Lovers

26

Information Broker

I scanned the surroundings but couldn’t catch him. Thinking back, that man I met at the Security Bureau might have been this bastard too. Though his hairstyle was very different and he looked intimidated, if I consider just his features? It must be him.

What kind of guy is he?

Too ambiguous to call an enemy, too unsettling to call an ally.

‘No, and whatever he is, why was he pretending to be a male prostitute there?’

Moreover, the fact that he was in front of that inn means he knew my location, but how did he know? How did he guess I’d go to that inn?

Of course, that’s the only suitable inn in that area. Being in the red-light district, there are many accommodation facilities, but I wanted a run-down place where surveillance cameras likely wouldn’t work well. And lately, shiny new accommodation facilities keep popping up in that area. That kind of inn is the only one of its kind in that neighborhood.

The back of my neck tingled. As if someone was touching my hair with the sharp tip of a knife.

If I can’t find him and he’s not an immediate threat, let’s leave it be. I went back into the night market. The night market is divided into over and under. Over refers to the place selling items like what I bought earlier. Things like clothes, phones, or souvenirs. Under, on the other hand, refers to places selling things like weapons. Of course, ordinary people can’t find it, and even if they do, they won’t be served.

I enter an alley in the night market. A very narrow alley that’s easy to miss if you’re not careful. I go in and knock on the innermost door. There’s a specific knock pattern, and only if you do that knock will the door open.

The really funny thing is that this is an information broker. It’s a place that sells information, yet it’s so analog. But many information brokers are digital skeptics. The more skilled a hacker they are, the more this tends to be true.

The door opens, revealing a mountain-like bald man.

“What’s your business?”

These bastards always speak briefly.

“I came to buy, of course.”

And if I speak briefly, they get annoyed. No sense of fairness.

At my words, the man’s eyebrows twitched. What? Why? I raised my chin. Come at me if you dare. I’m in a foul mood today and would welcome beating anyone.

“You’ve got a shitty attitude.”

The man grumbled as he made way for me.

“Mind your own attitude.”

Where does this leashed dog who can’t even fight think he’s barking. I glared at him once before entering, and heard snickering from inside.

“We have a hot-tempered customer, I see.”

That must be the information broker.

Inside, two more men were watching me with fierce eyes. It was dark inside, which seemed to be their preference. I’ve been to a couple of information brokers before, and some were bright and well-lit.

Going further in, a man was slouching in a chair. Seven monitors were set up, and I could hear computer fans running. This is the basic setup for information brokers. And a very comfortable office chair too.

Lastly, a bodyguard standing behind him.

The bodyguards take turns providing close protection from the nearest position. Being an information broker is a profession that makes many enemies.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Should I, Mr. Schnieke?”

“You’ve got a bad attitude.”

At my words, the information broker snickered again. I took out the photos I had stuffed in my pocket and held them out.

“I heard this person is Josef Kuno. I want to know if that’s correct, and if so, what kind of person he is. If not, who he is, what relationship this person has with Josef Kuno, and everything about this person. How much?”

The information broker slowly unfolded the photos one by one. Eventually, he put a cigarette in his mouth.

“As a service, I’ll tell you that this person is indeed Josef Kuno.”

“Do you know him?”

“Just because I know your name, Mr. Schnieke, doesn’t mean you and I are acquaintances.”

I see. I checked the face of the man in the photo once more. Even looking at it like this, I’d probably just pass by him on the street without noticing.

Josef Kuno, huh.

“I could just tell you what’s known about Josef Kuno, but I’m guessing that’s not the level of information you want, so give me about two days. Here’s the amount and account number.”

The information broker took out a memo pad from the desk and wrote down the account number and amount. To an outsider, it would look like just a series of numbers.

“If the money doesn’t come in by midnight tomorrow, I’ll consider the request cancelled. When you send the money, please indicate the place where you want to receive the information as the depositor’s name. You must come in person.”

“Alright.”

The amount was quite large, but not so much that I couldn’t pay. Rotman, the worst information broker. The man who does anything for money grinned and said, “Thank you for your business. I’m always here, so please use my services again.”

Looking at his face, I couldn’t help but smirk. This guy sees people as water.

“Give my regards to the boss.”

At my words, the smile instantly vanished from the man’s face. What, did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think a man who does anything for money would show his face so easily? No way.

I waved my hand lightly and left. As I came out and exited the alley, the world suddenly became noisy, as if I had returned to reality from a surreal world.

People tried to brush past me, then glanced at me as I stood still in the flow of the crowd. It was partly a reproach to move to the side if I was going to stand still, partly curiosity about what was going on, and partly a dry glance to avoid bumping into an obstacle.

