Section 8 (16 page)

"They did more than experiment—they also used the weapons. In their war against China, the Japanese used poison gas over one thousand times. They dropped bacteria from planes numerous times, starting plagues among not only enemy troops, but the civilian population. The estimates of how many died run into the hundreds of thousands."
"But…"
Abayon paused. "Yes?"
"Biological warfare has never been considered particularly effective for the battlefield. That is why it has so rarely been used."
Abayon nodded. "True. And it wasn't particularly effective then either. Even though they killed many, the Japanese couldn't control what they had unleashed. Japanese troops also died. But still, the experiments at 731 went on."
Abayon fell silent, and Fatima did not disturb him as his mind wandered down the dark alleys of his past. Finally he stirred. "My wife. They took her before they took me. They called us
meruta
—logs. That's what they thought of us."
"Why logs?" Fatima asked.
"Because that's what we looked like when they stacked the bodies," Abayon said. "Seventeen days after we arrived at Unit 731—shipped there packed in trains like cattle—they took my love along with several dozen others. Out to the testing range. They tied them to stakes. A plane flew by overhead, spraying whatever latest germ the scientists had come up with.
"The lucky ones died quickly and on the stake. My wife wasn't one of the lucky ones. The Japanese doctors wanted to see how quickly the disease progressed and what it did to the victim. So at a certain schedule, soldiers garbed in protective gear would go out to the field of death and take a harvest. They would bring several living prisoners back to the doctors. Then…"
Abayon fell silent.
"Your wife was one of these chosen?" Fatima asked.
"Yes. I was in my barracks. Locked in. I could look through a split in the wood. I saw them drive the truck in, the bodies in the back, sealed in a protective tent. Still alive. The doctors wanted them alive. So they could cut them open and see what their diseases were doing to a living person.
"I heard my wife's screams. They went on and on. I had seen the bodies of others who had been taken into the operating lab before, so I had a good idea—too good—of what they were doing to her. Vivisection. Cutting her open without anesthesia. The screams became so bad, they couldn't even be recognized as coming from a human being anymore. It was like an animal that had been trapped and was being tormented."
Abayon spit. "
Doctor
Ishii. Whatever oaths he had sworn in medical school were long forgotten. One hears so much about the Nazis and their death camps, but no one talks about 731. Everyone acts like it didn't exist. The Japanese premier and emperor both denied ever hearing of it at the end of the war. But Tojo personally gave Ishii a medal for his work there.
"And it was the Americans who would have paid the price if the Japanese had managed to make their weapons program effective. They planned to use balloon bombs to carry diseases to America. In 1945 they made a plan to use kamikaze pilots to dump plague-infected fleas on San Diego. There was another plan to send cattle plague in grain smut to affect the American economy. As the war wound down, Ishii came up with his most daring plan, which he named 'Cherry Blossoms at Night': use kamikaze pilots to hit the entire coast of California with plague. A sort of reverse of the Doolittle raid.
"Submarines were to take pilots and planes off the western coast of the United States. The submarines would surface and the planes would be launched. The date scheduled for this attack was September twenty-second, 1945. Fortunately for the Americans, the Japanese high command interceded and the submarines were diverted to be used against a closer threat: the American fleet at Ulith. All the Japanese managed to do was launch nine thousand incendiary bombs attached to balloons in the hopes that the jet stream would carry them across the ocean to America. They hoped to cause forest fires and terror. Several bombs made it, and one unfortunate woman was killed, but that was it."
"So 731 was a failure," Fatima said.
"For the Japanese," Abayon said.
"What do you mean?"
Abayon sighed. "Let me finish my story and you judge for yourself. The war was coming to a close, but still Ishii ran his experiments. Then came my day. I was taken out to the field. Tied to a stake. To my right was the American, Martin. We waited, and then the plane came flying by, releasing something from the tanks under its wings. We knew we were dead men. Finally Martin told me his story.
"He had been recruited into the OSS—Office of Strategic Services—the American precursor to the CIA. He had been briefed that his team's mission was to parachute into Japan and make their way to a university where Japan's only cyclotron was located. It's a device that is needed to develop atomic weapons."
"But that wasn't their real mission," Fatima said, once more jumping a step ahead of the story.
Abayon nodded. "Correct, it wasn't, as Martin found out, to his shock. They were picked up by the Kempetai on the drop zone, as if the Japanese were waiting for them and knew exactly when and where they would be jumping." Abayon paused, then gestured. "Could you get me some water?"
"That will take a while," Fatima said, knowing how far away the nearest room where she could fulfill his request was.
"We have time," Abayon said. "Talking has made me parched. And I need a little time to collect my thoughts before I continue."
When Fatima left the observation point, Abayon checked his watch. It would begin soon. Very soon.

