The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (12 page)

“Why?” Nadia said.

“That iron consists of one thousand, five hundred and thirty-two spent nuclear fuel rods. They are surrounded by cooling waters thirty meters above the ground. You just can’t see the water from here.”

Nadia stared at the exposed, radioactive rods. “How can that be? They’re uncovered. Open to the air.”

“Yes,” Nakamura said. “They’re just sitting there. Waiting for disaster to strike again.”

Nadia couldn’t believe her eyes. Even the Soviet Union knew better. They’d dumped a gazillion tons of sand over the reactor and then built a metal tomb around it. Granted, the tomb was less than robust and it was falling apart now and in the process of being replaced, but at least they’d followed a path of common sense.

Bobby asked her for the binoculars and took a look himself. “No sarcophagus,” he said. He, too, sounded incredulous. “Why is there no sarcophagus?”

“The response of the people of Japan to the earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster has been strength and solidarity. The response of the government to the cleanup and nuclear risk has been weakness and cronyism. Cleanup efforts have been given to large Japanese corporations that have no experience with nuclear matters. Small companies and foreign companies were encouraged to make proposals. None were accepted.

“On July 22, 2013, more than two years after the disaster, the government finally confirmed what local fisherman had been saying all along. The plant was leaking radioactive water into the Pacific Ocean since the tsunami. It took all that time for the government to admit that TEPCO—Tokyo Electric Power—was still lying about plant conditions. The Prime Minister ordered the government to step in. A month later, seven hundred metric tons leaked out of a storage tank and they stepped in to secure that, too.

“If the building crumbles for any reason, if it is weaker than the government says, if there is another earthquake of a magnitude seven or higher, the water would pour out, the fuel rods would burn, and you would have an oxygen-eating fire that could not be put out with water. That would lead to the kind of contamination science has never contemplated. It could make Japan uninhabitable, and with the oceans and wind, lead to global disaster.”

“The kind the Western press predicted,” Nadia said.

“This time,” Nakamura said, “they would be right. Emergency workers would not be able to get close to the fire. Robots would melt. There would be no immediate solution to putting out the fire. Radiation would leak into the air and sea and could not be stopped.”

“Why don’t they move the rods to someplace safe?” Bobby said.

“They cannot dislodge the individual rods. It is too dangerous. The only way to move them is to move the entire fuel rod canister.”

Bobby’s voice picked up urgency. “Then why don’t they do it?”

“It would take a crane that can lift one hundred tons. The only crane that could do that was destroyed in the disaster. This is the truth. These are the stakes. This is what Genesis II wanted you to understand. This is how important the formula may soon be to Japan. To the entire world. We must not let personal agendas get in the way of the greater good.”

Nadia remembered the original e-mail from Genesis II, and the phrase that sounded so familiar. “Fate of the free world,” she said.

“Yes,” Nakamura said. “If reactor number four collapses, the fate of Japan and the world will depend on this formula.”

Fate of the free world
now had two meanings. Initially it suggested that if the wrong people got their hands on it, they could use it to gain an upper hand in a nuclear confrontation. Now it also referred to the imminent risk of an epic nuclear catastrophe in Japan, one that could destroy the world. With each passing moment, the formula’s importance was growing, just as surely as the people who came in contact with it were dying.

“Chornobyl and Fukushima,” Nakamura said. “Fukushima and Chornobyl. They are forever linked in history as the only level seven nuclear disasters the world has known. In Chornobyl, it was reactor number four that melted down and caused the first international catastrophe. In Fukushima, it is reactor four that poses the threat of becoming the first global catastrophe. You think this is a meaningless coincidence? The number four is the unluckiest number in Japanese culture.”

“It’s pronounced
shi
,” Johnny said.

Nakamura nodded somberly.

“So?” Nadia said.

“
Shi
,” Johnny said, “is also the Japanese word for death.”

CHAPTER 17

T
HE NEIGHBORHOOD REMINDED
Nadia of Hartford. The owners believed in paint, power washing, and curb appeal. The neatly groomed front yards beckoned for a child and a golden lab. But there was no living thing in sight.

Nakamura parked in front of a yellow ranch-style house. The shades were pulled. Johnny and Bobby carried boxes of food and supplies. Nakamura rang the doorbell. When no one answered, Nakamura opened the door and they went inside. He didn’t bother using a key. There was no need for door locks in a ghost town.

They took off their shoes in the foyer and followed Nakamura past a small living room and kitchen into a bedroom. A gray-haired woman lay propped up on pillows on a bed. She smiled at Nadia, Johnny, and Bobby. Said something in Japanese. Nakamura told them to come closer. Although she sounded weak, the woman seemed cheerful.

Nakamura introduced them in Japanese, and translated in English. The woman’s name was Yamamoto. Johnny bowed and said a few words in Japanese to her. The woman beamed. She replied in rapid-fire Japanese. Johnny seemed to understand what she said and answered, but got lost in the further exchange. Still, his attempts only increased the cheerfulness of her disposition, and the strangeness of the situation.

Nakamura asked the old woman a question. It started with a word that sounded like
yoshi
. After the woman answered, Nakamura smiled and nodded.

“Genesis II is in the house next door,” Nakamura said. “Mrs. Yamamoto owns both properties. Her husband was an airline executive and bought it as an investment many years ago. Mrs. Yamamoto uses it for storage. She accumulated many things during the years she travelled around the world with her husband. She asked Yoshi to go there to retrieve some photo albums for her.”

Johnny leaned into Nadia’s ear. “Did you hear?”

“Yes.”

