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

by Jacques Antoine

  “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.

  ~~~~~~~

  Crossing the bridge at Decatur before dawn always put Emily in a reverie, even more now with CJ, Stacie and Zaki following behind. Her breath went in and out, humid and chilly at the same time, just enough of a temperature differential to make steam as it left her nostrils. The rhythm was faster than when she sat in one of the windows in Bancroft with her legs folded under her, but not so fast that it couldn’t carry her away with it. Soon the padding of her feet against the pavement reinforced the whole experience. Thump, thump, thump—like some primal beat of the world—louder, deeper in her ears. Then, especially on the other side of the canal, tiny taiko drummers sounded the resonant four-four of her life-force, her chi. Two-two when she meditated quietly by herself, four-eight when she ran with her friends, but always beating, echoing in her ears, sloshing with the blood in her veins. Soon she heard the thump-thump-thump of her friends, first their feet, then something beating deeper within, their dreams and their anxieties whispering to her. Her breath stretched out beyond them, reaching the delivery van rumbling by in the twilight on Hanover, and then the car crossing College Creek on King George Street.

  Eventually, her thoughts drifted off to the familiar scene: a tropical forest, she knew not where, other than inside her heart. She saw herself place one foot in front of the other, padding along quietly, forest soil and leaves crinkling under her toes. A light beckoned to her up ahead, bright, warm, glimmering through the lower fronds of an enormous fern, the gatekeeper. She pushed through to the meadow beyond, bathed in sunshine, summer insects—dragonflies and butterflies—flitted above the grass, a light breeze and the sound of water in the distance. Before she could find the waterfall, clouds covered the sun, and a whirlwind swept up across the graying hillside, rain pelting her face. By the time she saw the little girl riding the darkening wind, water ran down her cheeks, augmented by the tears flowing freely from her eyes. The girl glanced at her, reaching down a tiny hand, mighty as the wind, as if she would scoop Emily up and carry her off. And then she was gone, a giggle singing on the last wisp of the breeze. Emily blinked at the dragonflies, and smiled at the sun.

  “Hey, Em,” she heard Zaki’s voice call out. “We’re running out of land.”

  She shook her head out of the dream and laughed. “Sorry, guys. I got lost in a daydream for a moment there.”

  “What the hell, Em,” CJ moaned. “You didn’t say we were gonna sprint the whole way. I’m like totally winded.”

  “It’ll be a better workout this way,” Stacie cried out, huffing as badly as CJ and Zaki.

  “Stacie’s right,” Zaki said, “more like battlefield conditions.”

  “The only conditions that matter are the ones inside your heart,” Emily said. “Weak, strong, rested or tired, fearful or resolute—those are all just states of mind.”

  “Really, Em,” CJ said, one eyebrow arched into a peak of sarcasm. “You’re really gonna go all zen on us?”

  “I will if I have to. But, seriously, you can’t waste your time wishing for the perfect conditions. When a fight breaks out, the conditions are always bad. You have to depend on what you find within yourself.”

  “And just how do we do that?” Zaki asked. “I was in a couple of fights in high school, and I remember really well what it’s like, that first time you’re in a scrap. When someone hits you, I mean really tags you, it’s like your whole brain goes numb, and you break into a cold sweat and you can’t focus on anything.”

  “That’s exactly what happens,” Emily said. “And you want to make sure it happens to the other guy, not you.”

  “So you’re saying we should be super aggressive?” CJ asked.

  “Uh… that’s not what you said in the advanced hand-to-hand class,” Stacie said.

  “It’s not about aggression. It’s about i
nitiative. Stacie, you know what I mean, right?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, looking less confident than someone with all those muscles usually does.

  “Remember what your sensei told you about sen?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think I ever really understood what he said about that.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, as she took a deep breath. “Let’s talk it through. We can take CJ as our example, but what I have to say will be true for you, too, Stacie, and to a lesser extent for Zaki. What do you do if someone picks a fight with you?” she asked CJ.

  “I hope I remember to run,” she said through a nervous giggle.

