The Demon Crown

by James Rollins

  Beyond the window, muted lighting revealed a long line of hospital beds. The patients were men and women, ranging in age from pubescent to elderly. They lay lifeless, hooked to all manner of monitoring equipment, IV lines, and EEG machines that traced their brain activity, which even from here looked leaden.

  Hamada confirmed this. “They’re all in an induced coma. We’re not monsters. We maintain strict guidelines for pain and stress management of our subjects.”

  Ken wanted to argue, but he could not talk.

  Each patient exhibited signs of extreme brutalization. Both arms of one man had been burned, his skin blackened and cracked. Another’s abdomen lay open, the viscera inside dried like jerky. The closest woman had her lower half frozen in a block of ice. Everywhere Ken cast his gaze, the horrors compounded: mutilations, weeping boils, stripped skin, radiation burns.

  He had remembered reading about Japanese camps in China during World War II, where scientists had performed ghastly biological experiments on prisoners and local villagers. Clearly someone had updated that program for the new millennium.

  Hamada tried to justify his work as they passed along the windows, but from his halting manner, he could not fully hide his shame. “We’re performing stress challenges. On tissues, on organs. Establishing baselines before we begin testing in earnest the ability of the Lazarus genes to repair damaged bodies.”

  Seichan had seen enough, her face a mask of fury. She knew this was where Hamada had been planning to take her, to be experimented upon—along with her unborn child.

  Hamada gasped as Seichan jabbed him with the scalpel to get him to take the last steps to the exit. Ken was more than ready to leave. They had delayed long enough and learned nothing that would help Seichan.

  Through the next set of doors, a maze of hallways led through offices and smaller labs. Blinking green arrows indicated the emergency evacuation route. The hallways grew colder as they went. With each turn, they began to move more quickly, sensing time was running out.

  Finally, another set of red doors opened at the end of a hall.

  A wintry rush of icy air washed over them.

  They hurried through the doors and into what could pass as a pristine Japanese subway station. The long tubular chamber stretched before them, with a narrow platform running beside a sleek chain of seven white pill-shaped cars. Through tiny windows, figures could be seen standing there, packed inside.

  Must be the last of the evacuating crew of this level.

  Ken also spotted men with rifles slung over their shoulders. He kept his face down, his eyes diverted as they crossed toward the caboose of this train. Seichan did the same, balling her fist tighter into the back of Hamada’s scrub gown.

  As they crossed the platform, the lead car suddenly zipped away, shooting silently down the dark tunnel. It was clearly electrically powered, but rather than running on a rail system, small spiked wheels on the undercarriage propelled it, stabilized by pairs of large skates on top and bottom.

  Only then did Ken realize that the surfaces of the tubes were lined by polished ice. He remembered Hamada’s comments about the site being chosen for its natural insulation offered by the unique geology.

  He now understood.

  This was one of Mount Fuji’s many lava tubes. Colleagues back at Ken’s lab in Kyoto had shown him pictures of their trips to the Narusawa Ice Caves, on the volcano’s slopes, where caverns and tunnels were forever covered in ice and draped in crystalline stalactites. It was said the entire mountain here was riddled with such perpetually frozen passageways.

  Clearly Fenikkusu Laboratories had taken advantage of this natural feature of the mountain, both for its constant refrigeration and for its ready-made tunnel system, perfect for engineering a secret escape route. He pictured the vanished car shooting under Lake Kawaguchi to some distant place of safety.

  Now if only we could get there, too . . .

  As they approached the last car, the doors opened before them. It appeared only half-full, offering plenty of room for three remaining stragglers rushing to safety.

  Unfortunately, the half inside were heavily armed.

  And led by a familiar figure, who stepped out to greet them.

  Valya Mikhailov.

  She was dressed in a white parka, the hood thrown back. Along with her pale face and snowy hair, she looked the queen of this icy station. Her haughty smile added to her guise of royalty and power.

