Tokyo Espionage

Chapter 3

It was in the sobering moment afterwards that I realised who Erika was, I had seen her enough times for it not to have taken this long: she was Meisa Kato, the Japanese Secretary of Defence.

***

While I looked out of my office to the park, where a few people had taken an early lunch, others had gone for a walk, I thought about how close I was to my dream. I passed a while reflecting like this before going to check on the others.

Natalya’s office was locked, and the lights were off. Nobody home, I thought before moving onto Rousseau, who had an empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on his wooden desk. His office flew in the face of my interior décor. Instead of chic architect, he went for 18th century professor. His wooden desk – admittedly – was resplendent, and I was envious of the barrister lamp that sat on top. The Frenchman had style. Oak bookshelves were stuffed with works from Plato to Locke; there was Voltaire and Marx also. A diverse load. I wondered if he had read them all.

Rousseau looked like a hermit however, his eyes were swollen, his face thick with stubble. Cigarette smoke stagnated in the air.

“Have you been here all night?” I asked.

“Oui.” He nodded. “My mind does not allow me to sleep.”

I first looked at the half open books, then, as he sat on his cushioned sofa, I glanced at a few pages of hastily scrawled notes. “You haven’t seen Natalya have you?”

“No.”

“Not to worry.” The notes were all in French, I couldn’t understand them. “Any progress on your piece de resistance?”

He laughed at my poor French.

“I ‘av a subject.” He leant forward on the couch. “Last night I was reading On Liberty, and it struck me – The Treatment of Persons.”

In that moment I wondered how he did so much business. Somehow the deep thinking, artistic verve he exuded so much, was in demand by a niche group, who paid for it handsomely.

Rousseau continued, “I ‘av often wondered ‘ow I am treat, how others are treat. A human being can end up doing terrible things to another. I want to examine the causes, and the ‘ow. ‘ow does a man force himself on a woman, ‘ow does he commit genocide, ‘ow can he refuse to help another in need when he is able.”

The only response I could muster was, “Sounds good, fresh, original.”

He smiled, “Thank you.”

I left Rousseau’s philosophy, and headed to the next office, but when I exited into the foyer I saw Ronin at reception, talking to Lily. I went over precisely as she began to blush.

“Ronin,” I said giving him a pat on the shoulder. “How’s life?”

“Good,” he said looking from me back to Lily.

“And the movie star?”

“Broke it off. She was getting too clingy, very needy.”

I got the impression I was interrupting. A glance at Lily, who began busily typing, confirmed it.

“Been meaning to ask you,” he said, “What will you do with your clients now you have exclusivity with Erika?”

“Explain to them my indisposition, then offer alternative profiles for them to consider.”

Ronin grunted, looked at Lily, and then headed back to his office. I went to see Aramis, who was on the phone, the silken rhetoric told me it was to a client. He saw me, raised a finger, and said into his handset, “I look forward to it, 8 o clock, see you.”

He hung up, and smiled. “You’re hemorrhaging clients, that was Ryu, she wants to diversify her palette.” He gestured to a leather chair in front of the flying saucer he called a desk. “I can’t believe you did it, a bona fide Moby.” Aramis shook my hand, and pulled out a bottle of bourbon; we clinked glasses, and the liquor burned down my throat as I downed the measure. I coughed. “That is awful, what is it?”

“Bullet Bourbon, I call it the cyanide capsule.”

“Thanks,” I beat my chest still recovering.

“Hey, have you seen Achilles yet?”

“No.”

He was next.

“He’s got green eyes my friend – green eyes.”

“This is good news for all of us. If we break into aristocracy, we can all retire young, and rich.”

I saw Aramis’s eyes follow someone across the foyer. “He just went into his office.”

Achilles still had his coat on when I knocked, and walked in. The pools he called eyes concentrated on me, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Yeah – thanks.”

“And your former clients?”

“I’ll give everyone’s profiles to them, let the client choose who they want to take over my account.” Achilles nodded. “This is good,” I said after a beat, “Erika is the first, I’ll garner more business from her.”

He smiled.

“Things good your end?” I asked.

“Lots of clients,” he replied, “But no mythical beasts.”

Back at my office, I checked my emails. There were some from recent clients, but one was from erika692@gmail.com. I clicked the link; it read:

Bvlgari, tonight, 10 o clock

E

I passed the rest of the afternoon in the office; Natalya sauntered in for an hour at the end of the day. I thought about confronting her, but decided not to. It would spoil the good mood that I was in.

I hit the gym to work off nervous energy, and to get a bit of a pump ahead of my appointment before heading home where I made dinner.

“Of course I’m worried,” Lily said, “You’re sleeping with the Secretary of Defence. If anything happened to startle her, you could be in real danger. How can you not see that?”

“You’re not really suggesting she would ever have me killed?”

“Yes.” She paused. “You work outside the ordinary rules. So does she. And if you did disappear, what could we do? You would be discovered to be a gigolo, everyone would disassociate themselves from you, and the matter would be buried. I just don’t like it – at all.”  Lily ended her remonstrations by rolling her eyes, and disappearing into her bedroom, where she remained until I left to meet Meisa.

I went through my routine: hot shower, sharp clothes. The virile cologne was on. One last check that I had everything. Lily said goodbye from her room, a lugubrious air emanated from beyond the door.

Copyright © 2014 by Curtis Couch

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