Crossing Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “It won’t take long, I promise. And I’ll have my pilots fly you back to Corvallis. You should be home this evening.”

  Professor Savage nodded wearily.

  “Bull, I need you to relay the recording of my conversation with the good professors to the intel team back at The Office.” He handed a memory stick to Bull. “It’s all on this thumb drive. Send it ahead. I want to give Lacey, Ross, and Williams a head start on this one.”

  “No problem, Boss Man. I’ll transmit the data file now.”

  “Make sure it’s encrypted, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Boss Man.”

  “Oh, and phone Lacey on the secure line. I need to give her some idea of what we are dealing with. When you have her on the line, let me know.”

  Bull took the memory stick and walked forward to the communication suite. The C-37A, manufactured by Gulfstream Aerospace Corporation, was fitted luxuriously for transporting military brass and very important civilian personnel, and it came complete with secure and non-secure communication capabilities. Right now, the secure communications link was a definite asset.

  They were still at least an hour from wheels down. Bull walked back and informed Jim that he had Ellen Lacey on the secure phone. Jim returned forward with Bull.

  “Lacey… Nicolaou. I need to brief you on events. You just received the audio recordings of the debriefing aboard the flight. Listen to the recording and share it with Williams and Ross ASAP. We’re working a scenario where one or more countries, most likely OPEC members, are trying to suppress scientific research that might lead to a method to manufacture oil from water and rock. Right now, that means the work of Professors Ian Savage and Kenji Sato. You have their bios.”

  “Sir, did I hear you correctly? It sounded like you said this research is expected to yield oil from water and rocks.”

  “Affirmative, you heard correctly. I need you to focus on Iran, Libya, Nigeria, Venezuela… any country that needs oil dollars to prop up the ruling regime. Take a hard look at Saudi Arabia, too. Don’t exclude the possibility that there may be more than one government behind this machination. In short, your list of suspects should include any oil-exporting country that has a lot to lose if oil prices tank. This is your number-one priority.”

  “Got it, sir. We’ll get on it right away. Ross should have Mother crunching the problem within the hour.” Based on vector processing and using optical fiber technology combined with quantum-optical microprocessors manufactured in Israel, Mother was conservatively rated to perform ten million teraflops (floating point operations) per second.

  “One more thing. I need you to track down one Vasquez Ramirez. His brother, Pablo Ramirez, was killed up here, and I’ll wager a month’s salary that he’s involved in a big way. I want you to work this personally—it’s too important to delegate.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

  Jim terminated the transmission and gave the handset back to Bull. It didn’t really matter if Professor Savage and Professor Sato really were on the verge of a scientific breakthrough. The mere perception that they were would be sufficient to trigger a preservation reflex among many hostile governments who depended on oil revenues for their survival.

  Just which governments were involved was what the SGIT intel officers needed to learn. Then it would be up to Jim’s strike team to shut down the terrorists—hopefully before another devastating attack was perpetrated.

  There would be a lot of bloodshed, no doubt about that. And Commander James Nicolaou was going to do his best to make sure the bad guys did all the bleeding.

  Chapter 19

  September 28

  Corvallis, Oregon

  Fall was in the air and with it came a sense of calm. Sitting in the late morning sun, Professor Savage was enjoying a double-tall latte on a concrete bench in front of the university library. The golden hues and brick-red shades of the leaves, especially the Japanese maples, complemented the fading green of the grass. An occasional gray squirrel darted across the lawn, stopping randomly to bury an acorn—likely never to be found again. A multitude of indistinguishable voices, youthful and happy, merged into white noise that was, in itself, soothing… normal.

  Professor Ian Savage was glad to be home in comfortable and safe surroundings. Even though he knew he should be at work in his lab, he needed to sort through the tangle of thoughts weighing on his mind. It was odd, he mused. As a scientist and engineer, he had learned—been trained—to discipline his thinking. One had to remain objective, always. That is how science advanced. How many times had he drilled this lesson into his young son?

  But in the aftermath of the near-tragedy on Chernabura Island, he could not focus his mind. “I’m not a god-damned machine,” he muttered in disgust between sips of his latte. A passing student glanced at the professor, and he blushed in embarrassment.

  He continued to sift through his thoughts, trying to restore order. The familiar and serene surroundings were like a tonic, and over the next half hour he felt better. He reasoned that the trauma had heightened his emotions and assumed that over time this would probably diminish. But at least for now he felt strongly that he needed to reach out to his son, to be more of a father and less of a mentor. Flashing through the recent events he realized how fragile life is and yet how readily he had taken it for granted. Suddenly he needed to tell Peter—no, to show Peter—how much he loved and respected his only son. Yes, I will call him.

  As he rose from the bench, Professor Savage noticed a young man standing outside the library entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall. The young man looked like a thousand other students: sweatshirt, ball cap, jeans, well-worn backpack over his shoulders. And yet there was something different about him. Even though he wore sunglasses, Professor Savage felt a chill as the man stared directly at him.

  He began to close the gap to the man, and when he was within 30 feet, the man abruptly turned and walked away.

