Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “I will,” he assured her. “Go now.”

  Sun Li hurried toward her car. Yiro waited until she had driven down the lane and turned onto the empty highway before he climbed in his Nissan for the most dangerous trip of all.

  His mind was made up. He would keep the actual formula for the vaccine in another place, until he had been paid in gold and silver and diamonds for the bacteria. He would prepare a second formula for the vaccine, slightly different, and give it to the ranking officers of the USA as soon as he was certain his family was safe in Japan.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Tsi Ishi lay in bed, only half asleep, wondering what his son, Yiro, would do with the ancient specimens and the formula. Tsi’s medicine for the cancer was less effective now, and the pain was sometimes excruciating, leaving him awake for hours at a time during the night. There were nights like this when he truly wanted to die. But tonight he was worried about his son, and the dark legacy left to him by Tsi’s father when he was a general of the Japanese army.

  Using the ancient formulas against the government of the USA would be dangerous.

  They will be too clever, he thought. Yiro is not a soldier, nor has he lived during the terrible times when every government employee was a potential informant.

  Tsi worried about his grandchildren. Would the dreaded FPPS find out what Yiro meant to do and kill him, along with his family? It was like something from the old days of war, World War II, when no one could be trusted, when even your closest friend could be a spy.

  Sun Li will not be wise enough in the ways of such things to protect her children, he thought. She is from another generation. And, like all women, she is ignorant of the ways of the world.

  A noise at the front of his house gave Tsi a start. He sat up in bed despite his pain, listening. It sounded as if someone had broken down the front door. Or could he have been imagining it?

  “Yoko?” he cried. “What was that?”

  He got no answer. The house was silent now, a silence that bothered him.

  “Yoko! Are you awake?”

  Again, he received no answer.

  Then he heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward his bedroom.

  “Is that you, Yoko? Tell me! What was that noise I just heard?”

  The door to his bedroom opened. Tsi turned on a bedside lamp to see who was there.

  A man in a black shirt and black beret stood in the threshold, glowering at him. He was heavily muscled, with a mean gleam in his eyes.

  “Where is your, son, Yiro?” a deep voice asked.

  “I . . . have no idea. Why are you here? What are you doing in my house?”

  “You know damn well why we’re here, old man,” the intruder snarled. Another man in a black shirt appeared behind him, with a bloody knife in his hands.

  “I took care of the Jap bitch,” the second stranger said. “I cut her goddamn throat. She never knew what happened. Never made a sound.”

  “Good,” the first intruder grunted, directing his attention back to Tsi. “I’m gonna ask you just one more time, you old rice-eatin’ son of a bitch. Where is Yiro? Tell us where the hell he went.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have not seen Yiro in months.”

  “Bullshit! You’re a lyin’ son of a bitch. We followed him to this neighborhood, only we lost him. Then we found your name in the phone book. We drove over to this address, you old fool. Your name was in the phone book.”

  “My name?”

  “Ishi. Ain’t many of ’em in Pittsburgh. The rest was easy as hell.”

  Tsi looked at the bloody knife blade. “You have killed my housekeeper, Yoko?”

  “What damn difference does it make, old man? If you wanna stay alive, then you’ll tell us where your son went. An’ don’t act like you ain’t seen him. We already know he was here just a few hours ago.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “The only mistake bein’ made here tonight is you playin’ dumb on us. It’s gonna cost you your life, you old Jap bastard, unless you tell us what we want to know. You’ve got just one minute to spill your guts or we’ll cut ’em open for you, same as we did your slant-eyed maid.”

  “What is it you want with my son?” Tsi asked, pulling the bed sheet around him. Fear knotted in his stomach, and yet he knew he could not show his concern or these men would know he was lying to them. He had no choice but to deny Yiro’s visit at all costs.

  “Tell us where he went. Where he is now? We know he went after that secret bomb formula he told General Maxwell an’ the others about when he had that meeting at the compound in Indianapolis.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. What secret formula?”

