Genocide of One: A Thriller (31 page)

“That would be fine.”

Kento took the cash card out of his wallet and showed it to her.

“Thank you,” the woman said with a smile, and handed him the cell phone.

Kento went to the register next to the counter and paid for his books. As he headed
for the elevator he broke out in a cold sweat. He had to get out of this building
as soon as he could, go to a coffee shop somewhere, and check out this phone. Why
would someone go to all this trouble?

Just then the phone rang shrilly, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

The name on the incoming call was
POPPY
—his dog when he was a child. Whoever was calling was telling him he was on his side.
Kento hurried over to the entrance to the staircase beside the elevator and took the
call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Kento?” an eerie voice asked. The voice was low, the frequency changed by
a machine, sounding like it was rumbling up from the bowels of the earth. “I’m going
to tell you something very important right now, so listen carefully to every word.”

Kento didn’t dare ask who it was. The person’s Japanese was fluent, so it wasn’t a
foreigner. Apparently he had two collaborators, one in Japan and one abroad.

“Don’t worry about this phone being tapped. Go ahead and use it as you’d like.”

This person must have seen him getting the “lost” phone. He was here in this building.
Kento leaned out and scanned the bookstore floor but didn’t see any customers using
cell phones.

“However,” the low voice went on, “when you do make a call, choose the person carefully.
It’s dangerous to call your family and friends. Your call will be traced from their
phones.”

“Then there isn’t much point in having it, is there?”

“No—there is a point. I can contact you anytime.”

“You’re on my side?”

“That’s right.” Despite the abnormal, machine-generated voice, Kento could sense an
intimacy in its tone.

“What is your name?”

“Poppy,” the voice said with a chuckle.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“It depends.”

Kento cupped his hand around the phone and spoke in a low voice. “Is section five
of the Heisman Report actually happening now?”

“A very good question. You’re a quick study. So you’ve read the report?”

“Yes.”

“What I just said was the answer to your question.”

Kento took this as an affirmative.

“Leave the phone on at all times so you can receive calls. Even when you’re sleeping.
Understand?”

“Okay.”

“And when you go out from the lab in Machida, never take the train. Starting tomorrow
detectives will be watching the turnstiles at the station.”

Kento shuddered. They were closing in. But how had they tracked him? It must have
been the smart card issued by the railroad company, which he’d used when he rode the
trains. He would have to question everything around him now if he wanted to stay safe.
“If I can’t use the train, then how should I get around?”

“Taxis are safe. You have plenty of money. Stay away from other places as well. Not
just Machida station, but keep away from your apartment, the university campus, the
university hospital, and your parents’ home. The police are staking out those places.
There are ten detectives searching for you now. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“I’ll get in touch again. I’ll give you instructions soon on how to use the small
laptop.”

“Small laptop? The black one that won’t turn on?”

But the person had already hung up. Kento opened the phone’s contacts list. There
was only one person listed: Poppy. He hit the dial button, but the person had already
turned off his phone. Looking around the bookstore for Poppy wouldn’t help, because
he didn’t know what he looked like. All he could do was wait until Poppy called again
about the black laptop.

But why did the person hide his real voice? Was it someone whose voice he’d recognize?
Someone he knew?

Kento walked down the stairs and out onto the streets of Shinjuku. Just getting a
telecommunications device was all it took to pull him out of his isolation and reconnect
him with the world, and he felt a wave of relief.

As he walked down the main street he decided he should phone the people he’d been
postponing calling. He took out the memo on which he’d written all the phone numbers.
Before he called anyone, though, he mentally checked, as Poppy had told him, whom
it would be safe to call. Had the police found out yet about his connection with Sugai,
the newspaper reporter? He thought it was probably okay to call him, but as he was
passing by a phone booth he decided to play it safe and call him from there.

He inserted the coin and dialed the number, but Sugai didn’t answer right away, as
he usually did. The phone rang ten times before he heard the familiar voice.

“Hi, this is Kento.”

“Ah, Kento.”

He could hear, faintly in the background, the sound of a crowd. “Mr. Sugai, where
are you now?”

“I’ve gone out,” his father’s old friend said. “But it’s fine to call me. You wanted
to know about that woman researcher, Yuri Sakai?”

“Did you find out anything about her?”

