“I have no answers for you. Your time will soon be over. You’ll pay for your crimes against humanity.” Valerik swallowed. “All of them.” He knew what was coming next, but there wouldn’t be any joy among them, and that was all the satisfaction he needed. He saw it in the flustered expression on the white-haired man’s face as he looked at his henchmen.
“Do you hear that?” said the white-haired man as he looked at the others. “The words of a true dreamer.”
What happened next, occurred so fast that all Valerik heard were feet shuffling on the ground. A lot of dust was thrown in his face and a sharp pain wrapped around and dug deep into his neck with the tightness of a knotted balloon. His face hit the pavement once and then there was a moment’s view of the dock as dirt got kicked into his eyes. With his arms at his side, he had no way to loosen the vise-like pinching of his esophagus, as it cut off the flow of air, and the pain sank deep down into his neck. The pain dug deeper, he felt it sink into the bone. Darkness closed in.
The white-haired man unwound the wire from around Valerik’s neck and dropped the body back down to the ground. He released one end of the pen and the inner wire was dropped back inside along with the cap. He tossed the pen up in the air once, caught it, fit it back into his breast pocket and sighed. “Pathetic.”
“Do we toss him in the bay?” asked Pyotr.
“Yes-actually, no. Let’s send a message to his group. One that’s strong enough to provoke a response. Dump him somewhere where he’ll be easily found. I want to watch it on the evening news.” He faced the Tokyo Bay and sighed. He heard Valerik being dragged across the pavement while he irrationally took out his pen and began to twirl it. He had lost count of how many lives had been taken with this pen.
There, that felt better.
Valerik didn’t squeal. Nothing lost, nothing gained. Other options were still available. Now that Fox was in town, he already knew what the next one would be.
Chapter 15
Azabu District, Minato Ward, Tokyo
For Parris, driving her car from West Tokyo to the Minato Ward at lunch hour would’ve been chaotic. So she drove from Hexagon and parked close to the Tobitakyu Station, a five minute walk from her apartment building. She caught the train, transferred to the subway to Akabanebashi Station where got into a taxi.
Going out to lunch wasn’t her style, what with all the news reports on E. coli and salmonella poisoning every few months back in the US. Had she been at work, she would’ve prepared a tuna-fish sandwich. This was second to her favorite, flying fish, if only it were readily available in Tokyo.
She had no plans to go into town. She was here only because of the designer vase filled with a dozen long-stem red roses that sat in her cubicle when she stopped by the office that morning to give Hashimoto her report. She got the hint that something was up the moment she stepped off the elevator to her floor. All of her colleagues smiled and giggled when they saw her. The sender’s name was Scott Ripley-it was a code to let her know that a fellow operative wanted to meet with her.
She wondered why Levickis didn’t inform her of this, and it made her leery about being followed-this, coupled with the unsettling feeling she got when she passed Valerik at the entrance to the parking lot earlier. The advantage of being in a city like Tokyo was that the subways were a surveillance nightmare. With thousands of people commuting by the hour, it would be very easy for Parris to lose anyone that followed her, so long as she avoided being captured by the closed-circuit cameras that were found throughout the city. Throughout the trip she did not spot anyone suspicious.
While Parris was driven through the Azabu District, she took out her compact, looked in the mirror to make sure that her make-up and headband covered up her facial bruises. There was nothing to worry about.
The narrow street they drove on had a tan-colored stone wall on one side. The driver turned into the open-gate entrance where the name International Tea House was stapled on the wall next to the gate, in both Japanese characters, and also in English underneath them. Beyond the gate, Parris saw the two-story stone mansion. The building was obscured from the street by several different trees, as the other homes were. The number of trees surrounding the place ensured privacy from anyone on the outside. She thanked the driver while she handed him a few bills, and got out of the cab. She closed the door, opened up her umbrella against the light rain that had started to fall. She turned towards the double doors to the mansion, about ten feet away.
She was a bit nervous meeting this mysterious Scott Ripley, the man who had sent her the flowers. Levickis told her earlier, that the person did not want to identify himself for personal reasons. But with the lavish surroundings, Parris got the hint that her meeting could possibly also be social.
One of the double doors opened and a short, plump young woman appeared, dressed in a cherry blazer and black pants. “Good afternoon, Dr. Parris. My name’s Sora.”
“Hello, Sora,” Parris replied as she closed her umbrella and walked quickly past her. What is it with these bright cherry blazers? They’re so out of place.
Parris came to a carpeted hallway with some doors on either side. Not knowing where to go to next, she stopped.
“Mr. Ripley’s waiting for you in the dining room. It’s the first set of double doors to your left. I’ll take your umbrella for you.”
“Thanks.” Parris handed Sora her umbrella. She would later check it for any tracking devices. If it was bugged she would conveniently forget it in the cab on her way back to Akabanebashi Station.
She heard a set of rhythmic chords on a piano from inside the room she was headed to. As she opened the doors, the chords grew to a crescendo and then diminished. Parris thought that this was the cue for an operatic singer to join in, but she only saw a pianist in front of a baby grand piano. She closed the doors quietly so as not to disturb the player who had his back to her.
