Girl Takes The Oath

by Jacques Antoine

  “It came through State, from the Chinese ambassador. It’s an official request for someone they’ve identified as Emily Hsiang,” Michael Cardano replied. “State sent it to Ortmann at the Department of Justice, and he passed it on to the Asian Pacific desk at the Intelligence Directorate for analysis. Renfield put two and two together and notified me.”

  “But there’s no extradition with China, is there?”

  “No, not yet, but with State trying to negotiate a treaty, it hardly matters.”

  “And who the hell’s Emily Hsiang anyway,” Theo hissed, “and what’s she got to do with our Emily?”

  “It’s an alias her parents crafted for her years ago. I think the last time she used that passport was to visit your sister and me when we were in hiding in New Zealand.”

  “Then how’d the Chinese find it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Michael said, as he pondered the question. “I bet if we check, we’ll find out the Chinese scraped some data out of border control at Auckland Airport. That means they must have a mole in the NZ Security Information Service. I’ll need to let Tucker in Wellington know about this.”

  “Do the Chinese know who she is?” Theo asked. “I mean, have they connected that name to the real Emily? I don’t care about a mole on the other side of the world, Michael. Our family owes her everything. We can’t let the Chinese take her.”

  “It’s not time to panic yet. There’s a lot of bureaucratic layers to get through at DOJ before they find out Hsiang is a dead end. At that point, the Chinese will have to show more of their cards to proceed. I’ll have a word with Ortmann about making the process even stickier.”

  “Have you told Andie yet?”

  “What do you think?”

  “What about Ethan and Connie?”

  “If Connie knew, she’d camp out on a roof opposite the Chinese embassy with a sniper rifle and start taking people out.”

  “Michael, these are your security people. You have to let them know.”

  “I haven’t told Emily yet, either.”

  Theo chewed over that last remark the entire drive from Langley to his sister’s house in Charlottesville. Should they even tell Emily? And if they did, what could she do about it? She had enough on her mind with her studies. The irony would have tickled him, what with his brother-in-law in charge of the National Clandestine Service at CIA, if it didn’t hit so close to home. But, for all the resources at Michael’s disposal, he was practically powerless in the face of an apparently inexorable legal process that threatened to tear his family apart.

  It took a few minutes to negotiate the long front drive to the estate in Charlottesville, and to clear the guards manning the forest gate. Andie met him at the front door, wearing an apron and with two little kids peeking around her waist, Li Li giggling on one side, and Stone glowering suspiciously on the other.

  “What’s so important that it brings you all the way down here, bro?” she asked.

  “There’s been a development involving our girl.”

  In the kitchen, Andie listened to Theo’s news more dispassionately than he expected, though her chin quivered slightly at first. When he reached for her shoulder to offer some comfort, Stone inserted himself between them, barely reaching the interloper’s waist.

  “Don’t you recognize Uncle Theo?” Andie cooed at the boy, bending over to kiss his forehead.

  “He’s a brave little man,” Theo chortled. “And he seems to have imprinted on you like a duckling.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do for her?”

  “The Chinese haven’t showed all their cards. I’m pretty sure the legal process is just a feint. Even if it isn’t, they’ll have to show some hard evidence before State and DOJ will act on their request, and we both know there can’t be any.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Hope? Do you actually think she could have murdered anyone?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just… I don’t know… Theo…” Tears glittered in the corners of her eyes, and Theo felt the trembling in her hand, and tried to squeeze some reassurance into it.

  “We’re gonna have to find a way to tell Ethan and Connie, you know, without setting her off.”

  “Have you told Emily yet?”

  “The soonest I can see her in person is the weekend after next, and I don’t think we should talk about it over phone lines.”

