The 731 Legacy (22 page)

"No problem." He took his seat across from her. "What's your poison choice?"

"Absolut on the rocks."

He got the waiter's attention and placed her order. They made small talk, discussing the cold weather, some of Cotten's travels, and the birth of Pete's third child before the waiter returned with her cocktail.

Cotten sipped the drink and felt the warmth of the Swedish vodka reach her belly. "Perfect," she said. "So tell me, what ever happened to the American Media Building? Bring me up to speed since our interview."

"Actually, it sold not long after the anthrax attack. A developer named David Rustine bought it for forty grand, but spent millions on maintenance and decontamination. Renamed it the Crown Commerce Center. Turned it into a really beautiful office building. Applied Card Systems purchased it from him and they occupy it now. It's probably the cleanest office building on the planet."

Cotten laughed. "I'll bet you're right."

Pete stared at her for a moment and Cotten felt the awkwardness of the silence.

"I know you aren't here to catch up on American Media," he finally said.

"You were a little mysterious on the phone, telling me just enough to intrigue me."

Cotten took another sip before setting the glass on the table. She leaned

115

forward and spoke softly. "I really need to talk to the director. I have reason to believe that a biological warfare attack is being tested right now and will soon be launched."

"Tested? You mean like clinical trials?"

"No. More like guerilla trials. Innocent victims."

"Where's it coming from? Who's doing the testing?"

"I have a good idea—actually more than just a suspicion. Listen, I don't know how many tests they've done already or how it is being controlled, but I can assure you the first cases are out there. People have died."

"Look, Cotten, we haven't seen any major outbreaks of anything since SARS."

"You haven't seen any major outbreaks of anything elseyet. This will make bubonic plague look like the common cold. You've got to get me in to see the director."

"You're going to have to tell me a little more than that. I can't go to her based only on general speculation and vagueness. She'll think you're some kind of kook and that I'm an idiot."

Cotten let out a sigh. "If I tell you, and you don't believe me, you won't get me the appointment and I'll lose all around. I can't let that happen. There's too much at stake. You're welcome to remain in the room when I speak to the director. Then you'll both hear it all at the same time."

Pete leaned over his knees, resting his arms on his thighs, and cradling his glass in his hands.

Cotten reached across the table and touched his forearm. "I swear to you, this is real, and we can't afford to ignore it. We have to snuff it out before it's too late."

"I don't know," he said, drawing a finger across his mustache.

She knew Pete probably remembered the embarrassing scandal she went through a few years back with what the press called the creation fossil hoax. It was her exclusive story and was supposed to prove the creationist's theories to be true that man and dinosaurs had co-existed. In reality, it was an elaborate setup meant to disgrace her. The goal was to destroy her credibility regarding any future investigations into the Darkness. The incident made international news, cost her her job, and almost her career. Only she, Ted, and John knew the truth—that it had all been orchestrated by the Old Man and the Fallen.

For Cotten, it was a hard climb back to respectability. Pete had to be wondering if this was also a hoax she had gotten caught up in to further her career.

"You've got to trust me. Pete, I learned my lesson long ago. I don't jump to conclusions, and I don't grab on to things just for notoriety. Please trust me."

He swallowed the last of his drink. "Well... I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do." He put his glass down on the table.

"I'll be waiting for your call."

"Yeah." He started to throw a couple of dollars on the table.

116

"I've got it," she said.

Pete stood and turned to leave, but then paused and looked back. "Don't make me look like a fool."

SWAN SONG

"Dr. Swan, this is Cotten Stone from the Satellite News Network," said Pete Hamrick. "Cotten, I'd like you to meet Director Charlotte Swan."

"Thank you so much for seeing me on short notice." Cotten shook the woman's hand. She had arrived at the CDC campus off Clifton Road twenty minutes earlier and was greeted by Pete at the main security center before being ushered to Swan's tenth-floor office.

"Please, have a seat," Swan said, indicating the leather chairs facing her desk.

