Chapter 9: Bad, Bad Man

Eda removed the hood of her nun's habit and shook out her hair, running her fingers through it to work out the knots. When she was done, she folded her arms and waited patiently by the window. The cell phone on the table beside her hadn't rang yet, but she was expecting a call any minute now. This was important. Things were changing and spiralling out of control. If left unchecked, these issues were going to cause too much trouble. Things needed to be nipped in the bud immediately. Otherwise, Eda was going to have a hard time doing her job, or remaining undetected as she had done for years, now. She couldn't risk being discovered, especially when the shit was so dangerously close to hitting the fan. She glanced outside at the trees, peering through them at the city of Roanapur below. She knew who was down there at this very moment, despite their best efforts to remain hidden. Their little stunt at the Yellowflag had been sloppy, but the situation was not so simple. Were it anyone else, Eda wouldn't be wasting her time worrying about it. Petty criminals and mercenaries were common newcomers in this city, those were not the kinds of people that Roanapur had come to be wary of. But this Task Force 216, on the other hand, were just the kind of inconvenient untouchables that made a tricky situation much worse.

The phone went off on the table and Eda snapped herself out of it, returning her attention to the present. She took it in her hand and answered the call, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Guess who?" she asked.

"Hold on, sweetheart," the man on the other end told her shortly. "Cathy! My coffee, honey? Don't tell me you forgot about it!"

"Treat her nicely, boss," Eda scolded him light heartedly. "One of these days, she might decide to slip more than sugar in there."

"That wouldn't surprise me, way things are going lately," the man answered.

"I'll say," Eda concurred. She heard a cup being set down on a table and assumed they could now get down to business. "It's a real shitshow out here, let me tell you."

"Preaching to the choir. The Director is not happy, not one bit."

"Can you blame him? These cowboys show up unannounced and start making waves, things are bound to get a little icy back home."

"Icy isn't the half of it." Eda remained silent as she heard him take a drink of his coffee, but the mood turned a touch more serious when she spoke next.

"Level with me, boss," she began. "What happened, here? How did those clowns get clearance to send this Task Force to Roanapur? There's not a single thing that happens and doesn't go through Langley. Anyone blows their damn nose within fifty miles of Roanapur, it gets reported. Someone must have fucked up pretty bad."

"Beats me," the man answered. "But it's pretty obvious there's been a lapse in communication somewhere along the line. The Director is supposed to be meeting with Interpol's General Secretariat this evening to work it all out, but I've got a feeling it's not going to go as smoothly as we're hoping. This is big."

It wouldn't be surprising if people lost their jobs over this and, knowing how mistakes like this had occasionally been dealt with in the past, Eda was expecting heads to roll. Literally. There should have been an understanding in place, an agreement between the highest members of both organisations to run such operations by one another before sanctioning anything. Somebody in the General Secretariat was going to feel the pain after this meeting, and the Secretary General would be lucky if he wasn't removed from his position effective immediately for allowing this to slip passed him.

"At least the NSA are keeping their tail between their legs these days," Eda joked. During the operation lead by the Grey Fox team, there had been a similar disturbance of peace with the NSA for failing to prevent the American soldiers from entering Roanapur. It had all worked out in the end, though, and the situation was never as dire as this one. This Task Force posed some serious problems and their mere presence here was a huge complication.

"Don't tempt fate," the man warned. "The last thing we need is more trouble from those idiots."

"You'll be sure to keep me posted, won't you?" Eda asked, becoming impatient at the likelihood of having no immediate resolution for the problem. Until this meeting took place, she had no new orders and would be forced to wait around for more information. But she couldn't shake the feeling that things were going to come undone before then. The whole circumstance was volatile. All it would take is one wrong move and there would be anarchy. And God have mercy on them all if the ruling factions caught wind of this. The city, and Eda's assignment there, would not survive another large-scale war.

"Of course I will," the man assured her. "Just sit tight, sweetheart. If all goes well, these cowboys will be pulled out of the city quietly and nobody will even know they were there." That was optimistic. And naïve, considering their presence was already made known. But Eda had to hope this all got straightened out soon. She ended the call and set the phone down on the table again. Had she any real religiousness in her soul, she would have fallen on her knees and prayed that this went according to plan.

(***)

The doors of the church creaked open softly and a shadow fell across the interior, the sunlight against the stranger's back. Unenthusiastically and with much resignation, the increasingly exhausted Mister Chang walked inside and began making his way towards the end of the building, to the confessional booth he was well-acquainted with at this stage. Chang sighed as he neared the booth. It felt like walking to the hangman's noose. He was a charming and charismatic man, someone who could make you relax even while pointing a gun to your head. And he was also dangerous, officially the leader of the second most powerful faction in the city. Unofficially, the head of the most powerful. But now, he was growing tired of his role in the city's affairs. There was a time when he enjoyed his existence here, how he played the game masterfully and sat firmly at the top of the food chain. But certain events in recent memory had caused play to turn sour. Namely, the relationship he had with the mystery individual who swayed his decisions and influenced the choices he made had taken much of the enjoyment and novelty away from his leadership of the Triad. And now, he had been summoned again for what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation. He knew why he was here. It would be a miracle if half the city wasn't aware of the latest disturbance of peace.

