Project 137

by Seth Augenstein

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Critical Reviews

  Foreword

  Dedication

  Chapters

  A Lumber Mill

  Once, A Philosopher… Twice, A Pervert

  Funeral

  A Fishing Expedition

  The Man, The Woman, The Girl

  The Tale Of The American Majority

  The Twentieth Century In Pictures

  A Dream Within A Dream

  Guatemalan Sabbatical

  The Stares From Unseen Eyes

  Words In The Dark, Trouble On The River

  School Daze

  Prophylactic Funeral

  The Monstrous Instants Of History

  Because We Can’t Be Beat

  The Orphan’s Gift

  Procedure

  To Freeze Time Itself

  Beneath, A World

  More Than The World Deserved

  The Dream Of The Deep

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Pandamoon Publishing

  Project 137

  By

  Seth Augenstein

  © 2019 by Seth Augenstein

  This book is a work of creative fiction that uses actual publicly known events, situations, and locations as background for the storyline with fictional embellishments as creative license allows. Although the publisher has made every effort to ensure the grammatical integrity of this book was correct at press time, the publisher does not assume and hereby disclaims any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. At Pandamoon, we take great pride in producing quality works that accurately reflect the voice of the author. All the words are the author’s alone.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  www.pandamoonpublishing.com

  Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing

  Art Direction by Don Kramer: Pandamoon Publishing

  Editing by Zara Kramer, Rachel Schoenbauer, and Heather Stewart, Pandamoon Publishing

  Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC

  Edition: 1, version 1.01

  Critical Reviews

  “Augenstein skillfully weaves throughout his narrative the spirit of Ishii as an impetus for the latter-day fictional project. The story ultimately reveals the horrors of a run-away biological and chemical weapons program. Augenstein’s engrossing descriptions prompt the reader to wince in sadness and empathy for the victims. His vivid imagery is testimony to superb writing skills.” ─ Dr. Leonard A. Cole, author of Clouds of Secrecy.

  "A dystopian thriller so supremely paranoid it actually brings reality into focus." ─ Ben Loory, author of Tales of Falling and Flying

  “Fans of Michael Crichton rejoice! Here is a fast-paced techno-thriller, made all the more chilling by the fact that the story’s inspired by secret experiments that took place during World War II.” ─ Susan Breen, author of The Fiction Class

  In 2087, it’s not unusual for folks to live well into their hundreds. Medical miracles, like saving folks who should die in a car accident, are commonplace, thanks to machines that scan, pinpoint and repair wounds quickly. In 2087, smart phones have been replaced by Atmans, and everyone has one embedded in their arms. Folks keep themselves alert by sniffing energy sticks. The most popular TV show is “How Low Can You Go” where people do the indescribable to win money. And yet, oddly enough, for the average person, transportation is still by car, some of which are very old models. What a strange future world! For Dr. Joe Barnes, other than his newly pregnant wife, his patients are his primary concern. When inexplicably not only his patients, but even doctors start dying from what looks like bubonic plague, Dr. Barnes, with the help of his century-old mentor is hell-bent on finding the cause. What he uncovers, too late for hundreds of people, has its roots in World War 2. What he also uncovers is how many of his colleagues are not who he thought and that both he and his wife could very soon join the pyre of bodies piling up in the hospital’s basement.

  Project 137 by Seth Augenstein is a complex and captivating read…even for those not really into future worlds. After finishing the book and thinking about the horrific circumstances and bloody scenes depicted in this novel, I found myself compelled to research the topic of human experimentation. Could governments, and specifically in this story the US government, truly sacrifice large populations for medical science? What happens in Project 137 set in 2087 isn’t all that improbable. Project 137 doesn’t strain incredulity the way many futuristic books do. In fact, what happens in this novel is alarmingly possible. Seth Augenstein has done his homework researching medical experimentation in our history and has cleverly plotted this story around compelling characters, some believable and others bordering on monstrosities. But what would a riveting medical thriller be without a human monster or two? If you’re hankering after a good read that will leave you thinking long after you set the book aside, pick up Project 137. ─ Reviewed by Viga Boland for Readers' Favorite, Five Stars

  The historical basis for the tale’s medical horrors lends them an appalling credence, underscored by glimpses of a debased, cruel popular culture as seen in a reality show that’s slightly reminiscent of Terry Southern’s The Magic Christian (1969). ...an involving, tense, and visceral near-future thriller. ─ Kirkus Reviews

  Foreword

  By Dr. Leonard A. Cole

  Seth Augenstein’s Project 137 is a fictional thriller stemming from a scarcely believable though real part of history. The book’s title is a numerical inversion of a 1930s-1940s secret Japanese program based in China, called Unit 731. The program involved gruesome biological and chemical warfare experiments including vivisections of screaming strapped-down infected victims. After World War II, the head of the program, General Shiro Ishii, escaped punishment by American authorities in exchange for tissue samples and other information about the experiments. U.S. post-war programs also included exposing unwitting populations to simulant biological and chemical agents. While posing ethical questions, the tests were devoid of the sadistic character of the Japanese effort.