  “But if a man attacks you, he’s likely to be stronger and faster than you. That means you won’t get away by running. And besides, if you run in battle, you’ll let your unit down. So, in the face of superior force, and if you can’t run, obviously you have to stand your ground, right?”

  “I guess so,” CJ replied, now beginning to look very put upon by the turn the conversation had just taken.

  “So, let’s think of it in terms of an isolated encounter. If a man attacks me, running won’t help, at least not until I’ve disabled him. Zaki, give me a strike.”

  He obliged, standing opposite her and extending his arm.

  “You can see, can’t you, since his arm is longer than mine, if I step back I place myself in a purely defensive position. If I can’t reach him, he’s got nothing to fear from me. He can attack with impunity.”

  “Okay,” CJ said, wary of the conclusion Emily might have in mind.

  “That means, not only is it useless to run, but also that I have to step forward, into his attack.”

  “Yes,” Stacie cried out. “That’s just like in shotokan. We try to block and then step inside, and nail him with a reverse punch to the center of the chest.”

  “Exactly,” Emily said. “And beyond the mechanical advantage of being able to strike with your weight on your back foot, which is the strongest hand-strike you have, there is the hidden advantage that he won’t expect it. Of course, when you step inside, you really have to nail him, and even then, you still can’t run.”

  “I’m not sure I can do this, Em,” CJ moaned.

  “I hope you never have to, but if you do…”

  “Then you better know how,” Stacie crooned.

  “One last thing,” Emily continued. “Once you nail him with that strike to the soft spot, just below the bottom rib, you have to hit him several more times. You don’t back away, or even think of running, until you’ve hurt him, by which I mean you’ve made it physically impossible for him to pursue.”

  “And that means…” CJ cringed to ask.

  “It means killing or maiming; a few bruises is not enough. You have to break his knee, or chop his throat, or maybe strike the back of his head just above the neck, gouge out his eyes—you get the picture, I hope—all very nasty stuff. Also, contrary to popular belief, merely kneeing him in the nuts will not really disable him. He’ll be able to run after you within a few seconds. Once you gain an advantage over your opponent, you don’t back off until you’ve settled it. To do anything else is simply to hand the advantage back.”

  “Oh, God,” CJ whimpered. “Isn’t there any other way?”

  “Of course, there is,” Emily replied, trying to find a reassuring tone of voice. “You always have options. And the more of ’em you have, the better. Pain compliance is the other main tool in your hand-to-hand arsenal.”

  “What about kicking?” Stacie asked.

  “CJ doesn’t have any karate training, so I didn’t mention that. And anyway, I think of kicks as an adjunct to hand-strikes.”

  “What about pain compliance, Em,” CJ chirped. “Let’s do some of that.”

  “Okay, but I want to make sure you understand its limits, as a strategy. Unless you intend to snap someone’s neck, or maim them, pain compliance is only useful in cases where you think your opponent can be ‘reasoned’ with, if you catch my drift.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve had training in pain compliance.”

  “Oh, c’mon, CJ. I want to see how we stand our ground,” Stacie said. “Let’s go over that, Em.”

  After some mock bickering between the girls, Emily had Zaki simulate an attack, first with a punch combination, and then with a grab.

  “You better put on pads,” she said, after a moment, “even if we’re only going half-speed, or you’ll get bruises from the blocks.”

  “What about you? Are you just gonna wear grappling gloves?” Zaki asked.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna hit me.”

  “You mean you want me to pull the punches?”

  “I mean you won’t be able to hit me.”

  Zaki frowned at her, and then assumed a fighting stance.

  “Whatever you say, Em.”

  “Don’t be like that, big guy. You know we love you.”

  Several attacks later, Zaki found himself lying on the grass, contemplating the clouds as they drifted by. One resembled a camel, another an elephant.

  “This is so humiliating. How do you keep doing that, Em?” he groaned as he picked himself up.

  “Let’s try it at one quarter speed, and we can pause after each move.”

