The 731 Legacy (5 page)

He nudged her into the hall and slammed the door. As Cotten heard the clunking of the deadbolts, Franks yelled, "Said they used him like a fuckin' lab rat."

T-KUP

Cotten stared at the New York City business directory on her computer monitor and the results of her search for businesses calledtea cup and any derivative of the words. There was a knick-knack store selling miniature dragon and wizard fantasy figures, an Asian tea parlor specializing in exotic imported tea and coffee, a Persian rug dealer, a high-end china and crystal specialty store, a pet shop selling tiny dogs, and a few others, none of which were located in the area described by Jimmy Franks.

"We'll be ready for you in ten minutes," the assistant director said as he stuck his head in her office door.

"Thanks," Cotten said, looking up. The weekly taping of her Relics show was about to begin and she had to get to makeup. Maybe this whole Calderon thing was a waste of time anyway, she thought. What was she dealing with here? A couple of guys strung out on drugs, breaking into a business of some sort to steal narcotics. One got sick and died—the other so paranoid that he may be beyond help. She felt sorry for both, but she wondered if she had invested too much time in it already.

Still, there was something nagging at her gut. Why had he chosen her?

The reasoning that she was a familiar face on TV made some sense. But he could have given his two-word message to anyone and requested they tell her. Even more than his efforts to find her, the thing that kept nudging her mind was the message itself.

Black Needles.

He didn't say, bad needles, as in contaminated or dirty hypos. He didn't

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say I'm sick, get me to a doctor. With his last breath he said, Black Needles.

Then there was Jimmy Franks. Obviously on drugs and out of touch with reality as he rambled on. He kept referring tothey. Who were they? Why did they make Calderon sick?

"Cotten?"

She looked up. The assistant director again. Waving, she said, "Sorry—on my way."

Cotten picked up her copy of theRelics script and headed out of her office to the studio and makeup.

Four minutes later, and with only seconds to spare, she dropped down into a forest-green wingback chair on theRelics set, smoothed her skirt and blouse, gave the sound engineer a voice level, and took in a deep breath. Her guest, a French forensic scientist from the University of Paris, sat on a matching couch to her right. Behind her was a backdrop graphic displaying a dark, mysterious-looking composite photograph showing ghostly tunnels and partially excavated tombs with the word Relics scrawled on what looked like ancient parchment. As the stage manager counted down, Cotten smiled and gazed into the camera, its lens hidden behind the teleprompter. The script rolled from the bottom to the top of the teleprompter screen and she read, "Good evening and welcome to Relics, the weekly SNN investigation into ancient man and myth, folklore, and legend. Pieces of our past that just might shed new rays of light on our future."

Electronically superimposed over her shoulder, an image of a small bone appeared.

"Is this the rib of Saint Joan of Arc or a fake, what some think is actually a bone from an Egyptian mummy? Tonight we attempt to answer that by traveling back in time to the small town of Rouen, France. The year was 1431, and a young girl was about to be burned at the stake.

"And well also discuss new test results on recently discovered pollen samples taken from the famous Shroud of Turin. Could the samples be from a rare thistle plant thought to have been used to fashion the Crown of Thorns worn by Jesus Christ at the Crucifixion? All this and more onRelics."

Cotten leaned back in her chair. "We'd like to welcome a new sponsor tonight—Blaze PCs and their new generation of wireless notebooks. Blaze notebooks bring you blazing speed with their exclusive octocore processors from—"

The scrolling script paused, waiting for Cotten to continue. She stared at the words. Composing herself, she continued, "Their exclusive octocore processors from T-Kup Technologies."

***

"Blaze doesn't make T-Kup processors," said the SNN international sales manager. "They just use the technology. You know, like Intel or AMD."

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Cotten sat in the sales manager's office. "Where is the Blaze corporate office?"

"Singapore."

"And T-Kup?"

"Seoul, South Korea. A bunch of engineers from Samsung decided to put together their own chip manufacturing company. In business for a couple of years—claim to have the fastest processing chips around—eight cores, whatever that means."

