June 2007, This Is What You Owe

[ellectrical]

It was, when it came down to it, as Bela had described; Bank of Chiba is situated in a prime location in the neighboring city's business district, part of a modern structure primarily made up of dark glass, though shorter than the towers that dominate the skyline nearby. The staff is polite and courteous, responding immediately when Elle chooses to speak in English rather than Japanese. In her black skirt and white blouse, she doesn't look out of place. Even her tied-back blonde hair doesn't stand out among the incomers as she waits in line to step through the metal detector and moves on across the main hall to a long counter of white and black marble.

(Bela was right here, too – though there aren't too many guards, and she'd been taught the tricks of getting around such detection, Elle wouldn't have been able to sneak a gun in here. The briefcase she'd brought is relatively empty, and given the bright day outside, it doesn't look like any extra ammunition will be necessary.

The service at the counter is prompt, though the bank employees linger long enough over the death certificate and passport she provides that Elle breathes a (completely internal) sigh of relief when it's finally returned to her with an affirmative response. A tall woman, with short brown hair cropped at a neat slant, takes her aside through the main hall, down a steel elevator that requires a key to operate, and finally to what appears to be an underground level, much plainer than the marble and glass hall above them. The walls are painted a simple taupe and the floor lined with simple scrubbed white tile. Every white door they pass is closed, but the woman eventually stops at one identified by a few characters on a bronze plaque next to it. She pulls out a card from under her jacket and swipes it through a pad beneath the plaque. The door clicks, and the woman leads her through.

It's a small room. A fluorescent light on the ceiling flickers on as they enter, revealing it to be lined with brass set with small doors that have been attached with a simple keypad. There's any empty table in the middle of the room, and the woman takes her to the left, eventually gesturing at one of the keypads.

"Two twenty-three."

Elle nods, and leans to the side to remove something else from her briefcase – a scrap of paper with an eight-digit number scrawled across it. What she'd found among the files her father, or whatever he was, had wanted her to destroy. The truth is, she still has no idea what it's meant to be, and may still be putting herself at risk for a job that will ultimately amount to nothing at all.

She moves forward, and inputs the numbers into the keypad. The second internal sigh of relief comes as a green light shines on the panel; the woman gestures for Elle to move aside, and steps forward to open the door. From inside, she removes a slender but long steel container, and walks across the room to place it on the table.

After informing Elle to let her know when she's finished, the woman leaves to wait in the hallway. Most of her trepidation is spent at this point; Elle approaches the table without hesitation, and leans over to peer into the box.

It's just as well, the apparent contents don't exactly deserve a drum roll. Inside is a black plastic expandable file folder, snapped tightly shut with a clip on the front. It's not until she reaches in and lifts it out that she realizes it's full, maybe close to bursting. The temptation to open it now and look through rises, but Elle forces herself to open her briefcase on the table, and place the folders inside. Whatever's there, she'll have time to look at it later – every moment she spends in here increases the risk she's taking for whatever is inside.

It's a surprise when she looks back, and sees what's left of the box's contents – four golden teaspoons, set neatly face down, like they could lift the folder that had been left on top of them. Their purpose is immediately clear to Elle. If her father had ever needed money quickly, a few pure gold objects such as these would have done trick while being both untraceable and, for the most part, relatively modest. She slips them into the briefcase as well, and then snaps it shut, before moving to tell the attendant that she's finished.

The return the lobby is as uneventful as the ride down. Elle decides to forgo trying to close the account now. She can deal with it later, when she's out of Japan. She's pulled into signing a few forms at the counter nonetheless, and when she's finally allowed to leave, the contents of her briefcase feel like a ticking bomb that she desperately needs to diffuse.

Or maybe detonate. It's not too clear.

It takes effort to measure her steps as she walks back through the hall, past the line of entering patrons at the security checkpoint, and through the first set of glass doors. There's a short space between them and the next set that leads to the stone steps and small plaza outside; Elle can see sunlight through the second doors, the shadows of trees far off in the plaza, hear the casual footsteps of someone in heels following behind her, when –

"Elle."




If she had thought about, just a little, she might have kept walking. Pretended she had no reason to hear. Even as it is, it's the voice that makes her stop – familiar, but not so much that she recognizes it. The heeled footsteps following her have faltered, and too late now, Elle turns to look back.

One of the first glass doors is slowing closing behind a short, slender woman, perhaps in her early thirties. She's in a knee-length black skirt and sleeveless gray blouse, her dark hair tied back into a knot at her neck, and her eyes catch something like amusement as she folds her arms. Elle had never seen Cynthia Sakamoto outside of Las Vegas, and the occasional visits Linderman made to the Hartsdale Facility. She hadn't known what Sakamoto had been doing since her boss was found dead back in November, but it makes just as much sense as any that she'd slipped back into the Company with a new partner.

It's why every link in Elle's body freezes in place, as though the slightest quiver could set off some kind of alarm.

"What're you doing here?"

