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

by Jacques Antoine

  “What was that all about, Em?” Stacie asked, staring down at a large roast beef sandwich on a baguette. “Since when do you train with us… and spend like the whole time huddled with Trowbridge? This is the third time this week.”

  “You’re the one who said he’s not so bad.”

  “How are you even gonna fit that whole thing in your body?” CJ asked, with a snort. “I mean, Stace, c’mon, it’s huge.” Everyone at the table laughed until Zaki’s plate showed up with an even larger sandwich.

  “What can I say?” he said, when he noticed everyone staring at him. “It pays to be on good terms with the chef.”

  “You’re just as bad, Em,” CJ said. “What is it today, rice and beans and tofu? Again. You’ve been practically living on that stuff all semester.”

  Emily grunted through a mouthful, and then noticed one of the plebes sitting at their table, looking like he was waiting for Santa to come down the chimney.

  “Something on your mind, Gregorovitch?” she asked, once she’d swallowed.

  “No, Ma’am… I mean, yes, Ma’am.”

  “Spit it out, man,” Funderburk barked at him. The babble of voices died down and all eyes turned his way.

  “Yes, sir. The rumor is Tenno’s going to compete.”

  “Compete where?”

  “Quantico, sir, at the Leatherneck Brawl. At least that’s the rumor.”

  “Is this true, Tenno?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When she heard the news confirmed, CJ’s jaw dropped open.

  “Em, what are you talking about? I thought you hated that stuff.”

  “You’re gonna dominate the women’s division,” Funderburk said with a gloating air of satisfaction.

  “She’s fighting in the men’s division, sir,” Stacie said. “And it’s full-contact rules this year.”

  “What the… does the Deputy Commandant know about this?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily replied.

  “How on earth did you persuade him to go along with that?”

  “I told him no jarhead will ever take orders from me in battle if they don’t think I can stand up in a fight. Either I prove it now, or in my first billet.”

  “And he bought that bucket of bilge?”

  Emily nodded. Everyone else around the table stared blankly at her. CJ in particular seemed frozen by the news, as if she might just shatter like glass. With one hand on the back of CJ’s neck, she said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

  “But these are Marines we’re talking about,” CJ stammered out. “And SEALs.”

  “I’ve faced worse.”

  “Where have you found guys tougher than the SEALs?” Funderburk asked.

  “In my own family,” Emily whispered for nobody but herself to hear.

  “Whatever,” Funderburk growled. “This calls for a general announcement.”

  “Sir, I wish you wouldn’t make such a big deal out of this.”

  Funderburk ignored her and stood up at the end of the table, and clinked a fork against the side of his glass. “May I have your attention, please. The Fightin’ 28th is proud to announce that one of our own will be competing in the Leatherneck Brawl this year. Midshipman Second Class Michiko Tenno will be representing the Brigade in Quantico next week.”

  “Hear, hear,” Zaki cried out, and his words were echoed across the tables occupied by the 28th. The news spread quickly throughout the galley, and met with some confusion and perplexity, but finally resulted in a vast, muddled cheer.

  Once the noise had settled down, Emily gulped down the rest of her food, and tried to whisper something in CJ’s ear. Later, as she filed out of the hall with her friends, she found a moment for a quiet word.

  “I have an errand in DC tomorrow, CJ. Wanna come along?”

  Back to top

  Chapter Eleven

  The Crown Princess

  “Why does this seem like just another excuse for you to wear dress blues on liberty, Em?”

  “Are you still complaining, CJ? I mean, what’s it gonna take to get you into a dress uniform?”

  “How about telling me where we’re going on this mysterious errand?”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “Where’d I put it? It’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

  CJ stuck her head out of the bathroom to see Emily rummaging through her closet, rifling her drawers. “Here it is,” she crowed, and held out a card.

  A stylized flower in gold foil decorated one corner, a cherry tree in full bloom stretched underneath, and some calligraphy she couldn’t read—“It’s beautiful, Em. What’s it say?”

  “Roughly, it’s an invitation to visit the Japanese Embassy.”