  Augenstein’s creative tale is set in a futuristic 2087 America. In this fictive scenario medical treatment in general by then has advanced. At the same time the country’s governance had become increasingly authoritarian. The Orwellian-titled Bureau of Wellness is in charge of the secret Project 137. The project massively expands upon the early Japanese and American programs. Large populations of unknowing victims are deliberately exposed to infective and other debilitating agents. Augenstein skillfully weaves throughout his narrative the spirit of Ishii as an impetus for the latter-day fictional project.

  The story ultimately reveals the horrors of a run-away biological and chemical weapons program. Augenstein’s engrossing descriptions prompt the reader to wince in sadness and empathy for the victims. His vivid imagery is testimony to superb writing skills.

  * * *

  Dr. Leonard A. Cole is an expert on bioterrorism and on terror medicine. He is an adjunct professor at Rutgers New Jersey Medical School (Emergency Medicine) and at Rutgers University-Newark (Political Science). At the medical school he is director of the Program on Terro
r Medicine and Security.

  He received a B.A. with highest honors from the University of California at Berkeley. Trained in the health sciences and public policy, he holds an M.A. and Ph.D. in political science from Columbia University, and a doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania School of Dental Medicine, which in 2008 awarded him its Alumni Award of Merit.

  Cole is a Fellow of the Phi Beta Kappa Society and has been a recipient of grants and fellowships from the Andrew Mellon Foundation, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Rockefeller Foundation. He is on the Board of Directors of the World Association for Disaster and Emergency Medicine, the Advisory Board of the International Institute for Counter-Terrorism, a trustee of the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, and a former board member of the Columbia University Graduate School of Arts and Sciences Alumni Association.

  He has written numerous articles for professional journals as well as general publications including The New York Times, The Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, Foreign Policy, Scientific American, and The Sciences. He has testified before congressional committees and made invited presentations to several government agencies including the U.S. Department of Energy, the Department of Defense, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the Office of Technology Assessment.

  He has appeared frequently on network and public television and his 10 books include The Anthrax Letters (National Academies Press/Skyhorse, revised 2009), named an HONOR BOOK by the NJ Council for the Humanities. He is also co-author of Local Planning for Terror and Disaster: From Bioterrorism to Earthquakes (Wiley, 2012). A member of the Aspen Institute’s WMD Working Group on Homeland Security, he is co-author/editor of WMD Terrorism (an Aspen Institute report, 2012). Reference: http://www.leonardcole.com/

  Dedication

  To my father, who showed me America.

  Project 137

  “There’s a possibility this could happen again,” the old man said, smiling genially. “Because in a war, you have to win.”

  —A cheerful old farmer, The New York Times, August 17, 1995

  “Clinging to the fence like a monkey, mad Norberto laughed and said, ‘The Second World War is returning to the Earth! All that talk about the Third World War was wrong! It’s the Second returning, returning, returning!’”

  —Roberto Bolano, Distant Star

  A LUMBER MILL

  Manchuria, 1945

  They watched the east. Under the black brims of their caps, the guards atop the high smokestacks stared unblinking at the jagged horizon. Stiff they stood, watching for any sign of the invasion to start the final actions. They followed orders perfectly, the commander noted, as he watched everything unfold, his life’s work unravelling utterly.

  Again and again, the lookouts glanced down at the ground within the brick wall of the complex. The workers below stared stupidly back up at them. The guards screamed down, and the workers would go back to frantically digging, connecting wires to the dynamite, piling the papers deep in the hollow drums. But after a few minutes the laborers would again stare up with mouths agape at the men in their perches.

  “Are they coming?” one hollered, holding the shovel up high to block the sun.

  “Dig faster, idiot!” a guard shouted back.

  The commander, Shiro Ishii, watched as the hands moved faster, as the panic grew. He had thick glasses, a moustache and sideburns. The ribbons of a general dangled on his olive coat, which was dark with sweat. The cap in his hand, with the red band and gold star, was covered by the dust that whipped around him on the summer wind. He stood in the same spot, watching everything he had worked so hard for come apart. Every plan, and every hope, were buried within the growing mounds of rubble—and still it wasn’t going fast enough. The Russians would come over the hills…at any moment.

  The holes were filled and covered. The explosive primers were set. Matches were struck and put to the papers in the cans. Shouts rang out across the complex, and explosions cracked the sky.

