“It was my Deputy’s idea,” Bambrough said. “It’s a bit of of damage control. Liang can’t pin a medal on you if you’re wearing an evening gown. He’ll have to hand you a box.”
“I hope you can dance, Marine,” Lukasziewicz said.
“It tickles me to think of all the Party members who are now taking crash courses in ballroom dancing.”
“My assistant tells me the Canadians and the Brits have volunteered their services to a number of dignitaries,” the Deputy Chief said.
The crowds had not yet choked off the sidewalks in the posh blocks of the Guomao district, but when Emily tried to dodge across the street to the Fortune Fashion Center, a five-story mall with bright displays in the ground floor windows, Margie Cabot pulled her back.
“I don’t think we want a qi pao, or anything punk or goth. Let’s check out these places.” She gestured to smaller design shops nestled between cafes and banks, ‘Yan Li’ was emblazoned above one of them in sharp black and white hanzi and English letters, and a few yards away ‘Ms Min’ was etched more subtly into the glass of another. “You’re long and lean… I hope you don’t mind my saying, and I’m sure they’ll have something for you.”
“I don’t have that much cash on me, Ms. Cabot, and those places look expensive. I’m sure we can find something cheaper in Sanlitun.”
“Please, just call me Margie, and don’t worry about the cost.” Margie tilted her head to size up the girl who’d been dumped on her at the last second – just business as usual, she’d seen it often enough in all the time she’d worked in the Foreign Service. Everything that matters seems to happen in a rush, and one climbs the career ladder by demonstrating resourcefulness in a crisis, and this wardrobe dilemma was just the latest crisis. “This one comes out of the ambassador’s discretionary cash fund… but remem
ber, it will belong to the embassy, technically, so don’t spill red wine on it.”
They examined the various displays while the shop girls pretended to ignore them. Finally, Margie pulled several dresses off the rack at Ms Min’s, pressed them into Emily’s hands, and turned to look for accessories.
“I don’t know about these,”Emily said, eyeing them one at a time, holding them at arm’s length.
“Nonsense. You’ll look stunning in red. Try them on and you’ll see.”
“It’s not the color…” the girl tried to say as Margie shoved her into the dressing room.
A few minutes later, she stepped out in an ankle length, one-shoulder, jersey gown. When she turned, the skirt belled out slightly, highlighting a trim waist. “Nice,” Margie said, focusing on the drape of the fabric. But when Emily had turned all the way around, something quite different caught her attention. “Oh my goodness. How did you get…” She caught herself staring and was reminded that she was dealing with a Marine. “I’m so sorry, dear. Those scars really stand out.”
“I know.”
“The Deputy Chief said strapless, but I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured as much.”
“It’s okay, honey. We just need to find you something with a high back and shoulders. I bet they’ll have something that’ll serve our purpose down the block.”
Margie turned out to be right, and they found a black v-neck column dress with an embroidered placket that covered most of the scars.
“What about this one?” Emily ran a finger up to her shoulder blade. “It’s still gonna show.”
“You just need a cover.” Margie slipped a saffron shawl across her shoulders. “How’s that feel?”
“It would look better in blue.”
“Blue is a wishy-washy color to the Chinese. It has no relation to nature.”
“What about the sky, isn’t that blue?”
“They think of the sky as black. The main colors you want to stick to are yellow, red and black. Avoid green at all costs.”
Girl Goes To Wudang (An Emily Kane Adventure Book 7) Page 10