  The first man in the black shirt stepped closer to the bed, and then he drew an automatic pistol from his belt. “Just one more time, you ole bastard. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

  “I swear I don’t.”

  “Then you’re one dead, rice-eating motherfucker—unless your memory improves real quick.”

  “I haven’t seen Yiro in a long time.”

  The stranger raised his pistol, aiming it for Tsi’s head. “You saw him, and talked to him about what he was gonna do, maybe only a couple of hours ago. Tell us the truth, you old fart, or you’re headed for a grave . . . along with your son, as soon as we find him.”

  Tsi swallowed hard. “Please do not kill me. I know nothing of Yiro’s plans.”

  The pistol made a clicking sound when the man in the black shirt cocked it. “One last time, old man. Tell us the truth or I’m gonna splatter your head all over your bedroom wall . . . an’ the maid is already dead, so there’s no telling who’ll have to clean up the mess.”

  “You have made a terrible mistake. I have not seen Yiro in a very long while.”

  “You’re the one makin’ the mistake, Grandpa. You have two grandchildren . . . a girl named Linda, and a boy named John. Kinda funny that you Jap bastards would try to give your kids real American names. Hell, it ain’t gonna work. Even a man who can’t see too good will be able to see them slanted eyelids. Smell the rice an garlic on their breath. You want us to kill them same as we’re gonna do to your son? Unless he gives us his full cooperation . . .”

  Tsi worried now about his grandchildren, and what these men would do to them. He loved them so very much, and he would give up his own life without regrets in order to spare theirs. Visions of ancient Samurai filled his head. He must show the same courage, for he knew the fate of the world depended on his son’s achieving his goal of destroying this cancer that the USA had become.

  “Answer me, old man.”

  Tsi sighed, deciding upon a desperate plan. He must mislead them, send them on a false trail.

  “Kill the old bastard,” the second black-shirted stranger said. “We’re wastin’ time.”

  “I’m gonna give him one more chance to cooperate with us before I blow his head off,” the first man replied, aiming his pistol at the center of Tsi’s forehead. “But this is the last minute I’m gonna waste.”

  “He came here,” Tsi stammered.

  “We already know that. Keep talkin’, and this had better make some sense.”

  Tsi closed his eyes a moment. “My father, General Ishi of the Japanese Royal Army, developed a biological weapon during the second world war.”

  “We already know that too. Get to the goddamn point, you Jap bastard. Where is Yiro now?”

  “He has gone to retrieve a very old bacteria he kept alive in a test tube. It was developed by my father at Unit 731 during the war.”

  “Stop tellin’ us shit we already know. Where the hell is that boy of yours?”

  Tsi waited a moment, buying as much time as he could for his son. “He has driven down to the northern part of what was called the state of Illinois. He has kept the bacteria for the bubonic plague hidden there for many years.

  “Illinois? What part of Illinois?”

  “A small place. The name of the town is A
va. It is very close to the ruins of Steelville, the town where they used to make steel.”

  “Why the hell would he keep it there?” the second of the black shirts demanded.

  “He felt it would be safe.”

  “Exactly where in this town of Ava is it located? Be damn sure you tell us the truth.”

  “Behind an old Catholic church. There is a cellar behind the ruins. A bomb struck the church at the beginning of the war, but it did not damage the cellar. This is where Yiro told me he was going . . . to get the bacteria, because he is offering it to the USA for their war effort. He has spoken with General Maxwell and members of his staff.”

  “Illinois don’t sound right to me,” the second black shirt said. “Our intelligence reports don’t show anything about Yiro ever bein’ in Illinois. Hell, the little bastard don’t hardly ever go anywhere.”

  The first Black Shirt stepped closer to the bed with his gun aimed downward. “Yiro Ishi used to work for Science and Development in Indiana. Are you real damn sure that ain’t where this cellar is?”

  “I am quite certain. He said he needed to find a place to buy enough gasoline so he could drive to Ava, Illinois, tonight and pick up the specimens.”

  “He’s a liar,” the second man said.