  Seichan drew Hamada in front of her, using the doctor as a shield. “Get back,” she warned Ken, urging him behind her.

  Ken didn’t bother, remaining where he was.

  Behind Valya, a team of hard-faced men and women, all armed, backed her up. He recognized a few from Ikikauō Atoll. These were her handpicked team, loyal and merciless.

  Ken also recognized another face.

  Valya held a large pistol in one hand, but clutched an older woman in blue scrubs. It was the nurse who had escaped the surgical suite. It seemed the woman had found someone to alert during the evacuation after all.

  A muffled Klaxon sounded as another of the cars zipped away.

  Ken glanced back and saw the last of the illuminated green arrows start to blink rapidly in red.

  Valya noted the alarm and his attention. “It seems our illustrious leader has ordered the final destruction of this pagoda dedicated to science.” She leveled her pistol at them. “Not that it’ll be any concern of yours.”

  She aimed and fired.

  1:11 P.M.

  That can’t be a good sign.

  Gray led the others at breakneck speed down an endless flight of steps. After Hoga and Endo had blown the red stairwell doors on the fourth subbasement level, they’d discovered a descent that appeared never-ending. He had already counted a dozen flights when the series of green glowing arrows they’d been following suddenly began blinking an angry red and a Klaxon rang out.

  “Faster!” Gray goaded the others. He leaped steps, colliding off walls and bouncing around turns in the stairwell.

  Aiko raced ahead, proving more fleet-footed. Hoga and Endo kept at her heels. Palu trailed behind them all, compromised by his panicked captive, Dr. Oshiro. The Hawaiian half-carried the researcher, with a thick arm around the man’s thin waist.

  Then the expected BOOM . . . a whole series of them.

  Gray crashed across the next landing as a cascading series of explosions rocked the tower’s foundation. He twisted around to check on the others.

  Palu was sprawled headfirst down the stairs. He had saved himself from a concussion by snatching the handrail, but he had lost hold of his prisoner. Oshiro sat on his backside on the upper landing. The man’s eyes were huge with panic, but he also looked at his hands, as if acknowledging he was free.

  Gray read the man’s next move. “Don’t!”

  Oshiro hopped to his feet and bolted like a jackrabbit up the steps, fleeing his captors. The man quickly vanished around a turn.

  Palu began to stand, ready to pursue him.

  “Forget it.” Gray pointed down. “No time.”

  This was confirmed as Oshiro howled above, his scream echoing down the stairwell. Gray felt the pressure change in his ears.

  “Run!”

  They fled again, even faster now, leaping from landing to landing, crashing around turns. The air grew hotter and denser. Each breath soon scorched. He heard a dragon roar behind him.

  Gray pictured a wall of flames closing upon them from behind.

  Then they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. The group banged out its lower doors and into a short hall.

  “Keep going!” Gray hollered.

  They raced in a tight group. A set of steel sliding doors opened before them, as if welcoming them into the security beyond. They fled through into a lab. A low whoosh drew Gray’s attention around.

  The dragon had caught up with them.

  Flames shot into the circular space, blistering the air as they leaped out of the way. Then the steel doors clamped closed agai
n, stanching the flames, trapping the inferno outside. Sprinklers overhead responded to the blast and began spraying the space.

  Better late than never.

  Gray gathered everyone together. “We should—”

  A volley of gunfire drew him around, echoing through an exit on the far side of the lab. His heart clenched in his chest.

  Without him needing to order it, they all ran for the door.

  With each step, the firefight grew louder.

  1:15 P.M.

  Fight or die.

  That had been Valya’s order as she slapped a SIG Sauer into Seichan’s palm. Seichan still didn’t understand the situation, and for the moment, she didn’t need to.

  Seconds ago, Valya had fired her pistol at them. Her first shot dropped Dr. Hamada with a slug to his chest. Seichan had tried to hold him up as he collapsed, using his dead weight as a shield. Then Valya’s second shot blew away half the skull of the stunned nurse in her clutches.