Over the Philippines

"Six minutes," the crew chief warned Vaughn.
Vaughn repeated the warning to Tai. They were standing next to the oxygen console. Vaughn made a twisting motion as he gave the next command. "Go on personal oxygen."
They both unscrewed their oxygen hoses from the console and connected them to the small tanks strapped to their chests. Vaughn took a few breaths to make sure the tank was feeding properly. Everything was working perfectly so far.
"Depressurizing begun," the crew chief announced.
Both Vaughn and Tai swallowed as air began to leak out of the cargo bay so they could equalize with thin air outside at 25,000 feet.

Hong Kong

The room was on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in Hong Kong. To be allowed access, the half-dozen occupants had to suffer through a tedious two-hour security check. And these were not people who submitted easily to such checks. But the lure that had been dangled in front of them about what was to occur in this room at this late hour was more than enough to convince them to put aside their pride.
The half dozen were seated in comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle facing a small stage with a podium on the right side. A curtain hid whatever was on the stage.
Ruiz stepped from behind the curtain and walked to the podium with a black three-ring binder in his hands. He set the binder down, then checked his watch.
"Gentlemen, and lady," he added, acknowledging the jewel-bedecked older woman seated in one of the chairs, "the first item will be up for bid in five minutes."

Australia

"The recon team is just about on target for drop."
The man who announced this wore black combat fatigues, unmarked by any rank, insignia, or patch. He sported a pistol in a quick draw holster on his right hip. A fighting knife hung in a sheath on his left hip. He was addressing three other men, all dressed in black fatigues, all armed in one form or another. He had a satellite phone pressed to one ear.
"A fucking chick on a bloody mission," one of the men said with disgust.
The man who had made the announcement turned to the board near his right rear. Pictures of all six members of Section 8 were tacked there. He reached out with his free hand and ran his fingers over Tai's image, almost a caress. "She's supposed to be a badass," he noted. "That's what her file says."
"File," the second man snorted. "I'll show her a fucking file."
The team leader gave a cold smile. "I don't think she's going to be around for our reckoning with these fellows." He was a tall man, head shaved completely bald. A jagged scar ran across his forehead. On top of the scar a barbed-wire tattoo had been laid, making it seem part of the artwork. His accent indicated he was from South Africa, with the trace of Afrikaaner showing through.
The other man who had spoken had an Australian accent. The third man, Sicilian, had a swarthy complexion, and was tumbling a throwing knife through the fingers of his right hand seemingly without paying attention. The fourth man was black and huge, his chest as wide as a barrel, his head also shaved, and gleaming under the fluorescent lights in the operations room they occupied.
The black man stirred uncomfortably. "You have a link into their commo?" he asked.
The team leader nodded. "We get copied on everything that goes on inside the team and that comes out of the isolation."
The black man frowned. "Ever occur to you that
they
could be doing that to us also?"
"Who the fuck knows who
they
are," the Australian noted.
"What the hell are you talking about?" the team leader demanded.
"Well," the black man noted, "if we're spying on them, how do we know there's not a team spying on us?"
"A little paranoid, aren't you?" the team leader asked.
"Occupational hazard," the black man said.
The team leader stared at him. "Just focus on your job, all right? Don't get to be thinking beyond what you're capable of."
The muscles on the black man's face tightened, but he said nothing.
Everyone was startled when, with a solid thud, the throwing knife slammed into the wall, dead center on Tai's face. The man who had been playing with it slowly got up, walked to the wall, and pulled it out.

