Code Name Komiko (5 page)

It was a good thing the entrées hadn’t arrived yet, or she would have dumped his into his lap. “You are just a stellar ambassador for your country,” she growled.

He just shrugged. Was he actually smiling? Was he enjoying this?

“Wait,” Lian said, the facts clicking into place. “Harrison, as in . . .” She drew the stylized H logo in the air with three quick slashes of her chopstick. “Harrison Sportswear? Harrison Casual?”

“And just wait until you see Harrison Denim,” he said, taking on the rich baritone of a runway announcer. “An upscale collection featuring classic designs with a contemporary twist. In stores this fall.”

“So you’re
that
Harrison.” Lian was familiar with the Harrison Outfitters store at Fashion Walk—Mingmei had pulled her along to the grand opening, gushing over the styles and piling up armloads of clothing that even she could barely afford.

“No,” he corrected her as the pig throat arrived. “My dad is ‘
that
Harrison.’ I’m just the kid who got dragged halfway around the world with him.”

“It’s not all bad, though, is it?” Lian asked, raising an eyebrow as she nabbed a bit of crispy fat in her chopsticks. “You’re getting to experience amazing cuisine like this.”

“And talk to charming young women like you,” he said. To his credit, he held the chopsticks as she had shown him and captured several grains of rice. He even got a few of them into his mouth.

“Hey, look at that!” she said. “You can be taught.”

“I’m a C-plus student, at best,” he said, smiling. “What about you? You a straight-A kind of girl?”

She shrugged. “I’ve made the honors list at Island South every year.”

“And I’m guessing Island South is bigger than my living room.”

“It’s a private high school,” she said. “So maybe not too much bigger.”

He grinned. “Private school, huh?”

She felt her face flushing. He was smiling as if he’d caught her admitting something embarrassing . . . and the truth was, she felt like he had. It was just another reminder of the privilege Lian enjoyed while others did without. She sank in her seat and tried to gain some conversational high ground.

“Still,” she said, looking for a casual deflection of the topic, “home schooling must get pretty lonely. You take away the social aspect of high school, and it’s just learning. I’ll bet you miss all your friends back in America.”

“Um,” he mumbled, attempting another bite of rice. “Not really. I mean, we stay in touch, you know? I Skype with them all the time.” He looked up, as if making sure he had her attention. “Especially with my girlfriend. Like, every night. Morning, for her, I guess.”

She nodded placidly and took another bite of pork. Was it supposed to bother her that Matt had a girlfriend? Was he fishing for a reaction? Boys, she already knew, were impossible. Apparently, American boys were doubly so.

Delicate rosettes of medium beef arrived next, with the waitress pointedly informing Matt what the meat was. Lian couldn’t help but smile at the simple gratitude on his face. Before she could say anything, he picked up one of the flower-shaped pieces in his chopsticks and tossed the whole thing into his mouth.

His eyes watered instantly, and she felt a pang of pity.

“That green stuff in the centers,” she said, indicating on her own plate, “is called ‘wasabi.’ It can be a little spicy.”

“No kidding,” he gasped, managing to swallow his bite and then grabbing for his tea like it was the best drink he’d ever tasted. “I don’t know how you guys haven’t set yourselves on fire with this stuff.”

Lian chose not to waste any time figuring out if what Matt had said was offensive. She ate a couple of the spicy rosettes, with no adverse reaction, and deflected the topic again. “So . . . assuming you make it out of this meal alive, what are you thinking of doing with that home-school education? Burrito magnate?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. My dad wants me to take over Harrison Corp after he retires, but I don’t think I really have much of a head for business. Lately, I’ve been thinking it might be pretty cool to run my own surf shop.”

She waited for the irony to dawn on him, but it clearly wasn’t happening. “Wouldn’t that require some kind of ‘head for business,’ too?”

“I guess it would,” he admitted. “But you gotta figure it’s a mellower clientele, with significantly lower expectations.”

“Your faith in your own abilities is inspiring.”