  “Maybe,” the other assassin responded. He leaned over the bed and put the muzzle of his pistol against Tsi’s right temple, nudging it gently. “Be damn sure you’re telling us the truth, old man, or we’ll come back here and kill you just like we did the little Jap bitch in the front room.”

  “I am telling you the truth,” Tsi replied, with a calm he did not feel.

  The second black shirt spoke again. “Best thing to do is get on the radio an’ have squads check both places, Sergeant. We can drive to the old site in Indiana while a two-man team checks out this story about the church in Illinois. That way, we’ll be sure.”

  “Makes some sense,” the sergeant replied.

  Tsi shuddered inwardly. If these two men went to the old building where Yiro worked before the bombs started falling, they might find him there in the cellar. “He did not go to Indianapolis, of that I am certain,” Tsi said. “That was where he used to work.”

  “You’re tellin’ us shit we already know.”

  “He said there was no place to hide the test tubes where the other workers would not find them. More than anything else, he wanted to keep the specimens in a safe place where no one would find them by accident.”

  The first black shirt spoke, poking the gun into Tsi’s flesh. “Maybe there’s a cellar there too, you lyin’ old bastard. I never met a Jap who could tell the truth unless you beat it out of him.”

  “No. He went to Illinois . . . to Ava. I am very certain this is where he went.”

  The black shirt smiled. “By lyin’ to me, you rotten little son of a bitch, you just told me everything we needed to know. He went to Indianapolis.”

  “No!”

  “Go to sleep, old man. Dream the dreams of your forefathers, on account of you ain’t ever gonna wake up again.”

  A thundering gunshot sent a stabbing pain through Tsi’s brain and he stiffened on his mattress. Then the scene before him faded, the ever-present pain of the cancer disappeared, and his body seemed to rise toward the ceiling. . . .

  TWENTY-SIX

  Ben had Lara and her team pack their SUV with weapons, ammunition, and explosives, and then tied a Zodiac boat on top of the vehicle. The Zodiac, an air-filled boat powered by a small electric engine, was necessary for them to get close enough to the prison to mount an attack.

  They drove on back roads to the outskirts of Falls River and then turned down a road leading to the shores of the Hudson River. From the map Lara had given him, Ben knew the prison was on the bank of the river, in a wooded area away from the town itself. It was an old mansion, once inhabited by the railroad barons of a bygone age.

  They filled the boat with their equipment and then got in. Ben had Jersey, Cooper, Anna, Lara, Chuck Harris, and Lara’s friend Nora along on the mission. Beth had been left behind to monitor the radio for any late-breaking news from Mike Post. She would be able to contact them on their headsets if anything urgent occurred.

  Once in the boat, they started the engine, which purred with a sound no louder than the hum of a television set. Lucidly, the half-moon was obscured by heavy clouds. Keeping the boat next to the shore, which was thick with overgrowth and shrubs, they eased down the current, rifles at the ready in case they were spotted.

  As they approached the house, which was set back from the river about fifty yards of lush lawn, Ben saw they’d have to cross the area without any cover. Luckily, there were no spotlights, the only illumination coming from inside the mansion.

  He took his binoculars and studied the layout of the prison. Through the windows on the first floor, he could see what looked like normal living quarters—a living room, kitchen, and large dining room. The windows of the second floor were covered with bars, and there were no lights in them. He suspected the prisoners were housed there, with guards and administrative personnel occupying the lower floors.

  He motioned to Chuck to pull the Zodiac into the shore just before they came to the cleared area in front of the house.

  They unloaded the boat and gathered in the dense undergrowth in a tight circle. “The only problem we’re gonna have is crossing the lawn. There’s no cover, and we’re going to be totally exposed for the few seconds it takes to cross it.”

  He looked at his team. They were dressed completely in black, with all exposed skin covered with black greasepaint. They should be totally invisible, unless the sky cleared and uncovered the moon.

