The 731 Legacy

by Lynn Sholes

"That must have really riled you to have to leave?"

  "I would have preferred to finish searching the ship and see if there were any survivors."

  "Of course, we now know there were none," Cotten said.

  Phillips shrugged as if not sure.

  "Were you able to maintain sight of thePitcairn and the Korean boats?"

  "For as long as we could. We steamed west until we were well into international waters before we came about. Unfortunately, another squall line moved in between us and the target, and we lost visual contact. By then radar had confirmed that a number of North Korean vessels were converging on thePitcairn."

  Phillips paused, seeming to be in deep thought. Finally, he said, "You know what they reminded me of, Ms. Stone?" "You mean the Koreans?"

  97

  "They looked like sharks circling a kill."

  BODY COUNT

  Cotten crooked her neck to hold the phone in place while she skimmed through papers on her desk and waited for John to pick up. She'd been put on hold by his secretary.

  "Hey, Cotten," he finally said, answering.

  The connection was clear, as if he were just next door instead of an ocean away. As always, John's voice was warm and comforting. "Hey, yourself," she said, grabbing the phone with her hand, leaving the papers in a heap.

  "It's great to hear from you."

  "Same here. Are you coming this way anytime soon?" She closed her eyes and hoped for ayes.

  "No, I'm just back from the MI5 briefing in London and am pretty tied up here for a while. Maybe I'll see my way clear in a month or two."

  "I'd like that," she said. "I think I'm going to need your help."

  "The T-Kup thing?"

  "Yeah. It's growing. I was sitting here thinking about Calderon and the Amazon woman and did a little research. The strange thing about them was that they were isolated cases and worlds apart. Nobody else around them became infected. Then it hit me. I had done a piece on that research vessel, thePitcairn. Do you recall that event? It caused quite a stir for a while."

  "Yes. Everyone on board was dead. North Koreans grabbed the ship."

  "Right. They still haven't returned the bodies. The families have filed lawsuits against the North Korean government to get the bodies back, but no results. I thought I remembered the description of the bodies, but wanted to make sure. So, Ted and I watched my interview with the U.S. warship's commander again. The description of the dead given by the SEALs who went on board appeared to match those of Calderon and the Yanomamo woman."

  "No kidding. Looks like the North Korean connection is getting stronger."

  "Sure does. We're trying to tie down a link, something that might pull this whole thing together. It's more than obvious that Calderon was attempting to give me some clue when he said Black Needles. But I can't figure it out. When I do, I believe it will all come together."

  "What's the CDC been able to scrape up?"

  "Nothing. There are no bodies to examine or autopsy. Calderon's disappeared, the Yanomamo woman was cremated in keeping with the Indian tradition, and the North Koreans still have the bodies from thePitcairn."

  "There's no dealing with their General Secretary, I can tell you that. He has total control. He's like a god. And nobody really knows what's going on over

  98

  there. He says anything he wants but that doesn't mean what he says is true. After such an in-your-face, aggressive attitude about their nuclear ambitions, he suddenly succumbs to pressure to curb the program? He agrees to allow the Nuclear Regulatory Commission inspectors to go in and disable their main nuclear facility? Seems way too easy. And now you've made me think I know why. Cotten, what if the nuclear threat is simply a decoy?"

  "That's our thinking, too. We just don't know what they're up to. But if Calderon is an example of the results, we'd better find out fast. Maybe they were just simply testing the waters, or maybe Calderon and the native woman were accidents. But I think it comes down to the fact that they are up to their necks in some type of germ warfare experimentation. Personally, it scares the hell out of me."

  "Have you talked to anyone in the government about this possibility?"

  "Ted said he spoke to someone and was told the FBI and CIA get hundreds of calls with all types of suspicions. Mostly from crackpots. Right now we have nothing to give them. No hard evidence. They'd just brush it off at this point. Probably think we were trying tocreate a story for network publicity. We have to get something firm, first."

  "I can talk to someone. I'll get Archbishop Montiagro to—"

  "Not yet. Let me see what else I can come up with."

  "Cotten, don't wait too long. You and I both know there is more to this. Something much larger is behind it, and much more terrifying."

  Cotten's call waiting beeped. "John, hold on a minute, let me get the other line."

  She hit the flash button. "Cotten Stone."

  She held the phone intently to her ear and listened for a few moments.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "Okay. Yes. Give me a number where I can reach you. I'll take care of everything and get back to you."

  She scribbled a phone number on a pad of paper, thanked the caller, and hit the flash button again.

  "John, are you still there?" Her voice was laced with excitement.

  "Everything all right?"

  "Yes. I think we have another victim. And this time, it looks like we have a body."

