The Tomorrow Heist (16 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­one

11:25
A.M.

I
F
THE
OTHER
staterooms were luxurious, Umi's suite was palatial. The treasures decorating the ten-­room space were alone worth millions. But they were just things, she didn't even see them anymore when she moved from room to room. And since losing Mikawa, the place just seemed incredibly empty. She didn't even like being there anymore, instead spending most of her time in her tiny office several decks down. But today was different.

Umi struggled, but with the aid of a chair, she knelt before her antique bamboo bookcase. On the wall over the bookcase, above her eye line even when she was standing, was her Shinto shrine. She thought most religion of any sort was nonsense, but Mikawa hadn't. They'd always had a shrine in their homes around the world, but Umi had just viewed them as knickknacks.

Above this shrine, however, she had placed a picture of Mikawa. In an ornate box at the base of the shrine were a few of Mikawa's ashes. And on a clean white plate were a few squares of chocolate, Mikawa's favorite food. Her eyes welled, and a tear snuck out of her control and ran down her wrinkled cheek. She missed Mikawa so much.

“It won't be long, my love,” she whispered. “We'll be together soon. But there is much to do first.”

Umi knelt in silence for a few minutes, her knees aching, but she ignored the pain. She thought of happy times with her lost love. Simple things like having her staff prepare a wonderful dinner, then dismissing them so it was just the two of them.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on her door. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated harder and faster. Finally, a voice accompanied the intrusion.

“Mrs. Tenabe? It's Captain Tanaka. I need to see you immediately. It's important.”

Umi struggled to her feet, brushed her slacks clean, and went to the door. As she walked, she swayed with the ship.
The storm's getting worse,
she thought.

“What is it, Captain? What couldn't wait?”

“I . . . I just wanted you to know that I've ordered the guards to take the passengers to their rooms now,” Tanaka said.

“
You
ordered? Since when do you order anything, Mr. Tanaka?”

“Yes, I know. It was a little presumptuous of me. But since they were going to be taken there anyway soon, I thought it prudent,” Tanaka said, swaying slightly in the hallway. “As you can see, because of the storm, there's a safety issue.”

“Fine. Just clear it with Mr. Morgan.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tanaka said.

“And Mr. Tanaka, let's be clear. You don't order anything on this ship without checking with me first. Understand?”

“Yes, ma'am. Apologies.”

“Oh, and tell Mr. Corsair to contact me if you see him.”

“I will, ma'am.”

Umi closed the door. When she was alone, she allowed her disappointment to show. With everyone in their rooms, there was no longer a need for the pretense of a speech. She had worked hard on what would have been her final speech. It would have been a fitting cap on her career, but now Tanaka's concern for the passengers had taken that away from her.

Some ­people are so selfish.

11:35
A.M.

“I
T
HOUGHT
YOU
said the storm was moving away? How did you convince her it was getting worse?” Jonathan said to Tanaka into a radio Maggie had gotten for them from the armory. The radio was for show so they didn't need to explain their implants to Maggie. And since Maggie didn't have an implant, the radios were useful, but the gun that sat snuggly in his waistband made him feel better as he sat on the edge of the bed in his stateroom.

“You said be the captain. I set the automatic pilot to be a little . . . choppy,” Tanaka's voice said, sounding positively elated.

“Nice,” Jonathan said. “All right, head back to the bridge and stand by.”

“Roger.”

“Well, that's step one. It's up to you now. Care to share how you plan to thin the guards out?” Jonathan said to Maggie.

“A girl's got to have her secrets,” Maggie said. “Oh, and I need this.” She took the second injector off the bed.

“You're the boss,” Jonathan said.

“And don't you forget it,” Maggie said with a smile, then headed for the door.

“Listen, Mags,” Jonathan said. He hadn't even meant to talk about this now, it just sort of slipped out while he was looking at her.

“Don't,” Maggie said without turning around. But she didn't leave.

“I thought you were dead. You have to believe me. I need you to know. I tried, but no one would tell me anything. I . . . I thought you were dead.”

Silence dragged out as they both stood there. Finally, Maggie turned and looked at him, her eyes moist.

“I was.”

11:40
A.M.

“Y
OU
BURK
!” A
LEX
cursed at the idiot who had sabotaged the launches. It was the last one, and they had all been wrecked, their instrumentation smashed to bits. Most likely that Morgan bastard, Alex thought. He probably put one of those exoskeleton suits on and played whack-­a-­mole with the dashboard controls. Whoever had done it, had also punched bowling-­ball-­sized holes in the hull. And with no choppers on board, Alex was well and truly trapped.