  “To visit what… Em… who are we going to see?” she called from the bathroom, where she had retreated to finish her ablutions.

  “A very distinguished person. Listen, CJ, don’t freak out over this, okay?”

  “Freak out? What are you talking about? When I meet this person, should I bow, or kneel?”

  “I’ll be bowing. You can do what you want.”

  “Seriously, Em, what’s going on?”

  “Okay, fine. There’s a fancy reception at the embassy tonight that we’re not invited to. But the Crown Princess would like to meet us beforehand.”

  “Meet us? You mean meet you, don’t you? What possible interest could she have in me? I mean, there’s no way she even knows I exist.”

  “Fine, she wants to see me. But how many times are you ever gonna find yourself in the same room with royalty?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m coming. Is this straight? What about Stacie?”

  “Too busy, working out.”

  “Her loss, I guess.”

  A few minutes later, with one hand on her cover and the other clutching CJ’s wrist to tug her along, Emily skittered along the cobblestones on Hanover Street just outside the gate.

  “Slow down, Em, what’s your hurry?”

  “We can take my bike if you want…”

  “That’s against regs, and you know it.”

  “Fine, whatever, I have a better idea anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah… what do you have in mind?”

  “I think our ride is waiting for us on the next block,” Emily said, scanning both sides of the street. “Yup, there they are, ready and waiting.”

  “Who are they?”

  “C’mon, CJ, get a move on.” Sidling up to a dark gray sedan, Emily gestured with one hand while she tapped on the roof over the passenger door. When the window finally opened, she crouched down to talk. “Hi, guys. Fancy meeting you here.”

  While the passenger tried to ignore her, forehead in palm, the driver responded: “This is inappropriate, Miss Tenno. You know we’re on official business.”

  “C’mon, Em, let’s just take your bike,” CJ said, no longer certain what her friend was up to.

  “Look, Ed, we have an appointment in DC and we could use a ride.”

  “Damnit, Ed, this is just what I’m talking about. She’s making a mockery of us.”

  “It’ll be easier for all of us my way. Otherwise you’re just gonna have to tail us, and you could lose us in traffic, and we’re gonna be all cold and windblown on my bike. That way, no one’s happy.”

  “Who the hell are these guys?” CJ whispered as loud as she dared. This new side of her friend’s personality left her uneasy. What was she getting them into? The men in the car conferred, hushed and tense.

  “Save it, Neil,” the driver said. “What’s the point of resisting?” Then leaning over to address Emily, he said: “Okay, get in. Where are we going?”

  “Twenty five twenty Massachusetts Avenue. Thanks, guys. C’mon, CJ, get in.”

  “Ed, that’s Embassy Row,” Padgett hissed at his partner.

  “Oh, so now you’re happy to chauffeur her around.”

  The drive in to DC on Rt. 50 took less than an hour in light weekend traffic, though navigating the complex grid of city streets around the capitol slowed their progre
ss. Light chit-chat deflected CJ’s anxieties for the Maryland portion of the journey, while crossing the Anacostia River and passing the National Arboretum seemed to distract her from the otherwise uncomfortable situation she found herself in once they’d reached the capital city itself, riding in the back of some sort of official vehicle, driven by men her friend had so obviously strong-armed into doing them a favor. What did she have on them? Near Mount Vernon Square, Emily pointed out a famous café, no doubt to take her mind off the strangeness of the situation, and they caught a brief glimpse of the White House down New York Avenue, before they turned up Massachusetts Avenue. As they passed Dupont Circle, CJ finally could hold her peace no longer.

  “Em, how do you know these guys?” she demanded in an urgent whisper. “I mean, how’d you know they’d be there? Or that they’d take us? I don’t like this one little bit.”

  “I’ll explain later,” she whispered with an air of finality. Then, in a louder voice, she pointed up 19th street: “There’s a fun little place one block over, at 19th and Q. Shall we eat there afterwards?”

  “I don’t have any money,” CJ said.

  “Don’t worry, I got it covered.”