As she and Pete took their seats, Cotten guessed that Charlotte Swan was in her late forties. And she was definitely all business— as evidenced by her attitude and appearance—navy-blue tailored suit and blonde hair pulled back tightly into a small bun at the base of her neck. Her desk was just as meticulously groomed.

How did anybody work like that, without stacks of papers, file folders, staplers, scattered paperclips, pencils and pens? Cotten pictured her own desk at SNN. Whenever she was deep into a project, especially when conducting research, her entire office gave the appearance of being as organized as an explosion.

"Dr. Hamrick suggested you be a priority on my schedule today, that you have something to discuss that would be of concern to the CDC." The director leaned back in her chair with an inquisitive expression. "I pressed him for details, but he said I should hear it from you. He also assured me that you were here in the capacity of a private citizen, not as a network news correspondent. So I assume that what we discuss is off the record?"

"That's correct," Cotten said.

"I am most curious to hear what you have to say, Ms. Stone, but I have a video conference with the director of the World Health Organization in twenty minutes. That's all the time I can give you."

The woman's tone was cordial but to the point. Swan didn't seem irritated by the interruption in her schedule, but Cotten knew she had one shot at this, and it had to be good.

Even before the first word came out of her mouth she detected the signs of her nervousness. Her feet were cold, her mouth felt dry, and her hands clammy. She brushed a stray strand of tea-colored hair behind her ear. "Do you recall the incident last year with the discovery and subsequent loss of the

117

Oceanautics research vesselPitcairn?"

"Vaguely," the director said.

"The ship was found drifting off the west coast of North Korea," Cotten said. "The crew and student scientists were found dead by specialists from an American warship. ThePitcairn ended up falling

into the hands of the North Koreans who still have it according to satellite images."

"Oh, yes. I remember. The description of the bodies got our attention. It sounded like a hemorrhagic fever."

"Right," Cotten said. "Well, it seems that other people have recently died with physical symptoms similar to those on the ship." She explained in detail the deaths of Jeff Calderon, the Yanomamo woman, and Thelma Sutton, her empty coffin, the abandoned T-Kup labs in New York and now in California, the other T-Kup holdings around the world, and the possible Asian connection to them all.

"I believe these deaths are connected. And I fear that it signals a possible biological threat, perhaps to this country or one of our allies."

Cotten anticipated Dr. Swan's questions and concerns, and attempted to head them off. "I know there are no bodies to examine, but that reinforces my premise. Just think, Calderon's body mysteriously disappeared from a major New York City hospital, and Thelma Sutton's body was stolen from her grave. Somebody doesn't want those bodies examined. No autopsies mean no trail of evidence. Add to that the fact that the North Koreans refused to release any medical details on the cause of death from thePitcairn bodies."

"Are you saying this is the doing of the North Koreans?" the director asked.

"I don't know."

"They thumb their nose at the world all the time. That's no surprise," Pete said.

Dr. Swan folded her hands on the top of her desk. "The work of the CDC

is heavily weighted on the empirical side, not theoretical."

Cotten felt her shoulders slump. "Dr. Swan, so much is at—"

"However," Swan continued, "it has been my experience that gut intuition often leads to the right hypothesis, and from that point on you can prove or disprove. It's that first inkling that starts everything in motion."

Cotten found herself smiling in relief. "Then you agree that there is a strong possibility these deaths might indicate a connection? That there might be a threat?"

"You have to understand, dealing with political issues is not within the CDC's authority or domain."

"Does that mean you're not going to investigate?" Cotten asked.

"I didn't say that. What we will do is look into what kind of outbreak this might be and then what we can do about it."

Cotten took out her wallet and pulled a card from it. "This is the number for the county sheriff in West Virginia. Thelma Sutton's coffin is being examined

118

for any residue or evidence. You might want to take a look at the results of the forensics report."

Dr. Swan took the card. "We'll get in touch with the sheriff and the Sutton family, and request access to their home, especially Ms. Sutton's room."

"Thanks," Cotten said. "If you can nail down the disease, maybe we can find out how to stop this."

