Nadia remembered the original e-mail from Genesis II, and the phrase that sounded so familiar. “Fate of the free world,” she said.
“Yes,” Nakamura said. “If reactor number four collapses, the fate of Japan and the world will depend on this formula.”
Fate of the free world now had two meanings. Initially it suggested that if the wrong people got their hands on it, they could use it to gain an upper hand in a nuclear confrontation. Now it also referred to the imminent risk of an epic nuclear catastrophe in Japan, one that could destroy the world. With each passing moment, the formula’s importance was growing, just as surely as the people who came in contact with it were dying.
“Chornobyl and Fukushima,” Nakamura said. “Fukushima and Chornobyl. They are forever linked in history as the only level seven nuclear disasters the world has known. In Chornobyl, it was reactor number four that melted down and caused the first international catastrophe. In Fukushima, it is reactor four that poses the threat of becoming the first global catastrophe. You think this is a meaningless coincidence? The number four is the unluckiest number in Japanese culture.”
“It’s pronounced shi,” Johnny said.
Nakamura nodded somberly.
“So?” Nadia said.
“Shi,” Johnny said, “is also the Japanese word for death.”
CHAPTER 17
THE NEIGHBORHOOD REMINDED Nadia of Hartford. The owners believed in paint, power washing, and curb appeal. The neatly groomed front yards beckoned for a child and a golden lab. But there was no living thing in sight.
Nakamura parked in front of a yellow ranch-style house. The shades were pulled. Johnny and Bobby carried boxes of food and supplies. Nakamura rang the doorbell. When no one answered, Nakamura opened the door and they went inside. He didn’t bother using a key. There was no need for door locks in a ghost town.
They took off their shoes in the foyer and followed Nakamura past a small living room and kitchen into a bedroom. A gray-haired woman lay propped up on pillows on a bed. She smiled at Nadia, Johnny, and Bobby. Said something in Japanese. Nakamura told them to come closer. Although she sounded weak, the woman seemed cheerful.
Nakamura introduced them in Japanese, and translated in English. The woman’s name was Yamamoto. Johnny bowed and said a few words in Japanese to her. The woman beamed. She replied in rapid-fire Japanese. Johnny seemed to understand what she said and answered, but got lost in the further exchange. Still, his attempts only increased the cheerfulness of her disposition, and the strangeness of the situation.
Nakamura asked the old woman a question. It started with a word that sounded like yoshi. After the woman answered, Nakamura smiled and nodded.
“Genesis II is in the house next door,” Nakamura said. “Mrs. Yamamoto owns both properties. Her husband was an airline executive and bought it as an investment many years ago. Mrs. Yamamoto uses it for storage. She accumulated many things during the years she travelled around the world with her husband. She asked Yoshi to go there to retrieve some photo albums for her.”
Johnny leaned into Nadia’s ear. “Did you hear?”
“Yes.”
“Genesis II’s name is Yoshi. He’s Japanese.”
Thoughts swirled around Nadia’s head. Chornobyl and Fukushima. Fukushima and Chornobyl. As Nakamura had said, they were forever linked. And now, for reasons she couldn’t fathom yet, it appeared the formula shared a similar link. A boy from Ukraine, another from Japan. If that were true, it might confirm her theory that scientists from both countries had worked together to develop a radiation countermeasure. But that was just her own pet theory, she reminded herself. She had no evidence to back it up, and there were countless other explanations.
Nakamura studied the vials of prescription medicine on the nightstand beside a pitcher of water. A remote control with a red button rested beside the phone. It looked like a panic button a patient pressed if she needed immediate assistance. The other nightstand contained a collection of framed photos.
Johnny was studying one of the photos. It showed a pair of young teens holding surfboards, a wave preparing to crash on the shore behind them. When Nakamura finished his conversation with Mrs. Yamamoto, she turned to Johnny and said something.
Johnny smiled. He glanced at Nakamura uncertainly. “Did I hear the word for brother?”
“That is Mrs. Yamamoto and her brother. When they were children. Their grandparents were killed in the American bombing of Nagasaki in 1945. The nuclear disaster in Fukushima has brought back painful memories for the older generation. At least two hundred thousand people were killed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki from the explosions themselves. Sixty percent of the victims burned to death. Can you picture that? They burned to death. The long-term effects of radiation syndrome followed. Some of the emotional healing that took place is now coming unraveled. There is an unspoken fear that Japan may experience such suffering again.”
Johnny studied the picture again. Looked for something positive to say. “Please tell her she and her brother look like good athletes.”
Nakamura told her. He listened to her answers and translated. “Her brother was her inspiration until his death last year. He was one of the Fukushima Fifty.”
Nadia remembered the newscasts during the nuclear disaster. Fifty TEPCO employees volunteered to stay at the power plant to stop the leakage and prevent further disaster.
“We heard about these great men in America,” Johnny said. “I’m sure they did the entire world a great service. We all owe them a debt.”
Nakamura translated, and Mrs. Yamamato nodded her appreciation.
