Chapter 1

It was a hot, rainy afternoon in mid-August when the taxi carrying the two weary travelers pulled up in front of a three-story block of flats in the Lambeth borough of South London.

“What crappy weather! I thought London would be cooler, and look at how hard it’s still raining!” Denise Roberts complained as she gathered her laptop bag and backpack from the seat.

“Ah, lassie, thisn’t usu’l August weather,” the cabbie sighed. “We gen’ly git 20-degree temps an’ na’ much rain this month, but it gotta be more’n 30 now.”

“Reminds me of Jakarta, actually,” Kevin Coris remarked. “This is just as hot as there.”

He reached over to pay the fare and the cabbie grinned and nodded at the generous tip.

“Lass, Ay’ll loan yeh me brolly t’use; Ay git yer bags for ya and ‘elp y’carry. This ‘ere yer flat?” he pointed.

“I think so. Kevin, it’s number 7, right?”

“Right, sweetie; I hope the agent is here. She said she’d be here—ah, that must be her...”

“Lemme pop th’boot; wait t’git out fer me.”

He opened the trunk, grabbed the umbrella, leaped out of the vehicle, and went to Denise’s door. She accepted the driver’s umbrella and climbed out as the man flipped up his poncho hood over his head and went back to collect the luggage.

A stocky, middle-aged woman had appeared at the building door, waved, and opened her umbrella as she came out of the building.

“You must be the Corises,” she called as she came down the steps. “Sorry for the poor weather reception; this is most unusual weather.”

“Yes, that’s us, and that’s what our driver said about this monsoon,” Denise acknowledged.

Their luggage was unloaded and brought indoors quickly with four people carrying items, Kevin sharing the cabbie’s large umbrella with Denise. The cabbie smiled with gratitude when Kevin slipped him a £10 note.

“Thank’uh, guv’nor, much ‘preciated!” he enthused as he collected his umbrella. “Yuh ‘n th’lass stay dry!” he grinned and headed back out into the pouring rain.

“I’m Angela Jones,” the agent introduced herself. “Welcome to London. Now the agreement we have is for your letting the flat for nine months, extending to a year if needed; am I correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, although we’re only scheduled to be in classes at the university till spring, we might need to stay a little longer. You see, we’re to be the guardians of a girl until her grandparents return to England sometime between May and July next,” Kevin explained.

“Ah, yes, your file with the letting papers mentioned that. Well, let me show you around the flat, explain some details, and give you my contact numbers. If you ever need help, please ring my mobile and don’t be afraid to get me whenever. And there’s also some final papers to sign. I see that we’re to draw your letting fee straight from your bank, and I really appreciate that. Now let’s go up; I’ll give you a hand with the bags.”

Soon their business with Mrs Jones was finished and she departed with a chipper reminder to call her if there was anything else her agency could do to help them.

“Whew,” Denise remarked as she closed the door behind the departing woman. “I’m not sure how much more of her sugar-coated cheeriness I could take. How does she do it? Especially in this miserable weather. Can we open a window? It’s pretty stuffy in here.”

“Hmmm, no AC here, but that’s common in Europe from what I hear. A few ceiling fans. Yeah, let me open a window or two where the rain won’t come in,” Kevin mused. “And let’s see about unpacking. Our household stuff should be here in a few days, but it’s nice to have the kitchen equipped fairly well, anyway.”

“Yeah, I see that there are two sets of bed linens too,” Denise called from the bedroom. “Well, this will certainly be an adventure!” she grinned as she started to unpack a suitcase.

The following day, the two began to plan their time for the weeks before classes started.

“So we need to do the final registering stuff, oh yeah, also check out how to travel from here to our schools. And pick up Amelia when she gets in and get her registered in school too; is there anything else, darling?” Denise asked as they dressed to go out for breakfast and food shopping.

The rain had stopped overnight but it was still sultry outdoors.

“No, sweetie, but we do want to call on Warren,” he said, referring to Warren Porter, a close Coris family friend from Kevin’s youth when he lived in Seoul, South Korea.

Denise smiled. “Right, he’s so cool, honey; we had such a great time with his family when we visited them in Korea three years ago. I wonder how his kids have adapted to life in London as opposed to Korea?”

“Well, kids of diplomats learn to be very adaptable, you know. Remember how many different places I lived in while growing up,” Kevin grinned. “All those different schools. Learning all those languages too. Oh yeah ... we need to ring Amelia’s grandparents—remind me later, honey.”

They left the flat and began the day’s errands. Kevin called Warren Porter in the evening and they were invited to dinner at his Regent’s Park home the following evening; he would send a car around to fetch them.

After dinner and some desultory channel-surfing, Kevin sat back in the sofa and closed his eyes.

“You know, darling, everything is moving so damned quickly—we’re always on the go, it seems. Will we ever have a normal life?” he sighed.