  “You better take Yuki with you when you go. She’s gonna need her mom, don’t you think?”

  ~~~~~~~

  “I don’t want any part of it,” Trowbridge said, as he and Midshipman First Class Casey Bauer entered the athletic center. At the far end of the main floor, twenty or so upperclassmen in sweats sat with crossed legs around the edge of a large mat. Coach Parker stood in the center of the group explaining some obscure details of the Advanced Combat class they had signed on for. From their present distance, Bauer and Trowbridge could only catch bits and pieces, but one thing that didn’t escape their ears was the fact that “Miss Tenno has graciously agreed to lead the class today.”

  “So you’re fine with this?” Bauer asked.

  “I’m just saying you need to choose your enemies carefully.”

  “You remember at Sea Trials, when everyone was gushing about how good she was at pugil sticks?”

  “I know where you’re going with this, Bauer, and let me just say, you didn’t have to face her.”

  “So what?”

  “You know that bit from Paradise Lost, the one we just read in English Lit, where Messiah faces the rebel angels ‘and into terror changed his countenance too severe to be beheld’—well, she can be kinda like that.”

  “Give me a break.”

  By the time they made it over to the other end of the room and joined the rest of the mids, Parker had turned the class over to Emily.

  “Fighting is not the same as sparring,” she said. “The goal is not to win. It’s to subdue your enemy, typically by maiming or killing him. But one thing remains the same, the importance of controlling the initiative.”

  Bauer listened blankly for a few minutes, scarcely able to conceal his impatience, until he could no longer keep from interrupting. Her insights into the nature of initiative, the importance of learning to breathe, as well as some Japanese terms she seemed inordinately fond of, none of it meant anything to him.

  “Coach, I don’t see how Tenno is qualified to tell us anything about fighting,” he said as soon as he found a gap. “I mean, she won’t even compete with the karate team.”

  “This class is optional,” Parker replied. “You don’t have to stay.”

  Bauer felt her eyes looking him over, but he couldn’t tell if she resented his intrusion, loathed him, or simply didn’t care. Whatever she felt, it didn’t look as if he’d managed to intimidate her. With her head tilted to one side, and eyes blank, she seemed almost like a feral animal, sizing him up, something perhaps as primitive as a fight-or-flight calculus playing itself out in her heart.

  “It’s okay, Coach,” she said. “He has a right to his opinion, at least before we’ve started.”

  Just as his girlfriend had predicted, she exuded this unflappable façade, and pretended that nothing anyone else said mattered to her. No wonder so many people found her irritating.

  “Fine,” he said. “Why don’t you give us a demonstration? Everyone here is on the team, so we don’t really need to work on fundamentals.”

  “Stow it, Mr. Bauer,” Parker began. “It’s not your place…”

  “No, he’s got a point,” she said. “A demonstration might be a good way to begin.”

  “You and me?” Parker offered.

  “I think Bauer wants to show us something. I’ll work with him.” The tiniest smile seemed to wait on the edge of her lips as she said this. “Put your gear on, and show me your best attack.”

  As he fished his head-gear, gloves and assorted pads out of his bag, he heard her say “Don’t forget the cup.” When he turned around, he saw her standing i
n the middle of the mat, in the center of the circle of mids, all intent on seeing what he could do. And she wore no other equipment than her grappling gloves.

  “What the…,” he sputtered out. “Where are your pads?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Now show me your best attack, the move you’d make to finish me off in one blow.”

  “What, I’m supposed to hit you with no pads?”

  “Trust me, you won’t be able to.”

  Bauer fumed as he considered the possibilities. Of course, she meant to humiliate him. But if he could just tag her once in the face, maybe give her a shiner to wear around the Yard for the next few days, it might shake the reputation she seemed to have, that air of invincibility. Still, it wasn’t clear how to begin, or how hard he could actually hit her without stirring up some sort of inquiry.

  “Now you can all see Bauer’s hesitation,” she observed for the class. “He hasn’t figured out how to take the initiative in this situation. The rules of engagement seem undefined. If you find yourself in a fight to the death, you need to clear your mind of any doubts before you can act decisively.”

