Girl Stalks The Ruins

By Jacques Antoine

A team of terrorists invades the Louvre, thinking they'll have it all their own way with a crowd of tourists. Little do they know they've roused a sleeping dragon.

She wasn't lying in wait for them, but when they seize someone she cares about to cover their escape, she'll pursue them across France to get her own back again.

No one is what they appear to be in the latest Emily Kane Adventure

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacques Antoine
• Release date: Dec 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463149621

Jacques Antoine

By day, Jacques Antoine is a professor at a small college in the southwest, by night he writes action-adventure stories. At first, he wrote "kung fu" tales just for his daughter, when she was a little ninja studying karate. As she grew up, the tales evolved into full-length novels focusing on the dilemmas of young adults, but always set against the background of martial arts adventures. When he's not writing or teaching, he enjoys walking his dogs in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains outside Santa Fe.The Emily Kane Stories are based on the central insight of Japanese martial arts, captured in the little word "sen." It means, roughly, initiative. It can take many forms, and is visible in all walks of life. In Karate, "go no sen" means "counter-attack." But in other contexts it might also refer to resilience, or responsiveness, or a deliberate choice. The common element lies in the insight that responsiveness or deliberation is not the same as passivity, and neither is aggression necessarily a sign of initiative. True initiative lies deeper than the difference between activity and passivity.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Force Protection

In the past, the solution had always been to run.

After Itbayat, where she’d sent more men than ever from this world, releasing the spirits of violent, deluded men… clarity was increasingly hard to come by. Those wraiths clung to her like mist, as if she had the power to hold them in the light or, for some, to return the little princess to them. She was, after all, a lineal descendant of the Goddess of the Sun, Amaterasu-omikami, and they may have been drawn to her as some sort of refuge from the howling darkness that awaited them.

Emily knew her all too well, Amaterasu, and thought of her as Granny, however many generations separated them. When she used to interrupt her dreams, shrilling at her in the voice of destiny, and not merely as the heavenly mother who looks after us all, Emily complied, though she’d rather have fled like Jonah to the belly of a fish.

Those men had stolen Princess Akane away from her parents, then the Crown Prince and Princess of Japan, and the kinship Emily felt to the royal family meant she needed no command to retrieve her. But the personal cost – to them, and to her – was immense, and involved debts not easy to repay.

In the end, she had managed to shed almost all of these spirits, after months and miles of running, first at Quantico with her sergeant, Mick Durant, whose wounds were more visceral, and later in Beijing, where she’d been posted to the embassy as a deputy military attaché. The dawn streets and alleys, and quais of the metropolis may have done more than anything else to scrape the ghosts from her as she ran.

In the meantime, more mundane purposes had gathered around her, some benign, more or less, others malevolent, and none of them truly her own. Extricating herself from them required assistance from more than one unexpected source: from Connie, the stone-cold sniper, and from Hsu Qi, whose followers knew her merely as the Lady. Her spirit and hers alone was capable of uniting the feuding tribes of the Shan Highlands in Myanmar. Most surprising of all, she needed the assistance of her adopted boy, Stone, who may have begun to feel the dreadful legacy that had called him into being.

Now, reunited with her family, Emily was at last free to relax, and travel as a mere tourist. She’d touched down the previous evening at Ramstein Air Force Base, in Germany, flying Space-A with the kids in her charge, Li Li and Stone, to meet Lieutenant Commander Perry Hankinson. He arrived several hours later on a red eye, after several connections, from Bagram, where he was participating in a waning pacification effort in Afghanistan. In a couple days, they’d take a train south, to meet Andie and Yuki, along with their inevitable security entourage, in Paris.

Perhaps she should have waited a little longer for him to put his feet on the floor, and then into running shoes, before heading out. But time waits for no man, and a Navy SEAL ought to know this better than anyone. Besides, there was that persistent ache in her back, where an agent of the Chinese Ministry of State Security had put two rounds just a few weeks before. The scars were mostly gone, but the burning sensation persisted. Running was what she needed to put even that behind her.

