Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  He heard Yoko’s whispering footsteps coming toward him from the back bedroom.

  “I woke him up, Master Yiro. He wonders what is wrong, that you have come to see him so late.”

  “I can only speak with him, Yoko. Keep a watch on the front of the house. Let me know if anyone comes. If you see a car or a truck drive by slowly, let me know at once. I may have been followed.”

  Her almond eyes rounded with fear. “Is the ethnic cleansing coming here tonight?” she stammered, clutching the front of her silk kimono.

  “I do not think so . . . not tonight. However, bad things may be happening soon.”

  “What . . . bad things? Will they take us away to the prison camps?”

  “I do not know. Now, keep a lookout from one of the windows and let me know if anyone arrives. I must speak with my father at once, and what I have to tell him may take some time. It is very important.”

  “I understand, Master Yiro,” she said, bowing again.

  Yiro walked down the hallway to enter his father’s room, to tell him about the meeting with General Maxwell and his staff. It would gladden his father’s heart to know that at last there would be revenge for what had been done to their people by the ruthless administration of President Claire Osterman and the top leaders of the USA.

  Yiro bowed. His father lay still on the bed, watching him with concern in his eyes, his head raised by pillows propped up underneath him. Behind him, on a wall above the bed, a small rendition of the old Japanese flag, a rising sun, was encased in a picture frame.

  They spoke in Japanese.

  “What is it that brings you here so late, my son? Yoko says it is important.”

  “It is, Father.”

  “Has the ethnic cleansing begun in Indianapolis? Have they come for you and your family?”

  “No, Father, but it will come soon. Right now, they are concentrating on the black people. Thousands of them have been killed, taken to the prison camps where they have been starved to death, or shot.”

  “Tell me why you have come to see me.” His father’s voice had turned grave, hoarse.

  “They have contacted me, the government of the USA. General Maxwell and President Osterman, along with a staff of experts on warfare, asked for me.”

  “Why you?”

  Yiro smiled. “They know about grandfather’s work at Unit 731.”

  His father frowned. “Do they know you have kept the cultures alive?”

  “Yes. I told them.”

  “Why would you do that, Yiro? Would you use my father’s work, your grandfather’s work, to destroy our own people and spread the plague?”

  “I have a plan, Father. I have a plan that may stop the ethnic cleansing before it reaches us.”

  “Tell me about it . . . quickly. You know how dangerous the bacteria is.”

  He pulled a small wooden chair from a corner and sat at the foot of his father’s bed. “You remember that General Ishi had also developed a vaccine against the bubonic bacteria,” he began, certain that his father would recall these important details of the work done at Unit 731, even though it had taken place so many years ago.

  “Of course. Without it, the bombs filled with plague-carrying fleas would have been useless,” his father replied, sounding irritated.

  “I told General Maxwell that I had the vaccine, as well as the cultures of bubonic bacteria,” Yiro continued. “As you say, without the vaccine the bacteria has no value, for it would kill everyone on this continent and possibly even spread to the rest of the world.”

  “Please continue, my son. You have not told me anything I do not already know.”

  “I have made them an offer.”

  “An offer?”

  “Yes, Father. I have offered to show them how to build the bombs and prepare them with diseased fleas. They knew some of the details before I arrived at the military compound below the ground at Indianapolis.”

  “Why would you do such a thing? The Rebels of SUSA are tolerant of all races, and yet you offer President Osterman and her generals a way to kill General Raines and the people he is fighting for? This makes no sense to me.”

  Again, Yiro smiled. “This is only what they think, Father. I am going to sell them the bacteria cultures and show them how to build the bombs. They want the formula for the vaccine, and I will give them one—”

  “You will be responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Surely you know this? How can you do such a thing with your grandfather’s work? Do you understand what you are giving them? Do you not remember your history? How in the late fourteenth century a wild strain of this very bacterium spread across the entire world, killing twenty-five percent of the earth’s population?”

  “I understand, Father, yet it is not quite what it seems to be.”

  “Please explain. You have disappointed me, breaking a sacred trust given to us by my father . . . that we would never use the plague to harm innocent people. After what he saw in China he denounced the use of biological and chemical weapons. He asked me to destroy his notes and the bacteria . . . everything he had regarding Unit 731. After hearing what you are telling me now, I wish I had followed his instructions. You disappoint me, Yiro.”

  Yiro looked at the floor a moment, preparing what he would say next. “This is not what I intend to do, Father. I have no plans to betray you, or my grandfather. But they know I have the bacteria and the instructions for building the bomb. They would have killed me and my family if I had refused to cooperate with them. But there is more. I have an idea, a way to escape what they plan to do to us.”

  “Go on . . .”

  “I will show the USA and its military leaders how to build the bombs. However, I will give them a false formula for the vaccine.”

  “A false formula?”

  “It will be useless. I will take the money offered to me by President Osterman and use it to take you, and my family, back to Japan.”