Dr. Swan stood. "I'll be in touch."

They shook hands and Cotten said, "Please keep me in the loop." She removed her own business card from her purse and handed it to the director.

"And Pete, you have my number, too."

"Thank you for coming in," Dr. Swan said.

Pete escorted Cotten out of the office to the elevator. Just as the doors slid open, Cotten's cell rang. She looked at the caller ID, then closed the phone.

"Thanks again, Pete," she said as she entered the elevator. "Call me with any news."

A few moments later, she handed in her visitor badge at the security desk and stepped out into the bright Georgia sunshine. Opening her cell, she pushedcall back on the missed call.

"Hi, Ted. What's up?" she said.

"When are you back in New York?"

"I'm headed to the airport right now."

"Then come straight to the office. What I've discovered is going to blow you away."

UNIT 731

Cotten walked into Ted's office, having come directly from Kennedy. She took a seat and gazed out the large window behind his desk. "I've wondered about something for a long time but never asked you—what good is an office with a view if your desk is faced away from the window?"

"If I look out the window all the time," he said, "I don't get my work done. Makes me daydream." He spun his chair 180 degrees. "And I can always do this when my brain needs a short hiatus from the job." He swiveled back around to look at Cotten.

"So tell me what you found."

Ted opened a file folder on his desk revealing a stack of papers. He spread them out. Some were handwritten notes on yellow notepad paper and others were hardcopies printed from the Internet. "I was researching biological warfare to see what I could come up with. This is the thread I ended up following. We've got to go back to the year 1925 and the Geneva Protocol that banned gas and germ warfare—which, by the way, was approved by all the

119

great

powers except the United States and Japan. The U.S. signed, but didn't ratify it until fifty years later, in 1975. The Japanese never signed it. Anyway, the Japanese were so impressed that such warfare was so heinous that it had to be banned under international law that they decided germ and chemical warfare must be the ultimate weapon. In 1930, Japan's biological weapons program began under the direction of an officer named Lieutenant General Shiro Ishii."

Ted looked up from his notes. "I'm going to try to give you a timeline to follow. Bear with me."

"Should I make some notes?"

"No, just listen for now." Ted shuffled through the papers. "1932. Japan invaded Manchuria and Ishii began preliminary experiments. Soon after that, he established Unit 731, a biological warfare unit disguised as a harmless government agency. He razed eight villages to build a huge compound in Pingfan near Harbin, a remote part of the Manchurian Peninsula. The compound consisted of 150 buildings covering about four square miles. There were barracks, labs, operating rooms, crematoria, and more. And get this, a theater, bar, and Shinto temple. There were at least seven other similar units scattered across Japanese-occupied Asia, all under Ishii's command. By the time he was promoted to full general, he had over three thousand people working under him. The atrocities Ishii and his colleagues committed are right up there with the likes of Joseph Mengele. As a matter of fact, some of the research I came across referred to it as the Auschwitz of the East."

"Really?" Cotten said. "I've never even heard of Ishii or Unit 731."

"Most people haven't, and there's a reason. I'll get to that in a minute." Ted waved a paper with his notes scrawled on it. "Unit 731 experimented on humans. They nicknamed their victimsmarutas, which means logs. That's how they saw their prisoners, nothing more than inert logs."

"Sounds like a good brainwashing technique so their consciences didn't get in the way," Cotten said.

"Nobody with a conscience could have committed what I found. Let me give you some examples."

Ted searched the papers, finally ending up with one in particular. "Some prisoners were given electrical charges which slowly roasted them. Others were decapitated in order for the Japanese soldiers to test the sharpness of their swords. Limbs were amputated on live victims to study blood loss."

Ted sat back and rubbed his shoulder as if it ached. "Want to know how sick these guys were?" He didn't wait for Cotten's response. "Sometimes they would stitch the limbs back on the opposite side of the body. They would remove all the organs, and for whatever reason I can't imagine except for some perverted kick, they'd reattach the esophagus directly to the intestines." Ted peered over his glasses at Cotten. "Too much for you yet?"