OPERATION LEFT — WESTBOUND
This text is a recorded episode associated with the OPERATION LEFT design series.
ARCHIVE
RECORD No. ILHD-30-PRI
OPERATION LEFT
WESTBOUND
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[Record begins]
“Take this to Los Angeles.”
In front of a large monitor—sixty inches or more—Kudo tightened his black leather gloves and said it bluntly.
On the desk sat a small silver case. A sticker was affixed to it: a checkbox-like symbol, followed by a string of alphanumeric characters.
“What’s inside?”
“No idea.”
Sakai flicked the lid of the lighter he had been fidgeting with. He stared at the case, suspicious.
“Los Angeles is huge. Where exactly?”
“There are coordinates.”
Kudo operated the terminal with his ungloved hand. Numbers and several scaled maps appeared on the monitor behind him.
“This is… around Silver Lake?”
Shima, sitting upright, pushed up the bridge of his glasses with his middle finger and followed only the numbers.
“That’s pretty rough.”
The small flame in Sakai’s hand flickered.
“You’ll know when you get there.”
“That’s the instruction.”
“Huh. Fine.”
The lighter closed without a sound and disappeared into the pocket.
“From here… half a day, tops,”
Yogi said lazily, leaning against the wall, pulling a candy from his mouth.
“Almost a comfortable flight.”
“I’ll just think of it as a short vacation.”
“Nine days.”
At Kudo’s low voice, everyone looked up.
For a brief moment, time in the room seemed to stop.
“We can only move west.”
Arms crossed, Shima lowered his eyes to the documents in front of him.
“There are other instructions.”
“Make sure you understand them before the time comes.”
―――
After passing through the interchange gate, Sakai gradually picked up speed. The late-night road was empty—no cars ahead, none behind.
Behind them, night was slowly beginning to break.
“What’s the number now?”
Kudo asked from the third row, staring straight ahead.
“4.87.”
Shima answered immediately.
Sakai glanced at the rearview mirror in the upper right and eased off the accelerator slightly. The blinker flashed as he entered the gentle curve.
At the very back, Yogi leaned forward, tilting his head.
“…Huh? Are we already there?”
The massive van slid neatly into a white rectangular frame. After a brief pause, the engine shut off.
The case, fixed behind the driver’s seat, showed no abnormalities.
A few minutes later, the vehicle started moving again.
―――
There were few passengers aboard the ship, and aside from the sound of motion, it was quiet.
The men sat in a single row by the port-side windows. As other passengers passed by, they glanced sideways at the four of them in turn.
Shima took a terminal from his right chest pocket, glanced at the screen, and quickly put it away.
A few short, dull sounds echoed through the hull. Soon, the stagnant smell of the tide drifted through the cabin.
The four maintained a careful distance—neither acquaintances nor strangers—as they joined the line to disembark. The gangway played an irregular rhythm underfoot.
After disembarking, at the edge of the immigration area, they stopped a short distance away from the wall.
The flow of people ahead of them had ended.
―――
The benches lined up near the boarding gate were oddly empty in one corner.
“Oh—”
Sakai casually started to sit, then stopped halfway.
After a moment’s thought, he moved to the empty seat on the left. Kudo noticed but said nothing.
Boarding began. Inside the cabin, they turned right immediately.
“Excuse me.”
Avoiding the legs of the passenger already seated on the aisle, Kudo took the window seat. Outside, nothing special—just the boarding bridge.
The other three were looking at the same view.
―――
Asked to sign the documents, Sakai unconsciously picked up the pen with his right hand. The pen left only an indentation; the letters were transparent, invisible.
“…Huh?”
Kudo nudged him with an elbow. Sakai switched the pen to his left hand.
“Damn. Hard to write.”
“Get used to it.”
Yogi grinned, peering from behind.
The clerk accepted the worm-like signature and processed the paperwork as usual.
―――
A small plane landed on the short, narrow runway beside the larger main one. It slowly approached an aircraft of a similar shape and stopped, nose-to-tail.
As the door opened, a rush of lukewarm humidity, heavy sea air, and the scent of dense green poured in from the ocean. Beyond the steam rising from the wet, mottled tarmac, a curved, glass-walled building came into view.
“Mind if I grab some snacks?”
“Make do with this.”
Kudo tossed over a yellow paper box. Yogi opened it with a show of dissatisfaction.
Once they boarded the plane that was already there, the aircraft immediately began to move.
“Really inefficient,”
Shima muttered quietly.
―――
A temporary sign stood on the roadside.
ROAD WORK AHEAD
The gaps between cars gradually closed.
Tail lights stretched unevenly into the distance.
