Wanderer 2.0, Book 1 Of The Wanderer Series

14 • This is How We Are

"They seem to be a bit preoccupied at the moment. I doubt most of them even remember we're here," I tease lightly. Every time we go into a new country we've yet to meddle in, there's always concern for how we'll be received. We've had cases where, despite all we've done without compensation, as soon as things are turned over to the local officials, they turn on us. We've also had them pretend we were never there and have had them thank us profusely before offering us sanctuary if we ever need it. Thankfully, the Japanese officials seem grateful and have told us we are welcome guests of their distinguished country.

It didn't escape my notice though that they said 'guests'. Their hospitality and gratitude will only extend so far. Granted, I'll take it over having to figure out how to escape across the border with the full capabilities of their might right on our asses after working relentlessly for days in a row. Still, I'm withholding from celebrating just yet. There's time for them to turn coats. Japan has always strived for a diplomatic relationship with the Big Five since WWII, particularly with the United States, given the history between the two during the war. If it comes down to having our backs or maintaining diplomatic relations, they'll pick the latter.

Gabriella scoffs, sinking lower into her pout and judging them even harder than before. If that's even possible...

"Miss! Miss," a man calls out to me. Gabriella and I both turn our heads to the left. The cop is young, probably my age, and jogging towards us with a waving hand high in the air. Turning my body towards him, I raise a brow in question and ask," Yes? What is it?"

He stops a few feet away, barely out of breath, "The Captain wishes to speak with you. He found something."

Gabriella shares a look with me. Her suspicion is obvious, and her eyes plead for me to be cautious. I give her a wry smile and turn back to the guy, "Lead the way."

He nods sharply once, and spins around to face the way he came. He jogs back too, but I keep a leisurely pace behind him, eyes scanning the faces we pass. I've been doing this too long. Every side glance looks like a suspicious plot to divide and conquer. The men we pass all pause for at least a second to look at me specifically. Some murmur to the others. One pops another on the back of the head and barks something in Japanese that has them getting back to work.

I narrow my eyes at the few who stare too long, daring them to try something on me.

Focusing back on the open warehouse doors when I'm close, I scan the operation within. It's chaos, people everywhere are sifting through massive amounts of paper and trying to communicate their findings to the higher ups with at least a handful of others trying to do the same. A middle-aged woman in a police uniform holds a stack of papers in her hand that she's reading by flashlight. She glances up and locks eyes with me. I nod in acknowledgment and carry on. She follows suit, but the tension in her shoulders doesn't go away.

I imagine my reputation has made rounds already. At least the reputation I've been stamped with by the UN.

The captain is a man in his fifties with just enough wrinkles to tell how stressful his career has been. Otherwise, he looks great for his age. His hair hasn't a strand of grey and his posture is immaculate. He's tucked away in the back, pinching the bridge of his nose as one of his subordinates nervously splutters out what I'd imagine to be an unnecessarily long tangent.

"Konnichiwa," I greet in a low voice, lips twitching in an attempt to smother my amusement. The captain looks to me and then immediately shoos away the still rambling guy. He bows, spitting out quite the adamant apology, and then turns tail.

The captain stares me down, "Callaia Sosa, Commander and co-founder of The Foundation, I presume?"

I blandly taunt him, "Yes. And you are?"