  “I still do not fully understand, my son. What will prevent the infected fleas from killing tens of thousands . . . perhaps millions . . . of innocent people living in the USA?”

  “I will give the formula for the vaccine to one of SUSA’s military leaders. They can begin developing the correct vaccine within a few days.”

  A silence lingered in the bedroom. Yiro had doubts that his father would approve of his plan.

  “Still, my son, many innocent people like us, who live in the USA, will die from the plague.”

  “I know this father. I feel I have no choice but to do what I plan to do . . . give the formula for the vaccine to officials of the SUSA government and take you, and my wife and children, out of this country.”

  “You may be right—”

  “I know I am right, Father.”

  “The innocent victims will linger in my memory, and in yours, until the day we die.”

  “I have made this decision. I choose to save my family and let these people fight their war any way they wish. I will give the USA the bombs, the information, and nothing more. I will give the formula for the vaccine to General Raines and his scientists.”

  “If they find out, if they even suspect what you propose to do, the government of the USA will have you executed. Perhaps even your wife and children.”

  “I’m certain I have no choice, Father.”

  The old man glanced at the ceiling. “You may be right, Yiro,” he said softly.

  Yiro stood up, for he knew his father was tired now and he had a heavy burden to carry, a great deal to think about in the coming days. “I will send someone for you, Father. Have Yoko prepare everything for our departure to Japan.”

  “When?”

  “I have no idea. I will contact you or send word to you.”

  A tear trickled down his father’s cheek. “So this is what our world has come to, my son. We are all destined to destroy each other at all costs.”

  Yiro came to the bed and kissed his father’s cheek. “If I can, I will make sure our family survives this war. Y
ou must trust me, Father, for I am doing the only thing I can. . . .”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Yiro arrived at the bombed-out remnants of the Research and Development facility outside Indianapolis at five in the morning. Nothing much remained of its exterior walls—only skeletal brick sections blackened by smoke and fire—after the SUSA bombing last year. So much of the country now reminded him of photographs from Europe during World War II. Entire cities had been abandoned not long after the Final War started, when SUSA’s bombs hit targets with such uncanny precision. Power and gasoline and water were often in short supply, a circumstance the Osterman administration played down in the press as a “temporary condition.”

  Important bridges and roadways had been destroyed. It was no easy task to cross parts of the USA without asking about roads and bridges along the way . . . and the availability of fuel for an automobile between major cities, if the bomb-cratered roads were passable. Telephone service was unreliable, when it was available at all. Television and radio broadcasts were in the hands of the government now, showing old reruns between the political messages designed to comfort the nervous citizenry of what had once been the most powerful government in the world, the United States of America.

  * * *

  Research and Development was in a remote section of Indiana woods . . . what was left of the old laboratories after the bombs and missiles struck. The new Science Center was inside the compound at Indianapolis now, under heavy guard, where the advancement of biological and chemical weapons was being conducted by President Osterman’s hand-picked staff of scientists and military leaders whom she trusted.

  “I am not among them now,” Yiro muttered, steering through the night, “because I am of Japanese ancestry. It is a choice President Osterman will live to regret . . . if things go as I’ve planned.”

  He swung onto a dirt lane far from the city, being careful to avoid chuckholes.

  Yiro turned off his headlights, wondering where his wife, Sun Li, might be. He had called her from the only working pay telephone he could find on the trip back from his father’s house in the dark. Sun Li had agreed to meet him here, for he would need her help carrying out his secret plan. She was the only one he could trust.

  Yiro parked his car in a grove of trees near the remains of the building, switching off the motor, wondering if somehow the higher-ups at USA had tapped his telephone at home. They would arrest Sun Li and take her and their children to one of the prison camps to await execution. Information about the camps was being kept from the press. No one knew about the exterminations, except those who had lost family members. He had done what he could to prevent anyone who might be tapping the phones, speaking to his wife in the Japanese dialect of their childhood. Even if Osterman’s security forces overheard, it would take them some time to find a reliable translator of their conversation, and by then she would be safely on her way to join him.

  Where is Sun Li? he wondered again, climbing slowly out of the car.

  All was quiet around him as the hour approached dawn. Yiro knew his wife should have been there—unless something had gone wrong.

  A whispered voice from the dark startled him, and he wheeled around.

  “Yiro. I am over here.”

  He smiled when he recognized Sun Li’s voice. “I did not see your car. I was worried.”

  She ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Yiro, we must hurry. The children are at home alone, and I fear the soldiers might find us here. I was afraid when you told me to meet you here. Please tell me . . . what are you planning to do with the experiments in the cellar? I brought the key, as you told me to do.”

  “Do not worry,” he assured her. “No one comes here anymore. The soldiers do not know about the cellar, and most of the scientists who knew about it were killed during the bombings and the fire.”

  She tugged his shirtsleeve. “Please hurry, Yiro. We must do whatever it is you want and do it quickly, before the sun comes up.”

  He led her around to the rear of the burned-out structure, then to a thicket of bushes and short trees fifty yards behind it.

