As he walked through the open blast door, Sir David Kensington nodded to the sentry and entered the Scorp, the intelligence and provisioning lab in the Embassy’s basement. Scorp was short for Scorpio, the zodiac sign associated with intimidation, mystery, and the discovery of hidden knowledge—hallmarks of Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), otherwise known as Military Intelligence, Section 6 (MI6).
Inside, MI6’s officer-in-residence, Major Landon Scott, a trim, carrot-topped, thirty-five-year-old, ex-special forces officer, was crouched behind an equipment rack, threading cables. Scott, a confirmed bachelor, was assigned to provide intelligence services to the newly established Pellagore Embassy. He had lost his left leg to an IRA car bomb in 1980, but his artificial limb kept his body nimble, and a Cambridge degree in Electronic Engineering kept his mind agile.
“Yes, Sir. Mr. Ambassador. What’s happening with your wife’s niece?”
“Daughter,” corrected the Ambassador.
“Ah, right you are, sir. Yes, sir.”
“The latest is, and this may not be a total surprise to you or MI6…” David glared at the Major as if Landon personally had held back the disturbing information from their briefings years earlier, “but my wife has revealed that in her younger days she was trafficked in one or two brothels along the Cabbage Avenue corridor.”
“Yes, I heard,” said Landon, tightening his lips and peering at the floor for a moment in disappointment.
“What do you mean you heard? She just told me this not an hour ago. Have you always known?” David turned to see Hannah enter the room and stand behind him, a concerned look on her face.
“No, sir,” said Landon. “Such information was never part of the intelligence briefings about your wife.” Landon became suddenly reticent, glancing at Hannah, as if they both might have something to hide. “I, ah, surmised that from our earlier conversation, and what she told me…” he looked at his watch… “30 minutes ago.”
“Landon, where is my wife?”
“Well, she’s not here, sir. She took an SEC and its paired short-link helmet to go see the Queen of Pellagore, or so she said.”
“You gave her an SEC?”
“She’s checked out on it.” The SEC was an experimental MI6-modified, Stealth-Electric Cycle; its short-link helmet, with its microphones and speakers, was electronically paired with the SEC that was linked via satellites back to the Embassy for voice communication.
Landon said nothing more.
That Landon offered no more information suggested there was more, as if the Ambassador or the husband didn’t need to know.
Landon stared back with an expression that said: “Nothing to see here, boss.”
David scanned the lab, its array of equipment, and its locked cabinets and cupboards, and glanced at Hannah again, who was purposely trying not to be part of the conversation but was attentively listening.
Underplaying the question as if to trivialize the interrogation, David asked, “So, what else did she take?”
Landon nodded his head, as if to say, that’s the question I was waiting for, ambled to his desk, picked up a clipboard, flipped a page, held the board more in the light, and read: “An L6 Night Vision Pocket Scope, extra batteries, and a single PPK (Personal Provisioning Kit).”
“She needed all that just to go see the Queen?” David fumed.
“Well, no. Not just the Queen.” Landon bit his lip and gazed at David over the top of his glasses.
“Oh, Landon, don’t tell me she’s…” David stopped mid-sentence and stared at Landon, waiting for the Major to finish the sentence.
“Okay, sir, I won’t tell you. After the Palace, she’s going to Cabbage Avenue…”
“No!” interjected David.
Landon continued. “After that, she didn’t say exactly where else she was going.”
“Oh, she’s going to Miwu Cun, I guarantee it,” said David. We had, shall I say, a difference of opinion about this last night.”
At that point, Hannah stepped forward. “Sir, you won’t have to worry. She’s well protected. I helped her dress in her tactical gear. You’ll remember it’s made from a rip-stop fabric of Kevlar, nylon, and cotton, in an attractive camouflaged design…”
“Military fashion narration I don’t need,” said David, interrupting, as he began to pace, his breath getting shallower.
But Landon wasn’t done. “And oh, yeah…” he flipped another page, “…she took a P250 and extra clips.”
David raised his voice, “She took a gun!?”
“Yes, sir,” said Landon, nonchalantly. “A SIG with four, 11-round clips…plus the one in the gun.”
David was nearly speechless. “We can track the SEC, right?”
“Yes, plus the communicator has a five-meter exterior and 10-meter interior accuracy.”
“Right into the hands of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.” David spun in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. “God save us! How long will the SEC last?”
