The
Tomorrow Heist
Monarch
Book
Two
Jack
Soren
Genre:
Fiction/Thrillers/Technological
Publisher:
HarperCollins/Witness Impulse
Date
of Publication: 11/3/2015
ISBN:
9780062365200
Book
Description:
Readers
looking for twisting, fast-paced suspense will be swept away by Jack
Soren’s newest tale of thrilling international adventure...
Jonathan
Hall and Lew Katchbrow intended to leave life as international art
thieves behind them-if only the money hadn’t run out. But when a
shadowy organization approaches the duo offering compensation,
protection, and prestige in exchange for their skills, Jonathan and
Lew think it’s the answer to their problems…
But
the nightmare has only just begun.
Suddenly
Jonathan and Lew are thrust headlong into a race against time and a
technology that science says shouldn’t exist. With the very nature
of life and death on Earth hanging in the balance, it’s up to
Jonathan and Lew to discover the truth behind Ashita—a terrifying
futuristic city in the depths of the Pacific Ocean—and stop it. But
the clock is ticking. If Jonathan and Lew fail this heist, millions
will die—and the human race will never be the same.
London
Thursday
12:15
p.m.
Local
Time
Jonathan Hall hadn't
been home in almost two years. Not that he hadn’t had a place to
live during that time. As a matter of fact, Jonathan had lived in
some extravagantly opulent locales—a penthouse in New York, a yacht
on the Aegean Sea anchored off Mykonos Island, even an abandoned
palace in Thailand. But none of those were home. The last home he'd
known was a tiny, run-down house in Tallahassee, Florida. But it
hadn’t been the building that had made it home. It had been the
company.
Now, as he sat in a
cafe in London, watching the crowds pass by outside in the midday
September sunshine, oblivious to the magnificence of The Thames and
London Bridge, Jonathan thought of his daughter, Natalie. Not that
his thoughts were ever far from her. He hadn't seen her in person in
almost a year. And the year before that he'd only managed to see her
a few fleeting times. These were important years for her and he was
missing them. The same way he'd missed the first five years of her
life. He hadn't even known Natalie existed back then, but it still
bothered him.
He wished Natalie's
mother was still alive. That's what a 13-year-old girl needed, a
woman to explain all those things she was feeling and experiencing as
she became a teenager. Not a father who, when he was around, put her
life in danger. A father who had no idea what he was doing. A father
who had been an art thief for the past twenty years.
Jonathan squeezed a
napkin to ease his tension as the waiter drifted by. He ordered
another chai tea. The waiter nodded and took the old cup away. It was
Jonathan's second.
He checked his
watch. Their contact was over half an hour late. But he wasn't giving
up just yet; Fahd was skittish as hell and in all likelihood was
pacing back and forth up the street trying to decide what to do. In
the end, Jonathan knew he'd show. It wasn't hubris speaking, it was
pragmatism. Fahd needed the money that was weighing down Jonathan's
black leather jacket, making it hang on the back of his chair at an
odd angle.
Jonathan had found
Fahd the same way he found all their jobs these days: through the
Dark Web. Using a special web browser that protected his identity,
Jonathan could access web sites and discussion forums where normal
search engines couldn't go, with no fear of being tracked. He still
had to vet his contacts carefully before actually meeting them—law
enforcement agencies around the world were well aware of the Dark
Web, and stings were becoming more and more common—but after all
these years, Jonathan had become quite skilled at knowing who was and
wasn't on the level.
As the waiter
brought his beverage, Jonathan took the opportunity to scan the room
again. He avoided direct eye contact—especially with the hulking
man sitting by the window, hunched over a plate of pastries and a
giant, ridiculously sweet coffee, his long duster coat hanging over
the back of his stool. The man was Lew Katchbrow, Jonathan's
long-time partner and about the only person in the world he trusted.
Jonathan nodded thanks as the waiter left again, confident that the
scattering of patrons were oblivious to him.
