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| Marco |
Tomorrow couldn’t take care of itself but rather had troubles of its own, and its handle was Marco. “Boss, Jaylo sent a message. Says that Sabr’ya Dame is planning a long trip. Personal, blood visit, not with the silk-tie.”
From his used and worn recliner, Sapptoso stared up at Marco, dragged on his cigar, and exhaled a toxic plume of blue smoke. “Almost forgot about Jaylo. Where she going? Alone?”
“Mountains, west wi’d a couple iron shirts.”
Sapp sat up in his chair and stared long and hard at Marco, then suddenly stood and paced across the abandoned lobby of the Mannu Clinic, and gazed out the streaked windows at the distant Pangina Mountains to the west. At one time, the clinic was a 20-bed facility for observational stays, outpatient surgeries, and urgent care. There was a single operating room large enough for several surgeries at once, at least that’s how Sapptoso saw it. “Marco, you gotta be very careful. Track her. Take every precaution. Don’t let them see you. You must, I tell you, you must tell me exactly who she visits and where. I think I know…not where, but who. I’ve always wanted to know where. Could be valuable. Take provisions for three days. Use your cycle, you’ll need the maneuverability.” Sapptoso dragged on the cigar. “And be careful. Don’t return directly. You’ll be followed.”
“Got it, Boss.”
“Another thing.”
Sapptoso led Marco out of the lounge, down a hall, to a messy storage room with boxes scattered here and there and a large, messy table left over from when the place had stored medical supplies. Rifling through several boxes stacked on the table to avoid the room’s inherent damp floor, Sapp pulled out a small, creased photograph of a medallion or charm worn around the neck. “This is what I’m after—this.” He shook the photo and gave it to Marco. Study this carefully, but you can’t take it with you. It’s sacred…an amulet…Kasden's. I want it back. She stole it from me, and clearly, it’s the reason for her ascendancy to power and influence over this British fool, and our King and Queen. But as long as she has it, we cannot dare to be conspicuous or vulgar in getting it back. Don’t try to take this on your own. But keep an eye out for it. She will keep it hidden, and I’m sure her silk tie and her iron toad know nothing of it. Just be watchful and tell me if you see it or if you suspect she consults it. Getting it back won’t be easy; whoever holds the amulet holds power. Understand?”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, I git it.” Marco carefully studied the photograph before Sapptoso took it back.
“Take whatever you need. Be vigilant.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Saturday, August 10, 2024 - 9:00 AM
Sabriya cared deeply about the new day, but she worried about what lay ahead. Today, she would face her sister, Busaba, and Jia Kun, something she had avoided for years. Yet she didn’t even know if Busaba was still living in Miwu Cun. All she had were old letters with the village’s name and its district. Sister Linsim’s martial arts training, which had built up her confidence, did little to quell the anxiety she felt about avoiding her sister and Jia Kun.
“When was the last time you shared a pot of tea with your sister?” asked David, as he entered the bedroom with Jack on his heels and with understated concern on both their faces. In David’s hand was a cable from Westminster, London.
Immediately, Hannah stopped packing Sabriya’s tactical pack, and Sabriya stared in alarm at the cable in David’s hand. “Why? What’s that?”
“You’ve been to Busaba’s village before, this…” David glanced at the cable, “…Lost Mist Village?”
“Yes. It’s Miwu Cun. Eleven years ago. But I got lost on the way there, and today, Busaba may not even be there. Why?” Sabriya decided to say no more. She was still unsure how to tell the tale, fill in the timeline, and explain why she hadn’t told the whole truth. It was complicated, at least that’s what she told herself.
David waved the cable. “A lot has happened since then. This place, Mei-woo-tsun, is that how you say it?”
“Close enough.”
“The village is in disputed territory on the Pellagore-Chinese border, which necessitates that we take special precautions, politically and…defensively. MI6 says there are armed insurgents in the vicinity who would love to get their hands on you. MI6 also claims Busaba still lives in the village.”
“How do they know?”
“I have no idea. Big telescopes in space, I guess.”
“Is it safe to go? I don’t have to.”
“Oh, you need to go, all right. You have only hinted at going once a week for the past six years, and now that we’re in-country, it’s time. Besides, I want to meet this Busaba and her daughter.”
Sabriya froze. “Are you going with us?”
“No. No. Too much is going on here, and the border with China is not mine to fix, at least that’s what the Prime Minister tells me. I’m to stay away from the area, but he agreed to let you visit your kin, quietly, carefully, in disguise if possible.”
“You’ve told your Prime Minister about my going?”