He caught the sarcasm but responded with a perfect, friendly smile. “And you? Loftier goals than selling board wax to white guys with ill-advised dreadlocks?”

She straightened in her seat. “I’m thinking of training to become a human rights lawyer.”

“Ah,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “So you’re setting out to change the world?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Oh,” he said, carefully unwrapping a thin strip of beef from around its bright green nucleus. “There’s nothing wrong with
saying
it. It’s the
doing
it that’s the hard part.”

She was ready to argue. But, before she could, she was distracted by the conversation at the far end of the table.

It was really more of a monologue by this point, actually. Harrison Senior had slowly drawn the attention of everyone down both sides of the massive table. His voice carried through the room, as rich and dark as the wooden walls that reflected it.

“But none of these,” he was saying, “hold a candle to the threats found online. Modern business can’t survive without the Internet, of course . . . but the dangers are manifold. Every computer is a weapon if it’s in the wrong hands.”

Lian felt the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and hoped that no one in the room noticed that she was suddenly somewhat self-conscious.

“Every cyber-attack necessitates a rethinking of the firewall,” Harrison continued. “Maintaining that kind of dynamism bleeds resources from companies trying to build shields faster than their attackers can forge swords. But I can at least appreciate the hackers’ and coders’ tactics. That kind of warfare takes actual skills, a talent for parsing ones and zeroes and using them like a craftsman would. It’s not the programming geniuses who are the real threat to the corporations—what is stolen is insured. It can be recovered. No, the real threat to people like us is these . . .
bloggers
.”

He spat out this last word like it was rotten fish.

Lian could feel her ears burning.

“Any monkey with a laptop and a Wi-Fi connection can jump online and post anonymously. The clever ones disguise their IP addresses or appear to be dozens of different commenters. They can post their slander without fear of reprisal, can spread their—often poorly spelled—thoughts to the world with no accountability. And they can cripple a company’s reputation with no more than a few clicks of a mouse.”

Harrison puffed up his chest for his big summation. “They are dangerous, they are irresponsible, and I am certain you all agree with me that, regardless of cost, they
must be stopped
.” He pounded his fist into his hand with each of the last three words. The Australians and Americans applauded. Even the locals nodded vigorously.

“That’s . . . not an entirely accurate portrait of the blogging community,” Lian said. She felt riled by Harrison’s speech, but she kept her words steady and strong enough to be heard as the clapping died down.

Heads turned; eyes drilled into her. Lian saw her father cringe with embarrassment, saw his neck muscles twitch as if he were straining to quiet her from across the room. To her right, she heard Matt suck in his breath, but whether he was impressed or frightened by her brazenness, she couldn’t tell.

There was an interminable silence as Harrison seemed to appraise her. Finally, he gave her a perfect smile—like the one his son had inherited, but with all the sincerity leeched out—and said, “Do tell, little lady.”

She had the room’s attention; now she had to choose her words carefully if she hoped to change even one mind.

“The element you’re talking about . . . they do exist, of course.” Concede one of his points. Let him drop his defenses a bit. “But most bloggers have only the best interests of the public in mind. The best of them are the watchdogs who wake the rest of us up to tell us that something bad is happening.” She emphasized
the rest of us
; better that the room not guess that she herself was one of the enemy.

“Watchdogs, hmm?” Harrison said. His tone suggested that he’d enjoy putting those dogs to sleep.

“Someone has to hold these shady business practices up to the light,” she said, “to make these corporations take some responsibility for their illegal actions. It’s . . . it should be the job of our government officials,” she said, and immediately felt the locals turning on her. “But so often, they’re afraid to act . . . or unwilling, since it would jeopardize their own connections, their own reputations. They’ve got their eyes on the bottom line instead of on the citizens they’re supposed to represent.”

An angry rumbling started at her father’s end of the table and rolled toward her like the dark wave that had swept her away earlier. In the muttered chatter, she heard phrases like “know her place” and “improper” and “thought they were meant to be deferential.” She felt hot all over and might have dashed for the door if her feet didn’t feel like they were stuck in concrete.

