by Robin King
“First of all, I do need to apologize. We never would have put a potential operative in your situation if we had known Mr. Daly had been discovered. The plan was that he was going to show you the documents and then give you an orientation, explaining all of this to you after the opera. I thought the Russian excursion would give you time to think about joining us. Neither of us knew it was putting you right in the middle of it all. We did not have the men who shot Mr. Daly on our radar. We are still searching for answers on them.”
“Oh.” I absorbed Golkov’s answers. “But what about those papers?”
“Mr. Daly received them as a handoff from one of our deep-cover operatives in Moscow the day before you left for St. Petersburg. The plan had always been for them to be destroyed after you viewed them. We couldn’t take the chances of having plans for a potential weapon discovered while traveling back to the U.S. The fact that you carried it out without even knowing you were supposed to, still amazes me.”
“But I thought he was dead. I mean, he was bleeding. And I swear he wasn’t breathing.” I saw the images in my mind—there were no clues he was alive.
“He actually thought he was dead too. Luckily, the shot only went through his shoulder. He passed out from loss of blood, but we got to him soon after you left the theater, and we were able to get him help.”
I decided not to say anything about Daly waking up after he was shot and talking to me. For some reason, I felt no one else should know.
“It’s getting late, Alexandra, and I know you have a lot to think about. I will have Mr. Daly walk you back.” Golkov rose from his desk and motioned to Daly through the glass wall. I walked to the door and looked back at the professor. I wanted to ask more questions, but he stopped me before I could put the words together. “I’m glad you are safe. No matter what you decide, I’m happy we can work together in any capacity.”
The caring eyes of this mysterious man, my professor and mentor, showed he knew more about me than my own roommate. Besides my father, he was the closest thing I had to family here in Rhode Island. Even though the events of the weekend had been traumatic, I was beginning to feel alive, finally waking up from the coma I had been in for the past six months. And I really had the professor to thank for all of it. I resisted the childlike urge to run to his side of the desk and hug him, realizing everyone in this place would see my lack of maturity through the glass walls.
Daly held open the glass door to Golkov’s office and waited. “Shall we?”
Who says that anymore? And why is he still alive? Actually, I was glad no one had died, but I was mad I had stressed about it for several days for nothing.
“Thank you.” I held my head high, not looking at Daly, as I walked through the door.
“Sorry you didn’t get to finish the opera.” He caught up to me and we walked toward the exit. “The last act is one of the best. And I apologize that you weren’t oriented like we had planned.”
“So what do you do here, besides fly around the world discovering secrets and playing hero?” I asked, the bitter edge beginning to fade from my voice.
“Honestly, I’m usually here or at my home office. My expertise lies more with strategy and technology. I’m more of what you might call a handler. Besides orienting you, the only reason I was in Russia was because they needed someone who could speak the language, and all the other operatives were on other assignments. My father grew up in Moscow and spoke only Russian at home.”
“So you getting shot wasn’t in the plan, I guess.” The knowledge that we had similar family ties with Russia helped to ease more of my anger toward him.
Daly lightly rubbed his injured shoulder. “Not exactly. I still don’t know how the men found me, but somehow I was marked. I followed all our protocols, but I’m still a little new to all this too. I had no idea I’d been followed to your location until I was shot.”
We exited the conference room and walked down the basement hallway toward the stairs leading up to the main floor of Marston Hall.
“I know this place, what we do, might seem a little . . .”
“Intriguing, adventuresome, dangerous,” I interjected, excitement pulsing through me.
“I was going to say overwhelming, but I can see Golkov might be right about you.” Daly paused at the bottom of the stairs.
“Right about me? What do you mean?”
“He’s had his eye on you for a while now, and I’m beginning to see why. Most people would come apart at the seams at the unexpected circumstances of the past few days. Everyone at the office is trained to stay calm and collected. We go through intense training, even the office personnel, to make sure we stay focused on our tasks at hand. You, though, are young and have had no training, and yet you’re as steady as a rock. It took me a few years to learn to shut off my emotions like that, and I’m still not great at it.” He played with the strap on his sling. “And it isn’t just that. You were able to be quick and decisive with an ingenuity I’ve never seen, even with any of the operatives I work with.”
He stopped at the top of the stairs on the first floor, took a breath, and studied me. I had cringed a bit at his reference to my age, and now I looked away, my face growing red. I must’ve been a good actress, because I certainly didn’t feel steady and calm.
“I better get back now.” I started to leave. I had a lot to think about and didn’t need Mr. Back-from-the-dead trying to analyze me, no matter how handsome he was.
“Ms. Stewart, wait,” he said quietly, even though the old Marston building was empty.
I turned around to face him. His eyes stared straight into mine.
“You don’t have to do this,” Daly said gently as he reached out and took hold of my arm. “You can say no. Golkov trusts you. He would let you just walk away. You can have a normal life, graduate from Brown, have a career and a family. If you join us, things will become more complicated. You’ll have to keep this, what we do, from everyone around you, even the people you care about. Yes, there will be intrigue and excitement, but you need to understand that in committing to this cause, the good may not outweigh the dangers placed in your path.”
