Out of all the collateral damage caused by the World Grand Prix case, the disruption at Tokyo International Airport, also known as Haneda, was arguably the most significant. One of the runways obtained a massive crater near the terminal, rendering the strip unusable. Flights were delayed by days, if not canceled. Thousands of passengers were stranded and stressed.
By now, several weeks later, the airport had stabilized, though not back to full operations quite yet. The explosion had shocked all of Tokyo, and the airport employees were especially rattled. Residents, activists, and travelers demanded a thorough government investigation, which was already underway.
All of the other C.H.R.O.M.E. jets would give Sid judgmental looks while they gossiped about the disaster at Haneda. But he tried to ignore the whispers. He had saved Tow Mater, who had gone on to basically save the world. That had to negate any damages he'd caused, right?
Besides, Sid's boss held no grudges; he soon found himself on another mission. He would transport an agent from the C.H.R.O.M.E. base in London to Narita International Airport— he'd be recognized too easily at Tokyo International, and the agency's Tokyo station did not have a runway. It made him wonder why C.H.R.O.M.E. even put him on this job, with the extra effort involved to smuggle himself in and out of Japanese airspace.
Although Sid was grateful for the assignment, just to get away from the base gossip, his new passenger rubbed him the wrong way from the start. He could tell from the dark blue SUV's demeanor (shifty, looking Sid up and down, as if he didn't ride on planes a lot) that he was not a field agent. Sid could hear his passenger making himself comfortable, testing out the seat buttons, looking for refreshments— "Or at least a pillow," the SUV muttered. This car sounded like a bloke from administration, expecting all the luxuries of a charter jet.
Just great. The administrative division had arranged this flight just so this car could talk to Sid. He rocked on his tires while waiting for takeoff clearance. One jet sat at the holding point ahead of him.
"Agent Siddeley," the agent called from the cabin, presumably after finding a nice pillow. (Finn had put at least one in there, though Leland was more fond of those things.) "How many missions do you fly a year?"
After a few seconds, Sid finally thought to turn on the intercom system and respond. "Typically three or four a month, provided no repairs are needed."
"That's a rigorous workload. Only for top agents, yes? I hear you frequently collaborate with Finn McMissile."
His turbines skipped a beat. Any conversation that started with Finn never went in a good direction, especially not lately. "Y-Yes, all the time."
"What was your involvement in the World Grand Prix incident?"
Maker, help. "W-Well, I picked him up after he investigated the oil rig. He couldn't make it to shore from out there…. Then I took him to Tokyo. He asked, of course. For a mission. Then I stood by for a couple days while he did… some stuff, I don't really know, and then picked him up. Took him to Paris. Didn't hear from him until after the case was closed."
(And even after the case, the only message he got from Finn went something like, "Going off the grid for a few. No contact. Try not to die.")
The passenger hummed. "Tell me more about Tokyo."
"Er… I haven't done much there personally. It's not very accessible to jets my size—"
"No, no. Tell me about when you picked up McMissile. At the airport. Tokyo International, Haneda, HND, whatever you jets call it."
Sid's spy-sense went haywire. Who was this guy, really, what did he want, and— "Why?"
"You must have seen the massive crater."
Sid couldn't help but wince. "It happened before I came, sir—"
"Where were you, then?"
"What do you mean?" No, no, no, that's a stupid question, you know what he—
"It is to my understanding that Agent Shiftwell was already onboard."
The jet in front of him rolled out onto the runway, bringing Sid that much closer to takeoff. "That's true. She came first thing in the morning."
"So the agents were planning to leave. Why weren't you waiting at the airport for McMissile to return with Sir Tow Mater?"
"Because I knew he'd need air support. He's always making daredevil escapes."
(He had taken up a half-hearted dare from Finn to fly to Seoul and back in less than two hours, as a way to "entertain Miss Shiftwell, show her how we do things here." Finn had staked out Mater's hotel overnight, but had not realized the American was heading to the airport until he returned from introducing Holley to Sid— apparently, he found Mater's room empty, luggage gone. At which point he had frantically called Holley to "GIVE HIM ACCESS TO THE DEVICE COORDINATES, NOW!" Holley quickly obliged, preventing Finn from having a full-on engine attack. After they failed to contact the American, who had stuffed his headset into his suitcase, Finn then ordered Sid to "GET HIS BLOODY TAIL BACK TO THE AIRPORT" before the American could board another flight.)
(You would've had to be there, really. And Sid didn't feel like telling some nosy car from administration all the details.)
"Are you aware that there's airlines being sued because of the destroyed luggage carts? How did that come to happen?"