Parris looked around the room. It had high ceilings, about thirteen feet high, and the floor was hardwood. In one corner a fifteen inch television was turned on and muted. There was also a small wooden coffee table and two chairs with armrests. The furniture looked European. She felt the television set was out of place. Where’s Ripley?
The pianist then stopped abruptly, as though he was in error. Parris looked at him as he played the same section over. Again, he stopped.
“Fuck!” Parris heard the pianist say. He can’t be an employee. The pianist appeared to notice her and glanced over his shoulder.
“Hey, there.”
Parris slightly tilted her head to the side. “Mr. Ripley?”
“You’re talking to him. Any trouble finding the place?”
“No. It was a bit out of the way for me, but not much trouble getting here.”
“Good. What kind of tea would you like?”
Instead of answering, she continued to stare at him as she approached him slowly. That voice, should I know him? The melodious texture of his voice numbed her mind.
“Dr. Parris,” he said a bit louder. He continued to play, but more quietly.
“Yes,” she replied as she swung her purse over her shoulder.
“Your tea? They have all kinds.”
Oh what the hell, just say anything. “Jasmine.”
“Will that be Oolong Jasmine Tea or Green Tea with Jasmine bulbs?” came a voice. Parris turned around and saw Sora smiling in the doorway.
“I’ll have the Oolong.”
“And I’ll have the Earl Grey Pot de Creme,” said the pianist. Sora bowed and then left, closing the doors behind her.
The man stopped playing, swung around in his swivel chair to face her, and stood. Parris felt a cold shiver ripple through her, and she swore that her heart rate tripled. It’s him. What’s his face? The man from Germany who claimed to be in Washington on business when she met him at Max’s Pub in DuPont Circle in D.C. almost two years ago. Only now, he didn’t have a German accent, nor the blonde, shoulder-length hair. The man in front of her had trimmed, auburn hair
. He was still clean-shaven and had the same square jaw.
She walked to him and stopped less than an arm’s length from him, close enough to smell his cologne. Lord, he’s still wearing the same cologne. “Who are you?”
“The name’s Ridley Fox, and yes, that’s my real name. But you can call me Ridley.” Fox smiled and extended his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Nita.”
Parris’s kept her hands to her side. “What are you doing here?”
Fox lowered his hand. “Hoping to find the same thing you’re looking for.”
“Really? And what do you know about what I’m looking for?”
“Your partner, Tomas Levickis, ran a database search on a man I’m after. You saw him at Hexagon.”
Parris paused. Her heart was still racing but she managed to bring it under control as she looked into his clear, hazel eyes. She sighed with a smirk. “Really?”
“The Boeisho is trying to keep tabs on me. You don’t have to worry. I already checked the surroundings, there’s no sign of them.”
She looked back up at Fox and went to smack him but he caught her wrist. Damn, he has quick reflexes.
“As I said, it’s nice to see you again, Dr. Parris.” She kicked him in his left shin. Fox dropped down on one knee. “Jesus, woman! What’s gotten into you?”
Parris turned around and stormed away for a few steps, paused, and then walked back to him with gnashing teeth.
“Nice to see you too, Ridley,” she said with a menacing emphasis on his name. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve been waiting to do that. Tell me, Ridley, was it fun? Toying with me the way you did?”
Fox shook his head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, it just did.”
“Is that all you have to say? You stood me up? Sure, it can happen. Guess what? After I waited on you for almost two hours. I left, only to be carjacked and beaten up at gunpoint on my way home. Do you know how many weeks of counseling I had to go through?”
“I was called on assignment. I-”
“I’ve had my emotions messed with in the past by other men, long before I was part of any agency. You had a responsibility then, as you do now, and trying to get involved with me was very irresponsible. Now get up, I didn’t kick you that hard.”
“I beg to differ.”
Parris didn’t reply.
“Great. Of all the women I could’ve met, it had to be the one who holds grudges,” muttered Fox.
“I heard that. And yes, I can hold a grudge.”
“It was an observation.”
“Sure, fine, whatever.” Parris looked over the table that was set for both of them. On it was a nice little bonsai plant, a lit candle, and some cutlery on a white cloth napkin. She looked back, over in the corner where the television was, and only then did she notice what was on. It looked like Curly, Larry, and Moe. She looked at Fox in bewilderment. “ The Three Stooges? ”
“I kind of like that show, all the old shows actually. The Avengers comes on later, and oh, you just missed I-Spy,” Fox said as he took a few steps.
“So this is how you spend your free time when there aren’t any women to toy with? Watching reruns?”
“I’m actually quite diverse,” Fox said with a Barbadian accent.
If that was a way for him to get her attention, he just got it.
“Yeah, and trying to play the piano too, I noticed.”
“Hey, I wish I had the time to play the piano and the violin as much as I did when I was younger,” continued Fox without the accent.
“So, you’re an amateur musician.”
“What do you think so far?”
“I can’t say. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
Fox paused and shrugged his shoulders with a slight chuckle as though his feelings were hurt.
I couldn’t care less for how he felt.