  As Valya shoved the body aside, she pointed her smoking weapon toward the last car. “Get inside.”

  Seichan hadn’t moved, too pain-addled and surprised to make sense of it all.

  Then doors opened along the chain of neighboring cars and armed gunmen came barreling out, more than two dozen, drawn by the blasts and murder. At first the security force—who were likely assigned to protect the key members of the research staff—had milled around in confusion.

  Valya’s team took advantage and fired at them, taking down half in a savage volley. During the ensuing firefight, Valya had grabbed Ken and shoved him into the protection of the car and passed Seichan a weapon.

  She crouched at Valya’s side now. Both of them sheltered in the open door of the last car. Valya braced high, Seichan low, down on one knee. Together they fired at the remaining handful of guards. Valya had lost four of her crew, who were sprawled on the platform. Others were wounded behind them in the car. Four more hid behind poles outside, trying to flank the enemy.

  Valya cursed with every shot she popped off.

  Seichan smelled the sweat and gunpowder wafting off her. Clearly Valya had underestimated the vigorous response from the security force down here. It had cost her dearly and put them all in jeopardy.

  Another of her men tried to dash from his hiding place to get a better angle, but a crack shot dropped him before he could take four steps.

  Valya growled her frustration, clearly recognizing this was becoming a stalemate. And time was not on their side.

  Then the doors into the station opened. A new group burst forth between the two entrenched forces.

  Seichan stared at the impossible sight.

  Gray and Palu slid low across the platform, accompanied by a masked trio. They fired at the train of cars, aiming for the obvious threat of the armed guards.

  Taking advantage of the newcomers’ arrival, Valya hollered to her remaining three men. “To me!”

  They immediately obeyed and pounded into the car. Valya continued to offer fire support for Gray’s assault, picking off another guard. Seichan did the same.

  In seconds, the fierce battle ended.

  As if this were some signal, the lead train car jetted away down the tunnel, then the next, whisking on sharp blades across the ice.

  Gray and the others came running toward the last car, weapons bristling.

  He immediately spotted Seichan, relief shining from his face, but his eyes never left the pale form of the woman beside her. He leveled his weapon at Valya as he closed the distance.

  Seichan stood up, blocking his shot, shielding the woman.

  “Get out of the way,” Gray warned.

  Seichan faced his fury. “Not yet.”

  1:18 P.M.

  Gray scowled, baffled by Seichan’s reaction. When he had first burst in here, he had watched the pair firing in tandem from their shelter in the caboose of this sleek train. Apparently, with a common enemy to fight, the two adversaries were temporarily working together.

  But that was over.

  Gray’s group trained their weapons on the clutch of men inside, some wounded, others unharmed. The enemy, in turn, threatened them in the same manner.

  What the hell was going on?

  Valya holstered her pistol. With exaggerated care, she reached to a pocket and removed a small thumb drive. She tossed it at Gray, who caught it one-handed, while never lowering his gun.

  His fingers closed over the drive. “What’s this?”

  “A ticket out of here for me and my team.” She nodded to the device. “It contains the location of a warehouse holding barrels of gas canisters.”

  “Gas?”

  “Insecticide. Developed by Fenikkusu Laboratories. Effective against the wasps, but highly carcinogenic and toxic to many other species. It’ll cause a lot of heartbreak and environmental damage on its own, but it’ll get the job done.” She stared over at Aiko. “Fenikkusu Laboratories was planning to use that storehouse to protect these shores in the coming months and years, but it should do the same for Hawaii.”

  Gray was suddenly glad he hadn’t shot Valya outright, especially with her next words.

  “The drive is quantum-encrypted and will destroy itself upon any attempt to jailbreak it.” Valya glared at Gray. “I’ll send you the code once I’m safely gone.”

  “And how can we trust you’ll do that or that there’s anything even on here?”

