Genocide of One: A Thriller (47 page)

“I wonder if they have some sort of safe house in Africa they could hide out in for
a long time.” As Eldridge said this the outside line rang. Rubens took the call, which
turned out to be from Logan, the NSA employee.

“I can’t say this with one hundred percent certainty,” Logan began, “but it looks
like the broken-off communications between the Congo and Japan have resumed.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We intercepted a message on a satellite phone that we can’t decode. From the
position of the satellite that intercepted the signal, the monitored targets have
left the Congo and are already near Zimbabwe.”

“Zimbabwe?” Rubens turned to the map of the African continent. Zimbabwe was far to
the south, bordering the Republic of South Africa. “So they’re in the southern part
of Africa?”

“We’re certain of it.”

Rubens had his doubts. Wherever Nous was heading, it certainly wasn’t south. The southern
part of Africa, where the continent tapered off to a point, offered no escape route.

“We’ll try reading the communication using the random number sequence. I’ll call you
as soon as we know anything.”

“Thanks,” Rubens said, but inside he was uneasy. If they did manage to decrypt the
message, they’d be able to pinpoint Nous’s location.

After he hung up and reported this to Eldridge, the director perked up. “They’re underestimating
what the NSA is capable of. They’re like trapped rats now. Concentrate all CIA assets
in the south.”

With this, Operation Nemesis, on the verge of spontaneously fading away, took on new
life. The operation to assassinate Nous would continue until he was eliminated.

After making it out of the Congo, Yeager, Meyers, and Sanyu took turns driving the
Land Cruiser in three shifts—eight hours driving, eight hours on watch, and eight
hours resting.

The route Pierce indicated went south. For Yeager it was an unexpected choice, because
he’d been thinking they would exit the continent via the Indian Ocean. But Pierce,
when asked, refused to reveal any details. He seemed leery of having an outsider,
Sanyu, hear their plans. For his part, Sanyu was an outstanding companion on this
long journey, his easygoing replies brightening up the often gloomy atmosphere in
the car.

As they forged on south, the sun, which should have been straight overhead, steadily
crept closer to the northern horizon. As they raced down the unchanging savanna, they
felt the Ituri jungle, that place of such suffering, vanishing behind them, and for
some reason this made Yeager feel vaguely sad. Africa was said to cast a spell over
visitors, a power that kept them in thrall and wouldn’t let them go. And Yeager might
be the latest victim of this so-called African poison.

The Land Cruiser sometimes passed small villages, where they saw locals, and at night
they ran through pitch-black mountain roads. They drove from Tanzania to Zambia and
through Zimbabwe, heading always for the southern tip of Africa. Twice while driving
at night they were attacked by armed robbers, but a few bursts from their AK-47s were
enough to drive them away. Several of these poor men, unfortunate in their choice
of whom to rob, must have been wounded by the full-auto blasts at their feet.

But what depressed them was not these incidents or the long, exhausting drive but
rather Akili’s crying at night. The odd-looking child seemed to have lost the ability
to sleep soundly. Soon after he fell asleep he would feverishly cry out and start
sweating, and they knew that he was having nightmares of being abandoned. This would
happen every few hours, and finally, crying mightily, he would snap wide awake. When
Pierce was awake he would hold him and comfort him, and when he was asleep Sanyu would
take over. Meyers suspected malaria and checked him, but physically Akili was fine.
The problem was purely emotional.

Yeager had the same fears as he did when his child began his long battle with disease.
How would this affect the boy in the future? Even if they succeeded in escaping to
Japan and could keep Akili safe, there was no family there to welcome him. Would he
continue to develop his extraordinary intellectual powers, but with a broken spirit?

Near the border of Zimbabwe and the Republic of South Africa, the Land Cruiser came
to a halt. Sanyu would drive it across the border while Yeager and the others walked
across. Smuggling people across the border into South Africa was much easier than
ever before. The electric fence that ran along the boundary was not turned on, and
there were scattered holes one could climb through. In order to secure labor for its
booming economy, South Africa accepted unlimited numbers of immigrants from Zimbabwe.
Yeager decided to cross at night, and in their night vision goggles they saw the flashlights
of Zimbabweans stealthily crossing the border for work.

Yeager and the others walked through the sparse bushes until they met up again with
Sanyu and the Land Cruiser. They boarded and drove straight through to Johannesburg,
five hundred kilometers away. They arrived in the suburbs and saw, in the clear morning
air, the skyline of the huge city, with its millions of people. They got out of the
SUV and gazed intently at the mass of buildings covering this broad plain. They were
struck with a momentary illusion that they’d slipped through time, suddenly catapulting
from a primeval world to a civilized society.

