I. Newark, U.S.
K roning Ltd. resides in a nondescript office building in a nondescript business district with the typical range of cafés and sandwich shops that cater to a typical white-collar crowd. The State Corporations Database lists it as a company dealing with high-tech compounds. The homepage looks professional, its sleek design liberally inspired by Apple, its ‘About Us’ section putting the employee count at roughly a hundred.
It does not mention that the receptionist hides a rapid-fire gun under the counter.
***
Toby is cutting it close. He hates having to rush, especially when the meeting invitation was followed by a strange twist to Liu’s smile that Toby has come to recognize as a surefire sign for trouble right this way, please. Unfortunately, he has also come to recognize it as an indication that he’ll need coffee so as not to lose his temper, and the lukewarm cardboard cup currently clutched in his hand is the reason he’s nearly late. It’s a full circle. How wonderful.
With a quick nod to the receptionist—she’s new, with a lithe yet strong build and serious eyes—Toby lays his free hand on the scanner at the entrance. It takes less than a second for the device to confirm his permission status, green light flashing as the bulletproof glass doors slide open. He hurries through.
The elevator doors just about close in his face, but he manages to catch it courtesy of a quick shuffle that doesn’t quite venture into sprinting territory because One Does Not Run in the lobby of Kroning Ltd.—not unless one wants to risk a gun pointed at their head. Toby likes his face the way it is, thanks. Sliding in next to a woman who works on the floor above him, he almost spills his coffee, ‘almost’ being the operational word. As his shirt is new and white, it would have been a serious cause for irritation; Toby would rather not meet his new partner with a beige stain all over his chest. First impressions matter.
The ride up to the thirteenth floor is smooth and silent. He takes the opportunity to sample his coffee. It’s precisely as lukewarm as the outside temperature of the cup suggested, and he glares at the cursive writing which informs him that contents may be hot. If only.
He makes it to Liu’s office with just under a minute to spare. Liu’s assistant is on the phone, but she waves for Toby to proceed through the open door. He enters with a passing knock on the doorframe and finds Liu frowning down at a stack of papers. Toby knows the feeling.
“Morning,” he says before plopping down into a chair.
Liu looks up, tilting his head as he pushes the papers aside. His frown melts away. “And,” he says, tone ominously smug, “a very good morning to you, too.”
Toby could ask. Liu is practically daring him to ask, yet he will almost certainly refuse to reveal anything substantial about Toby’s new partner upfront. Toby hasn’t had enough coffee to play that game.
After setting his cup down on Liu’s desk, he gestures at it. “Are you aware that the coffee maker on my floor is broken? And if yes, what are you doing about it?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “The kid in the coffee shop needed hours to serve the guy before me—soy milk is a monumental challenge, apparently. My life, Liu! I could see it draining away in front of my very eyes.” Yes, he’s being dramatic; no, he doesn’t care. His headache is real. So is his addiction. “Anyway, now my coffee is cold and tastes like dishwater. Seriously, man, well-trained personnel? It’s worth the investment. Explain that to the coffee shop down the road, or I swear to God I will.”
“Christ, you’re crabby when you’re low on caffeine.”
“Not low,” Toby corrects. “Out. Out of caffeine. Was running late this morning.”
Liu grimaces and gets up without another word, walking past Toby to stick his head out of the door. “Hey, Mirjam? Do you want to preserve my sanity?”
“Is that a trick question?” she calls back.
“Funny. Now please get Toby a cup of coffee from the boardroom.”
She chuckles. “Sure thing, yes. Anything else?”
“Make it strong.”
“Got it, Liu.” Her voice carries a softness she reserves for Liu, and Liu only—Toby considers it evidence of her somewhat clichéd crush on her oblivious boss. As it’s Liu, Toby doesn’t blame her. Fortunately, he has too much common sense to put himself through that particular kind of misery; also, he knows what Liu looks like after five days in the wilderness with no soap on hand, and, more importantly, he’s seen Liu’s face when the man gets talking about his mysterious cousin. (“Second cousin, Toby! We share a great-grandmother. Get your facts straight.”) Anyway, he knows a lost cause when he sees one.
Brief silence descends while Liu returns to his chair.
Toby takes the opportunity to appreciate the view from Liu’s office, presenting him with buildings that reflect the morning sun in flashes of gold, a sky of a translucent blue arching over the city, marred only by the white lines left behind by planes. For an early spring day in Newark, it’s uncommonly sunny and warm.
“If you’re this eager to ensure I’m sedated with coffee…” Toby leans forward, elbows on his knees, as he considers his choice of wording. “Or maybe it’s not so much sedated as placated. Appeased. Mollified?” He pauses for effect. “Liu Wei Zhou, are you trying to bribe me?” Another pause, too short for Liu to get a word in. “Actually, don’t answer that. Question is, how bad is this going to be? I need to prepare myself mentally.”
“Not that bad.” Liu smiles broadly, and Toby doesn’t believe a word. Not a tiny, single word. After all, Liu is an accomplished agent; he is an artist of deception just like most people in this building. Toby is so onto him. “It’s just that your new partner was trained elsewhere, so he might be used to doing things a bit...” Liu introduces a delicate break. “Differently.”
“Differently,” Toby repeats. He straightens in the chair and waves one hand at Liu. “Differently as in he wears his boxers over his pants? Differently as in he prefers to barge in first and collect information later? Or differently as in he’s already late? Please, feel free to elaborate.”
Liu’s reply is cut short by Mirjam. Toby’s okay with it since she walks in carrying possibly the first good thing that happened to him all morning—Jesus, he’d kill for regular access to the boardroom coffee. Figuratively, not literally.
Probably.
“Thank you,” he tells her when he accepts the cup. “Seriously, thank you. You are a goddess among mere mortals, and whatever Liu’s paying you, it’s not enough.”
Mirjam responds with a laugh. “I’m really not complaining. And you’re welcome.”