The route was simple enough, a wide loop from the east gate, then north through some undeveloped woods shading the northern edge of the base, and re-entering by the west gate, barely ten miles altogether, even less if she cut across the golf course. The main attraction, and Perry would realize this, was that she could go a few miles in that wilderness without encountering any sign of civilization other than the occasional fire-break the local Feuerwehr had cut through the trees.

Once she reached the paved verge of the highway, she veered away into an old growth forest on the south side of the four-lane road, where there were no paths. It was a familiar drill – run so as to leave no trail – following out a principle that called to mind her father and his ways.

Skirting the base fencing near the west gate directed her across a stream – skipping from rock to rock to keep dry – until she caught sight of the crowd. A rally to protest something or other. The gate guard had tried to warn her about it, but she hadn’t paused to listen closely enough as she ran past. The crowd was large and vocal, and out early, probably hoping to disrupt the morning commute for base staff. Half of them looked like shopkeepers who’d head off to work after this little ruckus.

I hope it’s worth the trouble they’re causing, she mused, rounding a corner of the fence. … and that they let me through.

Men in black tactical gear loomed menacingly between the crowd and the gate. Their presence felt heavy handed. Women and children were part of the crowd, even a few baby strollers scattered about, hardly a serious threat to base security… and who were these goons anyway? They didn’t look like they could be part of the base security contingent, not in those uniforms, and carrying such heavy weapons.

She weaved through the obstacle course, trying not to break stride where she could, until something catalyzed the crowd, and everyone began pressing forward. Didn’t they see how dangerous this situation could become, especially with so many children present? Now reduced to walking, Emily slipped past a few couples, begging pardon as she went, then an old man, and a young mother holding a toddler. A man in leather stood off to one side, filming the event, as if he expected something ugly to unfold shortly.

Off to one side, a young woman in jeans and a brightly patterned blouse struggled to navigate a stroller through the increasingly agitated crowd, and the murmuring crystallized into shouts and chants. What could she be thinking, bringing an infant to such a place? Then, without warning, the crowd parted, and the security goons began pushing back, barking out commands. Emily didn’t know enough German to understand, but their meaning was easy to guess.

One of the guards, muscles rippling under his gear, drew her attention. His temper seemed about to tip from frustration to rage, when the young woman found herself directly in front of him with nowhere to maneuver her stroller. He raised the butt of his rifle, and she cringed and bent to cover her child. Emily surged out of a pack of people who were trying to shrink back from a scene of imminent violence. She seized the barrel from behind and pulled him in a direction he certainly hadn’t anticipated.

He spun to face her, eyes burning, finally having found a justification to use real force. But she pressed a spot under his arm before he could strike, another under the soft palette behind the chin, and guided him to the ground. It wasn’t so much pain as perplexity that enforced his compliance, though it probably hurt, too. An uncanny confusion of nerve impulses from sensitive spots practically unmanned him, and when she glared into his eyes, he cringed and turned away. It would take a long few seconds for him to recover, though after it was all over, he’d be hard pressed to remember what she’d done to him, or why it had affected him so irresistibly.

She sprang up, and two more black-shirted guards flanked her, ready to drive her into the ground, or maybe even to shoot her. One swung a baton at her ribs, and the other readied a stun gun, but she ducked under the first stroke, seized the wrist from below, and twisted him into the other guard. A quick jab to the throat brought the second man to his knees, struggling to breathe, and she continued twisting the first one face first into the ground.

By this time, the rest of the guard contingent had responded, rifles leveled at her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm, glowering defiantly, and took up a position between them and the stroller. She practically dared them to fire. Gate guards in standard issue camo showed up a moment later – she recognized these as USAF grunts – their guns also leveled at her, until Perry arrived.

He always seemed to know how to defuse scenes like this. Maybe that’s why she needed him, to smooth over her occasionally cantankerous interactions with human institutions, and their inevitable sharp angles. In the end, it seemed fortunate that he had slept late, since if they’d come on this scene together, it might not have ended with so little violence.