Fox walked back to the piano, sat down, and played a different tune. It was more thunderous and definitely less romantic and gentle than what he had played before. Parris wasn’t a connoisseur of modern piano music, but she was sure she’d never heard that piece. She walked over to the back of the baby grand. “Why’d you do that?”
Fox looked up, but not enough for her to see below his eyes. They had lost some of their warmth. “Do what?”
“Change tunes.”
“Oh, you noticed?” Fox’s eyes disappeared as he lowered his head. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.”
“Not entirely.” She advanced two steps along the side of the baby grand and stopped. “But I prefer it to what you’re playing now.”
“You could’ve fooled me. I thought that was your way of telling me that I suck.”
“I wasn’t. I…I’m just not familiar with classical music. Who composed it?”
“Some noteworthy composer,” Fox answered. “We all have ways of dealing with stress and our emotions. Some people swing a golf club, others go to the firing range, as for me, I’ll play an instrument.”
Parris took a step closer. She wanted to see into his eyes. She watched as he kept playing, although now, it was more like he was banging on the keyboard. She wouldn’t yell above the piano. But a few moments later, he seemed to calm down. What he played now almost sounded like what he played earlier. Was this his way of reaching out to her? My God, is he playing this to impress me? He looked up at her again and she felt a dryness at the back of her throat that made her immediately look away from him.
The double doors opened and both Sora and a young man came in. Perfect timing. The young man carried two plates and Sora had a tray containing two small teapots with hot water, two separate tea balls beside each, and a carafe of cold water.
“Hello, Dr. Parris,” said the young man as he stopped and bowed in front of her. “I’m Yoshirou.”
“Hello.” Parris bowed, not knowing what else to do.
“How about some curried chicken roti?” asked Fox. “That’s still your favorite, isn’t it?
Oh my gosh, he remembered. Parris watched as Yoshirou set the table. “What’s going on here?”
Fox had a half smile and he ended his rendition with a few gentle chords. “Lunch.”
“It seems out of place.”
“I know it seems weird finding West Indian cuisine here, especially at a tea house. But I’m good friends with the owner of this particular franchise and I put in a special request.”
Yoshirou assisted Parris with her chair as she sat down facing the television. He helped Fox to his seat while Sora placed the small tea pots and cups, the Oolong Jasmine tea bulb for Parris, and the Earl Grey Pot de Creme for Fox.
Fox and Parris thanked them both and the two waiters retreated to the door.
Fox looked up at Parris with the fork in his hand. “Bon appetite.”
“Thank you. But I know you didn’t travel all this way to apologize and pamper me with this meal. So, where were we?”
“As I said, I’m following a lead.”
“Really, and abusing The Company’s budget by sending me expensive flowers and reserving this place. Tomas could’ve taken any messages for me. So how did you manage to pull this one off?”
“I’m a member. As I said before I’m good friends with the owner,” said Fox as they both dropped the bulbs in their individual tea pots.
“Bet you are.”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice concept they have. They’ve got these home-type establishments here in Tokyo, London, Amsterdam, Cairo, New York, and also Hong-Kong. I’m thinking of opening one in Montreal, my hometown.”
“Oh really?”
“Is that a work-related accident by the way?”
Parris’s hands shot up to her headband. Was the Band-Aid showing? She felt around. No, it wasn’t.
“How did you know that?”
Fox sliced into the roti shell with his knife. “I didn’t. That was, of course, until you reacted the way you did.”
Parris sighed in embarrassment. “Yes, I was attacked at work yesterday morning.”
“Attacked?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“One of my subjects. The new mind-control technique Hexagon has developed didn’t go too well.”
“Any idea what went wrong?”
“Not yet, but it appears we’ll stick to the original drug we used before. Ironically, it’s been named Clarity.”
“How does it work?”
“By blocking the RAS’s normal function, along with the amygdala and hypothalamus.”
Fox crossed his legs and held his chin in his palm and tapped his lips with his finger as he chewed. “The RAS?”
“Yes. It’s the Reticular Activation System responsible for screening unnecessary info into the brain.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Fox looked back at Parris as she began to eat. “Right.”
“What’s wrong?”
“No, it’s nothing. It’s just that biology isn’t my forte.”
I guess you won’t be impersonating a scientist anytime soon. “Anyway, in order for us to effectively brainwash our subjects, we have to disrupt the reasoning, personality, and drive regions of the brain.”
“Yes, of course, in the hindbrain,” said Fox.
“No,” said Parris. “That would disrupt their sight. Personality’s found in the forebrain and human drives are in the thalamus. With those areas disrupted, the subjects are then more susceptible to suggestion. That’s where our device comes into play.”
“Which device?”
Parris told him about the chair and its function. “Before we developed the latest variation of the drug, patients would have to undergo several sessions with the chair before they were completely brainwashed. We were hoping to reduce that amount with the latest version.”
Parris then cleared her throat. “Now, tell me more about the man you’re tracking.”
Fox poured himself a glass of water and poured a glass for Parris. “His name’s Valerik and he’s raised a few red flags since you spotted him yesterday morning. A little over a day ago, a temporary CDC compound in southern Uganda was attacked. The main suspects may be members of an organization called the Arms of Ares. Have you ever heard of them?”
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