Keep Your Mouth Shut

Chapter One: At the Center

"May I join you?" Richard asked.

"Would that stop you?" Liu asked in return.

"You can tell me to go away, if that's what you mean," he replied.

"I was only joking," she sang.

It melted his heart. It pumped him full of hope. He smiled like an utter fool and sat down. "You looked lonely," he ventured.

"You forgot your coffee," she pointed out.

"Be right back," he said, hustling out of his chair, scooping up his coffee, and returning to the table. His life had been tedious before this stunning Asian creature sat down at a table across from his. He had been here to look after a different Asian person.

The ostensible name of the Chinese national he was tailing was Feng Za Xi. He had it written down. He himself didn't know Chinese. His own name was supposed to be Richard Wagner. Not pronouced "Ri-card Vahg-ner" like the composer, but "Rich-erd Wagg-ner" like a US national would pronounce it. He was in fact, a CIA agent working his cover out of the embassy in Brussels.

His chief of station held the odd theory that if a cover name was too boring, people would spot it right away. Instead, it should be a name where the other guys would say to themselves "surely nobody would be so careless." This way, said the station chief, whose name he did not know, you had a talking point as well. Instead, Richard just felt stupid. He'd known some Richards in high school and they'd all been shitwipes.

Officially, Richard was on the embassy's security detail. This made it credible for him to carry the Glock 42 he had concealed on his person in a shoulder holster under his left arm. Everybody knew US personnel didn't fuck around; they could always shoot back.

His target was sitting at an outdoor cafe set up in the courtyard of the Magritte Museum down the block from the US Embassy. Richard found the irony of this delicious. This is not a pipe. This is not a diplomat. This is not a Chinese import/export businessman. This is not a life or death business. Except the latter was actually true in his particular case.

He was new in the field and new in Brussels. He felt confident in his training, but nobody else did. He was the most junior of the junior, the lowest of the low. So he was put on this jolly Chinese fellow. Richard's target was here to charm and wheedle whatever random information he could from the embassy workers who frequented the cafe. Richard had even gotten a visit to his own table. The gentleman was a charming fellow at face value. Richard didn't even know what to do if this guy actually did anything interesting. Put the word URGENT at the top of his daily report, he supposed.

Richard's target was over sitting across the cafe from them. He was fine. He turned his attention to the girl. She was petite in every dimension, but looked fiery, he couldn't explain it. It was like her little sword fighting exercise before she had let him sit down. She was simply dressed in inexpensive business attire, her hair combed down straight, with little makeup. She was absolutely stunning. "I'm Richard," he said, holding out his hand.

She raised her elbow to grab part of his hand, and just held it. Her hand was about half the size of his. "Liu," she said.

"Is it Leeou?" he ventured.

She nodded once and smiled at him as if to say, close enough. "Margaret is my western name, if you would rather use it."

Richard let that pass by. "Liu, your accent sounds Chinese."

She didn't reply directly. "I work at my family's restaurant in town. I'm looking for a better job as a clerk. Perhaps someone needs a clerk who is fluent in Mandarin. Also Cantonese."

"I suppose I could ask at the embassy," he said, taking the opportunity to glance over at his target. Still just sitting there like a lump.

"You would do that?!" Liu looked at him like he was her knight in shining armor.

"No problem," said Richard. "Do you want anything? Another coffee?"

"I can't," she laughed, "I would start to shake."

Richard got up and walked over to the counter. Liu, who was not actually named Liu, watched him go. She had expertly cast her line, and dear Richard was dancing on it. He was such a smooth lad compared to the university boys back in Beijing and Hong Kong that she had cut her teeth on. Her first western trout, and he looked to be a juicy and delicious one. He certainly had the social skills to be a junior CIA operative. She was gleeful, because he couldn't suspect, having approached her. She had looked towards him but not at him. He had walked right over as if she had lifted her skirt and waved him over. It served the Americans right. If they hadn't given him such boring work, her poor wiggling trout wouldn't have been so desperate for distraction.

While Richard specifically hunted her comrade ostensibly named Feng, she was specifically here for Richard. They didn't know much about him yet. She knew Richard must not be his name. She was not big on German opera, so she didn't get the reference. They knew he was a junior CIA operative. They knew he had access to some databases, some sources, some methods. A juicy first catch for Liu to begin to prove her fishing credentials on.

