Girl in a Box (27 page)

“I left America for a reason,” I said, feeling treacherous as the words left my mouth. Surely Michael would never make comments like this, even if he were a prisoner of war threatened with torture. But I felt that I knew exactly what Ravi was talking about.

“I don't know where I belong.” Ravi sounded bleak. “You know, I'm supposed to be going back next winter to choose my bride.”

“Lucky girl.” I tried to smile.

“Nobody's fortunate to have to come with me into this life.” Ravi ran a hand across his unlined, damp brow. “You saw us on Friday night, when it was over. Basically, we work about one hundred twenty hours a week, sitting on our asses, shouting into telephones. How is that any different from the life of my cousin, sitting in Mumbai answering phone calls from people with effed-up computers?”

“You're making a lot more money than your cousin, I bet.”

“Yes, it's all about money.” Ravi sighed heavily. “That's what Warren Kravitz said.”

Warren Kravitz, who Michael thought was great. I said, “I would love to go out with you tonight. But only if you want me there.”

“As long as you understand the situation.” Ravi looked at me intently. “Don't expect anything from me, and I won't expect anything from you.”

“You recruited me, back when I was down and out. Why can't I recruit him?”

I was arguing with Michael Hendricks through my bathroom door while getting dressed. The chic bandage dress that had fit so sleekly when I was twenty-seven now was sadly overtaxed. I tried to tell myself it was because of all the muscle I had developed, but that was only part of it.

“You're not a case officer; you're an informant. Only COs and administrators in the Directorate of Operations can do the recruiting.” Michael's voice was patient. “And at this point, nobody new is joining our game.”

“OCI is supposed to be a street-smart, creative agency. Why can't I use my street smarts where it really would count?”

“Leave it alone, Rei. And come out of the bathroom. I'm sure your makeup's fine, and it's almost time for you to meet Miyo.”

“All right, but I'm having a problem with the dress.” I came out in the square-necked dress, with openings at the midriff that were punctuated by diagonal bands of black. The dress fell to mid-thigh, and I'd accented it with a sheer black stocking with a diamond pattern. On my feet, I wore Jimmy Choo satin-and-rhinestone evening sandals, which my mother had passed down to me after one season.

“Whoa. That looks pretty—severe. Severely pretty,” Michael amended when he saw my hurt expression. I hadn't intended to look like a dominatrix.

“I can't close the zipper.” I turned around to show him.

Michael shook his head. “I'll count to three while you suck in.”

I did, and unbelievably, the zipper lurched upward.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. I had to do that kind of thing for Jennifer, occasionally. I guess I haven't forgotten one skill, at least.”

I turned to face Michael. “If it's not too intrusive…I was wondering if you'd tell me what happened.”

“You want to hear how she was killed?” Michael sounded startled.

I nodded, startled by the word. Most people would have said “died.”

“It happened when I was in the navy. We'd had a long separation, almost a year, when I was deployed on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf. After that, I was sent TDY to a small destroyer out of Rota.”

“TDY?” I hated to interrupt him, but I didn't understand.

“Temporary duty, which meant I could go only if unaccompanied. That meant Jenny and I would be apart six more months.”

“No wonder you left the navy,” I said, feeling indignant.

“Jenny couldn't tolerate the extended separation. She raided our savings and booked an apartment for us in a small Spanish village. I wanted her to fly on a military plane, but she was always lowest priority, a spouse traveling alone, without any moving orders.”

“Could she take a commercial flight?” I was beginning to have a sinking feeling.

“No, she couldn't.” Michael paused, and when his voice came out, it was a croak. “I don't quite understand why she wound up on that particular Pan Am flight.”

“Oh, my God.” Now I understood that he was talking about the flight that had exploded into a million pieces of shrapnel over Europe, killing everyone aboard. People all over the world had mourned the event, but nobody seemed to realize it was just the beginning of many more bad things to come.

“After Jennifer was killed, I resigned from the navy at my first opportunity. I felt like it was pointless to spend my life just—reacting—to bad things that had happened. I wanted to identify dangerous situations as they started to emerge, and halt them before they got out of control. I never wanted anyone else to suffer what happened to Jennifer and to me.” He paused. “Don't cry, Rei. It's going to ruin the mascara.”

“I'm so sorry about what happened to you,” I said as I hurried to the bathroom to check what had happened to my eye makeup.