“I’m not sure this is whom you want, but I found only one person who’s the right age.
In the Tokyo Medical Society list of members there is someone with the same first
and last names.”

“She’s a doctor?” Kento remembered the woman who’d approached him outside the dark
campus. A not-very-memorable face, no makeup, a sort of fresh, neat appearance. He
could imagine her being a doctor.

“In the phone book there was an ad for a medical facility she was running. Apparently
a small clinic she and her father operated.”

“What is her area of specialty?”

“OB-GYN.”

That was unexpected. If it had been internal medicine or cardiology, then he could
see her having something to do with PAECS. “If I go to that medical facility, then,
I can meet her?”

“No. Her name was in the Medical Society members’ list eight years ago. But not after
that. It seems she left the society and shut down the clinic.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea. I’ll look into it more. With any luck I’ll find out what the connection
was between her and your father.”

“Sorry for all the trouble,” Kento said. He was encouraged by the support Sugai provided.
“I really want to thank you so much for all your help.”

“Why so formal?” Sugai asked with a laugh, and after they said good-bye, he hung up.

Kento exited the phone booth and walked toward Shinjuku station. Was there some other
way of finding out more about Yuri Sakai? He could kick himself for not having memorized
the license plate number of her minivan. Just then his cell phone rang.

Kento halted. The screen said
OUT OF AREA
, and he tensed up. A call from abroad. Perhaps the foreigner who’d warned him about
the police, he thought as he slipped into a nearby alley, pushed the accept button,
and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said in English, which flustered him. For some reason Kento
pictured a beautiful blonde.

“He-hello?” Kento faltered.

The woman rattled on and on, and Kento couldn’t catch any of it except for the fact
that she was in a panic.

Struggling to communicate in English, he repeated a typical phrase he’d learned. “Could
you speak more slowly, please?”

There was a pause, and then the woman spoke. “Who are you?”

“Me? My name is Kento Koga.”

“Kento? Where are you now? What I mean is, where am I calling?”

Kento thought he’d misunderstood her. “Just a minute, please. I don’t understand what
you’re saying.”

“I don’t understand what I’m doing, either,” the woman said, sounding like she’d calmed
down now. “Kento, listen carefully. I just got a call from somebody I don’t know.
He told me this number and told me to call. Told me to report on my son’s condition.
He said if I did, you’d be able to save my son.”

“I’d save your son?”

“That’s right. Is he wrong?”

Suddenly one of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place in Kento’s mind.
An American will show up at some point.

“May I ask your name?”

“I’m Lydia. Lydia Yeager.”

“Lydia Ayga?”

The woman slowly sounded it out for him. “It’s
Yea-ger
.”

“Mrs. Yeager,” Kento repeated, paying attention to the
r
. “Are you American?”

“Yes, but I’m in Lisbon right now.”

Lisbon—that was where the most advanced research on PAECS was taking place. “For your
child’s treatment?”

“Yes. That’s right!” Lydia Yeager said, raising her voice. As if she’d finally gotten
her point across. And finally found the way to save her son.

“Do you know a Japanese person named Seiji Koga?” Kento asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Where is your husband?”

“Jon? He’s abroad for his work, and I can’t contact him. I don’t know if he knows
that Japanese person or not.”

“What is your husband’s work? Does he study viruses?”

“No,” Lydia said, and hesitated. “He’s with a private defense contractor.”

Kento had her repeat this a few times, but he still couldn’t grasp what these terms
meant. Something to do with the military, he concluded.

“Do you know about us?” Lydia asked. “About Jon—Jonathan Yeager? Or me? Or our son,
Justin?”

Justin Yeager—Kento added the name to his list of those whose lives he could save,
right after Maika Kobayashi. “No, I don’t know about you. I think one of my father’s
friends must have brought us together. Who told you to call me?”

“An American, I think. An older man, with an East Coast accent.”

Maybe he was the one who’d called Kento to warn him.

“Do you understand the situation now?” Lydia asked.

“Yes,” Kento replied.

“How are you going to save my son?”

“I’m going to—develop a new drug,” Kento said, and as soon as he did he felt a weight
bearing down on his shoulders. If he failed at making this new medicine, the woman
on the other end of the line would be beyond hope.

