CHAPTER 34

Harbin, Unit 731, August 1945

The bitter taste of defeat and dishonor was mixed with the unbearable smell of burning flesh, as corpses were heaved into the device named “the barbecue.” The attack on Manchuria by the soviets, combined with the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, had spread fear throughout the military ranks and provoked panic among the leaders of Unit 731.

Although Hirokazu Shinje welcomed the end of the war and consequently all activities at Shiro Ishii’s research center, he hoped to flee the grounds before it fell into the hands of the communists.

A chaotic frenzy had ruled the complex since Mr. Ishii’s announcement of the Japanese surrender. They had been ordered to destroy all evidence of experiments conducted in the previous nine years. Documents were being systematically incinerated, along with the remaining test subjects.

With his arms folded across his chest, Hirokazu watched pensively as the rusty furnace consumed the last of his papers. He had no regrets about the scientific work he had accomplished. His studies had paved the way for numerous vaccines against tropical diseases and would most certainly resonate favorably within medical communities around the world in the looming postwar era. And anyway, unlike his colleagues, who got drunk at night and slept with enslaved prostitutes in the unit’s whorehouses, he had dedicated his evenings to designing prosthetic limbs for the mutilated guinea pigs.

Hirokazu had lost his haughtiness. He was no longer a self-assured, arrogant graduate. He had lost any desire to compete with his fellow researchers, who had the fanatic desire to please his majesty, Lieutenant General Shiro Ishii. Their absorption had pushed them to commit extreme acts that were more barbaric than scientific, all the while stabbing their colleagues in the back.

When the medical team was ordered to gather on the main square across from the executive-staff offices, rumors of an Ishii-mandated collective suicide began to circulate. Those who knew him well, especially Hirokazu Shinje, understood how little this immoral man cared about the code of bushido. Ishii’s priority had always been his own advancement and glory. Not in a million years would he choose to die for the sake of honor.

And as Hirokazu expected, suicide was never mentioned during the impassioned speech delivered to the troupes.

As the explosive blasts started reducing Unit 731 to a pile of rubble, everyone on the square promised to stay silent about the tests and the tactics. No matter the circumstance. No matter the price.

The future would prove to Hirokazu that it was easier laying down the law than abiding by it.

Tokyo, 1946

Hirokazu’s highly anticipated homecoming was traumatic. Radio propaganda, the only source of information for troops occupying China, had not relayed the extent of Japan’s bleak condition.

Napalm bombs had ravaged the wooden houses in the old city of Tokyo, demolishing most of them. It was reported that more than one hundred thousand people had perished in the flames of a single air raid.

On January 1, 1946, the newspapers had published a message from Emperor Hirohito. He was renouncing his divine status. His nationalist generals had thrown the country into a senseless war. Faced with the humiliating reality that the country was not destined for world domination, all of Japan was paying the price.

After a short stay with his parents upon his return home, Hirokazu started working at a hospital in Tokyo. The facility welcomed the esteemed physician like a godsend. It was drowning in a flood of sick and wounded patients—victims of mutilations, burnings, and malnutrition. He was never short of work and spent his days and many nights consulting with and operating on patients.

The fatigue and long hours were nothing compared with his experience in Unit 731. Memories of it haunted him in his sleep. As time went on, however, Hirokazu started to heal and make amends. He began to enjoy the true purpose of medicine. Little by little, his unease subsided, although it never disappeared.

In the spring, he started seeing a beautiful nurse at the hospital, Iyona. Their relationship blossomed quickly and seemed to have all the right ingredients for marriage. He loved the woman with all his heart. She was petite yet brave and had the most adorable little nose. But Hirokazu never brought up the subject of marriage. And as he stalled, much bigger events intervened.

Over the course of the year, newspapers, which were now controlled by the Americans, had reported incessantly on war crimes committed under General Tōjō Hideki’s authority. The papers followed all events leading to the trials of regime dignitaries. Some men of honor had killed themselves before they could be arrested. Others collaborated, shifting blame to their subordinates. This cowardly behavior rattled Hirokazu.