  After she leaned away and swatted the first strike across his chest, she said, “See how I haven’t stepped back, and as I block with the right, I’m already striking down here with the left. The bottom rib on the side is a vulnerable spot. If I can crack it, he won’t be able to continue with that arm, and breathing will be difficult. Though with someone as solid as Zaki, it’s gonna take more than one blow.”

  “I see,” said Stacie. “And blocking his arm across his chest closes him off from the next attack.”

  “Exactly. It takes an extra second to untangle himself. His natural next move is to step back and swing a hook from the other side.”

  “That feels about right,” Zaki said, and then stepped back for the hook. Emily stepped forward, but leaned out of the way of his strike.

  “You see how I don’t let him get further away. Distance is his friend, so I deny him that. At this point, he’s vulnerable to a knee to the groin. But if I do that, he’s likely to lurch forward on top of me. I might kick through his knee, like this, or slip a right hand over his arm and strike his throat. But I need to keep my left ready to defend against the right that he’s in a good position to deliver.”

  “Are those your best options?” CJ asked.

  “Well, not exactly, but I don’t think you’re gonna be able to do this,” she replied, leaning over even further to slip a high side-kick under his chin, gently nudging the throat, just as he brought the right arm around.

  “Holy crap,” Stacie squealed. “How on earth did you do that?”

  “I had no idea you could get a kick like that in from so close,” Zaki said, stumbling back a step or two.

  “You see how it let him get some distance. I’d only do that if I meant to finish him with it, you know, crush his windpipe.”

  “Oh my God, Em,” CJ said. “There’s no way I’m flexible enough for that.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I think the better option for you is the knee to the groin, but be prepared to shoulder him off of you, and strike his throat when he reaches down to check the family jewels.”

  “It all seems so nasty. I don’t know if I’m mean enough to do some of this stuff.”

  “Fighting is nasty, CJ. I hate it.”

  “Is that why you won’t go to competitions with the team?” Stacie asked.

  “Sort of. I mean, kumite is good training, but I hate thinking of fighting as if it were a sport.”

  “Then why do you train so hard all the time?”

  “Because I have to,” Emily replied, beginning to grow weary of the subject. “Look, guys, can we get back to work?”

  “Sorry, Em,” Stacie said. “It’s just you’re so good at this. It’s kind of awesome, you know.”

  “Yeah, Em,” CJ piped up. “Have you e
ver been in a tournament?”

  Emily sighed at her friends’ persistence. Perhaps she’d have to share something with them, but how much could she afford to reveal about herself? Her high school friends were just the same, especially Wendy… at least until the incident with the West Virginia bikers. Seeing a real fight up close cured them of their fascination with abstract violence.

  “Fine. I’ve been in lots of tournaments. When I was a kid I only wanted to compete in kata, but in high school, Sensei and my dad made me do kumite, and they insisted I compete in the men’s division.”

  “Man, that sounds harsh,” Zaki said.

  “My dad used to say: You’re not training to defend yourself against women.”

  “I suppose he’s got a point,” CJ said, “but still…”

  “How’d you do against the men?” Stacie asked.

  “Second place the first time, which showed me that I could take a punch.”

  “Was it full contact?” Zaki asked, horrified.

  “No, but boys will be boys… or men, in this case.”

  “What about the next time?” Stacie asked.

  “At the Norfolk invitational…”

  “You mean the Leatherneck Brawl?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” she said, her mind racing back to the scene three years earlier, and especially to the much more violent confrontation with Tang and his operatives in the hotel parking lot, later that night.

  “I hope you didn’t get too roughed up,” Zaki said.

  “No, and more importantly, I didn’t have to hurt anyone else,” she added, with a wistful smile.

  “Is that the tournament Coach Parker’s always talking about?” Stacie asked. “Because according to him, you totally dominated.”

  “You know, I’m not the same person I was in high school. Back then, I could spar, and kid around with my friends afterwards. Now, I don’t spar, because I hate fighting. It’s too nasty, and I’ve just been there too many times. I never want to fight again.”