The 731 Legacy Page 17

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  ordinance, you can have yourself laid to rest pretty much anywhere you'd like. They frown upon doing it near a water supply, though. But that's not the case out here in such a rural setting. I think the younger Sutton just likes to raise a ruckus." He glanced over his shoulder at the family members. "Burying their mother up there on the hill is the least of the problems here. What we need to know is what killed her."

  "You're absolutely correct, Sheriff," the medical examiner said, standing behind Cotten. "Fortunately, because of the freezing weather, her body should be well preserved. Even without proper embalming, the temperature in the frozen ground would have slowed down decomp. We should have a good chance of determining cause of death."

  "What about the question of who signed the death certificate?" Cotten asked the sheriff.

  "Under state law," he said, "only a licensed medical, surgical or osteopathic physician can sign. According to Luther, they had a doctor come out here and complete the death certificate."

  "That would be the mysterious Asian doctor who has since left the area?" Cotten asked.

  "I'm afraid so," the sheriff said. "He treated Thelma Sutton while old Doc Benson was away on a two-week trip. The Doc used what's known as a temporary physician service. They send a licensed doctor to fill in while a local doctor is away so he don't have to close down and lose business."

  "Is that a common practice," Cotten asked.

  "I've heard of it," said the sheriff. "This is a small community with lots of elderly folks. We can't afford to go without a doctor for two weeks. I can understand Doc Benson using the service."

  "Does he have records of who the Asian physician was?" she asked.

  "Already checked," the sheriff said. "The company that sent the temporary physician here said it was the first time they used him and he never reported back after this assignment. He has since disappeared." He turned to Cotten. "I know, the whole thing stinks to high heaven."

  She glanced out the window in time to see the backhoe lift the plain pine coffin from the hole and set it down beside the mountain laurel that had also been dug up.

  "Have you ever heard of a death like this before?" Cotten asked the sheriff.

  He shook his head. "Not in these parts. Nothing that comes close to the description of Thelma Sutton."

  The medical examiner motioned to the activity on the distant hillside.

  "They've got it open."

  Cotten watched the hazmat-clad agents gather around the open casket. They stood motionless for a while, then one knelt and appeared to study the inside. He turned and looked toward the farmhouse. Then he removed his protective headgear and brought his radio to his mouth.

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  "What the hell?" the sheriff said. "Why did he take his mask off?"

  His two-way radio crackled and a metallic voice said, "Come on up."

  The parlor emptied as everyone headed out the front door and across the snowy field toward the hillside cemetery.

  Cotten walked beside the sheriff. She could see that all the agents had removed their masks. A few had turned and started walking toward the state crime scene forensics truck a few hundred feet away.

  With every step, Cotten felt the familiar pang of dread growing in her gut. The same one that cut into her each time she came in contact with the handiwork of the Fallen.

  The group gathered around the pine coffin and stared inside. Cotten saw delicate snowflakes already collecting on the bare wood bottom of the empty box.

  THE SWARM

  As a whole, Moon thought, the recruits had digested everything she had told them so far. This was going as well as she had anticipated. She stared out across the hangar at the thousand eager faces as she paused for a sip of water. A hand went up.

  "Yes, comrade."

  "Will the ancient retrovirus not be difficult to control? Could disease spread even to our own people?"

  "Ahh, a very smart question. This is why you were all hand-picked, because of your intellects."

  A scattering of smiles and applause rippled through the crowd.

  "The beauty of this is that the ancient retrovirus, once reassembled, still has not made the leap which allows it to be passed from human to human. You will be delivering to these specific targets the T-virus that will cause the ancient virus to reassemble and mutate into a killer. Once the targets receive the T-virus, their bodies will attack and destroy it, but not before it causes the ancient virus to reassemble— but they cannot pass on that deadly disease to another human. This keeps our countrymen and friends from falling prey."

  Moon looked across the room again. "We have satellite medical preparation labs already assembled and in place around the world. You and your teammates will each be provided a passport and proper identification that will allow you to enter and move freely in the country of your assignment. Once at your designated lab, you will begin the process of chemotherapy and radiation. This is necessary so that when you are infected with the T-virus, your natural immune system will not quickly destroy it. Remember that it is a relatively weak virus on its own. And so your bone marrow must be impaired, in fact, eliminated.

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  Once infected, you will only have a few days to reach your targets before the reassembled ancient virus inside you rapidly disables you."

  She waited to see if there were any negative voices or rumblings of dissent. None came.

