Eggsecutive Orders

“Kap?” Joel called from the doorway. “We’re ready to go.”

Kap gave a little bow to us all, and held my mother’s gaze for an extra few heartbeats. “It has been my pleasure, ladies.”

Nana sniffed when he turned away. “How come nobody introduced me?” She fa

Had my family gone nuts in the head?

“What was that all about?” I asked them. “I thought we were here to visit Dad’s grave.”

Mom still wore the remnants of a smile as she pi

I would have said more, but it seemed pointless. “We’ll probably never see him again anyway.”

“Probably not,” Mom said. She sounded wistful.

We got off the Tourmobile at the stop for the Tomb of the Unknowns, but diverted from the rest of the group to follow the road that led toward my dad’s grave site. I had been here plenty of times before. But not with my mom-at least, not when I was old enough to remember. I took Nana’s arm as we stepped off the pavement onto the grass. “You okay?” I asked them.

Nana said, “Sure, sure,” but she glanced nervously at my mom.

“Mom?”

She took in the expanse of green, all the identical white headstones. “I haven’t been back here since…” Her voice caught. “I can’t even remember exactly…”

I reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing lightly. “I know where he is,” I said.

We walked silently past rows and rows of headstones, our feet making soft shushing sounds in the almost-green grass. I came to visit my dad’s grave from time to time because it gave me peace to do so. I thought about how I sometimes talked to my dad, but after noticing how tight my mom’s face had grown, I decided not to mention that. This was going to be tough for her.

“Here,” I said.

Nana stepped away from me to stand next to Mom. The three of us gazed at the white headstone, which read AN-THONY M. PARAS. SILVER STAR.

Mom looked around us. “The trees are a lot bigger now.”

I nodded.

Nana patted Mom on her shoulder. “He was a good man, Cori

Mom covered her eyes and cleared her throat. She spoke, but I couldn’t make out what she said. Not that it mattered. I got the feeling whatever she’d said wasn’t meant for me or for Nana.

The three of us spent a long quiet moment there together. Finally, Mom looked up. “Thank you,” she said throatily. “This was important to me.”

I put my arm around her and hugged. “For me, too,” I said.

From there we made our way back to the Tomb of the Unknowns.

“Oh,” Nana whispered when we positioned ourselves behind the brass railing at the top of the rise. “Look at that.”

I’d been here many times but I understood my grandmother’s awe. Stretching out eastward beyond the tomb was a green vista that overlooked hundreds of other graves. But it was here, at the tomb itself, under the sharp blue spring sky, that her attention was captured.

The sentinel walked twenty-one measured steps. He then turned and faced the simple, white monument for twenty-one seconds. Whenever he switched positions, he first kicked out one leg in a taut, well-practiced move, then smacked the active foot against the stationary one with an audible clack. Turning, he faced back down the mat upon which he’d walked, shifting his weapon to his outside shoulder, with another tight, structured move. He then took twenty-one more steps back the way he’d come. A brisk breeze made the three of us shiver, but the sentinel never flinched. When he turned to face the tomb again, Nana asked, “He does this all day?”

“They operate in shifts,” I whispered. I gestured for us to leave and we made our way up the marble steps into the adjacent museum. There were no words to describe the solemnity I always felt in the presence of deceased veterans. Keeping my voice down seemed the only respectful way to talk. And I knew from prior visits that any loud conversation would result in the sentinel’s chastisement of the crowd. “They change every hour.”

“Handsome man,” Nana said, glancing behind us. “Tall.”

“They all have to be between five-foot-eleven and six-foot-four.”

“Really? There’s a height requirement?”

We were inside the small museum now, and although we spoke freely, we still kept our voices low. “There are a lot of requirements,” I said. “You should look it up. They’re a very dedicated group. And only about one-fifth of those who apply are accepted into their ranks.”

“Look it up on the Internet, you mean?” Mom asked.

“You mastered e-mail. There’s nothing scary about surfing the ’Net. Unless you’re downloading from a questionable source, you really can’t hurt your computer.”

“Oh, she isn’t afraid of that,” Nana said. “She’s afraid of becoming addicted to the thing.”

I turned to my mom. “Seriously?”

“One of my girlfriends joined something called ‘chatrooms’ and now she never wants to come over for coffee or go out to movies.”

“Who?”

I laughed when she told me. “You don’t even like her.”

“That’s beside the point.”

After strolling along the outer rim of the breathtaking Memorial Amphitheater and finishing our Tourmobile trek, we took the Metro back to my apartment, where Nana decided to nap for a little while. When she was out of the room and the place was quiet, I realized that I would usually have a phone call or an e-mail to look forward to from Tom. Not so today. My cell phone had been extraordinarily silent and when I checked my inbox, I had only two new non-spam messages. One from Bucky and the other from Cyan. Both were looking for updates. I wrote back, but confessed I had no news.

Speaking of news, I called Mom over to the computer in the spare bedroom-the room where I was staying while she and Nana used my queen-sized accommodations. “Here,” I said. “Let’s give you a quick tutorial.”

She shook her head, but at least she took a seat on the daybed behind me. “I don’t see why it’s so important for me to learn this,” she said, pointing at the headline that described a double-assassination in China. “I can get this from watching the news.”

“True,” I said. “But the news simply projects the day’s biggest stories-or what they deem most important. If you’re interested in something that doesn’t have to do with China ”-I motioned toward the monitor-“you can search for whatever it is you need.”

“What happened there, anyway?” she asked.

I scrolled down the article to find out that two upper-level Chinese government officials had been shot, execution style, in a restaurant in Beijing. According to “unconfirmed reports,” the two Chinese officials had been buying United States secrets from an “u

Their killer had been immediately apprehended and offered no resistance when taken into custody. He had, however, been killed himself shortly thereafter. Details were sketchy, but the Chinese police were claiming that he had grabbed for one of their officers’ weapons in a futile attempt to escape. Political pundits were speculating that the police were covering up the fact that the gunman had been shot in cold blood after carrying out his allegedly government-sanctioned hit.

“Just like Lee Harvey Oswald,” Mom said.

“If you believe the conspiracy theories.”

Her gaze was glued to the screen. “I don’t believe our government killed President Ke