by A. G. Riddle
“I’m not up to anything. I’m trying to cure autism.”
“Why not do that in your own country, Miss Warner?”
Kate would never, in a million years, tell this man why she had left America. Instead, she said, “America is the most expensive place in the world to conduct a clinical trial.”
“Ah, then it is about the cost, yes? Here in Indonesia, you can buy babies to experiment on?”
“I haven’t bought any babies!”
“But your trial owns these children, does it not?” He turned the file around and pointed at it.
Kate followed his finger.
“Miss Warner, your trial is the legal guardian of both of these children, of all 103, is it not?”
“Legal guardianship is not ownership.”
“You use different words. So did the Dutch East India Corporation. Do you know of it? I am sure you do. They used the word colony, but they owned Indonesia for over two hundred years. A corporation owned my country and its people, and they treated us as their property, taking what they wanted. In 1947, we finally got our independence. But the memory is still raw for my people. A jury will see this as just the same. You did take these children, did you not? You said it yourself, you did not pay for them. And I see no record of the parents. They gave no consent to the adoption. Do they even know you have their children?”
Kate stared at him.
“I thought so. We are getting somewhere now. It is best to be honest. One last thing, Miss Warner. I see that your research is funded by Immari Jakarta — Research Division. It is probably only coincidence… but very unfortunate… Immari Holdings purchased many of the assets of the Dutch East India Corporation when they were driven out 65 years ago… So the money for your work came from…”
The man stuffed the pages in the folder and stood, as if he were an Indonesian Perry Mason making his closing argument. “You can see how a jury might see this, Miss Warner. Your people leave, but return with a new name and continue to exploit us. Instead of sugar cane and coffee beans in the 1900s, now you want new drugs, you need new Guinea Pigs to experiment on. You take our children, run experiments you could not run in your own country, because you will not do this to your own children, and when something goes wrong, maybe a child gets sick or you think the authorities will find out, you get rid of these children. But something goes wrong. Maybe one of your technicians cannot kill these children. He knows it is wrong. He fights back, and he is killed in the struggle. You know the police will come, so you make up this story about the kidnapping? Yes. You can admit this; it will be better. Indonesia is a merciful place.”
“It’s not true.”
“It is the most logical story, Miss Warner. You give us no alternative. You ask for your lawyer. You insist we release you. Think about how this looks.”
Kate stared at him.
The man stood and made for the door. “Very well, Miss Warner. I must warn you, what follows will not be pleasant. It is best to cooperate, but of course, you clever Americans always know best.”
CHAPTER 11
Immari Corp. Research Complex
Outside Burang, China
Tibet Autonomous Region
“Wake up, Jin, they’re calling your number.”
Jin tried to open his eyes, but the light was blinding. His roommate was huddling over him, whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t make it out. There was a booming voice in the background, a loud speaker. “204394, report immediately. 204394, report immediately. 204394. 204394. Report.”
Jin leapt out of the small bed. How long had they been calling him? His eyes darted left and right, searching the 10x10 cell he shared with Wei. Pants, shirt? Please, no — if he was late and forgot his outfit, they would kick him out for sure. Where were they? Where— His roommate, sitting on his bunk, held up the white cloth pants and shirt. Jin snatched them and pulled them on, almost ripping the pants.
Wei stared at the floor. “Sorry, Jin, I was asleep too. I didn’t hear.”
Jin wanted to say something but there wasn’t time. He ran out of the room and down the hall. Several of the cells were empty and most had only one occupant. At the door to the wing, the orderly said “Arm.”
Jin held out his arm. “204394.”
“Quiet,” the man said. He waved a handheld device with a small screen over Jin’s arm. It beeped and the man turned his head and yelled “That’s it.” He opened the door for Jin. “Go ahead.”
Jin joined about fifty other “residents”. Three orderlies escorted them to a large room with several long rows of chairs. The rows were separated by tall cubicle-like walls. The chairs looked almost like reclining beach chairs. Beside each chair, a tall silver pole held three bags of clear liquid, each with a tube hanging down. On the other side of each chair stood a machine with more readouts than a car dashboard and a bundle of wires hanging from the bottom, tied off on the right chair rail.
Jin had never seen anything like it. It never happened like this. Since he had arrived at the facility six months ago, the daily routine had rarely changed: breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the exact same times, always the same meals; after each meal, blood draws from the valve-like device they had implanted in his right arm; and sometimes, exercise in the afternoon, monitored by electrodes on his chest. The rest of the time, they were confined to the 10x10 cells, with two beds and a toilet. Every few days or so they took a picture of him with a big machine that made a low droning sound. They were always saying for him to lie still.
They showered once per week, in a large, co-ed group shower. That was by far the worst part — trying to control the urges in the shower. During his first month, a couple was caught fooling around. No one ever saw them again.
Last month, Jin had tried to stay in his cell during shower time, but they had caught him. The supervisor had stormed into his cell. “We’ll kick you out if you disobey again,” he had said. Jin was scared to death. They were paying him $2 per day — a fortune, an absolute fortune. And he had no other options.
