Whispers of Ash (The Nameless Book 1)

by Adrian Smith

  Lisa led her through the thick forest. They followed a creek that ran away from the escape hatch in a northerly direction. Lisa would pause every couple of hundred meters and check a small GPS device she carried. Zanzi kept her questions and doubts to herself as the distant thump of a chopper echoed over the valley, lifting her spirits and quickening her steps.

  The creek they followed got wider as others cascaded down from the steep slopes, feeding into it. Soon it became a small river. Lisa pushed them hard, picking up the pace as the sound of the chopper grew louder.

  The valley soon opened out into a wide clearing of meadows filled with wildflowers and tall grass. In the bright moonlight, it gave the landscape an ethereal, supernatural look.

  “There,” Lisa said, gesturing with her M4. Next to a large Douglas fir were several figures.

  The chopper burst out from behind the steep hills. It hovered for a few minutes before bumping to the ground.

  “Will it wait for us?”

  “It should do,” Lisa said.

  The meadow dipped down into a hollow, and Zanzi could only make out the top half of the chopper with its rotor blades still spinning.

  From the east, something whooshed out of the forest, leaving a trail of red and orange as it tore through the night sky.

  “Shit!” Lisa said

  The RPG—rocket propelled grenade—slammed into the helicopter, igniting a massive explosion. Zanzi wrapped her arms around the director and bundled her to the ground as a wave of heat washed over them. Pieces of metal showered down into the grass and trees beyond.

  For the second time in the last couple of hours, Zanzi’s ears were ringing. She went to stand up, but Lisa pulled her back down and flipped her onto her stomach. She leaned close to her ear.

  “Crawl as fast as you can.” She nodded west, away from where the rocket had originated.

  The two women crawled along the hollow and through the tall grass beyond. When they reached the trees and had moved into the shadows, they finally stood up.

  Zanzi turned to Lisa. “What the hell is going on?” She kept her voice at almost a whisper. “First someone attacks HQ, then the helicopter?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to keep moving. Whoever they are, they seem to know all our protocols, all our moves.”

  “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”

  “Nor am I. Not anymore. But I want to stay alive. Find out what’s happening and why. Find out where our backup is. We have a small force close by. They should have been here by now.” She slipped an old Nokia GSM phone from her pocket and held it up. “This should have rung by now. We’re prepared for eventualities like this.”

  “Can’t we just call the police?”

  “What are they going to do against that sort of firepower? Enough chat, let’s move.”

  “It's just National Park out there.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Away from here.”

  Zanzi glanced back over her shoulder, saw the glow of the fire. There were two now. HQ and the chopper.

  She took a deep breath and jogged to catch up to the director. Something stirred deep down inside. Determination. She wasn’t going to let anyone add her name to her family’s tragic story.

  Eleven

  Koyasan, Japan

  Ryan was relaxed and his mind at peace as he walked slowly down the wide path. Old pine trees towered overhead, thick with knotty bark and oozing yellow sap. He paused every few minutes and snapped a few photos, playing the part of the Western tourist in awe of the ancient cemetery.

  Shrines of various shapes and sizes, made from gray stone and covered in moss and grime, dotted the grounds. Some were shaped like pagodas, some like torii gates, others simple and square. Most had offerings of food and incense, left out by the families of the deceased.

  Ryan smiled at some of the newer shrines, gleaming despite the misty afternoon.

  After separating from Booth, he had bought new clothes, showered, and combed his salt and pepper hair. He had checked the graze from the bullet he’d taken when he and Booth fled Tokyo. Satisfied that it hadn’t become worse from the exertions of the day, he had redressed it, grimacing as he pulled his new shirt over his muscular torso.

  Cal had always loved his physique. Two hundred pounds of toned muscle. He had earned it through mountain biking, hiking, swimming, and Krav Maga, the deadly martial art used by the Israeli armed forces. He loved the discipline and the brutality of it. It wasn’t flashy. It got straight to the point. Disable or kill your opponent.