The old cow really doesn't want anyone escaping her gas,
Alex thought.

He had a mask back in his cabin, so he could survive the attack, but then what? Get caught on board with over a hundred dead bodies? The other option was to go down in the sub with everyone else, but the idea of being trapped on the bottom of the ocean did little to entice Alex.

He had his money, and now he just wanted to go spend it. And that meant getting off the ship. But how? He'd always had the famous Corsair luck keeping him safe through his long career, never taking even one sick day from injury. No matter how tight the spot he got into, he always found a way out. But where was that luck now?

“
Corsair-­san?
”

Alex spun around, stopping just shy of pulling his gun and shooting. A steward stood on the deck looking comical in his white uniform.

“What is it?” Alex said, calming himself. Then when the steward didn't respond, he repeated the question in Japanese.

“Miss Reynolds is looking for you. It's rather urgent. She said that you could find her in Hold C in the control room.” With his message delivered, the steward bowed and turned to leave.

“What's the hurry?” Alex asked.

“I don't want to miss the speech. I have to get back to my quarters.”

“Right,” Alex said, knowing the steward and the rest of the ship staff didn't have a single mask between them. “Say, how did you find me?”

“Miss Reynolds sent out ten of us across the ship to find you.” Alex nodded, and the steward bowed again, then hurried away.

Alex smiled. He was pretty sure he knew what Maggie wanted. Hold C was a smaller, rarely used hold. Nice and quiet. Practically romantic. But he'd have to hurry. She was a great shag, but she wasn't worth dying for.

 

Chapter Twenty-­two

Tokyo

11:45
A.M.
Local Time

I
F
G
OD
WERE
a mechanic, Tatsu supposed that this is what creation would have looked like. Dozens of limbs hung from the ceiling of the warehouse-­sized workshop. Some shone in gold and silver high-­polished finishes, some were duller grays and blacks, and others were even dressed in eerie analogues for human flesh. They were in varying degrees of repair—­some sparkling and new, others worn and lightly dented. Some were demolished—­nightmares of gashes and gouges ripped into them—­most still slick with the fluid of defeat. Many of the latter were sticking out of a huge barrel in the corner of the workshop, like a futuristic bin of baguettes.

None of this bothered Tatsu. They were just machines and parts, but what did bother her were all the heads. They were lined up along the wall behind several of the tables scattered with tools and electronics, seeming to stare at her accusingly.
Why weren't you here to help us?

In her earlier visits, it had bothered Tatsu that there didn't appear to be any torsos around. She'd learned later that the torsos were still in ser­vice, either in the restaurant show or in various robot battle competitions around the world. Nagura would just strip the damaged limbs or heads off and switch them for new or repaired ones, sending the units right back into ser­vice as if no battles had ever occurred.

Tatsu had envied that.

And then she saw him, and her heart fluttered slightly—­or maybe an organ a little lower did. Nagura was hunched over a workbench in the corner, working on a disassembled head with a soldering iron, wisps of thin, blue smoke rising up into the air every now and then. She remembered months ago when she'd first met Nagura. From Umi's description of him, Tatsu had expected him to be almost troll-­like, looking close to the eye engineer in
Bladerunner
, but nothing could've been further from the truth. Nagura was beautiful—­tall, with jet-­black hair, strong features, and a well-­trimmed body. Just the way God should look, she thought.

“Tatsu!” Nagura yelled when he saw her standing in the entrance of his shop. He put away his tools, wiped his hands, and came running over to her. Her breath caught as he threw his arms around her. “It's so good to see you! I was so excited when I got your text.”

“And you, as well! How's the restaurant business?” she asked, trying to sound as blase as possible. She was sure he'd noticed how long she'd lingered in his embrace. And how she kept staring at the healing burn marks on the side of his face.

“Wonderful! I wasn't sure how I'd like it, but I think I could do this for the rest of my life. The looks on the faces of the visitors as they watch the shows is so gratifying.”

Nagura had created the robotic equivalent of the Medieval Knights restaurant franchise. While ­people sat in the restaurant and ate, his robots performed and fought in front of them. ­People came from all around the world to see the show.

“This is all possible because of Mrs. Tenabe, of course. I'll never be able to thank her enough,” he said, as Tatsu followed him deeper into the workshop. Then his face seemed to drop slightly, and the brilliant smile that had been there shrank. “I'm still devastated over what happened.”

