The Tree of Knowledge, Daniel Miller [unputdownable books txt] 📗

“Now, why don’t you hand me the latest draft of the speech and we’ll forget about this whole incident.” The candidate held out her hand and summoned her politician’s smile.

The speechwriter fumbled through his bag, stood, and with shaking hands, handed over the draft of the speech. Eyes locked on the floor, he then turned to leave the room; the exit seemed miles away, and his shoulders carried a newfound weight.

“Oh . . . and, Eric. If your ambition ever creeps up into your head again, just understand one thing . . .”

“Yes?” said the defeated speechwriter.

“Politics is a team sport.”

Chapter 6

“What the hell was that?” shouted Albert as the car sliced through the rain-covered highway, spraying a steady mist around the tires.

“Yeah, Professor Turner. That was ridiculous. You were like a ninja in there,” echoed Ying.

The corners of Turner’s lips crept upward. “Ah, so now you admit that the old man may have a few tricks up his sleeve? I told you . . . the Tree of Knowledge is an incredibly powerful tool if you are willing to believe in its potential and learn how to use it.”

“I see what you mean now, Professor,” exclaimed Ying. “It looked like everything was moving in slow motion for you. Like you knew exactly what they were going to do.”

“You mean to tell me that you got those moves from the game tree we’ve been talking about?” said Albert in disbelief.

“Well, yes and no. It is one thing to know what you have to do, but quite another to execute. That is where our friends here in lovely Vermont come in.”

“I’m not following,” said Albert.

Turner adjusted in the driver’s seat and slid his hands across the leather steering wheel. The steady clatter of rain on the windshield sounded in the background. “As I mentioned, years ago, I realized that the Tree could be used for self-defense. As was my habit at that time, I ventured to test my hypothesis. So, on one Saturday morning, I strolled down to that quaint little martial arts dojo on Carlton Street.”

“You mean House of Jiujitsu,” said Ying through a disbelieving smile.

“Yes, fortunately, the instructor was in the dojo, but was not holding any classes. I remember him vividly to this day. Sensei Kojuki. He was a small, compact man, no less than forty years old, with a kind face. I explained to him that I was from the university, was conducting an experiment with a new self-defense technique, and was wondering if he would be willing to spar with me. Truthfully, he looked at me a little askance, but he eventually agreed to play along.

“Now, at this time, I was not the doddering old man with a cane that I am today,” Turner said with a self-deprecating grin. “I was probably fifty then, but I was fit as a fiddle and quite strong. Armed with the knowledge of the Tree, I eyed the tiny man in front of me, and I must admit I fell victim to that most irrational of feelings: overconfidence.”

Albert nodded.

“I looked at Kojuki and guessed what I thought he was likely to do and the steps I would take to thwart him, and so we began. Of course, you can imagine how the battle between me, a man with no self-defense training, and a black belt in jiujitsu turned out. I was soundly beaten in a matter of seconds. I tried again and again to defeat Kojuki, but his reflexes, balance, and technique were impeccable, and he dispatched me with ease. Out of respect, he maintained a serious demeanor, but I could tell he was laughing inside. It wasn’t enough to understand what a man was likely to do in a fight and what the response should be; one must train the body to be able to implement that knowledge in an instant.

“It was at this point that I reached out to my friend Sergeant Travis. I knew that if I were going to maximize the Tree’s power in self-defense, I would need training from someone of the highest caliber, and a total commitment to secrecy. Fortunately, shortly before my beating at the hands of Sensei Kojuki, I had delivered a cryptography lecture at a recent cybersecurity conference and met Sergeant Travis. Travis is widely considered to be the father of modern hand-to-hand combat. He’s a former sergeant first class army ranger who literally wrote the manual on modern combatives. After several tours of duty, he got tired of the rough and tumble and moved to a beautiful old farm in Washington, Vermont.”

“So, you’ve been trained by a Special Forces guy,” said Ying, propping herself in the middle of the back seat and leaning her head in between the two professors.

“I’m getting there, Ms. Koh,” said the professor with slight impatience. Turner enjoyed spinning a yarn and didn’t particularly appreciate interruptions.

“As I was saying, I called Sergeant Travis and explained to him that I was doing some research on hand-to-hand combat and was wondering if he’d teach me a thing or two. He agreed, and over the next few years, we trained regularly. He would share his knowledge of combat and give me training programs to utilize in his absence, and I would occasionally give him my insights from the Tree. Not the whole Tree methodology, mind you, but I created various exercises that I thought might improve cadets’ rational thinking and in turn help in the field. We’ve been friends ever since.”

Albert stared absently at the professor. During Turner’s story, he had been absorbing what was being said, but in a state of dreamlike removal. His rational gray matter couldn’t accept that this kind old professor, whom he’d known for years, could be moonlighting as a Special Forces–trained brawler—one who could physically defeat three bar thugs like children.

Albert couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It all seemed so absurd.

“So, how good a fighter are you, Professor? I must admit that was a pretty impressive display in the bar back there.”

“I’m