The desired ones, or fisherwomen, were a particular branch of the Chinese secret police. They were fully trained as field agents, but their function was solely to bait and trap individuals. In her new role, she was fishing for foreign spies her government could then turn and exploit. Her role was an interesting juxtaposition of her country's attitudes. Officially, the sexes were equal. Unofficially, women served the state, served the household, served in bed, served. As a junior fisherwoman, she was a tool to deploy, much like a dog for biting a leg. That said, some of the more senior women in her organization had reached places of incredible power in the party. This was her intended trajectory.

She was the first fisherwoman this office had ever received. The reputation of her organization had preceded her. She met the station chief for the first time in the Import / Export company's front lobby. Without a word, he'd unzipped himself. She'd finished him in under two minutes. Her performance had seemed to please and impress both him and those passerby trying not to look. Needless to say, her status in the office now was not high. Thankfully, in the few days since then, the station chief had left her alone. One time could be considered a kind of test. More indulgence might lead to the office's party officer expressing an opinion. Nobody else here had the authority as far as she knew. Every man in the office had tried to corner her. None of them had the nerve to rape her.

When Richard got back to the table, Liu was writing. "What's that?" he asked.

"It's my name, my phone number," said Liu. "My address." She looked at him, a little hurt. "For the job."

"Of course, of course!" he said reassuringly. "Here's my card." He handed it to Liu. It had this gold embossed emblem on it that made all other business cards look cheap. It was one small thing that rocked about a US diplomatic cover. He smiled as her eyes lit up like he'd handed her a piece of expensive jewelry.

"What does a Security Adjutant do?" asked Liu in wonder.

"I shoot people," he said. "Just kidding. I protect embassy personnel. Provide escort. Check places out to make sure they're not dangerous. Things like that."

"You guard the embassy?" she asked.

"No, the marines do that," he said. "I guard everything else, you might say."

Liu got out her billfold and slid the card reverently into it above her own driver's license. She put her billfold away. Then she handed Richard the scrap of paper she'd written her contact information on. She presented it solemnly with both hands and looked shyly up into his eyes as she did so. With hopefully equal reverence, he accepted the proffered scrap of paper in his comparatively giant paws. He folded the scrap once and put it into his wallet above his driver's license.

"I will look into embassy work for you," he assured her. "In the meantime, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner this evening."

"Dinner for what?" she asked.

"Dinner so I can enjoy your company," he said.

"Oh, dinner," she said knowingly. "I can do that. My family will be glad to be rid of me. I eat like a pig!"

Richard burst out laughing at the thought of this wisp of an Asian girl clearing a table of food. "You must have a high metabolism," he said.

Liu had to look it up. "Oh, ha ha yes!"

"I'm not afraid. I can afford to feed you. I'll pick you up at your place, the address you gave me, at 8 PM?" said Richard.

"Yes... um... yes," said Liu.

"What's bothering you?" asked Richard.

"My family might worry," said Liu. "Let's meet at the bus stop down the street."

"Okay, whatever you want," said Richard. "8 PM."

"8 PM," Liu confirmed.

"Until then," said Richard. "I have to get back to guarding things." He had to restrain himself from looking back at her.

"Of course," she said. She watched him depart down the street towards the embassy. Feng turned around and leered at her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd noticed, the fat fuck. Him and all the others could beat their tiny withered old dicks while thinking of her enjoying her juicy trout.

Richard reminded her of her first. It had cut her, that look of astonishment on his face when she'd appeared at his interrogation. She needed to brace herself. This wasn't some farm boy caught up in the democracy movement. This was a deadly enemy agent with a pistol under his arm.

But she could have fun. It was a thrill, a fish who could fight back. She wondered how large his penis would be. The largest she'd ever had, perhaps? Hopefully not giant, though a colleague had assured her that was only the stars of western porn. She wondered how hairy he'd be. Would it itch or tickle? She could imagine herself laughing so hard she peed herself while he was at work on top of her. That would give him pause. Or would he be a furry wild beast in bed? Probably not. She'd heard western men are very solicitous. She knew the chances were overwhelming she'd be disappointed. She felt confident in expecting he wouldn't be a chore. She could just look at his pretty face no matter what kind of disaster was happening below that.

(To be continued)