“This is where we say good-bye, Sanyu,” Pierce said, handing the young Ugandan a roll
of South African rands for his return trip. “There’s a bus stop nearby. Go to the
airport and fly back to your country.”

“I understand,” Sanyu said, his face a mix of reluctance and relief that this great
adventure was over.

For Yeager and Meyers, the young black man was an angel who had rescued them from
the pit of hell.

“The rest of the money should be in your account by the time you get home.”

Sanyu’s face lit up at Pierce’s words. “Thank you very much. Now I can quit being
a carpenter and study computers.”

“Carpenter? Aren’t you a tour guide?”

“Actually,” Sanyu said hurriedly, “carpentry is my main job.”

“It doesn’t matter. You did a great job,” Pierce said with a smile. “Make sure you
keep all this a secret. Best not to let anyone know you’ve become wealthy.”

“I understand.”

Yeager and Meyers each shook Sanyu’s hand.

“Thank you for everything, Sanyu.”

“Stay well, now.”

“Thank you. I wish the same for all of you.”

Sanyu stepped out of the SUV with his bag of clothes, and the last thing he did was
pat Akili on the head. “You be a good boy.”

Akili started to fuss. Yeager took this as a good sign, that Akili could feel so friendly
toward Sanyu.

The Ugandan carpenter fairly skipped as he walked off toward the bus stop. He turned
around many times, flashing them a broad smile. It had been so long since Yeager had
seen someone happy, and after he boarded the SUV he continued to gaze at Sanyu’s retreating
figure in the rearview mirror.

Pierce spoke up in the lonely car. “Since we were held up in the Congo we’re way behind
schedule. We should have arrived in Japan by now.”

Meyers, in the passenger seat, spoke up. “So: how are we going to get to Japan?”

“First let’s get this car going,” Pierce, in the backseat, said. “We’ll go through
Johannesburg, get on National Route twelve, and continue southwest.”

Yeager started the engine and began driving. “Is there a safe airport or harbor?”

“No. All the places from which we could leave Africa are under surveillance.”

“Then what do you propose? Are we going to stay put?”

“Meyers, you have a pilot’s license, don’t you?”

“I do.” The young Meyers used to be in the air force. “Before I went into pararescue
I flew transports.”

“I’m going to have you fly a commercial jet.”

Meyers, about to take a drink of water from a plastic bottle, choked. “A commercial
jet? But I only have experience with prop planes!”

“I have a manual. The plane you’ll fly is a special prototype Boeing 737 with long-range
fuel capacity. About the same size as a transport plane.”

“What kind of plane is that?” Yeager asked.

“It only holds about a hundred passengers. A small jet. It has extra fuel tanks, though,
so it has a considerable range.”

As Pierce explained this, Meyers considered the possibility of piloting it. “I guess
if I really push myself, I might be able to do it,” he said. “I mean, it won’t be
the friendly skies or anything, but…” He turned to face Pierce. “Where’s the plane?
Is it a charter?”

“No. We’re going to hijack it,” the anthropologist announced, and continued before
the mercenaries could object. “Listen, I know you’ll think the plan I’m going to tell
you is crazy, but our ally in Japan came up with it. This is our best option. Our
only option. With the fighting power we have now, we don’t have any other choice.”

“But what airport are we going to snatch the plane at? They’ll stop us at the boarding
gate as soon as we try to hijack a plane.”

“We got it covered. There’s one airfield that’s not under CIA surveillance.”

“Where?”

“Where you trained for Operation Guardian. At Zeta Security.”

The unexpected reply had Yeager searching his memory. He recalled the runway, beyond
the armory, where transport planes took off and landed. “We’re going back to Cape
Town?”

“Correct. A CIA-owned plane lands there to secretly bring in ammunition. That’s the
one we’ll hijack.”

“Hold on,” Meyers said. “Suppose it works out and we hijack it. What then? Where are
we going to land? There’s no place to run. If the Special Forces storm in, it’s all
over.”

“It’ll all be done in secret. We’ll tie up the crew outside before we take off and
hijack an empty plane. Nobody will send out a signal that the plane’s been taken.”

“But if we deviate from the flight plan, they’ll know right away. Even if we take
off with just the four of us aboard, we’ll have to keep to the CIA-designated flight
path.”