  BLACK NEEDLES

  Moon stood at her kitchen counter and lifted the pot of coffee. The brew was rich and dark, and she anticipated its strength and bitter taste. She had altered the recipe of one scoop per cup and one for the pot, to one scoop per cup and three for Moon. She needed the staggering dose of caffeine. Caffeine,

  99

  as well as more specific antagonists of the adenosine A receptor, had been found to attenuate neurotoxicity in mice. She suspected her disease was linked to toxins rather than being hereditary. For some time now, the evidence suggested that caffeine lowered the chance of developing Parkinson's. Even if there was no current evidence that caffeine would slow the progression of the disease, she felt there was nothing to lose in trying.

  The coffee steamed, sending up pungent aromatic swirls to her nostrils. Moon set it aside and reached for the clear bottle of grain alcohol, the second component of her morning medicinal cocktail. Whether or not alcohol could protect a person from developing Parkinson's was a hotly debated topic. And of course she already

  had the disease, but if there was some slight chance that alcohol and caffeine might give her a little more time, she would pursue it. Again, what did she have to lose?

  Moon measured the grain alcohol into a shot glass and then poured it into the mug of coffee. If nothing else she would relax a little before the meeting.

  She put away the alcohol, emptied and washed the coffee pot, then sat at her kitchen table with the mug cupped in her palms. Taking a small plastic pill bottle from the center of the table, she spilled one salmon-colored Stalevo tablet into her palm, one of eight that she would choke down throughout the day. Moon popped it into her mouth and chased it with a gulp of her coffee. She sat back and meditated for the next ten minutes, sipping from her mug until the coffee was all gone and the alcohol had kicked in.

  Finally, she rinsed the mug and thought to herself how this was the best time of her day—the morning. She was not going to feel any better than she did right now. The remainder of the day would be filled with anxiety and unpredictable tremors.

  Beside the sink was a plastic tote containing a dozen pill bottles of vitamins, herbs, and other sources of immune boosters and protectors. She shook one pill from each into her palm and wolfed them down in groups of three with a large glass of tap water.

  Thirty minutes later when she had dressed, she called for the car to be brought around to the front entrance.

  ***

  Upon being introduced by the General Secretary, Moon entered the converted WWII hangar that now served as an auditorium
for

  large meetings of her staff and the Black Needles recruits. It was one of a dozen buildings making up the high-security government laboratory complex north of the city. Narrow rectangular windows let the morning light spill in while a large contingency of heavily armed military police were posted inside and out.

  The General Secretary had taken his seat up front on a raised platform. Behind him, stretching across the back wall was a fifty-foot-wide flag of the

  100

  Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Sharing the platform were a dozen military officers and Workers Party dignitaries.

  One thousand Black Needles volunteers sat in rows across the middle of the room. All had been handpicked for their zeal and loyalty, and had undergone extensive background checks. When tapped for service, they were only told the minimum information needed at the time and were sworn to secrecy. Today they would learn all they needed to know to complete their missions.

  The General Secretary nodded as Moon approached. She acknowledged him before walking to the podium. Then she turned to face the men and women who waited to hear the details of their fates.

  "Good morning, comrades," Moon said. "Friends of the new revolution, we are on the brink of bringing the world of the imperialist aggressors to their knees. At last they will pay for the atrocities committed on our people. Soon they will grovel before us. Our glorious day is almost at hand, and you, dear comrades, will have the satisfaction of knowing you are an integral part. As Dear Leader has just said, the people must have independence in thought and politics, economic self-sufficiency, and self-reliance in defense. Soon, we will have all of this and more. OurJuche ideology and outlook requires absolute loyalty to the party and Dear Leader. You have proven to us that this exists in the very fiber of your souls. Amongst tens of thousands of your countrymen, you are the chosen ones. Your sacrifice will be the supreme example of absolute loyalty. And it is my humble task to lead you." Moon's voice spiked. "Who among you embraces this passion in your heart?" She thrust her right arm in the air. "Who is with me?"

  With a thunderous roar, the recruits shot to their feet in applause and a resounding cry of "I am with you!"

  Moon bowed her head in gratitude and pride, then motioned for the volunteers to settle back in their seats.

  "You will be the first of a new breed of warriors. You and the names of your honorable families will be etched in our history books, a proud legacy to pass on for generations. The legacy of Unit 731."

  Her left hand trembled at her side, and she hid it in the folds of her long skirt.

  "But before you take on this mission, we must be clear. You need to understand the mechanics and details of what will be required of you. Today this knowledge will unfold."

  She paused until there was utter silence in the high-ceilinged aircraft hangar. She wanted them to realize the seriousness of her words.

  "First, I must take you back in time to when I was a young girl. As many of you know, by heredity, I am not Korean, but rather the daughter of Japanese parents who spent many years working with what was called Unit 731."

  There was a subtle muttering of acknowledgment amongst the recruits.