  Once night had fallen, he had left the airport on a bus and enrolled on a three-day meditation retreat in the village of Koya. It was ideal because of the anonymity. One was forbidden to speak to the other attendees. Meals were only once a day.

  No contact with the outside world. No phones—he had smuggled his devices into his room. No TV. It was up to each attendee when and where they meditated.

  With all the free time, it was the perfect cover. No one was looking for him and, most importantly, no one asked questions.

  In the cemetery, Ryan recognized the contact instantly, even though he was dressed like the other Japanese tourists in tan-colored pants and white sports coat. The contact shifted from one foot to the other, nervously flicking through a guidebook as he stood with his back against the shrine reserved for employees of the Nissan Corporation.

  Cloak and dagger tactics were necessary after Tokyo and the chase through Iga. Until they knew what they were dealing with, it was best to err on the side of caution. Ryan would never forgive himself if something happened to Sofia and Keiko. He ducked into the neighboring monument and, turning his back, opened his map.

  “Jiro Kabashi?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” The man flinched and dropped his guidebook.

  “Retrieve the book and keep reading it. Don’t look at me,” Ryan said, and waited for the nervous man to do as instructed. Jiro fumbled the book again before he regained his composure.

  “When are we leaving?” he asked.

  Ryan glanced around, looking for any suspicious activity. Seeing none, he ducked into the Nissan tomb.

  “As soon as you fill me in.”

  “I told the other guy everything I know,” Jiro said. “We must get away from here. Don’t you understand?”

  “And we will. First, we need to find our missing agents. You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

  Jiro shook his head and shut his guidebook with a snap. “A little. Possibilities only.”

  “Bring me up to speed. What have you found so far?” Ryan tugged on Jiro’s arm, drawing him deeper into the older, quieter part of the cemetery. Here, broken statues and monuments were scattered amongst moss-covered stones. The air was thick with peaty smells. Small birds chirped from branches as the two men stopped next to a gurgling stream.

  Jiro eyed Ryan through round glasses. “I asked around, but no one would tell me anything. I had to be careful not to raise suspicion.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The girl was last seen in the university library. The police organized a search and found nothing. Even the dogs couldn’t get a scent.”

  “Did she leave the library?”

  “We can’t be certain. No cameras, but students must scan their IDs. Three possible exits. The main, and two fire doors, both monitored. Police checked. Neither had been triggered.”

  Ryan nodded, keeping his eyes on the other tourists shuffling by. He returned his gaze to Jiro and noticed the nervous twitch of his cheek.

  “You told us to look under the university. Why?”

  Jiro wiped sweat from his brow. “There's an old bunker down there and—”

  Footsteps pounded on the path beside them. Ryan instinctively went for his gun, his hand hovering. Three kids ran past, paying the two men no attention.

  “And?”

  “She must have found an entrance to the bunker. Maybe she’s lost down there.”

  Jiro went silent, as if
lost in thought. Ryan racked his brain, trying to figure out their next step. It was obvious, he thought. He needed to sneak into the library and find the entrance. First, though, he needed blueprints. All bunkers had multiple exits and entries.

  “Are there any plans for this bunker?”

  Jiro nodded and handed Ryan an old book covered in aging brown leather.

  “Thanks. Who was Keiko’s roommate?”

  “Umi.”

  “Let me talk to Umi, snoop around a little,” Ryan said, holding the old book in his hands. “As soon as we locate our missing agents, I’ll organize your extraction.”

  “We must leave soon.” Jiro’s voice shook.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’ve told you and the other agents everything. We must leave here. Bad people around, always watching.” Jiro muttered something to himself.

  Most of the time, Ryan was calm and collected. His training, and the years of martial arts, had taught him to conduct himself as such. But, at times, the situation required a more aggressive approach. He grabbed Jiro by the collar and, using his forearm, slammed him into a pine tree and snarled, “What’s down there!”

