Costa Rican Countdown

  Despite being closed once again, the café has been running at full steam with all hands on deck today. On Monday afternoon, everyone took the day off to help my Aunt Damaris fulfill a large order for a party.

  My mother, Adelis, and her sister, Dama, were at the center of the operation, supervising the rest. They needed the entire restaurant kitchen to prepare the dishes in time. Although it wouldn't be the main course, there would be several small servings throughout the day for nearly 300 people. My aunt must have felt blessed to have so much unexpected help here in Japan.

  My sister María, my mother, and my aunt were busy making a huge batch of tamales. They worked hard over the fire, preparing the corn dough. The good thing about tamales is that they are meant to travel. They can withstand hours of heat or cold without spoiling. They can last quite a while in good condition before being eaten. The difficult part was the preparation since they are always made in large quantities, meaning an entire day in the kitchen. Each tamale contains a portion of dough with chicken, Lizano sauce, and vegetables, all wrapped in natural banana leaves and steamed.

  The good news is that they already had plenty of practice from all the Christmases they spent with their mother trying to learn the "grandmother's technique." It was easier to picture them working on an assembly line in a factory than as five-star chefs. However, the hard part was finding banana leaves in Japan.

  Tamamo is undoubtedly having the hardest time. She was tasked with preparing several ikebana arrangements for the guests’ tables. She is stressed and fighting against the clock, yet her principles as a Japanese woman tell her that this art form should have cultural significance. These were floral decorations with deep significance in Japanese society. It wasn't just about putting flowers in a vase; it was an artistic expression that required time and patience. Two androids were assisting her since they were the only ones capable of copying her style after several months of practice. Even so, the order was far too large. Their work would only cover part of the total since others had been hired to ensure the request would be completed in time for the party.

  The rest of the girls were less skilled but still willing to lend a hand. They tried to help however they could. Lisa and Levia were preparing mini-flags, ribbons, and colorful decorations. Although Voranoa wasn’t very intelligent, her other personality, Lucy, had artistic experience. She, Momo, and Nanami—who had experience drawing manga—were painting Costa Rican cart designs on wooden wheels. They were trying to replicate a specific art style with geometric shapes and floral motifs. The designs were difficult to pull off, but they were indispensable and had gained recognition abroad over the years. This particular request had actually been made by Keisuke Fujikawa himself. He had seen it on the internet and thought it would be a great surprise as a design for his coworkers and executives at his company.

  Several boxes of an alcoholic beverage called Cacique had also been ordered. It's a clear, slightly sweet spirit with a moderate alcohol content. It is produced only in Costa Rica, so bringing it here was an odyssey in itself. Sharon had requested that specific brand on a whim for this party, and now Mei Ling was caught up in Customs bureaucracy, trying to speed up the process as best she could. She had already called to complain about the number of permits she had to obtain from institutions across the city. Unfortunately, her battle had only just begun since the other shipment they were waiting for—the one with Lizano sauce—was more important than the guaro.

  Known as the liquid gold of Costa Rica, it is, simply put, just a fancier version of Worcestershire sauce. However, calling it simply Worcestershire sauce is considered a national offense in Costa Rica. Dark brown in color and sweet with a slightly tangy flavor, it transforms any meal from a bodily necessity into a necessity of the mind and soul. Long before ketchup, mayonnaise, or hot sauce, it was on every table. It is used on everything edible, from the quintessential Costa Rican breakfast of gallo pinto—a simple dish of rice and beans with spices—to the hearty lunch that fueled a nation: casados. It is also the key ingredient in the tamales prepared for Christmas. It was the most important part of Damaris’s entire operation. If it didn't make it through customs, it would be better not to hold the party at all. We had our own supply reserved at the café, but it would never be enough for the production scale required by the party. If my sister María, my mother, or Damaris didn't get their daily dose at breakfast, they'd be arrested for terrorism by the afternoon.