  “Give me the key,” he said, looking around them to be sure they were not being watched. The skies were clear of all aircraft now. The bombing and missiles had stopped over an hour ago. An eerie silence blanketed the Indiana countryside, a silence that worried Yiro for reasons he could not fully explain to his wife. He wondered if he had simply grown accustomed to the sounds of bombings during the night, and the screams of victims being taken away by the Federal Protection and Prevention Service.

  Sun Li handed him a small padlock key. Yiro went into the bushes first, carefully probing the tall grasses with his foot to find the heavy metal door. He carried a small flashlight, for the windowless cellar would be inky dark and he would need to be very sure of his moves, handling the vials of bacteria in culture very carefully. His life, and Sun Li’s life, depended on not making any mistakes.

  “Remember to put on the mask and gloves,” he told her as he bent down to find the padlock. “Take no chances handling the old vials, for they will break easily.”

  “What are you doing, Yiro?” Sun Li asked. “You have always said this experiment, whatever it is, was too dangerous to move.”

  He found the lock and opened it. Then he pulled a heavy iron door open above a set of sagging wooden stairs. “Do not ask me questions, Sun Li,” he responded. “The less you know, the better off you will be.”

  He started down the steps, until Sun Li grabbed his arm. “I am frightened, Yiro. Please tell me what you are doing. I am your wife.”

  Yiro turned to her, admiring her smooth face and gentle features in the darkness. “You must trust me,” he whispered gently. “There is a chance I can save our lives and take us back to our homeland.”

  “Everyone says there is no escape,” Sun Li told him, a tear sparkling in her eyes. “We will never be allowed to leave. I know they will kill us if we try.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Yiro. With all my heart.”

  “Then ask me no more questions. Do exactly as I tell you to do, and say nothing.”

  “I will be silent,” she promised. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “When I give you a vial, carry it up these steps very carefully and put it in my car. If you stumble . . . if you break the glass . . . we will both die.”

  “I am afraid, Yiro.”

  He smiled at her. “It is all right to be afraid, my dear wife, but do not break the vials. Be sure of every step you take. What we are doing tonight will see our children safely out of this war.”

  He aimed his penlight into the dank-smelling cellar. “Follow me. Touch nothing until I tell you it is safe, and put on the breathing mask and gloves.”

  “I love you, Yiro,” she said as he went down the steps to the cellar floor.

  Silky cobwebs like gossamer lace hung from each rafter beam above them. The cellar was damp, cloying. Wooden shelves stood in rows across the floor of the tiny underground room. The smell of rot was everywhere, clinging to their nostrils like a damp cloth across their faces.

  Wearing gas masks and elbow-length gloves, they carried ten glass vials out of the cellar, one at a time, and put them in the trunk of Yiro’s Nissan, surrounding each one with several towels to keep them from breaking on rough roads. The culture medium was a shade of dull pink, swirling in the bottom of each deadly vial of bubonic plague bacterium.

  Two of the vials were dry, for it had been months since he visited the cellar. But a powerful bacteria like this would encapsulate, protecting itself in a dormant phase, until it was awakened by the addition of water, which would bring it back to life even after years of hibernation.

  When the last vial was loaded Yiro closed the trunk of his car. He returned quickly to the cellar to bring out a rusted metal box painted a fading white color with a red cross on the lid. He placed it carefully under the front seat of Sun Li’s car. Dawn was brightening the eastern sky.


  “You must go now,” he said, pulling off his gas mask and gloves.

  “I will hurry,” Sun Li said. “I must be there before the children are awake. What is in the small white box?”

  “Ask me no more. When you get home, put it in the back of our refrigerator.”

  “The refrigerator?”

  “Yes. Hurry now, but do not drive too fast, or the police will stop you and ask you questions.”

  “What will you do?” Sun Li asked. “Where will you go with those bottles?”

  “It is better if you do not know.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “When the time comes, I will tell you everything. Until then, pack our clothing and only the bare essentials. Be ready to leave the moment I contact you. I will tell you where to take the children. You will be boarding an airplane that will take you and the children to Japan, while I will fly across the ocean to open a Swiss bank account. Remember to bring the white box with you. Hide it in our luggage.”

  “I am so scared, Yiro. If anything were to happen to you, I would be lost—”

  “Nothing will happen. But you must do exactly as I say, and ask me no questions.”

  She grabbed his shirt collar and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I love you, my husband. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

  “I love you too, Sun Li,” he whispered, his voice thickening with emotion. “You must trust me. I am doing everything I can to save our lives.”

  “I understand,” she said softly, unwilling for the moment to let go of him.

  “Get in your car. Drive straight home. Tell no one where you have been, or that you have seen me. I want you to understand how important it is that you deny having seen me for many days.”

  “Of course I will, Yiro.”

  “Then go now. The sun is rising.”

  She turned away from him toward her dark green Toyota. “You must call me as soon as you can, Yiro, to tell me that you are safe, that nothing has gone wrong.”