SURVIVE: Part 9

Part 9

Mumbai

5/12/2015, 1900 hours, Mumbai, India

            A man approached Tokuma. He wore the uniform characteristic of Masrani’s Private Security Sector. Sharp, freshly ironed Kryptek fatigues, and small but sturdy plate carrier, and a baseball cap. Whatever he had to say, it must’ve been important. Tokuma was one of Mr. Masrani’s leading officers. No one could gain entry to his office without a damn good reason.

            “Speak,” He said.

            The man fumbled with his tablet before replying in broken English. “Sir, we have problem.”

            Tokuma took sympathy on him. He had gone through a similar phase when he was first learning to speak English. He had first been recruited by Mascom’s offices in Tokyo, were after stopping an armed man looking to kill Mr. Masrani, he had been recruited into Mascom’s security sector. There he had climbed the ranks to where he is now, leading security teams in Mascom’s Mumbai headquarters.

            The man, wanting to break the silence, continued. “Our scientist doing test in Afghanistan. They have,” The man paused, searching for the right word to use. “Problem, sir.”

            “What kind of problem?” Asked Tokuma, intrigued.

            The man held out his tablet. Tokuma took it, and looked at the information on the screen. It showed a picture taken by a drone that looked to be a small village in the mountains of Afghanistan. Although the picture had been taken in broad daylight, when a village such as this one should be full of people, the streets were vacant. He looked the man in the eye. “What am I looking at?”

            “A village sir. Vardak province, Afghanistan. Our scientist do test. Have problem,” The man repeated. “I have number for phone, you call.”

            The man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it before giving it to Tokuma. He didn’t recognize the number.

“You can leave now, get back to work,” Tokuma said, dismissing the man.

As the man walked out of the office Tokuma pulled out his phone and dialed the number. His call was answered almost immediately by the voice of a man he knew very well. It was Simon Masrani himself.

“Mr. Shiokawa, I am sad that I was unable to visit you myself, but I am afraid that I am currently busy in our facilities on Isla Nublar. I trust that your man filled you in about our little, situation, in Afghanistan?”

“No sir, not really. He tried, but his English wasn’t very good,” replied Tokuma.

“Well then, allow me to.”