Project Maigo (5 page)

Collins nods and heads off, moving quickly down the left side of a container row, which was undisturbed by the previous night’s attack.

A quick peek around the other side reveals that Endo and his friend haven’t changed course or pace. They’re unaware of us. Moving casually, like I belong, I look south and walk across the open space between containers. Even if they had been looking, they wouldn’t have been able to I.D. me.

Safely hidden by the containers on the other side of the alley, I continue to the far side, but the path isn’t nearly as clear as the one Collins took. Several containers have been knocked over and crushed, their contents disgorged. Toilet seats, clock radios and what appear to be massagers or maybe sex toys, litter the concrete.

I do my best to hurry through the mess, but there isn’t much room to place my feet. After thirty seconds of stumbling, my foot rolls atop a massager, which shoots out from under me. My unceremonious fall is stopped by a toilet seat—the squishy kind, so that’s something. But my knees take the brunt of the fall, and I quickly come to the conclusion that Endo will be long gone by the time I pick my way through this mess. As the massager buzzes at me, I get back to my feet, find the nearest ladder and then throw myself onto the rungs.

Move, you idiot
, my internal monologue shouts at me. I climb the ladder, reaching the container’s top quickly. I now have a clear shot down the row. I can see Endo, now much further ahead. In a minute, he’ll be outside the port, no doubt whisked away by a waiting vehicle. I take two steps and stop. Not only are the metal containers slick with morning dew, but my boots sound like thunder as I move.

A menagerie of cuss words flow from my lips as I quickly remove my boots. I’m probably going to cut my foot on the metal and die from some kind of exotic strain of tetanus, but at least my bare feet have better traction, and I’ll be able to move in relative silence.

I sprint down the string of containers, sticking to the right side where the metal doesn’t flex as much and where I’m less likely to be spotted. Half way to Endo, I’m caught off guard by a five-foot gap, but I manage to jump the distance and continue on. Feeling like a real action hero, I turn on the speed, knowing I’ll catch up to Endo before he can escape.

Collins must have seen my approach and realized our flanking plan wasn’t going to work, because she steps out in front of Endo and the woman, reaching into her coat, like she’s got a gun.

Endo and the woman stop in place. They don’t raise their hands, but they don’t make a move for weapons, either. Knowing that they’ll soon call Collins’s bluff, I shift my aim to the left and leap, aiming for Endo. Yeah, it’s kind of a far fall, but Endo is going to break it for me.

As I sail through the air, Collins doesn’t reveal a thing. Her eyes stay on Endo. Her expression doesn’t change. Nothing about her gives away my attack, and my approach is all but silent.

Yet, Endo somehow senses my aerial approach. He doesn’t turn to attack me or dive out of the way. I could have lived with some kind of dramatic conclusion. He just takes a single step to the side, moving out of the way just enough, so I fly past and land hard on the ground.

I’m able to curl in on myself, rolling as I hit, but holy hell, concrete is an unforgiving surface. I’m going to be in serious pain tomorrow. And since I’m not a ninja, or Endo, my sprawling roll doesn’t end until I slam into the side of a metal container. The empty container bongs from the impact, like a symbol at the end of a joke.

To my surprise, when I right myself and turn around, Endo and the woman are still standing there. “Don’t move,” I say, sounding very un-authoritative. I climb to my feet. “You’re under arrest.”

Endo smiles. “We’re in China.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

He turns to the woman, his confidence never wavering. “I’ll see you at the plane.”

She nods.

Then they split like an atom, exploding into two different directions. Despite having already sprinted the length of a football field and dropping from the sky like Evel Knievel at Snake River, I throw myself after Endo and shout, “Get the woman!” I don’t look back to see if Collins is giving chase. I know she is.

Endo is a blur. He’s not a big guy. Maybe 5’5”, and he’s skinny. Maneuvering through the maze of containers, both upright and spilled, is far easier for him, than it is for me. Where he moves with finesse, I—well, I just do my best. And somehow, I manage to stick with him.

