CHAPTER 26

Prague, 2010

He slid the razor over his skull with military precision. Each stroke reinforced his resolve to keep hold of his true self, or at least stray from it as little as possible. This daily routine, seemingly insignificant, was symbolic of his resistance. Naturally brown-haired, Eytan could never accept the blond hair Professor Bleiberg’s experiments had given him. And so he observed the same ritual every day. An act initiated out of anger and defiance had become a few meditative moments of introspection. As he caught a glimpse of the faint orange sun rising above the rooftops of Prague, he obsessed over his execution of the unfortunate Czech soldier. He felt dishonorable. He had lived by a strict code of conduct, and with this murder, his code was wobbling on a thin edge—razor thin.

It was the only way to protect Branislav and his family. Killing war criminals was one thing, but here, the victim was only doing his job. Damn Elena, arrogant and negligent once again, and that kid, who showed his face too soon. Mistakes that forced him to break his code, changing him from an assassin into a cold-blooded murderer.

And who were these children of Shiro? They were spreading chaos and costing blameless people their lives. That was the very definition of terrorism. He’d have to stop them, whatever the cost. If only to relieve the weight of shame pressing on his conscience.

Elena was still asleep in the next room. With their flight to Tokyo scheduled to leave late in the morning, they had agreed to treat themselves to a little extra rest. He had let Elena have the bed and had settled for the fold-out couch in the common room. It didn’t quite accommodate his size.

He leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face.

Through the slightly ajar door, Elena watched her “genetic brother,” which was what she called him in private. As a kid, she had mastered the art of faking sleep, and when the giant crossed the bedroom as quietly as a mouse, she tried not to spoil his valiant attempt to respect her slumber. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the titan’s back. His many scars impressed her far more than his muscles. His body was a virtual altar to pain and suffering.

A few minutes later she jumped out of bed and went to the common room, where a breakfast ordered by the Kidon agent awaited her. She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of tea to go with the decadent Viennese pastries. Eytan arrived just in time to grab a slice of toast and a croissant before everything was gone.

“Sleep well?” he asked, unwrapping a pat of butter and slathering it over his toast.

“Like a baby. And yourself?”

He nodded affirmatively as he grabbed a porcelain cup, which looked tiny in his hand. A killer who played tea party! Elena giggled at the absurdity of the scene.

“That was a good call with Japan,” he said, spreading the jam on his toast.

“I don’t deserve that much credit. There aren’t many manufacturers who make materials for P3 and P4 labs. According to my contacts’ cross-references, the Shinje Corp., also known as the S. Corp., has acquired materials from various companies that are essential for this kind of setup: a bunch of Class II biosafety cabinets, positive-pressure protective suits, fluorescence microscopes, nitrogen tanks, that kind of thing. The list goes on. The orders were spaced out over a long period, most likely to avoid unwanted attention. The company works in the medical sector. However, it doesn’t claim to have any P4 labs.”

“How suspicious.”

“Yes, especially since the Shinje Corp. doesn’t make vaccines or medications. It makes prosthetic limbs. In fact, they’re at the forefront of traumatology and bionic technology. I did a little Internet search while you were in the shower. And the results are quite interesting.”

She stood up, picked up a hotel note pad from the table, and sat back down.

“Check it out. Shinje Corp., created in 1949. Like several other Japanese companies, it was a major player in the nation’s postwar economic miracle, the boom that catapulted Japan onto the world’s financial stage. Seeing what was left of the nation at the end of World War II, the term ‘miracle’ is no exaggeration.” Elena stopped to pour herself another cup of tea. “I was more interested in the company’s founder, Hirokazu Shinje. Fascinating character. This man was one of the first people to talk openly about Unit 731’s crimes and acknowledge his own involvement. The media wasn’t terribly interested in his revelations. That disgusted him so much, he decided to live as a recluse.”

“Doesn’t sound like your typical terrorist,” Eytan said. “Are you sure about all this?”

“That’s what I read online. There are a lot of sites that talk about him, and they all say more or less the same thing. Are you ready for the cherry on top? In the nineteen sixties, Shinje created a charitable foundation.”

“I don’t get it,” Eytan said.

“You don’t? It’s so simple. Maybe the guy isn’t as apologetic as he wants to look. He could be using his good deeds to cover up what he’s really doing: continuing the work of his mentor, Ishii. He might be following the model of the Aum Shinrikyo cult, which was responsible for the sarin gas attack in the Tokyo subway, and have his own group of zealots.”

“Do you really think that at the age of ninety, maybe even older, Shinje would have the energy and drive to undertake such an endeavor?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time trying to understand the deranged thoughts of a crazy old man. All I care about is ending this as soon as possible. Now that we know where the materials were delivered, we’re back in business.”

“But why attack the Russians and the Czechs?”

Elena put down her notes.

“That’s the last piece of the puzzle.”

They both continued their breakfast in silence. According to Elena’s theory, the missing piece of the puzzle could be in Japan. Still, there was something about Shinje that wasn’t adding up. And there was another matter, which had nothing to do with the Japanese entrepreneur or any biological weapons that he might or might not be working on. Eytan was in a good mood, and Elena looked, well, relaxed. This was as good a time as any to test his luck.

“Elena, I’ve got a personal question for you. It’s been on my mind for a while now.”

“Shoot,” she replied as she folded her napkin and put it on the table.

“Why—”

He hesitated.

“Why what?” she asked.

“Why did you accept Bleiberg’s treatments? What exactly were you expecting?”

The woman’s face tensed.

“That’s none of your business,” she said, getting up from the table.

“I don’t want to upset you, I just want to understand. The survival rate was only thirty percent with Bleiberg’s genetic modifications. Why take such a risk?”

Elena headed toward the bedroom. She stopped at the doorway and looked over her shoulder. “Because thirty percent is always better than zero.”