by Dave Edlund
Peter nodded. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he didn’t have any better suggestions either.
“I have a solid rest and good angle from this stump here. I’ll cover you while you run up there to the boulder. From there, you’ll want to stay to the left and make for those trees as fast as possible. I’ll try to keep their attention on me.”
Davis said, “On three. One, two, three!” And he jumped up and ran forward to the boulder. As Davis ran, Ramirez fired wildly at him. The guy with greasy, stringy hair was still next to the porch stairs and he added his fire in support of Ramirez. Peter quickly aimed at him and shot. He missed, but the bullet splintered the wooden step next to the man’s head. That was enough to force him down.
And then Davis was at the boulder. He slid in and turned back to Peter, taking deep breaths. Peter kept the scope on his targets, systematically moving from one to another, hoping for an opportunity. But the terrorists remained well concealed.
Ramirez had guessed their plan. And he knew how to counter. “You idiots! Get over here with the hostages! They can’t shoot you if you are with the hostages for fear of killing their friends!”
Weasel came out from the porch steps in a low run. Ortiz and Kwok watched and when they saw that Weasel made it, they too dashed to the safety of the civilians. Peter fired at Kwok, but the bullet missed, and before he could chamber another round and get the cross hairs lined up, both terrorists slid into the group of hostages.
“Stay close to the hostages. They won’t dare shoot at you,” Ramirez told his men. Then Ramirez shouted, “Gentlemen! Lay down your guns! Surrender, or we will begin shooting your friends!” To emphasize the message he shoved the barrel of the MP5 into Junichi’s side.
Peter realized how the situation had deteriorated. He saw the three men join Ramirez in a tight group with his father and friends. He looked at Davis, and Davis stared back, but the fierce determination evident a moment ago was lacking.
Davis yelled his reply. “You kill them, and there’s nothing to prevent us from killing you!”
“We have you outnumbered two to one—and we have superior training and firepower. We will take our chances against you, if that is your wish.” Ramirez paused. “Is that your wish? Do you want to watch your friends die? Here? Now?”
Davis knew they had been trumped. His shoulders sagged, and his head fell forward in a sign of defeat. Then Davis stood and turned toward the cabin.
“Okay. Okay. We give up.” With no other choice, Peter stood as well. Both men dropped their weapons and walked slowly to Ramirez. As they got close, Ramirez, Kwok, Ortiz, and Weasel all stood—and the hostages as well.
Ramirez was gloating, his gun aimed casually at Peter and Davis as they approached. When they were about five yards away Ramirez said, “That’s close enough. Hands up.” Peter and Davis did as they were ordered, and Kwok did a quick pat down, coming up empty.
Ramirez looking squarely at Peter. “So, you must be the eighth man.”
“I thought I’d arrive to the party fashionably late. Did I miss anything?”
Ramirez lost the smile. This man standing before him had cost him three soldiers and much wasted time. “The good professor has been most uncooperative. Now I will give you a chance. Where are the explosives?”
“Surely a terrorist of your standing has plenty of access to military explosives. Why are you so interested in the relatively low-power seismic charges?”
“You are correct on one point—I do have access to what is needed to complete the mission. That includes all types of explosives and munitions. But that has nothing to do with my interest in your charges. Suffice it to say that I want them. Now, I’ll ask once more. Where are the charges?”
Peter needed to buy time just as his father had—anything to stall and keep the conversation going. “You need these explosives, don’t you? What are you planning to blow up? What’s the target?” Ramirez didn’t answer.
Peter pressed further. “You need these explosives because you want to throw off the investigation. You know that BATF agents will ultimately determine the source of the explosives. So you want to use something that has a clean history, isn’t that right? At least I’ll give you credit for thinking smarter than most terrorists.” Peter knew none of this was true, but he had wasted more time. Just a few more minutes was all he needed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. But we prefer to think of ourselves as freedom fighters, not terrorists.”