The amusement continues to her half-smile as Sakamoto takes a step closer. "I think you're the one who should be answering that."

Elle finally lets her eyes wander, back toward the bank's lobby, and then across, to the steps outside. There was no sign of anyone watching them; a lull in entrances and exits meant they had this short space to themselves. She couldn't know if that was purposeful or not, if Sakamoto was here because she'd been tracking her, how long they could have been tracking her (back to X? Bela? Jamie?), if Sakamoto's partner was just out of sight, waiting to strike if she tried to make a run for it –

"But it's not surprising that your father kept an account here." She stops a short distance from Elle, her smile growing slightly. "He wasn't as clever as he liked to think he was."

There's no retort. Elle looks back to Sakamoto, though she can hardly focus on the other woman, even think about what she's saying. She could just try a run for it anyway, it couldn't be any worse than waiting here –

"I can't say I picked you for raiding Daddy's piggybank the minute he got himself killed, Elle."

She glances away, still distracted, another desperate attempt to assess her surroundings when she knows that's it's impossible. There's no thought to her answer. "I think he owed me."

"God, spare me your daddy issues." The tone is sharp, clearly meant to regain Elle's attention, but it doesn't work. So instead, she continues, "You know we'll be able to identify his account now, don't you?"

This does get Elle to meet her eyes again. She stays silent, but the look is enough for Sakamoto to glean an answer. "But you already took care of that."

It inches toward impressed, the other woman's eyebrows rising just slightly. Elle doesn't feel much need to mention that it wasn't exactly her handiwork, and Sakotomo takes another step, moving in a half-circle around her.

"Maybe he did teach you a few things – and that's assuming we won't track it down, anyway –" She stops, and looks directly at Elle again.

"But even a whore has to get paid some time."





It's exactly what Elle can't quite hide – not hurt, or angry, but just a little confused, knowing Sakamoto has broken into something she doesn't understand. The other woman glances down, as though pretending to stifle a small flutter of laughter. "Oh, poor thing, you don't even –"

"You don't have a partner."

Before, she would have been distracted, maybe even upset that she didn't understand. But now it was clear to her what Sakamoto wanted – to make her distracted, angry, maybe even willing to attack. To just stay a little longer. Sakamoto stops in place, now a little too still to pull off her reply.

"I don't know what you're –"

"You're just stalling me."

Sakamoto doesn't come up with an answer before Elle steps forward, and folds the woman's right hand into her own free one. If there were a partner, this would be when to strike – but nothing comes. Sakamoto's smile has vanished, though she doesn't slip to fear or panic. Nothing else could be expected.

Still, even if she's not at the point of anyone's gun now, there can't be much time if this was all an attempt to stall her. Elle keeps a tight grip on the woman's hand, but she does smile when she murmurs, "Let's go outside."

The touch is nothing like before. Nothing gentle, though maybe still a little playful as she takes a step forward, stretching her arm to allow Sakotomo to walk behind her. But the message is clear – in every moment they touch, it would take Elle less than a second and nothing more than a thought to leave Sakamoto dead on the floor. The other woman doesn't fight it, though her expression sours considerably at the way Elle tugs her toward the door, somehow managing to look more like a little girl pulling her mother even while maintaining that threatening air. They pass through one glass door, stepping out into the sunlight. A man in a blue suit and clashing green tie passes them without comment; Elle takes a moment to gaze around the plaza, never letting go of Sakamoto's hand, before she finally looks back.

"Later, alligator."

She releases the woman, and in a few quick movements, has made her way down the steps that lead into the square beyond. Elle doesn't move continue down this path, however – she darts back, around the steps, and into the first place to hide that she can find.

It's a space between the black glass building that houses the bank, and a concrete parking structure next to it. She watches two cameras disappear behind walls of glass and concrete as she moves into the small space in between them, really too narrow to be considered much anything than a path to a few maintenance doors. At this point, she supposes what would happen if what she's about to do were seen doesn't matter too much – but it would still give her a head start to keep it a secret it a little longer.

And so the moment she's out of view, Elle turns in place, and looks to her left wrist. The watch X gave her reads 11:43 am. She dimly makes a note of this before reaching to one of the buttons on its side, and clicking it.

The change isn't apparent to her at first. It's not until she turns her head, and a lock of black hair falls over her shoulder, that she realizes it's worked at all. Elle steps out of the space between the buildings, past the cameras she'd been avoiding, and moves to look at her reflection in the black glass of the bank. What she sees instead is a woman slightly taller than herself, with long black hair worn down over her shoulders. She's in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, carrying a bright red backpack in her left hand. It's tempting to watch the reflection mimic her movements, but Elle stops herself, instead heading back in the direction of the square.

At the top of the steps, Cynthia Sakamoto is speaking to two men in black suits. Elle doesn't have to turn her head to see the holster one is wearing under his jacket. She crosses through the square, and without a look back, makes her way to the train station.

Now, even with this slim advantage, she really needs to get out of Japan.