And what's it to them that Wind song needs paint? I like her rustic! I don't want to paint her. I love it that she's flaking.
She's like me!"
Josh walked up to the marina's security gate and punched in his code. "Meg, their complaints don't mean anything.
We'll do what we did last year. Every time they have a party or watch television on deck we'll make written complaints about the noise. Tit for tat, remember? They'll back off just like they always do-but hey, if you do decide to get naked, call me, huh? I wanna see ya without those leotards."
Her lips slowly turned up into a smile. "Thanks, Josh. I needed a boost. Come on, I have to talk to you about Stef."
She hurried down the steps to the pier, leaving him two steps behind. He saw why she had dashed ahead, for her lingerie was drying on the boom. He slowed his pace to give her more time to clean up and looked down two slips to Lil'
Darlin'. He knew the temps would soon be complaining about his boat too. She needed paint and a good cleaning.
Both Wind song and Lil' Darlin' were older sailers modified for full-time living. Mostly wood, they were classics-but no modern yachtsman would touch them. They were outdated antiques compared to the slick fiberglass sailers that were made for speed and show. Josh didn't care about speed or show-his forty-two-foot "antique" was bigger and roomier inside than the modern boats. Lil' Darlin' was home.
"Hey, Josh, come on board," Meg called.
Josh stepped down to the aft deck into the cockpit, where Meg motioned to the pilot's seat. She handed him a nonalcoholic beer-knowing he would accept nothing else before work-and wrinkled her brow. 'Tell me about this new assistant of yours. Bob, right?"
"I thought you said you wanted to talk about Stef?"
She gave him a "humor me" look. He shrugged. "Yeah, it's Bob. Bob Stevenson. He started to work part-time a few months ago up in my front office. He graduated from college a couple of years ago with a criminology degree and got a snuffy job with the Drug Enforcement Administration. He found out soon enough he needed a master's degree to get ahead in their organization. He got a release and is going to Georgetown. He works for me around his classes."
Meg raised an eyebrow. "Did you know Bob and Stef have a thing for each other?"
Josh rolled his eyes. "He's too busy to be interested in Stefne. Hell, he's at least five years older than-"
"Three."
"What?"
"He's three years older than Stef. I asked."
"Why are you askin' stuff like that? When did you talk to Stef, anyway?"
"Look, Josh, she came over and borrowed some milk, all right? We talked-girl talk, y'know? The subject came up about this Bob guy. She says she likes him a lot and isn't sure how you'll take it and-"
"She said that? Stefne doesn't say stuff like that."
"Not to you; you're her father. Give her a break, will ya?
She's a grown woman, and a dam good-lookin' one at that ... or haven't you noticed?"
"She said that? I'm gonna have to talk to her and-"
"Don't you dare! What women say during girl talk is privileged. I'm just warning you to take some time and look at your daughter. Heaven forbid, she's like you. She does what she wants and is hardheaded, but don't be surprised when one day she tells you she's in love."
Josh waved the last comment away. "Thanks, but Stef isn't even close to fallin' for Bob. She's going to law school once she graduates this summer, remember? She has her life all planned, and fallin' for Bob or anybody else isn't on the list-at least not until after law school."
Meg frowned and pushed her red bangs from her eyes.
"Josh, you're as stupid as they come, and I've known a lot of stupid men. Listen to me. I'm trying to be subtle here but you're not listening to what I'm saying. Stefne really likes the guy. When you're off playing the great white hunter, those two talk a lot."
Josh looked over the wheel toward Lir Darlin' with a distant stare. "I-I had no idea."
"Because you're stupid," said Meg with a smile. She slapped his back. "Cheer up, it's not the end of the world.
Your daughter is very happy. Be happy for her."
Josh's jaw tightened as he lowered his eyes to the beer bottle. He didn't want to lose her, too. He faked a smile, put down the beer, and got up. "I'd better go get dressed." He took two steps before looking over his shoulder at the redhead. "Thanks, Meg. I'll drop by the milk I owe ya later tonight."
Meg began to respond, but he had already jumped to the pier. She shook her head, wishing there had been another way.
Josh entered the cabin hoping Stefne would be there. She wasn't, but a Post-it note was on the computer screen. He took a step toward the desk and leaned over to read the note.
Dad I'm at the library picking up some books. Your pork chops are in the oven and corn is on the stove. Baked potato is in the microwave (remember to stab it with a fork).
Be back later. Love ya, Stef Josh sat down in the leather office chair and looked around the cabin. It always seemed empty when she wasn't there.
Slowly his eyes panned from the cabin door across the bookshelves to the small galley that had her touch everywhere.
The little wooden rainbow hanging on the light over the sink, pictures stuck to the refrigerator with tiny bear magnets, the smell of her perfume that lingered in the cabin. His eyes shifted back to the desk where her school notebook lay open.
