Author's Note: Thanks for all the follows and reviews. I hope to update more frequently soon. Thank for your patience.
Tokyo, Japan
One week ago
The name on Samantha's passport was Anara Kalpar. She was a Muslim British national abroad on business. At least that's what the poor man before her believed before she started to make him feel very uncomfortable.
"Mr. Ishikawa," she said, locking her fingers together, "It is in both our best interests to inform me of your employer's whereabouts. The HSBC avoids a huge media scandal over money laundering and you don't go to jail for conspiracy to commit fraud."
Ishikawa, a jowly pentagenarian man with silver hair, glared back at her through large glasses.
"I already told you, Ms. Kalpar," he replied, his voice unsteady, "We are investors here. We invest in offshore companies. There is no fraud. I can show you the books."
"The books have been proven to be fraudulent. My people have been very thorough. Now, I'll ask you again. All I need is a name. Or an address. Maybe a contact number? Anything that will point me in the right direction will do."
"You are wasting your time," the man replied indignantly, "and mine. Now leave before I call security."
"I just find it hard to believe that someone from a tech hub like Tokyo would invest in a software company in London-"
"I said leave, Ms. Kalpar."
Samantha stilled. She did not fly 6,000 miles just to be shown the door.
"Who will look after your wife and son while you're in prison, Mr. Ishikawa?" she said soberly.
The man shot her a steely glare.
"Don't you dare bring my family into this," he growled.
Samantha fumbled in her purse and pulled out her phone. She tapped an unnamed contact and held the screen up so that Ishikawa could see.
"Well it's up to you," she reasoned, "You can cooperate or I can have you dragged out of this building in handcuffs."
"Is that so? And what gives you such authority?" Ishikawa chuckled dryly.
"British intelligence."
His smile waned suddenly.
"Window of opportunity is closing, Mr. Ishikawa. What's it going to be?" She hovered a finger over the green call button threateningly. "Three...two..."
"OK, OK!"
Samantha lowered her hands. Got him. The man paused for a moment as if reconsidering his decision. He then rummaged in his desk and began to scribble something with a pen and paper.
"This is all I can give you," he said as he slid the paper across to Samantha. Samantha took it and read the inscription which was written in Latin alpha-numeric rather than Japanese characters. It was the address of a hotel in Osaka and what she assumed to be a room number.
"What is this?" she puzzled.
"Inside that room is a safe with the information you need," he replied quietly as if someone else might hear him, "Now go. Tell no one of this. You were never here."
"Wait, hang on," Samantha was entirely confused, "Where is this safe? Who does it belong to? How can I get inside it?"
"That is all I can tell you!" Ishikawa snapped, red faced, "I won't ask you again to leave my office!"
His eyes glistened, his hands trembled. What had him so rattled?
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Ishikawa," she said with a curt bow, "Expect me to be in touch if this doesn't lead me anywhere."
The man wouldn't dignify her with a response so she took her leave. On her way out of the building she typed the hotel address into a text message and sent it to the number issued by Mycroft. The eight hour time difference meant she probably wouldn't hear back from him for a while so she returned to the apartment she had been staying in and took the rest of the day off.
She was rudely awoken to sound of her phone ringing on the bedside locker. She groaned and took the call.
"What?" she said, half muffled in the folds of her pillow.
"Did I wake you?" came Mycroft's voice.
"It's three in the morning here," she mewled, "Have you forgotten I'm on the other side of the globe?"
"Momentarily."
Samantha sighed and sat up.
"Have you come up with anything for the info I sent you?" she yawned.
"It's interesting. That particular suite is owned by the Tatsumi family, known in Osaka to be the head of a notorious criminal gang."
Samantha straightened, more alert now with her interest piqued.
"As in Yakuza?" she breathed. "Ishikawa is in bed with the Yakuza?" No wonder he seemed so spooked when he gave her that address.
"It would seem. But I suspect that Ishikawa was a passive middle man," Mycroft mused, "The Yakuza may have struck a deal with him in order to launder their money through his business. At any rate, we still need to find the source of the money if we're going to stop it flowing into the country."
"And what if Ishikawa tips off the Yakuza that we're on to them?" Samantha wasn't sure if she was quite ready to tangle with a criminal gang. Her first job back on the field was supposed to be straight forward. Then again, she didn't want to give Mycroft the impression she couldn't handle it either.
"If he gave you information it means he thinks of you as a way out of whatever deal he has with them," he replied. "He won't tell anyone."
This relieved Samantha somewhat.
"So do you think you can get me into that room?" She asked.
"The room is not available for reservation if that's what you're getting at," Mycroft replied, "I'm afraid you're on your own with this one."
"Great."
"Don't worry. You're very resourceful. I'm sure you'll think of something."
He was implying that he had faith in her. This was reassuring.
"Right," she said, "I'll keep in touch then."
"Please do."
She ended the call and lay back down again. She was both excited and anxious about her next move. On one hand she could be entering some very dangerous territory. It had been a long time since she had to deal with criminal gangs and she wasn't sure if she was as sharp as she used to be. On the other hand she was thrilled to be back in the field. Despite her loss of confidence she was determined to bring herself back to the level she was when she was with the agency. Her mind ruminated over her next move. She would need to leave for Osaka tomorrow and then she would need a plan to get into that suite.
"I'll think of something," she said, allowing herself to sleep for now.