“Does that help you clear your conscience so you can sleep at night? It won’t work, you know… trying to justify the murder of innocents in the name of freedom. It never has,” said Peter. Ramirez was clenching his teeth but remained silent.
“The last time I checked, there was no indigenous population on this tiny island. So just which oppressed group are you trying to free anyway?”
Puffing his chest out, Ramirez finally responded to the goading. “We fight for all people who are oppressed by wealthy imperialist pigs!”
“Spoken like a true Marxist. I suppose you are paid well for your services, too. Or do you donate that money to the impoverished people you claim to be fighting for? No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“You are more arrogant and self-righteous than most Americans I have met. Have you not heard of the oppression of innocent Iraqis at the hands of your military machine? Have you not heard of the atrocities your country committed at Abu Grab, civilians murdered by your cowardly soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq and countless other sites as they occupied Arab soil under the false pretenses of an illegal invasion of a sovereign nation?”
“I’m surprised Ramirez… General, isn’t it? I’m surprised that you didn’t conclude your diatribe by pointing out that those U.S. military men and women who allegedly perpetrated crimes have been brought to justice. Those who were found guilty are serving time in prison. Unlike your patron states, we do not hold anyone above the law.”
“In another time and place, you and I might enjoy such mental jousting. We have much in common.”
Peter was disgusted at this remark. “We have nothing in common.” He almost spat the words out. “I value good over evil, right over wrong. You thrive on human suffering for your own profit. You are nothing but a murdering bastard.”
Ramirez was amused at the raw emotion and depth of Peter’s conviction. But he did not see any profit in going further down this path.
“For the last time, where are the explosives?”
Before Peter could reply, there was a sharp and deep boom that reverberated off the mountains lining the valley. It was a large explosion, not in the immediate area but not too far away either. The hostages all ducked their heads out of fear and shock. Junichi and Harry crouched and looked around, trying to determine what new threat was coming at them. The terrorists looked in the direction of the explosion, bodies tensing for an attack.
Peter had a smug look. “Oh, those explosives. Well, I think you know now where they are. Or should I say were, since they are no longer available. I imagine that your Zodiac also is no longer available since I stacked all 50 pounds in the boat early this morning with a simple timing trigger.” Peter was smiling now. This was the first time since Blondie showed up earlier in the morning that he actually felt like he had achieved an advantage against the terrorists.
Shortly after leaving the cabin in the early pre-dawn hours, Peter had come across the Zodiac. He could see several sets of tracks leading away from the craft, but he didn’t know exactly how many had come ashore. Nor did he know why they were on the island, but he suspected it had something to do with a hit on the research party. So he had hustled back to the cabin, stuffed the explosives and timer into his pack, and returned to the Zodiac. He figured that if nothing happened by mid-morning he could always go back to the Zodiac and remove the timer and explosives.
Peter turned his eyes to the hostages. “Are you all right, Dad?”
Professor Savage nodded. He still seemed to be in a mild state of shock; they
all did. They didn’t fully comprehend what had happened, but they were beginning to hope that maybe Ramirez would leave since the explosives were gone.
Troy Davis knew better than to celebrate just yet. Without the Zodiac that they came in, they had no obvious way to depart the island. Even worse, everyone present could identify Ramirez and the other three men—Kwok, Weasel, and Ortiz. Ramirez had obviously played this game too long to let witnesses walk away.
Despite the explosion, Ramirez never dropped his guard. He had kept his submachine gun at the ready, and the remaining three terrorists followed suit, covering the academic team.
Ramirez took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I wish you had not done that. Now I must use an alternate plan. Weasel, Ortiz! Take them all into the cabin. Once inside, firmly bind their hands and feet.”
Karen didn’t understand. She was becoming hysterical. “What do you want from us? There are no more explosives! They are gone, you know that! Let us go!”
Ramirez was laughing now. “My dear child, I didn’t come here for your seismic charges. No, I came here for you and your colleagues; most especially for the renowned Professor Savage. The explosives would simply have made my mission easier; that is all.”
