->2.10

            Andrea took a deep breath. She knew that Edgar would be perfectly pleasant to approach and would treat her as civilly as always, but she also knew that most of the time she wasn’t directly criticizing his policies and intentions. She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and opened the door to his office.

            “Andrea! Nice to see you. You can’t sleep either, I see?”

            “Well, sort of, I guess.”

            “Worried about Desmond, perhaps?”

            “A bit. No more so than usual, though. I trust his judgment in these things. He’s not an idiot.”

            “I’ll agree with you on that. Of course, neither are you. So what’s the matter? What brings you here?”

            “Well, you know how much free time I get with the job I’ve been assigned to, and you know how much I like to search the archives and just read them.”

            “Yes, of course, that’s the reason you got that job. Well, that and that you’re great at the bits of actual work that come in.”

            “The thing is, I’ve noticed some strange things about the way things have happened throughout history. The one I actually wanted to bring to your attention was this,” she said as she pulled out a few papers with a great deal of text on them. “It looks like nearly every organization in the history of histories has eventually strayed from its original intention. So-called ‘secret societies’ tend to do so even more, as they just sort of begin to cater to the whims of whoever.”

            “What’s your point? I mean, it’s not as if I’m losing any sleep right now that I’d otherwise be getting, but I’m assuming you’re here for a reason other than ‘look what I found.’”

            “Edgar, I don’t mean this as an attack on you or as a press to resign or anything like that,” she began, and quickly realized her mistake in beginning as such as his brow wrinkled in silent incredulity, “but it would seem that you’re running the Watchers incorrectly.”

            “Incorrectly?” he asked with his voice a combination of hurt and angry. “And what are we comparing this to? That which was here when you first got here? You’re aware of how poor a job Fan was doing with the Watchers, are you not? She ran the place into the ground, ordering things done to satisfy her every whim and desire.”

            “Edgar, please, I can explain. It’s perfectly natural that you feel that way, and considering the recent history of the Watchers I can understand why you’d be so opposed to the use of force to do things in the outside world. However, the basic foundation of the Watchers was laid upon the idea of preventing these things. Over the years it’s become intent more upon simply watching these things happen than on actually doing things to stop them. It’s still possible to learn from these things if we make some attempt to stop them before they actually happen! Besides, what’s the point of learning these things if not to nip these so-called Trends in the bud?”

            “History has nothing to do with the present!” Edgar exclaimed as he stood up and leaned over the table. “What’s the point in saving any of those people out there? What’s the point in saving all of them? Each and every one of them will die someday. What’s the point of collecting history, you ask? Hell if I know! It’s simply one of those things that’s always been done. Now if you have a problem with my policies or even with me as a person, just come out and say it. But if you’re going to try to tell me that everything I do is based upon a fundamentally flawed premise, you’d better be able to do better than to show me that these things have happened before. Just because our intent is no longer that which it once was in no way makes it any less valid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. Good night, miss Dow.”

->2.09

            Layne’s and Desmond’s arrival at their hotel was greeted by the usual entourage of employees ready and willing to cater to their every whim and help out in whatever way possible. Naturally, being from urban America, they were both strongly reluctant to part with their belongings, if only out of habit. Eventually, however, conscious thought kicked in and reminded them that something else was the case here, and that they would, in fact, see their luggage again in the future.

            Check-in went smoothly, owing both to the call-ahead on the parts of the governments arranging the situation and Desmond’s ability to get by in Japanese, and within a matter of minutes Desmond and Layne were being led to their bedroom. The bellhop helped them become acquainted with their temporary lodgings and then left quickly.

            “Must be in a rush. Didn’t even wait for a tip,” said Desmond with a grin as Layne groaned.

            “Oh, come on. Don’t you know anything? You don’t generally tip in—“

            “I’m aware, Layne. Lighten up. You as hungry as I am? I saw a restaurant near here. Real authentic-looking.”

            “Sure, why not. I’m sick and tired of American fast food whenever I’m off on assignments. Tastes like crap anyhow.”

            After pausing briefly to demonstrate with two pens how to use chopsticks, Desmond grabbed his coat as Layne followed his lead.

            An hour later they returned to find a note which had been slid underneath the door when they were out eating dinner.

            “Looks like a phone number,” said Desmond, “but there are too many digits.” Very quickly he added, “Yes, Layne, I’m fully aware this is what Japanese telephone numbers look like. So what do you propose we do with it?”

            “Well, what options are open to us other than ‘call’ and ‘don’t call?’ I’d suggest calling it, since that’s the only way we’re going to learn anything.”

            “Fine. Gimme your cell phone. It works here and I don’t want to wind up having to explain what could be long-distance phone calls to whoever has to pay for these things.”

            Desmond dialed the number and held the phone to his ear.

            “That’s funny. Full signal and everything... still ringing. Huh?”

            “What?”

            “They answered, but... they didn’t. All I hear is ambient background noise. Could be anywhere.”

            “Maybe they have it set to auto-answer.”

            “Maybe. This doesn’t seem right, though. They hung up just now. That wouldn’t happen if it were on auto-answer.” Desmond put the phone down. “What do you think?”

            “Well, I’d say we wait. They have this cell phone’s number now – caller ID is all but standard nowadays. Whoever they are, they now have a  means to contact us.”

            Desmond raised an eyebrow. “Good point. For now, though, I guess there’s really nothing to do but wait. Ball’s in their court, you know?”

            “God, I hate it when that’s the case. Makes for such boring times.”

            “Listen, I’m going to step outside and give Andrea a call and let her know we made it in all right. She always seems to get worried otherwise. Want me to come back in quietly?”

            “Sure. I’ll probably be asleep.”

            “All right, no problem. I’ll keep the cell phone with me in case the caller isn’t an English speaker.”

            “Desmond, the room consists of two beds and a table between them. Keeping the cell phone near you when it’s sitting on the table charging isn’t hard to do.”

            “Right, whatever. Good night.”

            They were both awakened at two o’clock when the cell phone rang.

->2.08

            Takeo Nichimoto’s forehead was beaded with sweat. Every time he got nervous like this, though, he reminded himself of the significance of the mission he was undertaking. He reminded himself as well of the importance of whom he was doing this for. The Emperor was the link between this world and the divine world, was he not? To die in his service is the greatest action of all, right?

            He looked at the New York crowds and gave a deep sigh. He knew that the public dissemination of the fact that the world’s cities were being attacked would be only a few hours away, and so he had to act relatively quickly if he didn’t want to die after all.

            He looked down at the suitcase he was carrying.

            Besides, he knew he had to work quickly if he wanted to both get the bomb into place and get out alive. Certainly it was an honor to die for the emperor, he told himself, but surely it would be even better to remain alive to serve him further.

            Takeo ducked into an alley quickly yet inconspicuously. Of course, with streets as crowded as New York’s it is difficult to do something conspicuously at all. He grabbed the suitcase with both hands and threw it into a Dumpster, then climbing up and covering it with other trash as a precaution.

            He felt as though a giant burden had been lifted from his shoulders and yet simultaneously a new one had been placed there. No matter.

            He pulled out his cell phone and called Jirou Arimatsu, just like all of the others who had been assigned the same job elsewhere.