A Closed Circle
Chapter 4
My Old and Rare
He woke to her ripping off the tape on her wrist and throwing what was left of her coffee into the nearest plant. The coffee was probably still hot. It had only been five minutes. She turned to him. He was still sitting. In a slight amount of awe at her rage. Righteous though it was.
She had a knack for righteous anger.
"I am going to drag him into a dream, tie him up, torture him for a decade, and then send him into limbo to die a slow death. You find him and let me do that." She swept out of the room in a whirl of her pale green robe and her brown hair.
He struggled with his reactions. On one hand she was angry enough with this man to want him dead. By her own hands even. That was good. He approved of that. On the other, she was very angry. So angry that it expressed a deep sense of betrayal. From someone she trusted.
Maybe not such a casual relationship, then.
He stood. Shook off his thoughts. They were unproductive, and he needed productivity. He dicked around in the garden. Putting the equipment up. Considering their options as he did. Taking his time because a plan wasn't coming as easily to him as it should.
"Go to sleep Arthur!" she yelled from somewhere on the other side of the suite. "Seriously. It's late. Do not make me drug you. Because I will. I'm that irritated."
He cut his eyes to the door and sent his own unvoiced complaints her way. But in the end he complied with her order. Her house; her rules.
For now, at least.
He woke with one thought in the forefront of his mind: do I tell her?
Before the law firm's team had extracted her – something they would know was difficult even before they went in – they had gone to her mother. Sick as she was and with a damaged mind. A damaged memory. A damaged heart. The extraction had probably been easy.
The man had the gall to speak of this when he worked against her. To build a place, a home, modeled after her mother's memories. To bring a forger in to impersonate her mother. To try and trap her with a combination of her love for her mother and the initial feelings of trust for him.
But she hadn't trusted him. Because she had heard him before going under. Felt him. Because her body was tense, even with the drugs. Because she went in alarmed.
They hadn't taken her totem away. Not every shared dreamer used them. Usually those who spent anytime with Cobb did. And there were a few others. But it wasn't a universal practice. There were other tests. Memory tests. Drugs that worked in reality but didn't in the dream. The totem was the easiest though.
With her totem and unease, she had quickly discovered what was going on. Which sent her subconscious projections into an understandable frenzy. The interrogation of her in a small bathroom had ended almost before it started.
All she knew … All she subconsciously knew was that they tried her mother first, and that they were looking for information on Saito's company.
Presumably to strengthen the case against him in court.
Her projections tore them up, but like she'd told him before: she had no knowledge of that side of the business. Only that it seemed like an unprofitable move, and she couldn't see Saito doing something so foolish.
Neither of those things would be acceptable to Finnik, Brown, and Obara. It was obvious that they wanted blood. Evidence gathered by extraction was not accepted by any court system. Of all places where a suspect or witness might have an expectation of privacy, the mind was one no one questioned.
Which also meant that the law firm doubted their ability to win the case. That the anonymous accusers didn't have the information needed to succeed.
And that would give him time. Because they would come again. For her. Or for Saito.
He considered his options in the shower and as he dressed, but still hadn't come to a solid conclusion by the time he left his room and made his way to the kitchen.
She was sitting by one of the large windows. Papers strewn on the table in front of her, but her eyes caught on the soft snowfall outside. Caught up in some thought. Or maybe caught in the vision of a city blanketed in snow.
He opened his mouth and prepared to call for her. He was already lifting his tongue to form the 'a', but she turned around and saw him before he could speak.
"There's breakfast in the oven." Her eyes didn't connect with his and she turned back to the window.
He followed her direction, but his thoughts moved freely. If a person's character was reflected in their clothing – a thing he fully believed – then her choice startled him. He was used to seeing her in layers. Used to her dressing in casual clothes. Used to seeing her without much in the way of cosmetics. Used to seeing her hair down.
That's who she had been when he first saw her the day before. The robe at night didn't count. And anyway the robe had been enough like her. This dress, lovely as it was, wasn't her at all.
Dove gray, pressed, with three-quarter sleeves. Tailored. Straight cut with a square neck. No slit. Falling just below her knees. Hair tied at her nape. Full make-up with lipstick some shade between pink and red.
She didn't look like herself. Not even like the woman his dream had put in a skirt suit and black pumps three years before. A skirt suit she had looked rather uncomfortable in.
