Jinjiro nodded gravely. “That is so. In itself, this device is beautiful.” Grimly he turned to face the man standing close behind him. “But your evil purposes pervert it, as they do all things you touch … Lazarus.”
“You honor me with that name … Father,” Hideo Nomura replied, smiling tightly. “All that I have done, I have done to achieve our common goals, our shared dreams.”
The older man shook his head forcefully. “Our goals are not the same. My fellows and I wanted to restore and redeem the Earth—to save this ravaged world from the perils posed by uncontrolled science. Under our leadership, the Movement was dedicated to life, not to death.”
“But you and your comrades made one fundamental error, Father,” Hideo told him quietly. “You misunderstood the nature of the crisis facing our world. Science and technology do not threaten the survival of the Earth. They are only tools, the means to a necessary end. Tools for those like me with the courage and the clarity of vision to make full use of them.”
“As weapons of mass slaughter!” Jinjiro snapped. “For all your noble words, you are nothing more than a murderer!”
Hideo replied coldly. “I will do what must be done, Father. In its present state, the human race itself is the enemy—the true threat to the world we both love.” He shrugged. “In your heart, you know that I am right. Imagine seven billion greedy, grasping, violent animals roaming this one small, fragile planet. They are as dangerous to the Earth as any unchecked cancer would be to the body. The world cannot sustain so heavy a burden. That is why, like any mutating cancer, the worst of mankind must be eliminated—no matter how painful and unpleasant the task will be.”
“Using your devil’s weapon, these nanophages,” his father said harshly.
The younger Nomura nodded. “Imagine Thanatos and dozens like it. Imagine them gliding high above the surface—silent and almost entirely invisible to radar. From them will fall a gentle rain, drops so small that they, too, will go unnoticed … at least until it is far too late.”
“Where?” Jinjiro asked, ashen-faced.
Hideo showed his teeth. “First? Thanatos and its kin will fly to America, a country that is soulless, powerful, and corrupt. It must be destroyed to make room for the new world order to come. Europe, another source of materialist contagion, will follow. Then my nanophages will cleanse Africa and the Middle East, those cesspools of terror, disease, starvation, cruelty, and religious fanaticism. China, too, bloated and too mindful of its ancient power, must be humbled.”
“And how many people will die before you are finished?” his father whispered.
Hideo shrugged. “Five billion? Six billion?” he suggested. “Who can say exactly? But those who are left alive will soon understand the value of the gift they have been given: A world whose balance has been restored. A world whose resources and infrastructure are left intact, undamaged by the madness of war or all-consuming greed.”
For a long moment the older man could only stare at his son, the man who was now Lazarus, in horror. “You shame me,” he said at last. “And you shame our ancestors.” He turned to his guards. “Take me back to my prison cell,” he said softly. “The very presence of this monster in human form sickens me.”
Hideo Nomura nodded tightly to the two poker-faced men. “Do as the old fool asks,” he said icily. Then stepped back and stood in silence, watching his father march away to renewed captivity.
His eyes were hooded. As so often before, Jinjiro had disappointed him—had even betrayed him—with the shallowness of his thoughts and with his lack of courage. Even now his father was too blind to admire the achievements of his only son. Or perhaps, Hideo thought, savoring an old and bitter resentment from his vanished childhood, his father was simply too jealous or coldhearted to offer the praise that was his due.
And praise was due; of that he was sure.
For years the younger head of Nomura PharmaTech had worked almost day-and-night to make his vision of a cleaner, less crowded, and more peaceful world a reality. First, careful planning had made it possible to build, staff, and fund this hidden nanotechnology lab without drawing unwelcome attention from his shareholders or from anyone else. None of his many competitors had ever suspected that Nomura, apparently lagging behind in the nanotech applications race, was, in truth, months or years ahead of them.
Next had come the intricate task of subverting the Lazarus Movement, of bending the loose organization slowly and inexorably to his unseen will. Movement leaders who opposed him had been pushed aside or killed, usually by one of the Horatii, the trio of assassins whose creation and training he had financed. Best of all, every unexplained death had acted as a spur toward further radicalism by those who were left alive.
Arranging the mysterious disappearance of his own father, the last of the original Lazarus Nine, had been comparative child’s play. Once that was accomplished, Hideo had been free to secretly gather all of the frightened Movement’s reins into his own hands. Best of all, though, the CIA-led search for Jinjiro had brought him into contact with Hal Burke. And with that, the last piece of Hideo’s plan had fallen suddenly into place.
Hideo laughed coldly and quietly, remembering the ease with which he had gulled the CIA agent and, through him, others in the American and British intelligence services—playing on their paranoid fears of terrorism. By feeding them ever more damaging information about the Movement, he had manipulated Burke and his associates into launching their foolish and illegal war. From that day forward, all events had been managed according to his will, and his will alone.
The results spoke for themselves: The world’s population was increasingly terrified and hunting for scapegoats. His competitors like Harcourt Biosciences were helpless, buried by an avalanche of new government restrictions on their research. The Lazarus Movement was growing stronger and more violent. And now the American and British spy services were rendered helpless by scandal and corrosive suspicion. By the time the first murderous rain of nanophages fell on Washington, D.C., New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, it would be impossible for anyone to uncover the terrible truth.
