Transmission #9-0-6-2 Addendum "Call Me Maybe?"
-Office 68A; Langley, Mclean, Virginia; Central Intelligence Headquarters
-Transcript of a phone call documented from a Hong Kong phone booth at approximately 2300 hrs. Subject in question: CIA agent Graham Acker. From this exact spot every other day, Acker has made repeated contact with an as of yet unknown source. Their location and identity have so far been untraceable, as Acker has done well covering his tracks. The following message is the only solid instance available which corroborates Acker's possibly being compromised.
Further inquiries are required...
*Ring-Ring* *Ring-Ring* *Ring-Ring*
The humid night air clings to Graham Acker's shirt as he leans against the phone booth's smudged glass, letting the ringing drag out just a little longer. The neon lights of Wan Chai bleed through the haze of cigarette smoke and diesel fumes, casting gaudy reflections over the rain-slicked streets. Rickshaws weave between sputtering motorbikes, their drivers barking out in rapid Cantonese, while sailors on shore leave stumble between the red lantern-lit entrances of smoky cabarets and back-alley gambling dens. The scent of frying garlic and five-spice mingles with something more acrid—opium, maybe, or the burn of cheap American whiskey spilling onto the curb.
Acker finally picks up, rolling his shoulders like a man utterly in control, despite the sweat trickling down his collar. He already knows who's on the other end, and the anticipation makes his smirk all the wider.
*Click*
"Did you miss me…? Yeah, you missed me." he drawls, voice thick with amusement. "Bet you're thinking right about now when the hell is this part going to get started? Well, I'm here to tell you as of this moment the Doomsday Clock has officially been moved up a minute...
...
"Now, now, hey! Wait a minute - I told you before, these things take time. To prep, to plan, to carry out; everything here set in order had to be made perfect, or else you'll have another Burma situation on your hands. I know the last thing you wanted was a roadway lined with a bunch of severed heads winding up on Times magazine, yeah?"
...
*A muffled curse from the other end, followed by the sound of a hand clapping over the receiver—probably to keep someone nearby from hearing too much. Acker smirks, taking a slow drag before continuing.*
"Yeah, yeah, believe it or not, everything happening in Saigon is according to the book. And you can check my references to back that statement up easy." He exhales smoke through his nose, watching the neon haze of Hong Kong flicker around him like a restless beast.
...
The voice on the other end presses him, skeptical. Acker lets out a short, knowing laugh.*
"Minh's isolated himself, drawn in his forces about the capital like a clenched fist, but that doesn't mean he's safe. Things were bound to slip in and out. Our asset was able to manage despite certain hiccups along the way…" A pause. His tone sharpens just slightly, a blade hidden under silk. "Yeah, we got his eyes checked out. No, she didn't give us any problems. Yet; the problem isn't enticing her with work, it's getting her to believe again in what she's doing."
He flicks ash onto the pavement, watching a group of British officers pile out of a nearby club, their laughter cutting through the night. Somewhere, deeper in the city, a distant firecracker pops again. Or maybe it isn't a firecracker this time. Either way, Acker doesn't flinch.*
...
"However it plays out, the good doctor is cooperating as well as we could hope. She's putting on a good show—regretful genius, self-imposed exile, helping the locals, all that crap. Who knows? Maybe she actually believes it. I don't buy it, but hell, what do I know? Point is, if she ever wants to see Daniel Kather again, she knows we're her best shot. And her research? Still locked up in Japan. Any progress with Tenzen's pet project?"
A pause. Acker exhales sharply through his nose.*
"Yeah. Figures. Sarutobi's too damn sharp, and Koshiro's too much of a stiff. I told you, you should've let me stay."
...
"Tenzen's betting too much on his protégé. I've said it before—Koshiro's slow, methodical. Too focused on making the performance believable instead of actually closing in. Meanwhile, Sarutobi's got time to think, to maneuver. Give it another five weeks and he still won't crack, especially with the interim Comrade Director breathing down his neck. That's too much time for him to find a way out, maybe even get help."
Acker leans back, rubbing his temple*
"Maybe… but let's be real. The man hasn't spoken to his father in years. That relationship is long dead. But if anything's going to push Asuma to swallow his pride and call daddy, it's the way ROOT is tearing through the village. Tenzen's overplaying his hand. If he's wrong, the whole place could implode before we even get a chance to move. We'd be losing a major piece before we've had the chance to play it."
...
"No, so far nothing from Hiruzen's end. If he so much as twitches, we'll hear about it—our spotter inside will make sure to tip us off if any contact is kade with Konoha. So far, he's too preoccupied with the Bando group to focus. Good. The louder that front gets, the better for us."
...
"No, we don't stop them. Let the North Japanese send their commando unit south. In fact, we should be encouraging it. They think they're being clever, slipping through the Akatsuki Tunnels while the expeditionary forces deploy, but that's exactly what makes them useful to us. Their presence destabilizes the South, shifts focus, forces resources to reposition. We don't need to lift a damn finger to cause chaos—just let them do it for us."