Who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know me and what I want or need. I don’t need someone to just waltz into my life and start giving me advice like he knows what is best for me. My anger toward him returned to a boil.
“Thanks for your concern, Mr. Daly, but I can take care of myself.” I couldn’t help the acrid timbre in my voice. I shook my arm free and abruptly turned around to walk home.
Deep down I knew that I had already made my decision. I didn’t need the time to think about my choice. Daly’s unsolicited advice would not sway me. I was going to become a part of an organization whose mission was secretly protecting mankind. I was going to become part of The Company.
9
Training
“I have made the necessary changes to your schedule.” Golkov handed me a computer printout. “As you can see, I had to drop Russian and History from your load. I have added Spanish and Chinese in their place.”
“Spanish and Chinese?”
“Language training is a very important aspect of what we do. We could teach you in our office, but since I am assuming you still want a degree from Brown and it is a good cover, enrolling you in these new courses will give you some more credits.”
“But why drop Russian? That is what I’ve been leaning toward for my major.” My shoulders tensed and I tried not to raise my voice. Russian was my passion. I couldn’t imagine giving it up.
“I already talked with the department. You are far enough advanced to test out of my Russian classes. Of course, I will still tutor you to continue your progress. You can start my Russian senior seminar next semester.”
“Oh.” I relaxed my shoulders. “And History?”
“Did you really need the class? I’m sure growing up with that father of yours, you already know everything in the curriculum. Professor Charlesworth agrees and will give you credit for the class
. You will have to take the exams, but I am sure you will pass them.”
“Wow. You really do think of everything. I guess I’m not too sad to lose the class. Most days, it was usually a waste of time anyway.”
“Now that those details are taken care of, you can head off to get your new textbooks. Or” —Golkov turned toward the antique cupboard— “you are welcome to stay a few minutes.”
“Really?” I said a little too excitedly. I’d assumed I wouldn’t get to do puzzles anymore.
“This is actually an important part of your training. Thinking quickly and creatively is one of the greatest attributes of a good operative.”
The cupboard held another manipulative puzzle consisting of twenty wooden pieces I needed to fit together. I smiled. These were my favorite ones to solve. Since I was unsure of what the final product was supposed to look like, I laid them all out from longest to shortest. Some of the pieces had notches in them, and I noticed other pieces had coinciding spaces they fit into. I strategically placed the pieces together. Within minutes, I slid in the final piece, forming a diamond shape.
Golkov looked up from his paperwork. “Nicely done.”
“Thanks.” I set it next to the rest of the puzzles I had solved. It was becoming quite a pile along the back side of his counter. Pretty soon he would have to clear a shelf on his bookcase just for me. I didn’t hide the look of satisfaction on my face.
Later that day, after all my regular classes and my new Chinese one, Golkov escorted me back through the basement of the building to his underground domain. The second time in The Company headquarters was just as enthralling as the first. Instead of remaining in the conference room, we walked past Golkov’s glass office to the first solid wall I’d noticed so far. Another steel door revealed a whole new wing in the basement. I began to wonder how far underground the headquarters stretched under campus.
Metal stairs led us down to a large gymnasium that reminded me of my karate studio back home, except this was ten times larger. The central part of the room had a twenty-or twenty-five-foot ceiling, but the whole expanse of the room was surrounded by a six-foot-wide balcony running along the second level. The silver railing was open underneath and allowed anyone standing on the upper floor to observe individuals below in the gym. Behind the balcony, a row of glass offices looked down to the ground floor.
Several people sparred in two of the corners of the gym. I watched their precise movements from across the room and recognized several of the motions from my karate catalogue. As we walked across the black cushioned floor, scenes flashed through my mind of moves my instructor back home had taught me.
In the far corner an older man in a black karate uniform sat cross-legged, apparently meditating. When we approached he swiftly and easily rose to his feet without using his hands. His almond-shaped eyes smiled at me as he put his hands together and took a bow. I reciprocated the welcome.
“This is Sensei Itosu. He will instruct you in self-defense. Excuse me as I attend to some other matters.” Golkov bowed to Itosu and left the room.
A black belt with a red stripe was tied around the sensei’s waist. His karate uniform made me aware that I was the only one left in the room still in street clothes. He must have noticed my discomfort because he picked up a gym bag from a nearby bench and offered it to me.
“Inside you will find the proper attire for your exercises,” he explained in perfect English with the hint of a Japanese accent. “The bathroom is to your left.” He motioned to a door painted the same gray color as two of the side walls directly beneath the balcony. The opposing mirrored walls made the room appear even larger than it was.
In the bathroom, which was more like an upscale locker room, I quickly changed into the clothes given to me by Sensei Itosu. Instead of the traditional white karate uniform I had worn back home, this was a form-fitting black T-shirt and black pants, similar to the track pants Tanner used to wear around the house. After leaving my street clothes in a locker, I reentered the gym. My face was still red as I remembered how the bag had contained a sports bra too. The self-consciousness must have showed on my face.
