What's more, he wanted me to stay on as tail-gunner. The truth? I felt the disorientation of a kid who'd been fooling around in the Soap Box Derby suddenly being handed a slot in the Indianapolis 500.
The most astonishing part of all was, I had the feeling he just might pull it off.
You're right. I should have said no, not on your life, this is way out of my league, never in a million years. . . .
Instead I said I'd think about it.
Good, he said. Why didn't I stick around till Monday and get a feeling for the operation?
I didn't shake his hand. I just walked out and poured myself a cup of green tea from the huge urn there in the middle of the floor. Walton, you idiot, how did you get yourself into this?
Which is when I spotted a sporty looking lady way across on the other side of the floor, over by the climate-controlled NEC mainframe. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. Definitely not DNI staff. Wearing jeans, dark hair in a nice designer cut, handled herself like a mover. Not to mention a world-class bottom inside those tight, shapely Calvins. From all appearances she actually seemed to be second-in-command. She was reading the riot act to Tanaka about something to do with the computer, had the self-important little fucker bobbing and weaving. Who was that? Hadn't seen her around here before.
Well, now, no time like the present to head on over and check into this. A fellow gaijin. Could be she'll explain what in hell's going on. Is Noda real?
Suddenly she turned around, saw me, and stopped. I stopped. We both just stood there trying to remember. She hit pay dirt first, but I was only microseconds behind.
Want to know my first thought, my very first thought? Matsuo Noda, you son of a bitch, you're even smarter than I'd given you credit for. You've hired the best, the very best.