  "Also included in the packets you will receive today will be two small containers of pills. The first is blue and holds an exceptionally potent drug that produces an extreme amount of energy. It will help you compensate for the weakness you will experience resulting from the immune system medical procedure. The second is red. Once you have delivered the T-virus to your targets, you are to take the red tablets. This will prevent you from suffering after the reassembled retrovirus attacks your body. It is a painful death, and we do not want any of you in this special group to endure discomfort. Taking the pills will mean that death comes swiftly, peacefully, and painlessly. You, faithful comrades, are giving your lives to preserve our beautiful way of life in Korea. Your families' hearts will swell with pride. You are the finest of patriots and will be remembered eternally for your sacrifices."

  She took another drink of water, then said, "One last detail. Once you are on station and ready to go forth to strike your designated targets, you will receive a command to launch. That command is the number 731."

  Another hand went up.

  "Dr. Chung, how will we deliver the T-virus?"

  "Another smart national hero," she said. "And the answer to that question is the amazing beauty of our Black Needles project. Unlike the crude, barbaric suicide bombers who blow themselves up in the market places and mosques of the world, you are the next generation of avengers. For you will carry within your body the breath of death. Your weapon cannot be detected or identified, for it is invisible. Those around you will see only a man or woman sitting in a church or riding in a bus or traveling on an airplane, shopping in a mall, or attending a sporting event. Just another face in a faceless crowd. And with something as innocent as your breathing or simply by a cough or sneeze, you will strike out and wreak havoc upon our enemies. Then you will casually walk away from your targets, leaving them totally unaware that you have just dealt them a fatal blow. Once our enemies learn of the terrible plague cast upon them, they will be afraid to leave their homes, go to their jobs, or send their children to school. We will hold the world to our terms. You are about to become the most powerful and deadly force on the face of the earth. And for that, I salute you."

  This time, not only did the hangar erupt with a thunderous roar, but the General Secretary and his delegation stood and applauded as well.

  Once the reaction died down, Moon turned to face the General Secretary.

  "Dear Leader would also like to express his gratefulness by rewarding each of your families with a monetary remuneration of one thousand won."

  A collective "Ahh," sounded in the room.
Moon knew they would be pleased. The average income was sixty won per month, so one thousand won was more than any would earn in a year.

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  She scanned the audience. "Are there any questions?" When no one spoke, she said, "Then we will begin the final processing. Please stay seated until your name is called. You will then join your team and be given a brief orientation along with your packets and information about your final destination and approximate launch windows."

  The room broke into yet another mighty wave of applause. Moon went to stand beside the General Secretary. As they watched the reaction from the Black Needles recruits, he leaned in and whispered to her, "They are like swarming bees destined to die once they sting."

  DEAD END

  "I'm really sorry, Luther," the sheriff said. "There's just not much else we can do right now. If and when we locate your mother's body, we'll perform an autopsy and hopefully figure out what killed her."

  "I know you done your best," Luther said.

  "Good God Almighty," Ellis said. "Who'd-a-gone and taken Momma?"

  Cotten glanced at the sheriff. He shrugged and shook his head.

  "Why would somebody go and do that?" Luther said.

  The sheriff ran his hand over the top of his head, then replaced his cap.

  "Was she buried with any heirlooms, valuables, jewelry?"

  "We put her in her blue dress," Ellis said, glancing at the pastor. "Her Sunday best. She liked that one."

  "Big Thelma didn't have no fancy jewelry," Luther said. "Only them cultured pearls she got to wear when she married our daddy, Hubert. But I don't believe they was worth much."

  "I just want Momma back in her final place beside daddy," Ellis said. "It don't make no sense. If there's some scumbag who wanted our momma's pearls, why didn't he just take them and leave Big Thelma to rest in peace?"

  No body, no evidence, Cotten thought.

  Luther stared in the distance, his expression showing that he was deep in thought. He turned back to the pile of dirt beside the grave and blinked. "I planted that mountain laurel the same day we buried her." He tipped his head toward the dug-up shrub. A melancholy smile emerged on his face. "It was her favorite. Blooms so pretty—I thought she'd like that. In the spring I was gonna plant a sugar maple. Give her some shade, you know. Me and the rest of the family come out here about once a week or so, and I haven't noticed any dirt piles or anything that would make me think somebody had been fooling with her grave. And nobody else has said nothing. Whoever did it would have had to dig up that laurel. I'd have noticed. So I figure it had to be right after we put her in the ground, before the soil settled." His eyebrows arched, and the corners of his

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  mouth turned down. "Could have been somebody from church. Nobody else would know about them pearls."

  "But Luther, they ain't worth shit—sorry, pastor," Ellis said.

  "Somebody must have thought different," Luther said.

  Ellis kicked the ice-crusted ground. "Son-of-a-b. Anybody that needs a couple of bucks that bad—"

  Luther looked at Cotten. "So I guess we won't be finding out if Big Thelma died of the same disease as that New York City fella you told us about?"

  "Doesn't look that way," Cotten said. "Sorry your family has gone through all this."

