The Tomorrow Heist (12 page)

 

Chapter Fifteen

Atlantis Explorer

8:13
A.M.
Local Time

T
HE
RESEARCH
VESSEL
that Jonathan and Lew had choppered out to from Nagoya's Central Japan Airport flew an Australian flag, but Jonathan doubted that the ship had ever been anywhere near the Down Under continent.

The
Atlantis Explorer
was a big ship, at least two hundred feet long and stark white against the dark green-­blue of the ocean and the roiling gray clouds on the horizon. According to Fahd, she was a science ship funded solely by The Custodians, but today she was really just a way station. They had been moving at high speed up until a few minutes ago, getting Lew and him as close as possible to the
Jirojin Maru
without being detected. Their communications-­jamming perimeter worked both ways, so they just had to worry about line of sight. They were still several kilometers out, but they couldn't risk getting any closer.

Lew was up on deck somewhere, getting outfitted for his swim, which was starting to concern Jonathan. Lew was strong—­stronger than anyone Jonathan had ever known—­but this was one hell of a long swim in brutally rough waters. Lew's military training and certification had been a long time ago, and strength or not, Lew wasn't a kid. Not that he had been showing any concern himself before they'd hurried Jonathan belowdecks for his final preparations and makeover. The only thing Lew had asked was if he could get something to eat before the swim.

Jonathan, on the other hand, had been asking questions nonstop. Which he could tell was starting to wear thin on Fahd and his ­people. He didn't care. If even one of the answers didn't pass his internal bullshit detector, he'd put a stop to this before anyone hit the water.

As several ­people dressed him, prepared his luggage, ran over his back story, and pasted a false mustache on him so he more closely matched Dr. Chris Hudson's appearance, Jonathan asked again about the swim ahead of Lew.

“I already told you, it's not so much of a swim as a ride,” Fahd said, referring to the swimmer delivery vehicle, a powered sled that would drag Lew through the water. “His dive watch/computer is locked on the
Jirojin Maru
's location. All he has to do is hang on, and he'll be there in a half an hour. Hell, if the inbound helicopter traffic is what I hear it is, he'll be on board before you are.”

“
Would you relax, Mom? I've got this,
” Lew's voice said into Jonathan's head from the implant behind his ear. It was a strange sensation, but he was starting to get used to it. He was even getting used to how different Lew's voice sounded coming from the implant than as sound waves traveling through the air. It was sort of like when you listened to your own voice on a recording and heard how strange it was, but in reverse.

“Fine, but don't come crying to me when you end up in Russia,” Jonathan said. Lew laughed, but everyone in the room just looked at him.

“That's not really possible, sir,” a young man started to explain before Jonathan waved off the unnecessary explanation.

“Tell me again why no one is going to realize I'm not Dr. Hudson?” Jonathan said.

“We didn't just pick him at random, Jonathan. We've checked the attendees list. No one is even remotely acquainted with him. And if they've seen any pictures of him, our little makeover should stand up nicely,” Fahd said, referring not just to the fake mustache but to the clothes and quick blond dye job. “Besides, it's a conference. Everyone's going to be half in the bag ten minutes after they hit the
Jirojin Maru
's deck.”

“Uh-­huh,” Jonathan said. He didn't like the logic any better now than he had the first time he'd heard the explanation.

“Besides, you're not here to meet colleagues or discuss the lengthening of chromosome telomeres,” Fahd said. Jonathan recognized the tech-­speak from his gerontology primer. Obviously, Fahd had familiarized himself with the science as well. That made him feel a little better, actually.

“Right,” Jonathan said.

“Mix with the crowds, but at your first opportunity, break away and find the Picasso.”

Jonathan adjusted his clothing and looked at himself in the mirror. The transformation was a little shocking. He looked ten years younger, which was amazing since he already looked years younger than he really was. It would have been great, but he also thought he looked like a complete douche bag.