“Whatever do you mean by ‘normal’? I think we’re just not ‘normal’ people; we seem to get involved with events around us all the time. You and your ‘white knight syndrome,’ riding to the aid of needy people around you. Thank God you were there for me when I needed it, so I’m never going to complain about that, you know,” she said as she took his hand.

“Yep, and it looks like our career directions have gone in just that way,” Kevin mused. “You’ve got this awesome way of projecting your emotional feelings to anyone nearby and an enormous level of empathy, so what career do you pick? Of course, you want to study psychiatry or psychology.”

“Well, those sciences plus your heroism saved my life, so I feel the need to help others if I can. And you, sweetie, you have such a talent for persuasion; you can talk people into doing stuff that they’d never do in their wildest dreams. You’d make an awesome salesman. Or politician. Or diplomat. So what do you pick? All the above, if that’s how your studies in the field of international relations will turn out. That’s why you picked that field, right?”

“Yeah, Denise, I guess so. I want to do like what my dad tried, to cure all that’s wrong in the world. Very idealistic—very unrealistic too. But maybe these studies will give me some ideas about where to contribute my share—for whatever I can accomplish. Dad’s foundation helps with third-world legal and health problems, so that’s where I think I want to do something too. Okay—enough serious talk. How about a nice hug and kiss?”

The following evening, a black limo with diplomatic plates stopped in front of their flat.

“Wow, we’re traveling in style,” Denise grinned.

“Well, considering that Warren is the deputy head of the embassy, I guess he’s got some pull,” Kevin joked.

“Gee, maybe you should wear your Medal of Freedom to make it official; you’re a big shot too,” Denise retorted.

Kevin had received the award from the president three years earlier for his service to the U.S.

“Yeah, you know the perks that come with that? A free tour of the White House, I think is all,” Kevin smirked.

Their ride to Regent’s Park went quickly and soon they were being greeted by the Porter family.

“Kevin, Denise, how wonderful to see you both again, and congratulations on your engagement!” Warren Porter exclaimed when he opened the door. “Did you have a good trip, and are you settled in now in your flat?” he asked as he guided them into the sitting room.

“Sure, and thanks; everything went well, except for this hot, stuffy weather,” Kevin replied.

“Yes, not at all what London is known for. Usually we’re cold and damp, not hot and muggy. Anyway, come meet the rest of the family. Hey kids,” he called, “Denise and Kevin are here! Ah, here’s Barbara.”

Barbara Porter came into the room. “Well hello, Denise, Kevin—let me see the ring—oh, how beautiful! Congrats to both of you! I’m so happy for you and Kevin, your parents would have been overjoyed for you both. I so miss Audrey and Paul and I know you miss your parents too, Kevin.”

“Yes, Denise, you know that Audrey Boninger was one of the top people in the U.S. Foreign Service. Such a shame that her career was cut short that way,” Porter said, taking Kevin’s hand and hers.

Kevin’s parents had perished in a random terrorist car-bombing in Indonesia four years earlier.

“Yes, and I’m sorry that I never got to meet her; everyone speaks so highly of her ... Oh, here’s Jeremy!” Denise exclaimed. “Wow, Jeremy! Look at you!”

Jeremy had quietly entered the room and shyly went to Denise as she opened her arms to embrace him.

“Woooo, the guy’s gone and become a man! Hey Jeremy, you’re some hunk now!”

Jeremy blushed as he hugged her, “Aww, Denise...”

“Man, feel those muscles!” she grinned. “You must be what, six feet-one? two? And your shoulders and chest ... and biceps...” she poked and prodded. “Rock hard. You’ve got a super body. You probably have to use a stick to keep the gals off you, right?”

“Erm, Denise, god, please...” he muttered while his parents laughed.

Barbara grinned. “Jeremy hasn’t been on a date yet, Denise. Be kind to him.”

“Muuum! Please!” he complained.

“Sorry for teasing you, Jeremy. You know that Kevin talks about you like you’re his little brother,” she said. “And oh, here’s your little brother and sister too ... great seeing you, guys!”

Bobby and Naomi came up to Kevin and Denise and hugged them both.

“Wow, guys, you’ve really grown too—Bobby, you’re eleven now? And Naomi, you’re really pretty and you must be a teenager now, right?” Kevin said.

“Yeah, Kevin, I was 13 two months ago. And I’m mad at you; I wanted you to wait till I grew up so you’d marry me! And you went and got engaged to someone else! But I like Denise a lot anyway, so I guess it’s okay,” she smiled shyly.

“Naomi always had a big crush on Kevin, as you probably know, Denise,” Barbara grinned.

“MUUUM! No point in rubbing it in!” Naomi complained.

The group took seats in the room as Porter diplomatically changed the subject; just doing his job, after all.