“Not exactly. I took some liberties with his words. So, I’m sending Jack with you and Hannah. Jack knows the way; he can find the village. You should have no problems getting there…or back, I hope.”
“You don’t think Hannah and I can handle it, or find it?”
“You said you got lost before.”
“That was years ago”.
Jack spoke up in a light-hearted way as he glanced at Hannah. “He thinks two guns are better than one.”
Sabriya groaned.
David continued. “However, I am obliged to tell the Service, not the Prime Minister, that you’re making a personal visit to the border, not me. If I were to go to the Chinese minister in London, he would be demanding an audience with the Queen, and I don’t need that. Jack will play chauffeur, not security, but of course, he’s there if needed. He’s even got a hat for the occasion.”
Sabriya turned to Jack, who displayed a “at your service” smile. “Vinnie promises to find me a very official-looking chauffeur’s coat and hat with a cheesy black plastic bill.” Jack bowed and pretended to doff a hat and sweep it across his body in a cheesy salute.
“Ah,” smirked Sabriya, “when he bows, his Glock nearly falls out of his shoulder holster.”
Sheepishly, Jack adjusted his holster. “I won’t bow.”
Sabriya wasn’t sure about the chauffeur charade, but she really had no choice, and having Jack along actually made her feel better about the trip. Her appearance on television the other night only heightened the importance of avoiding being out in public alone, and the disguise she and Hannah had devised wasn’t much—sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats.
Later, in the Embassy garage, Jack, Hanna, and Sabriya stowed their packs and provisions for a four-day trip into a utility Nissan four-door sedan. They were assisted by Vinnie Jafar, the Embassy’s front-and-center 30-year-old Pellagorian porter who never seemed to have a spot on his white cadet jacket with its standing Mandarin collar, and was always present when you needed him. Vinnie had found a tight-fitting chauffeur coat and hat for Jack. Sabriya thought it looked silly on him, but perhaps it was necessary to deceive someone who wished ill on them. The women wore mismatched tactical pants, blouses, and vests, tailored to appear feminine yet concealing tactical pockets. David checked the trio’s diplomatic identification pouches and passports, Jack holstered his Glock 19 and extra clips, and Hannah tucked her SIG Sauer P226 in a vest pocket. Sabriya was also comforted by David’s emphasis during their briefing that Jack and Hanna were there for defense, not on a fishing expedition for insurgents or rebels. In fact, she and Hannah had discussed, in line with protocol, that if cornered by local hooligans, their first line of defense was to run away, and failing that, Wing Chun was their friend.
There were no telephones in Miwu Cun, although there was a radio in the Big Man’s residence, so Jack packed a portable walkie-talkie that was linked to the car’s satellite radio, the signal of which was scrambled and encrypted. The unmarked embassy vehicle was naturally equipped with a hidden tracker pod. They were all set, or so they thought.
Finally, David quietly slipped Sabriya a small pouch, which she thanked him for and tucked into an inside vest pocket.
The only thing Sabriya didn’t like was that the black Nissan sedan lacked privacy glass or tinting. To do so would only have drawn undue attention to the trip. Yet, clearly, they were not locals making a run to the market. Sabriya could not quiet herself—in attempting to be inconspicuous, they were all the more obvious.
Driving anywhere in Meijing by day was always a hot, tempestuous, and odorous affair. There were no modern roads, curbs, or sidewalks like those in the West. Meijang’s thoroughfares had barely a single lane of asphalt or crudely laid cement. When two motor vehicles approached from opposite directions, each had to pull off the road, with its two outside wheels leaving the pavement and driving on the unimproved, dusty, rutted shoulder. Such maneuvers slowed progress immensely as Jack avoided pedestrians, ox-carts, wagons, and motorized three-wheel rickshaws ferrying people and goods. The honking of horns to prompt the foregoing to get out of the way added to the noisy atmosphere, sustained by the heat as all the sedan windows were rolled down—the Nissan had no air conditioning.
On the outskirts of Meijing, they passed an open market. Food and craft stalls jammed together, forming narrow aisles as hundreds of customers swarmed and bartered with sellers. Adding to the atmosphere were the clashing aromas of food sold by street vendors—salty noodles, grilled meats on skewers, spicy curries, and tart salads. On the market’s edge, Sabriya witnessed a familiar and irritable scene. Two foolishly young teenage boys, yet old enough to know better, were sexually harassing a group of younger girls with vulgar gestures and coarse jokes. Sabriya, hearing and seeing it all, was tempted to tell Jack to stop the car so she could reenact a scene that had led David to seek her out. The infamous event at the Sapae Nok market both shamed and immortalized her in the village and among her monastery sisters. She would never forget it.
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