too close. For safety.’ He scribbled a rough map from the office to the service entrance. ‘When you are inside, there is an elevator that goes to the maintenance hub on the forty-fourth floor. From there . . . you are on your own.’
‘Looks like I already am,’ Eddie said scathingly as Jiro hurriedly prepared to leave. ‘What if I run into anybody on the way?’
‘There is a fake pass in the bag, so put it on. If you look as though you know where you are going, no one will be suspicious.’
Eddie took out the laminated pass. He couldn’t help noticing that its picture was not of him; the grinning youth with extravagantly styled hair seemed to have been clipped out of a magazine advert. ‘Only way this could’ve looked less like me would be if you’d used a photo of Pamela Anderson.’
‘All you gaijin look the same. I am going now.’ Jiro donned his coat and scurried out. ‘Be sure no one sees you leave my office.’
‘Not going to wish me luck?’ Eddie called after him. He examined the crude map and memorised the route, then affixed the bogus pass to his jacket. He opened the door a fraction. Nobody was in the corridor. He pocketed the gun and set out.
The stereotype of the long Japanese working day seemed to have some truth to it; even though it was clocking-off time, there was plenty of activity in the offices he passed. A moment of concern as a door opened ahead of him, but the woman who emerged, carrying a large bundle of documents, hurried past without even giving him a glance.
A couple of turns, and he saw the service door ahead. It was lower and wider than he had expected, less than four feet high – and had no handle. It bore a large ‘no entry’ logo. The system was fully automated. In that case, he needed a robot . . .
One presented itself as he reached the junction at the corridor’s end. He had half expected a mop-wielding android French maid, but this was merely a large rounded-off box, a simplistic ‘face’ – two dots for eyes and a smiling curve of a mouth – picked out by glowing lights on its front. Rotating brushes whirled under its dodgem-like skirt, leaving a damp trail on the floor in its wake. It slowly hummed towards him. When it was a metre away, it stopped. A voice came from the machine, speaking in Japanese with a subservient tone. He guessed that it was asking him to get out of its way.
Eddie stepped back. The robot set off again, heading for the service door. He followed. This would be easier than he’d expected—
The robot stopped once more. Its sensors apparently scanned in all directions. He retreated a step. It resumed, the hatch sliding open as it approached. There was barely an inch of clearance on all sides. He would have to wait for it to get all the way through before he could enter . . .
The door snapped shut the moment it was inside.
‘Buggeration and fuckery!’ Eddie growled. He poked at the hatch, but it was almost flush with the wall, giving him nothing to grip. And attempting to force it open would definitely attract attention. He would have to find another robot and try again. Trying to look purposeful, he headed down one of the corridors.
It didn’t take long for him to spot a tell-tale polished trail on the floor. He followed it, quickly catching up with another machine. It was heading away from the hatch, though; no telling how long it might take to do its rounds. If he delayed too long, Stikes might leave. How could he force it to speed things up?
The rear of the robot, he noticed, had a large flap on its top and a vertical row of little blue LEDs, the uppermost one of which was unlit. Above them was the symbol of a stylised wave. An indicator of how much water the automated cleaner had in its tank . . .
‘Domo arigato, Mr Roboto,’ he said as he strode up to the machine, which halted. He lifted the flap to find a dustbin-sized water tank, about three-quarters full. The robot spoke, but he ignored it, circling to look for controls. There was a small panel of touch-sensitive buttons on one side. One of them, he guessed from the symbol, was its main power switch.
A plan was forming, but he needed somewhere