“We’ll follow that route for a while. The flight plan they submitted takes them to
Brazil, but over the Atlantic we’ll be changing our route to Miami.”

“Miami?” Yeager couldn’t help but laugh. “Japan’s in the opposite direction. Why go
to America? Any plane that deviates from its flight plan and invades US airspace is
going to be shot down.”

“And that kind of aircraft isn’t going to make it all the way to Miami, is it?” Meyers
asked.

“We have enough range. The published specs from the manufacturer have twenty percent
extra built in. This special prototype can make it the twelve thousand kilometers
to Miami.”

“Did our so-called Japanese ally calculate this?” Yeager asked sarcastically.

“That’s right.”

“You sure he’s all there? I mean, we might have enough fuel, but there’s no way we
can repel fighters.”

Pierce stood his ground. “This is the best possible plan, believe me. The one with
the least unknowns. But timing is critical. I’ll tell you all the details, so just
listen to me for a minute, okay?”

“Okay. The floor’s yours.”

Pierce leaned forward from the backseat and outlined the details of the strategy,
starting with how they would infiltrate Zeta Security.

In two days
Justin Yeager would be dead.

Kento had been working without sleep on the synthesis process, all the while receiving
phone calls from Lydia Yeager. But the test numbers didn’t look good. The most advanced
stopgap measures had little effect on the terminal symptoms, and as predicted Justin’s
symptoms were only getting worse. If they could lengthen his life by just one day
they would have time to send the drug to Portugal, but this wasn’t going to happen.

It was 1:00 a.m. on March 1. Kento felt hopeless as he let Jeong-hoon in.

“Here’s the NMR, and these are the MASS and IR.” As Jeong-hoon passed Kento the sheaf
of printouts, he noticed how depressed he was. “What happened?”

Kento checked the analysis results, saw that the synthesis was going well, and was
about to perform the final reaction. “The experiment’s on track. Just as we planned.
But we weren’t able to make up the thirty hours.”

Jeong-hoon’s expression turned gloomy. “We won’t make it in time?”

Kento shook his head.

“Both GIFT 1 and GIFT 2?”

“GIFT 2 is okay. GIFT 1’s the problem. This last reaction takes twenty-four hours.
We have to send it to Portugal by this evening, but the reaction won’t be finished
until the middle of the night. Then we have to do refining and structure determination,
and with all that, there’s no way we’ll make it in time. I just don’t see how we can
save Justin.”

Jeong-hoon let out a pained groan, and after that silence reigned in the little room
crammed with lab equipment.

As he went about the final reaction, Kento felt a deep regret. If he had only started
the experiments as soon as he received his father’s e-mail, he could have made it
in time. Maybe Justin Yeager wouldn’t have survived, he thought weakly, but at least
he could have saved Maika Kobayashi. He looked at his friend. Behind his glasses,
a researcher’s special gleam came to Jeong-hoon’s eyes.

“What’s the exact time the drug will be ready?” he asked.

“Including the structure determination, twelve noon on March second.”

“Then we can make it.”

“How?”

“Do you have a passport?”

“No, I don’t.”

Jeong-hoon made up his mind. “Then I’ll go.”

“What are you talking about?” Kento had no idea.

“I’ll fly to Lisbon with the drug.”

Kento stared, dumbfounded, at his partner.

Jeong-hoon pulled out his laptop, got online, and accessed an airline’s website. “See?
Don’t give up just yet. If I take the ten p.m. flight on March second I’ll get there
in time. It flies from Narita airport to Paris, then on to Lisbon. It’ll only take
eighteen hours.”

Kento did a quick mental calculation. “Then the drug will arrive in Lisbon at four
p.m., March third, Japan time?”

“That’s right.”

There would be a seven-hour gap between the time the drug was completed and the time
Jeong-hoon needed to head to the airport.

“We can run a verification using cells and the mice.”

“Exactly. We’ll have enough time to save Justin.”

“Yes!”
Kento shouted, and he and Jeong-hoon leaped around the room. Jeong-hoon had saved
him once again.

“Will you let Justin’s mother know when I’m arriving?”

“Of course. I’ll give you the money for the plane, so go first class. You’ll get through
customs faster that way.”

“VIP treatment.” Jeong-hoon smiled.

Kento felt a new lease on life, and he turned to begin the final reaction. A small
piece of equipment called a magnetic stirrer began stirring the liquid in the flask.
Inside, countless microscopic compounds were reacting with each other, changing composition,
creating a cure for PAECS.