“Batteries are good for a couple of days, depending on atmospheric temperature and pressure, speed, and load. She’s light, so longer than normal. She was in a hurry, sir .”
“I’ll bet she was.” David attempted indifference and detachment, but was decidedly upset. He turned and gestured at the communication desk. “Can we?”
“Yes, sir. I was just patching in the biometrics when you entered. She’s also wearing a personal communicator under her jacket, short-linked to her tactical earplugs, and in the SEC helmet there are voice transducers. All full-duplex.
David walked to the console with a desk-like work surface mounted on a rack of displays, used to communicate with embassies around the world via a satellite dish on the Embassy’s roof. Mounted in the rack were controls for shortwave radio, local radio and TV, UHF police bands, and VHF marine bands, and the capacity to track Sabriya wherever in the world she might venture.
Landon flipped a few switches and pressed a few buttons. The displays in the top rack illuminated. On one, Sabriya’s biometrics were displayed: heart rate and variability, respiration rate, body temperature, activity, posture, blood oxygen saturation, and sweat composition (glucose, hydration, and electrolytes). On another display, a bright blue dot was superimposed on a Meijing street map, and moving slowly along the approach road to the Laksana Palace.
Wednesday, August 14, 2024 - 2:50 PM
It was mid-afternoon as Sabriya’s cycle streaked silently along the Royal Causeway to Lanksana Palace. Her vexation over law enforcement’s ambivalent attitude toward finding Jia Kun, or hunting down her kidnappers, distressed her, and to sit passively at the Embassy, waiting on others, only magnified Jia Kun's danger and Sabriya’s frustration. She found little solace in the beauty of her surroundings as ocean waves whitecapped the causeway’s embankment of boulders, and tall coconut palms lining the roadway wildly swayed, forecasting a storm. Yet, clear blue skies sanctioned the sun to warm her tactical uniform, and a sea breeze and the apparent wind of her cycle’s forward motion kept her relatively cool.
She would have much preferred her flowing silk gi to the camouflage-patterned, rip-stop jacket, utility belt, and cargo pants. But a fall at speed in a silk gi would end her mission and leave her crippled. Besides, there were no rigs, loops, or pockets in a gi for her holster, clips, scope, and retractable bo staff.
She thought about the lightweight school clothes Jia Kun would be wearing, and how they would not protect her against the rough abuse she would be exposed to. Sabriya shivered thinking of her daughter in a brothel, drugged, stripped of her innocence, and naked under a thin, dirty sheet, her arms, legs, and face scarred and scratched. It maddened her; the cycle accelerated.
As expected, she was delayed at the Palace guard house; Queen Devi was not expecting her. But luckily, she was available, and Sabriya parked her cycle under the porte-cochère. A hostess ushered Sabriya into a parlour.
Shortly, the Queen entered the parlour, followed by a servant with tea service and mints. Sabriya stood and curtsied.
“Oh, my dear, no need for formality,” the Queen said. “We’re two friends alone in a humble parlour.” To Sabriya’s eyes, the parlour was anything but humble. The rich oak flooring was embellished in the center with a round oriental rug, woven around the circumference with symbols of Pellagore’s natural resources. The large Embassy side chairs were upholstered in saddle brown leather. The dark bamboo side tables and coffee table all matched with polished glass tops. The ceiling was at least 3 meters high, with several down-drafting fans supplementing the soft breeze that swept from one side to the other through 2.5-meter-by-2.5-meter windows. In the corners, live feather palms added color and texture. A bookshelf lined one wall, and an upright piano sat against the opposite.
The Queen’s voice was huskier than Sabriya remembered. Perhaps she had a cold, which would be unusual in this warm climate with fresh air circulating through the room’s open windows and doors. It was a casual day for Queen Devi; her long jet-black hair had been rolled into a neat bun and held in place with two decorative bamboo hair sticks with turquoise and brass toppers; there was no crown, no jewels to accent a plain, dark blue silk robe-dress cinched about the waist with a gold elastic belt. Her feet were bare on this warm day in her own house on the polished dark oak floor. But her eyes were puffy and a bit bloodshot, Sabriya thought. She looked sad, yet duty and protocol forced a smile, a straight back, and a forward, attentive face. Her reserved smile indicated an appreciation for the interruption from otherwise unwelcome duties.