Until I don’t.

He ducks into an alley between two bright yellow containers, and when I follow, he’s gone. Fifty feet separate the corner from the next turn. No way he could have made it all the way. Unless he’s been running slow on purpose, pulling some kind of pursuit rope-a-dope.

“Ahem.” The cleared throat comes from behind me. I try to hide my surprise as I turn around, but Endo knows I’m flabbergasted. The smile on his face mocks me like a childhood bully.

He leans back casually against a container. Glances up at the sky, like he’s got nothing better to do than wonder whether or not it’s going to rain. Then he says, “We don’t have to be enemies.”

“We’re not,” I say. “You’re a criminal. I’m in law enforcement. I’m just doing my job.”

“You’ve been trying to find evidence against me all year,” he says. “Sounds like a vendetta to me.”

I nearly deny it, but it’s clear he knows better. I suppose when you work for the most high-tech company in the world, even government secrets can’t stay hidden for long. Which makes me wonder what else he knows. Man, I’ve really got to get this guy in an interrogation room.

“You’re a murderer,” I say, stepping closer.

“When I killed, it was under the orders of a United States general.” Endo stands up straight, taking his weight off the container. “When you brought Tilly to the edge of that roof and offered his life to Maigo, you weren’t under orders. He hadn’t been convicted or sentenced. According to the law, you took an innocent man and had him executed.”

Two things stop me in place. First, I agree with him. Technically, I killed Tilly, or was, at least, an accessory to his murder. I just don’t feel bad about it, because he murdered his wife and daughter, and my taking the law into my own hands spared the city from further destruction. Second, Endo is the only other person I’ve ever heard call the monster by the name
Maigo
.

His grin returns. “We want the same thing: to protect the world from further destruction. We’re just going about it differently.”

“How’s that?” I ask, stepping forward again, closing to within striking distance.

“You think brute force will stop her,” he says, and he’s wrong about that. I’m not sure anything short of a nuke could stop her, and I’m entirely against that option, though some in Washington disagree. “I believe in a more subtle approach,” he says.

Going for the unsubtle approach, I take a swing, hoping to catch him off guard. No matter how experienced a fighter he is, one good clock to the head will drop him. If only the man didn’t have the reflexes of a mantis shrimp, it might have worked.

Ducking my punch, which overextends my body and leaves me open for a painful counter-attack, Endo simply leaps up and slaps me across the side of my head, striking my temple with his open palm.

He jumps back out of reach, standing casually once again, a smile on his face.

I groan, exasperated by his cocky attitude and the realization that he’s just screwing around. “Seriously?”

“Like I said, you’re going about it all wrong,” he says. “It’s not about brute force. It’s about intelligence. Knowledge. Technology.”

“Shut up, Steve Jobs,” I grumble, clenching my fists. “Sometimes a little brute force goes a long way.” I take a step toward him, trying to visualize my attack. My fist is about half the size of his head. Just one punch.
One
punch.

He takes a step away, and I think I’ve got him. He sees how pissed I am.

Nope.

He just wants to get in the last word.

“It’s about control,” he says, before tapping what looks like a small Bluetooth phone attached to his right ear. “Stop.”

The world goes wonky. I’m still aiming for his head, but my mind is telling me he’s floating away, hovering smoothly over the ground, a fixed distance from me. But that’s not the case. The truth is worse. He’s not gliding away,
I’m
no longer moving.

“Sit,” he says. “Don’t talk.”

I plop down onto the damp concrete, sitting in a rainbow swirled oily puddle.

I can move my eyes, but otherwise, I have no control over my own body.

He steps up in front of me, my life in his hands. With a broad smile he taps my head with his finger. “Control the beast. Save the world.” He steps back. “I hope the next time we meet, it will be under different circumstances. Our goals are aligned. Maigo is important. To both of us.”