“So let’s get all caught up; it’s been about three long years since we’ve really had a chance to speak. That was a terrific opportunity you two had, going on that Korean student exchange, and I heard a lot of good things said about your high school group. State was very pleased with the results. Anyway, what’s been happening since then?”

“Well, lots, I guess. You know that Denise and I entered college with advanced standing, right? So now we’re in like our third year but we’re seniors and are over here taking senior and grad level courses,” Kevin began.

“Okay, say, you’re actually kind of following how the British educational system is set up; did you know that? Undergraduate study here has just three year levels: first, second, and third. Not freshman, sophomore, et cetera,” Porter interrupted.

“What do you mean?” Denise asked.

“Okay. It’s because of how secondary school works, and since you’re going to be kind of fostering a teen—you mentioned you’ll be the guardian of your friend’s daughter—this may help you in knowing about the school grade levels here. She’s—yes, like Jeremy, actually—just finished with the sophomore year, if she were in the States. Here it’s year eleven and there are special exams that the schools hold. Jeremy can tell you about them. The next grade is called ‘sixth form,’ and is divided into two years, lower and upper, or years 12 and 13, and that’s when the U.K. education system runs its ‘A-Level’ classes. A-Level means ‘advanced level.’ Many sixth-form schools are called ‘colleges’ but those are still secondary schools, not like in the States. ‘Colleges’ here are advanced high schools. Then after sixth form comes not college but uni—that’s British slang for ‘university.’

“Now, completing sixth form is functionally the same as the U.S. first post-secondary year, the college freshman year. The university levels are called first year, second year, third—not freshmen or sophomores. Sometimes the kids just starting uni might be called ‘freshers’ but not for their entire first year, usually. After three years of uni, one graduates with a bachelor’s, or can stay on for a fourth year, which is for a master’s degree. Actually, Kevin, the education system in South Korea is very close to the one in the States, and the one in Indonesia is kind of like a combination of the British and American ones. Understand?”

“Wow, that’s a lot to absorb. But it’s really like the U.S. but shifted one year, right?”

“Yes, you can think of it that way, I suppose. There are some differences, but generally that would work. So what are you going to study? Denise, how about you? I don’t want you to think we’re ignoring you.” he grinned at her.

Naomi had been whispering intently in Denise’s ear; Denise looked up at him and Naomi blushed.

“Oh no, Warren, I’m fascinated by this grade level thing. My classes? I’ll be taking classes at both London School of Liberal Arts and Education and the University Institute of London. There are two education classes I’m taking—educational statistics and adolescent developmental psychology—that I need for the program I designed at Avery, plus biochemistry and cell biology and genetics for my pre-med program. And since the two campuses aren’t far apart—a couple of subway stops—this is doable.”

“I’m impressed; that’s really rigorous. By the way, in the U.K. the subways are called the ‘underground’ or the ‘tube’ and it’s ‘sitting’ a class or exam,” Porter grinned at her. “A ‘subway’ is kind of a walkway under a street. Just get used to the Britishisms; I had to and sometimes misusing an idiom can be embarrassing, you know! Kevin, are you letting your wonderful fiancée outshine you?”

“Ha! She does that all the time! She’s wa-a-a-y smarter than me...” Denise stuck her tongue out at him. “ ... so I’m limiting myself to only one school. I’ll be going to the London Economics Institute for classes in finance, management, political science, and economics. But, wow, you’ve really got quite the assignment here; Mom had always said that the U.K. posting was a real plum.”

“Yes, thanks, son, I’m sure your mom would have gotten this posting within a few years. My position is ‘minister-counselor’; it’s the deputy chief of mission post and second to the ambassador—which you know is a political appointment. So I basically serve as the chief operating officer of the embassy. I’ll be here perhaps five years, maybe longer, depends on a lot of factors. Hey kids, we’ve left you out of the conversation—want to ask Denise and Kevin anything?”

Naomi blushed and looked down but Jeremy looked like he wanted to burst.

“Jeremy?” Barbara prompted.

“Kevin, I gotta tell ya, your teaching me taekwondo was brill and I’m a fourth dan now! I got my fourth degree belt when I left Seoul last January! And Kwanjang nim Park told me that you were the reason I advanced so quickly!”

“Wow, Jeremy, good one!” Kevin exclaimed. “I only made fifth degree a year ago and Denise has studied the Art with me too and she holds a red belt now. You’re doing great; are you continuing in London—do you have a dojang here?”

“Oh yes, if you can, I’d love to work with you again.”

“Yeah, right, and maybe teach me this time, okay? And I’m not joking, Master Park is just the best and you’ve been with him since when? I think you were ten years old, right?”

“Sure, and you were my kyosah nim for maybe three years and taught me a lot,” he confirmed.

Kevin turned to Bobbie. “Hey Bobbie, you gonna follow in your big brother’s footsteps? Learn taekwondo too?”