He was dressed in a pink button-­down shirt, open to the sternum, a blue blazer, and tight tan jeans, accented by a black belt with a gold buckle and a pink handkerchief in his blazer pocket. On his feet were black leather and suede buckled loafers, his bare ankles showing above them. They'd hung a gold chain around his neck with a diamond-­encrusted gold pendant, put a few titanium and platinum rings on his right hand and a watch on his left arm that had a face the size of a pickle jar lid. His hair was blonder than he'd expected and full of product that kept it looking to Jonathan like a haircut from the sixties. As he looked at himself, Fahd slipped a pair of Oliver ­Peoples Sheldrake glasses on him. They had thick black frames and blue-­tinted lenses with no prescription.

“Perfect,” Fahd said.

“This guy is a scientist?” Jonathan asked incredulously. Fahd showed him the picture they were going by. He had to admit, the image in the mirror was a dead ringer for the guy in the photo.

“Top of his field,” Fahd said. “And he holds more patents than IBM. It's a brave new world.”

“Apparently,” Jonathan said. “So what's the exit strategy?” He had been waiting for them to tell him, but he was starting to wonder if they even had one.

“Here,” Fahd said. He took the pendant from around Jonathan's neck and pulled off the end. He showed it to Jonathan. It was a USB drive.

“What's that for?”

“This is your ticket out,” Fahd said, putting the pendant back together. “The launches are secured, like most things on Tenabe's ship, by electronics. Get in one and plug this in. It will unlock the controls and lower the launch into the water. Just get far enough away from the ship to avoid the jamming perimeter and contact us through your implant. We'll pick you up.”

“Gotcha.”

As they grabbed his luggage—­a ridiculous number of soft chocolate-­leather bags—­and headed out the door, Jonathan stayed rooted to his spot, looking at himself in the mirror.

“What is it?”

“Any way you can get Lew into the water before I get up there?”

T
WO
MEN
IN
dark blue coveralls grunted and pulled as they tried once again to get Lew's bulk squeezed into the black wetsuit. One of them swore in Greek, and the other said something in a language Lew didn't recognize. He'd already popped the zipper out of one suit. If this one didn't cooperate, he was going to be in trouble. He didn't want to think about what even a half hour in the cold water would feel like without protection.

Finally, with a joint effort, the suit squeaked up over his massive shoulders. A few inhales later, and he was safely inside his second skin. Lew felt like his muscles were being pushed deeper into his body.

“Told you it would fit,” Lew said, though really, he just wanted to get this swim over with so he could get out of the thing. He hadn't been given his exit strategy yet, but he was hoping it involved a cushy helicopter.

The men helped him shoulder his way into his air tank and pulled the hood of the wetsuit up over his head. As he was once again being instructed on how to operate the swimmer delivery vehicle, Jonathan, Fahd, and a few more men in dark blue coveralls came up onto the mission deck at the ship's stern. Lew lost all focus on what he was supposed to be doing when he saw Jonathan. At first he didn't even recognize him, then despite the crush on his abdomen from the suit, Lew's belly laugh echoed out over the deck.

“Wh—­what the hell are you supposed to be?” Lew managed when he stopped laughing.

“Shut up,” Jonathan said.

Just before Lew could ride Jonathan some more, Lew felt the zipper running up his back split open. He would have sworn, but he was just too happy to be able to breathe again.

A few minutes later, the upper part of his ruined suit had been taken away. He stood on deck in wetsuit shorts that stopped just above his knees, naked from the waist up except for the bulky dive watch on his wrist and very aware that Fahd's men kept staring at his scars. Or, at least, he hoped they were staring at his scars.

Lew, more worried about being left out than having to endure the cold water against his naked flesh, convinced the men to forget the top and just help him on with his air tank. Jonathan joined him as the men reluctantly complied. Lew checked his regulator and nodded when he was sure it was working. He leaned his swim fins and a neoprene duffel bag holding his dry clothes, smartphone, and Custodians-­supplied weapon against the sled he'd be riding. The security check on the deck of the
Jirojin Maru
was apparently too strict for Jonathan to bring a weapon, even in his luggage.

It didn't take long for Lew to feel Jonathan's stare burning into his back.

“What?” Lew finally said without turning around.

“You know what I'm going to say.”