He leaned over, studying her handwriting, the perfectly made loops and twirls of the letters and the exact spacing between words, not an erasure mark anywhere. She was just as meticulous and organized as her mother had been, he thought. He glanced at the work calendar and saw names in each block of every day for two weeks, along with the times for the shift changes. She did it all-wrote the checks, made the calls, and organized the shifts, all while a full-time A student at Georgetown.
Josh lowered his eyes to his callused hands in thought. His baby girl was falling in love? How come he hadn't seen it?
He should have seen it, he saw her every day! Closing his eyes, he knew he hadn't really been seeing her, he'd been seeing his little girl.
He felt something brush his leg and opened his eyes.
"What ya been doin', Clifford?" He bent over, picked up the fat yellow cat, and scratched its head. "I hear you been drivin' Stef crazy."
"Jesus, boss, aren't you dressed yet?"
Josh turned and looked at his new assistant, Bob Stevenson, who stood in the hatchway. Yes, he thought, he was fairly good-looking-tall, broad-shouldered, athletic.
Josh could still whip his ass in racquetball two out of three games, but "Boss, you all right? Come on, the shift will be here in ten minutes," Bob said, uncomfortable with his boss's stare.
Josh got up and motioned toward the cabin door. "Go check the radios. I'll be right there." Without waiting for a reply, Josh walked down the narrow passage past the galley and entered the master sleeping berth. Minutes later he was dressed in his work uniform of gray slacks, starched white button-down shirt, regimental tie, and blue blazer. He picked up his thirty-five-dollar Casio digital diver's watch and strapped it to his wrist. Miming to the mirror, he brushed back his hair with his fingers, then glanced over his shoulder at the picture of Jill hanging over the dresser. He smiled and whispered, "She's growing up, hon. You'd be real proud."
The small office in the Waterfront Restaurant Association building was packed as Josh walked in and nodded to the seven waiting people. He strode straight to the compartmentalized battery recharger and pulled out a Motorola radio.
Facing his part-time employees, he quickly inspected their civilian dress as he spoke. "It's business as usual tonight.
Harry, from Hogate's, wants a little extra coverage 'cause he's got a group of high rollers, but I'll take care of it. Who's base tonight?"
A hard-faced blonde lifted her hand. "I am, Josh. I drew it again."
He patted her shoulder. "Betty, give us all commo checks every thirty minutes-the radios have been actin' up
." He smiled at the others. "Okay, let's do it."
Bob waited with Josh until the others had departed for their assigned beats, then followed his boss out the door. Josh glanced at the younger man once outside. "You don't have class tonight?"
"Nope. I've got finals next week."
Josh nodded absently and began walking up the sidewalk toward Hogate's. Bob fell in beside him. Josh stopped and asked, "Where you think you're goin'?'
"With you. You said you wanted me to tag along tonight and see how you ran things, remember?"
"When did I say that?"
"This morning, boss. Are you all right? You've been out of it this evening."
Josh suddenly remembered. It had been when Bob checked in at the boat that morning before opening the office. Damn, the kid was right. He was out of it. The headlines in the morning paper had got to him. Reading about what had happened in Burma had blurred his brain.
The two men walked along in silence and entered Hogate's, the famous seafood restaurant. They strolled past the line of tourists waiting for tables and turned right, into the crowded bar.
Harry, the manager, saw Josh and rushed up to him.
"Damn, I was just about to call and see what was holding you up. I already have problems."
Josh glanced over the crowd and noted most were wearing expensive suits and stylish ties. "They look like money to me."
Harry lowered his voice. "They're all lawyers attending a convention. At the window table, number six, there's a couple of lookers wanting to cash in."
Josh nodded and motioned for Bob to follow him. "We'll take care of it, Harry."
The blonde saw him coming and lifted a perfectly painted eyebrow. "Hiya, Josh. Don't worry, we're just having a couple of drinks."
Josh sat down and gave the stunning woman a knowing smile as his eyes took in her low-cut, sequined dress. "You're looking really good, Wanda, but you know the rules. Once they're off the Front they're open game, but here you so much as bat an eye at one of these ambulance chasers, it's the street. Finish your drink and be a nice girl and do business elsewhere."
"Who is this bozo?" the raven-haired looker across from the blonde said with a sneer.
Wanda batted her eyes at Josh. "Meet the White Knight, Dakota. He's the Mr. Clean of the Front. Isn't that right, Josh?"
Josh extended his hand across the table. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Dakota. You must be new in town and don't know the rules. Wanda knows them, so listen to her. It'll keep you out of trouble."
Wanda sighed and pushed back her chair. "Okay, White Knight, we're out of here." She reached for her purse but Josh touched her hand and winked. "It's on the house, good lookin'."
Wanda gave him a lingering look before smiling wanly. "I had to try, Josh. It's business, ya know."
