CHAPTER 35

Tokyo, 2010

Eytan listened closely to Sean Woodridge’s story. Each and every word shone with respect and admiration for the person whom Sean called Shinje-san.

The two wounded men were calmly staring at each other. Eytan searched his pocket for his cigar case. He took it out, selected a smoke, and stuck it between his teeth.

“It could have been a beautiful story,” he said as he lit a match.

“Yes, it could have been.” Woodridge pointed at the Cuban. “Is this the appropriate place for that?”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate place or occasion.”

He held out the case to Woodridge, who accepted. A few seconds later, they were taking in the sweet vanilla aroma.

“Japan’s surrender marked the end of World War II and the immediate transition into the Cold War,” Sean said. “As a Mossad agent, you must be familiar with Operation Paperclip.”

Eytan nodded. “Yeah. A bunch of German scientist were given jobs in the US after the war.”

“The same thing happened here, around one man in particular.”

“Shiro Ishii, the boss of Unit 731,” Eytan said.

“Exactly. Seeing as you’ve heard of the man, I’ll skip over his long list of wrongdoings. Once the soviets arrived in Manchuria, all activity at the center was terminated, and shortly thereafter, Unit 731 was blown up by its own people. Ishii and his crew sold their research to the US. The Americans had become obsessed with the idea that the Soviets could get their hands on the research and use it to develop biological and chemical weapons.”

“The two allies turned on each other as early as the Yalta Conference. Just two years prior, the Americans were sending Stalin supplies and raw materials. The Americans and the British even called him Uncle Joe.”

“Yes, it’s absurd. Ishii was a greedy crook and used the superpowers’ mutual distrust to full advantage. Thanks to his deal with the Americans, he and his collaborators got off with a nice chunk of change and immunity. The US held up its end of the bargain, keeping the sensitive information secret until the nineteen eighties.”

“I remember that. But all the same, the revelations didn’t cause much of a stir.”

“No, despite Shinje-san’s best efforts. So I vowed to do everything in my power to keep such horrors from happening again. Whatever it took. In order to keep that promise, I created the Children of Shiro, an organization for those who had been abused by various governments in the past half century. The Shinje Foundation generously donated the money needed to train our organization’s members. They were then assigned to problematic labs around the globe. They served as private watchdogs. Their mission was to alert us of any significant changes in the status quo.”

“Which is what happened.”

“Exactly.”

“So why the need to create your own labs and steal those strains?”

“We take weapons from evil people and use their own arms against them. The Russian authorities conducted nuclear tests on their own soldiers, while the Czechs were developing poisons and psychoactive drugs. Thanks to our intervention, they’re now off their stride, focused on when and where the next disaster will occur. If it weren’t for you, tonight would have marked the pinnacle of our activities. Alas…”

“So why these specific activities, as you call them, to achieve your goals?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Woodridge studied Eytan’s blue eyes. “And yet it’s so obvious. We live in an image-crazed society. Men like you who are ready to throw a punch or draw a gun—you’re living in the past. Fighting an enemy with metal and ammo isn’t enough anymore. Nowadays, you need the power of the camera, as well. Nothing beats a media-friendly massacre covered incessantly by every single news outlet. So, in that respect, the Internet deserves a medal as one of the deadliest weapons out there. Know why? Because if you toss a victim to the wolves, the masses will lap it up. Toss hundreds of victims to the wolves, and they’ll lap it up even more greedily. They’ll devour any ludicrous piece of garbage, as long as they get pleasure out of it. Never once getting their hands dirty. These days, our conversations are filled with this kind of crap. And those who aren’t interested, those who are more restrained, they’re social outcasts. Reason is collapsing under the weight of emotion. Well, if people are begging for sensationalism, we’re more than happy to give it to them.”

“And thus finish the failed mission Shinje set out for himself in the nineteen eighties. I see,” Eytan muttered. He sighed and asked, “Did you think you could pull this off with no consequences? Were you willing to risk your own mentor’s life? He was planning to be here for the dedication.”