Then one day, he came across an article that referred to the atrocities committed by Unit 731 in Manchuria. According to the report, everyone who had worked under Shiro Ishii was considered a criminal. The truth flashed before the eyes of the doctor, who felt years older than his age: Unit 731 had tarnished the entire human race. It was decided. If he had to go on trial, he would confess and accept the judges’ verdict.

What was the point of marrying Iyona and condemning her to premature widowhood?

New York, 1983

The seminar was taking place in a four-hundred-seat lecture hall, but no more than two dozen people were scattered throughout the room. They listened in horror to the fate brought upon the people of Harbin. In a shaky voice, Hirokazu detailed how plague-infested fleas had been released over whole villages. With his notes in hand, he recited the number of deaths caused by these experiments and others. By the end of the war, the final tally was estimated at three hundred thousand to five hundred thousand. Hirokazu proceeded to recount how human beings were frozen for frostbite experiments, how they were cut open while still alive, how their unborn children were mutilated in the name of science. Determined to atone for his crimes, he spared nothing as he outlined the details of Unit 731 to the courageous few who were spending two hours with him, plunged deep into the last circle of hell.

Three critical events over the course of thirty years had pushed Hirokazu to go on a worldwide tour to expose the realities of Unit 731. First was Ishii’s clandestine sale of Unit 731’s medical discoveries to the US intelligence service in a successful attempt to save his own skin. Money, immunity, and obscurity—the perfect recipe for absolution.

Next came the revelation of this agreement by US government officials during a taking-out-the-garbage mission designed to unmask the wrongdoings of previous administrations. They were doing this under the guise of starting fresh.

The final event was Iyona’s death. She had succumbed to pneumonia in the winter of 1982, thirty-four years after Hirokazu and she had married. Hirokazu had never been brought to trial or even charged. During their marriage, the couple had tried to become parents, but Iyona could never carry a baby to term. Eventually, the physical and emotional trauma led them to abandon the idea altogether.

The year they were married, Hirokazu started a company that manufactured orthopedic prosthetics. Initially, he marketed his products in Japan. But his company soon took off, and it wasn’t long before he was distributing his prosthetics around the world.

During their thirty-six years together, Hirokazu had never told Iyona about his past in Manchuria. He didn’t want to return to that dark place, and he was scared that Iyona would stop loving him.

So now, as a widower, he was testifying out in the open for the whole world to hear. He assumed that his status as the founder of a global company and an example of a modern Japan whose corporate frenzy had swept away all militant and—even worse—nationalist leanings would draw hoards of spectators and reporters. But in this Cold War era, few seemed to care about what he had to say. More often than not, he found the lecture hall practically empty. The press didn’t seem interested either.

The New York conference marked the end of his tour, but he planned to lead other campaigns, as his road to redemption was a long one.

At the end of his speech, he opened up the floor to the audience. It was really a formality, as he hardly ever received any questions. As he expected, his offer was met with silence, and the lecture hall emptied. One young man, however, remained. Not only did he stay, he also stepped up to the stage. The fellow towered over Hirokazu. He had a natural poise, underscored by broad shoulders and the confident manner in which he held his head. But these characteristics were less striking than his blond hair, which seemed to shine brighter than the summer sun. He didn’t appear to be any older than thirty. And now he was doing a timid but promising ojigi.

“Mr. Shinje,” he said with just the right amount of respect. “Thank you for delivering such a fascinating lecture.”

“Thank you for coming to hear it,” Hirokazu replied, bowing in turn. “I’m surprised to see someone as young as yourself interested in this subject.”

“It affects me on a personal level.”

“How so?”

“My mother worked at Fort Detrick in the late fifties. She was killed under circumstances classified as top secret for reasons of national security. The incident was exposed in published documents detailing the biological experimentation program led by the US from 1950 to 1970. At the same time, the American government made public its collaboration with Unit 731’s most prominent scientists. My mother was killed by a biological weapon in the building where she and her team worked. Rumor has it that the researchers at Fort Detrick were following up on Shiro Ishii’s work. I’m convinced that…”

“I see,” Hirokazu said.

“According to my father, she would sometimes meet with German and Japanese scientists for the purpose of her mission.”

Hirokazu froze. The full responsibility he and his brother scientists bore had materialized in front of him, in this young man, the living proof that all actions had consequences, even long after those acts were committed. The sharp pain of guilt clawed at the Japanese man’s soul.

