Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Don’t kill the bastard until we’re sure we have what we want,” Maxwell ordered.

  “I’ll wait. Then I’m gonna break his fuckin’ neck.”

  Knoff sat in one of the chairs next to the phone and crossed his legs, watching as a crowd of five Japanese women dressed in traditional gowns and with painted white faces entered the bank. Two went to a teller’s window while the other three made for the women’s rest room.

  “Jesus,” Knoff muttered. “How can Japanese men stand all that paint on their women’s faces?”

  The phone next to him rang and he picked up the receiver, glancing up as the women came out of the rest room and joined their friends at the teller’s window.

  “Maxwell here. We’ve got it, and it looks like the genuine article.”

  “So, I’m free to take the bastard out?” Knoff said, smiling and nodding as one of the Geisha girls batted her eyes at him and smiled as the crowd of women left the bank.

  “Kill him, but don’t get caught. We need you back here.”

  “He’s in the john. I’ll do it there, and leave his body on the toilet. A fitting end for the son of a bitch.”

  He hung up the phone and walked toward the restroom, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves so as to leave no fingerprints for the police.

  He eased the door open and went to the only stall with a closed door. Pushing the door open, he drew back his arm for a killing karate blow, only to discover a pile of clothes and a note.

  He picked it up and read, “Thank you for the money and for my freedom. I’m sorry you didn’t get to complete your assignment, but I’m sure President Osterman will not hold it against you. I hear she is a very forgiving person.”

  “Oh shit!” Knoff said. He’d be lucky if Osterman didn’t have him killed for this.

  Unless, he thought, she never finds out. Who’s to say I didn’t kill the son of a bitch, after all? Ishi sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone.

  He wadded up the note and flushed it down the toilet.

  Feeling better, Knoff walked out of the bank and hailed a taxicab to take him to the airport. As of now, Yiro Ishi was officially dead.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Yiro watched from the window of the Japanese restaurant until he saw Herb Knoff come out of the bank building and hail a cab. Only when the cab was around the corner and out of sight did he relax.

  Turning to the Japanese waitresses who’d helped him, he took out a wad of hundred dollar bills and passed them out, to much giggling and chattering. Thank God Mr. Knoff knew nothing of our Japanese theatre tradition of Kabuki, in which men play all the roles, even those of women, thought Yiro.

  He exited the restaurant through a side door and made his way to a men’s clothing shop recommended by the restaurant owner. Once he had changed into a business suit, with a bag full of new shirts, underwear, and socks, he took a cab to the Alpine Hotel. He picked it because it was neither so swank nor so dingy as to draw attention, just in case Mr. Knoff hadn’t really given up on finding him.

  In his room, he changed into more casual clothes and dialed the concierge.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Smith,” the concierge said, addressing him by the Anglo name he’d used to register.

  “Is it possible to place a call to the office of the President of the Southern United States of America?”

  “Why, certainly Mr. Smith. I’ll ring you back when I have them on the phone.”

  In less than ten minutes, the phone rang.

  “Yes?” Ishi said.

  “This is Margaret Peterson, assistant to the President. May I be of service to you?”

  “This is Yiro Ishi calling. I have an urgent message for whoever is running the army.”

  “May I ask what it is about?”

  “It concerns a plan by the USA to drop bombs containing a new plague bacillus on your country. I must speak with someone in authority in order to avoid a catastrophe.”

  “One minute please,” the young woman said, as if she received such calls on a daily basis.

  After a moment, there were several clicks on the line, followed by a burst of static. Finally, a male voice said, “Hello, this is Mike Post.”

  “Mr. Post, I assume you have the authority to act on my information.”

  “That is correct, Mr., uh, Ishi.”

  It took Ishi fifteen minutes of nonstop talking to relate the series of events that’d landed him in Switzerland, and to give Mike the name of Doctor Alfred Zimmer.

  “I’m familiar with Dr. Zimmer,” Mike said.

  “Good, then you know he is a patriot and is a renowned bacteriologist. I have arranged for a formula—for a vaccine against the bubonic plague bacteria the USA is planning to drop on SUSA—to be sent to Dr. Simmer from Japan. It should arrive very soon, giving you plenty of time to prepare the vaccine, test it, and administer it to your people before the first bombs are dropped. Included in the sample is a small vial of the bacterium itself, so you may see that the vaccine works.”

  “Why are you doing this, Mr. Ishi?”

  “For many reasons, Mr. Post. First and foremost, I am a scientist, not a mass murderer. And, the truth of the matter is, I admire and respect the form of government under which you live, and would hate to see it destroyed by that monster, Osterman.”

  “That sounds mighty nice, Ishi, but is it enough of a reason for us to trust you?”

  “The bastards murdered my father in cold blood, Mr. Post.” Ishi’s voice cracked. “For that alone they deserve to die. That is why the vaccine formula I gave them is useless against the strain of bacteria they will be using.” He forced himself to gain control, and said in a calmer voice, “I think it only fitting they will die by their own hand in a futile effort to destroy you.”

  “OK, Mr. Ishi. We’ll give your vaccine a look.”

  “Please, Mr. Post, do more than that. The vaccine takes two weeks to confer full immunity, so don’t waste too much time.”

