The Tomorrow Heist

by Jack Soren

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 SHOULD 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.

  Logically, killing Nagura made perfect sense. He was a loose end. But Tatsu knew that in a few hours it wouldn’t make any difference. She was one of the few ­people who knew Umi’s endgame. Only her, Alex Corsair, and Mr. Morgan knew what was coming. And Dr. Reese, assuming he was still alive. Besides, she was the one who had nicknamed the things Dead Li—­

  Her thoughts were interrupted as someone yanked the door to the chopper open. Tatsu turned to see who it was.

  It’s not possible.

  “Room for one more?” Per said as he got in and closed the door, the gun in his hand keeping Tatsu and the pilot pinned to their seats.

  Where’s Nagura? And more importantly, what does Per know? As terrible as it was, her first thought—­her instinct—­had been exactly right. If she’d killed Nagura, Per would’ve been running around Tokyo in vain. But Nagura knew the transportation channels and had no doubt pointed Per right to her.

  “I want you to understand something,” Per said. “You killed your friend. The same way you’ll kill the pilot if you don’t tell me exactly what I want to know. I’m a reasonable man . . .”

  “Tatsu,” she said. There was no point in hiding any longer.

  “I’m a reasonable man, Tatsu. But I will not be deterred. I am going to find out what Dead Lights means. That is a fact. You have no control over that,” he said, leaning in until the barrel of the gun was only inches from Tatsu’s face. She could still smell the burned gunpowder of its recent firings. “But you can control how I find out.”

  Tatsu’s mind raced. Her options were few. She could achieve Umi’s last request—­and protect her—­by forcing this man’s hand and taking a bullet. But he wouldn’t stop there. What he’d just said wasn’t hyperbole—­she could tell that from his deeds and the look in his eyes. At the very least, the pilot would die. More likely, Per would torture both of them for information, only letting them die when he was sure they weren’t useful anymore.

  “I can see you’re trying to decide how to react. Maybe this will help you; my employer hired me to kill you. I could have done that back in Toronto.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Because I don’t care what he hired me for. It was just a way for me to get access to resources I needed. Resources to help me find out what “Dead Lights” means. Nagura didn’t know, or if he did, he didn’t tell, but I highly doubt that. Tracking the missing Dr. Reese was again just a way to find what I wanted. I don’t care what happened to him. I’m telling you all this because I want you to be fully aware that what happens next is up to you. I want to be clear about what I want. I know you’re the Dead Lights bomber. What I don’t know is if you even know why you were doing what you were doing.”

  Is he actually being honest?

  “Why do you need to know what ‘Dead Lights’ means so badly?” she asked.

  “Call it . . . a personality quirk. The reason doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “I suppose not, no.”

  While they spoke, she continued to wrack her brain for a solution. She could try to fight him, but in these close quarters, she didn’t have a chance. And again, she and the pilot would die. She wondered why she cared so much about the pilot. She didn’t even know his name. He was just one of the thousands of ­people who worked for Umi. But maybe that was the point. It wasn’t who he was but what he represented. If she was really going to succumb to Umi’s bullying, she’d wait until they were in the air, then kill the pilot, in turn killing them all. That was her instinct talking again. But she was more than her instinct. She wasn’t just a thoughtless animal, she had a mind and she could reason and think—­she could
choose.

  So she did.

  “I do know what ‘Dead Lights’ means. And I can even show them to you.”

  “You . . .” For the first time, Per showed emotion. He was even at a loss for words.

  “But the only way I’ll do that is if you help me. I need to get to Umi Tenabe on the Jirojin Maru—­the ship where the conference is being held—­before . . . before 4:45 P.M.,” Tatsu said, only partially lying. If she was right about Umi, Tatsu was going to need help getting to her. Help getting through the guards and getting past Mr. Corsair and Mr. Morgan. If they didn’t get to the ship by 1:30 P.M., Umi wouldn’t be there. But it was a way station they had to use to get to where Umi would be.