  "When my homeland surrendered at the end of the great Pacific war, the government turned its back on many of the Japanese people who had served them so well. Enraged at the amity developing between Japan, the United

  101

  States, and their allies, my parents fled to Korea, and later, more specifically, North Korea, to carry on their work. After their deaths I took up their task, and at last have found a most perfect way to bring about the revenge for my mother's death and so many fellow countrymen."

  The General Secretary rose to his feet. "Dr. Chung means that she has found a way to make our great country one to be reckoned with. We will at last become a world superpower."

  Moon bowed her head. "Yes, Dear Leader. That is what I meant to say."

  He gave a quick motion of his hand for her to carry on before taking his seat.

  "A year ago when our courageous navy captured the American research vesselPitcairn and discovered all on board were dead, it presented quite a quandary. How had this happened? When we reviewed the ship's log and watched video taken by one of the student passengers, it became clear that the ship had anchored near a small island off our west coast, one where my parents had spent years at the secret Unit 731 facility researching biological warfare for Japan. I thought perhaps there was a connection between their work and the deaths of the ship's crew, and so I returned to the island with my research team. Protected by our hazardous materials gear we discovered that the laboratory had been abandoned at the end of the war. But I found there were some things left behind, originally hidden but exposed by a recent earthquake. These things included canisters of what was believed to be a rather benign virus, not much more than what causes the common cold. When I returned here to our laboratory, I studied the Unit 731 samples and discovered that this seemingly innocuous virus had mutated over time. In itself, it was still rather harmless, but the mutation was significant for a totally different reason."

  She watched their young faces as they seemed to hang on each word.

  "You see, comrades, all of us—all humans—have scattered across our DNA the remnants of an ancient retrovirus, one much more virulent than the one found on the Unit 731 island. In essence we are all carrying in the human genome what can be considered as time bombs."

  The eyes of her audience grew wide in wonder.

  "When a person is infected with the Unit 731 virus found on the island, the body's immune system immediately attacks it and renders it impotent. In itself, it is no threat. But here is the secret it harbors. When it infects someone, almost instantaneously, before the immune system destroys it, this otherwise benign virus reacts with that ancient retrovirus we all carry in our genes. That prehistoric retrovirus reassembles, mutates, and becomes a hemorrhagic virus killer."

  Moon paused for dramatic effect as she sipped water from the glass on the podium.

  "Are you following me so far?" She surveyed the pool of nodding heads.

  "Then I will proceed. Under the code name Black Needles, I spent the last twelve months manipulating and engineering the Unit 731 virus, which I call the T-virus,

  102

  or trigger virus, so that it will do our bidding. And you are the heroes chosen to deliver it."

  EXHUME

  "This is not right, and you know it," Ellis Sutton said, stabbing the air with his finger in front of Luther's face. "You're letting them strangers desecrate our mother's grave."

  "Will you just pipe down," Luther said. "We ain't got no choice. They come with a court order signed by the judge."

  "Well, they wouldn't have no court order if you hadn't gone and called that New York woman." Ellis pointed at Cotten standing on the other side of the parlor in Thelma Sutton's farmhouse.

  Cotten said nothing as she turned to the window looking out over the West Virginia farm. Through the white veil of snow gently falling across the hills, she watched hazmat-suited state police agents moving like ghosts around the newly opened grave. Not long after she arrived, a backhoe had broken through the frozen ground and made a pile of mahogany-colored earth off to the side. The men were in the process of tying heavy straps around the casket to lift it from the hole.

  Cotten had listened to the ongoing exchange between Luther and Ellis for the past half hour. Ellis was a much smaller man than his older brother, and she felt like she was witnessing a modern day version of David and Goliath—Luther planted like a tree trunk growing out of the wooden floor while Ellis circled him.

  Beside her stood the Calhoun County sheriff. Scattered around the room, along with a few other members of the Sutton family, were the county medical examiner, the family pastor, and a local funeral director.

  "And I told you we should of called the mortician when Big Thelma died," Ellis said to Luther. "They don't like folks burying bodies in homemade coffins and just anywhe
re they please."

  "She said she didn't want no one seeing her in that condition," Luther said, his voice bellowing across the room.

  "Yeah, well, tell that to the sheriff," Ellis said. "Jesus, Luther, what were you thinking?"

  "Ellis Sutton," the pastor said, "I won't stand for you taking the name of the Lord in vain."

  "Sorry, Reverend." Ellis bowed his head. "I'm just so upset." He dropped down onto a wooden, ladder-back chair. Talking to the room, he said, "They're out there digging up our mother. It just makes me sick."

  "Are they in a lot of trouble?" Cotten quietly asked the sheriff.

  "Probably not." The sheriff was a tall man in his late forties with premature gray hair. He stood with his hands stuffed inside his parka. "West Virginia state law is largely silent on burials. So not withstanding any local