His family had lost their farm near Burang. No one could afford the taxes on a small farm anymore; a larger farm, maybe. Land values were skyrocketing and the population was swelling throughout China. So his family did what many other farm families had done: sent their oldest for work in they city while the parents and younger children held on.
His older brother found work in a factory making electronics. Jin and his parents visited him a month after he started. The conditions were much worse than here, and the work was already taking its toll — the strong, vibrant 21-year-old man who had left his family’s farm looked to have aged 20 years. He was pale, his hair was thinning, and he walked with a slight stoop. He coughed constantly. He said there had been a bug at the factory and everyone in his barracks had gotten it, but Jin didn’t believe him. His brother gave his parents $15 he had saved from his $.75/day salary. “Just think, in 5-10 years, I’ll have enough to buy us another farm. I’ll come home and we’ll start again.” They had all acted very excited. His parents had said they were so proud of him.
On their way home, Jin’s father told them that tomorrow, he would go and find better work. That with his skills, he could surely make supervisor somewhere. He’d make good money. Jin and his mother simply nodded.
That night, Jin heard his mother crying, and shortly after, his father shouting. They never fought.
The next night, Jin slipped out of his room, wrote them a note, and left for Chongqing, the nearest major city. The city was filled with people looking for work, and they weren’t kind to newcomers. The lines were long, and assuming you were tough enough to muscle your way into line, you were rarely hired.
Jin was turned down at the first seven places he applied. The eighth place was different. They had line monitors that made sure no one applying got beat up. They didn’t ask any questions. They put a cotton stick in his mouth and made him wait in a large holding room for an hour. Most of the people were dismissed. After another hour, they called h
is number — 204394 — and told him they could hire him at a medical research facility, for $2/day. He signed the forms so fast his hand cramped.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He assumed the conditions were dire, but he couldn’t have been more wrong — it was a resort, like one of those American health spas in the magazines they sold in big cities. And now he had screwed it all up. Surely they were kicking him out. They had called his number.
Maybe he had enough for a new farm. Or maybe he could find another research place. He’d heard that the big factories in China exchanged lists of bad workers. Those people couldn’t find work anywhere. That would be the kiss of death.
“What the hell are you waiting for!” The man shouted. “Find a seat.”
Jin and the other fifty or so white-clad, barefooted “workers” scrambled for chairs. Elbows flew, people pushed, and several people tripped. Everyone seemed to find a chair but Jin. Every time he reached a chair, someone would sink into it at the last second. What if he didn’t find a chair? Maybe it was a test. Maybe he should—
“People. Relax, relax. Mind the equipment,” the man said. “Just find the closest chair.”
Jin exhaled and walked to the next row. Full. In the last row, he found a seat.
Another group of orderlies entered. They wore long white coats and carried tablet computers. A young-looking woman came over to him and hooked the bags to his arm valve and attached the round sensors to his body. She tapped a few times on her screen and moved to the chair beside him.
Maybe it’s just a new test, he thought.
He suddenly felt sleepy. He leaned his head back and…
Jin woke in the same chair. The bags were detached, but the sensors were still connected. He felt groggy and stiff, like he had the flu. He tried to lift his head up. It was so heavy. A white coat came over, ran a flashlight across his eyes, then unhooked the sensors and told him to go and stand with the others by the door.
When he stood, his legs almost buckled. He steadied himself on the arm of his chair, then hobbled over to the group. They all looked half asleep. There were maybe 25 of them, about half of the group that had entered. Where were the rest? Had he slept too long — again? Is this punishment? Would they tell him why? After a few minutes, another man joined them, he seemed in even worse shape than Jin and the rest.
The orderlies ushered them through another long passageway and into a enormous room he’d never seen before. The room was completely empty and the walls were very smooth. He got the impression that it was like a vault or something.
Several minutes passed. He fought the urge to sit down on the floor. He hadn’t been told he could sit. He stood there, his heavy head hanging.
The door opened, and two children were escorted in. They couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. The guards left them with the group, the door closing behind them with a loud boom.
The children weren’t drugged, or Jin didn’t think so. They looked alert. They moved quickly through the crowd of people. They were brown. Not Chinese. They both spoke rapidly, wandering from person to person, trying to find someone to respond to them. What language were they speaking? He was too tired to think about it.
At the end of the room, he heard a mechanical sound, like a winch. After a few seconds, he realized something was being lowered. His head was so heavy. He strained to lift it. He could barely see the device. It looked like a massive iron chess pawn with a flat head, or maybe a bell with smooth, straight sides. It must have been twenty feet tall and heavy because the four cables that lowered it were huge, maybe twelve inches around. When it was about ten feet off the ground, it stopped and two of the cables moved down the wall along a track Jin hadn’t noticed before. They stopped about level with the huge machine and seemed to tighten, anchoring it at each side. Jin strained to look up. There was another cable running from the top of the machine. It was even fatter than the ones at the sides. Unlike the others, it wasn’t metal, or even solid. It seemed to hold a bundle of wires or computer cables, like some sort of electronic umbilical cord.