Samantha spent her time in Osaka observing the workings of the hotel she targeted. She took note of the staff and their roster, the security cameras, the check-ins. Curiously, the Yakuza suite remained vacant and she couldn't determine anything resembling a pattern in it's comings and goings. This could either be good or bad for her.
She shadowed a member of the cleaning staff, who was roughly her dress size, and paid meticulous attention to her movements. The cleaner appeared to carry a master key card so that she could access all the rooms. She never went near the Yakuza suite though and Samantha had to make a gamble and assume the key card worked for that room too. She always arrived at the hotel in plain clothes and changed into her uniform in the staff toilets. Samantha intercepted her on her way to work one morning. An intentional collision, a quick switching of bags, profuse apologising, and she walked away with exactly what she needed.
She arrived at the hotel the following night in full uniform, carrying a large handbag full of tools she may need. She had already become familiar with the ins and outs of the building so she found her way around easy enough. She received the occasional glance from staff who didn't recognise her as a worker but her outward confidence gave off the impression that she was supposed to be here, and so she thankfully didn't draw too much attention to herself. Samantha found the staff supplies room where the trollies and cleaning supplies were kept. The master key card she found in the bag she stole opened it. She began loading a trolly with towels, bedsheets and cleaning products and discreetly hid her handbag among them. She then headed straight for the Yakuza suite. She still had no idea what exactly she was looking for and whether or not the master key would get her into it. She didn't know what type of safe she would be dealing with either and she hoped that one of the assorted tools she brought would work.
When she arrived at the right floor she passed a room service caterer on her way. The man stopped her and asked, "What are you doing here so late?"
Samantha froze. Of course, the room cleaners worked in the morning and here she was in the dead of night with a trolly full of cleaning supplies.
"Room 405 had a wine spill," she said, the lie forming quicker than she would be aware of it, "They requested clean bedsheets."
The caterer paused for a moment but then nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. Samantha released a sigh of relief as he disappeared down the hall. She pushed onward until she reached the final room on the top floor. "Here goes nothing," she said as she slipped the master key into the card reader. One long second ticked by before the light on the reader turned green. She glanced up the empty hallway and entered the room, shutting the door behind her. To say the room was extravagant was an understatement. In all her years being bounced from one accommodation to another, she had never seen one as grand as this. She sat at the edge of the king sized bed and looked around.
"If I were a safe, where would I be?" she wondered. Her gaze fell upon the built-in wardrobe. It was a long shot but she investigated anyway. Like most hotels, this one provided a safe for clientele. It was empty however and left open with the combination unset. It was unlikely that the head of a Yakuza gang would use the run-of-the-mill hotel safe. Too easy to break into. What she was looking for would be deliberately hidden. She checked the walls for hollow spots, behind paintings and the plasma TV. She searched in drawers and cupboards and under the bed and sofa. Nothing. She stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, her frustration growing. She then noticed the expensive rug she was standing on. She stomped twice, testing the floor beneath her feet. Maybe... She rolled back the rug and to her gratitude she discovered a trap door built into the wooden floorboards. She pulled open the trapdoor by its metal ring and lo and behold a metal safe rested within. Her optimism was short lived however as she realised the safe was unlocked and empty. She sighed angrily. Did Ishikawa knowingly send her on a wild goose chase? He seemed sure that there would be something here which probably meant that someone else got here first. But who? What on earth was she stumbling into? She decided there was nothing left for her here. She would have to contact Mycroft and figure out the next plan of action. She shut the trapdoor and unfurled the rug out over it. She then returned to the trolly and searched her handbag for her phone. And then the door opened. Her heart jumped and her head snapped up to see who had caught her intruding. She blinked.
No. It couldn't be.
Moriarty stood at doorway, finely dressed in a sharp black suit. His expression painted something between surprise and loathing. Samantha's hand rested on the handle of the gun she kept in her handbag. Thinking of nothing else to do she drew the gun, aimed at Moriarty and yelled, "Freeze!"
Moriarty casually straightened his tie and disappeared back out into the hallway.
What the-?
Samantha pursued but was stopped in her tracks by a tall blonde woman in a blue dress.
"Abramovich," she breathed incredulously.
The Russian smirked, shutting the door behind her as she slipped out of her heels. Samantha's instinct was to shoot but the lack of a silencer would draw too much unwanted attention. Her hesitation cost her as Abramovich grabbed her extended wrist, twisting it painfully until she lost her grip on the gun. She quickly blocked an incoming punch with her free hand and a struggle ensued. She had forgotten how strong Abramovich was and so she had to rely on her wits rather than brute strength. Samantha did her best - deflecting, dodging, countering - but Abramovich was quite fast and Samantha's movements were restricted by the fitted hotel uniform. A sweep kick sent Samantha to the floor. She scrambled towards the trolly where her handbag was hidden. As Abramovich pinned her down she pulled the trolly sending it clattering down on top of her attacker. The handbag landed on the ground, the tools spilt out. While Abramovich gathered her bearings, Samantha wormed her way free and hurried to the handbag. She reached out to grab the wrench she had packed but it was quickly snatched up by her assailant who used to it to clatter her across the face. Samantha landed on the ground in an explosion of pain. Her vision focused and unfocused. A pair of black men's shoes appeared before her and a soft Irish accent spoke, "Restrain her."
