Rule Number One: Emily & Hilda, #2

By JT Hine

When you don't know who your enemies are, how do you defeat them?
Emily Hampstead is a teenage phenom on the American bicycle road racing circuit, and a first-year student at the University of Virginia. Emily's mother, Katherine, has become a popular teacher at the university in her first full year on board. They hope that Emily's adventures touring in Canada the summer before are behind them, but there are still enemies out there…
After a terrorist bombing decimates the USA under-twenty-three racing team, Emily takes a year from school to determine her future. Meanwhile, Katherine survives an assassination attempt and joins her daughter traveling off the grid. They hope to give the FBI time to find and arrest the man behind the violence over the last two years.
If they can stay alive that long…

• Language: English
• Publisher: JT Hine
• Release date: Dec 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733175531

JT Hine

An author and translator living in North America and Europe, I grew up in Italy. Rome is my hometown. After a naval career in cruisers and destroyers, I spent a decade at the University of Virginia as Administrator of the Physics Department then Director of Housing (Management Services). In 2013, I packed my office and home into the panniers of my bicycle rode out to see if I could live and work on the road. Having proven that the nomadic lifestyle works with a bicycle, I came back to Virginia, where I am writing fiction and non-fiction while figuring out where to go next.

Book preview

ALSO BY JT HINE

Emily & Hilda

Rule Number One

Lockhart

Enemies

Dedication

To the rangers, staff, and volunteers of the

National Park Service,

Parks Canada,

their counterparts in the States and Provinces, and around the world.

Thank you for preserving the planet for us.

Acknowledgments

Among the many people who supported me, I am grateful to the readers who commented on the preceding book, Emily & Hilda. I would especially like to thank Renata Celin, Esther Gebel, Louise Hamburger, Daniel Hine, Giovanna Lester, and Joy Phillips for reading this manuscript and providing comments.

Kerry Genova of Writers Resource Inc. edited the book, and Kim Olson proofread it.

Special mention and thanks to my colleague, translator Virginia Pérez-Santalla, for participating in the villain-naming contest on Facebook and proposing the winning name.

For his insightful observations on almost anything I show him, in any language, I thank Daniel Hine.

Experts in languages that I mangled and on subjects about which I can only guess have helped, but the errors that remain are mine alone. A note to [e-mail] would be appreciated.

Contents

ALSO BY JT HINE

Dedication

Acknowledgments

1. Second warning

2. Advent

3. Birthday Party

4. The Dojo

5. Redneck trouble

6. Sensitive

7. Spring Break Surprise

8. Blue Ridge Invitational

9. U-23: the invitation

10. Outliers

11. Welcome to Sittard – not!

12. Ditch diving

13. Becoming part of the solution

14. The team forms

15. Invitation only

16. SABIC

17. Kaiserslautern

18. Charlottesville

19. Follow the money

20. Arizona

21. The Diné

22. Kansas

23. The Nominee

24. Katherine cops an attitude

25. A walk in the park

26. Mama Bear

27. Florida

28. Rule Number One

29. Swamps and woods

30. Virginia

31. Playing offense

32. Corner the beast

33. Hell week

34. No more Mr. Nice Guy

35. Out of the darkness

Author's note

1. Second warning

EMILY HAMPSTEAD AND HER ROOMMATE, Cindy Matthews, gathered their books and stood. The noise level in the amphitheater-shaped auditorium rose as the students called out to each other for lunch appointments, hugged farewell for the Christmas break, and wished each other good luck on final exams.

Let's eat at O-Hill, said Emily, referring to the Observatory Hill dining hall, conveniently near Lefevre House, where they lived. The two friends started down the aisle.

The instructor, a teaching assistant from somewhere in Eastern Europe, was standing by the door. He kept glancing at Emily as he nodded to the students exiting. Emily tensed as she reached the front of the room. She stepped aside to have Cindy go first.