“And that drug will save Justin?” Lydia asked, her tone dismal. “Let me tell you what’s
going on. The test results are very bad. The doctor says Justin may not survive until
next month.”

Kento was speechless, as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Justin’s condition
was the same as Maika’s. There was less than a month until the deadline set by his
father. If he didn’t finish the drug by February 28, two children would die.

“I’m begging you. Save my son.”

Lydia didn’t sound weak and pitiful. Kento sensed a forceful willpower ready to confront
the disease that was ravaging her child. Thoughts of his own mother flashed through
his mind. This strength to protect one’s child must be a virtue common to all mankind,
one that crossed all boundaries of language, religion, and race. Kento knew he had
to reward this courageous mother from a far-off country.

“Mrs. Yeager,” Kento said, staring up to the sky. He gulped quietly, so she wouldn’t
notice. The words he spoke next were the biggest gamble of his life. “You have my
promise. I will save your son.”

Rubens was seated
on his sofa at home, bathed in the light from a nearby lamp.

It was 2:00 a.m. East Coast time; 8:00 a.m. in the Congo.

He’d gone home to grab a nap, but there were too many problems he had to deal with,
and sleep was out of the question. He was itemizing these problems on a legal pad.

Rubens couldn’t make up his mind. He wanted to avoid any deaths in the operation he’d
designed, but at this point he was unsure about Nous. Should they let him survive?
Either way, they couldn’t let Operation Nemesis spin out of control. They had to anticipate
what their opponent would do and beat him to the punch. If their conjecture were correct,
Nous planned to get out of the country, using the mercenaries to protect him. Rubens
looked down at the legal pad.

This was the pressing question. Africa was huge, and CIA operatives couldn’t cover
it all. If Pierce and his group got out of Africa they’d be nearly untraceable. The
only saving grace for Operation Nemesis was the state of transportation in the Congo.
For a country as large as all of Europe, the transportation infrastructure was abysmal.
There was but one road running east and west, and if you didn’t use that you were
left with taking a boat or using a plane. And Pierce’s group would know that all the
strategic points in the network would be under surveillance. So the only thing they
could do was walk to the eastern border. Considering the geography, Stokes, their
military adviser, had made the right decision to get the local militias involved.
Twenty armed insurgent groups blocked any approach to the eastern part of the Ituri
jungle. The only way to prevent Pierce’s group from fleeing the country was to rely
on these unsavory armed groups and their combat efficiency.

Once they were out of the Congo, the chances were low that Pierce and the others would
remain in Africa. They were all non-Africans and would stand out too much. But where
would they go? Rubens looked down at the third item on his list, hoping it would provide
a hint.

Nous had wanted these four soldiers to guard him, going so far as to help kill all
the other candidates for Operation Guardian. In the reasons for their selection, Rubens
concluded, lay the key to understanding the escape plan. As Nous had thought, Yeager
and Garrett had backgrounds that made them willing to betray their employer. But what
about the other two? Why choose Kashiwabara and Meyers?

Rubens pulled a report out of his briefcase and reviewed the selection process.

Three other candidates died in Iraq before Mikihiko Kashiwabara’s name moved to the
top of the list. What distinguished Kashiwabara from them? Their technical skills
as mercenaries were all comparable, including their airborne rating and combat experience.
The only thing setting them apart was their language skills. Only Kashiwabara was
able to use Japanese, his native language. Rubens remembered the academic paper that
Seiji Koga had written. Unlike most scholarly papers, it was written in Japanese.
In the international scientific world English was the lingua franca, which meant that
Dr. Koga was probably not very skilled in English. So possibly Kashiwabara had been
selected to serve as a go-between with Koga. If that hypothesis were correct, then
because Dr. Koga died, his son, Kento, was now the contact in Japan. The report from
the DIA stated that Kento Koga was able to speak English. In other words, the unfortunate
death of Dr. Koga meant that there was no longer any need for Kashiwabara.

Rubens pushed these thoughts further. He had no proof, but were Pierce and the others
heading to Dr. Koga’s homeland, Japan? On his legal pad he wrote
Japan?