Michael followed and leaned against the door. “I haven't told many people about what happened. I don't want pity.”

We looked at each other in the shining surface of the mirror, and I nodded. “I won't talk about it with anyone.” Not even Mrs. Taki, who would have dearly wanted to know the details about the woman in the picture.

“Now, getting back to what we were talking about: Ravi Shah.” Michael's voice was brisk.

“Yes,” I said, collecting myself. “Obviously, he's got a lot he can tell us.”

“Instead of recruiting him, I'd say, wear a wire and record him, but I don't see room for electronic equipment inside that dress.”

“So you are interested in what's going on at Winston Brothers,” I said.

“Yes, I admit I'd like to know more—although I doubt it has any bearing on the situation at Mitsutan. You may continue your contact with Ravi. You did say he was born in India, right?”

“It's what he told me. What's the significance?”

“If he's still an Indian citizen, that gives you a legal basis to collect information without revealing yourself. Try to find that out, will you? And by the way, did you get his cell number yet?”

“Yes, but—”

“If you give me the exchange, I'm pretty sure we can tie his calls into the listening station.”

I hesitated, then said, “I don't want to do anything to hurt him. It's not like he's one of the bad guys.”

“Or so it appears. Be careful tonight.”

“And in this case, careful means?” I was tired of finding out too late that I'd screwed up on OCI procedure.

“Don't ask any questions of the big two, Kravitz and DeLone. Try to maintain your cover. And above all, don't bring anyone home. If you have a problem, I won't be lurking around the dishwasher to save you.”

 

The party was at the American Club, the longest-running, highest-class gaijin hangout in Tokyo. I'd been here years ago, wearing the same dress. I remembered how excited I'd been, that young girl in borrowed clothes on the arm of a much older man—someone who eventually became a good friend. Tonight, I was again with a platonic male acquaintance, someone who'd brought me, I understood, only because Archie was bringing Miyo. Ravi knew that I was older and American and full of lies; I imagined he'd tell Archie sooner or later when they were having their guy talk. At the moment, Archie was treating me normally, greeting me with a bear hug at the entrance.

Things looked very good between Miyo and Archie—I was quite pleased with the success of my matchmaking. Archie was straight-shooting and happy-go-lucky, the opposite of Ravi. Miyo, absolutely stunning in a Behnaz Serafpour floor-length turquoise silk crepe gown, was starting to gain confidence with her English; she even made a little joke to Archie about his appearance in the tuxedo, something about blond penguins. Miyo's grammar was almost perfect, I realized; all she needed was a bit of vocabulary expansion and some coaching on pronunciation.

While Ravi and Archie and Miyo stood in a long line at the bar that was serving mojitos, I sipped a glass of club soda and walked around the fourth-floor ballroom, which was decorated in an all-white theme. The crowd was made up almost entirely of American expats, with a swirl of wealthy Japanese thrown in; fortunately, I'd never run with this crowd, so I doubted that I'd be recognized.

One of the people who might recognize me—Melanie Kravitz—didn't seem to be around, though I expected her to appear soon, since she was chairwoman. The format was standard: cocktails, a seated dinner, and then the dancing. I couldn't imagine how it would go, because there was actually a shortage of women. The crowd was almost all middle-aged couples, about half of them white-white, the others white-Japanese. These Japanese wives and I exchanged nods, and I could imagine the calculations going on: Japanese girl, nobody's wife, who is she with?

I realized that I was attracting more notice because I was alone, so I returned to my small posse, who had merged with more men. Miyo was nodding to everyone, beaming with her joy at being there, surrounded by so many objects of her desire.

“Don't you want a cocktail, glass of wine, something?” Archie asked me. He was looking almost worried, as if his beautiful butterfly might flit off.

“Oh, I'm still reeling from last night.” The fact was that starting a long night of supposed fun with a date who was glowering at me made my comfort level pretty low. I never drank anywhere that I didn't feel safe.

“Let me introduce you around, Rei,” Ravi said. “Meet Bill and Andy and Carter and Nick. And their dates are—where?”

“Only about half of us could get dates,” the one called Bill said. “The girls who are here are in the ladies' room planning their escape.”

Miyo looked alarmed, and I had to quickly explain to her in Japanese that this was a joke. She laughed, and Archie beamed, putting his arm around her slim shoulders.

“I just love this girl. Just met her last night, but can you believe, she's a snowboarder? We're trying to get a plan together for Hokkaido. Are you in, Rei?”

