Girl Punches Out

by Jacques Antoine

  Emily got out of the SUV and shook the cobwebs out of her head. She must have been more tired than she realized. The field overlooked the bay about three miles north and six hundred feet below them. Standing on the roof she could see the vague outlines of a city across the bay. The features of the near shoreline were obscured by the tree line on the lower end of the field. A pinnacle about a mile further up would probably give a clear view, but she didn’t want to get lost in the dark on the way down. She climbed halfway up the largest tree she could find. The shore road came into view along with numerous fields and other signs of active cultivation. She spied a larger settlement about twenty miles further along. One good sign: she didn’t see any unusual activity around the base at Vilyuchinsk. No helicopters, no small planes, no trucks coming from that direction. She hoped that meant the destruction of the Korean compound had not been discovered yet.

  Their remaining food consisted of some dry bread, a bit of smelly cheese, a small pot of butter and jam, as well as three two liter bottles of water. The idea of roughing it in the woods danced before her mind’s eye. It would be a good exercise for Anthony, but just now it seemed like an indulgence she couldn’t afford. They would need to find some kind of store. Luckily she found a small wad of bills in the pocket of Miss Park’s jacket, about two thousand rubles altogether, though she wasn’t sure that amounted to very much. Now they just needed to get to the settlement before everything closed for the night.

  The little man wrangled the kids into the backseat and distributed the last of the food while Emily eased the SUV through the trees to the dirt road. A few minutes later they lurched back onto the shore road. Li Li and Dol were still in high spirits from their forest games. Even without a shared language, they communicated in the way little kids always do. Their passions seemed to be completely shared between them. Dol made faces and Li Li shrieked and giggled. He pulled the blanket over his head for a few seconds, until she began to cry. Then he popped back out and she shrieked with delight, tears all forgotten. Variations of this game went on for the next hour.

  The road veered away from the shore to wind around some steeper hills. At one point they climbed through a series of switchbacks that led to a ridgeline drive. From that vantage Emily saw the outlines of a medium-sized town in the valley below. But when they arrived it turned out to be nothing more than an enormous container depot. No houses, no stores. Just thousands of containers stacked neatly in rows rusting in the weeds. They rumbled past along the pot-holed pavement as the sun set.

  Two hours later they arrived in a real town: Yelizovo. All amenities could be found here: stores, lodging, a small commercial airport, even what appeared to be tourists. The world of everyday life and all its ordinary comforts unfolded before her eyes. They probably didn’t have enough money for a hotel room, and Emily wouldn’t risk one even if they did. That probably meant another night in the SUV. But the lights of a supermarket beckoned from over a mile away. The little man recognized the Cyrillic spelling of the store name: it sounded like Shamsa. Emily sent him in with the money, since she looked too bruised up not to draw attention to herself. Even sympathetic attention might prove dangerous. He emerged a few minutes later with milk and water, two loaves of bread, cheese, fruit, an assortment of piroshki and a large container of hot crab soup, which seemed to be the main local delicacy. That took care of most of the money.

  The kids had the milk and piroshki, which turned out to be buns filled with seasoned ground meat or vegetables. A few even contained a sweet fruit filling. Li Li and Dol were delighted. Emily shared bread and soup with Anthony and the little man. As the hot liquid slipped down her throat she began to realize how hungry she really was. How long had it been since her last substantial meal? Days? Weeks? She had no idea what day it was. Perhaps she had already missed the prom, she thought with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.

  They found the road to Petropavlosk around midnight, a four lane highway that pushed them straight through developed suburbs and commercial districts. They made good time and arrived in the suburb of Mokhovaya less than an hour later. Emily was uncertain about entering Petropavlosk too soon. The harbor was a large commercial shipping center, probably in operation all night long. It might be easier to find a suitable vessel in one of the smaller marinas outside of town. She couldn’t read the signs, which made navigating difficult.

  A boat symbol on one sign persuaded her to take a chance and turn off south toward where she expected to find the waterfront. The local streets meant going much more slowly through quiet residential neighborhoods. These gave way to warehouses, and finally the smell of fish led them to a smaller marina, one end of which was populated mainly by commercial fishing boats. No recreational boats or sailboats could be seen. Smaller craft were visible at the other end.

  -back to top-

  Chapter 25

  On the Water at Last

  Emily pulled the SUV into a long, curving parking lot at the edge of the marina, near what looked to be a guard house. She couldn’t see anyone inside, but there was a light on. No sails in sight, a few small motor launches moored here and there, but none of them had an enclosed cabin. She didn’t want to risk taking the children out to sea in an open boat. It was just too cold. Off to the far right she saw a larger boat with what she guessed was official insignia, probably for the Harbormaster. It looked like a converted fishing boat, but the cabin was enclosed and it sported a tall radio antenna. The angle of the bow looked like it might be safe to take out of the bay. It would have to do. She pulled the SUV to that end of marina.

  “Anthony,” she said, nudging him awake. “Wait for my signal and then start loading everything on that boat.”