"I knew it would cause a lot of inconvenience, but I had to. It was a trap by the Lemons— one of them drove onto the runway like a maniac, towing those carts. Agent McMissile and Sir Mater would have crashed. So I destroyed it to clear the path."
The administrative car muttered something, but Siddeley wasn't really listening. On his radio, Tower finally squawked clearance for takeoff. He tried to regulate his breathing as he rolled onto the runway. If he started hyperventilating, he might not be able to control it as he reached higher altitudes. And the last thing he needed was to be gossiped about for dropping out of the sky with a bloke from administration onboard.
The next twelve hours were going to be wonderful.
—
Questions answered, Dave settled in with his pillow (which faintly smelled of rust, how odd) for the takeoff. He almost felt bad for putting Agent Siddeley so on edge before they were even airborne.
Almost.
The jet's perspective was necessary for the Committee's second objective: holding the agents involved accountable. It seemed that Siddeley had done his best, though his absence from the airport to begin with was concerning. Dave suspected Siddeley had withheld the truth; he made a mental note to order Sid's flight data recorder to be examined.
In any case, there was nothing worse than riding in a jittery jet. So as Siddeley's tires left the ground far behind, Dave thought of some icebreakers. Once they leveled out above the clouds, Dave cleared his throat. "Agent Siddeley, how many times have you flown this route?"
"To Tokyo? A few." Sid's voice was stiff over the intercom. "Maybe thrice."
Thrice. That was an interesting word. "Do you have a favorite leg of the flight?"
"Final approach. Skyline's beautiful."
"I've been once before. It's not the rainy season yet, is it?"
"I don't think so."
It was hard to get longer answers out of Siddeley, which Dave took to mean the jet didn't want to talk. So he settled for the awkward but risk-free silence, filled by the thrum of Sid's turbines.
In and of itself, the quiet wasn't unwelcome. The secluded room reserved for the Committee was musically accompanied by computer noises, awkward coughs, small talk, and the whine of an overactive AC. This environment, combined with the long days, bred Dave's irritation with the mere existence of the other Committee members. They must have gotten fed up with him, too, because they had finally cashed out their "no questions asked" vacation days. Which was why he was traveling halfway around the world alone.
It was their loss, really. This was the best time of year to visit Tokyo, even just for business. A few festivals were ongoing this time of year— of course, the agents couldn't indulge in them, but the celebratory atmosphere would certainly be a nice change from the chilly basements. And without their incessant chatter, Dave could get some much-needed sleep during the flight.
An eternity later, Siddeley touched down at Narita International Airport with no injuries or explosions. Dave barely had time to thank him before airport security arrived, sirens blaring. They had recognized Siddeley almost immediately. Sid yelped and fled to the tarmac, narrowly avoiding collisions with several luggage vehicles and two jumbo jets. The clamor intensified when Siddeley took off vertically, leaving the ground personnel stunned into silence.
Meanwhile, Dave slipped into the airport and headed to a VIP lounge, where a C.H.R.O.M.E.-provided translator was waiting. The translator, a Civic hatchback named Haruki, was more than excited to spend his lunch break "on a real assignment."
"I live in Ota, right by Haneda," Haruki said, "so we saw a lot of chaos when they rolled back operations. I used to work there part-time during university, too."
"Really? As a translator? Immigration? Security?"
"No, as a barista."
"Oh."
"But after I graduated, I got promoted to a translator. That's how I was recruited to the agency. Oh, Miss Shiftwell was my cubicle neighbor! She was across the aisle from mine— very by-the-book, always working. We'll miss her, but she's going to be great in the field. McMissile is lucky to have her as his new partner."
"Well, that's not official yet," Dave said with a nervous chuckle. He elected to not mention how the Committee's investigation could get McMissile fired, or at least on a very long probation. Instead, he re-briefed Haruki on the Committee's other objectives (keeping the spy stuff secret, bribing anyone who would accept it).
The subway trip to Haneda took over an hour and a half, but Haruki swore it was faster than driving through the city's traffic crunch. They stayed for a little longer than Haruki's lunch break (read: until an hour after sundown). Dave had a list of employees who had been at Haneda on the day the runway was… damaged, and Haruki guided him to each of the departments and initiated the interviews.
Most of the employees inside Terminal 2, where McMissile and Mater had met, expressed surprise that the "World Grand Prix spies" were connected with the runway incident. For these oblivious ones, Dave gave a few British pounds (which translated into a mind-boggling amount of yen) so they would never say the phrase "World Grand Prix spies" again.
The airport manager, for an extra fee, gave the names of the government officials that would write the investigative report; Dave and Haruki would visit them in a day or so to ensure the spies' identities were kept secret.