Kento stared into swirling liquid, and a thought struck him.

By tomorrow night it will all be over.

The goal now in sight, the long, desperate high-wire act was drawing to a close.

Kento worked the entire night, finally finishing the synthesis of GIFT 2, and sent
over a sample to the university first thing in the morning.

After a short nap he had good news from Jeong-hoon. Spectral analysis showed GIFT
2 was complete. The allosteric drug was ready. The reaction was still continuing for
GIFT 1, the critical agonist. Now it was a waiting game. He had nothing special to
do until late at night.

Kento lay his weary body down on the tatami mat and stared up at the ceiling. The
experiment his father had left him would be finished tomorrow. He had no idea what
would happen to him when it was all over. Would he have to be a criminal on the run
forever? Calls from Poppy had stopped some time ago, so he had no idea what the situation
was.

Kento was unsure what to do. Besides the experiment, there was one other thing he’d
left undone. This might be the last chance he had to unravel the mysteries surrounding
his father.

He checked the address on the Internet, the only clue he had to Yuri Sakai’s whereabouts.
The place was in Sendagaya, in Shibuya, a one-hour trip from here.

He pulled on his coat and staggered outside. He hadn’t been out in a few days, and
the bright sunshine left him dizzy. He went down the outside staircase and walked
along the wintry street. Were detectives still watching the turnstiles at Machida
station? No one seemed to be following him.

He headed in the opposite direction from the station. As he waited on the sidewalk
along the highway for a taxi to pass by, he took out his cell phone and called Sugai,
the reporter. It wasn’t yet noon, and he was afraid Sugai might not be in the office,
but he answered right away.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Kento Koga.”

His father’s old friend seemed surprised. “Kento? I hadn’t heard from you in so long,
I was wondering what was going on.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called. Did you find out anything about Yuri Sakai?”

“No, nothing, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Kento wasn’t discouraged. He knew he’d have to track her down himself.

“Where are you now?”

“Right now? Well—”

As he wondered if he should tell him he was in Machida, Sugai interrupted. “It’s okay,
no need to answer. I’d like to see you soon. What’s your schedule like?”

Kento wasn’t sure how to answer this, either. “I can’t make any plans right now. I
should know my schedule in a couple of days.”

“All right.” Sugai lowered his voice. “Kento, you need to get away from where you
are. Immediately.”

Kento shuddered. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t stay where you are. You’ve got to get out of there.”

“What are you talking about?” Just then a taxi approached.

“I’ll tell you more when I see you. Try to get in touch with me soon.”

Kento was left puzzled, but said, “Okay,” and flagged down the cab.

“Talk to you later,” Sugai replied, and hung up quickly, as if he were being urged
to do so.

Still wondering what Sugai’s real intentions were, Kento got into the taxi. “Sendagaya,
in Shibuya,” he told the driver.

“What part of Sendagaya?” the driver asked.

“The building that houses the World Medical Rescue Group.” He recited the address
he had on the memo.

“That’s near the National Noh Theatre. Is it okay if we take the highway?”

“Sure.”

The driver pulled away from the curb.

Kento leaned back in the seat, and as he passively watched the scenery flash by outside
he reviewed his conversation with Sugai. He glanced uneasily through the rear window,
but he didn’t see anyone following him.

Why had Sugai said that? As a reporter, had he heard from someone that Kento was a
criminal and was on the run from the police? Even if he had, Kento couldn’t understand
why he’d tell him “get away from where you are.” He started to worry that the call
had been traced, and to be on the safe side he powered off his cell phone.

The heater in the taxi was putting him to sleep. Kento gave up thinking and was about
to nod off when his eyes snapped wide open.

Wait a second. Could Sugai be
Poppy?

Poppy used software to disguise his voice, which must mean that Kento would recognize
the voice otherwise. And he could think of no one other than Sugai who could have
known about his late father’s plans.

But something about this hypothesis didn’t sit well. The phone call indicated that
Sugai knew about the police’s movements and was warning him. But then why didn’t he
call him first using Poppy’s voice?

In the end Kento didn’t nap at all, and the taxi entered the heart of the city, wending
its way down the narrow streets of Sendagaya. The building he was looking for was
on the corner of a row of low-rise office buildings.

Kento got out of the taxi and went into the lobby of the six-story building.
World Medical Rescue Group, Room 501
was on the list of tenants, and Kento walked over to the elevator bank. The interior
of the building was practical and no-nonsense, and other than the carpeting it was
no different from the pharmacology building at the university.