As Emily passed by the door, she felt the hand run down the small of her back and squeeze her right buttock. Her hand was already grabbing the man's wrist when she whirled around. She stepped on his foot, drove her left fist into his solar plexus as she lifted her left knee into his groin and head-butted his nose in a single, swift movement.

The students behind them shrieked and backed up.

The instructor doubled over and tried to staunch the nosebleed with his hand. Emily pushed him into the nearest chair.

Sit back and hold your nose. She pointed at a startled student. You! Grab a paper towel from the desk.

What the hell, Em? Cindy came back in. Cell phone lights were popping as students filmed the encounter.

You attacked a teacher, Miss Hampstead. Anger flared in his eyes as he rocked to nurse his painful genitals.

No, I did not, Mister Laslowicz. I reacted to your assaults. I warned you last week, didn't I?

I saw his hand, said the girl who went for the paper towel. He groped her first.

The instructor, a graduate student probably four years older than Emily, glared at her in silence. The blood stopped running.

Emily looked at the room of excited student-videographers.

Sorry, Mister Laslowicz, I can't do a thing about all the publicity this will get. I have no choice but to file a sexual harassment report with Student Affairs. Come on, Cindy.

As the two women left the room, applause broke out among the students.

***

Yes, Penny. What is it? Katherine Dempsey held the phone against her ear as she walked back to her office from her last class before exams. Dean Penelope Graham had recruited her to the University of Virginia a year ago, and they had established a close professional relationship.

I'm afraid Emily's gone viral again. Check social media. Katherine could hear the urgency in the Dean's voice but no hint of accusation.

I'm on my way to the office. Thanks. I'll get back to you.

The longest video clip on Facebook and Instagram seemed to have been taken by a student near the front who was filming the students cheerfully leaving their last class. The videographer caught the grope and Emily's lightning-fast reaction. The video also caught the voices of the startled students, the exchanges among the principals, and the applause after Emily and Cindy walked out.

After an initial shock of dismay, Katherine allowed herself a little burst of pride. Her daughter could do things that Katherine had only wished she could do with men like that TA. She also knew that the Dean would not be in a mood to let the patriarchy run over such a clear case of sexual harassment.

She called her dean back, sent a text to Emily's phone, then packed up for the day. Her only afternoon class had finished for the semester.

At least this time, she isn't a thousand miles away, kidnapped in a foreign country, Katherine thought. There would be media blitzes, PR strategy sessions, and paparazzi to deal with going into final exams. But after the nightmare of Emily's abduction in Canada last summer, she knew that they could weather this.

First stop, the dean's office.

***

Cindy looked up from her computer as Emily pushed into the room and flopped down on her bed.

How was it? Cindy had answered questions for the committee assembled by the Dean of Students. They told me not to stay.

It wasn't pretty, and I almost got expelled before it was over. That's what the department chair wanted, and he was backed by the course advisor.

But...?

Dean Graham showed up. After they called in Marty Ngo and reviewed his mp4 file, it was pretty clear that Laslowicz had broken the rules.

Marty took that long video of the whole thing, didn't he?

Yeah. The two guys made an effort to chastise me for using violence, but the Dean of Students reminded them that sexual harassment was violence too. They were stalemated for a while until Marty mentioned that I had been harassed before and had warned Laslowicz.

So, what happens now?

To me, nothing. The student Judiciary Committee won't meet because I'm not accused of anything. I don't know what will happen to him, but if I never see him again, it will be too soon.

You still have to pass the exam.

Don't remind me. I had a perfect score going in too.

***

The next afternoon, Cindy and Emily went to the final exam together. When the hundred or so students were all seated, the Department Chair walked in with the advisor for the course.

Mister Laslowicz will not be meeting with you, but he did prepare the exam. Professor Morefield here will grade it. He extracted the exam sheets from his briefcase and handed them to the students to pass back. His scowl as he stood there indicated that questions were not welcome.

