The Diplomat's Tutor

Chapter 2: Malia's Mission

Beard and Blonde—real names, Mr. Taylor and Mr. Dugan—escorted Malia to a black Escalade with tinted windows in the parking lot. Her family waited for her outside.

Mr. Taylor sat in the front. Malia sat in the back in a bucket seat beside Mr. Dugan, who stroked his beard as he watched her examine the plush, leather interior of the car.

Malia had never sat in a vehicle this spacious and luxurious before. Malia's father, Allen, worked as an electrician, and her mother, Hannah, a paralegal. They got along fine, but Escalades and bling did not feature in Malia's upbringing. Every seat had a touch-pad entertainment screen built into its back. Malia pressed the screen, but nothing happened.

“Your file says you speak fluent Aeonian, is that right, Ms. Peele?" Mr. Dugan said.

“My file? I have a file?" Malia said.

“Everyone has a file."

“Oh. Well, then yes. I speak fluent Aeonian."

'En quen annsée Aeonian azil fondee?' Mr. Dugan said, poorly, in Aeonian: “Give a brief on the history and status of Aeonia."

Malia stared at him. Mr. Dugan looked disappointed, thinking she hadn't understood, when she replied, “You just said, 'Feed me now the root and manure of Aeonia.'"

Blonde burst into laughter. Beard looked dead-pan at him.

Malia corrected, and still in the foreign tongue, said, “The monarchy was established on an island in the Mediterranean Sea in 1349 A.D. by King Hugo Bennani, a former pirate.

Mr. Dugan stroked his beard. Malia continued:

“For centuries, Aeonia thrived as a merchant republic, like Venice or Genoa, exchanging goods and knowledge from Greece, Egypt, The Middle East, China, and Europe. The population is a mixture of many races and cultures. A melting pot that sailors named “The Every-Place."

“And then?"

Malia smiled. She knew the hidden subtext of the question.

“And then, beginning in 1812, a religious and cultural reformation caused Aeonia to erect walls and close itself off from the outside world. The trading ports remained open for business, but no one except those who could trace their lineage was granted passage into the capital city, also called Aeonia. The rest of the world's knowledge about the beautiful, mysterious island has slowly been shrinking."

Silence. Malia realized her tone had risen to awe, and she was clutching Mr. Dugan's shoulder. She blushed, let go of him, and shrank back into her seat. “Those are the broad strokes anyway. Anything else you want to know?" she said, switching back to English.

Mr. Dugan and Mr. Taylor shared a look. “No, solid speech," Mr. Dugan said. “What do you know about your own Aeonian lineage?"

“Mine?" Malia said. A rush of excitement pulsed through her body.

“Yeah."

“I know that my great, great-grandmother emigrated from Aeonia. We have her immigration papers, but I haven't been able to find anything about her. I guess her mystery, and all the picture books she left behind, passing down, sparked my early fascination with the society."

Mr. Dugan nodded respectfully. Mr. Taylor bumped his fist on his chest two times.

“You may clear the customs checkpoint, then," Mr. Dugan said.

Another rush. Impulsively, she grabbed Mr. Dugan. “Do you want to send me to Aeonia? Is that what this is? It is, isn't it? Blonde guy, please say something. Oh, my god." She started fanning her face.

Mr. Taylor grunted in amusement from the front seat. “Control yourself, Ms. Peele," Mr. Dugan said. “We haven't revealed the contents of the mission yet."

“Mission? I have a mission? Is it a mission: impossible? I love those movies, but I'm not going to blow anything up or hurt anybody, okay? Let's settle that right now."

Mr. Dugan put his hand on his forehead and looked down. “Play the tape for Ms. Peele, Mr. Taylor."

Mr. Taylor pressed a button, and the screen in front of Malia turned on. She leaned forward. The profile of a man wearing a tailored suit came onscreen. He looked solidly built, but lean. His angular face and striking green eyes betrayed no emotion except a dark, brooding intensity.

Woah, Malia thought.

“The mission belongs to Mr. Charles Dunn, recently appointed diplomat to Aeonia. He possesses some knowledge of the country and language but will require an expert like yourself to fill in the gaps."

“I see," she said, playing it cool. “And what's Mr. Dunn's mission?"

“Mr. Dunn's mission is for Mr. Dunn to know, Ms. Peele. If and when you must know, you will be notified."

"You want to establish an embassy on Aeonia, don't you?" Malia said without missing a beat.

Mr. Dugan stared at her with a poor poker face. Mr. Taylor looked down and away.

Malia grinned. "You do. Meaningful contact with them has eluded the world for centuries."

“Indeed." Mr. Dugan said and nodded to Mr. Taylor, who handed Malia a manilla folder.

Mr. Dugan continued, “Examine this dossier, Ms. Peele. It includes background on Mr. Dunn and the specific areas of knowledge in which you shall tutor him if you accept the position."

It was a dream opportunity. One Malia had fantasized about her whole life but never expected to fulfill. Practically no one went to Aeonia. It was a closed society—an exotic mystery.

She thought about J.C. How would he react to this? One thing at a time, girl, she told herself. And something else bothered her: the secrecy of the diplomat's mission. He looked too young to be a diplomat, maybe as young as 30. And the dark intensity of his stare, almost dangerous. In Malia's mind, diplomats were affable, schmoozing older men. Something didn't add up.

Several knocks on the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Hello? Hello, Mr. Government Men?" Meemaw said sweetly from outside.

Malia sighed, embarrassed, as Mr. Dugan lowered his window and Meemaw peeked inside.

“Can I help you, ma'am?" Mr. Dugan said.

“You most certainly can, Mr. Government Man," Meemaw said. “You see, I've got cornbreads baking in the oven, and if we don't get this girl home soon, they'll all burn up, and the whole house might even burn down, and I'm as hungry as a hellcat, so if you're quite finished, I think it's time you wrap it up."

“Yes, we were just doing so, ma'am."

“Okay, good. Put a bow on it."

Mr. Taylor chuckled.

Mr. Dugan handed Malia a business card and said, “We'll need your answer by tomorrow morning. You would start immediately. Good day, Ms. Peele. Enjoy Grandma's cornbread."

Malia took the card and put it in the manila folder. She stole one last glance at Charles Dunn on the screen and told the men thank you very much, she'd be in touch.