21
" We were quiet for a moment. Then I said, “Look, I’ve got an idea of what you feel for this woman, okay? I saw her. She’s a head-turner.” “She’s more than that,” he said softly. The dumb, sappy bastard. His only hope with that ice bitch would be that she’d recognize how helpless he was and have some scruples about whatever it was she was up to. I wouldn’t count on it, though. “The point is,” I said, “it doesn’t give me any pleasure to give you reason to doubt. But I’m telling you, there’s something wrong here, Harry. You need to be careful. And nothing makes you less careful than the kind of feelings that have taken hold of you right now.” After a while he said, “I’ll think about what you’ve said. Okay?” He didn’t look like he’d think about it, though. He looked like he wanted to jam his hands over his ears. Stick his newly coiffed head in the sand. Hit the Delete key on everything I’d told him. “Look, I’m going to see her tonight,” he said. “I’ll watch more closely. I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said.” I realized I’d been wasting my time. “I thought you were smarter than this,” I said, shaking my head. “I really did.” I stood and dropped a few bills on the table. I left without even looking at him. "
― Barry Eisler , A Lonely Resurrection (John Rain, #2)
24
" Yukiko walked over, her mouth stretching into a feline grin at the sight of Murakami. Naomi followed a moment later. She was wearing another elegant black cocktail dress, this one silk, fitted at the waist but loose above it. The diamond bracelet glittered on her left wrist as before. She saw me, and her expression started to break into a smile that aborted itself when her eyes shifted from my face to Murakami’s. She must have known him, and, based on the story I had told her, obviously didn’t expect to see us together. She was trying to process the incongruity, certainly. But the suddenness of her change of expression told me there was more. She was scared. "
― Barry Eisler , A Lonely Resurrection (John Rain, #2)
27
" I reached the end of the street and turned right. There they were, about twelve meters away. The Japanese guy had his left side to me. He was talking to the American. The American was facing me, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was holding a lighter at waist level, flicking it, trying to get it going. I forced myself to keep my pace casual, just another pedestrian. My heart began to beat harder. I could feel it pounding in my chest, behind my ears. Ten meters. I popped the plastic lid off the paper cup with my thumb. I felt it tumble across the back of my hand. Seven meters. Adrenaline was slowing down my perception of the scene. The Japanese guy glanced in my direction. He looked at my face. His eyes began to widen. Five meters. The Japanese guy reached out for the American, the gesture urgent even through my adrenalized slow-motion vision. He grabbed the American’s arm and started pulling on it. Three meters. The American looked up and saw me. The cigarette dangled from his lips. There was no recognition in his eyes. Two meters. I stepped in and flung the cup forward. Its contents of ninety-eight degrees centigrade Earl Gray tea exited and caught the American directly in the face and neck. His hands flew up and he shrieked. I turned to the Japanese. His eyes were popped all the way open, his head rotating back and forth in the universal gesture of negation. He started to raise his hands as though to ward me off. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Using the same forward momentum, I stepped in and kneed him squarely in the balls. He grunted and doubled over. I turned back to the American. He was bent forward, staggering, his hands clutching at his face. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and the back of his trousers and accelerated him headfirst into the wall like a matador with a bull. His body shuddered from the impact and he dropped to the ground. The Japanese guy was lying on his side, clutching his crotch, gasping. I hauled him up by the lapels and shoved his back against the wall. I looked left, then right. It was just the three of us. “Tell me who you are,” I said in Japanese. He made retching noises. I could see he was going to need a minute. Keeping my left hand pressed against his throat, I patted him down to confirm he didn’t have a weapon, then checked his ears and jacket to ensure he wasn’t wired for sound. He was clean. I reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a wallet. I flipped it open. The ID was right in front, in a slip-in laminated protector. Tomohisa Kanezaki. Second Secretary, Consular Affairs, U.S. Embassy. The bald eagle logo of the U.S. Department of State showed blue and yellow in the background. "
― Barry Eisler , A Lonely Resurrection (John Rain, #2)
37
" The waiter brought the drinks. After he had moved silently away, I looked at her and said, “You’re not involved in any of this?” She looked into her glass. Several seconds went by. “You want an honest answer, or a really honest answer?” she asked. “Give me both.” “Okay,” she said, nodding. “The honest answer is no.” She took a sip of the Highland Park. Closed her eyes. “The really honest answer is, is…” “Is, not yet,” I said quietly. Her eyes opened and she looked at me. “How do you know?” I watched her for a moment, feeling her distress, seeing an opportunity. “You’re being suborned,” I said. “It’s a process, a series of techniques. If you even half realize it, you’re smarter than most. You’ve also got a chance to do something about it, if you want to.” “What do you mean?” I sipped from my glass, watching the amber liquid glowing in the candlelight, remembering. “You start slow. You find the subject’s limits and get him to spend some time there. He gets used to it. Before long, the limits have moved. You never take him more than a centimeter beyond. You make it feel it’s his choice.” I looked at her. “You told me when you first got to the club you were so shy you could hardly move on the stage.” “Yes, that’s true.” “At that point you would never have done a lap dance.” “No.” “But now you can.” “Yes.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “When you did your first lap dance, you probably said you would never let a customer touch you.” “I did say that,” she said. Her voice had gone lower. “Of course you did. I could go on. I could tell you where you’ll be three months from now, six months, a year. Twenty years, if you keep going where you’re going. Naomi, you think this is all an accident? It’s a science. There are people out there who are experts at getting others to do tomorrow what was unthinkable today.” But for her breath, moving rapidly in and out through her nostrils, she was silent, and I wondered if she was fighting tears. I needed to push it just a little further before backing off. “You want to know what’s next for you?” I asked. She looked at me but said nothing. "
― Barry Eisler , A Lonely Resurrection (John Rain, #2)