The line crept forward.
From the radio came a low, calm male voice. Only the smooth, drifting intonation—from right to left—filled the car.
―――
Announcements repeated over and over, accompanied by red letters on the display board.
As the sunlight outside grew stronger, irritation spread among the surrounding passengers.
Kudo and the others remained seated at the far-left end of the waiting area.
―――
Soft light streamed through a small window onto a wide deck.
Bicycles were secured along the wall. Large suitcases stood silently in a row.
It felt like a place where one journey had been set down in the middle of another.
Clunk. The car jolted hard.
After staring at the unchanging scenery for a while, Sakai leaned his left shoulder against the wall.
―――
Amid a vast expanse of gleaming silver and blue, a rectangular stretch of land floated alone.
The dull gray ground—marked with suggestive white lines and scattered patches of rust—was wide enough to build a modest mansion.
Beside a container placed at the edge, two planes with large propellers on both wings were parked.
Beneath the left wing, an out-of-place folding chair.
Yogi crunched his candy, gazing contentedly at the rounded horizon.
A faint cloud of cigarette smoke spread in the container’s shadow.
―――
79.12 [CAUTION]
Below the numbers on the terminal, a warning symbol blinked. Every few seconds, it increased by 0.01.
“We’ll overshoot the landing runway,”
Shima said calmly.
“What do we do?”
Outside the window, the sea—deep indigo, flecked with white patterns—was clearly visible even from above.
“Ninety seconds. We jump.”
Yogi whistled cheerfully.
Sakai checked his gear with visible annoyance.
Shima already had the silver case and a parachute on his back. He adjusted his goggles, then checked the case’s position with his left hand.
“The wind’s complicated.”
“But it’s a tailwind.”
Kudo signaled the pilot and opened the hatch. Only wind remained.
After checking each other’s equipment, they signaled the pilot and leapt out without hesitation.
―――
“Almost there,”
Yogi said, taking his hands off the wheel and lowering his sunglasses.
“Not a bad vacation.”
“Except for how absurdly roundabout it was.”
Sakai replied, playing with his lighter in the back.
The road stretched straight toward the sun. Evening light fell low, shadows stretching in the opposite direction.
Red-brown ground and evenly spaced utility poles continued endlessly.
“Let’s stop at that diner,”
Shima leaned forward and called out.
The microbus—far too large for just four people—stopped beneath a sign reading Barack’s Diner.
―――
Leaving El Monte Airport, they headed west. Late-morning traffic flowed smoothly.
Wide skies and large buildings gradually gave way to residential streets.
By the time they reached Riverside Drive, the shadows were short and the city sharply defined.
They parked at a small park in a residential area wedged between the river and an overpass.
“From here, we walk.”
The midday sun was strong. Beyond the silence, the sound of passing cars drifted in.
After passing under the overpass and walking a while, they emerged onto a large street.
Across it stood a building with LEFT BANK arcing across its facade.
They crossed the intersection, followed a slightly bent street, and stopped.
“This is it.”
Holding the terminal, Shima looked up at the steel tower, steadying his glasses.
―――
Just before noon.
Strong sunlight sharply outlined the tower.
Suddenly, a loud noise nearby.
The four tensed and turned at once.
In front of a cluster of bushes where the tower’s thin shadows converged stood two trash cans.
One lid rocked on the asphalt.
At Kudo’s glance, Yogi—case in hand—approached.
He looked inside.
Placed the case in.
Nothing happened.
“Should I close the lid?”
No one answered.
Yogi picked it up, set it carefully, then twisted it even more carefully.
He glanced at the trash can on the right, then slowly backed away.
On the terminal clenched in the leather glove, 99.00 was displayed.
Distant traffic noise. A faint murmur of the river.
Kudo waited about a minute and checked the time.
12:02.
“…Let’s go.”
They walked away from the site at a pace neither fast nor slow—unremarkable.
At the intersection, they stopped.
Sakai looked back toward the trash cans and put a cigarette in his mouth.
After a while, the light turned green.
He crossed the crosswalk, just a little behind the others.
―――
From the shade along the riverbank, a grimy-looking man crawled out.
Staggering, he headed straight for the trash cans.
Without hesitation, he plunged his head inside, swiftly pulled out the silver case, and hugged it close.
Glancing around nervously, he disappeared back into the shade by the river.
[End of record]
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Filed under:
OPERATION LEFT
Entry in the archive:
Minor Conditions
Location:
Japan
South Korea
Taiwan
Thailand
India
Iran
Hungary
Austria
Czech Republic
Germany
France
Canada
United States
Status:
Completed
Corresponding Item:
Asset Label Sticker