  “Deal,” Per said. “Your friend told me about this Umi—­what he did for her and what happened. If true, it’s a remarkable story. I’m looking forward to meeting her. And Mikawa, especially.”

  Jesus, Nagura told him everything! Now she knew for a fact he was dead. There was no other way Per could know what he obviously knew.

  “I don’t think meeting Mikawa would be such a great idea,” Tatsu said, a quake and underlying warning in her voice. They were going to have to be in Mikawa’s vicinity to get to Umi, that was unavoidable, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. And she didn’t like the way she was starting to think of that . . . thing . . . as Mikawa. That was only partly right. Mikawa—­the Mikawa she had known—­was dead. She’d prefer it if he stayed that way.

  Per put the gun away, and, a few minutes later, the chopper lifted off and rose into the air. After swinging along the coast, it banked and headed out to sea. Tatsu looked at the afternoon sky in front of them, the dark, roiling clouds seemingly readying themselves for something tumultuous. Tatsu did the same.

  Chapter Twenty-­three

  Jirojin Maru

  12:38 P.M. Local Time

  WITH THE TRAP set, Maggie hunkered down in the shadows of the control room of Hold C and waited. Thanks to Tanaka’s intel on the number of masks, she knew that all but a half dozen guards were destined to die with everyone else on the ship. After gathering the ship’s staff in the dining room, she had injected them all and given them a final assignment.

  At least they listen to me, Maggie thought.

  She’d sent all but ten of them out to find the unlucky guards and tell them Mr. Morgan wanted to see them in Hold C for a final briefing before the speech. It was risky, but she didn’t have a choice. The guards wouldn’t have responded to the request if she used her own name. Even the two junior guards who did listen to her had disappeared though now she had a pretty good idea what had happened to them.

  Hold C was more than just a hold. Months ago it had been redesigned with automatic locks, a surveillance system, and a control booth with a separate entrance. The control booth had a wall of glass allowing the occupants to observe what was happening in the hold. Maggie didn’t know why it had been renovated, but it made the perfect stage for her deception. She checked her watch. Jonathan should be well into his injection rounds by now. She started to think about Jonathan—­and that kiss—­and was grateful her wonderings were interrupted as the first few guards started to show up.

  “How are the injections going?” Maggie said quietly into her radio while she waited for the rest of the guards.

  “Good,” Jonathan’s voice said after a moment. “I’ve had a little resistance, but the flu story seems to be working on almost everyone.”

  “Almost?”

  “A ­couple of the scientists wanted a better explanation than I had. I handled it,” Jonathan said.

  “Roger that,” Maggie said, smiling. She knew there were now a ­couple of scientists tied up and no doubt scared, but inoculated. “No problem with the guards?”

  “Negative. There were a few at first I had to dodge, but they seem to have all left now. Whatever you’re doing, it appears to be working.”

  “Roger.”

  “Just get here as soon as you can. I’m going to need some backup when I get to the upper decks.”

  “I will. Out,” Maggie said, putting her radio away as the hold continued to fill. The guards were milling around each other and quietly talking. They seemed to be pretty much ignoring the small crate in the middle of the room.

  Maggie scanned the crowd and saw that no one was carrying a mask. Even if her invitation had managed to reach a guard with a mask, she knew he’d be unlikely to bring it along, where the others could see it. She counted heads. Most of them were here. This would have to do. Time for the show. She reached up and threw the locking switch on the control panel. Magnets slammed the door shut and locked it. Everyone turned toward the clang, and the murmurs got much louder. She snapped on the lights and stood up in front of the control room’s microphone.

  “Please quiet down,” Maggie said. When the guards saw her, at least half of them rolled their eyes and whispered to each other, some of them laughing. She steeled herself. “Gentleman, please quiet down, I’m trying to save your lives.”

  The murmuring eased, and the guards moved in closer to the window. Not all of them, but more than a few unsnapped the holster covers on their belts.

  “Where’s Morgan!”

  “Why’s the door locked!”

  “I’m going to answer all your questions if you’ll just quiet down and listen,” she said.