A pause. Acker lets that sink in before continuing*
"Once they're inside, we track them, monitor their movements, let them make contact with whoever they're relying on down there. Every step they take is gonna open that door just a little further for us. The Presidium is reeling with inaction; that leadership has no fucking clue what do now after the Watchtower blew. Their ripe for a clean swipe, and a new regime change is a given. Long as we get the people we want into the positions they need. And when the time is right, we pull the rug out. We don't just cut the head off—we take the whole damn spine."
A shift in his tone, just slightly amused.*
"Besides, their success only tightens the screws on the Southern leadership. If they start feeling the pressure, they'll be desperate. Desperate people make mistakes. And mistakes? That's where we come in."
...
Acker exhales, glancing at the encrypted terminal beside him before smoothly transitioning.
"And yes, everything's covered on my end to handle the first wave. The Hyūga are on board. They'll play their role, but they'll be watching everything—and everyone. If things shift unexpectedly, we'll know before it happens. As for what you requested, it's already moving. Hong Kong, as discussed. No deviations, no surprises. And I've thrown in a few extras. Let's just say, when the dust settles, you won't just be standing. You'll be dictating the terms."
A moment of silence. Acker's smirk is almost audible as he listens to the response*
"No… Yes… Every last detail will be accounted for. No loose ends. As long as Tenzen delivers. Which, I've no doubt he will. Hm? Oh, his 'funeral'? Heh, yeah...body was moved back to Sapporo last week...Oh, it was definitely him; dental records can't hide much. And whatever else ROOT stepped in to iron out the the funeral parade was a fun thing to watch; State Director's don't get the 'comrade' treatment, but in light of everyone else getting blown to bits they made a nice show of it. With his pretty face being front and center."
...
Acker reaches for a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers but not lighting it.
"The expeditionary forces are still set for transit today for final deployment in Saigon. Basilon is the blind spot. Abernathy thinks the route is secure because of diplomatic ties, but our 'guy' on the inside has given us more than I need to manipulate workings. Colton's a little shit trying to micromanage, but of course the Defense Secretary knows - he's the one who signed off on half the team who's going."
"Yeah...each and every one. Of course, with a few snags here and there, but nothing that can't be handled. We just push hard enough so the chain of command has no time to react. And with what's happening across in Tokyo Urban, by the time that pops off no one will have any idea where to look."
Acker smirks as he listens to the response, tapping the cigarette against the booth glass.
"Oh, I trust you'll handle your side. But once this starts, there's no walking it back. Could be as close to declaring World War 3 as ever planned. When the ARVN and French stumble in Vietnam, the expedition neutralized, you then reposition every major player exactly where you need them. And by the time anyone realizes, it'll be too late. By then you'll be untouchable behind your Fortress of Solitude."
A pause, then a final note, almost an afterthought—except nothing Acker says is ever just an afterthought.
"Just make sure Ishii goes easy on those kids. This whole thing is hedges on them buying what we're selling, and hes got a pretty fucked up fascination with one in particular. Understand?...I know you do, but does he? That kid is worth more to us with his skin attached still to his body. If he screws this up, I'll turn that bastard into my next pair of boots."
*Acker leans against the glass of the phone booth, rolling his unlit cigarette between his fingers as the final words from the other end of the line filter through. His smirk fades, replaced by something colder, more calculating. He exhales sharply through his nose—satisfied, for now*
"Understood," he mutters, then hangs up the receiver with a decisive click. "And make sure not to call this number again."
The line goes dead. Acker's image, caught in the grainy feed of a surveillance camera across the street, goes silent; he cuts a sharp figure in the neon-washed night, expression unreadable*
...
*End feed*
...
Outside the booth, Hong Kong hums around him, a city perched on the edge of history. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and salt, the neon signs flickering above the black pavement. Past the glowing facades and rooftop terraces, a dark horizon looms—the mainland, where the red giant waits, watching, calculating its own moves. "One China. One People." Thats the official motto of the CCP. But for now, the city still clings to what it was—a chaotic, defiant relic of another world. But the weight of inevitability is pressing down.
Acker steps out, slipping the cigarette behind his ear as he moves through the ebb and flow of the nighttime crowd. He doesn't hurry. He doesn't need to. No one pays him any mind, just another foreigner in a city built on transients and ghosts.
He cuts down a side street, the noise of the bars and markets dulling behind him. The air grows cooler near the harbor, the scent of diesel and brine mixing with the faintest traces of rain-soaked concrete.
Ahead, the vacant lot is nearly empty, save for the three figures standing just beyond the reach of the streetlights. They linger in the darkness, waiting.
Acker doesn't break stride, doesn't hesitate. He just walks toward them, hands in pockets, his smirk returning ever so slightly.
The real work begins now.