  “It ought to be just ahead, on the left,” Braswell announced.

  “The Japanese Embassy,” Padgett said. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

  “And that would have made a difference?” Emily asked.

  “Well, no, but at least it’s not the Chinese Embassy.”

  When Braswell pulled up next to a white iron gate in front of an impressive Georgian Revival style mansion set back from the road, Emily climbed out and waited for CJ, staring darkly into the driver’s side window the whole time. CJ shivered when she saw the expression on Emily’s face, and then it softened, as if it had never been there.

  “Thanks, guys,” Emily said, leaning in and beaming a sweet smile. “It almost makes up for how you looked on and did nothing as that gang attacked us the other night at St. John’s.”

  Braswell turned away and Padgett’s face glowed red.

  “It’s not our…,” he began to say.

  “Yeah, right, not your job. And you’re comfortable with that, to just sit and watch as we could have been hurt, or worse?”

  Padgett fell silent, but Braswell offered some slight excuse: “It’s not like you really needed our help, as it turned out.”

  “Maybe I didn’t, but you couldn’t have known. And what about my friends? How would you feel if CJ had been hurt?” When they didn’t reply, looking like two embarrassed schoolboys caught in the act of some mischief, she finally said: “But thank you for clearing things up with the police and the Deputy Commandant. Yeah, I figured that out, and it was a kindness, so I forgive you for the rest. We’ll only be, like, an hour in there, so meet us back here then.”

  With a quick pivot, she walked away before Padgett could protest, and led CJ through the entrance, barely pausing to offer a few clipped phrases in Japanese to the guard. When he bowed to her, CJ tried to prepare herself for what might happen next.

  Inside the Ambassador’s residence, they passed through two different security checks, were eyed by curt officials who seemed to consider their presence an intrusion, though to judge by Emily’s stony demeanor, they’d surely be hard-pressed to resist her. And in each case, one official after another capitulated with a bow, which Emily answered with a tiny nod. CJ understood nothing that was said in these offices, but one word stuck in her ear, muttered by more than one functionary as they passed: “hafu.” She made a mental note to ask Emily what it meant later.

  When they were finally ushered into a large sitting room, furnished in white upholstered couches and chairs on a gray carpet, facing a large, three-panel, wooden screen with carvings depicting a hunt in one corner, while along another wall, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over Rock Creek Park in the distance. CJ tried to ask her friend about protocol, but she didn’t respond, merely gazing in silence at a large print depicting several women in kimonos struggling to escape a rainstorm as the wind blew their umbrellas to one side. Finally, she turned and whispered: “Just follow my lead.” CJ wanted to complain and say: “But if you start speaking in Japanese, how can I?” Emily pressed one finger to her lips and smiled at her.

  The next moment, double-doors at the far end of the room swung open to admit two men in full kimonos wearing what she assumed were ceremonial swords, two each, as well as a smaller dagger concealed in a sash. Faces like granite—could they be real samurai?—they flanked the doors, and several men in gray suits, some with earpieces visible, marched in and took up positions along the back wall. Finally, an older man, slightly stooped over and speaking English with a heavy accent, introduced himself to Emily and CJ as Yuasa Shoichi, the head of the Imperial Household Agency. A moment later, the person for whom the entire group had come together entered: a woman in an elegant suit—this must be the Crown Princess—and a small girl, perhaps no more than five or six years old. Some formalities ensued, involving a brief pronouncement in Japanese and much bowing. CJ tried to do whatever Emily did, but one thing seemed unnerving to her, and she was afraid to imitate this: everyone bowed deeply except for the Princess who nodded to each person, and Emily bowed only to the Princess, and nodded to the others. And the little girl made no gesture at all, not bowing or even nodding. She stared fixedly at Emily, her eyes alight with a smile she seemed determined not to let the rest of her face show.