“And what’s your career plan?”

“I recently graduated from law school, sir, where I specialized in commercial law. I speak several languages. I’m working on my Japanese.”

It would take a long time for the boy to master all the nuances of the culture, but he certainly knew the Japanese way of making a request without flat-out asking. His desire was obvious.

“Perhaps you are curious enough about my country to try your hand at a professional experience there?” Hirokazu asked.

“Certainly, sir. I would like to immerse myself in both the Japanese language and the Japanese culture.”

Nice response, Hirokazu thought.

“Wonderful. I should be able to find a place for you. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

“Thank you, sir,” the young man replied. He gave his future employer a perfect bow.

“I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“I never gave it to you, sir. My name is Woodridge. Sean Woodridge.”

A park near Hirokazu Shinje’s residence, north of Tokyo

Only a small portion of his day was dedicated to business. At most, he would look over a few proposals from his board of directors. The years had flown by, leaving Hirokazu with a head of white hair, a deeply wrinkled face, and some brown liver spots. He used a wheelchair, but he considered himself quite healthy for his many years on earth. He had a youthful mind and a resilient body, and he had never been sick a day, even though his lack of sleep should have weakened his immune system. His business, meanwhile, was still quite successful, and he was married again—to a wonderful woman who was fifteen years his junior. It was enough to make any man happy. On this particular summer evening, he was gazing at the setting sun’s reflection on one of his estate’s tranquil ponds.

Why had he been blessed this way? Indeed, why had his former Unit 731 colleagues, also successful businessmen and government officials, been similarly blessed? Numerous companies—mostly pharmaceuticals—had benefited substantially from the research conducted at Harbin.

Hirokazu was proud of just one of his accomplishments: his foundation. Under the masterful management of his assistant, the foundation was making charitable contributions to organizations around the world that helped young victims of armed conflict. These organizations gave children the medical and educational assistance they desperately needed. As he waited by the pond, Hirokazu looked forward to meeting with his right-hand man to go over the final touches on his plans for their biggest project to date.

“Lovely evening, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Shinje?” It was a familiar voice that Hirokazu was always glad to hear.

“Indeed. I’m trying to appreciate my remaining few.”

“Don’t say things like that. You’re as solid as an oak tree,” Sean Woodridge replied as he turned the old man’s wheelchair around.

He sat down on the ground across from Hirokazu with no concern about getting grass stains on his well-tailored suit. He held a thick stack of papers that were threatening to fly away.

“How are the plans coming?” Hirokazu asked eagerly.

“It’s all here, sir. Construction is almost finished. By the end of summer, our research center near Utsunomiya will be Shinje’s summer camp and will welcome more than one hundred children. I’ve brought you maps and photos to give you an idea. We’ll have a dedication ceremony together.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve moved up the dedication of our new conference center in Tokyo in order to be at the camp for the opening.”

“I’m sure the children and the staff will be delighted to see you. However, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Hirokazu nodded and waited for his second-in-command to continue.

“One of our security people has informed me of a laboratory developing a genetically modified virus to be used for military purposes. I’ve taken care of it, sir.”

Hirokazu sighed and looked at Sean with fondness.

“Are you sure that’s the only solution?”

“Sir, you’ve traveled the globe, alerted the press, and faced criticism from your own people. You’ve done everything in your power to tell the world. But your bravery has been met with silence and contempt. If we don’t act, who will?”

“I don’t mean to contradict you, but are you really sure there is no other…”

Hirokazu’s face was twisted in a grimace. The elderly man clutched his right arm. “My chest…” He tried to get up but fell forward instead.

Sean leaped up to catch his mentor and shouted for help. His male nurse, who had been sitting on a nearby bench, came running at full speed. By the time he arrived, Sean was holding the dead man in his arms and running his fingers through his hair. Hirokazu’s eyes were locked on Sean’s.

Sean picked up the dossier and slipped it under Hirokazu’s wrinkled hands. He reread the title on the folder: “The Children of Shinje Summer Camp.”

Sean let the tears wash over him.

The Children of Shinje was Hirokazu Shinje’s legacy.

For his part, Sean Woodridge would give the world the Children of Shiro.