  Impatient with her chatter, which seemed to be mainly at his expense, and not waiting for Tenno to give him any sort of sign, Bauer suddenly swung a right hook toward the side of her head, not full strength since he still didn’t know how hard he wanted to hit her, but probably forceful enough to put her on the mat if it connected. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t connect—she merely leaned out of the way, and he stumbled forward, tilted slightly out of balance by the momentum of his own arm.

  “That’s what I mean by failing to seize the initiative. A weak punch thrown off-balance.” Turning to Bauer, she said, “Now settle yourself and give me your best strike.”

  “This is bull,” he grumbled through his mouthguard. “Put some pads on so I can hit you for real.”

  She nodded to Parker, who tossed her his head-gear. “This make you feel better?” she asked as she pulled it over the hair she’d worn close-cropped for the last couple of years, though now she’d begun to grow it out. “Now, show me what you can do.”

  A short jab to her face missed, then a hook, then an uppercut. She didn’t block any of them, content to lean out of the way each time, not even taking a step back. His own momentum brought him closer each time, until he was almost too close for most strikes. She grabbed his left hand across the knuckles before he could pull it back. Firm pressure bent his wrist down as she pushed his arm up, effectively rendering him helpless.

  “You see the difference, I hope, between aggression and initiative. Those were all good punches, strong, forceful, quick. But he didn’t control the initiative with any of them, and the result is that he’s now completely vulnerable.”

  Bauer looked down, wincing, infuriated, thinking he ought to smack her while she spoke… if only he could. And when she released him and began poking him in the throat, chest and arms, ostensibly demonstrating his vulnerability, he swung an awkward right hook at her head. A stabbing pain in his bicep from a knuckle on her right hand and a quick left-handed block prevented him from making any contact, and before he quite knew what was happening or could do anything to prevent it, she had struck him several times in the chest, throat and arms. None of these were forceful, none hurt like that first knuckle, but they still overwhelmed him, a feeling sort of like drowning. He would have liked to block them, but her hands moved too quickly, and when he tried to step back to get out of range, he found himself watching as, almost in slow motion, she crossed one foot behind the other and landed a rather more forceful side-kick, planting the heel of her left foot in the center of his chest. He stumbled back and lost his footing, ending up on his back among the mids seated around the edge of the mat. She said something to the class, but he couldn’t make most of it out, struggling as he was to recover his breath.

  “By deflecting the initial force of his aggression, I was able to control the entire initiative of the confrontation, without over-extending myself. Otherwise, I did nothing the rest of you can’t do, no fancy kicks or punches.”

  “Is it always a matter of waiting and responding to an attack?” Stacie Carnot asked.

  “No. Sometimes you have to seize the initiative at the moment of attack, meeting it head-on, so to speak. And sometimes, you have to steal the initiative first, pre-empting your enemy’s attack. Most people are comfortable with responding to an attack. Those of you who’ve trained in shotokan know this as go no sen, and the others are sometimes referred to as sen no sen and sen sen no sen. You need to be prepared to use any of these postures in a fight.”

  “I first met Miss Tenno three years ago in a tournament in Norfolk, where she taught me a lesson in sen, or initiative,” Coach Parker interjected. “It’s not often you get a chance to train with a talent of this magnitude. So let’s not waste time with petty ego games.” He looked directly at Bauer with this last remark. “Okay, everybody, get your gear on and partner up.”

  For the next fifteen minutes or so, as Parker barked out instructions for particular techniques, Emily circulated among the paired midshipmen, offering advice and suggestions as she went. Finally, she nodded to Parker and he called for everyone’s attention, while she pulled on grappling gloves and head-gear again.

  “That’s enough half-speed work for today. Miss Tenno has agreed to work with each one of you at full-speed. Remember, this isn’t sparring. There are no rules, beyond those of common civility. Attack strong, but don’t injure. Hold your strike to show that you’ve disabled the target.”

