Girl Goes To Wudang (An Emily Kane Adventure Book 7) Read online

  “You’ve done a study of this, then?” Emily asked.

  “I get asked to consult on wardrobe a lot over here.”

  “What’s wrong with green? Isn’t it the color of springtime and plants?”

  “In China, it’s associated with infidelity. Don’t ask me why.”

  “Well, then, black is okay if you don’t think it’s too somber.” She fingered the price tag and blanched. “They want six thousand yuan for this.”

  “The shawl will make up for that, or maybe a shrug, if you prefer. Yellow or red, the brighter the better.” Margie ignored her caviling about the price, but when Capt Tenno turned to hand the gown and shawl to one of the shop girls, Margie pulled her arm down. “Not yet. We still have one more stop.”

  Of course, “one more stop” turned out to involve a longish walk – “I don’t trust taxis in Beijing,” Margie said – to Ritan Park, just opposite the Vietnamese Embassy. The dusky gray Ritan Office Building hardly betrayed the existence of a bustling market space behind its walls. But once inside, the smell of incense wafted down from the upper floors, and Margie led the way upstairs to Liu Xingxing’s dress shop.

  “The ambassador said price is no object, but I’m the one who fills out the expense reports, and this is China, after all. You can always find something cheaper down the street.”

  Indeed, this bit of mercantile cunning was readily born out by the result. Within ten short minutes, Margie was able to put her hands on the exact dress they’d settled on at Yan Li’s for under a thousand yuan.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me, or is this the genuine label?” Emily asked, searching over the dress for some evidence of inferior quality. “This isn’t even a knock-off, is it?”

  “Now you see my point.” Margie held a hand on her hip, and smiled to see her wisdom appreciated.

  “How does Yan Li make any money, if he undersells his own shop over here?”

  “Ah, the mysterious east. I think it’s really all about who shops where. Guomao is for the super-rich, Sanlitun is all western tourists, and this end of Chaoyang is mainly locals, and maybe some Asian tourists.” Emily glanced about the store, as if to confirm the truth of this observation.

  The walk back to the embassy was going to be too long, so Emily insisted on hailing a taxi over Margie’s objections. “I’m paying for this one,” she said. “I just can’t bear to see you walk over two miles in those shoes.”

  Once settled in the back, Margie felt more comfortable talking to her new-found shopping partner. “Is it true, what they say?”

  “What do they say?”

  “That you’re some super-connected bigwig?”

  “Do I look like some super-connected… whatever?”

  “I guess not,” Margie conceded. “But the rumor mill has already started churning over today’s visit. The Marine Commandant and the Commander of the Pacific Fleet fly in just to see you. You can be sure that raised some eyebrows.”

  “I thought they were here for the state dinner. I’m pretty sure I was just an afterthought. I mean, they didn’t even find me any housing, or housing allowance.”

  “That was strange. I remember thinking that, since all housing stuff comes across my desk eventually, you know… expense reports, allowances, and so on. Where did you end up, then, if they didn’t get you anything in Sanlitun or Shunyi… if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I found an apartment in Dongcheng.”

  “Oh my. Is that safe?”

  “Yeah, I think so. My landlady lives next door, and if it’s safe for a little old lady, it’s probably safe enough for me.”

  “How much do you pay, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Twenty two hundred a month for four rooms.”

  “Yuan or dollars?” Margie dreaded hearing the answer, that this girl was paying a third the price for something probably twice the size of her place – and when she heard it confirmed, she dropped her head in her hands.

  “It’s not that bad, is it? Don’t you get a housing allowance?”

  “Sure, but in Sanlitun, I still end up paying more than twice what you are, and there’s no danger-pay allowance for China.”

  “Dongcheng is all locals. You might not like ‘going native’, as they say.”

  “You like it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I probably fit in there better than you would… sorry.” Emily placed a soothing hand on the back of her head.

  “No, you’re probably right.”

  “… and how’s you’re Putonghua? Because nobody speaks English over there.”