  “I understand. Is there anyplace we can contact you should Dr. Zimmer or our other experts have any questions?”

  “I shall call you back weekly,” Ishi said, “and I will use the code word Fujiyama, after Japan’s highest and most sacred mountain, when I call. If it is more urgent than that, place an add in Tokyo’s major newspapers to Mr. Fujiyama, and I will contact you the same day.”

  “Good enough, Mr. Ishi. Needless to say, the thanks of a grateful nation will be yours if this works out as you say.”

  “No thanks are necessary, Mr. Post, as long as you rid the world of Claire Osterman and all she stands for.”

  As soon as he hung up on Ishi Mike Post placed a call to Ike McGowen, ex-SEAL and commander of Battalion 502.

  When he came on the line, Mike didn’t waste any time explaining Ishi’s call.

  “Sounds fishy to me,” Ike said. “Why would he give the plague to the USA, and the antidote to us?”

  “It’s a long story,” Mike said. “What I want you to do is get a team together, including Dr. Lamar Chase, and fly down to Florida. I want you to be there when the vaccine and plague bacillus samples arrive. Your mission is to protect Dr. Zimmer and see that the vaccine formula is thoroughly tested by Doc Chase and Zimmer. If what Ishi says is true, we’re gonna need every second of time you can buy us to get the vaccine in production and administered to our troops and citizens.”

  “OK, Mike, but it still sounds fishy to me.”

  “I’ll bump Ben and let him know what’s going on, and see if he’s got any intel about the supposed attack by the USA. Meanwhile, make sure that nothing happens to Zimmer until we get that vaccine.”

  “Ten-four, Mike. You can count on me.”

  “And, Ike. I hear the smoked mullet is great down in Florida.”

  “You know me, Mike. If it’s edible, I’ll give it a try.”

  “Good luck, Ike. Eagle Two over and out.”

  Ben was just pouring his first cup of coffee and lighting his first cigarette of the day when Corrie informed him Mike wa
s on the horn.

  “Hello, Eagle Two, this is Eagle One,” Ben said, trying to balance the microphone, his cup of coffee, and his cigarette all at the same time.

  “Ben,” Mike said, “I’ve got some new intel I need to talk to you about, but first I want to know if you’ve taken care of the problem I bumped you about yesterday.”

  Ben hesitated. He had never lied to Mike, but he didn’t want him to know the details of how he’d handled Lara Walden and her friend, Carl. “Yeah, Mike. The problem has been handled. I’ll guarantee we’ll not have any repeat of what was going on before.”

  “Then you’ve terminated the source of our leaks?”

  “The problem has been taken care of. There’ll be no more leaks or false orders given from this location,” Ben said, skirting the truth, but letting Mike know Lara was out of the loop as far as Intel went.

  He didn’t bother to give him the details—how he’d let Lara and Carl leave for Canada, or how he’d arranged for all the prisoners they’d rescued to take the remaining vehicles in the garage of the prison and return to their homes, to keep up their work as Freedom Fighters assisting SUSA in its war against the USA. Even Ben’s team didn’t know the full details of their mission.

  “We have a new problem,” Mike said. “I’ve just received information that Osterman has been given a new BW, one that we have no vaccine against. My source says she’s preparing to drop BW bombs containing the new bacteria within the next few weeks.”

  Ben was shocked. He’d heard nothing of a new BW. “That’s news to me,” he said over the radio.

  “Luckily, we have an ace in the hole Osterman doesn’t know about,” Mike said. “It’s too delicate to go into over the radio, but if all works out, the BW will not be as effective as she hopes.”

  “Anything I can do on this end?”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. If you get any intel concerning a new BW attack, let me know soonest.”

  “Will do. Eagle One over and out.”

  As soon as his men had recovered the vials of bacterial cultures and the vaccine formula from where Ishi had told Knoff they were hidden, General Maxwell turned them over to his scientific staff. His orders were simple: Make the weapon and the vaccine as soon as possible. If there were any delays, heads were going to roll, literally!

  Once he had the BW weapon’s manufacture on track, he put in a call to Claire Osterman.

  “Hello, Max. I hope you have good news for me, for a change.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I am in possession of the bacteria for the new bombs, as well as a formula for a vaccine which will protect us against the plague.”

  “That’s very good news. Let me know as soon as we have the bombs ready. It can’t be too soon to show that bastard Ben Raines what it means to fuck around with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. As soon as we have adequate amounts of the vaccine for our troops and our citizens, we’ll proceed with an attack.”

  “Wait a minute, General. I want to know the minute the plague is ready to drop. As long as we have adequate vaccine for our government officials, and our most valuable troops, then we can proceed with the bombing.”

  “But, Madam President, it will take an extra week or so to get enough of the vaccine to distribute to the citizens of the USA.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, General. I said, as soon as the bacteria and enough of the vaccine for us is ready, drop the damned bomb! I’m sure before the disease has spread this far north, we’ll have had time to get our citizens inoculated. Besides, as you well know, our esteemed citizens are already suffering greatly from the effects of the disease organisms we dropped previously on SUSA, so another plague won’t make a whole hell of a lot of difference.” She hesitated a moment. Then, with a low, almost obscene chuckle, she continued. “In fact, this might almost be construed as a blessing. It will give us a chance to pick and choose our most valuable citizens to save, and allow us to cut out a lot of unproductive, or otherwise undesirable citizens that we’ve been forced to spend our hard-earned tax dollars to support or eliminate.”