  He nodded groggily. She turned to the little man and nodded to the boat while gesturing with her hands. She hoped he understood.

  The door to the guardhouse was unlocked. In the main room a counter sagged along the large window looking out over the marina. Some ancient looking electronic equipment, a radio, an old style rotary telephone and a map cabinet adorned another wall. One locked drawer hung from the counter. She hoped to find the keys to the boat in there. A noise came from a back room, a light peeked around the edges of a partially closed door.

  As she made her way in that direction she noticed her reflection in the dark glass of the window. Miss Park’s clothes fit her well. They even looked stylish. But her face showed some bruises. Her jaw was swollen where the Russian had managed to hit her. Her right eye sported a purpling shiner from when Ba We had swatted her across the ring. She looked down at her hands. They were barked up and bloody. She could feel a few other places where she would certainly have some major bruising. Two thoughts flashed across her mind. First, “No wonder the boy was too scared to come to me. I look a fright.” And then, “Oh, great. I’ll look real sharp in a prom dress. If my hair was longer I’d be the damn bride of Frankenstein.” She felt bad for Danny, momentarily at least.

  The door swung open and an elderly man stepped out of the back, the sound of a flushing toilet still echoing. He was taken aback by her appearance. Perhaps that could prove useful. He spoke gruffly at first, but then appeared to soften. He seemed to be asking her something, maybe offering assistance or at least sympathy. She looked at him wordlessly, trying to appear as helpless as she could manage. Had he been a younger man she would have overpowered him, tied him up and ransacked the office for the keys. But she was afraid to hurt him. He seemed too frail. A younger man would have time to heal, but he might not. She needed another plan.

  She walked to the backroom to make sure there was no one else. When she came back, the old man was clearly losing patience. He made a move to pick up the phone, but she stopped him. With one hand holding his wrist, she put a finger to her lips, then pointed to the official boat.

  “We need your boat,” she said forcefully.

  He seemed to understand nothing she said, though her tone of voice was clear enough: she was not asking. He shook his head vigorously and said so
mething in Russian. She wondered if there was any way to avoid violence.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked.

  “What you do here?” he demanded.

  “Children,” she said abruptly, and pointed to the boat. “We need help.”

  “Help how?”

  “Boat.”

  “No. Boat stay here. I stay here. My job. You go.”

  “Children. Boat. Twelve miles. Take us.”

  She said this last part as imploringly as she could. He looked in her eyes, saw her bruises. Her clothes looked expensive, if a little worse for the wear. She might be someone important. But her request was incomprehensible. What good could it do them to be out in the middle of the sea. She was so insistent, and her bruises seemed to speak volumes. And her eyes were casting some sort of spell on him. Something flickered inside. Was it a spark of chivalry for a pretty girl in distress? Was it only the thought of protecting children? Or perhaps he just finally saw how insufferably boring his life had been until precisely this moment. Whatever it was, he grunted and unlocked the drawer, from which he produced a key on a large, plastic fob.

  “Radio?” she asked.

  He grunted again and flipped a couple of switches on a large panel in the wall. She turned the dial that looked like frequency and said into the handset, “I have the children. All safe. On a boat from Petropavlosk, over.” She waited a moment for a response, then repeated the message. She spun the frequency dial and turned the panel off. He shrugged puzzled, grabbed his coat and led her out to the boat.

  When Anthony saw Emily bringing the old man from the guard house along with her, he jumped out of the SUV. He forgot her instructions and ran over to them while the little man carried the food and blankets onto the boat. With Anthony’s arms wrapped around her, she turned to the bemused old man and said “Children.” When they got back to the SUV, Anthony carried Li Li on board, still asleep, and Emily picked up Dol, who clung to her neck tightly.

  Once they were all on board and settled into the cabin, the old man started the engine while the little man cast off the lines. The boated churned its way around a jetty, on the far side of which Emily now saw what was clearly another naval installation. These must be scattered around the bay. The old man steered a very wide berth, as if anxious not to disturb any of the sleeping giants that rode low along several piers, bristling with guns. A patrol boat in the distance shone a light toward them.

  “Get down, below windows.”

  As they drew closer a bright light blazed through the cabin. The old man waved and the light went out, apparently satisfied. He looked at the little man and then turned to Emily.

  “Koreans?”

  “No. American,” she said indicating herself.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I came to rescue the children from the Koreans.”

  The old man nodded, then shook his head in disgust. Did he know about the cloning operation? Had he heard rumors? Strange stories about children may have circulated around the bay. He glowered at the little man.

  “Rescue him, too?”

  She shrugged and smiled. He shook his head again. They made their way past the main commercial harbor in Petropavlosk, crowded with container ships and tankers, and turned southeast. In less than half an hour they cleared the rip current at the mouth of the bay and turned due west into the open sea.

  The old man pointed to the radio and said “Someone you meet?”

  “How long to the twelve mile limit?”

  “Two hours maybe,” he shrugged.

  She took the radio handset and sent her message to the same frequency again. She repeated it a few times but got no response.

  “Keep going?” the old man asked.