Karen was sobbing; her face cradled in her hands.
“Exactly what is your mission?” asked Davis. He had been quiet for so long that Ramirez was mildly startled to hear him speak.
“Why, I should think you would know. My mission is to kill you—all of you.”
It was perfectly clear now to Peter that Jim had been completely correct. If only they could have convinced Peter’s father to delay the field excursion and accept better protection.
Peter and Troy Davis were out of ideas. They had surrendered their weapons. No more tricks, no diversions, no fallback, or contingency plans. They were out of luck, out of options, and now… out of time.
Weasel and Ortiz escorted the hostages back into the cabin and assembled them in the great room. Ramirez followed while Kwok stood guard on the porch. Under guard by Ortiz and Ramirez, Weasel used plastic flexicuffs to bind their wrists behind their backs. Then he pushed them each to their knees and bound their ankles together, again using plastic flexicuffs. With hands and feet firmly bound in this way, no one could stand up. They were stuck kneeling.
The pain was building in Daren’s knees. He had injured them playing rugby in a recreational league as an undergraduate student. Kneeling on the hard wood floor was not helping. The needles of pain were shooting up his legs. He tried shifting his weight from side to side, but it didn’t help. Grimacing, he allowed himself to topple to his left.
Weasel lurched toward Daren and kicked him in the stomach. “Get up! On your knees!”
Daren had the wind knocked out of him by the kick—he was gasping for air and couldn’t answer. Weasel yelled again, “Get back on your knees!”
“He can’t! His knees are in bad shape—he can’t kneel on hard surfaces,” said Harry.
“Never mind,” said Ramirez. “Soon enough it won’t matter at all.”
Daren finally got his breathing back in rhythm. “I’ll be fine,” he said between labored breaths.
Then Davis voiced a burning question that had been foremost on his mind since this ordeal began. “Who hired you, General? Why is it so important to kill these people? They’re simply scholars conducting research. They aren’t military people.”
“Precisely the point. As for your other questions, well… I’m not going to answer them. My mission is already behind schedule, and I am through wasting time.”
“You’re a sick bastard, General. But I’ll wager you already knew that.”
Ignoring Davis, Ramirez turned to Ortiz, who was near the fireplace and watching the hostages closely, machine gun pointed at the bound and terrified people. “Ortiz, I think one grenade should be sufficient, don’t you?”
Chapter 13
September 26
Chernabura Island, West Side
“I am so sorry, son. I should have listened to Commander Nicolaou. He tried to warn me many times, but I didn’t take his warnings seriously.”
“Do not be so hard on yourself, Ian-San.” Professor Sato tried to console his long-time friend. “Remember that you also shared those warnings with me, and I too dismissed them.”
Karen was still weeping. She kept shaking her head… no, no. Silence fell over the room.
Ramirez surveyed the bound hostages. “Weasel, look inside the woodshed for a can of gasoline. I’d prefer a full one. If I recall correctly, Henri reported seeing several in there.”
Weasel slung his MP5 over his shoulder and left the great room. Turning to Ortiz, Ramirez said, “Grenade.”
Ortiz plucked a olive drab orb from his load harness and handed it to the general. Looking at the deadly sphere, Ramirez turned it slowly, admiring its form and function. “Marshal Davis. I think you know what this is?”
Davis remained silent. He knew what an M67 fragmentation grenade was and what it was capable of doing. Standard issue to U.S. and NATO military forces, it was an incredibly deadly instrument. Once the pin was removed and the spoon flicked off, the fuse ignited. When that happened, there was no turning back. In about three seconds the fuse would detonate the explosive charge inside the grenade’s hollow-metal body, shattering the steel shell and propelling the fragments into everything nearby. The killing radius was about fifteen feet.
The great room was large, but it was not large enough. There would be no place to hide. When the grenade detonated, they would all die.
Weasel returned with a red plastic five-gallon gasoline can. It looked to be full from the way he was carrying it. He gently set the gas can on the floor near General Ramirez.