The entire crowd stared – the men in black grumbling as they backed away from the now insistent Air Force guards, the woman with the stroller who’d precipitated the crisis, and the rest of the crowd simply agape – and Emily kissed him, her lips pressed to his mouth, arms draped across his neck, heedless of protocols or public relations, or any other extrinsic concern. Here he was, and it occurred to her that she loved him for just this.

Chapter 2

Ramstein AFB

"Zwei Biere, bitte."

This statement nearly exhausted Lieutenant Commander Perry Hankinson’s knowledge of the German language, and, in the ordinary course of events, he wouldn’t need much else for the duration of their stay. For this evening, however, he’d sought out the sort of establishment unlikely to be frequented by English speakers, or base personnel, or any foreign tourists. It had meant taking a taxi to Kaiserslautern, the next town over, but the driver seemed to understand more or less intuitively where he wanted to go. Emily had offered "Bierstübe," or something to that effect – as if she spoke any better German than he did – and now, here they were, in a dimly lit pub with no big-screen TVs, no ‘high-and-tight’ haircuts, and no uniforms in sight.

This is a relief. Emily Kane, Captain USMC, glanced around a room full of civilians from their table in a far corner. No one here would know them. Perry listened to the long, slow breath she let out. He used to think she was sighing, or exasperated, when she did that, but he’d gotten used to her ways over the years. No, the breathing wasn’t the sign of a mood, bad or good. It was something more… existential.

After this morning… no kidding. Was it a brawl before you got there, or…

Or what? She turned her dark eyes on him, and he began to regret having let his words run. Do you really think I go looking for these things?

No, of course not. But…

Street noise from the front door distracted him for a moment, and a tall woman with long black hair entered, followed by a man in a leather jacket. His eye followed them to the bar, before he turned back to Emily.

But nothing, she said. You’d have done the same thing if some guys in tactical gear started beating on civilians in front of your face.

Perry shook his head. Probably not as efficiently as you did.

… and what the hell did those guys think they were doing anyway? Since when does base security get to assault unarmed civilians?

They were probably just contractors, I suppose. You know how they can be… – Emily’s eyes flashed at this suggestion, as though it could have served as some sort of excuse – … or maybe a German force protection unit on loan. Since the flight line got so much busier, what with all the activity in the Persian Gulf, the 86 th probably doesn’t have enough manpower to watch the gates, when it gets… you know, crowded.

The waitress laid a menu on the table after a few more minutes, and Perry flipped through it with something more than casual interest. Emily glared at the bartender.

Does it normally take ... God knows how long to draw a beer in this town.

Shhhh, they’ll hear you. Besides, it’s supposed to take a while. Just watch the next time the bartender gets an order. They have to let the foam settle with each pull to fill the glass.

Since when are you an expert on beer?

I’m a soldier. Beer is one of our preoccupations.

Finally, he’d hit on a vein of conversation that drew out Emily’s better humor, and he wanted to bask in the glow of her eyes, and the cheery tilt a smile gave her cheek and brow.

"Sauerbraten, bitte," he said, when the waitress returned with two glasses. Emily added Bratwurst mit Spätzle to the order, and laced her fingers in between his.

Are you serious about… you know, this fall… Perry felt his voice quake before he could finish the question.

Not signing a new contract, is that what you mean?

Yeah. I mean, don’t you owe them a second SEA tour, after this last…

My career jacket is totally shredded. I’ve got no coherent MOS anymore. General Lukasziewicz offered to slot me into an Osprey in the 31 st MEU, but…

"I thought you liked Sasebo, and wouldn’t that put you back on the Bonhomme Richard? Don’t you want that?"

I do, don’t get me wrong. But Durant’s going to stick around in Quantico, at least until his wounds heal, and that seems to be taking a while.

What’s the old man got to do with anything? The waitress returned with two plates, and Perry paused to unfold his napkin. You can’t base a decision like this on him.

That’s not what I meant. Emily gestured with a fork dangling a couple of skewered Spätzle noodles. What am I supposed to do in Sasebo… or on Okinawa? Racket’s moved on, and Kano and Tsukino have left the Japanese Defense Force. Are you gonna hang out in Sailor Town with me?

"There’s always Ishikawa. He’s not going anywhere, and I’m pretty sure he’d take you to Sake Town any time."