This Japanese soldier, Kashiwabara, had an alarming background. A special notation
in the report said that ten years earlier, his father had been beaten to death and
his mother severely injured. His mother, though, who would have seen the attacker,
refused to testify, and the crime remained unsolved. Kashiwabara joined the Foreign
Legion soon after the attack. Disturbing information, though there wasn’t enough detail
for Rubens to conclude anything definitive. But he decided it wouldn’t affect Operation
Nemesis and turned to the next report.

Scott Meyers. Four other candidates were killed in Iraq before Meyers, a former air
force pararescue jumper, was included in Operation Guardian. What Meyers excelled
at, as his background indicated, was medical treatment and combat search-and-rescue
techniques. He was probably selected for his skills in crisis management, but his
résumé revealed one other thing none of the other Guardian members had: a pilot’s
license. It was entirely possible that Nous and his group were going to get out of
Africa by plane.

An electronic buzzing interrupted his thoughts, and Rubens, groaning, picked up his
cell phone. The call was from the DIA agent in the operations center. “Were you asleep?”
the man asked.

“No; it’s okay. Did you finish your investigation?”

“Yes. As you requested, I looked into all the ships owned by Pierce Shipping. Only
two ships will dock in Africa in the next month. The ports are Alexandria, Egypt,
and Mombasa, in Kenya.”

“What about the Arabian Peninsula?”

“They have multiple tankers that regularly pass through there, but the next ones aren’t
scheduled for another two months.”

“Are either of the ships docking in Egypt or Kenya heading to the Far East?”

“The one stopping in Kenya is scheduled to continue on to India and then return to
the United States.”

To Japan via India, Rubens thought. If they continued due east after crossing the
border out of the Congo, they’d arrive at the Kenyan port. “Have the Agency monitor
the two ports. Make Kenya your top priority.”

“Understood.”

“What about any planes that Pierce Shipping owns?”

“They just have one private jet for use by their executives. There’s no indication
at present that it’s headed to Africa. We’ll continue to monitor it.”

“This includes any affiliated companies, too, I assume?”

“It does. We’ve looked into all of them. Including subcontractors.”

“One more thing. Check to see if anyone at Pierce Shipping plans to charter or purchase
a plane.”

Before Rubens had gotten the words out the agent responded. “We’re already on it.
There’s no indication of any movement there.”

“I see. Thank you.”

So the chances were slim that Pierce and the group would exit Africa by plane. The
only other choice was by ship. If they could cut off all sea routes, then they could
contain them. Rubens hung up and stared down again at the legal pad.

There was no room for doubt anymore: Nous was hacking top-secret US intelligence.
But the need-to-know principle stood in Rubens’s way, making it impossible for him
to devise any effective counterintelligence measures. He didn’t know what sort of
system the NSA’s Echelon was or anything about its domestic black wiretapping ops,
and no information about them was divulged to him. The one thing he did know was that
these intelligence agencies ran complex information infrastructures that made centralized
communications control out of the question. Unless they did something to stop it,
the fact that Operation Nemesis had entered its emergency response phase would surely
leak out to Nous.

The only measure he could come up with was a makeshift one. They would incorporate
false phone intel in their system to confuse their opponent.

His cell phone rang again. The call was from Eric Burton, FBI liaison. “We have a
problem,” he said. “Can you come back to the operations center right away?”

Rubens wasn’t too keen on going back in. Outside his window it had started snowing.
“Where are you?” he asked.

“FBI headquarters,” Burton said.

“Can you come to my home?”

“Sorry. We need a secure room.”

What could have happened? Rubens wondered. “How about the conference room at the Schneider
Institute? It’s close by for both of us.”

“Sounds good.”

Rubens reluctantly got to his feet and grabbed the keys to his Audi.

Twenty minutes later Rubens and Burton were face-to-face in the windowless conference
room, the same room where Rubens had first seen Pierce’s intercepted e-mail.

“Something bad’s come up. I haven’t told anybody else yet,” Burton began, and took
a manila envelope from his attaché case. “It’s about the phone call from a telephone
booth in New York City. The one warning Kento Koga.”

Rubens instinctively leaned forward. “You found out something?”

“The call was made from a phone booth on Broadway, a spot where there’s a lot of foot
traffic. It was made at four p.m. on Saturday, five a.m. Japan time. At four ten on
the same day a security camera in a drugstore two blocks away caught someone walking
down the street, someone connected with Operation Nemesis.”