  Jiro’s face turned red as he gasped for breath. Ryan relaxed his choke hold a fraction and waited for the nervous man to answer.

  “I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”

  “I thought you wanted to get out?”

  “Yes. And in return, I’ll provide intel on the codes. But only when I am safe in Alaska. Not before.”

  Ryan gritted his teeth and returned the pressure on Jiro’s throat. “I don’t give a damn about these codes. My only concern is my missing friends. So I’ll ask you one more time. What’s down there?”

  “I told you. An old bunker…. Okay… Okay… Yam…” Jiro spluttered, eyes darting around. “YamTech Security uses some of the old rooms as a jail of sorts. I heard a rumor that a very attractive woman was brought in two nights ago. I swear, that’s all I know. That’s the most likely place to look.”

  “Location?”

  “I’m not sure. Somewhere near the main entrance of the YamTech building, I think.”

  “Good.” Ryan released his hold on Jiro.

  His mind buzzed with more questions. Why had Jiro contacted LK3? What was his motivation. From his body language—the twitching cheek, the way his eyes darted around constantly, his shuffling feet—it was obvious he was uncomfortable. He grabbed him again and pushed him up against the tree.

  “I’m curious to know what your motivation is.”

  “My reasons are my own.”

  “Not if you want to go to Alaska, they’re not.” He shoved him harder. “Tell me.”

  Jiro gasped. His voice came out in a squeak. “I work for YamTech. Satellite tracking. When I asked why some of the satellites had changed course, I was demoted. My wife was fired, and my son was roughed up at school.”

  “That still doesn’t explain Alaska. Remote, nothing for miles.”

  “I … I gamble with one of the security guards. We got drunk, and he told me about containers of food and medical supplies arriving to the warehouses. He was spooked, told me some of the executives have started to stockpile personal belongings too. Told me some had died in accidents or by suicide. After what happened, I was scared and looked for a way out. My brother, a police officer, put me in touch with you guys but said I needed something to give you. I began to snoop. All the satellites have changed course now. That’s never happened before. YamTech are preparing for something. Something bad.”

  “Your friend the security guard. Talk to him about my agents. Confirm the rumors.”

  “Impossible. He will alert his superiors.”

  “Just do it and meet me tomorrow at noon. Cafe by the university.”

  He left Jiro standing there and weaved his way back onto the main path. As he walked, he stripped off his jacket and turned it inside out, then added a baseball cap. He completed the disguise with sunglasses before merging into the throng.

  He still had four hours before the evening meal. Plenty of time to keep up the charade of the Western tourist.

  Ryan explored the old cemetery, walking down the patchwork of paths and pausing at the shrines with torii gates and pagodas. Hundreds of Japanese pilgrims bustled past him, some holding umbrellas to guide tour groups. He followed the tours, picking up snippets of information. He would grin to himself when they commented in Japanese about Westerners, moaning about their manners and the numbers. It was the same all over the world. Locals loved the money tourists brought in, but not the tourists themselves. A paradox of the shrinking world.

  He listened as one guide explained that anyone could have their ashes interred within the complex. Anyone. From any religion, any walk of life. Even atheists were welcomed. A truly neutral place for everyone to be at peace, to be one. Humanity, resting and being remembered together.

  He let out a small chortle. He had met plenty of people who would be appalled at such a concept.

  Ryan was still laughing when he looked up at the sound of a motorcycle. He knew that sound.

  The main road that ran through Koyasan was only a few meters away from this side of the cemetery. He crouched down behind a shrine and searched the road intently.

  Am I just being paranoid?

  He only had to wait a couple of minutes before a flash of yellow zipped past. Whoever the yellow rider was, he was tough. Ryan had last seen him tumbling out of sight on the freeway.