Over the Philippines

The pressure equalized. With a hiss, the back ramp began to open, revealing a sliver of night sky. Vaughn focused on his breathing, making sure it was slow and steady. He had never liked being on oxygen. It made him very aware how hostile the environment around him was. A chill was already settling into his bones from the freezing air swirling into the cargo bay, easily overwhelming the plane's heaters.
"Goggles," Vaughn said over the FM radio.
Both he and Tai slid the night vision goggles mounted on their helmets down and switched them on. The cargo bay was lit only by a few small red night-lights, but with the goggles, everything appeared as if brightly lit. Vaughn looked out over the ramp and could see hundreds of bright stars. It was beautiful.

Hong Kong

Ruiz lifted a single finger ever so slightly on his right hand, and the curtain behind him slowly began to open. "Gentlemen and lady, it is time."

Over the Philippines

Vaughn could feel the weight of the parachute, reserve, rucksack, weapon, and combat vest all weighing him down. Over a hundred pounds, all focused on the top of his shoulders, pressing down on him. He remembered jumps where his rucksack had weighed over twice as much and his only thought after standing at the six-minute warning had been to pray for the green light to go on so he could get the hell out of the plane and get this weight off his shoulders.
He glanced to his left at Tai. She stood ramrod straight, as if denying the weight on her shoulders.

Over the Mid-Pacific

The plane was descending. Even without access to the cockpit, David could tell that. Looking out one of the windows, he saw the ocean slowly approaching. He estimated that he had already passed through 10,000 feet, and the descent seemed to be picking up speed.
His attempts to get into the armored pilot's compartment had all failed. Whoever prepared this plane had done a good job. Naturally, there were no convenient parachutes lying around. His attempts to wake up the other passengers had also failed. Whatever had been in that gas was very powerful. David figured he had a couple of minutes left. He stared at the unconscious occupants of the passenger compartment and almost envied them. They would simply pass out of this life without the terror of seeing their end coming. For people in this profession, it was almost a mercy.
He went back to his seat, took out his PDA and satphone. The message he had begun earlier was still there.
He began typing.

Hong Kong

There was a collective gasp in the room as the object behind the curtain was revealed. This from people who had more money than many small nations and were not known to gasp at anything.
A slight smile curled at the sides of Ruiz's mouth. It was as he'd hoped. He had picked this particular item to be first for shock value. A jewel-festooned golden box over two feet long by one foot wide and high, it was a unique piece, dating back over six hundred years to the height of craftsmen at the Chinese Imperial Court. It was well-known among collectors—known for its extreme value and beauty, and known to have been lost during World War II, disappearing during the Rape of Nanking.
Ruiz left the podium, went to the box and carefully lifted the lid. The box had just been a precursor. Out of its interior he lifted a jade sculpture. The half-dozen in the audience, stunned already by the box, could only sit there with jaws agape at this even rarer, and greater, treasure.
"The bidding will commence on this," he announced, bringing the object forward and showing it to the six people.
The first of the six to collect his wits immediately shouted out a number. An insanely large number to begin the bidding with. The smile grew larger on Ruiz's face as a second person topped that number by over a million U.S. dollars, the currency of all world business.
In his other hand, Ruiz held a stopwatch, which he now showed to the bidders. "As agreed, the bidding will be over in sixty seconds."
The amount escalated at a pace the person taking in the numbers could barely keep up with as the buyers scrambled under the dual pressure of little time and even greater greed.

Over the Philippines

"One minute," the crew chief announced, holding up a single finger.
Vaughn and Tai edged closer to the ramp, side by side. Glancing down, he could see that they were over open ocean. The plan was to offset from Jolo over ten miles. That would keep anyone on the island from being aware a plane was anywhere nearby. They would fly their parachutes to the island.