Hideo Nomura smiled to himself. After all, he thought savagely, how better to win a game than to play both sides at once?
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Lazarus Address
The new digital video of Lazarus released by the Movement repeated the pattern of his first world broadcast in the wake of the Teller Institute Massacre. Pieces of untraceable footage arrived simultaneously in TV studios around the globe, each one with a different digitally constructed image of Lazarus designed to appeal to a particular audience.
“It is no longer possible to hide from the truth,” Lazarus said sadly. “The horrors we have witnessed testify that a new weapon is being unleashed on humanity—a weapon forged by a cruel and unnatural science. Humankind stands at a crossroads. Down one road, the road charted by our Movement, lies a world of peace and tranquillity. Down the other, a path laid down by greedy men obsessed by power and profit, lies a world wracked by war and genocide—a world of carnage and catastrophe.”
The Lazarus figure stared straight into the camera. “We must choose which of these two futures we will embrace,” he said. “The ruinous advances of nanotechnology, genetic meddling, and cloning must be abandoned or suppressed before they destroy us all. Accordingly, the Movement calls on all governments—especially those in the so-called civilized nations of the West and the United States in particular—to immediately ban the study, development, and use of these sinister, life-destroying technologies.”
The face of Lazarus grew stern. “Should any government fail to heed this demand, we will take matters into our own hands. We must act. We must save ourselves, our families, our races, and the Earth we all love. This is a struggle for the future of humankind and there is no time for further delay, no more room for neutrality. In this conflict, anyone who will not join us stands against us. Let those who are wise heed this warning!”
Berlin
Thousands of demonstrators poured onto Berlin’s grand central boulevard, Unter den Linden, their numbers swelling fast with every passing minute. Scores of scarlet and green Lazarus Movement banners fluttered near the front of the chanting crowd as it moved east from the chariot-topped Brandenburger Tor. Behind them came a growing array of other flags, placards, and posters. The Greens and Germany’s other major environmental and antiglobalization groups were joining the Movement in a major show of force.
Their chants echoed harshly off the stone facades of the enormous public buildings lining the wide avenue. “NO TO NANOTECH! STOP THE MADNESS! BREAK THE AMERICAN WAR MACHINE! LET LAZARUS LEAD!”
The CNN crew covering the protest moved back up the steep steps of the Staatsoper, the state opera house, a still-elegant nineteenth-century building fronted by massive columns, seeking both a better vantage point and shelter from the angry crowd. The reporter, a slender, pretty brunette in her early thirties, had to shout into her microphone to be heard over the tumult spreading through the streets of the German capital. “This demonstration seems to have taken the authorities here almost completely by surprise, John! What began two hours ago as just a small band of protesters inspired by the most recent Lazarus video has now become one of the largest political gatherings seen since the Wall came down! And now we understand that similar mass rallies against nanotechnology and U.S. policy are developing in cities around the world—in Rome, Madrid, Tokyo, Cairo, Rio de Janeiro, San Francisco, and many others.”
She looked out over the sea of flags and signs flowing past the opera house. “So far the crowd here in Berlin has stayed relatively peaceful, but officials fear that anarchists may peel off at any moment to begin smashing stores and office buildings owned by various American corporations—corporations the Lazarus Movement calls ‘part of the death machine culture.’ As the situation develops, we’ll be standing by to bring it to you live!”
Near Cape Town, South Africa
Twenty-five kilometers south of Cape Town, thick columns of black smoke billowed high above the Capricorn Business and Technology Park, staining the red-hued evening sky. Nearly a dozen once-gleaming buildings were on fire inside the high-tech industrial and research facility. Thousands of rioters swarmed along the ring road circling a central lake, smashing windows, overturning cars, and setting new blazes wherever they could. At first, the rampaging mob had aimed its efforts at American-owned biotech labs, but now, gripped by hysteria and rage, they were lashing out at every science-based business and firm in sight—destroying property and equipment worth tens of millions of dollars with total abandon.
The police, heavily outnumbered and unwilling to confront the screaming crowd with deadly force, had withdrawn from Capricorn and now manned a perimeter well outside the complex—hoping only to keep the destruction from spilling over into the surrounding suburbs. More pillars of smoke began rising from the ruined technology park as the strengthening wind whipped new fires through the looted buildings.
CBS News—Breaking Story: “America’s Secret War”
America’s daytime TV viewers, tuning in to watch their favorite game shows or soap operas, instead found themselves watching nonstop news bulletins as the major networks and cable channels raced to keep up with events around the world.