“I would have gotten him out in time. But it didn’t matter in the end, because he died before we could open the center. To answer your first question, yes, I was prepared to do anything necessary to force the world powers to admit their crimes. The martyrs in Moscow and Pardubice are a testament to our determination. I wanted to ignite a global awakening, even if it meant taking innocent lives. This was my fate. And man must accept his fate. Trying to avoid it is delusional.”

“Fate, the ultimate excuse. But it won’t exonerate your sins. We’re all responsible for our actions.’”

“I wasn’t expecting you to understand.”

“Ah, but Sean, I’m the one person who could actually understand you.”

Eytan slowly removed his jacket and dropped it to the ground. He rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt to reveal the serial number tattooed on his forearm.

“Who are you?” Sean Woodridge asked, horrified.

“I’m what remains of a boy who was deported to Poland in 1940 by the Nazis. The very pseudo scientists you condemn conducted experiments on Jewish kids for over a year in hopes of perfecting the Aryan race. I’m living proof of their success and also their failure.”

“What do you mean?”

“I survived. I ran away and joined the Polish resistance. Since then, I’ve devoted my life to hunting down Nazi criminals and bringing them to justice or, if I have no choice, taking them out myself. I’m their own weapon of destruction turned against them.”

Sean was silent for a moment. Having delved into the dark depths of such horrors himself, he was not surprised by the story.

“So you and I are exactly the same,” he said. Eytan could hear the note of vindication in his voice.

“We couldn’t be more different. You sacrifice lives, while I try to save them. I don’t let anger determine my actions. The ends don’t always justify the means. If they did, we’d be no better than our opponents.”

“It’s not always that black and white. Do you know what MacArthur said in his speech after Japan surrendered?”

“What’s that?”

“I know his words by heart. They disgust me. ‘It is my earnest hope and, indeed, the hope of all mankind that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past—a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance, and justice.’ Two years later, he approved Shiro Ishii’s immunity.”

“Enlightening.”

“There you have it. I sought to condemn the cynical behavior of a few men so that the smallest number of people would suffer from their wrongdoings.”

“I don’t approve of your methods, Sean, as much as your motivations speak to me.”

Sean Woodridge closed his eyes. The evening wind ruffled his blond hair. “This is a beautiful place to leave this life,” he said softly. He was smiling wistfully.

“I’ve seen worse,” Eytan replied. “But no one has to die today. Hand me your gun, Sean, and let’s leave it at that.”

Woodridge opened his eyes again.

“Don’t worry about the barrels in the conference center. The virus has a short life span. In a few hours, it will be harmless. Inside my briefcase you’ll find a set of envelopes. They hold all the information about the actions we’ve taken. It’s up to you to decide what to do with it. Congratulations, Eytan Morg, you’ve completed your mission.”

Before Eytan could react, Sean brought the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Elena, now freed of her head pain, heard the gunshot in the park. She ran toward the sound and stopped when she spotted Eytan leaving the grounds. He was carrying a briefcase in his right hand. His left hand was tucked inside his jacket. He was holding his side and walking with great difficulty.

She ran up to him, offering to help. He declined.

“It’s over,” he said gravely.

“I took care of the guys in the equipment room. Did you kill Woodridge?”

“No. He accepted the consequences of his own failure,” Eytan said.

“That guy was crazy, wasn’t he?”

“Madness leads to desperation. Desperation leads to madness. And the victims become the executioners. We’re living proof, wouldn’t you agree? If only he had used a different method.”

“‘If only’ could apply to us too,” Elena said. She put her hand on the giant’s arm. “At least we succeeded.”

Silence fell on the park. Eytan inhaled deeply. Had they actually succeeded?

Desperation did lead to madness. It had happened to Sean. The Kidon agent saw the value in each life he took. Trying war criminals made sense because it brought awareness to the general public, Eichmann’s trial was the most glaring illustration of this. But Woodridge was right about one thing. The fundamental values of community, solidarity, and equality were becoming lost in the world. People were focused on their jobs, the latest films, and their sports teams. Yes, they made a hue and cry over one particular outrage or another, but they quickly moved on. In reality, they believed in nothing. It made Eytan look like an idealist in comparison.

“Now what?” Elena asked.

“We need to make a choice.”

The woman stared into the giant’s eyes.

“Mine’s already been made.”