  The layout of Okunoin jumped into his mind as he plotted an escape. If the rider was here, so were his friends. People disguised as sightseers. That was the most likely assumption. If LK3 was searching for someone, they would have agents planted in every popular area. Ryan flicked his eyes around the crowds. They could be anyone. Breathing deep, he walked briskly away from the road and headed deeper into the older, forgotten sections of the cemetery, where only the monks still tended the graves of the dead.

  Ryan didn’t spot the yellow rider again. He melted into the tourist crowds, keeping his cap pulled down. Once he was clear of the cemetery, he stepped in behind a group of Canadian youths. They were laughing at the fact that there were vending machines on street corners that dispensed beer and a weird alcoholic milk and coffee drink. They had all purchased some and were drinking it as they headed back to the cable car station. He used the youths as a shield and ambled along, pretending he was with them.

  When he got back to Muryokoin Temple, he noticed that most of the people who usually meditated outside were nowhere to be seen. Ryan shrugged, returned to his room, and searched out his tablet. He flicked through the Voynich manuscript again and stared at the puzzling code.

  It bugged him. He hated not being able to figure something out. Codes weren’t his thing. Languages and hand-to-hand combat, guns, sure. Sneaking in and out of places, yes. Codes, no. Numbers above arithmetic confused him; they were Cal’s expertise. She was the sort of person who went through books of sudoku, flying through the puzzles in minutes.

  Perhaps the code wasn’t the numbers, but the Voynich itself. Was he looking at the wrong thing? Often the simplest solution was the correct answer.

  He went through the manuscript again, this time taking note of the words next to each number. Then he used the first number after the word and counted along, taking note of the letter.

  It was painstaking work, but after an hour and a few false starts he had the phrase: “What have I got in my pocket?”

  A cold frisson ran through him. He knew that phrase as well as his own name. It was from his favorite book. Not only that, but from his favorite chapter in the book. Only someone who knew him intimately would know that.

  Could this mean Cal was alive?

  For the last year, he had been at peace. He’d accepted her death. Trusted she was somewhere with Liam. Now, with this cryptic code and the photograph, his stomach clenched and spasmed. He dared not hope, because it was unfathomable how much he missed her.

  Twelve

/>   Mt. Hood Forest Park, Oregon

  Zanzi wedged the M4 hard against her shoulder. Leaves rustled. An owl hooted and launched into the night. She and Lisa had walked unimpeded for the last couple of hours. Every so often a branch or twig would snap. Each time, they would freeze and wait. Thankfully it had so far turned out to be just owls or opossum. What spooked Zanzi was the sound of several helicopters buzzing around. Whenever one would get close, she and Lisa would take cover behind trees or beneath a rocky outcrop. Like the one they found themselves under now.

  Heavy footsteps thumped the damp ground. Whoever they belonged to, they didn’t care about masking their position. Lisa nudged Zanzi’s shoulder and pointed. Seven look-a-like black commandos walked along the game trail. From their spacings and gait, they looked confident. Like they knew they would catch their prey.

  Zanzi instinctively clicked off her safety, moving the selector to three-round bursts. She squinted through her scope, lining up a target.

  “Take the two on the left. Shoot to kill. On my signal,” Lisa murmured in her ear.

  “Really?”

  “Let me assure you, they are here to kill us. No doubt about it. It’s us or them.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  Lisa’s expression softened. “You must.”

  Zanzi blinked, her heart quickened and thumped. The sound of it rushed in her ears. She had only ever shot animals before, never a living, breathing person.

  Her father’s voice called out in her mind. If you don’t, they will.

  “Now,” Lisa whispered next to her, letting off a burst. One of the commandos cried out and crumpled. Before he hit the ground, Lisa had shot another one. Zanzi squeezed her trigger, hitting her first target in the chest and neck. But she was a fraction too slow, as Lisa had already dropped the first two.

  Zanzi’s second target dived behind a tree, while a fifth commando lay down suppressing fire, peppering the trees and the tops of the rocks. Pieces of bark and stone, mixed with soil and moss, showered Zanzi and Lisa.