“We all are,” Tatsu said. “But you shouldn't feel bad. You did what you were supposed to. Your creations matched the specs supplied to you to the letter. The fault didn't lie with you.” She had told him pretty much the same thing every time she'd seen him since the tragedy, but it didn't seem to help anymore.

“Still. How is she? She hasn't changed her mind, has she? Because I'd be happy to—­”

“No.” Her answer was abrupt, but it was all that needed to be said. And her tone made it plain that she didn't want to talk about it.

“Of course.” Nagura said, then, after a moment, his smile was back where it belonged. “Now, you didn't come here to chitchat, I'll bet. What can I do for you?”

“We're in a bit of trouble, and we don't have much time,” Tatsu said.

“We?” Nagura said.

Tatsu quickly told Nagura about Per—­a watered-­down version, of course. She'd managed to avoid him at the airport and grab a waiting taxi, but she had no idea if he was here yet or not.

“My goodness!” Nagura said when she was done. “What can I do?”

“I need you to delay him. I've got a chopper waiting to take me to the
Jirojin Maru
. I just need time to get to it without his following. But you need to be careful, Nagura. This man is dangerous,” Tatsu said though she knew she was downplaying the danger. It was instinct and the right call to achieve her goal, but with everything she'd experienced in the past few days, it made her feel awful.

“Consider it done,” Nagura said, picking up a remote-­control unit off the workbench. “And don't you worry about us, we'll be—­careful,” Nagura said. He worked the remote and one of his battlebots rolled out, wielding a chain saw for an arm.

T
HE
RUNWAY
WAS
over fifty feet long, lined on either side by makeshift fences of thick chains, meant to give a sense of danger and foreboding. Behind the chains were three tiers of glass and chrome tables festooned with confetti, half-­eaten sushi, and multicolored glow sticks that patrons waved in an effort to be part of the show. Over every inch of the walls were huge television screens blasting flashing colors and dazzling images into the restaurant.

Crisscrossing the ceiling—­some stationary and some running on tracks—­were every color and kind of flashing, strobing, and spotting lights. Set into the corners of the ceiling were massive speakers that blasted patrons with decibels of driving pop music and electronic beats, in case they had any awareness left after the light shows got through with them.

Per found it all annoying but sat stone-­faced, even raising the glow stick in front of him to try to blend in with the huge crowd.

Every few minutes, a new act would roll out of the curtain on one side of the runway. They'd perform their part of the afternoon's show, passing in front of the dining audience, then exit through the curtain on the opposite end of the runway. As far as Per could tell, the theme was a combination of sex and robots. Every attraction found some way to incorporate several mostly naked women, who somehow found a way to decorate what little clothing they wore—­bikinis, thigh-­high leggings and headgear—­with neon rope lights and flashing strobes. From what he could discern, half the robots were actually performers in robot costumes. The other half—­Per's kindred spirits—­were actual robots, some humanoid but most platforms, devices, and ridiculous creatures sprung from Japanese culture.

What little interest Per had had in the show passed when he noticed the tall, dark-­haired man in the corner staring at him. When the man called a few of the larger bouncers over and whispered to them while looking at Per and pointing, that was all he could take.

The next attraction rolled out. It was another huge platform decorated like a Matisse nightmare. Sitting atop the platform and driving it with a joystick was a young woman who Per thought looked like some sort of video-­game sex worker. Hanging on both sides of the platform were two performers in shiny silver robot costumes approximating the Cylons in
Battlestar Galactica
, their big blocky heads bopping left and right to the music. They hung on to the platform with one arm and waved neon strobing swords in their free hands at the audience, who howled and waved their glow sticks in response.

As the platform stopped in front of his table to perform their antics, Per took the opportunity, stepping up on his table and vaulting over the chain fence in a single motion. ­People screamed, some laughed, but most used their phones to capture this new part of the show. To Per's surprise, the performers just played into it. One of the robots let go of the platform and started to dance with Per. Then he realized what the performers were doing. They were trying to occupy him until the bouncers arrived.

Per reached up on the platform and pulled the girl off, tossing her on the floor. The tone of the audience changed from elation to confusion, some of them starting to stand up themselves. Before she finished rolling away, Per was in the driver's seat. Only ten feet away, the bouncers were yelling in Japanese and waving for him to get down. Per ignored them, but the audience didn't. Others stood and several started talking amongst themselves and heading for the exit.