  “Yes. They’ll be there.”

  “Hope so. Maybe no fuel to get back.”

  He shrugged his shoulders again, obviously not terribly concerned by this otherwise worrisome probability. The old man seemed to approach events with a fatalism bordering on the morbid. Emily was less sanguine about the fuel situation, but still confident in her friends. Was this how all Russians were? Perhaps this was something in the very nature of the Russian soul. It seemed so different from the restless self-assertion on which her survival seemed always to depend. Perhaps she could learn something from him.

  Another couple of hours and the old man announced that they were probably more than twelve miles out. Emily repeated her signal over the handset as they chugged along. The fog made visibility difficult. They couldn’t see more than a few hundred yards in any direction. After perhaps another thirty minutes, a crackling came over the speaker. She repeated her signal, straining each time to hear a response. When it finally came the response was not through the speaker.

  The deep intonation of the fog horn preceded the emergence of the sharp white prow with its red sash and badge by a few seconds. It was immediately recognizable, a US Coast Guard cutter. It dwarfed the harbor boat, at maybe ten times its size, its enormity somehow vastly comforting to everyone on board. The sky was just beginning to glow with the morning light. The sun would burn off the fog within an hour. Connie beamed down from the bow, scanning the deck for any sign of Emily. As soon as she saw her, she stepped quickly to the stern where they would be able to tie on, holding a satellite phone to her ear and shouting the good news to expectant ears thousands of miles away.

  “We’ve got her! She did it! She has the children, and then some!”

  Once everyone was aboard, Connie spoke to the old man. His tank was almost dry. The Captain ordered a fuel line passed to his boat. Emily hugged him and thanked him as they stood together in the stern of the boat.

  “You saved us!” The old man blushed. “What’s your name,” she asked.

  “Sergei,” he replied at first, but then almost as an afterthought added in heroic tones: “Sergei Vasilyevitch Kuznetsov.”

  “How can we repay you?”

  He shook his head in an attempt at a noble gesture and blustered something about how it was all nothing. Connie motioned her over and held out a case Michael had given her. It contained cash, lots of it, at least fifty thousand dollars.

  “He said to use it to smooth over any ‘official’ difficulties we might encounter. But it looks like we won’t be needing it for that purpose.”

  Emily smiled and snatched it from her hand.

  “Well, Sergei Vasilyevitch, please accept this small token of our gratitude,” she said with great formality as she turned to him.

  He tried to refuse, but she would have none of it. When he finally accepted she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his grizzled cheek. It felt good to be just a girl again, if only for a brief moment, a little bit giddy, with a giggle in her voice and a kiss ready for a good old man. No longer a Valkyrie. At least for now.

  “What is your name, Miss,” he asked with as much grace as he could muster.

  “Michiko Tenno, Gospodin Kuznetsov,” she said with the tiny bit of Russian Ethan had taught her. “I am forever in your debt.”

  She stood on the fan deck for several minutes and waved him off into the fog.

  The rest of the cruise was very much less stressful. Emily spoke with her mother over the sat-phone, Anthony spoke with Andie and Michael, and Li Li even got to hear her uncle’s voice, though she didn’t really know how to speak into the phone. Emily watched as Dol scampered around the ship after Li Li like a devoted puppy. She didn’t know for certain who he was, but she strongly suspected he was another clone. Whatever might turn out to be true, Emily was determined that no one would learn anything about him, not even Connie. He belonged to her now. She spoke to Michael about managing any official hurdles to bring Dol and Li Li into the country.

  As for the little man, his name turned out to be Rhee Sung and he craved some sort of asylum. Michael arranged for him to be flown to Seoul where he had some cousins. His life swirled like a kaleidoscope. Emily found out later that he was a recent conscript from Chongjin, who had been attached as a last minute repl
acement to Colonel Park’s team. Without warning, he was posted to Kamchatka, and assigned to gate guard duty. After observing the nature of Colonel Park’s activities for a few days, he became convinced he would never make it home alive. Now he found himself not only alive, but going to a new home, a better one, and to his own extended family. He came to regard Emily as some sort of magical being, a lucky charm.

  She wanted to warn him not to tell anyone about Ba We, but still had no way to speak with him directly. Even if there had been a translator on board, she wouldn’t have trusted him or anyone else with what she had to tell the little man. Perhaps not even Connie. She took him aside and tried to write out the characters for what she had in mind. She wrote “Forget” and “Secret” as she looked at him meaningfully and said “Ba We.” He looked frightened. But did he understand her? It would have to do until she found some better way to communicate with him.

  “You look like you’ve been through hell,” Connie observed drily when they finally had a quiet moment.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “What sort of operation were they running over there?”

  “I think they must have tried to set up some sort of genetics lab. But it looked like they hadn’t had much success. Whatever it was, they abandoned it awhile ago. I guess that’s why they were after me.”

  She was anxious to shape her story so as to discourage any further inquiry. She tried to keep as close to the truth as she could. No one needed to know Ba We ever existed, or to have any reason to go looking for his grave.