"So does T-Kup have any manufacturing facilities in New York City?" Cotten asked.

"Seems like the marketing manager at Blaze mentioned that they have a service center here and one out on the West Coast in Los Angeles. No manufacturing, just replacement parts and repairs." He turned to his keyboard and typed. A moment later, a sheet of paper slipped from his laser printer.

"Here's the info. The facility here is located in Brooklyn."

"Thanks, you've been a big help." She stood and took the paper.

"Hey, anytime," he said. "So why the interest?"

Cotten smiled. "I'm thinking about buying a new laptop."

CAGES

The sign over the door readT-Kup Technologies, Factory Service and Support. The building, one of three in a row along Doughty Street, was a windowless, three-story brick structure. As Cotten watched the taxi that brought her pull away, she began to have second thoughts of coming alone. The new intern had offered to accompany her, but canceled at the last moment, saying something had come up. So with determination and a glance in both directions, Cotten pulled on the handle to the front door of T-Kup Technologies, but found it was locked. She pushed the button on the security entrance speaker. No response. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number on the sheet given to her by the SNN sales manager. A recording stated the number had been disconnected.

Next, she walked down the sidewalk to an alley running along the side of the building. She glanced over her shoulder at Fulton Ferry Landing and the hundreds of tourists snapping pictures of the New York City skyline across the East River. The constant thunder of traffic from the Brooklyn Bridge and Expressway in the distance never let up.

She headed into the alley. A hundred feet later, she passed a dumpster and came to a loading dock. Beside two large metal roll-up doors was a back entrance. Climbing the steps, she knocked on the rear door. A sign read:T-Kup deliveries. No answer. She tried the knob. Locked. But pushing on the door

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caused it to give. Someone had used duct tape to keep the lock in the open position. With a rusty screech, the door swung open.

A large empty room, probably the shipping department, stretched before her—shiny floor, scarred white walls, a few scraps of paper. The place reeked, not unlike the rancid odor inside Jeff Calderon's apartment.

She pulled out her small LCD Maglite and a handful of tissues from her purse. Covering her nose with the tissues, Cotten aimed the light as she wandered through the semi-darkness of the vacant warehouse. The place had been stripped bare. She shone the light in a sweeping arc, suddenly coming to a stop on the only objects left behind. Jimmy Franks' story started to make sense.

***

"Cages?" Ted Casselman said.

"Yeah." Cotten and her boss sat on a bench just inside Central Park across the street from SNN headquarters.

"You mean like security cages for parts or supplies?"

"That's what I thought at first. There were twenty in all—ten stacked on top of ten."

"Okay, so?"

"How many storage cages have you ever seen with a mattress in each?"

Ted glanced at the traffic on Columbus Circle. "Well, you got me there."

"They were just big enough for someone to lie down in. Not much more. Like cages in the back of a vet's office for boarding pets, but imagine them large enough for humans instead." Cotten watched a double-decker tour bus swing into the Circle. She could almost hear the camera shutters clicking. "Calderon told his buddy that whoever made him sick used him like a lab rat."

"So you think he was kept in one of those cages?"

She nodded.

"What did you find out about the building?"

"Owned by a consortium of Asian investors called Rising Moon. Based out of Hong Kong. Privately held. The warehouse in Brooklyn is their only property in New York. But they also own a building in Los Angeles. Their sole tenant in each location is T-Kup Technologies. Then I expanded the search to other countries. Wait until you hear this list. They span the globe, owning property in the UK, Russia, Poland, France, Greece, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Japan, and Australia. And that's not all. They have holdings in Brazil, China, New Zealand, Norway, South Africa, and the Netherlands."

Ted turned from the traffic and gave her a sly smile. "Let me guess. Their only tenant in each country is T-Kup Tech."

"Correct. This whole Calderon thing smells bad, Ted. Literally and figuratively. I can't tell you what it is or why I feel that way other than my gut says something ain't right in T-Kup land."

"Could be nothing more than a coincidence?"

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"You really believe that?"