“Guys, let's give them a minute,” Fahd said. With a wave of his hand, the men in the coveralls dropped what they were doing and disappeared belowdecks. “Five minutes, guys,” Fahd said to Jonathan and Lew before he left himself.

“It's not that far,” Lew said, pretending to fiddle with his equipment still. “I've got this.”

“Yeah, so you said before,” Jonathan said. Lew didn't want to look at him. Partly because of his ridiculous getup, and partly because he knew if he made eye contact, he'd have to face the fact that Jonathan was right.

“So we agree.”

“Lew.”

Lew continued fiddling.

“Lew.”

Lew finally dropped the bag and turned around, looking Jonathan in the eye. Jonathan slipped off his blue-­tinted glasses.

“You can't do this. Being hardheaded isn't going to fend off hypothermia. You're going to have to sit this one out, buddy,” Jonathan said. “Besides, it's a cakewalk. George is out of the picture, no one is in danger. It's just about the painting. And look at this,” Jonathan said, gesturing at the ship. “And look at me. These Custodians or whatever they call themselves may still be keeping some secrets, but it's obvious they've done their research and have everything figured out. I'll be fine.”

Lew kept disagreeing, right up until the chopper sitting on the bridge deck at the bow of the
Atlantis Explorer
took off with Jonathan and Fahd in it. He kept disagreeing, but he knew Jonathan was right. Lew was sure he could make it, especially with the sled, but he'd be in no shape to do much of anything for a while once he got there.

“If it goes south, I'm going to make sure they use a picture of how you look right now for your obituary,” Lew said out loud, talking to Jonathan over their implants as they flew away. He wasn't even sure if Jonathan could hear him from that distance. Not at first, anyway.

“
I love you too, big guy.
”

Lew smiled, gave a wave, and turned around. The smile fell from his face.

Two of the larger crewmen were headed toward him, the looks on their faces making it plain they didn't have a fruit basket waiting. He wasn't sure if this was a mutiny or if something bigger was behind their actions, but for the moment he didn't have time to worry about that. Lew was half-­naked and still had the heavy air tank on his back, but he didn't have a second to shed the weight. He stepped toward the approaching men, holding his hands up.

“Hey, guys, just take it easy,” Lew said. One of the men pulled a small club from his belt. Easy was apparently not an option.

“We've got orders to lock you up until Fahd gets back,” the club wielder said. “Come with us, or you'll feel pain.”

“Have it your way,” Lew said. The man lowered the club, misunderstanding what Lew was saying. When he was close enough, Lew's hands shot out, grabbing the man's neck. Then with one smooth motion, Lew headbutted the bridge of his nose. Blood sprayed his friend as the man howled for a moment before dropping to the deck. Lew relieved him of his club.

“No. Wait,” the other man said, his eyes wide.

“That ship has sailed, sonny,” Lew said, snapping his wrist in a whipping motion. The sound of the club cracking off the side of the crewman's head reminded Lew of an afternoon at Fenway.

“Jonny! Jonny, can you hear me?” Lew said when the last man was down, looking off in the direction the helicopter had flown. There was no response. Whatever connection they'd had was gone.

Four other crewmen suddenly flowed out the doors on either side of the forecastle crew quarters, and Lew had no more time to worry about Jonathan. He tossed the club at one of them and ran straight ahead between the two groups, jumping up onto the wall in front of him. He climbed up one level and continued on up until he was on top of the pilot house.

It wasn't for his own freedom that he was fighting, of course. Jonathan had no idea what he was flying into—­
if
any of what Fahd had told them was even true. All he knew was that he had to get off this ship and help Jonathan somehow.

He ran toward the stern, working his way through the communication towers and antennas before finally jumping back down to the deck behind the pilot house. He lifted his foot to keep running but something caught the tank on his back and pulled him down. As he hit the deck, he saw a crewman had come out the back of the pilot house at just the wrong time. Rolling from his downed position, Lew took the crewman's legs out from under him. The man hit hard, and Lew was on top of him with a few forearm strikes to the side of his head before the crewman could react.