He sipped his tea as
his thoughts drifted back to Natalie. She'd just started high school
last week and he hated that he couldn't be there. But it was for her
own good. Because of him, her life had been in jeopardy twice in the
past two years. He wasn't going to let that happen again. No matter
how difficult it was.
The first year
Natalie was away at boarding school in British Columbia, Jonathan had
tried to stay away, but he'd given in to his emotions and slowly
started visiting her every few months. Then it became every few
weeks. She'd been mad at him for sending her away at first, but she
soon came around.
Then the unthinkable
had happened. They'd found her. He didn't have any proof, but he was
sure it was because of his visits. Canton George, an industrialist
with a score to settle, had sent men to take her and to find Jonathan
and Lew any way they could. It was only by sheer dumb luck that Lew
had been with Jonathan on that visit to her campus when Canton George
and his men came. Several tense hours later, George was blind in one
eye, his men were dead and Natalie had been forced to once again
abandon her life. Sadly, George had managed to get away.
A new identity and a
few months later, Natalie was enrolled in another boarding school.
This one in Switzerland. And that was the last time Jonathan had seen
his daughter in person. Even their encrypted Skype calls had started
to make him nervous. As painful as it was, he’d stopped taking her
calls, and instead paid the school's head master to keep Jonathan
updated on his daughter's activities through a series of back
channels, again on the Dark Web.
The bell over the
café door rang, shaking Jonathan from his memories. It was Fahd, his
contact, a guard at a local museum. Jonathan waited for a small crowd
of patrons to finish leaving before he motioned to Fahd. The
caramel-skinned, slight, black-haired man nodded and moved towards
the table, furtively scanning the room as he approached. As he did,
Jonathan's phone, resting on the table, buzzed. He looked down and
saw Natalie's picture displayed on the screen.
He swore under his
breath and swiped the Reject button as Fahd sat down. The waiter
drifted over and asked Fahd for his order, but Fahd, who kept wiping
sweat from his brow with a napkin, tried to just wave him off.
Jonathan smiled, apologized for his "friend" and ordered an
espresso for him. Though as the waiter left, Jonathan thought more
stimulation was the last thing this guy needed.
"You're late,"
Jonathan said flatly.
"I almost
didn't come," Fahd said in a British accent that said he'd been
schooled well despite his position at the museum. Jonathan knew the
story behind that, though not from Fahd, himself. Fahd had been
expelled from school after only two years for running an illegal
poker game out of his dorm. A position as a guard at a local museum
was the best he could do with that track record. It was one of the
reasons Jonathan had decided to deal with him in the first place. He
was motivated by money even more than most people.
The job was a small
one, as far as their jobs went—a stolen set of rare books. But
lately that seemed to be the rule of the day. Not that there weren't
bigger opportunities out there, but Jonathan had become selective,
taking lower profile jobs, which of course meant lower pay. But if
they could stay off the radar of their usual vindictive billionaire
targets, maybe it would be safe to reconnect with Natalie. Still,
their resources were starting to feel the pinch, and Lew was starting
to notice the pattern.
Sometimes Jonathan
wondered what it would be like to sell the works he and Lew stole
instead of settling for the finder's fee from the original owner or
museum. Even though what they did had never been about the money.
Jonathan took the
envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. Fahd, his
nervousness gone at the sight of the fat envelope, reached out and
tried to take the money, but Jonathan kept his hand on it.
"The name,"
Jonathan said when Fahd looked up at him, confused.
"Oh, right,"
Fahd said, licking his lips and appearing to weigh responding against
letting go of the envelope. "Jacobson. Peter Jacobson."
Jonathan hesitated for a moment but then took his hand away. Fahd
yanked the envelope off the table and held it in his lap under the
table, peeking inside.
"The address?"
Jonathan asked.
Fahd told him the
address, practically giggling as he pocketed the envelope. The name
and address were new information for Jonathan, but he'd already met
briefly with Fahd and knew Peter Jacobson was another guard at the
museum. One with even less scruples than Fahd.
"Nice doing
bus--"
"Sit down,"
Jonathan said, his tone slamming Fahd's already rising butt back down
on the uncomfortable wooden chair. "Why'd Jacobson tell you he
has the books? You're obviously not friends."