  “Hey! Hey!” he called, but the man only increased his pace to a near jog, turning the corner of the next building. Professor Savage quickly followed but lost him.

  Deciding that he was letting his mind play tricks, he shook off the event and walked back to his lab. The lab was one of several on the ground floor of Gleason Hall—some devoted to teaching, others for research. As expected, he found Sato-san and Junichi huddled at a computer monitor, deep in conversation.

  As he approached, Professor Sato looked up and said, “The Japanese embassy phoned this morning. We have tickets to fly to Tokyo tomorrow. It will be better for us to continue our work from home.”

  “Certainly, I completely understand. I told my students to take a couple of days off. We won’t begin to sort and log the rock specimens until they come back.”

  “It is unfortunate that we could not complete the expedition; you do not have nearly the range of samples that we had planned to collect.”

  Professor Savage nodded. “I just remembered. Jim Nicolaou gave me a business card for someone at the NSF. Says he’s a friend, and I should call him about rock samples to support our work.” Now he was digging through his pockets, searching for the card; then he found it tucked into his wallet.

  “Here it is—Ken Monroe, program director.”

  “You should phone him, Ian-san. Perhaps he can send samples to you right away.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I’ll go call him now,” said Professor Savage as he left the lab.

  On the way to his office, the professor detoured to the department office to pick up his mail and messages. Although he had been gone less than a week, he had a pile of mail waiting for him and a handful of phone messages.

  He passed the undercover police officer slouched in a chair outside the professor’s office, appearing to read the campus newspaper. He looked younger than his years, and the casual observer would think he was another student waiting to discuss a missing assignment or ask some question about a recent lecture. He was one of two undercover officers assigned at the request of Commander Ni
colaou to provide protection to Professor Savage. The other officer was stationed in a plain sedan at the professor’s house. Jim didn’t expect any problems, at least not yet, but better safe than sorry.

  “Greetings, Mickey,” chimed the professor without breaking stride. In his office, he began a quick sort of his messages first. The most recent message had been taken earlier in the morning; it was from a Mr. Ken Monroe.

  “That’s interesting,” he said to no one in particular.

  Professor Savage dialed the number on the pink message sheet. On the second ring, the line was picked up.

  “Monroe,” said the voice; it was very efficient and reminded Professor Savage of the way he heard Jim speak on the radio.

  “Mr. Monroe. My name is Ian Savage. I’m a professor at Oregon State University. You called my—”

  Ken Monroe interrupted, “Yes, Professor. How are you? I was told by a mutual friend that you are looking for some specific rock samples. Maybe I can help.”

  Professor Savage raised an eyebrow. He imagined that the man on the other end of the line had been well briefed.

  “And I suppose our mutual friend is Commander James Nicolaou?”

  “Indeed. We had a conversation yesterday. Commander Nicolaou described in general terms that you were on an expedition to an Aleutian Island to collect rock samples for some experiments you are conducting, and that the expedition was aborted before all the samples could be collected.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” Professor Savage was not about to offer any additional details about the circumstances surrounding the aborted expedition.

  “What samples are you seeking? We have a rather extensive collection of core samples, including some that were taken at the subduction zone not far from Dutch Harbor.”

  Core samples—this was better than he had hoped.

  “I’m searching for native materials that may have catalytic activity, so I don’t necessarily know what type of rock I’m looking for. That was the point of the expedition—to gather a broad range of specimens for testing here in the lab.”

  “How about if I send you complete core samples from bed-floor surface down to 6,000 feet. I have cores that were taken right through the subduction zone and also on either side of it.”

  Professor Savage was at a loss for words. “Sure,” he stammered briefly, “that would be excellent! How soon can I get them? I presume you have to pack the cores and ship them by truck?”

  “Based on my conversation with Commander Nicolaou, it sounded like this was rather important, so I instructed my staff last night to pack three complete core samples for you. They are already at Andrews Air Force Base, where a military transport will ferry them to you. I suspect you’ll have them within six hours. Is that soon enough?”

  “I don’t know what Jim told you, but it certainly had an effect! Thank you!”

  “Glad to help, Professor. If you need anything else, let me know, okay?”

  As he hung up the phone, Professor Savage glanced out his office window. Sitting on the grass alongside the walkway, back pressing against an oak tree, was the same young man who had been staring at him in front of the library.

  Chapter 20

  September 28

  Corvallis, Oregon

  “Mickey, please come in for a minute.” Under the circumstances, Professor Savage was not going to ignore his intuition. He deeply regretted not taking the previous warning from Jim Nicolaou seriously, and he was determined not to repeat that error.

  “What can I do for you Professor?”

  “Please, close the door and come over to the window.”

  Mickey was there in three strides. “See that man sitting down there on the lawn, leaning against the tree?”

  “The guy in the dark blue sweatshirt and ball cap? Yeah, I see him.”

  “I think he’s following me. I saw him watching me outside the library earlier this morning. When I approached to ask his name, he took off.”

  “Maybe he was late for class.”