  “It’s passable. I’m probably better off in Sanlitun, I guess.”

  11

  A Meeting With Two Presidents

  As it turned out, Emily could have run directly to the state dinner from her apartment in less time than it took to ride the subway to the embassy. But maybe it wasn’t advisable to run in an evening gown, and the ambassador’s staff seemed pretty anxious to verify that she was in fact dressed for the occasion.

  Jepsen had been tasked with putting together a convoy for all the military dignitaries to the Tiananmen Square neighborhood – the Great Hall of the People was just across Guangchang Road– and couldn’t conceal his irritation when he heard that Emily would be riding in the ambassador’s motorcade. At least she wouldn’t be riding in the very same car with the President, or the Secretary of State, but he didn’t like the idea that preferential treatment was being doled out to a member of his staff by someone other than himself.

  Emily stood in the grand lobby of the main building, the Marine Guard hovering nearby, and outnumbered by the various security details that had only arrived yesterday. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the darkening glass of the main windows, long and sleek in her black dress, with black heels, the red scarf-shawl – she wasn’t exactly sure of the proper term for it, but it was as red as Margie could desire against this dress – and a beaded black fold-over clutch. A familiar face gestured to her from the other side of the room, but the flow of armed men created a substantial obstacle.

  “I thought you’d already gone,” Emily cried out to Madeira, as he worked his way through the crowd, a pretty, youngish woman with jet-black hair in tow.

  “This is the biggest event in the last few years. We couldn’t leave without at least seeing it. By the way, you ‘pretty up’ real good, Captain – that’s the new rank, right?” The woman standing next to him coughed just loudly enough to be heard over the din. “Oh, yes… sorry. Allow me to introduce my wife, Raquel. This is my replacement, Capt Tenno.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Raquel said. “But I can see how much I’ve been deceived by my husband’s soft-pedaling. You look lovely in that gown, Miss… or is there a special someone?”

  “There is someone, but he’s on another post, and it’s still Miss. Really, it’s Michiko, but you can call me Em.”

  “What’s his billet?” Madeira butted in.

  “He’s a SEAL Commander, so I can’t really discuss his postings. I’m probably not even supposed to know where he is.”

  “Javi told me about your karate demonstration the other day,” Raquel said. “It was all he could talk about.” Emily grunted and changed the subject.

  “Would you take a picture of me in this get-up? I want to send it to my mom.”

  The best of the pics Raquel was able to get showed Emily standing with the Marine Guard, with the fountain in the background. Javi and Raquel mugged for a photo with Emily, taken by one of the Secret Service agents. Handing back her phone, he remarked, “That’s not your embassy-issued phone, is it?”

  Emily grabbed it and surreptitiously powered it down. “It’s my personal phone.”

  “Be careful with that,” he said.

  The ride over to the Great Hall of the People proved uneventful – and oppressive, to the extent that Emily couldn’t use her illicit sat-phone to call Perry. She still remembered how he felt about being left out of the loop on the news of her posting, and c
ouldn’t help wondering what he’d say to her if she didn’t share the latest news with him first. If only she could make the excuse that her attention was distracted by riding in the same car as POTUS. But, sadly, she was four cars back, sharing a cold bench seat with a White House functionary and two embassy officials whose names she didn’t remember after being introduced a few minutes ago. This was yet another cost of being parachuted into the job: she didn’t really understand any of the organizational networks, because she hadn’t needed to work with anyone yet, and would probably be gone before she ever would.

  “Congratulations, Captain,” one of them said… the taller one with some sort of school tie. “I think it was a first for the New Embassy Compound.”

  “Thanks….”

  “It’s Bill… Bill Jordan, from the Protocol office.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill. Please, forgive me. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind these last few days.”

  “Don’t sweat it. We’ve all been there. Well, maybe not quite as whirling, but…”

  “Thanks, though. The whole medal thing caught me by surprise. The Admiral and I had a deal… at least, I thought we did.”

