Northeastern Japan
Status report,” General Takahashi said as he entered the expansive lab.
Dr. Hideki Ito was standing in front of a thick glass wall using a set of mechanical hands to pry open a metal box on the other side.
The scientist started to turn, but Takahashi motioned toward the glass. “Continue what you’re doing.”
After an awkward bow, he returned his attention to the box. “The nanobots have significantly weakened the structure of the safe, General, and we’ve confirmed that they have fully penetrated. The vial that we believe contains acid is made of glass so it’s still intact. The papers are unharmed for the same reason—paper can’t be used as fuel.”
“But you’re not in yet.”
“No. These arms were designed for structural testing, not trying to perform delicate operations like this. It’s a slow process.”
“Then why not go inside and use conventional tools?” Takahashi said impatiently.
“The safe has been irradiated to destroy the bots. Levels are above safety thresholds, even for someone in a suit.”
Takahashi’s jaw tightened as he watched Ito’s clumsy attempts to get a firm grip on the lockbox’s combination dial. His people had lost contact with Smith and Russell in the Portland airport and so far had been unable to reacquire them.
What did they know?
It seemed likely that they were on their way to Japan via either private or military aircraft, and he had to assume that Fujiyama had discussed what was in his files to some extent. Perhaps he’d relayed only general suspicions, but he could just as well have given them specific names, projects, and locations. There was no way to know, and Takahashi didn’t have enough men he trusted to cover every possibility.
The mechanical hand slipped off the dial and Ito let out a frustrated grunt before lining up again.
“How much longer, Doctor?”
“It’s impossible to say, General. Even if the arms had been designed for this, I’d have to go slowly. There’s no way to be certain that the linkages connecting the acid to the triggers have weakened enough. I—”
“Open the enclosure.”
Ito turned toward him, obviously not sure he’d heard correctly. “Sir?”
Takahashi went to the far side of the lab and began putting on the radiation suit hanging on the wall. “Open it.”
“General, the levels are far beyond what that suit was designed to handle. I—”
“Your objections are duly noted,” Takahashi said.
Fear was etched deep in the scientist’s ravaged face. After what had happened to him at Fukushima it wasn’t difficult to determine why.
“Enter your access code to open the enclosure and leave the laboratory,” Takahashi ordered.
“But, General. You ca—”
“Do it now!”
Ito stood frozen as Takahashi put the headgear on and linked to a small air tank.
Finally, the scientist punched his code into a keypad next to the air lock and then hurried for the exit.
Takahashi passed through the air lock and walked directly to the box centered in the enclosure. There were a number of tools designed to be used with the mechanical arms and he picked up the heaviest, struggling to control it in the thick gloves. His breath fogged the suit’s faceplate as he swung the instrument repeatedly into the combination dial. On the fifth try, it shattered and pieces of it scattered across the stone floor. Selecting a more delicate tool, he dug into the exposed mechanism, carefully breaking off the various linkages and wires.
He tried to push back memories of the radiation victims the Americans had left in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but was unable to keep them fully at bay. He’d been only a small child when he’d first seen the burns—similar to Ito’s, but fundamentally different from the war injuries that had been so common at the time. A number of years had passed before the cancers had set in, but he could remember occasionally glimpsing people shamed by massive tumors and hearing tales of their slow, agonizing deaths.
With the last of the latches crumbling, Takahashi used a carbon fiber screwdriver to pry at the lockbox’s seams. He couldn’t hear anything beyond his own breathing, but felt the steel beginning to give as he drove the tool deeper. Sweat was stinging his eyes now and he tried to blink it away as the door finally released.
The documents were intact.
The tension in his shoulders and back relaxed somewhat and he carefully removed the thick stack of manila files.
Fate, it seemed, was once again favoring the Japanese people.