“Impossible. We can never both get the weekend off. In fact, Miyo-chan, I'll work an extra Saturday so you can have the whole of next weekend off.”

“But don't you want to go sometime, Rei?” Andy asked.

“I doubt she does,” Ravi said curtly. “Rei is about as poor at sports as I am.”

“Really? But you look like you work out.” Andy was appraising my arms, which I'd pumped up with a few sets of push-ups before getting dressed. I always did, if I was going sleeveless.

“My muscles come from carrying lots of clothes,” I said.

“Come on, Rei, I want to get another drink.” Ravi practically yanked me out of the circle of beaming young men.

“I didn't say a word, so why are you so upset?” I said under my breath as we went out toward the hallway.

“Archie's all right, but most of those bastards are—are totally amoral,” Ravi said.

“You picked a fine field to work in if you have so many problems with morals. Why didn't you go into something nice and neutral like medicine?” I asked. “You could have joined the public health service and gone to Appalachia.”

“Not allowed,” Ravi said tightly. “My father's an ear-nose-throat doctor, and he says there isn't enough money in any subspecialty to make medicine worthwhile anymore.”

“You do sound like you need a drink.” I swiped one off a tray being walked around by a waitress, all the while thinking that although I'd done all right fixing up Miyo, I'd done miserably for myself.

“I don't know where we can go to talk without being overwhelmed by buffoons,” Ravi said, practically inhaling the glass of white wine.

“How about the hallway? There's some bench seating there. Let's just take a little while to talk while we're waiting for dinner to be served.”

As we were seating ourselves, a group swept into the hallway. A portly Caucasian man in his fifties with a hawkish profile, wearing a perfectly tailored black business suit, was walking with another gaijin, a tall man who was actually wearing a cowboy hat with his suit, an off-the-rack polyester blend. A tiny woman in a familiar red gown trailed them, talking at the top of her lungs on a cell phone. It was Melanie Kravitz, at last; and I deduced that the men with her were the ones Michael had called the big two: her husband, Warren; and Jimmy DeLone.

Melanie was practically spitting into the phone. “We're here, and I've already heard about the problems people are having getting a drink. You need to get more waiters on the floor immediately—yes, I know about the total we ordered, but I happen to see dozens of employees standing around this club, doing nothing—”

I was trying to make myself small behind Ravi, but that was a challenge, because he was small himself. In any case, Melanie caught sight of me. She didn't stop talking on the phone, but she beamed and fluttered her free hand hello.

I fluttered my hand back weakly. Warren didn't seem to notice me at all. He was holding Jimmy DeLone by the elbow and speaking to him in a low voice.

As they passed by, Ravi jumped to his feet. “Hello, sir, I'm Ravi Shah from fixed income. I left a few messages in your voice mail last week.”

I cringed, first because it was bad form to talk business at a party, and second, because I remembered Michael's warning to stay away from Kravitz and DeLone.

“Shah. Well, are you having a good time?” Warren Kravitz's cold gaze slid over me, and I shivered. How could Michael have thought this man gave a good up-front interview?

“Yes, but—”

“If I don't get inside there, my wife'll kill me. We can catch up on business in the office.”

The group blazed along into the ballroom, and I turned to Ravi. “They seem to be in a bit of a rush.”

“It's always that way,” Ravi said. “If that fool in the cowboy hat is joining our company, I'm ready to jump out a window.”

“He's probably a client, someone to whom Mr. Kravitz needs to give his utmost attention.” I paused. “What did you want to tell him that was so pressing you would bring it up at a social gathering?”

“I didn't mean to say anything in front of the client,” Ravi said tightly. “I was hoping to introduce myself, just so he knew who I was. I'd sent him e-mail which he hasn't responded to, and I thought it might be because he didn't know who I was.”

“What kind of e-mail?” I asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because—“ I hesitated, then remembered how much Ravi had on me. The only way I could gain his trust was through honesty. “Because, from what I know about that guy, he seems a bit—tough.”

Ravi looked at me for a long moment, then finally spoke. “It's about these bonds we're selling to people over here who want to make investments in the American market. Do you know much about bonds?”

“What I understand is that the Japanese have always bought many American treasury bonds. Japan has been financing our deficit for years.”

“Yeah, but I'm talking about different kinds of bonds, ones that are pure profit for us.”