Chapter 21

“Young person,” Mr. Nakamura pointed at Zo, “You will drop and give me twenty.” Mr. Nakamura’s English was better than my Japanese ... his English was Columbia School of Broadcasting perfect.

“Twenty what?” Zo questioned.

“Twenty push-ups ... Marine style,” Mr. Nakamura said.

“What’s a Marine push-up?” Zo was completely lost.

“You,” Looking directly at me, Mr. Nakamura said, “Demonstrate.”

I laid on my stomach, keeping my body rigid with my elbows at 90 degrees and arms 90 degrees to my spine. I straightened my arms, lifting my rigid body, and yelling, “Marine Corp, Sir!” Then lowering my body to 1 cm of the ground. I did twenty.

““Very good, Mr. Flintkote. Very good indeed. You surprise me,” He pivoted, “Miss...”

“I can’t do one of those, let alone twenty,” Zoe said.

“Then, I guess you had better learn, Mr. Flintkote. You will assist. She is not to leave the building until she has completed twenty ... unless she must be taken to the base hospital.” He looked me straight in the eye. “Girl push-ups will not do. Do you understand?”

“Oh. I understand, come on Zo, Cyn, Malcolm. Let’s go,” I said. “Mr. Nakamura, I’m seeking guidance. I already know how to be a bully. We’ll be looking for other lodging. Good Day.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Flintkote. You have passed your first test.”

“What?”

“Protect the weak from the strong.”

“What?”

“You would not allow me to belittle a woman,” he said. “I will teach you.”

We walked back to the MWR pier and I unlocked and invited Mr. Nakamura to be seated while the four of us met the Captain at his office. He escorted us to the records and ID building. Quickly explaining, “They’re here at the convenience of the President.” And he had paperwork. We were fingerprinted, measured and photographed. Zoe and Malcolm were presented with GUEST ID cards while our cards stated At the convenience of the President of the United States of America with our names and photographs embossed with the Presidential Seal. Any Questions Shall Be Referred to Sasebo Fleet Activities Commanding They certainly looked official.

We ran back to the boat. RAN ... not walked. The gate Guard checked our ID and passed us through.

I was getting in shape ... they were whether they wanted to or not.

The long, narrow RIB, so reminiscent of an incident in Auckland, was bridle tied to stern cleats. Something would have to be done if we wanted or needed our Atlas RIB dinghy. The motor for the CIA boat would have to be swayed up from the locker using our boom ... the black engine weighed about 600 pounds.