“Genesis II’s name is Yoshi. He’s Japanese.”

Thoughts swirled around Nadia’s head. Chornobyl and Fukushima. Fukushima and Chornobyl. As Nakamura had said, they were forever linked. And now, for reasons she couldn’t fathom yet, it appeared the formula shared a similar link. A boy from Ukraine, another from Japan. If that were true, it might confirm her theory that scientists from both countries had worked together to develop a radiation countermeasure. But that was just her own pet theory, she reminded herself. She had no evidence to back it up, and there were countless other explanations.

Nakamura studied the vials of prescription medicine on the nightstand beside a pitcher of water. A remote control with a red button rested beside the phone. It looked like a panic button a patient pressed if she needed immediate assistance. The other nightstand contained a collection of framed photos.

Johnny was studying one of the photos. It showed a pair of young teens holding surfboards, a wave preparing to crash on the shore behind them. When Nakamura finished his conversation with Mrs. Yamamoto, she turned to Johnny and said something.

Johnny smiled. He glanced at Nakamura uncertainly. “Did I hear the word for brother?”

“That is Mrs. Yamamoto and her brother. When they were children. Their grandparents were killed in the American bombing of Nagasaki in 1945. The nuclear disaster in Fukushima has brought back painful memories for the older generation. At least two hundred thousand people were killed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki from the explosions themselves. Sixty percent of the victims burned to death. Can you picture that? They burned to death. The long-term effects of radiation syndrome followed. Some of the emotional healing that took place is now coming unraveled. There is an unspoken fear that Japan may experience such suffering again.”

Johnny studied the picture again. Looked for something positive to say. “Please tell her she and her brother look like good athletes.”

Nakamura told her. He listened to her answers and translated. “Her brother was her inspiration until his death last year. He was one of the Fukushima Fifty.”

Nadia remembered the newscasts during the nuclear disaster. Fifty TEPCO employees volunteered to stay at the power plant to stop the leakage and prevent further disaster.

“We heard about these great men in America,” Johnny said. “I’m sure they did the entire world a great service. We all owe them a debt.”

Nakamura translated, and Mrs. Yamamato nodded her appreciation.

“He died from shame,” Nakamura said. “The Fukushima Fifty were among the men who stood by as the reactors melted down. They were not prepared for what happened. Some people consider them heroes, but others believe they’re to blame for the disaster. When the disaster was finally stopped, credit went to the Prime Minister. It is a very Japanese thing. To let credit rise to the top, and blame fall to the bottom. When the press took photos of the Fukushima Fifty, Yamamoto-san was one of the men who turned his back to the cameras. Out of shame. He died because he wouldn’t leave his apartment to go to the pharmacy to get his heart medication. In the end, it was not his illness but his shame that killed him.”

Someone screamed.

The sound came from outside the house. It was far enough away to sound muted, but loud enough that its meaning was unmistakable. Someone was in trouble.

Genesis II was in trouble, Nadia thought.

Nakamura and Johnny rushed toward the front door.

A second scream. This one was muffled, as though one person had silenced another.

Nakamura and Johnny burst out of the house. Nadia caught the screen door before it hit her in the face. She flung it open and stepped outside.

A young man struggled to free himself from two burly men. The young man had his back to Nadia. He had short black hair, long legs, and narrow hips.

It was the boy. It was Yoshi. It was Genesis II
.

The beefy men wore leather jackets. They looked like the duo that had followed Bobby and her to the airport. The Slavs. They’d found Bobby and her in New York. Now they’d found Genesis II in Fukushima.

A large truck rumbled backward down the street. It stopped. The rear door rolled up. A third man reached out with his hands. The other two men lifted Genesis II off the ground. The third man grasped him by the lapels of his shirt and jacket. The men shouted at each other in Russian over the din of the truck’s idling engine. The two men holding Genesis II had their backs to the house. The third man didn’t look up until it was too late.

Nakamura lowered his shoulder and rammed one of the men in the chest. The man groaned. Released his grip of Genesis II and doubled over.

The second man on the ground held onto Genesis II
.
He turned.

Johnny drove his fist into the man’s jaw. The man toppled backward against the truck. Johnny reached for Genesis II, but the third man in the truck pulled him up into the cabin and out of Johnny’s outstretched hands.

Bobby started toward the truck. Nadia grabbed his arm and stopped him. Shoved him to the ground and sent him rolling on the lawn.

Nakamura put his hands on the bed of the truck to lift himself up. Johnny did the same on the other side. Nakamura had his back to the man he’d hit. He didn’t see that the man was recovering and pulling something out from beneath his coat.

“Hiroshi, watch out!” Nadia said.

The man behind Nakamura pulled him to the ground and drove a knife through his throat. Blood spurted. The Russian pulled the knife out, twisted the doctor around, and plunged it into his heart. Nakamura slumped to the asphalt.

The third man stomped on Johnny’s hand to prevent him from vaulting into the truck. The killer pulled the knife out of Nakamura’s chest. Johnny must have sensed the danger. He dropped down to the ground and faced him.

Nadia ran down the stairs and ripped a boulder out of the stone wall. Sprinted toward the man with the knife. Johnny had removed his belt to defend himself. Nadia would sneak up behind the man with the knife and pummel him in the head—

Something caught her eye on the left in her peripheral vision.

A fourth man was sprinting around from the back of the house. Who was he? He must have been there all along, covering the back entrance. Knife in his right hand. Overhand grip.

Nadia threw the boulder at him. It bounced off his chest.

He closed in with shocking speed. Running was useless.

He would be upon her in seconds.

CHAPTER 18