2. Advent

EMILY SAT TRANSFIXED in the second row of pews with her friends in the University Fellowship. Her mother and stepfather sat a few pews behind.

Looking at the chancel of Saint Paul's Memorial Church, Emily held her breath as the voice of her friend Hilda reverberated off the walls of the building, matching the power of the Skinner organ. The choir filled in the harmony as best they could behind the massive instrument and the commanding singer.

She knew that Hilda had a nice voice, having had heard Hilda sing along with recordings at hosts’ homes as they toured Canada the summer before. When she had met Hilda, Emily had been walking home with her wrecked bicycle on her shoulder and had heard Hilda singing a waltz in German a quarter-mile behind her. Now the power of that voice flowed over her in the confines of the church. The music vibrated in her bones and the wooden pews.

She could sing birds out of trees, Emily thought. But the not-so-retired army nurse could also soothe a wounded patient, calm a nervous mother, and bark a room of drunk rowdies into silence. The voice worked seamlessly with her height (198 cm, about six feet five), her eyes (lapis-lazuli), her skin (shining anthracite), and poise to accomplish the mission, whatever the mission was.

Usually, Hilda's eyes flashed when she commanded a room, but here she gazed beyond the far wall as if singing to another audience. Emily felt the presence of an invisible multitude around her, drawn in by Hilda's gaze and the power of the anthem.

No one in North America had ever heard this voice. Maybe her friend Jack had, Emily thought, but he was in the Middle East somewhere and would only be back in time for Christmas.

When Hilda, the choir, and the organ cut off precisely at the end of the final, long note, the sound pounded in their bodies and hearts for a while before Emily heard the people around her letting out their breaths. Only when Hilda turned smoothly and floated back to her place in the choir did the Rector stir and stand to continue the service.

***

It feels strange not to have Jack and Hilda here for the holidays. Emily fed the silver garland to her mother as they walked around the tree. Major Jack Rathburn was Hilda's partner, and the two of them were the girl's closest friends.

"They do have families, you know. Katherine tucked the last end into the branches and stood back. When did they say they'd be back?"

Jack has duty New Year's Eve, so he'll be back next week from Aberdeen. Jack's brother lived on an island in the Chesapeake Bay. Hilda said that Kaiserslautern puts on a great New Year's Eve party downtown, and she agreed to sing with her mother outside the church. Apparently, it's a fundraiser for the church because people know Margareta so well.

Curious, but I understand that she was an opera star back in the day.

Hilda says that the fundraising was unplanned. Lots of groups put up stages to entertain the revelers, but one year some GIs got so excited about Margareta that they put a box in front of the stage and stashed it full of dollars and deutschmarks. Now it's a tradition, and it funds a big part of the music program during the year.

After what I heard in church, I bet that Hilda and her mother put on a powerful show.

I wish I could see it. I can't imagine what Margareta must sound like.

You probably will, dear. I can picture you riding with Hilda again.

Yeah, that would be nice.

***

The holidays that year went by with a pleasant balance of activity and days of relaxation. The year before, Emily had transferred from Newton High School in Kansas to Charlottesville High School in Virginia between semesters, which had not been relaxing. Katherine had moved from the faculty at Wichita State University to the University of Virginia, and Mark Dempsey, Emily's stepfather, had taken over a company in Richmond, Virginia. They had stayed with his parents briefly before going to Charlottesville, but except for settling on Saint Paul's as their church, they were still finding their way around town when the second semester started.

This year, they drove to Lancaster County on Christmas Day and spent most of the week with Jim and Dorothy Dempsey. Mark's brother, Bill, came down from Quantico for the day too. Emily and her parents rode around the Northern Neck and relaxed in the den that looked out on the Chilton Woods State Forest.

On the twenty-ninth of December, they drove back to Charlottesville. On New Year's Eve, Emily joined her friends Taniqua Jackson, Fran Monroe, and others from Charlottesville High School for First Night Virginia, the city's celebration on the Downtown Mall. After the fireworks, Fran and Tani walked home, and Emily rode home on her bicycle.