  Luther gave her an appreciative nod.

  "I'd have to agree with Ms. Stone," the sheriff said. "All we have is the description of your mother's symptoms. But the state police plan to get the forensic boys to do a complete analysis of the coffin for any evidence. And we'll start an investigation into the disappearance of the body."

  "Let's hope it was just for the pearls," Cotten said to the sheriff as they shook hands.

  ***

  Cotten checked the speedometer as she drove down Interstate 79. The light traffic let her keep the cruise control on eighty. She could easily make her 2:30 flight out of Yeager. As soon as they discovered that Big Thelma Sutton wasn't in her grave, Cotten had switched her flight back to New York, changing it instead to Atlanta.

  She probed the center console for her cell, found it, snapped it open and said, "Ted, work." In an instant she heard the tones of the phone dialing Ted Casselman at SNN headquarters. She only had a few of her contacts programmed for voice recognition, numbers that she called often, especially when on the road.Great feature.

  "Hey," Ted said, picking up.

  "I'm on my way to Yeager. You're not going to believe this, but Thelma Sutton's grave was empty. No body in the coffin. And how about this, it was an Asian doctor who treated her and signed the death certificate. And of course he has since vanished. This is getting more intriguing by the minute."

  "Are you kidding? Someone stole the body?"

  "No joke. I've got a contact in the CDC. Pete Hamrick. I interviewed him back during that anthrax incident at the America Media building in Boca Raton. I'm flying to Atlanta this afternoon. He said he'd do what he could to get me in to see the director. I believe it's a task that would fall under their shop's responsibility anyway. Somebody with authority has to get involved now. With this new turn in events, it's more than just suspicion or coincidence. They'll have to listen. You agree?"

  "Definitely. Let's keep our fingers crossed. It sounds like we're on the

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  brink of blowing something heinous wide open."

  "These cases, even thePitcairn, are either amazing coincidences, sheer accidents, or someone is testing the water. We know who is behind this, and they have to know we're sniffing around. That might push their buttons and cause them to make a mistake. We just have to find them and whoever else they've gotten involved." Cotten was quiet for a moment. "This really scares me."

  "Me, too. Be safe, kiddo."

  She pushed theend call button. This was going to wind up being much more than she could handle. She held down the call button and spoke into the phone.

  "John, cell."

  THE TARGET

  "We have an emergency," the Old Man said.

  "Excuse me?" Moon looked up with a start, not hearing him enter her office. She had been making notes in her log after the morning meeting when she heard his voice. Out of respect, she started to rise.

  With a wave of his hand, he stopped her, then walked to the window near her desk and stared out across the farmlands surrounding the secret government complex.

  "What kind of emergency?" she asked.

  "I need one of your young recruits to move up his launch date as soon as possible. He must leave today. And I need to change his target."

  "With all due respect, we have their schedules precisely timed and their targets have been chosen well in advance under the impeccable supervision of Dear Leader. Some are individuals but others are groups involved in scheduled events like Times Square on New Year's Eve and Midnight Mass at St. Paul's Cathedral in

  London—they are dependent on the calendar. Your request is out of the question."

  He turned to her. "I can understand your hesitation. After all, you have no desire to interrupt your meticulously designed schedule. But trust me, Dr. Chung, not reacting to this emergency could jeopardize your entire program. You recall that I told you early on that you and your project were stepping stones to my ultimate goal of returning a family member to the fold? What you have created can deliver my loved one to me. But if you do not cooperate, then I will seek another solution. I assume that you don't want to do anything that might endanger the success of Black Needles?"

  "Of course not. I would never risk the project. But what is about to take place as our recruits go forth is the result of a year of hard work and careful planning. Besides, having a target hit before our designated launch date will

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  expose our hand and attract unwanted attention. A documented case of the Black Needles virus would alert the authorities and cause them to go on the defensive before we have everyone in place. I cannot alter our timetable in any manner without just cause."

  There were two chairs in
front of Moon's desk. The Old Man went to one and sat. "Let me enlighten you on a few things that might give you a clearer view of what is at stake here."

  "At stake?" With a huff, she straightened in her chair. "You have no idea what is at stake. You did not watch your mother being tortured and gang-raped by barbarians as I did. You did not witness the murderous acts of cruelty against my countrymen as I did. What is at stake here is the retribution for years of pain and suffering at the hands of the imperialist aggressors. And I will not budge from my objective. It's a part of every breath I take, every minute of every day."

  She folded her hands on her desk in confidence, proud of her display of courage to stand up to this... person. She had one goal, and one goal only—to inflict the most death and destruction on her sworn enemies as possible. And that was what she was about to do. Black Needles would be her legacy, her masterpiece. It would secure her a place in history.