Affairs.
The report, when I open the box, is inches deep. The cover page says Afghanistan, Status Report, then the year and Toshio’s name and rank, special envoy. Turning to the chapter headings, I delve into the body of the thing.
“How long’s he been on this?” Mike asks Mei Tan.
“Writing?”
“Putting the whole thing together.”
“Since last year.”
“You were working with him the whole time?”
Nodding, she asks what it is we’re hoping to find, why we can’t speak to Mr. Hatanaka directly.
“When was this due to go upstairs?” I ask.
“Tomorrow.”
“It’s finished?”
She nods again, so I pull out the whole wedge of pages and lay them beside the empty box. This time I search the pages more carefully. According to the table of contents, Toshio has broken his report into four sections: the general report, then three detailed sections: one for the Third Committee, one for ECOSOC—the Economic and Social Council—and one for the Fifth Committee. This last section, clearly listed on the contents page, is missing.
“He must have taken it home,” Mei Tan says when I draw her attention to the omission. She screws up her face. “Actually, you really will have to ask Mr. Hatanaka about that. He was doing that section himself. He hasn’t let anyone else see it yet.”
I ask her if she has any idea what it might contain. Mei Tan shakes her head.
“He’s got this pink file he keeps it in,” she remarks, her eyes wandering over the desk, then up along the shelves. Edging past Mike, she checks the desk drawers. “No,” she concludes, completing her unsuccessful search for the missing pink file. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Hatanaka.”
If only, I think.
Then Mike casually inquires, “Where is he?”
There is no sign that Mei Tan finds the question strange. “Down at the opening, I guess. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
When Mike asks her where we can find Toshio after the opening, Mei Tan goes to fetch the appointment calendar. When she’s gone, we discuss the missing section of the report. Mike agrees that it’s odd but warns me not to get too hopeful. Odd, he tells me, is not the same thing as important, but he assures me that he will be taking another good look in Toshio’s briefcase down in the basement.
Mei Tan reenters with the calendar, an oversized book with a hard black cover. She flips it open and slides her finger down the page. Apart from three words at the top, “General Assembly opening,” the page is blank.
“Busy man,” Mike murmurs. Reaching across, he flicks back a few pages before Mei Tan can protest. Then he stabs a finger down. “What happened here?”
The dates are the first two days of Toshio’s excursion to Geneva. Across both pages the word
Canceled
has been scrawled over a list of appointments, and when Mike turns to the next page, it’s the same there too.
“The trip to Geneva a last-minute thing?” he asks her.
“Geneva?” she says.
We both look at her, then at each other. Mike picks up the ticket stub and indicates the matching dates and Toshio’s name on the ticket. Mei Tan studies it, becoming perplexed.
“This isn’t right,” she says finally, her brow puckering as she touches the ticket. “He wasn’t well then. Those three days Mr. Hatanaka stayed at home. He called me. Gastro or something, you ask him.”
“Who normally makes Mr. Hatanaka’s travel arrangements?”
“Me,” she says.
“Always?”
She nods, but there is a touch of hesitancy now, a flicker of doubt. The ticket. Our presence. These questions.
“Can’t you come back later and see Mr. Hatanaka?”
Mike asks her if she has her own key to this office. She shakes her head. Then he flicks forward through the calendar and stops at Monday. Yesterday. Half a dozen appointments. He trails a finger down the page and stops at Toshio’s penultimate appointment of the day: five-thirty P.M. Mike glances up at me to make sure I have registered the name:
The report, when I open the box, is inches deep. The cover page says Afghanistan, Status Report, then the year and Toshio’s name and rank, special envoy. Turning to the chapter headings, I delve into the body of the thing.
“How long’s he been on this?” Mike asks Mei Tan.
“Writing?”
“Putting the whole thing together.”
“Since last year.”
“You were working with him the whole time?”
Nodding, she asks what it is we’re hoping to find, why we can’t speak to Mr. Hatanaka directly.
“When was this due to go upstairs?” I ask.
“Tomorrow.”
“It’s finished?”
She nods again, so I pull out the whole wedge of pages and lay them beside the empty box. This time I search the pages more carefully. According to the table of contents, Toshio has broken his report into four sections: the general report, then three detailed sections: one for the Third Committee, one for ECOSOC—the Economic and Social Council—and one for the Fifth Committee. This last section, clearly listed on the contents page, is missing.
“He must have taken it home,” Mei Tan says when I draw her attention to the omission. She screws up her face. “Actually, you really will have to ask Mr. Hatanaka about that. He was doing that section himself. He hasn’t let anyone else see it yet.”
I ask her if she has any idea what it might contain. Mei Tan shakes her head.
“He’s got this pink file he keeps it in,” she remarks, her eyes wandering over the desk, then up along the shelves. Edging past Mike, she checks the desk drawers. “No,” she concludes, completing her unsuccessful search for the missing pink file. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Hatanaka.”
If only, I think.
Then Mike casually inquires, “Where is he?”
There is no sign that Mei Tan finds the question strange. “Down at the opening, I guess. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
When Mike asks her where we can find Toshio after the opening, Mei Tan goes to fetch the appointment calendar. When she’s gone, we discuss the missing section of the report. Mike agrees that it’s odd but warns me not to get too hopeful. Odd, he tells me, is not the same thing as important, but he assures me that he will be taking another good look in Toshio’s briefcase down in the basement.
Mei Tan reenters with the calendar, an oversized book with a hard black cover. She flips it open and slides her finger down the page. Apart from three words at the top, “General Assembly opening,” the page is blank.
“Busy man,” Mike murmurs. Reaching across, he flicks back a few pages before Mei Tan can protest. Then he stabs a finger down. “What happened here?”
The dates are the first two days of Toshio’s excursion to Geneva. Across both pages the word
Canceled
has been scrawled over a list of appointments, and when Mike turns to the next page, it’s the same there too.
“The trip to Geneva a last-minute thing?” he asks her.
“Geneva?” she says.
We both look at her, then at each other. Mike picks up the ticket stub and indicates the matching dates and Toshio’s name on the ticket. Mei Tan studies it, becoming perplexed.
“This isn’t right,” she says finally, her brow puckering as she touches the ticket. “He wasn’t well then. Those three days Mr. Hatanaka stayed at home. He called me. Gastro or something, you ask him.”
“Who normally makes Mr. Hatanaka’s travel arrangements?”
“Me,” she says.
“Always?”
She nods, but there is a touch of hesitancy now, a flicker of doubt. The ticket. Our presence. These questions.
“Can’t you come back later and see Mr. Hatanaka?”
Mike asks her if she has her own key to this office. She shakes her head. Then he flicks forward through the calendar and stops at Monday. Yesterday. Half a dozen appointments. He trails a finger down the page and stops at Toshio’s penultimate appointment of the day: five-thirty P.M. Mike glances up at me to make sure I have registered the name:
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