  One after another, Emily worked with each midshipman, dodging, deflecting, counterpunching, and then offering a critique. Strikes focused on the face, throat and lower ribs. A sharp knuckle to the soft spot just below the sternum could incapacitate an opponent long enough to strike somewhere more deadly. Similarly, blows to the bottom rib on either side, would create an opening to dispatch a weakened opponent, especially after blocking the arm up to increase exposure of the lungs. She discouraged complex kicks, especially those above the waist.

  “Focus on the groin and the knees,” she said. “You kill with your hands, but you can maim with your feet to set up a killing strike.”

  “What does she think she knows about killing?” Bauer growled in Trowbridge’s ear as they watched the proceedings.

  When Bauer’s turn came around, Parker motioned him to the center of the mat. As he stood there, hands on his hips, eyeing Emily contemptuously, he glanced at Trowbridge for moral support.

  “So I’m supposed to try to hit you for real?”

  “You can try,” she said in a deadpan voice, while she adjusted her gloves. “But I might hit you back. Think you’re up to it?”

  Bauer could feel the bile rising in his throat at her words. She gave him at least as good as he gave her. In any other context, she’d have been reported for insubordination. But in this class, he had to treat her as an equal, even though she was only a 2/C. And somewhere near the pit of his stomach, he felt the suspicion taking shape that in the terms of this class—and perhaps in many other areas of military life—she was already his superior.

  “This is BS,” he grumbled. “You can’t really expect me to hit you, which makes this just another game of tag.”

  “That’s all on you, Bauer. I guarantee you won’t hurt me.”

  He grunted at her, uncertain how to respond. The fact that he was so much larger than her made the entire situation even more perplexing.

  “What? Do you want me to put on more pads?” she asked, staring in his face until he looked away. “Fine, if you can’t learn this lesson from me on your own, maybe you need some help. Trowbridge, you’re up too,” she said in a commanding tone.

  Trowbridge hesitated, reluctant to stand until Bauer gestured at him impatiently.

  “Hold on,” Parker called out. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry, Coach. I won’t hurt ’em,” she said. Parker hesitated for a mom
ent, until she turned to look his way. Whatever passed between them in that glance, he retreated to the edge of the mat. Finally, Trowbridge took up a position next Bauer.

  “You and your big mouth,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  “It’s your move, guys,” she said, with her hands held up to her chin, elbows tucked in and hunched over in an exaggerated defensive stance.

  Bauer circled to his left to try to get behind her, but she backpedalled further to her left to keep the two of them in front of her.

  “Those are sparring tactics, Bauer,” she sneered at him. “Weren’t you just complaining about a game of tag? Think battlefield conditions. You don’t have time to look for the perfect opening. Attack.”

  Trowbridge looked at him for guidance, but he had none to give. Finally, with an exasperated exhalation, Emily moved back to the center and let them get around her, then turned to face Bauer. He nodded to Trowbridge standing behind her, and surged forward, swinging for her face. Trowbridge aimed a front kick at the small of her back. Emily pivoted down and away from the kick and the punch, then swept Trowbridge’s back foot, upending him. Bauer stepped forward, thinking she had lost track of him, but before he could strike she had already returned to her original posture, hands up, elbows in. When he hesitated, she kicked to his groin, forcing him to block, then flicked her foot to the side of his head, nudging his headgear with the ball of her foot in a gentle mockery.

  “You’re making this too easy,” she said.

  He snarled and assumed a traditional fighting stance, one foot forward, and fists held out front. Trowbridge picked himself up off the mat, rubbing his back and looking queasy. Emily once again turned her back on him and faced Bauer, creating the appearance of an opening. More tentatively this time, Trowbridge reached for her shoulder, perhaps thinking to pull her around into a strike. But she seized his hand and twisted his wrist in and down until, with a loud squeal, he found himself tumbling head down onto the mat. Bauer watched his feet come up and over as Trowbridge crashed into him before he could manage to strike her. The two of them lay groaning in a confused heap on one end of the mat.