As the violence spread through countries on five continents, not even the veteran CBS anchor could contain his growing excitement. “Hold on to your hats, folks,” he said, in a Southern drawl that deepened with every passing minute. “Because this wild ride is getting even wilder. French television has just dropped a bombshell—charging that the CIA and the FBI, with help from the British, have been conducting a secret campaign of murder and sabotage against the Lazarus Movement. Reporters in Paris say they can prove that former U.S. and British commandos and spies are responsible for the deaths of Lazarus leaders and activists around the world, including here in the United States. They also claim these attacks could only have been authorized at ‘the very highest levels of the American and British governments.’ ”
The anchor looked up, speaking right into the camera with a grave expression on his face. “Now when our reporters asked officials in Washington and London to comment, they were given the royal brush-off. Everyone from the president and prime minister on down is refusing to say anything of substance to the press. No one knows whether that’s just the usual reluctance to comment on intelligence operations and on criminal investigations or if it’s because there’s fire under all this smoke. But one thing is certain. The angry people across the globe burning all those American flags and smashing up American-owned businesses aren’t going to wait to find out.”
White House Situation Room
“Listen very closely, Mr. Hanson. I don’t want to hear any more waffling or evasion or bureaucratic mumbo jumbo. I want the truth, and I want it now!” President Sam Castilla growled. He glared down the long table at his uncharacteristically silent CIA director.
Ordinarily trim and dapper under even the most trying circumstances, David Hanson looked a wreck. There were deep shadows under his eyes and his rumpled suit looked as though he had slept in it. He held a pen clutched tightly in the fingers of his right hand in a futile effort to hide the fact that his hands were trembling slightly. “I’ve told you what little I know, Mr. President,” he said warily. “We’re digging as deeply as we can into our files, but so far we haven’t found anything even remotely connected to this so-called TOCSIN operation. If Hal Burke was involved in anything illegal, I’m certain that he was running it on his own hook—without authorization or help from anyone else in the CIA.”
Emily Powell-Hill leaned forward in her seat. “Just how stupid do you think people are, David?” the national security adviser asked bitterly. “Do you think anyone’s going to believe that Burke and Pierson were paying for a multi-million-dollar covert operation out of their own pockets—all with their personal savings and government salaries?”
“I understand the difficulties!” Hanson snapped in frustration. “But my people and I are working on this as hard and as fast as we can. Right now I’ve got my security personnel combing through the records and logs of every operation Burke was ever involved in, looking for anything remotely suspicious. Plus, we’re setting up polygraph tests for every officer and analyst in Burke’s Lazarus Movement section. If anyone else inside the CIA was involved, we’ll nail them, but it’s going to take time.”
He frowned. “I’ve also sent orders to every CIA station around the world immediately terminating any operation that involves the Movement. By now there shouldn’t be an Agency surveillance team within shouting distance of any Lazarus building or operative.”
“That’s not good enough,” Powell-Hill told him. “We’re getting killed over this—both domestically and overseas.”
Heads nodded grimly around the Situation Room conference table. Coming as it did right on the heels of the nanophage butchery in La Courneuve, the press reports of an illegal clandestine operation against the Lazarus Movement had been perfectly timed to inflict the maximum amount of damage on American credibility around the world. It had landed on the world stage like a match tossed into a room full of leaking gasoline drums. And the Movement was perfectly positioned to profit from the resulting explosion of anger and outrage. What had been a relatively minor nuisance for most governments and businesses was rapidly growing into a major force in global politics. More and more countries were aligning themselves with the Movement’s demands for an immediate ban on all nanotech research.
“And now every lunatic who claims that we’re testing some sort of nanotech-based genocide weapon is being treated respectfully by the international media—by the BBC, the other European networks, al-Jazeera, and the rest,” the national security adviser continued. “The French have already recalled their ambassador for so-called consultations. A lot of other nations are going to do the same thing in a tearing hurry. The longer this drags on, the more damage we’re going to suffer
to our alliances and our ability to influence events.”
Castilla nodded tightly. The phone call he had received from the French president had been full of ugly accusations and barely concealed contempt.
“We’re in almost as much trouble on the Hill,” Charles Ouray added. The White House chief of staff sighed. “Practically every congressman and senator who was screaming at us to go after the Lazarus Movement has already pulled a full 180-degree turn. Now they’re falling all over themselves to put together a Watergate-style investigative committee. The wilder talking heads are already discussing a possible impeachment, and even our usual friends are lying low while they wait to see which way the political winds are blowing.”
Castilla grimaced. Too many of the men and women serving in Congress were political opportunists by habit, inclination, and experience. When a president was popular, they crowded in close, hoping to share in the limelight. But at the first sign of trouble or weakness they were only too eager to join the pack baying for his blood.
The White House
Estelle Pike, the president’s longtime executive secretary, opened the door to the Oval Office. “Mr. Klein is here, sir,” she said waspishly. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he claims that you’ll see him anyway.”
Castilla turned away from the windows. His face was lined and weary. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours. “He’s here because I asked him to be here, Estelle. Show him in, please.”
She sniffed, plainly disapproving, but then obeyed.
Klein stepped past her with a murmured “thank you” that went unacknowledged. He stood waiting until the door closed behind him. Then he shrugged. “I don’t think your Ms. Pike likes me very much, Sam.”
The Lazarus Vendetta Page 28