The week before classes resumed, Emily moved back into her room in Lefevre House. The Virginia Cycling Club started training early because they expected that winter weather would cancel more training rides than they liked. There were two major races in February to get ready for.

Emily rode home and had lunch or supper with her family every day, but she liked the idea of returning to her room to read ahead for the next semester. When she was not training with the UVA team, she and Taniqua would ride. Emily had coached Tani when they were in high school together, and the younger rider was now on the Charlottesville Racing Club team and making a name for herself.

By the time Cindy came back from Virginia Beach, Emily felt settled in and ready for the new semester.

3. Birthday Party

AS EMILY AND TANIQUA finished putting the casserole into the oven, they heard the front door open.

Mom? Are you home early?

No, said a baritone voice, but I am.

Walter! Tani shrieked and ran to hug the broad-shouldered man walking into the kitchen. What are you doing here? The party isn't until seven.

"Came by to help. She is my aunt Louise, y'know. Seeing Emily standing with hot mitts by the range, he eased Tani away. Hey, cuz, introduce me."

Don't you already know her? Emily Hampstead, my favorite cousin, Walter Johnson.

Better not let Shariq hear you.

Shariq's my other favorite cousin, said Tani, swatting his arm.

He squeezed Emily's hand. Though I knew who you were, I did want to meet you.

I've seen you around town on your motorcycle.

I'm glad you're here, cuz. You can reach the high places to hang the Happy Birthday string.

For the next hour, they decorated the house for Louise Jackson's fortieth birthday. Taniqua and Emily had baked a cake and prepared a big lasagna.

Walter proved useful for more than his height. As he folded napkins into fancy shapes, he entertained them with stories of the dumb things he encountered on his beat around town. They shared their impressions of the start of the second semester: Taniqua as a sophomore at Charlottesville High School; Emily in her first year at the University of Virginia.

Motorcycles don't burn calories, said Emily. How do you stay in shape?

The Department has a deal with ACAC, so I can use the gym. I also take martial arts classes once a week.

That's something I wish I knew. At least, I'd like to learn more than the few moves that Hilda taught me.

If you mean it, I can ask around. Do you mean martial arts or self-defense?

Self-defense. I've been lucky so far with drunks, but someday someone is going to fight back. I want to be ready if I have to take some hits.

I saw that video of you taking down your TA.

Emily rolled her eyes. He was sober. My luck that I surprised him.

Yeah, I see what you mean. I'll get back to you.

Want my number?

Nope, I can find you. Walter winked.

Shariq Johnson and his mother (Louise Jackson's sister) showed up about six thirty, then the neighbors on either side. Reggie Osborne, the family doctor, and Doris Abernathy, his receptionist, arrived together. Hilda Paisley, his nurse, came in behind them. Hilda chatted with Taniqua's grandmother, who was in a wheelchair, enjoying having family around.

When the door opened at seven, everyone was in position. The house was dark.

Tani, you there, girl?

Surprise! They hit the lights in all the rooms on the ground floor and crowded around the birthday girl.

***

Just before midnight, Emily pushed the door to her room in Lefevre Hall. Cindy was in bed, watching a movie on her computer.

How was the party?

Great! Mrs. Jackson's friends and relatives are wonderful people. Tani's mother was completely surprised – and thrilled.

The cake was a success?

Totally. Thanks for the recipe. I didn't expect it to be so easy.

Something Mom picked up when she was starving and single. It doesn't take much to make, does it?

No. Hey! No date tonight?

I broke up with Bill. He was getting pushy. I'm done with guys like him.

I thought guys like him were your type.

They were, until the frat party where you, I mean, you —

Say it, Cindy. I almost got raped.

Yeah. Now I see through boys like him and Preston on the first date. Forget it.

Sorry about tonight, though.