Josh got up and pulled back her chair for her. "I know.
Take care of yourself. You know my number if you get in over your head."
Josh watched the women walk toward the door and then acknowledged the grateful nod from Harry, who was standing at the bar. Bob grinned as he stepped up beside his boss.
"I'm glad you wanted me to tag along tonight. I knew the company did this kind of thing, but seeing it is ... is ..."
"Our job," Josh said with a sigh. "They were easy, but it'll get rougher. You'll see what I mean when the Front heats up.
Watch and listen to me tonight. Knowledge will give you strength."
Bob squinted. "Huh?"
Josh sighed again. He was really out of it. The phrase he had spoken countless times in his past had slipped out. He glanced at his right wrist at the thin, worn silver bracelet that he had worn for thirty years. Like his memories of the Master Horseman, the silver band had become a part of him.
Chapter 9.
JUNE 5
10:40 P. M., SEATAC (Seattle-Tacoma) International Airport.
The passengers of Flight 803 from Japan wearily gathered their luggage from the carousel and made their way to the Customs counters. Booth nine's Customs officer finished processing a Japanese businessman and motioned for the next passenger. A tall, Oriental man the officer judged to be in his late thirties stepped forward and held out his passport and visa. Seeing the passport was from Burma, the Customs officer eyed the passenger more closely. Since the bombing of the American Embassy in Burma, everyone coming in from that country was to be checked and logged. He scanned the passenger's face and compared it to the passport picture. The high, chiseled cheekbones, prominent nose and chin, and aristocratic face all fit. The officer handed the passport back and motioned behind him. "Mr. Kang, please proceed along the blue line to the tables behind me."
The officer watched the passenger's eyes for a response.
There were no signs of nervousness or distress. He was very good or he was clean, the officer thought, as he motioned for the next passenger.
The black female Customs officer waiting at the table took Stephen's visa and handed it to her assistant, who strode toward a distant office. She opened his passport to do a routine check and flipped through the pages, looking at the stamps. "You visit Hong Kong quite a lot, Mr. Kang. Are you a businessman?"
"Deputy minister of finance," he said without inflection.
"This is your first trip to the United States, I see. Is it business or pleasure?"
"Pleasure. I'm going fishing in your glorious mountains."
She smiled as if being friendly. "Your English' is better than mine. Where did you learn to speak our language without an accent?"
Stephen gave her a soft smile, knowing her questions were not just idle curiosity. "English is the second language of my country. We were a British colony for many years."
The officer nodded and glanced at his declaration form.
"You have nothing to declare?"
"No, nothing."
She carefully went through his luggage and confirmed what she already knew-he was clean. As she closed the large suitcase, her assistant returned with the visa and handed it back to her. Smiling again, the officer handed Stephen his passport and papers. "Welcome to the United States, Mr.
Kang. Have a nice stay."
Stephen nodded without reply, picked up his bags, and walked toward the exit.
In the reception area, standing behind the throng waiting for the passengers, three Burmese men waited for Kang, the last member of their team. Their leader, Colonel Sak Po, was Brigadier General Tan's deputy special operations director.
Like all the senior leaders in the DDSI, his aristocratic family had sent him to a United States college. A 1975 graduate of Washington State University, he had returned to Burma and been appointed a lieutenant in the army. Four years later he was recruited into the DDSI for his keen intellect and his expertise in financial matters. In 1987 he trained in East Germany with the Stasi. Upon returning to Burma, Po became the principal architect of the special operations department of the DDSI. A small, slender man with almost feminine features, he was continually underestimated by those who knew nothing of his background.
Po genuinely liked Stephen Kang, for he was extremely intelligent and could be depended on for independent and original thought, rare attributes within the DDSI. A year before as the deputy finance minister, Kang had briefed the prime minister on several proposals he had written for restructuring the country's massive debt. His proposals had been brilliant, showing his analytical and meticulous mind. His proposals had been approved and he'd been asked to join the government's Recovery Planning Group to represent the minorities of Burma. In just a matter of weeks, he had become the principal architect of the recovery plans and leader of the Group.
Since he was half Shan and his father was the government's enemy, the opposition and minority party leaders believed he would represent them fairly. For the past year he had worked long hours, unaware that he was in reality in charge of a small portion of a much larger operation-White Storm. Po had kept the Recovery Planning Group compartmentalized so the other members knew nothing about the overall operatio
n, its purpose or even its name.
Stephen saw Colonel Po and made his way through the crowd toward him. He liked the small man because the colonel respected his abilities and treated him as an equal. As Stephen approached, the colonel's grin enlarged and he held out his hand, Western-style.
"Stephen, so good to see you! I trust your flight was a good one?"
Stephen took the offered hand and returned a weary smile.
"Greetings and blessings. Yes, but it was very long."
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 11