Rubens didn’t hesitate. “Eldridge?”

Instead of answering, Burton took out several photographs from the envelope and showed
them to Rubens. Through a shop window, a camera aimed at the entrance to the store
captured an image of a middle-aged man walking down the street.

“The FBI has enhanced the original image, which was kind of grainy.”

One glance and Rubens knew who it was. He was surprised, but only for an instant,
as if deep down he’d been expecting this.

Burton gazed at him fixedly, awaiting instructions.

“By itself this isn’t proof,” Rubens said. “He could just have been there by coincidence.”

“Then let’s get the people at Crypto City onto it,” Burton suggested.

The largest intelligence organization in the world, the NSA, is so huge it occupies
its own town in a corner of Maryland. This district, not shown on any map, consists
of more than fifty large buildings that hold more than sixty thousand employees and
other workers. Their goal is to intercept communications from all over the globe,
decrypt codes, and collect any information that could possibly benefit the United
States. The NSA’s other field of expertise is developing technology to counter cyberwarfare.

“If anyone can figure it out, those guys can,” Burton added.

After Jeong-hoon called, Kento went outside to wait for him. Jeong-hoon came by motorcycle,
and the road that led to the apartment where the lab was located was so dark and narrow
that he was surprised to find an apartment building there. The two-story wooden structure
didn’t have a security light on outside, so it was no wonder he couldn’t find it on
his own.

He parked his motorcycle at the bottom of the outside stairs, and Kento led him up
to apartment 202. When Jeong-hoon saw the lab equipment filling the small room, his
eyes went wide. “Wow. Since I met you, it’s been one surprise after another.”

“You’re going to be even more surprised when you hear this,” Kento said, and brought
him up to speed on what had happened.

Jeong-hoon seemed a little dubious at first, but with drug development software in
hand that exceeded anything humans could come up with, he had to take it seriously.
He sat there, pondering what he’d just heard. “Human evolution like that—I couldn’t
say one way or another if it’s possible. But as you said, all we can do is use GIFT
to try to create a new drug. Otherwise the illness is incurable.”

Kento was relieved that Jeong-hoon agreed with him. “Didn’t you used to work at an
American military base?”

“I did. Dragon Hill it was called.”

“What do you think about the wiretapping? Am I just being paranoid?”

“I can’t say for sure, but technologically it’s possible. America and England created
a joint intelligence collection system called Echelon that operates all over the world.
In the Far East there’s a monitoring antenna at the Misawa base in Japan, and there’s
a huge electronic wave–interception satellite over Indonesia. Underwater cables are
all tapped, too, so there’s really no safe form of communication.”

Kento was dumbfounded. What had happened to the world he thought he lived in? He’d
been so oblivious. Were people just allowed to live within a tiny enclosure that a
handful of people who controlled the world had constructed? He had no problem if this
made the world safer for everyone, but the people who created the system were far
from merciful gods. They were human beings. Rub them the wrong way and they had the
potential to brutally crush you. And right now all this was coming down on top of
him. He was shocked at how America was taking the lead in trampling on basic human
rights. What ever happened to private communications?

“Since Echelon could also be used in industrial espionage, the EU raised this as a
problem at their meeting, but they didn’t know much about how the system works.”

“That really creeps me out,” Kento said. The whole idea truly made him uncomfortable.
“It’s pretty hypocritical for America to talk about democracy.”

“I think so, too, but it’s not just the Americans. Nothing people do is perfect. All
the systems people create—the law, economics—none of them is perfect. It’s like buggy
software. Once you find the bugs you have to slap a patch on it. If humans really
are Homo sapiens—wise men—a hundred years from now the world should be a better place.”

“I hope so, but we’ve got problems facing us right now. Echelon is watching us. I
still don’t know whether it’s right to get you involved.”

“I already am.” Jeong-hoon smiled his usual gentle smile. “And I want to help those
sick children, too.”

His positive attitude encouraged Kento.

“Then let’s do it,” Jeong-hoon said, taking out the laptop with GIFT installed on
it from his backpack.

Kento cleared the table so there would be space for the laptop. The laptop was up
and running, the screen showing the computer-graphics image of mutant GPR769. The
image looked like a living being itself, with the receptors slowly moving along the
cell membrane.