“He died from shame,” Nakamura said. “The Fukushima Fifty were among the men who stood by as the reactors melted down. They were not prepared for what happened. Some people consider them heroes, but others believe they’re to blame for the disaster. When the disaster was finally stopped, credit went to the Prime Minister. It is a very Japanese thing. To let credit rise to the top, and blame fall to the bottom. When the press took photos of the Fukushima Fifty, Yamamoto-san was one of the men who turned his back to the cameras. Out of shame. He died because he wouldn’t leave his apartment to go to the pharmacy to get his heart medication. In the end, it was not his illness but his shame that killed him.”
Someone screamed.
The sound came from outside the house. It was far enough away to sound muted, but loud enough that its meaning was unmistakable. Someone was in trouble.
Genesis II was in trouble, Nadia thought.
Nakamura and Johnny rushed toward the front door.
A second scream. This one was muffled, as though one person had silenced another.
Nakamura and Johnny burst out of the house. Nadia caught the screen door before it hit her in the face. She flung it open and stepped outside.
A young man struggled to free himself from two burly men. The young man had his back to Nadia. He had short black hair, long legs, and narrow hips.
It was the boy. It was Yoshi. It was Genesis II.
The beefy men wore leather jackets. They looked like the duo that had followed Bobby and her to the airport. The Slavs. They’d found Bobby and her in New York. Now they’d found Genesis II in Fukushima.
A large truck rumbled backward down the street. It stopped. The rear door rolled up. A third man reached out with his hands. The other two men lifted Genesis II off the ground. The third man grasped him by the lapels of his shirt and jacket. The men shouted at each other in Russian over the din of the truck’s idling engine. The two men holding Genesis II had their backs to the house. The third man didn’t look up until it was too late.
Nakamura lowered his shoulder and rammed one of the men in the chest. The man groaned. Released his grip of Genesis II and doubled over.
The second man on the ground held onto Genesis II. He turned.
Johnny drove his fist into the man’s jaw. The man top
pled backward against the truck. Johnny reached for Genesis II, but the third man in the truck pulled him up into the cabin and out of Johnny’s outstretched hands.
Bobby started toward the truck. Nadia grabbed his arm and stopped him. Shoved him to the ground and sent him rolling on the lawn.
Nakamura put his hands on the bed of the truck to lift himself up. Johnny did the same on the other side. Nakamura had his back to the man he’d hit. He didn’t see that the man was recovering and pulling something out from beneath his coat.
“Hiroshi, watch out!” Nadia said.
The man behind Nakamura pulled him to the ground and drove a knife through his throat. Blood spurted. The Russian pulled the knife out, twisted the doctor around, and plunged it into his heart. Nakamura slumped to the asphalt.
The third man stomped on Johnny’s hand to prevent him from vaulting into the truck. The killer pulled the knife out of Nakamura’s chest. Johnny must have sensed the danger. He dropped down to the ground and faced him.
Nadia ran down the stairs and ripped a boulder out of the stone wall. Sprinted toward the man with the knife. Johnny had removed his belt to defend himself. Nadia would sneak up behind the man with the knife and pummel him in the head—
Something caught her eye on the left in her peripheral vision.
A fourth man was sprinting around from the back of the house. Who was he? He must have been there all along, covering the back entrance. Knife in his right hand. Overhand grip.
Nadia threw the boulder at him. It bounced off his chest.
He closed in with shocking speed. Running was useless.
He would be upon her in seconds.
CHAPTER 18
JOHNNY GRIPPED THE ends of his belt in each hand. He made circles with his wrists, gathered the leather around them, and pulled the belt tight.
The man with the knife assumed a fighting stance. Legs bent, left foot in front of the right. He held the knife in his fist, blade down. He moved his hands in a circular motion, bobbed and weaved on the balls of his feet. His movements were precise. His eyes shone with intensity and confidence. He was trained. Experienced. Ex-military, Johnny thought.
Johnny had grown up a street fighter in Newark. A street fighter always had a chance. Especially when there were no guns involved. And if the Russians had guns he’d already be dead. But they weren’t on home turf. And they hadn’t been in town long enough to get them.
The man threw a left jab. Johnny deflected it with his left arm. The man circled and jabbed two more times. Johnny pushed his arm aside.
The man lunged with the knife.
Johnny stepped back. The knife came up short of his heart. A stab of fear energized his countermove. He brought the belt under the man’s wrist. Pulled up. The man resisted but Johnny gritted his teeth and pulled harder. He told himself he was stronger than the other guy. All those years in the gym. When the man groaned and stood his ground, Johnny commanded himself to insist he was stronger—
The man’s knife hand rose. Johnny kicked him in the balls.
The man groaned and doubled over. They’d both been holding their breath. Johnny gasped for air as he reared his foot back and aimed at the man’s head.
The man blocked the kick with his free arm. Exploded to his feet. Pulled his knife hand back and grabbed the belt with his free hand, both with the same motion. Thrust the blade toward Johnny’s chest.
Johnny shifted to the right and pulled back.