  Professor Savage shook his head. “No, classes start on the hour, it was half past 10:00 when I noticed him.”

  “He looks like a student. There are thousands of students on the campus. You must see familiar faces all the time. What has you spooked about this guy?”

  Professor Savage thought for a moment. It was a good question. “I don’t know; call it a feeling. But the way he was looking at me… and then to take off like that. And now I find him hanging around outside my office. Something isn’t right. I mean, let’s assume he had an urgent appointment, not a class, but some other appointment. Why is he sitting down there now? Shouldn’t he be wherever he supposedly ran off to?”

  “I don’t know, Professor—seems kind of thin. But tell you what. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll go down and talk to the guy. Casual, you know. Like one student to another. See what I can learn. Okay?”

  “All right. Thanks, Mickey. Maybe I am just paranoid.”

  Five minutes later, Mickey was back at Professor Savage’s office.

  “That didn’t take long. What did he have to say?”

  “Never spoke to him,” answered Mickey. “When I walked out the door, he was already gone.”

  Professor Savage leaned toward the window. Just as Mickey had said, the guy was nowhere to be seen.

  “I’m going back out to the hallway. Just give a shout if you see him again, okay?”

  After the door closed, Professor Savage picked up the phone and dialed Peter’s number. His son picked up on the second ring.

  “Hi, Dad. How are you?”

  “Fine; maybe a little jumpy. How was the drive home last night?”

  Peter had flown with his father and the other members of the expedition to Corvallis the previous evening, having left his red Hummer truck at the airport when he flew to Alaska the week before with the rest of the team.

  “No problem. Not many people on the road and I made good time.

  “Look, son, I’ve been thinking. We had some close calls up there and I…” he stammered, searching for the right words. “Well, I would like to see you.”

  Peter chuckled. “Dad, we just spent a week together. What’s on your mind? This isn’t like you.”

  “No, it’s not like me. Maybe that’s the problem.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, and courage. “Peter, I haven’t tried to be very close to you—to be your father—for quite a number of years. If you’d let me, I’d like to change that.”

  Peter didn’t know what to say. True, his father hadn’t treated him like a son in… what? Close to 25 years? Suddenly Peter felt a catch in his throat as he tried to speak.

  “I’d like that, Dad.” And then Peter added, “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. Just rattled by all that has happened, I suppose.” And then, with a slight laugh, he added, “Just this morning I thought I was being followed. I think it’s just my imagination.”

  “You told the officer, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. Mickey tried to talk to the guy, but he had already left. I’m sure he’s just a student.”

  Peter felt a sudden chill. “Let me wrap up a couple things here, then I’ll be on the road.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to drive back over here tonight.”

  “Yes, I do Dad. Call me if anything else seems out of the ordinary, okay? And make sure the officer stays with you everywhere you go. I’ll be there around seven o’clock. Are you going to be at your office?”

  “Yes, I have plenty to catch up on. Oh, and I’ll tell you about the core samples that are being shipped to the lab courtesy of the NSF and your friend Jim!”

  “Core samples?” asked Peter, not following.

  “Yes, core samples! See you this evening.”

  Not far away, in the student union, a man wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, ball cap, and sunglasses was turning the pages of a history book. But he wasn’t reading the textbook. His mind was concentrating on the conversation he
was listening to through a tiny ear bud.

  So, the professor was planning to meet his son at 7:00 P.M. tonight. No problem, he thought; that left plenty of time to complete his assignment.

  Chapter 21

  September 28

  Corvallis, Oregon

  During the drive across the mountains from Bend to Corvallis, Peter could not shake the ominous feeling that his father was in danger. He wondered how much Jim had told the Corvallis police department about the attack on Chernabura Island. He hoped the police officers knew enough to take the threat seriously, to be prepared. He pressed the pedal down further and picked up speed, expecting to be at the campus by 6:30 P.M.

  Since it was early evening, parking was open and Peter found a spot next to the campus bookstore. Locking his truck behind him, he walked directly to Gleason Hall. The laboratory was on the ground floor, and he thought he would walk by there first, just in case his dad was still unpacking some of the technical equipment that the cleanup crew on the island had forwarded.

  The building was deserted. He assumed the students were out eating pizza and drinking beer, since it was the dinner hour. Later many would come back and work on lab assignments until late in the evening.

  As Peter approached his father’s lab, he noticed that the lights were out. He checked the doorknob. It turned, and the door opened. Odd, he thought.

  “Dad? Dad? You in there?” He flipped on the light switch and took another step into the lab. It was a large room, with a grid-work of stout steel rods along much of the far wall. Fastened to the metal grids were various stainless-steel pressure reactors. To the right stood three banks of electronic equipment, each five feet tall and nearly two feet wide.

  In the center of the room were four large tables with heavy black surfaces and aged wooden legs. They looked very sturdy. Next to every table were wooden crates resting on the floor; a few were opened, revealing rock core samples neatly arranged and secured in rigid foam cradles. Some of the core samples were laid out in a line on one of the tabletops.