As I checked them, I spotted a public phone booth in the corner. I checked the surroundings once more. Especially thoroughly for that guy who’s a male prostitute, pickpocket, and tail all in one. I had to go around the night market twice to check for any other tails.

After checking everything by going back and forth through appropriate alleys, I scanned the stall of a street vendor next to the phone booth. I needed to buy something. More precisely, I needed coins.

Buying a deck of playing cards gave me coins. I entered the phone booth and instead of inserting coins and making a call, I checked outside once more. Only then could I finally press the number buttons.

Beep, beep—.

375124.

Beep—.

15795423.

Beep—.

Ignore.

Beep—.

Ignore.

Beep, beep, beep—.

1111111.

This is the voicemail. There are currently no recorded messages. If you wish to record, please leave a message after the tone. Press the star key to complete the recording.

Beep—.

“Headquarters has started clearing out. Product 5, sold out. Product 3, in distribution. Product 1, price readjustment in progress. The rest may be disposed of as surplus. Valentine’s Day sale, 214.15.”

After pressing the star key, I heard the guidance voice.

This is the voicemail. Recording complete. Press 1 to confirm, 2 to send.

When I pressed 2, the call clicked and ended.

I don’t know when Walter will check this message, but there’s nearly two weeks left until Valentine’s Day. He should check it within two weeks. Wherever he is, he’ll respond within two weeks. And if there’s anyone else who managed to escape like Walter, they’ll let us know if they’re alive or dead.

‘Why did we make this thing?’

The person who suggested making this voicemail was Jay.

‘You never know what might happen in this world. If any one of us runs into trouble, we might need a safe route.’

‘If any one of us betrays the others, this route we think is safe could become even more dangerous.’

‘We always have to keep that in mind too. Still, having it is always better than not having it. You really never know what might happen in this world. Especially in this country where nothing is stable. We’re doing too many dangerous things. We should have at least one final communication network.’

I thought Jay was being too cautious then, but he was right. The really funny thing is that the bastard who was so careful and cautious was the first to be found dead.

Now I have to go back. Department 2 will have noticed my absence by now. Of course, Department 1 too. They must all be in an uproar. Especially thinking about our department chief’s face turning pale at the thought that I might have run away makes me feel better. But I need to return before he gets scared and reaches out to my father and the orphanage.

Passing through the central station, on the way to the red-light district inn, I saw the front page at a newspaper stand.

Maderke, opened after 108 days of lockdown

They’re lifting the Maderke lockdown. It makes sense. There should be no more Canaris guys in Maderke, and the citizens of Maderke can’t endure any longer. Life without water or electricity is barbaric and painful. Food is a problem, but medical supplies are an even bigger issue. In Maderke, many people who normally wouldn’t have died, died. It was because of the lack of antibiotics. We had plenty, but we couldn’t share them. There were too many people in need and we had too little. We couldn’t select people to save. Besides, we had to prepare for when we might get hurt.

It feels awful to watch people die when you could save them but aren’t allowed to. Especially if it’s a child. Sometimes we secretly put antibiotics in a child’s mouth. With just one or two pills, the child survived. It felt chilling, like becoming a god who could control others’ lives. It took hours to shake off that feeling.

The photo on the front page of the newspaper showed corpses strewn across the streets, with tanks passing between them.

Now this country will want more communism. They thought it was a warm spring-like democracy, but now they’ve seen its true face – a tank parade among corpses.

Will this mean the country is regressing?

Or will it lead to a different kind of progress?

History must be continuing even now. Just as modern people easily think the choices of people in the past were foolish when looking at history, this moment too will probably seem foolish to people in the future.

So what I’m trying to do might seem foolish to someone too. It might all seem stupid to be doing this for guys who might already be dead. From a future perspective, no, even without going that far, it might seem like a dumb thing to do even in the eyes of the Security Bureau people. But we’re all struggling in the present, in the now.

I’m just doing what I can do.

As I was about to leave the central station, I stopped with an “Oh.” Wait, returning to communism? Ah, then I need to get my father and orphanage siblings to flee abroad before that.

Ah, this is frustrating. How many of my siblings are there these days? And how many have become independent?

Whether this country becomes communist or democratic, that’s the flow of history and the choice of the people of this country. But I know what kind of person my father is. He’s the kind of man who would be executed within a year in a communist-ruled country, with plenty of time to spare. And his children, the orphanage siblings, are the kind of bastards who would go crazy for their father, so they’d surely die following him.

Wow, this isn’t the time to talk about history! The fire isn’t just at my feet, it’s burning up to my thighs!