He rubbed his forehead. "Read me that list of countries again."

She did.

He smacked his lips then nodded. "Sounds like a list of the U.S. allies in World War Two. Except for Japan. That's the only one that doesn't fit."

"Interesting. I'm going to make a mental note. It might mean something to us later."

"Maybe. Anyway, right now you don't have much to grab on to. Don't make it your life's work, but dig some more. Shake a few bushes and see what falls out. Maybe it's time for us to take a look at T-Kup Technologies in the cold light of dawn."

As they crossed Central Park West heading back to SNN, Ted said, "Where did John wind up going?"

"Some out-of-the-way strip of land between Moldova and the Ukraine called Transnistria."

"Never heard of it."

THE PATH

Moon walked alongside the General Secretary as they wandered through the gardens of his palace near Wonsan on the Sea of Japan coast. She had traveled to the east coast by rail that afternoon at his request—the subject of the meeting not disclosed to her in advance, only that it was important.

The night breeze chilled her as it swept in off the ocean. Even the heavydurumagi she wore over her clothes didn't keep the frosty air at bay. Hidden in the foothills of Mt. Kumgang, the replica of the Loire Valley Chateau de Blois was surrounded by 8,000 acres of heavily patrolled forest. From the path below the mansion, she saw the Wonsan city lights in the distance.

"We have closed the satellite lab in New York City, Dear Leader," Moon said. "We moved it to a new location in a neighboring state. I ordered there be nothing left behind that could lead the authorities to believe it was anything more than an electronics manufacturer's warehouse."

"We will trust your orders were followed." He did not look at her, and that caused a hairline fracture in her normally granite confidence. She had been warned many times over the years that if he chose not to make eye contact, he harbored resentment or anger. She hoped that he was simply preoccupied with other matters of state.

They came to a bend in the path. A waist-high wall protected them from a rocky precipice that dropped into the darkness.

"No plan is immune to failure, Dr. Chung," he said as he gazed out over the wall toward the distant city. "Even one as exquisitely planned and

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meticulously executed as yours."

"Dear Leader, I fully realize—"

He held his hand up. "I know you do, Dr. Chung." His voice was almost a whisper. "We sympathize with your tremendous task and marvel daily how you manage to accomplish so much. It is a mountain of an undertaking for anyone—

even someone of your unquestionable talents and abilities."

Moon sighed silently, thankful that he was not upset. "Thank you, Dear—"

"But from time to time, we all must come to the realization that we require a little extra help."

"I don't understand. My team is working without regard to their own needs to make this a reality. I can't imagine who I could add to my staff that would increase our chances of success anymore than those whom I have handpicked over the last year."

A bead of sweat ran down the spillway of her spine at the threat of losing control of the project. "My scientists bring with them years of unquestionable knowledge in the field of genetics and viral research, not to mention the thousand warriors we have assembled who have taken an oath to arm themselves with our deadly weapon, walk right into the midst of our enemies, and execute them. Although it is small, there is no finer, more dedicated army on the face of the earth. What we have experienced with this minor glitch in New York is a momentary setback." Her palms dampened, and her hands shook more from nerves than the Parkinson's. "This news reporter—this Stone woman—is no danger to us. She will soon realize that there is nothing to pursue, nothing to report, nothing—"

The General Secretary turned to face Moon. "Dr. Chung, I am sure that you are completely correct. I have not one second of doubt about you or your team of scientists and soldiers. You have done an outstanding job of conceptualizing and developing a plan that goes beyond even the most extreme boundaries of my own imagination. And that in itself is an accomplishment. For that, you have my admiration and blessing. But like any wise investor, it is my resources that underwrite your efforts, and I must protect my interests. And that is why I have asked an acquaintance to come and lend a hand."

Moon felt as if she had taken a blow to her chest. For a moment she seemed to teeter, and wondered if she could maintain her balance. Her breathing was labored. The words of the General Secretary washed over her like glacial runoff, sending a frozen blade of fear to the core of her being. This was her life-work being threatened. No one could take that from her. She would not allow it.