Meanwhile in Paris

"Hi!" said a playful Takeda to the tall muscular stranger. In the darkness of the bathhouse maze, the guard was standing in only a towel. The man was light-colored and the blond hair contracted against the black surroundings. The thug was in great shape, a breath of fresh air in this sad place. The guard, who had given his name previously as David, was standing awkwardly in the narrow hallway of the bathhouse between numerous doors to different small rooms. His towel was tied awkwardly and refused to stay on his hips as he moved. The dark maze of rooms was understandably shocking to this man. Most of the doors were closed. The sights behind the ajar ones were not for the faint of heart. There was no physical beauty or love here, only crude lust. Each door had a large painted number. Patrons rented beds by the hour, and it went without saying that no one ever slept drug-free here.

The guard was at least 6'3" and reminded Takeda of a South African rugby player; primal and easy to deceive. David's eyes would need time to adjust to the darkness. The guard instinctually stepped back as he saw Takeda. As he did, his towel slipped open. Takeda lost any hope the man was gay when he saw a hideous pair of boxer shorts under the towel. David's other hand was holding a small key. The key locked and unlocked the man’s miniature room.

David was taken aback by his subject, who stood right before him, smiling and wearing nothing much. At least he just had confirmed the target was here. But David wasn't supposed to be seen, on that part, he'd stumbled.

"Hi!" The young man's intentions were clear, even to David. If Takeda chose to hang out in a place like this, his demeanor could only mean one thing. The guard blushed, turned and walked away. David turned a corner, a second, and a third. In his haste, he almost dropped the towel. He had no clue where he was going, but he needed space between him and the young man. His job was to shadow in complete discretion, and this obviously was not it.

The guard walked down a couple of hallways, turned sharp corners and went up dirty stairs. This place was insanity. On some of the walls, at V-shaped intersections were large screens playing the most graphic porn he'd ever seen. Everywhere, there were mirrors. If Takeda had looked at all threatening, he would have had a problem, but his subject appeared as defenseless as they came.

David was not an insecure man, and of the men in the van, he alone had agreed to walk in. But this was much worse than what he expected. He turned another corner, a second, and arrived in an area where there was finally some light. He saw a sad jacuzzi with what looked like a dead man in it. On his left was a dirty janitor cart. The mop was soaking in black water. The man in the Jacuzzi looked up, smiled and signed to David to jump in. This entire scenario was too much. He had to leave.

After a couple of minutes in the maze, the guard's eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He slowly regained his composure, feeling ashamed by his reaction. The tall pale man grabbed his courage by both hands. As he regained his calm, walking in this unfamiliar dungeon. He turned a corner and was face-to-face with young Takeda once again. The young man was there, still smiling. The subject wanted to have sex with him; there was no doubt about it. Takeda got closer and placed a hand on his abs. "Listen," he said gently in an effeminate voice. The guard jolted back. As he did, he felt a pull on his hand and another below his towel.

"No!" David exclaimed instinctively. He turned around and walked away, knowing he was not supposed to engage Takeda so directly. This particular task was not for him; he should never have agreed to walk in. He needed to find his room, get dressed and leave. Then it struck him; he could not recall his room number. Surely it was written on the key.

There was panic as he realized his hand was empty. In the commotion, he lost it. Maybe he'd dropped it in haste, or worse yet, maybe the subject had just taken it from him. He had to get back to the room; his gun was there under the pillow. The large white painted numbers on the doors appeared to be random; this made no sense to him. He knew his room was one hundred and something. The doors around him were numbered in the two hundreds. He was probably on the wrong floor; he needed to find a stairway to go down.

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David was botching this assignment with every passing moment. The man he was shadowing certainly had his key. At this precise moment, Takeda might be in the room where David had undressed, stealing his gun. He took a deep breath and stood in place as he collected himself.

Meanwhile! Takeda key in hand found the guard’s room, ignoring the gun he instead grabbed the man’s cellphone. It was locked. Within moments, at a turn, Takeda was once again standing in front of the baffled guard. The young man was smiling and even looked playful.

"Don't run," said Takeda, "you must like bigger guys, no?" The guard would have to deal with this. "Love the underwear," continued Takeda as he adjusted his own towel. The talk had no effect on David. The guard remembered the humid jungles of Panama, the bugs, and wished he was back there. He did not feel any physical danger, just awkward and disrespectful. "All I want is a kiss, in exchange for what you just dropped." Takeda pulled a hand from behind his back, dangling the guard's room key.

This was just perfect, David sighed internally. Their mission was simply to monitor and report every move while staying undetected. His failure at remaining unseen was becoming ever more severe. The scientist was now holding the phone in the palm of his hand. The screen was lit and ready to be unlocked once the guard's finger touched the glass.

Takeda needed information and thus access to the phone.

The guard leaned over for a kiss.

“Eyes closed,” offered Takeda. The man did.

Takeda flashed the phone who recognized the man and unlocked and then a quick kiss. Takeda apologized as he gave David the key as promised. "Sorry, sorry, you are too hot!"

Takeda looked down in his hand behind his back. In the darkness, the screen glowed, it was unlocked. He needed to move fast.

"What's your name?" asked Takeda.

"John," lied the guard.

Takeda removed the phone cover. It looked like any one of millions of identical devices, the man could not guess it was his without seeing the screen which Takeda kept away. The virologist spent the next hour plundering the guard's cell. The young man searched the guard's private emails in perfect tranquility. The work email folders were not even protected by a second password. The texts, the social media accounts, and even the guard's job information were open for access. Nick's trust in these people was a sign the old ghost was getting softer. In times past, a guard in David's position would never have been so careless. If one had been, it was unlikely that individual would be gainfully employed again, and not because of a poor reference.

In the emails, Takeda learned David pay came through a company called Lionel SARL. His wife was Stephanie Orden. His last assignment was in Toulouse watching someone named Professor Lalancette. He then looked Lalancette up. The scholar was a neuroscientist. He had his own page in the online encyclopedia. The lead was very promising. The Frenchman was the world's leading expert in what others called advanced brain waves, including those being discussed in conjunction with mars. Brain research positively looked like a way to kill millions in their sleep. The man also had authored an article titled "Danger from Brain Pattern Interferences of Rho Waves." That sealed the deal for Takeda. He needed to talk to this man and make sure that he was not also tasked with destroying the world.

Once done with the phone, Takeda returned it in front of Room 113 and pushed it under the door unclear if the man was still there. On his way back to his room, Takeda felt rather proud of himself. He could have been a spy, he told himself. He returned to the cinema, sat down and reclaimed his tablet.

As he lifted it, it was powered on. He did not remember being so clumsy. He had turned it off; he was sure of it. Intrigued, he looked. The logo of the Electoral corporation was swirling. The moment he moved the tablet, the screen changed. On it, a polite message flowed across the screen: "Inbound confidential communication from Miss Marilyn Monroe, CEO of the Electoral Corporation. Please return to your room for privacy and slide in an ear piece. Room 85 cute one,” concluded the message.

So much for his spy skills.