The blade came straight at him. And then stopped. The man had run out of reach. Johnny swung his left forearm and deflected the man’s knife hand away. He kicked with his left foot. Connected with the man’s stomach. The man recoiled but regained his footing immediately. The bastard simply would not go down. Johnny prepared to deflect another thrust of the knife—
The second man barreled into Johnny. Tackled him to the ground. Johnny crashed to the asphalt. The fall knocked the wind out of him. Pain shot through the back of his head. He tried to move but the man was too heavy. For the first time, a touch of panic gripped him. He immediately told himself to relax, and that mere thought freed his mind. Johnny wrapped the belt around the man’s neck and pulled as hard as he could. The man thrust his fingers toward Johnny’s eyes.
Johnny smashed his forehead into the man’s nose. Pulled the noose tight, wrapped his legs around the man’s ankles, and rolled hard to the left.
Johnny’s torso flipped to the top. They reversed positions. A surge of hope. He was on top. He had the advantage— The first man. Where was the first man?
A sense of dread seized him. He knew he was about to be killed even before he felt the weight of the first man on his back, the fist crashing down the back of his neck. The force of the blow left him barely conscious. It twisted his neck to the right, just enough for him to see the knife being raised above his head.
At the same time, his hands went slack. The second man, beneath him, coughed and spit in his face. Johnny felt his airways constrained. He realized the second man was now choking him from below.
A kaleidoscope of memories flashed through his mind. They ended with Nadia, laughing at something he’d said, eyes sparkling and lips open. God how he loved those eyes. She was speaking but he couldn’t hear any words, all he knew was that she was happy and carefree, the way he longed for her to be.
Except she wasn’t happy or carefree. She was about to be killed, too.
A burst of adrenaline awakened him. He tried to breathe but couldn’t. A knife was about to plunge into his back. Nadia was going to die, too.
A split second left.
Do something.
CHAPTER 19
BOBBY WATCHED THE first man plunge the knife through Nakamura’s neck. He stuck it in one side, and a third of the blade came out the other. The killing mesmerized Bobby. It shouldn’t have. He’d killed two people himself, in self-defense, so he shouldn’t have been shocked. But he was. He’d never seen a knife thrust through a man’s throat. It was so grotesque he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His mind replayed the scene as the doctor’s body fell limp on the road—
Johnny was in trouble. He’d fought off his man but now the man with the knife was coming for him. And the man he’d fought off would soon recover. There would be two of them. Two on one.
Johnny had saved him from a life in prison.
Help him.
Bobby started toward the truck. Someone shoved him to the ground. He turned. It was Nadia. She picked up a boulder and raced to help Johnny—
A fourth man came flying from around the house. Clearly the athlete of the four. If you send a man to watch the back of the house, make sure he’s the one who can run, just in case he has to chase someone.
Bobby jumped to his feet. In the time it took him to rise, the fourth man blew past him. Nadia threw her boulder. It hit him in the chest and slowed him down but just for an instant. He raised his knife in the air.
Bobby raced toward her, knowing he was too late, fearing that he would only get himself killed, too, certain that he couldn’t live with himself unless he did everything possible to save her.
A whistling sound. Like a hockey puck flying past his left ear on open ice, only louder. A light gust of wind ruffled the hairs on the nape of his neck.
An object hit the fourth man in the neck. His head fell off his body. His legs collapsed beneath his headless torso. A black object fell to the ground beside the body. It looked like the wing from a toy airplane.
Bobby glanced behind them to see where the object had come from, who had launched it, and how. He saw nothing and no one.
He pivoted toward the truck. The man with the knife was about to jump on top of Johnny.
Bobby exploded, summoning all the power in his hips to catapult himself forward. The man with the knife jumped on Johnny. Slammed his fist into Johnny’s neck. He raised his knife hand in the air—
Bobby was twenty strides away. He wouldn’t make it in time.
Another whistling sound. This time he heard it in his right ear. A black blur flew through the air. It twisted and turned and sailed across the lawn toward the man with the knife. It severed his arm and landed in the side of his head.
The severed arm and the knife in its grip fell to the ground. The man went limp on top of Johnny.
Bobby raced to Johnny. Bobby reared back and kicked the man in the head repeatedly until he lost consciousness. Then he hauled him off Johnny’s back. Up close he could see the object buried in his head. It was a boomerang, its wings sharpened to a razor’s edge.
Bobby pulled Johnny off the unconscious man beneath him. Johnny coughed and gagged.
“Are you okay?” Bobby said.
He stammered and nodded.
An engine rumbled to life. Exhaust billowed in their faces.
Nadia arrived breathless. “Shit.”
A whine was followed by a grinding noise. The truck slipped into gear. The engine wailed.
Two dead men. One unconscious. Johnny struggling to regain his breath.
The truck rolled forward. Genesis II was on board. Bobby had caught a glimpse of him from behind while the third man—the driver—pulled him off the street into the truck. There was nothing familiar about this Yoshi at all. He was just some Japanese kid, who quite possibly had the key to the formula that would change the world, and someday save it from the people who inhabited it.
Bobby watched the truck pull way. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing he could do to save Genesis II.
A face appeared in the window of the back door. It stayed there for one second, just long enough for the eyes to lock onto Bobby’s and for the image to register in his brain.
The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (The Nadia Tesla Series Book 3) Page 9