Chang opened the door of the booth and sat himself down, closing it again after him for as much privacy as he could manage in here. The phone was sitting in front of him like always. Strangely, though, it was not ringing. Almost every time he had been summoned here in the past, he was right on time, that awful ringtone going off as soon as he was near the booth. He checked his watch. Four in the afternoon, and not a minute later. But the phone did not ring. He sat there, then, anticipating the call. The waiting was almost as bad as the fact that he had been summoned here at all, like a common lapdog. When it was nearing five minutes passed, he was tempted to get up and leave, even though he knew that was sure to bring more anger down upon him. It would have been foolish mistake. So he continued to wait. Luckily, it was not much longer before the phone rang at last. Deciding against letting it ring for a while out of sheer pettiness, Chang plucked it up and answered.

"You're late, Mister CIA."

"We're very busy trying to clean up the mess you've gotten yourself into," the voice answered snidely. Whoever it was that had been speaking with him all these years, they always used a voice modulator to hide their identity. Chang thought little of it. The person on the other side-who he assumed to be male, despite the possibility of the opposite-would more than likely not be anyone he recognised, anyway. Some faceless bureaucrat sitting at a desk in Langley.

"You think this is my fault?" he asked. "Give me a break."

"We are the reason you have such a powerful position, Mister Chang," the voice warned him. "We made you so that you could keep the peace. And you've failed, almost every step of the way. What is this I'm hearing about a certain Colombian radicalist hunting down her old comrades?"

Chang paused for a moment. Perhaps he hadn't been called about the Task Force. It had admittedly been some time since he had spoken with the stranger on the phone, but they seemed more interested in discussing the New Order's recent movements.

"You're resourcefulness never ceases to amaze," Chang said sarcastically.

"I'm not sure if your memory serves you, but I would hope I don't need to remind you about the last time she was in the city, hunting those she considered to be enemies of the Lovelace family."

"The maid is gone," Chang said firmly. "As are the others that followed her here. She won't be a problem."

"Not like the other names I've been hearing. The New Order are operating in your city, Mister Chang. And you've been very relaxed about all of this. If I were you, I'd be very worried about the fact that they managed to slip right under my nose." Chang gritted his teeth. He had little patience for wordplay and verbal sparring.

"I hope you're going somewhere with this," he hissed.

"So you do need me to refresh your memory, then," the stranger said. "Perhaps you've forgotten about Wolf Pack. The Black Marchers. Godswrath. And don't get me started on the Dead Men. It's been one shitshow after another. You're losing your touch, Mister Chang."

"I did exactly as you asked when the Wolf came to town!" Chang snapped back, his patience well and truly eroded by the stranger's relentless badgering. "As soon as I heard about Ulysses and his plans, I made it clear that whatever was brewing couldn't go down in Roanapur. Lagoon Company's salaryman made sure it didn't, either. Gave the assassin up to his old master and got the Pack out of the city in one move."

"I'm sure it was an impressive play," the stranger replied. "But that doesn't change the fact that you did shockingly little to avoid the fallout of the others."

Chang's fist started to tighten around the phone. He would be surprised if the glass didn't crack.

"Maybe you missed the part where that crazy bitch from Godswrath had me on my fucking knees," he growled. "Where were you then, Mister CIA?! And the Dead Men? Please. I did what I could to avoid that situation. I'm afraid Miss Balalaika had other ideas in mind. You can blame her for starting a war with that maniac."

"I'm not convinced," the voice said adamantly. "Your excuses might work on your fellow gangsters, but you're not speaking to Hong Kong now. Need I remind you, Mister Chang…do not fuck with us." Chang had been managing to keep his head for most of the conversation, with some difficulty, but he could no longer maintain his composure and his temper boiled over.

"You're so full of shit," he slighted the stranger. "You worry about maintaining the status quo, but that doesn't change the fact that you're buckling under the pressure, too. What was it I heard, a Task Force in my city, sanctioned by Interpol? You can't tell me that was planned. And you want to talk about me losing my touch." The voice was silent for a few seconds. Either the stranger hadn't been aware of the Task Force, or they hadn't expected Chang to know about them. The latter seemed the most likely.

"If you'd done your job in the first place, perhaps they wouldn't be here at all," the voice said, forever shifting the blame onto Chang and Chang alone. "You need to keep it together in that city. If you're no longer fit to do so, we'll find someone who is."

"You-" Before he could finish speaking, the line cut out. Chang sat there for a few seconds, staring at the phone. Then, he lifted it into the air and threw it into the wall of the confessional booth, smashing it to pieces. He would probably regret that later, but it made him feel better in the moment.

He left the building and returned to the only member of his Triad who had come with him. Biu Yuen was young and, at times, loudmouthed, but he had come to respect Mister Chang and hoped only to serve his needs. He asked no questions about why Chang needed to visit the church on occasion, and that was what made him perfect for this.

"Dailo," he said upon noticing Chang's return. "Ready to head back?"

"Not quite yet. Arrange a meeting with Balalaika. I have some things I'd like to discuss with her."

"Right away," he answered, heading to the car to retrieve the phone. Chang waited by the door and lit a cigarette.

"Let's hope we can get this ironed out before it gets out of hand," he muttered quietly to himself. "Otherwise, it's going to be all our asses."