  Of course, high-quality Costa Rican coffee couldn't be left out either. For this mission, our grandfather "Mencho" personally placed the order in Tarrazú. After all, as a producer and a friend of the country’s best growers, he could handle the order and secure the necessary amount. He was also happy to help export a little of the country's treasures. He pulled off a couple of his well-known tricks and managed to send it another way to bypass customs. We still don’t know how he’ll do it, but he promised it would arrive on time, on the day of the party—or else he’ll have to sell the house again. We are legitimately worried because it wouldn't be the first time he lost it over something stupid.

  While she was on the phone with my aunt, checking on how the process was going, Sharon had another whimsical request: she wanted a Costa Rican-themed photo zone. Damaris was taken aback by the news, since she was the one who had to make such a thing a reality. However, she refused to be intimidated by a client’s random demand. She had done this hundreds of times before, and this time would be no different. She called her husband, my Uncle Johnny, and my cousin, Brayan. She asked them to drive across the country as fast as possible and take pictures of places like beaches and volcanoes. She told them to send the pictures to her. While they were out, she searched online for a printing shop that could produce large-scale prints quickly, to create backdrops for the photo zones. She also called a construction supply store to buy several sacks of sand, hoping to find some with a texture and color similar to that of Costa Rican beaches. The greatest challenge was finding tropical plants in Japan at the end of autumn. Determined not to give up, she started looking for more extreme and costly solutions for Mr. Keisuke Fujikawa. The solution was to order them from Okinawa and arrange for air transport. So much work just for a couple of photos—what a waste!

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Amid the overwhelming workload, I couldn’t stop wondering why we were doing this in the first place. It seemed I wasn’t the only one thinking that when Nanami approached me to ask the same question.

  "Let me see if I've got this straight."

  "Sharon, your ex-girlfriend—the same girl who humiliated and used you cruelly; the same girl who became a widow and is now marrying a wealthy man for his money."

  "She's the one making all these demands for her party, and yet we're the ones who have to work against the clock to satisfy her," asked my beloved ghost girl while helping with the pain

  “I already know Sharon is a waste for humanity.”

  “But even so, she’s still a work assignment for my Aunt Damaris.”

  “So I’m trying to see it as me helping my aunt with her job and ignoring the gold digger.”

  “Gold digger? I don’t think Mr. Fujikawa is her only intended victim.”

  “Out of all the people she could’ve hired, your aunt just happened to be the one?”

  “She’s trying to keep Adelis on her contact list, hoping she’ll be invited to the wedding because she hired her sister.”

  “Didn’t she come by a while back trying to extort money from your mother over a kid that wasn’t even yours? Whatever happened with that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the baby was already born. Maybe she got rid of it and sent it to its grandmother in Costa Rica so she wouldn't have to raise it and could continue her romantic adventures.”

  “I know she came to Japan to bother my mother, but after receiving a couple warnings from different embassies to leave her alone, she changed her mind.”

  "She stuck around here, and I have no idea how she won the lottery nine times in a row with a rich husband, of all things."

  “...”

  "Sometimes it bothers me that someone like her can live such an easy, carefree life while I had to endure two wars."

  "But her life and mine are different."

  "We just grew up in the same neighborhood, nothing more."

  "And yet, here you are with eight wives, two androids, and your family in Costa Rica, helping that ex-gold digger."

  “Are you trying to help me or convince me to commit a crime?”

  “I’m just saying what’s happening.”

  “I’m not telling you to make her disappear, just that surely nobody would miss her if she did.”

  “Probably even Mr. Keisuke Fujikawa’s family would thank you for it.”

  “You know perfectly well that girl will suck up his fortune like a vacuum cleaner.”

  “And I think Mr. Fujikawa is already old enough to see the problem he’s getting himself into on his own.”

  “I don’t have to be the guardian who protects others from Sharon.”