“There are three more cans, sir. Should I get more?”
“Hmm. Yes, one more I think. A gallon can would do nicely.” Weasel turned and left again.
Ramirez looked directly at Peter and then continued. “The grenade will kill all of you. Of that you can be sure. The gasoline… well, that will obscure the evidence. I hope none of you find cremation objectionable.” He chuckled at that.
Professor Savage shook his head slowly, overwrought with despair, admitting to himself his failure and their defeat. Bound and kneeling, he had lost all hope of survival. But that did not bother him nearly as much as the thought that he had also led his son and his colleagues—his friends—to their deaths. He closed his eyes as the first tear slowly ran down his cheek.
More than anything, he wished he could turn back time and make a different choice. Yet at the same time his intellect told him that such was absurdly impossible. Now he had to live the last few minutes of his life with the consequences of that fateful decision.
Ian Savage opened his eyes and raised his head. He looked at Ramirez with the face of a man who was ready to die. “Why don’t you just put a bullet in each of us and be done with it.”
“That would be my personal choice,” replied the general. “But I am a good soldier; I follow orders. And my orders are to arrange for your deaths to appear to be a tragic accident. When local police eventually arrive to investigate your disappearance, they will conclude that one of your team exercised poor judgment and brought a gas can into the cabin. The gas vapors were ignited by a fire in the fireplace and everyone died in the fire.”
“What are you after? Why go to all the trouble to track down and kill scientists?” Peter was still trying to understand the fundamental motive.
“As I said, I am a soldier, and I don’t question my orders.”
“Perhaps you would if you had any conscience at all,” said Davis, still defiant. It had always been his nature.
Ramirez returned his gaze to the hand grenade he was still holding. “I think you will find this most interesting, Professor. This is a well-tested method that I learned from my brothers in Colombia when I was taken in by FARC. All you need is a hand grenade,” he held up the grenade for emphasis, “and a can of gasoline or diesel fuel.
“First you pull the pin on the grenade.” He pantomimed removing the pin from the fragmentation grenade. “Then you place the grenade carefully under the gas can just right so that the can holds the spoon in place.
“Now—and this is the best part—you take your knife,” he pulled his combat knife from the belt sheath. “And you puncture the can, top and bottom so the gasoline flows out in a steady stream.” Ramirez made a show of puncturing an imaginary can with his knife.
“As the gasoline drains from the can, the weight holding the spoon in place lessens. Eventually, when most of the gas has drained from the can, the spoon pops off the grenade.
“Of course, you will witness all this first hand. Once the spoon pops from the grenade you will have three seconds until the explosion.” He indicated an explosion with his hands, and a short laugh escaped his lips.
“The explosion will ignite the gasoline. I am sorry to say that if any of you survive the explosion of the grenade—very unlikely, I assure you—you will burn in the ensuing fire.”
Ramirez continued his gloating. “My original plan was to kill all of you in the cabin by detonating the seismic charges. Fifty pounds of even low-grade explosives would have been much faster and neater, and the police would have concluded that scientists should not play with explosives.
“But… Peter destroyed the explosives, so I must adapt to the situation and use an alternative plan.”
Davis wondered if Ramirez really believed his own propaganda. He must. How else could someone commit the horrible crimes he was guilty of?
Ramirez realized that Weasel still had not returned from the wood shed. What could be taking him so long? He should have been back by now. With his knife sheathed again, he pointed his pistol in the direction of the hostages. “Ortiz. Tell Kwok to come in and guard the prisoners, then go find out what is taking Weasel so long,” he said.
Weasel had intended to get another gas can quickly, as ordered. He wanted to complete this job—they had already been on the island too long. He left the cabin and quickly walked the 50 or so feet to the woodshed. Weasel was already thinking of the nice little bottle of Russian vodka stashed in his duffle bag on board the submarine. And if anyone touched it while he was gone, he’d just have to kill them.