Emily smiled at the thought of whiling away the occasional hour with ‘Dice,’ as Ishikawa liked to be called, in a Sake Town bar, where no American sailors would be welcome… except her. "Yeah, he would, especially if there was a karaoke machine."

The couple at the bar seemed to be arguing, but Perry tried not to notice. He chewed on a chunk of the roast meat and forked a potato dumpling as he considered her situation. Aren’t they about to make you an O-4?

That’s at least eighteen months away, and what do I want with more command responsibility? Can you really see me running a battalion, or… whatever…? Emily’s eye’s flashed darkly as she reflected on this prospect.

You can’t keep blaming yourself for Tarot’s death.

It’s not that, don’t worry. It’s just that I’ve come to an understanding with myself. I’m an operator, you know…

That you are. I’d almost call you a ‘trigger puller’ without the trigger.

Emily frowned at him. All I know is what I’m good at, flying helos and Ospreys, and fighting when I have to. But command responsibility…

Keep talking like that and they’ll make you a SEAL.

Yeah, right… that’s what you see me doing?

I can picture you doing pretty much anything, sweetheart. But with your language skills… and combat experience, I assumed Admiral Crichton would put you on his staff. Plus, he has a soft spot…

… for my father, I know. All I wanted was a straightforward career path, not this crazy quilt where every promotion is the result of a special intervention by someone five or six steps higher. Besides, Lukasziewicz is retiring at the end of the year, and he’s been dropping hints about a place with a consulting firm he means to start.

Right, like the one thing I can’t picture you as is a merc.

Like you said, it’s my language skills they’d want, not my killing skills. Emily almost choked on a chunk of bratwurst as she said this last bit.

You realize I’ve still got fourteen months to go on this tour, and then the next tour back in command of my own SDV team, right?

I’m not asking you to retire, honey. Emily pressed a hand against his cheek. … and it’s not like we’ve ever managed to get any geographic consideration so far. This way, we might even get to spend more time together.

Perry shook his head and began to pay more attention to his plate, until she went in search of the restroom, which he warned her might be called a ‘WC’ here. The waitress pointed her to the far end of the bar, where a corridor with a mirrored wall led to the back. He watched Emily pause to consider her reflection, and press a hand against her abdomen – strange behavior for a tomboy or, more precisely, the god of battles he knew her to be.

His thoughts turned to the events of the previous night. She’d emailed instructions for a complex kata, which she called a two-man fist set. Learn the right half before you get here, the message said, and he’d taken it for nothing short of a command. Yesterday evening, in the hotel at Ramstein Air Force Base, they pushed the bed into a corner, and even though it was a large room, he had little confidence they could practice without smashing half the furniture.

Faster, she’d hissed, when he held his fist by her ear, and his interest in the exercise had begun to flag. What kind of strike was that? Attack like you mean it.

What good is a scripted set of moves? It’s not even realistic.

Of course it isn’t. What would be the point of that?

… maybe practicing moves that actually work in a real fight.

Emily had paused to consider his face, his posture, the set of his shoulders, his hips, and he’d felt a little foolish for challenging her on this. A recurrent question presented itself – What on Earth does she see in me? – until she stepped to one side and thrust a hand low, toward his crotch, and the other high, just grazing his cheek. He swung a block down and ducked under her head strike, but before he could counter, she’d already stepped further around his hip, kicked his left foot out from under him, and grabbed his shirt collar.

He remembered trying to right himself, to regain his footing, by leaning forward, and only then recognizing how he’d played into her trap. She’d already grabbed the back of his trousers and twisted him into a sort of flying somersault, which she guided by seizing his wrist – Is she really strong enough to lift me off the ground? He ended up lying half on and half off the bed, his head a few inches from the floor, as he gazed at her upside down. A quick step and a twisting leap – How did that not break the bed? – and she’d landed on top of him, legs straddling his waist. A few awkward grunts and wriggles later, and he managed to adjust his position underneath her.

I get your point. You think two moves ahead.

She peered down into his eyes, with that ambiguous smile that could turn so quickly into