“Confidence is one of the keys to self-defense. Your opponent may be well-trained and larger than you are, but you must appear as a rock—steady, solid, holding your ground,” Sensei Itosu said.
He advanced toward me. Before I knew what was happening, his fist was coming straight for my face. Images came to my mind of the blocks I had once been taught, and I threw my arm up just before his hand collided with my chin. With all my strength, I pushed his hand aside with my forearm. His other hand hit my ribs before I could remember to block. I winced but stood my ground.
Then I saw his right foot come toward my feet. I sprang into the air as his leg swept at the ground beneath me. Within seconds his hands came at me again, left and right, up and down, but this time my reaction time was quicker and I was able to block each movement from making direct contact with my body.
His legs were more difficult to block, the graceful kicks coming out of nowhere. I blocked some with my hands, pushing them aside, but Sensei Itosu was much stronger than me, and at least three or four inches taller. After only a few minutes, sweat dripped from my face, and I wondered how much longer I could keep blocking him. Until that point I had just stayed in the same defensive blocking stance.
In my peripheral vision I continued to watch his arms or legs to anticipate and block his movements, while I focused on his face and eyes. His eyes were bright and the corners of his mouth upturned. He was happy. In fact, he was entirely enjoying this. I glared. I’d had enough. Whatever game this was to him, I was going to go out strong.
I raised my foot to do a roundhouse kick, but he grabbed it and threw me to the ground. I sprang up and tried a few arm movements my previous master had taught me. Sensei Itosu blocked each one before I could make any contact with his core.
From the corner of my eye I noticed that the people who had been sparring in the corners of the room had moved closer to us. My body tensed and the sensei caught me off guard with a low-thrust kick that hit me directly on the knee cap, hard. Tears mixed with the sweat on my face. This was not exactly how I had planned to spend my Wednesday afternoon, and that kick to the knee would probably keep me from running the next few days.
Sensei Itosu would pay. He was still on the offense, but now so was I. I didn’t want to do what I did next, but it was a move I knew would stop the fight immediately and one I had practiced many times on the punching bag in our garage, and once on my brother. I waited until he was about halfway through a straight punch directed at my core and kicked him right in the groin.
I kind of expected the high-pitched yell my brother had given when I had performed the move on him, but the only noise I heard was the applause and whoops of our audience. I refused to look up until my face had faded from bright red to pink. I first glanced at Sensei Itosu. He wasn’t angry like I expected, though he appeared quite uncomfortable. His eyes were watering, but his mouth showed amusement as he began to laugh.
I finally focused on the crowd around us. I recognized a few of the people I had seen at the conference table the day before, but the rest of them were strangers. A few claps still echoed in the gym, and I looked up to the second floor. On the balcony stood a small group of people in suits, including Golkov and Daly. Both of them were laughing too. When they saw me look their direction, they quickly stopped and just smiled and nodded to me.
Daly mouthed, “Great job!”
“I think I deserved that,” Sensei Itosu finally said. My gaze came back down from the balcony and rested on his.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to do that, but you kept attacking me and I just wanted the fight to end,” I breathed out.
“Never be sorry for defending yourself. I have to say I am quite impressed. I see you have already been trained in the art of Shōrin-ryū. Who was your karateka?”
“My master was at a dojo in Washington State,” I replied. “He taught
me everything he knew, and I also studied different forms on my own.”
“You are quite exact in your movements. With more practice, you will be able to protect yourself from opponents twice your size.” Sensei Itosu took a hand towel and dapped at the sweat on his forehead. “You gave me quite a workout. I haven’t had that much fun . . . well, in a long time. I can see we will work very well together. Now let’s work on that kick of yours.”
10
El Profesor
I was almost relieved to find my dorm room empty. I had told Casey I was working for Golkov now, and I knew she had assumed it was as a teacher’s assistant. My slight limp and the large bruise now forming over my ribs wouldn’t have made for a very convincing story if she asked me any detailed questions about my new “job.”
I sat at my desk and found my recently purchased Spanish 202 textbook. I scanned the pages of text trying to understand the rules of the language. It actually wasn’t the first time I had studied Spanish, but it was the first time there was purpose in my study.
Russian flowed through my blood, giving me reason to want to learn, but all other languages had always been a chore. Since I had begun solving puzzles and deciphering codes for Golkov, though, learning additional languages intrigued me. Each became a puzzle I wanted to solve. I briefly wondered how much my mind could hold. It didn’t seem to be letting up even with all these new experiences, people, places, and textbooks.
After recording all the pages of the textbook to my memory, I set my book aside and pulled out my laptop. I popped open the CD drive and placed in the oral exercises CD that accompanied the textbook.
“Còmo te llamas?” the recorded voice came from my speakers.
“Me llamo Eduardo.”
“Mucho gusto.”
“Còmo estàs?” I listened for a few more minutes before the monotony was more than my exhausted state could bear. I crawled into my bed, clothes and all, and fell instantly asleep.