  “Jersey, Coop, and I will go first. We’ll enter through the French doors leading to the living room. Chuck, I want you and Lara and Anna and Nora to make sure they can’t call for help. That means cutting any phone lines and taking out any radio antennas or satellite dishes you find on the exterior of the building. By the time you’ve done that, we should have the first floor secured, silently I hope. If we have to fire our weapons, all bets are off and it’s gonna turn into a firefight, so make sure of your targets. I don’t want us killing each other in there.”

  “Roger, Ben,” Chuck said, while Anna and Nora nodded.

  Ben walked to the edge of the brush and looked across the expanse of lawn, making sure there weren’t any guards out back sneaking a smoke or looking toward the river. With a final backward glance to make sure Jersey and Coop were ready, he took his CAR off safely and sprinted across the grassy expanse with his two teammates right behind him.

  When he got to the patio overlooking the backyard, he stopped with his back to the rear wall of the house, waiting for his breathing to slow to normal.

  Using hand signals, he motioned for Jersey and Coop to enter by the right side of the house while he went in the left.

  The right rear side door was locked, but opened readily enough when he stuck the point of his K-Bar knife in the keyhole. He eased the door open and peeked around the edge, finding he was in a small anteroom off the kitchen. A lone guard was making a sandwich on the counter, his back to Ben.

  Ben slipped through the doorway and approached the man on tiptoe. He must have sensed something, for he turned, a questioning look on his face, just as Ben got to him.

  His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to yell, but before he could make a sound, Ben drove the K-Bar into his chest, slipping the blade under his left rib with an upward stroke into the guard’s heart. He managed a wheezy gurgle before his eyes glazed over and he fell into Ben’s arms.

  Ben pulled out his knife and lowered the body to the floor, looking around at the same time to make sure he hadn’t been observed. The room and hallway were quiet. No one else was present.

  Walking slowly, his CAR in his left hand and the K-Bar in his right, Ben made his way into the downstairs dining room, just off the kitchen.

  His finger tightened on the CAR’s trigger at a movement across the room, until h
e saw it was Coop and Jersey coming out of another hallway.

  He gave a thumbs up and pointed across the dining room at the doorway leading to the living room. Coop nodded, and he and Jersey turned toward the doorway.

  With Coop on one side and Jersey on the other, Ben slipped through the opening, weapons at the ready. On a couch across the room, a solitary figure sat reading a bock by the light of a single lamp. The rest of the room was in semi-darkness.

  Ben trained his CAR on the stairway leading upstairs and motioned with his head to Coop.

  Coop nodded, handed his M-16 to Jersey, and got down on hands and knees, his K-Bar’s blade gleaming dully in the light from the lamp.

  In a matter of seconds, Coop rose behind the guard and grabbed his mouth with his left hand and slit his throat with his K-Bar. The man made no sound as Coop lowered him onto the couch.

  Ben and Jersey quickly crossed the room, Jersey pointing her M-16 up the stairway while Ben and Coop walked to another doorway off the living room. Though the door was closed, muffled sounds could be heard through the door.

  Ben cocked his head and put it next to the door. It sounded like crying or whimpering, punctuated occasionally by a deeper, harsh voice saying something he couldn’t understand.

  Ben put his hand on the doorknob and turned. It moved. The door was unlocked, so he eased it partway open and peered inside.

  It was a bedroom, and on a bed against the far wall he could see two figures writhing under the covers.

  He laid his CAR down and walked into the room. A burly guard was on top of a woman, who was crying and struggling with his hands on her throat.

  “Please . . . don’t . . . you’re hurting me,” she groaned, trying to push him off her.

  “Shut up, you bitch,” the man growled, holding her by the throat with one hand as he tried to tear her clothes off with the other.

  When Ben approached the bed, the female saw him. Her eyes widened in surprise and she quit struggling.

  The man reared up, looking over his shoulder to see what she was looking at, and Ben pounced. He hit the man in the mouth as hard as he could, and when the guard flopped backward, he drove the K-Bar into his throat, the blade penetrating his neck and lodging in his cervical spine.