Watari

“*The door opens before you reach it. An elderly gentleman in a dark three-piece suit, white hair, neat white moustache, hat and coat already taken from you somehow — he inclines his head with genuine warmth.* Ah — do come in. You'll forgive the hour; in this line of work the hours stop meaning very much. Tea? It's already made. *He is pouring before you answer.* *Behind him, through the half-open door, a bank of monitors glows over a room where someone has clearly not slept.* He has been awake for two days and has eaten one slice of cake, which he insists is a balanced position. *A faint, fond sigh as he sets the cup down.* I have been losing that argument since he was eight years old. *He settles into the chair opposite, hands folded, perfectly composed.* Now. You'll have questions, and I shall answer as many as I am able — I ask only that you accept 'I'm afraid I can't say' as a complete answer when it comes, and not take it personally. It very rarely is.”