I want to hurl four letter words at him, but I’m a statue.

He glances to the side, like he’s just heard something. He steps between a pair of containers and slips away. Ten seconds later, Collins appears. She looks unharmed, but pissed.

“What are you doing?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

When I don’t respond in any way except to stare at her, her mood shifts from anger to concern. She slows her approach. “Are you booby trapped or something?”

I move my eyes back and forth, doing my best to communicate a ‘no,’ and I turn my eyes toward my left temple, where Endo slapped me.

She looks at the side of my head and squints. “The hell?” Leaning in close, she reaches out, takes hold of something and tugs. A stinging pain lances through my head and I shout, “Oww!” Then I’m immediately relieved, because I can talk again.

I rub the side of my head, and my hand comes away with just a little bit of blood. Collins holds out a dime-sized device. Its surface is smooth black, but three golden prongs, tinged with my blood, extend from its side.

I’m about to ask what it is, when the thing starts to smoke. Collins flinches in pain and yanks her hand away. A jet of flame shoots from the side of it, but extinguishes as the device lands in a puddle. I quickly pick it up, hoping the fire and water haven’t completely destroyed the technology inside.

“What did it do to you?” Collins asks, helping me to my feet.

“Controlled me,” I tell her. “I would have done whatever he asked.”

“You’re okay?”

I nod. “He...just wanted to talk.”

“Be glad he didn’t leave you doing the running man dance.”

I smile, but the attempt at humor doesn’t really lift my spirits. “I know what Zoomb is after.”

She waits.

“Control…” I tell her with a frown, “of Nemesis.”

6

“We are now live outside the Sydney Opera House, standing atop the Forecourt stairs, which we’re told creates a natural amphitheater. This allows each and every one of the nearly one thousand audience members to clearly hear the Sydney Orchestra’s every note.” Olivia Jones gave the camera a smile and dipped her head to the right, letting her straight blonde hair swing out over one eye. The movement wasn’t intentional, but the newsroom knew it meant she was done talking.

The voice of Chuck Wilson, the studio reporter that only she and the TV audience could hear, spoke in her ear. “Very good, Olivia. I’m sure we’d all like to be there with you.”

Olivia nodded, like she agreed, but she wasn’t a fan of orchestral music. Had the concert been the B-52s or R.E.M. she would have been pleased, but when was the last time either of those bands played in Australia—or anywhere for that matter? “Absolutely. It’s going to be a fantastic night, full of magical music followed by fireworks and an exclusive after-party, where we’re sure to spot a few celebs and some of Sydney’s—”

“Olivia,” Chuck said, cutting her off.

She nearly lost her cool on live TV. If there was one thing she hated more than anything else, it was being interrupted. She had a boyfriend once. Stunningly handsome. Smart. Wealthy. But he interrupted her constantly, even if they weren’t fighting. The man had ears only for his internal monologue, and he would express whatever fresh insight he’d just delighted himself with, regardless of what she was saying. He almost didn’t hear her breaking up with him.

Now, she forced a professional smile, and said, “Yes, Chuck, what is it?”

Chuck was a prick, but he was dashing and attracted a younger, more female demographic, which the advertisers loved. He would be untouchable at the network until he started to wrinkle. There was a time when she was the nightly news’ sex appeal, but two children and time had conspired against her. She’d be lucky to have two more years on the air. Then they’d move her to the news room, or if she was lucky, to a morning show where the audience was primarily more geriatric.

“It looks like some kind of light show might be starting before the concert.”

Olivia glanced at her camera man, squinting in confusion. He pointed behind her. “Over the water.”

Olivia spun around. The giant white ‘sails’ of the Opera House filled most of her view. Next to Uluru, it was the most recognizable site in all of Australia. The giant arching sails reminded her more of a pod of whales, rising to the surface while feeding on schools of small fish, but like most people, she thought the design was stunning.