It was Rand Harrison, surprisingly, who quieted the table with little more than a gesture.

“Now, now,” he said, as if all the room were dull, unruly children. “I welcome this sort of discourse. The young generation has much of value to say, if we’re willing to listen.”

Lian thought she heard Matt stifle a snort.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Harrison,” Lian said, genuinely grateful for his intervention even as she doubted its motives. “I mean . . . the closure of Drax Plastics, not long ago. That was all due to the actions of one blogger, turning a spotlight on some pretty dark corners of their environmental practices. And, to my way of thinking . . . that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, indeed,” Harrison said, continuing to surprise. “To my way of thinking as well.”

More muttering in the room, but it had a confused flavor, rather than an angry one.

“After all,” Harrison said, “Drax was one of Harrison Corps’ competitors. If the bite of a rabid watchdog takes them out of the picture, and I can keep my hands clean, then bravo to the blogger, I suppose.”

He held up his hands to the room, turning them back and forth to prove their cleanliness. The dinner guests laughed at this, and Harrison launched into a self-important diatribe about what a “competitor” really was, and how Harrison Corp was outgrowing them.

Lian’s moment had passed, and Harrison had let her off the hook, albeit in the most disingenuous way she could imagine. A glance at her father’s face told her that she hadn’t heard the last of it, though. She cast her eyes down to her hands and stayed silent until dessert arrived. Her appetite had waned considerably, but she tried a cursory taste and found it delicious.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt take one cautious bite, smile, and then go back for another, bigger one.

“So, uh . . . this isn’t bad,” he said quietly. If he had any thoughts about her tête-à-tête with his father, he was keeping them to himself. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”

“Steamed sweet egg custard,” she answered, her affect flat.

“Okay. So far, so good. What’s this thing in the middle?”

“Longan,” she said. “‘The dragon’s eye.’”

“Um. But it’s not a real dragon’s eye, right?”

She finally looked up at him. The sincerity on his face was actually charming. Sad, but charming.

“No,” she reassured him. “It’s a fruit. But see how the seeds show through and look a little like the pupil of an eyeball?”

He nodded. “That’s really cool. And this sort of sticky-sweet stuff around the edges?” He chewed a piece of it happily.

“Hasma,” she said.

“And . . . what’s hasma?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Come on,” he said, scooping up another bite. “It tastes great, so it’s not gonna bother me.”

“Fine,” she relented. “It’s rehydrated fat from around the fallopian tubes of a frog.”

He paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, and then burst out laughing. “I’m impressed, I really am,” he said, taking the bite. “It takes a pretty twisted mind to make up something like that on the spot. Well done, Lian.”

She smiled and slid her bowl to the right. “I’m glad you think so. Here, you can have mine.”

He thanked her and dug into the frog fat with gusto.

Lian decided against telling him she wasn’t lying. No matter how funny his expression would have been.

As the dinner began to break up and the guests stood up to mingle, Lian managed to slip past her parents—occupied as they were with the Australians—and out into the main area of the restaurant, past the bar and into the foyer, where she felt like she could breathe for the first time since she’d arrived. She took a seat on a plush, empty bench and tried to collect her thoughts, when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Matt said, looking down at her. “I’m glad we got seated together. I feel like I learned a lot tonight.” He gave her that dazzling smile one more time, and then said, “Okay. So. I’ll see you around, Lian.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and then walked across the room to where his father was standing, checking his watch. Lian quickly dropped her eyes; she wasn’t in the mood to go for a second round with Harrison Senior. But the man’s voice carried, and she heard him telling Matt to call a car.

“I’ll see you at home later,” Harrison told his son. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“Surprising,” Matt said. His tone told Lian that Rand Harrison must always be attending to some business.

“Don’t stay up late on your computer,” Harrison called after him. “You have class in the morning.”

Lian looked up to see Matt hit the button for the elevator. She was about to turn and walk away when she saw the doors open a moment later. A man stepped out of the elevator, carrying what looked like a very expensive overcoat folded over one arm, and began to cross the foyer.