“Please sit, Mrs. Kensington; you do me a great honor by your presence.” The Queen gestured to a comfortable side chair facing the gold-upholstered mahogany armchair that resembled a modest throne, into which the Queen drifted. The servant placed the tray of refreshments on a low table between them. “You certainly are dressed for something of an adventure or an extenuated mission. What brings you? Though it is unexpected, I am happy to see you and be of service.”
“My Queen, you show me great kindness to give me this audience on such short notice. Please forgive my presumption. May I speak freely?”
“Of course, my dear. That is why you came. Is it not?” The Queen forced a slight condescending smile.
Sabriya spoke softly and slowly, two qualities of speech that, under the circumstances, did not seem natural or comfortable but were no doubt appropriate given her audience. “This morning, at our embassy, I was honored to host a small delegation of craftsmen and women from Pellagore’s gifted textile cooperative, when I was interrupted with very tragic news of the work that is on your heart and to which we both spoke at your banquet.”
The Queen leaned forward; her body went rigid. The soft face and puffy eyes suddenly grew taunt and alert.
“I’ve been informed that my niece and a friend, who were on their way to school in the western mountain district not far from the Chinese border, were abducted by two unidentified men and taken away in a van. The constable assigned to the village was miles away at the time. Besides, the district told us the constable only deals with territorial and property disputes, not crime.” Sabriya decided not to mention the ambivalence of an unidentified palace security officer whom David had also talked to by phone.
Queen Devi began to cry. She glanced at the servant, who, after delivering the tea service, had been standing by the entrance. The servant rushed to Devi’s side and produced an embroidered hankie, with which the Queen dabbed at her eyes and cheeks.
“Oh, Mrs. Kensington, I am so sorry to hear this. Believe me when I tell you I am in anguish with you.” The Queen avoided looking directly at Sabriya for several moments. Her lips trembled, she dabbed at her eyes again, after which her hands landed in her lap, gripping one another. It was as if she wanted to reveal a secret, but propriety prevented it.
“I’m sorry to bring this grief to you,” said Sabriya. “May I ask you something? I do not intend offense.”
The Queen nodded as she wiped her cheek and attempted to regain a courtly presence.
“From what I know of our country, and from what little my husband’s growing knowledge has offered, is there no kingdom-wide criminal law enforcement unit to investigate criminal activity? When we pledged to the country to go after trafficking criminals, how was that to occur? By what agency?”
Queen Devi searched the walls of the large parlour for an answer. When she answered, her voice was filled with disappointment and doubt. “Local police should investigate such things. What you were told about police only dealing with territorial and property disputes does not sound right. We have the army, of course, but they’re mostly to protect our borders, I think. More to your question, as I mentioned last week, the anti-trafficking program I want is being developed with the various forces of my husband’s administration and our new Pellegorian government. I have wanted to be part of that, but they are men who don’t think women can fight. My husband knows different…sometimes. It all moves too slowly for my liking. And now that we have a parliament, it moves even more slowly. Everyone bickers and wants things their way. I fear we are only King and Queen in name only. It was my fear. But, again, back to your question. No, there is no kingdom-wide, interdistrict law enforcement. Criminals can move from district to district without fear, and there is corruption among the police. My husband wants to keep the peace. I not so much.” The Queen gazed at Sabriya, looking distraught and defeated.
Sabriya’s stomach clenched—the Queen’s vision was being shattered, and so deep was the hurt that Sabriya feared offering advice or encouragement would be an insult. The Queen had no answer, no arsenal, no recourse, no budget, no real plan, and little or no support from the army or local police. Sabriya was reflecting on this turn of information when the Queen stirred as if an omen had suddenly appeared.
“Mrs. Kensington, do tell me, where was this? What village? What is this village’s name?”
“It is known as Miwu Cun, or the mountain village lost in the mist.”
The Queen froze; fear rose in her eyes, and blood flushed her face. She stood, collected herself, and in a faltering voice, said, “Mrs. Kensington. I must leave.” She glanced awkwardly at her servant across the room, “Naoko, why did you not tell me? Am I not late?” And without looking again at Sabriya, Queen Devi rushed out of the parlour, her voice shaking and trailing after her: “Naoko, be so kind to see our guest out.”
The look on Naoko’s face told Sabriya that the Queen was not late for anything.
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