Thomas Hoover - Project Daedalus

"No, but it probably should be. You can take care of that yourself in just a second. But first things first." He pointed down. "See this thumb button right here, on the left top of the grip? Notice there're three positions-all the way back is the safety, next is semiautomatic fire, and all the way forward is full-auto. There's also a backup safety here, at the top rear of the pistol grip. The action stays locked unless it's depressed, which happens when you squeeze down to deliver a round."

"Two safeties?"

"Don't knock it. This baby fires ten rounds a second on full-auto. We've only got five magazines."

"How many rounds in a magazine?"

"I insisted on the enlarged thirty-two-round version instead of the usual twenty-five. But still, with that little button forward on full-auto you can empty a magazine in about three seconds. It's a good way to get the attention of everybody in the room."

"Can you actually hold your aim in full-auto?"

"Well enough. The recoil's surprisingly minimal. Remember to fire in short bursts and you'll do okay." He pointed down. "Now, the cocking handle is this knurled knob here on the top. Notice it's got a slot cut in it so it doesn't block the sights. You yank it back to ready it. And don't forget, always use your left hand to cock the action and change magazines, and your right to operate the safety-selector switch."

"Got it."

"Okay, now you're ready to load." He picked one of the black rectangular metal cases out of the leather satchel on the floor. "This is a charged magazine. Always cock the action and set the thumb switch to safety before you insert one."

She pulled the knob back firmly, then pushed her thumb against the switch.

"Now feed the magazine into the bottom of the pistol grip"

She shoved it in with a click and it was secured.

"You're ready to party. Thumb off the safety and it's a go project."

"How do you take the magazine out when it's empty?" She aimed into the fireplace. For a second he thought she was going to take out a few half-burnt logs.

"There's a release catch on the bottom left side of the pistol grip. Just depress it."

"And what about the stock? Should I bother?"

He reached and took it back. "You push the butt downward to release it, and then you pull it back like this till it's fully extended and locks." He clicked it into place, a hard sound in the silence of the London night. "To retract it you just depress this locking button here on the left front and fold it back under again."

"Okay, let me try," she said, taking it back. She folded and unfolded it twice. "Think I've got the hang of it. But do I need it?"

"Use it if you want to. I've always thought that when they switched over from the original wooden stock to this metal contraption they positioned the damned thing too high. You have to bend your head down low to align the sights. My guess is, God forbid you should ever have to use this, you won't have time to bother with it."

"Speaking of aiming, is this what I think it is?" She retrieved a small boxlike object from the bag.

"LS-45 compact laser sight. Probably useless for our purposes, but I figured, what the hell." He reached out for her hand. "For now let's just think of all this hardware as life insurance. Something you'd as soon never use." He took the gun and laid it on the tea trolley. "In the meantime why don't we have one last nightcap and go on up to bed?"

"Thought you'd never ask." She kissed him, deeply.

The four-poster upstairs was canopied, the mattress downy as a cloud. They were both hungry for each other, exhausted but deliriously free. Perhaps it was the same relish with which a condemned prisoner consumes his last meal, the delight in every taste, every nuance. If tomorrow brings the prospect of death, then how much sweeter is life in the short hours before dawn. Wednesday 2:00 A.M.

Kenji Nogami wandered alone through the bond-trading floor of Westminster Union Bank, staring at the blank computer screens. His bank was a member of Globex, a twenty-four-hour world-wide trading network for currency futures, but tonight he'd ordered all his traders to square their positions-neither short nor long-and take the night off. Then he had dismissed the cleaning crew. He wanted to have the space entirely to himself, to think and to reflect. Time was growing short.

He settled in one of the traders' empty chairs, withdrew a stubby Cuban Montecristo, a thick No. 2, from the breast pocket of his coat, clipped the pointed end with a monogrammed implement, and swept a wooden match against the floor and up to the tip with a single gesture. If we're going to have a showdown, he thought, I might as well die with a good cigar in hand.

Then from another pocket he took out the telex from Tokyo that had come through just after midnight. The Tokyo oyabun was in a rare frenzy. Tanzan Mino had never been thwarted like this-well, only once before, when a certain Michael Vance, Jr., had blown the whistle on his CIA connections.

Tanzan Mino was demanding compliance. Somebody had to give in. The obvious question: Who'd be the first to blink?

The worst he can do is kill me, Nogami thought. And he can't do that yet. If something happens to me tonight, he won't get his hundred million tomorrow.

But then what?

You've gone this far knowing full well the consequences, he told himself, so don't back down now. You're spitting on giri, and yet… and yet it's the first thing you've ever done in your life that's made you feel free. It's exhilarating.

Did Michael arrive safely at the South Kensington flat? He'd toyed with the idea of calling but had decided against it. They wouldn't answer the phone. In fact, he never answered it himself when he was there. Thinking about it now, he wondered why he'd ever bothered to have one installed in the first place.

He drew on the Montecristo, then studied its perfect ash. Waiting. Waiting.

"Nogami-san, sumimasen," the voice sounded down the empty room, almost an echo.

They'd arrived. Finally. Why had it taken so long?

"Kombanwa," he replied without moving. The cigar remained poised above his head as he continued to examine it. "It is an honor to see you."

There was no reply, only the sound of footsteps approaching.

He revolved in his chair to see Jiro Sato, flanked by two of his kobun.

"I see you are working late," Jiro Sato said, examining the cigar as he nodded a stiff, formal greeting. "I deeply apologize for this inconvenience."

"I was expecting you," Nogami replied, nodding back. "Please allow me to make tea."

"Thank you but it is not required." Jiro Sato stood before him, gray sunglasses glistening in the fluorescents. "One of my kobun was shot and killed tonight, Nogami-san, and two more wounded. I want to know where to find Vance and the woman. Now."

"Were they responsible?"

"With deepest apologies, that need not trouble you." He stood ramrod straight.

"With deepest apologies, Sato-sama, it troubles me very much." Nogami examined his cigar. "This entire affair is very troublesome. In times past I remember a certain prejudice in favor of civility on the part of Tokyo. Have things really changed that much?"

"The moment for soft words is past. Tonight ended that."

Nogami drew on his cigar. "Assuming you locate Vance, what action do you propose taking?"

"We have one last chance here to deal with this problem. Tomorrow the oyabun's people arrive, and then they will be in control. The decisions will no longer be ours. Tonight I attempted to salvage the situation and failed. Surely you know what that means, for us both. But if you will give me Vance, perhaps we can both still be saved. If you refuse to cooperate, the oyabun will destroy you as well as Vance. We both know that. I am offering you a way out."