The employees in the control tower had already blacklisted Siddeley from every airport in Japan. They got a sizable bribe to not speak of the incident again, with more money to be wired over if they exonerated him.
Most of the runway personnel had received considerable offers to witness to the press; Dave had to top those offers. Their testimonies roughly corresponded: One day, two or three cars had burst out of Terminal 2's windows, careening onto Runway 34R, and engaged in a shootout. Tower triggered an immediate delay for all flights, just as an explosion put a sizable pothole and prompted a more intensive emergency response.
One truck-like vehicle, during his interview, was so caught up in the memory that he started shouting. Haruki's eyes widened as the truck ranted.
"He says he was assaulted that day," Haruki said slowly, "by two of the cars involved."
"Which ones?"
Haruki repeated the question in Japanese, and the truck spat a reply. "He says there was a green and an orange one. They jumped onto his luggage ramp… from a hole in the window. They sped after a rusty tow truck… and another car that seemed to be kidnapping him."
Well, that was new. This truck, apparently a luggage-loader, hadn't seen McMissile at all, but he was the first to mention seeing the Lemons, Grem and Acer. They had been arrested and extradited shortly after the conspiracy was exposed. "Ask him more about the cars that jumped him."
Haruki seemed to be in pain by the end of the truck's expletive-filled tirade. In short, the truck had no idea who the cars were, but hated them with a passion. That day had started as a bad morning— and culminated in a nightmare, when he was asked to help clear the destroyed luggage carts from the runway.
Thinking quickly, Dave hummed. "Would he like to testify at their criminal trials?"
The truck responded affirmatively after Haruki asked. So Dave tossed some money to that truck, and Haruki exchanged the necessary contact information.
As they drove away, Dave checked the list of names on his heads-up display. "That's everyone," he sighed. "Apologies for keeping you so late, Agent Haruki."
"No worries. I was given the day for this assignment. But I'll have to tell my boss we'll need more time to visit the government officials."
"And the airport head of security. He resigned and went back to his home in Ube. How long would it take to travel there?"
"Oh, several hours, but the train would be faster than driving. I believe the Shinkansen goes through there, though I've never ridden it past Hiroshima."
They headed to the monorail station in Terminal 2. Dave would travel to the C.H.R.O.M.E. base and check into a room, while Haruki would go back to his apartment in Ota. Dozens of other antsy cars waited on the platform, looking down the tracks for the train.
"Did you watch the Grand Prix?" Haruki asked as Dave looked over his notes.
"No. I'm not a fan of racing. It feels like glorified road rage. Why, did you?"
"Yes, I went with a friend. We got tickets for the dirt track section." Haruki was quiet for a few moments. "Those tickets were expensive. We probably should have known then that Axlerod was a supervillain."
Dave snorted.
"I'm serious," Haruki went on, eyes dropping to the tracks. "Thousands of spectators were there. And all that money was going to a group of criminals that would have made it rich off the world's largest oil reserve. They didn't even need to charge for tickets— They probably used the profits to fund their evil research."
(They actually used it to bribe tax collecting agencies and pay off appalling amounts of student loan debt. But Dave decided to not interrupt.)
"But C.H.R.O.M.E. knew something was wrong. McMissile said the Lemons had a dangerous camera, but they didn't take it seriously. Those Lemons were wanted criminals— If we had just been told to search for them that night, we could have stopped them. If we had been told to watch over Sir Mater…." Haruki trailed off, jiggling his tire as he gathered his thoughts. "But I went to the race, and didn't suspect a thing about three cars blowing up! What does that say about me, as an agent?"
Dave couldn't take the angst anymore. "It says nothing about you at all. C.H.R.O.M.E.'s upper command let McMissile do as he pleased with the case. And he didn't know what he was doing. The case should have been solved before the race went to London, but no, he had to kill a bunch of suspects that could have spilled the plans. He had to be the hero, and ended up looking like an idiot. And they say he's the best of us— which means the world is doomed."
(Actually, no one had said McMissile was the best in about four years. Not since the Great Flamingo Disaster of Jersey City. But before then, he had been widely known as C.H.R.O.M.E.'s finest living agent.)
"We're all doomed," Haruki repeated quietly, mulling over each word.
"Yes. And that's fine, because carkind as a whole is destroying the planet. Each individual is a speck in time and space— I promise you, no one has thought you were stupid about the WGP. We were all stupid. And sometimes, our only consolation is that we weren't alone in our collective stupidity."
Haruki glanced up. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"
"I'm trying to keep you from crying on my bonnet in front of all these cars."
"I wasn't going to cry!"
"Sure."
The train finally arrived, leaving no more time to discuss spy stuff.