  The room got deathly quiet.

  “That’s better,” Maggie said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her ID. She held it up to the window. “Some of you have heard that I have an MI6 background, but what you don’t know is that I am an active MI6 agent and was sent here to uncover the real reason behind this conference. With the CIA’s help, I’ve done that. There’s no time for all the details right now, so I’ll cut to the chase. In less than an hour, poison gas is going to be released on this ship in an attempt to kill everyone on board.”

  A few guards tried to make light of the statement and whisper to others, but were told to shut up. Even more of the guards had a kind of slow realization come across their faces, followed by fear.

  “Some of you have been involved in a project placing canisters around the ship. You may or may not have known what they were for, but I can guarantee you that Mrs. Tenabe had no intention of letting anyone get off the ship before she released the toxin. You may have also noticed that some guards aren’t here, including Mr. Morgan. That’s by design. Anyone not here has been supplied a gas mask to survive the attack.”

  “How do we know this is true?” a few shouted.

  “Do you have any masks for us?” Even more shouted. Maggie relaxed a little. She was starting to get through to them.

  “I don’t have any masks for you—­” The crowd erupted into shouts before she could finish, and some began trying to open the door.

  “Please! Calm down!” But the crowd was getting away from her.

  Something thumped on the glass right beside her head and she flinched. For a second she thought someone had thrown something from the crowd, then she looked beside her and saw that Alex had entered the booth behind her and had slammed his own ID against the glass.

  “Quiet down! NOW!” Alex shouted.

  The crowd slowly responded, moving back in front of the window.

  “That’s better. Agent Reynolds is telling the truth. I’m with MI6 as well. If you want to live, listen to her.” Alex backed away and nodded for Maggie to continue with a wink. “All yours, darling.” Maggie was grateful but found it more than a little curious how fast the guards responded to Alex. She chalked it up to misogyny and continued.

  “In the crate behind you is an injection gun. In it is an antitoxin that will protect you from the gas,” Maggie said, leaving out the part about them still being rendered unconscious for hours. A ­couple of the guards fought for the crate and ripped it open, one of them pulling out the injection gun.

  “Blood
y animals,” Alex muttered.

  “You need to be careful! A double shot of the toxin will be just as deadly as the gas. Form a line and inject everyone in turn. Once I see that everyone is inoculated, I’ll open the door.” To her relief, the guards slowly formed a line and began rolling up their sleeves, another guard acted as the nurse while everyone moved past him. Maggie switched the microphone off.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Maggie asked Alex.

  “Keeping tabs on Umi, like I said I would,” Alex said. “Are you really going to open the door once they’re all injected?”

  “No,” Maggie said.

  “I think that’s prudent, darling, but how do we get inoculated with the injection gun locked in there?”

  “I’ve already been injected. There’s another injection gun inoculating all the passengers right now. “

  “All of them? But how did—­Ahh, that’s why everyone was ordered to their rooms early. Tanaka?”

  “He’s with us,” Maggie said, leaving the booth. Alex followed. “Come on, I’ll bring you up to speed on the way. Jonathan—­the CIA agent with the other injector—­needs our help on the upper decks.”

  “And help him we shall,” Alex said.

  12:50 P.M.

  JONATHAN WAS EXHAUSTED. Not physically, but all the lying and conning and stress was taking its toll. He thought about Lew and wished he was here. Lew wasn’t great at the finesse part of things, but you could guarantee if the passengers had seen him standing behind Jonathan, nobody would have said boo about getting a shot. But it was more than that; without Lew, Jonathan didn’t have a sounding board, someone to bounce ideas off and someone to call him on his bullshit. He hadn’t realized how dependent he had become on that until now.

  Jonathan looked at his clipboard. Not counting the staterooms on the upper deck that he needed help with, he had just nine to go. He was about to knock on his next door when the radio on his hip beeped.

  “Go,” Jonathan said.

  “Guards are all tucked in,” Maggie said. “We’re on our way to you now.”