I'm not. Setting the computer to the side, Cindy swung out to sit on the edge of the bed. I think I'd rather be more like you.

You're kidding.

No, really. I mean, be myself and not worry about what people think about me. You seem to have lots of fun, and there are practically no men in your life.

Well, I enjoy my mixed gangs of friends, but I envy you sometimes. After slipping out of her dress, Emily hung it in the closet. Then I tell myself that getting serious about one of them would probably be distracting, what with studying and riding and all.

Those are important. Not worth any guy.

If you say so, but still I wonder — Emily held her toothbrush and looked at the wall past her friend.

What?

Well, how long I'll be a virgin at this rate.

You still are? Cindy dropped her jaw a moment and recovered. You're so famous and all, I assumed you had that box checked long ago.

When would I? The training in high school was more time-consuming than here. Besides, I still have this romantic notion about the right guy. Emily looked out the window and pictured a clearing in the Laurentian Mountains last summer. They had hidden their bikes in the bushes and hiked into the woods.

My first was Ben, after dating him for a year. By the time we graduated, we had sorted out the infatuation from the sex. We're still friends, though I may never see him again. Cindy paused. You're holding it for Jean-Pierre, aren't you?

Yeah, I guess so. Emily snapped her attention back to the room and smiled. We got so close, and you know what happened?

Cindy held her hands out with an impatient swing. What?

After some foreplay, we were so ready. Then he stopped.

Huh? Why?

He said he left the condoms at home.

Omigod. No!

I told him I wanted him, but the mood was fading. On the way back, I asked him if he usually carried them. He said he always did, in less revealing clothes than a Lycra bicycle kit, one in his wallet.

A regular Boy Scout.

Emily nodded. His father gave him his first pack when he started shaving and said that only a man can get a woman pregnant, and so it's on him, not her.

In silence, Cindy closed down her computer and put it back on her desk. Emily yawned.

Physics at eight tomorrow. Ugh.

In the darkness, Emily smiled and stirred silently as she remembered his smooth skin and the way their sweat-lubricated bodies fit perfectly.

Hey, Em?

Yes?

From what you told me, Jean-Pierre sounds worth waiting for. Don't worry about it.

Thanks. Good night, Cindy.

G'night.

4. The Dojo

GRANDE LATTE WITH TWO STEVIA, please. Emily held her phone up to the little black scanner.

Stevia? Are you afraid of the calories? She turned and saw the tall motorcycle officer smiling at her.

Hi, Walter! No, I don't like sugar, and the more I read, the more it seems not to be good for me.

That's 'cause you got all that natural sweetness in you. He grinned; Emily blushed.

Is that a pickup line?

I wouldn't mind, but, no, I came in for some coffee. He nodded to the barista, who turned to pull a cup of House Blend for him. Remember you asked about self-defense training?

Yes. Did you find something? They walked to the window. A steady rain had begun outside, rinsing her Bianchi locked to the bike rack. Emily was glad that she had put a cheap plastic saddle on the bike the day before.

Guy named Sarge runs a dojo in the Ix Building. Do you know where it is?

Blue Wheel Bicycles is there.

That's the place. Tony Madison's father started the dojo after coming back from Vietnam and going to UVA. Tony Jr. was Special Forces on active duty and an instructor. He took over the business from his dad. Sarge also teaches part-time at the Federal Executive Institute.

Sounds serious.

You said you wanted to get past putting down drunks and stupid sleazes. That's serious. He reached into his shirt pocket. Here's the contact data. I already talked to him, and I think he's what you need.

Thanks, Walter. You're a real friend. She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

Wow! I may want to use that pickup line after all.

Emily giggled. "Watch out. I'm not jailbait, but just barely. And it will get back to your aunt Louise, y'know!"

As he zipped up his jacket, he laughed. With a thumbs-up, he pushed out into the rain. Emily watched him go to his motorcycle and ride away.

Some hunk, Em. Lucky girl.