  “Am I right in thinking the deal involved your not getting the medal? Because, I have to tell you, that sounds a little odd.”

  “I know… I suppose it does, but maybe not so much. It’s actually hard to celebrate anything that had to do with the death of fellow soldiers… and friends.”

  “… and now you have another medal to accept.”

  “Have you found out exactly what medal they plan on giving her?” The White House functionary broke his silence, and perhaps regretted speaking so abruptly. “Gary Harman, Deputy Press Secretary.”

  Emily shrugged. “Nobody tells me anything.”

  “I think we’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities,” the only other woman in the back of the limousine said. “I’m sorry, Jeanne Tagliaferro, from the Liaison office, you know, on the third floor.”

  Emily shook her hand to be polite. “Thanks. I seem to be terrible with names tonight.”

  “That’s okay, and you can just call me Jeannie. Everyone does. Anyway, we think it’ll either be the Order of Friendship or the Order of the Republic.”

  “I’ve heard they don’t really use medals the way we do,” Harman said.

  “That’s right. Most of their military medals are for specific engagements, rather than for extraordinary actions, and seem to be of local rather than national significance.”

  “You mean, like employee of the month awards.”

  “Sort of,” Jeannie said. “For a couple of decades, they seemed to have stopped giving out national medals altogether. But last year, the National Congress established those two, and only a few have been given out. The Friendship medal seems intended to honor foreign dignitaries, heads of state and ambassadors, that sort of thing, and doesn’t explicitly refer to the military. The Republic medal is military, but it’s not clear that the Congress intended it for foreigners.”

  “Are there any other options?” Emily asked, now becoming curious, if only because of the complexity of Jeannie’s explanation.

  “I suppose President Liang could make up a new honor by executive order, but the Congress has not officially authorized any other medals.”

  The motorcade passed the western edge of Tiananmen Square, which seemed even more vast and empty at night, lit only by streetlights, a few spotlights shining up from the base of the Monument to the People’s Heroes, and the glow from the Great Hall. Guangchang Road and Renda Huitang West Road were closed to automobile traffic, and most onlookers had been herded behind barriers at the edge of the square opposite. But between the curb where the motorcade pulled up and the massive portico leading to the entry doors, a crowd of reporters and photographers had gathered.

  Emily waited as the others exited the limousine, in no hurry to face this new gauntlet. Jeannie and Bill, her new friends from “upstairs” slipped out the door along with the Deputy Press Secretary, and she steeled herself for the ordeal, when Margie appeared and slid into the seat next to her, looking flushed with the urgency of whatever errand had sent her.

  “Oh my goodness.” She took a moment to gather herself, a little out of breath and holding a hand to her chest, and perhaps more flustered than Emily was used to seeing. “I almost forgot… you’ll need to wear something shiny, or the outfit won’t work… you know as a substitute for the dress uniform.”

  “Something shiny?”

  “Yes, silly. You know, some baubles, and I have a few here. You can’t stand next to the President of China… and POTUS, in a plain dress. The Chinese would take it as an insult.” She paused to reach into her bag and extracted three small boxes. “These are on loan from the ambassador’s wife, so take good care of them.”

  “I don’t know about this. I don’t usually… I mean, I’ve never worn…”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll look great, and it isn’t optional.”

  The largest box contained a triple-strand pearl necklace, which Margie held up against Emily’s chest. Finally, recognizing necessity when it summoned her, Emily fiddled with the clasp and let her hair fall over it in back.

  “I knew that would look good,” Margie crowed. “The gold settings are a perfect fit with the red and the black.”

  The next box held a brooch in the form of a floral spray in gold with jade and amethyst accent flowers. Margie took the liberty of pinning it on her, and then glanced at Emily’s neck again.

  “Oh, this won’t do. Your ears aren’t pierced.” She looked at the smallest box, on whose blue velvet lining two diamond stud earrings glistened, and shook her head. “These would have completed the ensemble. I don’t know what we’re going to do now.”

