Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(69)

“That’s awful,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, lip caught tight and bloodless between her teeth. “Did it happen? The bomb?”

“I haven’t heard about it,” he said. “I’ve been in the mountains, but I think someone would have mentioned a disaster as big as that. Let me do a search.” He crouched down, pulled the laptop and router out of the bag that one of his friends had pulled from his vehicle and left outside the bedroom door. He ran a check for bombs, terrorists, Tokyo.

Nothing relevant or current jumped out. He shook his head.

The look of dawning excitement on her face scared him, in some obscure way. “What’s today’s date, Miles?” Her voice was shaking.

He glanced at the computer and told her.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “It hasn’t happened yet. I remember, in one of the trips, I saw the digital clock. It happened on the seventh. At afternoon rush hour.”

“That’s tomorrow,” he said. The clenching sense of dread grew.

“But it’s a day later there! It’s morning, nine hours later, but tomorrow! Miles, if it hasn’t happened yet, then I can stop it! I can call someone about the bomb before it goes off!”

“Yeah, but call who? Tell them what?”

Her eyes were feverishly bright. “The police! It’s a big green rucksack, packed full of explosives, left in the luggage compartment of a commuter train that’s coming into Tokyo Station at five in the afternoon. But there’s still time. Oh, God, Miles.”

She grabbed the burner phone that Aaro had bought for her, and stared at it, helplessly, like she was trying to remember how it worked.

He couldn’t say no, but he felt the doom, like a distant drumbeat.

“Who are you going to call?” he said. “The police? Do you speak Japanese?”

Her excitement shifted to anxiety. “No. I speak some European languages, but no Asian ones. Do you?”

He shook his head.

“There will be someone there who speaks English,” she said.

“They’ll want you to explain your source,” he said. “It’s going to be a hard sell. Even without the language barrier.”

“I have to tell someone!”

He lifted his hands. “Just as you say,” he said quietly. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just saying it’s not going to be easy, and you’re not in a good position to make them believe you.”

She hunched over, pressing her fists to her mouth, thinking furiously with her eyes squeezed shut. “Wait. I know a guy,” she said. “We were in high school together, in New York. He’s an art director for an online magazine in Seattle, but he grew up in Kyoto. He can call for me. He’ll help me sell it to them.”

“You know his phone number?” he asked. “You’re going to call him, right now? It’s midnight.”

“Yes.” She started to punch in a number.

He watched, with dread building in his body. Any way he looked at it, this call was a bad idea security wise, for so many compelling reasons, he didn’t even want to start listing them. But it was an untraceable burner phone, and they were sure to be gone from here tomorrow. Sooner rather than later, if he had his way.

He could not discourage her from making this call. It was an immediate way for her to turn some of the badness into good. To make some sense of the madness, the pain she’d been through. To strike a blow for righteousness, the light. He couldn’t take that away from her.

And yet, for some reason, it was scaring the shit out of him.

“Hey, Keiko? . . . it’s Lara . . . yes, I know. I know . . . yeah, not yet, but I will. I can’t tell you now. I was in trouble, but I’m okay. But I have to tell . . . no, really, Keiko. Listen to me. I have to ask you to do something for me. You need to call the police in Tokyo. There’s going to be a bomb in the main train station. It’s coming in on a commuter train that arrives at five P.M. That’s when it will go off today, if someone doesn’t stop it. Could you call the . . . no, I’m sorry, I can’t, but . . . it doesn’t matter how I know. All that matters is that I do know! . . . I’m talking hundreds of people, Keiko! . . . yes! Tell them it’s an anonymous tip . . . do I seem like a person who plays practical jokes? . . . Just do this for me, and I swear, I’ll . . . thank you. Yes, I’ll take all the blame if it . . . yes. Yes. Thank you . . . and I—”

“Lara,” Miles broke in.

“Just a sec, Keiko,” she murmured, looking up. “What?”

“Tell him to leave town, after he makes the call,” Miles said. “Tell him to lay low. Just in case.”

Lara stared at him, eyes huge with dawning realization. “Oh. God. You mean, you think he’ll be in danger?“

“Just tell him, Lara.”

“Ah, Keiko. My friend here was just suggesting that you leave town for a while, after you call,” she faltered. “I’m really sorry, but it might be dangerous for you. I don’t mean to mess up your life, but—”

There was a burst of voluble talking on the other end of the line. Lara just listened, her hand over her mouth. “Yes, I know,” she whispered. “Sorry. Yes. Thanks. I will, I promise. As soon as I can.”

She let the phone drop. “He’ll make the call. He thinks I’m nuts, but he’ll do it, just in case I’m not. Good old Keiko.”