Hi, Cindy. I didn't see you come in.

I was upstairs, but you only had eyes for him when I came down.

That's Tani's cousin. I met him at her mother's birthday party.

Sometimes I forget you're local. I should hang out with you.

All you need to do that is a bicycle.

While they finished their drinks, Emily called the martial arts studio and made an appointment.

***

The storms rumbled through overnight. The temperatures stayed above freezing, and the next morning, the sun dried everything before Emily's first class. In the afternoon, she rode to the Frank Ix Building, not far from the Jackson home. She missed the dojo the first time she passed the plain glass single door with a small sign on the wall.

Inside, a trim woman in tee-shirt and tights lit up when she saw who walked through the door. Emily Hampstead! Welcome.

Thank you. I'm here to see Tony Madison?

Sure. He wants to give you the tour himself. Pushing the door next to her counter, she shouted, Sarge! She's here!

Tony Madison stood about Emily's height but packed at least thirty more pounds of muscle. Smooth, like a fighter, not a bodybuilder. The handshake was firm, but Emily knew he could have crushed her hand.

Myra here has been bouncing off the walls since she learned you were coming today. He winked at his assistant. She teaches a spinning class at ACAC when she's not working here.

Myra looked down and blushed. "I hope you don't mind. I read Velo News and follow the pros as best I can. You're the most famous cyclist I ever met."

Of course, I don't mind. Do you race?

No, just ride back and forth. Little Joshua takes up all my free time.

What you need, Ms. Brown, is a child seat on your road bike. Then you could take little Joshua on your training rides. Tony cocked a finger at her as she answered the phone. Come along, Miss Hampstead. Take off your shoes, and let me show you the place.

The large room behind the reception area featured a small ring. We can wheel it to the center for spectator events. At the moment, the center of the room was covered with large mats, where two groups of children were getting organized for karate class. Most of them live nearby, so the bus drops them off. Never knew I'd be running an after-school childcare program when Pop talked me into this.

After showing her the locker room and the equipment, Sarge led her to a smaller room with a mat and clothes hooks.

Walter said that you want to learn to fight. He took off his zipper jacket and hung it up.

Well, not for its own sake. I've been almost raped once, and I put down two different guys who tried to assault me. But what happens when I try to knock down someone who fights back? How do I keep fighting when I get hit?

Only to stop a pass?

Yes. I need to be ready to do damage, but no more than necessary.

Good attitude. How do you feel about hurting someone?

After the attempted rape, no problem at all. I don't wait to strike out if someone touches me.

Makes sense. Let's check your reactions. He turned her around. Close your eyes for five seconds. Then open them and relax.

I won't relax. There's a man in the room I can't see.

Good point. Leave them open, and do what feels natural for you.

After counting to five slowly, she turned to find Sarge. He was in her peripheral vision on the right, moving quickly. He slapped her butt as he went behind her.

Emily grabbed his arm with her left hand, pulling him forward. She tried to knee him, but he continued rolling away until he broke her hold. As he spun, his hand flashed out around her now-empty hand. She let him pull her in and headbutted him. It fazed him for only a second, but she felt his hand loosen. She pulled away and jumped back. He stood still.

Where did you learn those moves?

Nowhere. I was trying to move to where I sensed you would be. After jumping back, I was all out of ideas.

Okay. Let try a confrontation face-to-face. He came at her and caught her left shoulder with his right hand. Emily had her fist formed already and drove it into his solar plexus. It was like hitting a thinly padded wall. She stepped on his foot and began to knee him again. He pulled back as her head came forward for another headbutt.

Damn! You don't play nice, do you?

I didn't think playing nice was the idea.

No, it's not, but you move like a street fighter. You've never been hit?

Not before you slapped my butt.

Do you mind if I fight back for a run or two?

I guess not, but I don't know what to do if you hurt me.

Nothing more than bruising, okay?

Okay. Emily stood back