The children had stopped in the middle of the crowd. All the adults tried to look up.
His eyes adjusted, and Jin could just make out a marking etched into the side of the machine. It looked like the Nazi symbol, the—. He couldn’t remember the name. He felt so sleepy.
The machine was dark, but Jin thought he could hear a faint throbbing sound, like someone rhythmically beating on a solid door — boom-boom-boom. Or maybe the sound of the picture machine. Was it a different picture machine? A group picture? The boom-boom-boom grew louder with each passing second, and a light emerged from the top of the giant pawn — its head apparently had short windows. The yellow-orange light flickered with each pulse of the boom, giving it almost the effect of a lighthouse.
Jin was so entranced by the machine’s sound and light pulses, he didn’t notice the people falling around him. Something was happening. And it was happening to him too. His legs felt heavier. He heard a sound like bending metal — the machine was pulling against the cables at each side; it was trying to lift.
The pull of the floor got stronger with each passing second. Jin looked around but couldn’t see the children. Jin felt someone grab his shoulder. He turned to find a man holding on to him. His face had deep wrinkles, and blood ran from his nose. Jin realized that the skin from the man’s hands was coming off on Jin’s clothes. It wasn’t just skin. The man’s blood began to spread over Jin’s shirt. The man fell forward onto him, and they both collapsed to the ground. Jin heard the boom-boom-boom of the machine blend into one constant drone of sound and solid light as he felt the blood from his nose run down his face. Then the light and sound suddenly stopped.
In the control room, Dr. Chang and his team stood and watched as the test subjects collapsed into a pile of wrinkled, bloody bodies.
Chang slumped into his chair. “Okay, that’s it, shut it off.” He took his glasses off and tossed them on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I have to report this to the Director.” The man would not be happy.
Chang rose and walked toward the door. “And start the clean-up, don’t bother with autopsies.” The result had been the same as the last twenty-five tests.
The two-man cleanup crew swung back-forth-back-forth and released the body, hurling it into the rolling plastic bin. The bin held around ten bodies, give or take. Today would probably mean three trips to the incinerator, maybe two if they could stack them on top.
They had cleaned up a lot worse; at least these bodies were intact. It took forever when they were in pieces.
It was hard to work in the hazmat suits, but it was better than the alternative.
They lifted another body and swung forward, then—
Something was moving in the pile.
Two children were struggling under the bodies, fighting to crawl out. They were covered in blood.
One man began clearing bodies. The other turned to the cameras and waved his arms. “Hey! We’ve got two live ones!”
CHAPTER 12
Brig
Clocktower Station HQ
Jakarta, Indonesia
“Josh, can you hear me?”
Josh Cohen tried to open his eyes but the light was too bright. His head was throbbing.
“Here, give me another one.”
Josh could barely make out a blurry figure sitting by him on a hard bed. Where was he? It looked like one of the station’s holding cells. The man brought a pellet to Josh’s nose and cracked it open with a loud pop. Josh inhaled the worst smell of his entire life — a sharp, overwhelming ammonia smell that coursed through his airways, inflated his lungs, and sent him reeling backwards, hitting his head against the wall. The constant throbbing turned to a sharp pain. He closed his eyes tight and rubbed his head.
“Ok, ok, take it easy.” It was the station chief, David Vale.
“What the hell is going on?” Josh said.
He could open his eyes now, and he r
ealized that David was in full body armor and there were two other field operatives with him, standing by the door to the cell.
Josh sat up. “Someone must have planted a bug—”
“Relax, this isn’t about a bug. Can you stand up?” David said.
“I think so.” Josh struggled to his feet. He was still groggy from the gas that had knocked him out in the elevator.
“Good, follow me.”
Josh followed David and the two operatives out of the room with the holding cells and down a long hallway that led to the server room. At the server room door, David turned to the other two soldiers. “Wait here. Radio me if anyone enters the corridor.”
Inside the server room, David resumed his brisk pace. Josh had to almost jog to keep up. The Station Chief was just over six feet tall and muscular, not quite as beefy as some of the linebacker-esque ops guys, but big enough to give any drunken bar-brawler pause.
They snaked their way through the crowded server room, dodging tower after tower of metal cabinets with green, yellow, and red blinking lights. The room was cool, and the hum of the machines was slightly disorienting. The three-person IT group was constantly working on the servers, adding, removing, and replacing hardware. The place was a pigsty. Josh tripped over a cord, but before he hit the ground, David turned, caught him, and pushed him back to his feet.
“You alright?”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. This place is a mess.”
David said nothing but walked a bit slower the rest of the way to a metal closet at the back of the server room. David walked to the side of the closet, planted his feet, and pushed it for six or seven feet. Behind the closet, the wall was different. It was indented and… painted differently, like it was another kind of material. David placed his hand on the wall. The red light of a palm scan flashed over his hand, and a panel opened out and performed a facial and retinal scan. When it finished, the wall parted, revealing an iron door that looked like something from a battleship.