  Before CJ quite knew what to expect, Emily dropped to her knees and bowed all the way to the floor in the direction of the little girl. Had the Crown Princess given her a signal… perhaps the slightest facial gesture? Even more surprising, as soon as Emily straightened up on her knees, and perhaps in response to a smile from her mother, the girl ran across the carpet and threw her arms around Emily’s neck. A commotion arose among the functionaries, and the man with the stoop rushed over to rectify the situation, until the sweet voice of the Crown Princess froze him in his tracks. “Yame, Yuasa-san,” she said with one finger held out.

  The men in gray suits had wanted to intervene as well, at least until one of the samurai stepped forward, a hand resting on his sword, and blocked their path. And at a quiet word from the Princess, he stepped back. But CJ had only a dim sense of these goings-on, and perhaps misunderstood them completely, her attention having been captured by the blissful expression on the little girl’s face as she rested her head on Emily’s shoulder.

  “Come, little one,” Emily cooed in her ear. “Let’s find your mother.” Reluctant as she seemed to let go, after Emily whispered something in Japanese to her, she pulled herself up and returned to take her mother’s hand. The Crown Princess crouched down to kiss her on the forehead, and then gestured to an older woman by the door, who led the girl away.

  When Emily introduced her to the Princess, CJ bowed and blushed.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Tanahill-san,” she said in flawless English.

  “I am honored, Your Highness,” CJ replied, hoping she got the formula right.

  “Thank you both, for accepting my invitation, and please forgive my daughter’s indiscretion.” It took a moment for the strangeness of these words to sink in, since CJ assumed the little scene had somehow been prearranged. Perhaps this is just the way it is in Japan, she thought.

  “I see you have chosen a military career, Michi-san, and you too, Tanahill-san.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Emily replied.

  “Would you take a turn with me in the garden? It’s just through these doors.”

  After the Princess had a word with Yuasa-san, the two samurai led the way, followed by the men in gray suits. Once they were all assembled on a gravel walkway outside, one of the samurai growled a command and the functionaries took up positions along the back wall of the garden, some fifty yards away. With a tiny gesture, just one finger, the Princess indicated that the samurai should follow at a discreet distance.

  “I am like a statue in a museum, unable to move
without cracking. As you saw with my daughter, if anyone gets too close, the guards will come,” the Princess said, once they were a few yards away.

  “Hai,” Emily replied with a little bow.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” CJ said, now realizing the Princess’s observation was more in the nature of a command. This little bit of indirection might as well have been her first lesson in the ways of royalty. Gravel crunched underfoot, bare branches cast fingery shadows across the path, and a pond gurgled along two sides of an elaborate wooden structure with a blue tile roof, too square and not open enough to count as a gazebo. The silence in which they walked, belied by the activity of the guards scurrying along in the distance to maintain a perimeter, led CJ to reflect on the strangeness of the past few months—the pleasure of training with her friends, that strange man who followed them one evening, the peculiar animosity Emily somehow inspired in other mids, the excessive harassment of the plebes, that delightful party at St. John’s and the way she’d stood up to the man who attacked Dave. A pale orange fish flipped a tail above the surface, and the splash pulled her out of the reverie.

  “I do not wish to be impolite, Tanahill-san,” the Princess said.

  Emily nodded and turned to her friend. “Can you give us a moment, CJ? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”

  CJ watched as the two of them walked to the far side of an ornamental rock garden, the gravel raked into graceful, swirling patterns around a few intrusive boulders placed seemingly at random. She heard the first few words they exchanged, but understood nothing, since she spoke none of the language. One of the samurai stood a few feet from her, and she tried to make eye contact, without exactly knowing why, but he proved to be as impassive as the Beefeaters she’d seen pictures of stationed at Buckingham Palace. Would it be rude to look at him anyway? He didn’t seem to mind as she took in the whole effect of his robes, dotted with the same floral design as the card Emily had shown her earlier. The handle of his sword, long enough for two hands and covered in a silk braid, such a strange combination of muscular utility and aesthetic refinement, it reminded her of the plainness of the building in front of her, with its bare wooden rails and beams. But as she looked more closely, she noticed smaller details, the fine joinery. Her father, a carpenter, used to tell her about buildings put together with no nails, held together by wooden pegs and dovetails.