A hand grabbed Per from behind. Without looking, Per knew it was the third performer and reached up with his robotic arm, tossing him not only off the platform, but over the chain fence and onto a table in front of several customers who hadn't figured things out yet. That sparked everyone to life, realizing at last that this was not part of the show. In the next moment, everyone jumped up screaming and fighting for the door.

Per grabbed the joystick and slammed it forward. The platform took off with surprising speed, mowing down the bouncers, who had no chance to get out of the way. And he kept going.

A few seconds later, with ­people tossing glow sticks and sushi at Per, he blasted through the curtain at the other end of the runway and left the sensory overload of the show behind him. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim backstage. In that time, another two bouncers showed up and managed to pull Per off the stationary platform. Per stayed on his feet and blocked their blows before he delivered strikes of his own. Per saw the tall man in the corner of the backstage area watching.

Enough foolishness.

He swung his robotic arm back and forth, knocking the bouncers down and out. Per looked down and saw a gun in a holster under one of the unconscious bouncer's jackets. Per grabbed it and headed for the tall man, whose eyes were still wide from watching Per's attack.

“Nagura! Don't move!” Per shouted as he marched toward him.

Of course, Nagura immediately turned and ran through a door marked “Private.”

Per followed.

He found himself in some sort of workshop. He ignored the robotic parts hanging around him and searched for his quarry. Per moved up and down the aisles between the tables, looking under them and swinging the gun around each corner. Suddenly, there was movement behind him. Per spun around and was facing two battle robots advancing on him.

They were each about five feet tall and designed to take pieces off other equally hardened robots. Human flesh would not be a problem. One had a chain saw for an arm, and the other had a spinning radial saw swinging back and forth on a pendulum coming out of its chest.

Robotic arm or not, Per couldn't take on both of them at once without ending up with a need for many more replacement parts, so he fired a few shots at one. The bullets sparked off its metal body and did little else. Per retreated around the corner.

A slamming noise behind him made him spin around. Another robot, this one with swords for arms and another sword sprouting from its chest, was taking turns stabbing each of them into the ground in front of it. Chips of the hardwood floor flew up into the air. And it was moving toward him.

Per turned away and calmly thought. These weren't self-­driven robots, they were machines that needed someone to control them. Nagura, no doubt. Per scanned the back of the workshop and saw something sticking up and moving above one of the workbenches. He realized it was the end of an antenna.

Per looked around the workshop, then up at the robotic limbs and appendage weapons sticking out of the suspended grating overhead. The grating was attached to the ceiling by metal guidewires collected into a single pulley. As the three deadly machines moved in on his position, Per swung the gun up and emptied the clip into the pulley. When the gun's hammer clicked against nothing, the limbs were still hanging in place, though swinging back and forth. The pulley was ruined but somehow still hanging on.

Per jumped out of the path of the stabbing swords, grabbed one of the robot heads off the bench and, using his robotic arm, hurled it at the pulley as hard as he could. The head exploded in shards and rained down. And then, finally, the guidewires snapped out of the pulley and all of the limbs and weapons slammed down behind the workbench where Nagura was hiding.

After a howl, the three attackers on either side of Per fell silent. When he was sure they were dormant, he stepped over them and headed for the workbench. Coming around the corner, Per saw his carnage. Nagura was fighting for breath. A jagged sword had pierced his leg, and blood slowly oozed out onto the floor. That was survivable. But a mace with razor-­sharp points had impaled Nagura through the middle of his chest. He didn't have much time left. Per knelt beside him and looked at the wounds, tilting his head to the side, momentarily fascinated by the damage.

“Do you speak English?” Per asked.

Nagura nodded. “Y . . . yes.”

Per reached down and put his hand on the jagged sword piercing Nagura's leg. “Tell me about Dead Lights.”

I
S
HOULD HAVE
killed Nagura,
Tatsu thought as she sat in the chopper and waited for takeoff.

The thought shocked Tatsu. It came from a part of her brain she didn't want to use anymore. Ever since she killed Hank back in Toronto, her mind had been constantly churning through all the things Umi had asked her to do over the years. Not the least of which was kill herself.

In hopes that Umi hadn't had time to notify anyone else of her supposed demise, Tatsu had used the normal transportation channels and called for a helicopter. It had taken some time, but when it showed up on the roof of one of Umi's buildings on the east side of Tokyo, she knew she'd been right.

As the pilot filed their flight plan, she relaxed, knowing that soon she'd be on her way back home. Home. She found it a little odd to think of the
Jirojin Maru
as home, but that's what it was.