She didn't look uncomfortable now.
As he ate the meal she'd left for him, she turned with a great sigh. "After you finish eating I need you to get rid of the sweater and put on a tie. You don't have to wear the vest and jacket, that's up to you, but the sweater will be a little too casual." Humor ghosted over her face. "Which is an odd thing to say to you, isn't it? I have a conference call with the construction manager and one of the owners on site at my building in London.
"Saito would prefer I not go anywhere alone. Even if it's just to the conference room on floor 18. But regardless of his wishes we'll have to be parted at least twice. You'll have to go downstairs and come back in the public entrance. Then leave and come back through the private. Ask for me, use … use … do you have a ready alias?"
"I have several."
"Then who would you like me to tell the receptionist is coming?"
"Aaron Lagos, will be fine."
"Meeting is in two hours. Floor 18 conference room 2. The receptionist is on floor 10, check in with her first." She looked him over. "It is cold outside. Do the whole thing; tie, vest, and jacket. Will keep any questions at bay."
He turned to go change. Her voice followed him, "You must have met Saito's personal secretary yesterday. The general receptionist isn't quite the same image of professionalism. Hikaru is a bit of a flirt. Most men flirt back."
She was laughing at him.
The private entrance still disturbed him, but it made sneaking in and out without notice a simple thing. He slipped outside into the cold and went to buy coffee at a nearby shop. And to rearrange his briefcase on the off chance that someone else got a look inside.
Thirty minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin, he was at the reception desk giving his name to the tiny, and very pretty, Hikaru. She did flirt, and he made sure to be charming enough in return, but he had too much on his mind to do more.
She called up and sent him on his way with a thin, transparent folder filled with the details of the build site, and important points that would be touched in the meeting. He looked over them in the elevator. Nothing too disarming. He thought he could play his part well enough. Even without real prep.
Cobb planned by the seat of his pants 90% of the time. He'd gotten used to working on the fly. Didn't like it, but he could do it.
Exiting the elevator he found conference room 2 easily enough. The door was open and there were already several men seated at the table. She was at the head. Sitting with several stacks of paper in front of her for easy reference.
She turned when he entered. "Aaron."
"I'm sorry," he said, "am I late?"
"No of course not. Everyone else was simply earlier. The call won't begin for another half hour. Make yourself comfortable. There's coffee and pastries right outside the door."
He thanked her and held up his coffee to indicate he wouldn't need refreshment. She smiled. "Right. Gentlemen this is Mr. Lagos. He was one of my assistants when we designed and built at this location. I thought he might be of some use consulting on the London project as well."
Introductions were made, and he logged each name in his memory. One of the men asked him what sort of assistance he provided, and he answered easily enough. "Security. An architect strives for beauty, usability, flow; hoping that the visitor will see what the architect wants them to see. I look at that vision and try to find holes. To find places that need securing. Something vital in buildings created for business and for residence."
A sideways glance showed her eyes creasing at the corners. He amused her.
The room filled and she paged down to Hikaru to connect the call. The screen came to life in front of them, showing an office similar – if not as elegant – as the one they were in.
She started speaking to the man in the center. She made no introductions. Business was more important than simple formalities. A general assessment was made on the project's progress, and then she went on to question about specific areas. The owner and construction manager pointed out issues and difficulties they had with the current plan that needed revisiting. She made notes, offered suggestions, questioned a few of the men who surrounded her. Ignored the others.
Three years. Three years since he last saw her. There was a difference in her. In someways it was subtle. In others not so much. The last time they'd been together their relationship had been that of a teacher and student. She caught on quickly, but extraction was a complicated business that she was very new to her. Watching her now, he felt that there was probably very little about the world that she found complicated.
And very few people who could treat her like a student. If any.
"Thank you," she stood and nodded to the men on the screen as well as the men at the table. "Unless there are any emergencies that need my direct intervention, we'll meet again next week. I'll fax the changes to you later today or early next morning."
She spoke with each man as they left, leaving him for last. "Aaron, I'm sorry. It seems I called you to the meeting for nothing. Still, I would like your opinion on the overall design. Would you join me for lunch?"
He turned his eyes from her and considered. "Yeah, that sounds good. I have a few hours before I have anything pressing." They gathered their coats and left the building.