  “Maybe it’s good enough as is,” Emily offered.

  “I know,” Margie said, ignoring Emily’s suggestion, and slipping off the gold bracelet she wore. “Maybe this will be enough to balance it.” She gave Emily a final inspection. “It’s better than nothing. You look lovely.”

  “Is all this stuff expensive?”

  “The pearls are cultured, so only medium expensive, but the brooch is the real thing, so be careful with that… and my bracelet is costume, but glitzy enough to pass… and you’ll have to return it all to me this evening, before you go home. Okay?”

  Emily nodded, and then emerged from the car into a blur of people and lights. Cameras clicked and whirred, and garbled voices murmured just beyond intelligibility. None of these people could possibly know who she was, at least not yet. But if President Liang had his way, they’d all know her soon enough… maybe even recognize her on the street. This last thought sent a shiver down her spine. Margie came up from behind, squeezed her hand in a gesture of support, and breathed the confidence to walk boldly down the marked path to the entrance.

  The building spread out before them in three vast sections, with a central row of columns at least a hundred feet high fronting a towering wall of windows. Here was a granite monument to the great will of the Chinese people, and one could hardly fail to be impressed, or at least intimidated. From the curb, which seemed more than a football field away, one might criticize the blockishness of the Soviet-style architecture, with what seemed like an afterthought of Chinese style – a red tile roof – but this became gradually more difficult as one approached the steps. Looking up from the bottom, the front façade appeared to touch the night sky, and it seemed impossible to find a single point from which to view the whole.

  “They say it was built by thousands of volunteers in the space of ten months,” Margie said.

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Which part, the ten months or the volunteers?”

  “I’m not even sure… maybe both.”

  “The fifties were a time of great enthusiasm for the new China, so I guess I’m inclined to believe it. And besides, every great people deserves a great myth or two.”

  Emily turned to consider her companion. Shorter t
han her, and a few years older, unmarried, or at least not wearing a ring, she embodied a sort of professionalism that great institutions depend upon, but rarely seem able to recognize. She would give her life and livelihood to the Foreign Service, and it would support her and protect her, but it would also forget her not long after she was gone. The allure of oblivion – so many people toil in shadows trying to escape it, to make a mark that wouldn’t fade. What did she want? How often had she craved dissolution, and been denied by forces outside herself. Could she find immortality in the mark she’d leave on Li Li or Stone? If only Li Li were really her own… and Stone seemed so fleeting to her eyes, growing so fast, as if he raced toward his destiny. Please, let it not cheat him of the joy that should be his due.

  Margie tugged on her wrist. “C’mon, sweetie, or we’ll be late to the ball.”

  Inside the entrance, red carpeting marked a path along the marble-tiled floor and drew them up an immense, two-story staircase, and ushers – probably PLA soldiers in black suits and white gloves – directed them to the right with a silent hand gesture, toward the northern end of the building, and through another massive white and gray marble corridor. Their steps echoed as they approached a pair of huge doors that would lead them into the State Banquet Hall. The vastness of the room could be glimpsed even at that distance, but before they reached this destination, two American Secret Service agents in charcoal gray suits gestured to them.

  “This way, please, Capt Tenno.”

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Margie said.

  “No need, Ms. Cabot,” one of the agents said. “We’ll bring her to your table in a few minutes.”

  More black-suited ushers lined this new corridor, their quiet presence indicating – or perhaps enforcing – a path that terminated in a smaller, though still quite large room: Beijing Hall. The red carpet scrunched slightly under the high heels Margie had found for her, and she had to make an effort not to look down at her feet. Fifty or so chairs were arranged in a double horseshoe backed by a large painting of the Forbidden City, and a grand cupola chandelier seemed to emerge seamlessly from the surface of the ceiling. Dignitaries filled most of the chairs, though Emily hardly retained enough self-possession to see whether she recognized any of them, and journalists and photographers lined the edges of the hall.