  “I don’t want the world to end any more than you do. It doesn’t suit my own plans for the future. So I need you all to save it for me.”

  Gray understood.

  The cunning bitch intends for us to be tools for her own ambition.

  He studied her crew. He recognized their hard countenances, having seen shadows of the same with Seichan at times. These were all former Guild. To have survived the worldwide purge of their organization, they had to be its most dangerous core.

  Led by a woman with a heart as icy as her skin.

  How can I let them leave, a seed that’ll grow into something far worse?

  He sighed, knowing the answer.

  That’s tomorrow . . .

  He lowered his gun and waved for the others to do the same.

  Valya’s lips thinned into a self-satisfied sneer. “As a sign of goodwill, I already sent an auto-destruct signal to a fleet of planes rising from islands around the globe, destined for major cities with their deadly cargo.”

  Gray understood, picturing the trio of Cessnas flying pilotless toward the Maui coast.

  “So you see,” Valya continued, “I’ve generously taken care of that problem so you can concentrate on the situation in Hawaii.” She shrugged at Seichan. “Unfortunately, the pesticide has no effect on the parasitized.”

  Gray had feared as much. He reached over and took Seichan’s hand, feeling the feverish heat in her palm and fingers.

  “Which means,” Valya said, “the threat already entrenched in Hawaii will rise again and again. Requiring constant retreatment with the toxic gas to stamp it back down. The cumulative environmental damage will be severe, and a quarantine will have to be maintained to protect the rest of the world.”

  Gray glanced over to Palu, whose face had gone ashen. Such a course was not the best solution, but it was the only one they had.

  By now, the three remaining train cars had already zipped off, leaving only the caboose. Knowing he had no choice but to cooperate, Gray waved his team inside with the Guild.

  As the doors closed, Valya turned her gaze up. “Oh, and I granted you one additional parting gift.”

  1:22 P.M.

  Takashi Ito stood before the windows of his office, staring out at the storm raging over Mount Fuji. Flashes of lightning crackled through dark clouds. He listened to the thunder, felt it through his palms pressed to the glass.

  It echoed the rage inside him.

  When he had first stepped to the window, the pane had been cold, swept by rain and thin patters of hail. Already it had become warm, heated by the flames in the tower below as the incen
diary charges burned their way through the pagoda’s steel infrastructure. Fires raged below. Glass shattered in bright shards, reflecting the flames.

  Behind him, smoke poured under the door from the hallway behind him.

  No one had come for him.

  When he had tried to leave, he found the door blocked on the far side.

  He pictured his private secretary dead, likely the same with the helicopter crew atop the tower. Even prior to that, he had watched on his laptop as calls came in from various installations, passing on feed from the dispatched fleet. Video showed plane after place exploding in midair and raining down into seas around the world.

  He knew only one hand could have orchestrated all of this.

  A hand as white as the finest porcelain.

  Chūnin Mikhailov.

  He now suspected the woman had not been entirely truthful about the fate of his grandson, Masahiro. Even still, he respected her ambition, which was apparently boundless. From her actions, she clearly refused to settle for a world in ruins, one where her options would be limited, her future confined and forever restricted by Japanese overlords.

  Still, she must be punished.

  He had already taken measures to ensure that, knowing the most likely route she would take to escape. The facility had been engineered with one last fail-safe, intended for a worst-case scenario. But it would not be a cleansing fire this time.

  Instead, something equally purifying.

  Contented in this matter, he turned from the window and headed back toward his low desk. Smoke fogged the room, making it difficult to breathe.

  He dropped to his knees, meaning to do so gracefully, but he struck the floor hard, jarring his bones. He ignored the pain and sat before his desk. As he stared out at the storm, knowing it would be his last, he reached for a thick piece of paper.

  Without looking down, he made one crease, then another. His fingers moved from memory. He studied the storm, but he could no longer echo its rage. Fold after fold, he worked. Slowly shape took form.