"I honestly
don't know. He doesn't really have any friends that I've seen. He's,
well..." Fahd seemed to be looking for the right words.
"He's what?"
"Well, he's
weird. Has conversations with himself. Only wears half his uniform
sometimes. He'll sit down across from you on break, stare at you and
never say a word."
This Jonathan didn't
like. It made his ultimate target unpredictable. And that meant
dangerous. He also figured something else out from Fahd's subtext.
"So he didn't
tell you. You just heard him talking to himself," Jonathan said.
Fahd looked like a
kid caught swiping a sweet from the local Tesco.
"Relax,"
Jonathan said. "You can keep the money. Assuming this pans out.
If it doesn't, you'll be the one your co-workers are calling weird."
It was a vague threat, which Jonathan found worked best.
"Can I..."
Fahd said, nodding towards the door.
"Yeah, beat
it," Jonathan said. He thought about stopping Fahd and making
him pay for the espresso just for kicks, but let him go. He knew from
past experiences with guys like Fahd, the less you had to do with
them, the better.
Jonathan watched as
Fahd stumbled his way back out of the cafe. The second he was out the
door, Jonathan grabbed his phone. His anxiety eased when he saw that
Natalie had left him a voice message. He was about to dial his
voicemail when Lew dropped down into the seat Fahd had just been in.
"Twitchy give
us anything good?" Lew asked, still chewing on a pastry.
"How are you
not a thousand pounds?" Jonathan asked as he watched Lew inhale
the rest of his "snack". Jonathan had eaten with Lew more
than he had anyone else on the planet, even Natalie, and the amount
of food Lew consumed was always amusing. Especially since Lew was six
feet tall and over 220 pounds, but only about 10% body fat. Jonathan
was jealous. He had a thinner body type than Lew, but the past couple
of years he'd had to really work to stay in shape. And he couldn't
remember the last time he'd let himself have anything resembling a
pastry.
"Clea'
libbing," Lew mumbled through a mouthful of dough. "So
what's up?"
"Talie called,"
Jonathan said.
"Yes! I knew
it. Told you, didn't I? What did the little squirt say?"
"I don't know.
She called just as Fahd got here."
"No, don't tell
me...you rejected her call? For that sleeze? That's messed up, man,"
Lew said, shaking his head.
"We got the
name and address," Jonathan said, ignoring Lew's jabs. After all
these years he'd gotten good at that. "We'll go tomorrow. Make
sure you get some sleep tonight."
"Yes, Mom."
Lew drained his coffee. "Still can't believe you didn't answer
the kid's call." He stood up, the chair creaking a sigh of
relief. "I'll come by your place in the morning. Call your kid."
"Want some
company?" Jonathan said, standing up and throwing a few pounds
onto the table. Lew furrowed his brow and looked at him. Jonathan
knew why; they’d made a habit of not being seen in public together.
Just in case.
"Uh, sure.
Anything specific you want to do?" Lew asked, donning his
Raybans.
"Just walk,"
Jonathan said.
They stepped out
into the afternoon and headed east towards St. Paul's Cathedral. They
didn't talk for almost an hour. They were as close as brothers and
their silences were never awkward. Sometimes it was just good to be
around someone who meant that much to you. After getting a couple ice
cream cones, they ended up leaning against a railing and watching the
afternoon river traffic.
After a while, Lew
turned around and leaned back against the railing, watching the
crowds. Tourists and businessmen strolled by in the September
sunshine. But Jonathan knew Lew wasn't people watching; he was making
sure there were no threats about.
"You gonna tell
me what's on your mind?" Lew said without taking his eyes off
the crowds.
"We're running
out of money," Jonathan said. The smaller jobs had taken their
toll. Paying off Fahd had actually made Jonathan worry about making
his rent this month.
"I know,"
Lew said.
"You know."
"Sure, but this
is what you do."
"What I do?"
"Every now and
then you get all freaked out about drawing too much attention and
then you only set up smaller jobs for us. But you get over it and
then we're flush and back to normal. I have to admit, it’s gone on
longer than usual this time, but you'll come around. You always do,"
Lew said.