“Sure!” the boy chirped. “Jeremy will be taking me to the dojang for beginner classes next month. Soon I’ll be able to beat him!”

“Whoa, squirt, slow down! The Art isn’t about beating up on others, you know,” Kevin cautioned. “It’s a way of thinking—using your mind and body, growing up, and being a moral and ethical person. The physical training is good for the body and for your health. It’s not to be a good fighter, but that happens as you train as a side benefit—okay, buddy? Right, Jeremy?”

“Oh yeah, for sure; I can see the difference between the teens at taekwondo and the others in my school; the dojang kids seem so much more mature than the other kids,” Jeremy acknowledged.

“I can second that,” Denise broke in. “When Kevin showed up at my school, he had everyone thinking he was some kind of superhero—he acted with such a commanding presence that everyone took notice.”

Barbara looked at her. “Is this about what he did when you had that nudity thing you were forced to do? When you visited us in Seoul, I recall that you mentioned something about his rescuing you from that.”

“Oh yes. He did so much for everyone and you remember that he got the president’s award. Well, two—almost three years ago now—some college friends of ours were able to basically stop that nudity program from being mandatory in the United States, and they used Kevin’s work as the basis for getting it stopped. And Kevin, don’t you dare disagree—you’re way too modest.”

Kevin just threw up his arms in resignation. “Okay, darling ... whatever...”

“See, he’s finally learning to listen,” Denise smiled.

“Hmmm, maybe he should give Warren some tips,” Barbara joked. “He hasn’t learned yet, you know.”

“Time to change the topic,” Porter grinned. “I know when trouble is coming. And speaking of trouble, that school nudity issue may be resolving in the States, but it’s huge here.”

“Yeah, Dad, and I’m really scared,” Naomi spoke for the first time. “After what happened with Jeremy and his school and all, I don’t want to have to get naked!”

Denise sat up, alarmed. “What! You mean they have that damned Program here too—excuse my language, but that’s shocking!”

“Oh yeah they do; it was in my school when I got here last January,” Jeremy broke in. “I started here spring term as a year eleven and starting midyear was tough because this was the GCSE exam year...”

“Huh?” both Kevin and Denise said. “What’s that?” Denise asked.

“Oh. The year eleven exams. I think it means General Certificate of Secondary Ed or something. You have to pass those exams to go on to take A-Level classes or else you can’t go to uni.”

“Ah,” Denise said, “many states in the U.S. require kids to take some form of standardized exam.”

“Yes, but not really like these,” Porter interrupted. “In the States, those exams are for measurement of achievement. Here, they’re needed for the kids to advance to the next level, so they’re really important. Just like Korea for getting into university, in fact. Go on, son.”

“Yeah, so anyway, my first days in school I saw kids walking around in school starkers—so weird!—and when I asked what was happening, everyone looked at me as if I was from outer space.”

Denise giggled, “Yeah, in our school we thought Kevin was the man from Mars...”

“I found out that the idea came from you Yanks, that the Naked in School idea started there. Some people thought it would be a great idea to do it here too. Like it was helpful for personal development or some other rot,” Jeremy said dismissively.

“Yeah, and I’m scared of having to do it; I’ll run away or something,” Naomi moaned. “Maybe Kevin will save me like he saved Denise. Jeremy, tell them the horrid thing that happened with that girl!”

Denise reached around and hugged Naomi, who grabbed her hand and held on tightly.

“Yeah, sis. What Naomi means is that at my school last fall, you know, before I got here, a girl was killed by her brothers because she got put in the Program.”

“Oh my God!” Denise exclaimed. “What ... how...”

“Maybe I should mention,” Porter interjected, “that we have quite a large Muslim community in London; actually throughout England, but there are a lot of Muslims here and many are very conservative. The schools all have strict dress policies but they’ve adapted school dress policies to allow wearing of the hijab, you know, the Muslim head scarf. I don’t think schools allow the burqa, where only the eyes show, but the hijabs are always allowed. I understand they’re to preserve the girls’ modesty by covering the hair and sometimes neck too. And they also wear long sleeves with their legs covered. Imagine then the loss of modesty, the humiliation, for a girl required by her faith to be all covered up, when she’s put in the Program. Go on, son.”

“Okay, Dad. This girl in my school, she was a year ten, refused to go to the head’s office when they called her, so some teachers dragged her there and stripped her off and pushed her starkers into the hall. I heard that she ran away to hide and found an unlocked closet of some kind and blocked the door shut and wouldn’t come out and since the door was solid, they couldn’t break it in. They called her mum who finally got the girl to come out but only after her mum promised that she had a coverup for her.

“Anyway, I heard that she didn’t come back to school again and then my mum saw in the paper when we arrived in London about her killing ... what was it called again, Mum?”