  Maxwell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The coldhearted bitch was sentencing millions of her own citizens to death, along with those of SUSA, in order to drop the bombs a few days earlier. Damn! He only wished he had the balls to defy her on this. Of course, what she said did make a macabre sort of sense. They could give the vaccine to well-educated, wage-earning and therefore necessary, citizens and simply let the diseases cull out the deadwood among the populace. It would make the country a lot leaner, and a lot more efficient.

  When she didn’t get an immediate answer, Osterman continued. “Max, I didn’t hear you agree to my wishes. Is it time for me to think about appointing a new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ll do as you wish.”

  “Of course you will, Max. That’s what generals are for, to carry out orders.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, did Herbert take care of our other little problem, in Switzerland?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He reported Dr. Ishi would never be heard from again.”

  “Good. You will send Herbert to me as soon as he arrives back in town, won’t you? I have a special . . . reward for the excellent job he did in carrying out his orders.”

  Maxwell sighed, knowing Knoff would be less than thrilled at the “reward” Osterman had planned for him. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll send him over as soon as he gets here.”

  “Excellent. I can hardly wait.”

  Maxwell hung up the phone, knowing in his heart that despite his years of loyal service to the USA he would be eliminated without a moment’s remorse by Osterman should he ever dare to defy her orders. He’d never seen anyone as single-minded as the president, and for the first time he could remember he didn’t envy her the job.

  THIRTY

  Two weeks later, General Maxwell went to President Osterman’s office.

  “Hello, Max,” she said from behind her desk.

  Maxwell, who hadn’t seen Claire since their last phone conversation, was shocked by her appearance. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup was spotty and looked as if it’d been applied in the dark, and her clothes were wrinkled and dirty.

  “Madam President,” he said, wishing he’d phoned instead of coming in person. Whatever was causing her to look this way was something he was sure he didn’t want to know about.

  She ran a hand through her hair, glancing at him with eyes that were red and bloodshot. “I certainly hope you’ve come to me with some good news.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The flea bombs are ready, and we have enough vaccine on hand for our armed service personnel and other essential persons that you designate.”

  “Thank God!” she said, her eyes showing some signs of life. “Max, what I have to tell you is extremely confidential, top secret.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You know the war is not going well for us at all, Max. The constant bombardment by SUSA forces, as well as the daily acts of sabotage and assassination, are taking their toll. Our treasury is almost empty, there is hardly enough food and water to keep our people alive, and very few cities have electricity or phone service.”

  She stood up and walked to a table in the corner of the room and poured herself a cup of coffee, motioning to him to get some if he wanted it.

  As he poured himself a cup, she sat on the corner of her desk. “And, to make matters worse, the plague has spread from our southernmost borders to infect practically every area of the country. In some areas, the number of dead is so great they’ve given up trying to bury them and have taken to burning huge piles of corpses in the streets.” She shook her head. “As you can well imagine, the populace is on the very verge of revolution. I don’t know how much longer I can keep the nation together. Even some of our armed forces are deserting and crossing over to SUSA, so they can be fed and get medical attention.”

  Max was stunned. He’d had reports of the desertions and the spread of the plague, but
had not known the rest of the country was in such dire straits. What Claire was describing was like a third world country.

  He cleared his throat, realizing he was about to take the biggest risk of his career. “Have you considered suing SUSA for peace? From what I hear, they have no designs on our land, and if we asked to end the war would probably leave us alone to rebuild the country.”

  Instead of the hysterical outburst he’d expected, she looked at him with calm, defeated eyes. “Yes, Max, I’ve even thought of that.” She took a deep breath, “However, as I’m sure you’re aware, that would lead to . . . complications.”

  “Complications?”

  “Yes. I had Harlan make some general inquiries of President Jeffrey’s staff. They informed him that for any such situation to be considered, a prerequisite would be for me and for all of my staff to be tried for war crimes by the United Nations.”

  “But . . . but that’s ridiculous, Madam President. No such undertaking would have any chance of a guilty verdict.”

  Claire gave a short, harsh laugh and returned to her seat behind her desk. “I’m afraid you underestimate the feelings of jealousy and hatred the rest of the nations of the world feel for the United States, Max. I feel sure they would in fact find us guilty, and would not hesitate to have us hanged, or incarcerated for the rest of our lives.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Max. So, our only chance of coming out of this with our hides, not to mention our jobs, intact, is for this new weapon of yours to hurt SUSA enough that they’ll agree to our suit for peace, without any preconditions.”

  “Then, if this flea-bomb of Dr. Ishi’s is our only chance, I suggest we take it,” Max said, his stomach churning with fear at the prospect of his exemplary career ending with charges of being a war criminal. After all, he’d only been following orders.

  Claire smirked. “I had a feeling you’d say that. How soon can we deploy the bombs?”