She scoffed as soon as they were out the doors. "God. Idiots. You can't cut millions of dollars from a project a third of the way through. Not and expect to retain the whole of the design. Because that money can't come out of safety measures. Earthquake and fire protections and the like are regulated. The law doesn't allow you to cut money from those places. Insurance and concern over future litigation don't allow you to cut prices there. So where else but the design.
"That's why I enjoyed working in Dubai. Willing to take risks. Think out of the box. And willing to pay for it." Her face was set in a scowl. "Idiots."
He couldn't help but smile at her. She wouldn't see. She was walking ahead of him – fueled as she was by cumulative frustrations – and she was muttering to her feet. And his head was above hers anyway.
He followed, silently, as she put him in a cab and gave the driver an address. And let them out in front of a small French restaurant.
"It's not the best," she warned him. "This is Tokyo, not Paris, but I get cravings sometimes. Seeing you reminded me of Paris."
"Sounds good to me."
The menu was split in half. Bistro lunches and more formal dinners laid out in multiple courses. She ordered coffee and cassoulet. Not wanting to spend too much effort on ordering, he chose the same. As they waited for the food to arrive he watched some of the tension slide from her.
"So," she said once the coffee had arrived, "what did you think of the data from last night, Mr. Lagos?"
He shook his head and slouched. "Most of it confirmed what we knew. Or what we thought. Most of it's good news. At least it cuts my job in half. Makes the half I didn't want to do in the first place, superfluous."
"You weren't going to do that half regardless."
"No," he said looking directly at her face. "I wasn't."
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "I'm grateful."
"I think that there are a few steps we need to take. As soon as we can."
"And those would be?" she was pulling apart a chunk of bread from the basket between them and leaving the remains crumbled on a plate. She wasn't eating.
"Security. You have a few weak lines. They need to be moved or coated with something that will protect them from harm." Lips compressed she asked a question with her eyes. He nodded. "The second is help. The problem was caused by someone you thought you could trust. We need to bring in people we know we can trust."
"I was thinking the same."
"Then I'll call them as soon as we're done with lunch."
"So soon? We don't even have the beginnings of our plan yet."
"But we might have to move in a hurry. It gives them time to wrap up any other jobs they're currently on. And gives me time to find someone else if they happen to be unavailable."
"I would trust no one better."
"I'm sure they'll come. But I prefer to have contingencies in place."
"Right." Her lips twitched, but she didn't quite smile.
Their server brought their food. It smelled wonderful. Tasted wonderful. He thought she might be a little hard on the restaurant. But then he hadn't spent years in the heart of Paris eating authentic Parisian cuisine.
"I've run into him three times. Two times before that assistant job," she said while they ate. He bit down on a bean perhaps a little harder than needed. "I'm wondering … were either of those valid jobs, or was I being cased from the start?"
"You worked with him three times?"
"Yeah. Things went so well on that first job together that I suggested him on the next two."
'So well.' Right. "The name in the file. I don't recognize it. Or the description there. We'll have to ask the others. But I'd assume he's on the other side of the business. And because of that, I wouldn't know him. Our job being what it is, we tend to keep away from people like that."
"Or the name could be fake."
"Correct. The name could be fake."
"Would Dominic know?" she asked. "He has worked on both sides. And the two of them would be fairly close in age."
"He … he might." Hesitant to pull Cobb back in. Especially hesitant to put a friend's children at any risk. "You don't have to answer this now, but I will need an answer. What was it about him? What did he do to get you to trust him to such a degree?"
A double sided question. He needed to know what got her to recommend him for more jobs, and why she felt safe enough with him to make him a part of her personal life.
"He was … good at his job. Competent. Unburdened." There as a good deal of weight on that last word. "Stable. After … after our job, that mattered to me. He was neat. Not as exciting as … as Dominic, but it made the outcome of our work more predictable. Easier to say to our boss that the job would be successful when we didn't have to worry so much about the unknown risks."
"Was that all?"
Her nostrils flared and her eyes held a challenge. "It didn't hurt that he wasn't … that he didn't treat me like a child. Or as a fool. Plenty of people in our business do, you know. Because of my appearance. No matter that I'm as old now as you were when you met me. Or because of my gender. I never would have guessed how few women are in the field." The eyes softened. "You lot never made any mention of that. Never treated me that way. For which you deserve a belated thank you. But not everyone is as gentlemanly as the five of you."