  Building after building blew in deafening shockwaves: barracks, cafeteria, laboratory, animal pen, the administrative offices. Slides of rubble spread across the brick wall perimeter. Shards of stone and wood and brick were the only remains of a complex that had taken years to build. The Emperor’s favorite pet project had cost millions of precious yen, and the lives of some good men. But the tide of war had ebbed back to the Home Islands, and this facility needed to be relegated to history. Only the buildings with the high smokestacks remained. Two detonations had not taken them down—nothing could fell them, it seemed. They had been built to last beyond this lost war.

  The general twisted the end of his moustache with thumb and forefinger. He watched the smoking rubble. An orderly—one of Kitano’s men—ran up, stopped short, saluted. His oversized sleeves dangled off his skinny arms, and he blinked rapidly. A terrified sweat beaded his brow.

  “G-General Ishii, s-sir,” the young private stammered. “The Lieutenant says we’re ready to begin detonation of…l-l-lumber mills one and two at your c-c-command. Sir.”

  The general looked at the young soldier, who squirmed a bit, hand rigid at the sagging hat atop his head. Ishii turned to the smokestacks, still billowing wisps of black ash.

  “You know, Private,” he said. “I built this entire place up from a dream I had. I willed it into existence. I made it happen. It was my special service to the Emperor.”

  The private’s hand trembled, he bit his sweaty lip. But he stood at attention. Ishii walked around him, still twisting his moustache.

  “This was a place of science, and of learning. It was truly one of the wonders of the world,” said Ishii. “Things we accomplished here could have changed the world. But now we are destroying it, and running away, as if we were ashamed. Ashamed of all these miracles we made happen.”

  The private coughed. Ishii stopped behind him and stared at his thin, pale neck.

  “General, sir. The Lieutenant and some other officers said the Russians—”

  “Yes, the Russians are coming,” said the general, walking quickly around to face the private. “Of course they’re coming. But we must be calm. We all need to remember some things—but forget everything else. Do you understand, Private?”

  The private’s eyebrows rose. It was clear he did not truly understand. Ishii watched the smokestacks. The guards climbed down the ladders from their perches, back to the earth. The signal had been given. As if a trance was broken, Ishii banged the dust off his cap, put it on his head, and brushed off his jacket.

  “Private, you may relay the destruction orders for the two lumber mills,” he said. “Tell Kitano I’m heading to my plane now.”

  The young man whimpered. The general stared.

  “But General Ishii, sir,” he said. “The men await orders about the…logs.”

  The general looked at him, and a smile twisted his lips.

  “Private, you should know our operation is sanitary. Utterly clean,” Ishii said. “If we burn the lumber mills, it follows that we’d destroy the logs, too.”

  The young eyes reached his superior’s face, then flicked away again.

  “Y-yes, sir,” he said. “It’s just, sir…”

  “Yes, private?”

  “W-well, it’s just that, we’ve been burning incense in the northern lumberyard outside the walls where we put the rest of the…l-l-logs, sir. Some of the enlisted men are saying they’re scared of what will happen if we don’t have time to say the p-p-prayers. They worry there could be…r-r-retribution, sir.”

  A woman’s scream echoed in the distance. The crack of a single rifle echoed down the valley, like a tiny joke ending the global holocaust that had burnt the world down to so many embers.

  Ishii snickered, and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Tell the enlisted men to do their jobs, and do it quick,” said the general. “Otherwise, they will have to fear me, and not some stupid ghosts.”

  The general nodded, the private saluted, and then took off r
unning back the way he came. Ishii didn’t move, still glaring out over the small figures—Japanese in uniforms and Chinese in prisoners’ rags—amid the sprawling destruction. He took one step toward the wall, where a car waited. But he spun on his heel and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “And, Private—make sure nothing is left!” Ishii yelled. “We don’t want the Russians finding any of our hard work! Or the Americans!”

  The young private stumbled in the dust, spinning around, saluting, running onward. Ishii saluted the driver of his car, got in, and gestured toward the airfield. He didn’t look back as more explosions rang out across the valley, bricks tumbling to still more pieces in the pile.

  ANNUS MIRABILIS

  U.S.A., 2087

  I squinted at my terminal, sitting in my office, another workday. I reviewed the charts, cross-referenced the vitals and fluids against the Bureau of Wellness data on the screen. All were standard observations, but I triple-checked them for my own peace of mind. Everything told me one thing.

  “The kid’s lucky to be alive,” I said, to the empty office around me.

  James Cruzen, the shattered teenager down the hallway, was in dire condition. I scanned each traumatic wound, each deadly break and slice. The teen’s legs and ribcage were shattered, his spinal cord severed. Burns scorched his right side, his skull was fractured, and his brain was leaking fluids. The horrific car crash would have killed this boy outright in the early part of the 21st century, in the days of cancer and people dying in their 80s. Back in those days, he would have died within minutes of the impact. Not so in 2087, our year of wonders, this Annus Mirabilis.