Kento got off at the fifth floor, walked down the hallway with its fluorescent lighting,
and came to room 501. Beyond the frosted-glass door he could see people moving about
inside. There was no intercom, so he knocked twice and opened the door.

“Yes?” a woman at the reception desk said before he could get a word out. She was
standing, holding a stack of files.

“Excuse me, my name is Kento Koga…There’s something I need to ask you.”

The expression of the woman, in her early thirties, didn’t change. “And this would
be concerning…?” she asked.

“There was a doctor, a Yuri Sakai, who used to be with your organization.”

“Yuri Sakai?” The woman inclined her head. “When was she with us?”

“Nine years ago. She was sent to Zaire—the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”

“I see,” the woman replied, sounding as if she were reviewing the distant past. “Could
you wait here a minute?” she said, and, files in hand, went to the rear of the office.

The World Medical Rescue Group office consisted of ten desks, a partitioned-off area
for receiving guests, and a small room behind a door that appeared to be a conference
room. The receptionist went to the farthest desk and was talking with a man in his
fifties. As they spoke they shot glances back at Kento. I just hope they don’t get
suspicious, he thought.

The man stood up from his desk and walked toward him. He wore a neatly tailored suit,
and his slightly heavy build and thinning hair gave him a dignified presence.

“Mr.—Koga, is it?”

“Yes, Kento Koga.”

“Kento Koga,” the man repeated. “My name’s Ando. I’m the office manager here.” He
proffered a business card.

Kento wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette for exchanging cards, but he went ahead
and received it in both hands. In addition to giving his title—office manager—his
card indicated that Ando was an MD.

“I understand you were asking about Dr. Yuri Sakai?”

“Yes. My father went to Zaire nine years ago. I heard that at the time Dr. Sakai helped
him a lot.”

A smile spread over Ando’s face. “You aren’t Seiji Koga’s son by any chance, are you?”

Kento was surprised. “I am. Did you know my father?”

“I did. I was in Zaire myself back then. We had a tough time of it, with the civil
war going on.”

I really lucked out, Kento thought. Far from being on his guard, Ando was welcoming.

“You know, you look exactly like your father,” Ando added, a mild expression in his
eyes.

“Really?” Kento reluctantly said.

“We can be more comfortable over here.” Ando led him to the guest area. He poured
hot coffee for them from a nearby pot. “What did you want to see Dr. Sakai about?”

“I was hoping to find out how to get in touch with her.”

“Well, actually,” Ando said, turning serious, “a few years after we returned from
Africa I lost touch with her. She quit the medical association, and I don’t know her
address or phone number.”

“I see,” Kento said, wondering how he should proceed. Ando must have witnessed everything
that took place nine years before in Zaire.

“But why are you trying to contact Dr. Sakai? Is your father looking for her?”

“No—it’s not that. Actually, my father died last month.”

“What?”
Ando looked shocked and was at a loss for words. “But he was so young.… How did he
die?”

“He had an aortic aneurysm.”

Ando nodded several times as he exhaled. “I am very sorry to hear that,” he said in
a pained voice.

“I thought I should let Dr. Sakai know. His experience in Zaire seemed to have left
a lasting impression on him, and I thought I could hear from her about those days.”

“We had a very hard time back then, that’s for sure,” Ando said, and smiled faintly,
no doubt trying to lighten the mood. “It’s right in the middle of the continent. We
were based in a town called Beni, in the eastern part of Zaire, and from there we
traveled to a lot of other places. Villages along the roads, hamlets deep in the jungle.
We went all over helping people who didn’t have access to adequate medical treatment.
But just as we were about to build several small clinics the civil war broke out.”

“I heard that my father went to study HIV infections among the Pygmies. Did he work
together with you and Dr. Sakai?”

“No. We met up with Dr. Koga only in the final week we were there.”

The final week? That was surprising. “Until then you didn’t know him?”

“That’s right. There’s a Pygmy tribe called the Mbuti. Dr. Koga went to take blood
samples from them, and there was a sick person among them. He contacted us about it.”

Ando’s testimony ran counter to the scenario Kento had imagined. That couldn’t have
been the first time his father and Yuri Sakai had met. “Then you came back to Japan
right afterward?”

Ando nodded. “As I recall it was—that’s right, it was Culture Day in Japan. The November
third holiday. We barely escaped with our lives from Zaire when war broke out, and
I remember thinking what a peaceful country Japan was.”