"You seem
awfully sure of yourself," Jonathan said, trying to roll with
what he'd just heard. He’d had no idea he was being so transparent,
or that there had been enough of these times for there to be a
pattern.
"I do, don't
I," Lew said, looking at Jonathan over his Raybans. The look
Jonathan could take, it was the shit-eating grin that went with it
that got under his skin. "It must be annoying."
"Hang on,"
Jonathan said. "Why are you so calm about this?"
"I'm not calm."
"You seem
calm."
"I don't know
why I'd seem calm."
"Maybe because
you're calm."
"Huh, maybe."
"Well?"
"After your
last spate of cut-rate jobs, I figured it was time to add a little
cash to the bugout bag in my closet."
"A little. How
little?"
"About fifty
grand," Lew said.
"Jesus."
"You can borrow
some if you want."
"I can?"
"Sure. All you
have to do is ask."
Jonathan sighed and
braced himself. "May I borrow some money."
"What's mine is
yours, amigo. But you know there's a way we can make sure this
doesn't happen again."
"Uh huh. How's
that?" Jonathan asked, but he was pretty sure he knew what was
coming. Lew took off his glasses and looked Jonathan dead in the
eyes.
"Let's be The
Monarch again."
Jonathan knew Lew
had never minded being The Monarch. Liked it, in fact. Especially the
big payouts. They had started all of this because they'd been fed up
with the system -- Lew with the army and Jonathan with intelligence.
Both had felt they were doing more harm than good. But then a chance
meeting in Bogota, Colombia had set them on the path to make a
difference. Though, there was a big distinction between returning
some rare books stolen by a delusional security guard, and finding a
lost Rembrandt the world had thought destroyed. As The Monarch they
were preserving culture and history, but there was a big price to
pay.
"What about
Natalie?" Jonathan said. She wasn't just Jonathan's daughter,
she was Lew's surrogate niece.
"We can figure
something out," Lew said, sounding like a kid trying to convince
his Dad to take him to a ballgame.
"‘Figure
something out’," Jonathan said flatly. "Jesus, you
thought harder about which pastries to eat back at the cafe! Natalie
isn't something to
figure out.
She's all that matters."
"And I don't
know that?" Lew said, getting defensive. "I'm just the
fucking idiot muscle."
"I didn't say
that," Jonathan said. Then after a minute: "But there are
times—"
"F*** you,"
Lew said, pushing off from the railing. "If I'm such a mouth
breather, get your own f***ing money." He roughly put his
glasses on, swung around and marched off, his coat swirling in his
hurry.
"Lew, don't be
like that. You know what I meant," Jonathan said, but Lew kept
walking. "Lew! Are you coming tomorrow?"
Lew spun around and
walked backwards. "Sure! You might need me to lift something.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Jonathan the giant brain. Give him a hand,"
Lew said to the people around him, waving his arms like a circus
ringmaster. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Sometimes I can
be such a d***.
Jonathan didn't
believe for a minute that all Lew brought to the table was his
physicality, but it was a button he could push to make Lew drop The
Monarch nonsense. In retrospect, Jonathan knew he was lucky Lew
hadn't knocked him on his ass. He had to apologize, but when Lew got
like this you just had to leave him alone for a while. The only
person who could cut through his moods was Emily, his on-again,
off-again girlfriend.
But as far as
Jonathan knew, they'd been off for a long while. Ironically, for the
same reason Jonathan was staying away from Natalie. Not that Lew
would admit it, of course. Jonathan actually wished they could work
things out, but he knew Lew could be a lot to take on a constant
basis.
She was probably
better off without him.
About
the Author:
JACK
SOREN was born and raised in Toronto, Canada.
Before
becoming a thriller novelist, Jack wrote software manuals, drove a
cab and spent six months as a really terrible private investigator.
His debut novel The Monarch was nominated for the Kobo Emerging
Writer national book award. He lives in the Toronto area.
@jacksorenwrites
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