He scoffed at the idea that Eames was gentlemanly, and she laughed knowing exactly the path of his thoughts.
"Lunch was lovely," he said as he laid down cash for his share of the ticket. "I'll let you know about the others."
"Sounds good. Thanks for joining me."
He left the restaurant and walked a few blocks. Turned a corner. Walked a few more. Found an international payphone. Dialed a number.
Hopefully Eames would be available. Yusuf and Cobb shouldn't be needed. At least not yet, but he wanted them to know the possibility that someone might come for them. Either because they found something from her or to get at her like they did with her mother.
She was waiting by the door when he keyed himself in. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. She looked like herself again. Jeans and a tshirt. A tank over the shirt. Thin cardigan over that. What looked like two pairs of socks. She was very fond of layering her clothes. She looked best that way.
"Did you talk to them?"
"Yusuf, yeah. He's fine. He's back in Mombasa and hasn't had any problems recently. But he's put his guards up. He'll be okay. He said we could call if we needed him. I think if we even think we might need him, we should bring him in."
"Eames?"
"Don't know. I left a message. Vague, but a message. I'll call him again in eight. With the message he'll know to wait for my call. If he can."
The phone rang.
Dammit.
"Hello?" she answered laughing after a glance at the caller id. "Why hello Mr. Jeffries. How are you?"
He ripped the phone from her hand. "You idiot. Why aren't you calling the drop phone? And I told you to wait for me to call you."
The reply was droll, "Sure you did, but how did I bloody well know if everything would be alright then? I'm rather fond of her, you know. She's in Tokyo?"
"Yes," he ground out.
"Good. Well. I'll be there in about 13 hours. I'll call at my stopover in Korea, if needed."
"As long as you call when you get here that will be good enough."
"Yes. Thank you, Arthur. Now, give..."
He handed her the phone before Eames could finish his sentence. He had no problems saying her name. Why couldn't he do it? What was wrong with him?
"Yes," she was saying. "Of course. It'll be good to see you again regardless. Of course not, Eames, shit. Only if you let me first." She laughed. There was nothing especially sexy about her laugh. Nothing that should draw him in, but he found himself stepping closer to her.
Looking down at her from almost a foot above. He was rubbing his thumb over his fingertips. Fighting an urge to reach out and touch her. The cheek creased by the curve of her lips. The eyelids that covered those bright, intelligent eyes.
Then she was hanging up the phone. Smiling at him. And it was even harder. "I'd think you two hated each other if it weren't so obvious that you don't."
Her words. At first distant. Almost unheard. But before her mouth stopped moving, her words had snapped him back into himself. He smiled. "That's the most illogical statement I've heard since the last time I spoke with him," he pointed his chin at the phone, "in person."
"Yes, yes." She was rolling her eyes. He couldn't see, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. "Come on. Let's go to the garden. You can get comfortable. Loosen your tie a bit. Maybe unbutton your jacket. You know, super casual for you. And you can tell me whatever it is you've been not telling me since last night."
His shoulders drooped. Not that he was surprised she knew. It was very like her to know. But because he'd have to tell her that someone had gone after her mother. That wasn't something anyone would take well. And she was very protective. Very attached. To even random strangers. With this being her mother …
She waved at his door when they reached the garden. "Seriously Arthur. I get that you're uptight, and I get that you use the suit to force people to take you seriously, but this is my home. Don't make me feel like you're here for work, please. Even if you are. At the very least, take off the jacket and vest. And the tie."
The twist of her lips made him think that she was speaking to him on two levels. That her words were as layered as her clothing. That she chose the phrasing... Chose to tell him how he needed to undress with more care than the simple sentences themselves might imply.
The sound of her laughter followed him into the room. Swirled around him as he hung his suit jacket. Unbuttoned his vest. And draped his tie over the back of a chair.
But she wasn't laughing.
Author's Note: Woah. Sorry for the time delay there. I meant to get this up last week but kept getting caught on stupid hangups in the story. The next one should come faster I hope.
Thanks for all the feedback and comments! Please review this chapter as well. I'll try not to take so long this time!