  The air was filled with the smells of saltpeter, motor oil, and raw coffee. In a forgotten warehouse, far from the main cranes, the faint light of a gas lamp illuminated three men with sallow faces and hardened eyes. In front of the men stood wooden crates filled with sacks of artisanal coffee from the distant mountains of Tarrazú. The coffee was a shipment belonging to a man the men only knew as "Se?or Mencho."

  One of the men, known only as Saipan—a man with a neck as thick as his head—opened the lid of a crate with a crowbar. He tossed the gourmet coffee carelessly onto the floor and rummaged quickly through its contents. An AK-12 assault rifle emerged; he checked the magazine, the metallic click echoing through the tense silence.

  "Load confirmed."

  "Customs scan confirmation?" he asked in Russian, his voice a harsh growl.

  A younger man named Sasha holding a tablet nodded in front of him.

  "The shipment of Tarrazú Mountain Coffee passed without issue."

  "The bribes worked in Costa Rica."

  "Se?or Mencho received his delivery on time. The Japanese only saw coffee beans.”

  "All of our objectives were met.”

  "It's not their fault they didn't detect the weapon in the center of the crates."

  “We’re clean,” he said, slapping a crate.

  Dimitri, the third man, was carefully soldering the wires of a detonator. He was an electronics expert with glasses and scarred knuckles.

  "Be careful with that."

  "Some of those have C4. I wouldn't hit it that hard if I were you."

  “Final check, Sasha?” Dimitri growled, his deep voice cutting through the low murmur of conversations.

  The group’s technician, a thin man with glasses and a perpetually bored expression, nodded without looking up from his laptop. The screen showed an endless stream of code and a 3D architectural blueprint.

  “The plan is solid. The Fujikawa Tower blueprints are correct. The executive suite is on the 80th floor.”

  The party will be on the 25th floor.”

  "The security system is impressive. Japanese, of course."

  "But they all have a blind spot." Ivan smiled, a cold and warmthless gesture.

  "Their arrogance. They rely too much on biometrics and digital firewalls. They don’t expect a physical approach, the old-fashioned way.”

  “What about the transport?” Dimitri asked, his gaze passing over the wooden crates that would soon be sealed again.

  “The ghost logistics company truck will arrive in one hour."

  "The driver is ours. The route is clean. The delivery permits for the Fujikawa party are legitimate."

  We’re just another shipment of luxury coffee.” Piotr, the logistician, replied from the shadows, meticulously cleaning the stock of his rifle.

  Yuri approached a portable monitor where a masked, distorted figure filled the screen. The satellite connection flickered, but the voice that came through was clear and icy.

  "HQ to Team Zima. Status.”

  "Zima here. The cargo is ready: Weapons, plastic explosives, communications gear. Everything is hidden inside the Express Coffee shipment,” Yuri reported.

  "The delivery route is confirmed. We'll arrive at Fujikawa Tower tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. for the 'special wedding delivery.'"

  "All right. The main objective is the data, not the blood. Keisuke Fujikawa is a paranoid man. "

  "He doesn’t trust banks. His entire personal fortune, along with a significant portion of Fujikawa Corp.’s reserve capital, is stored in a cold crypto wallet."

  "Millions of dollars are at stake here, and they are necessary."

  "The wallet is kept on an isolated laptop with no internet connection inside the vault of the Fujikawa building."

  "The access key is a physical USB stick. Without that key, the fortune is inaccessible. Without the computer, the key is useless. We need both.”

  The key is most likely carried by Mr. Keisuke Fujikawa at all times."

  “The problem is accessing the computer.”

  “What about expected resistance?”

  "Conventional security. Nothing you’re not trained for.”

  "They'll be busy with the wedding, and the rest of the building should be empty because of it."

  "But keep a low profile. You’re delivery men, not Spetsnaz soldiers."

  "Remember: Elegance lies in simplicity. Use the coffee delivery excuse until the very last moment."

  "After that, we'll leave it to your discretion how to proceed.

  “Please succeed in your mission."

  "The cause requires it."

  “The cause requires it,” Yuri replied as he hung up the call, glancing at his men and the weapons they were gathering.