by Dave Edlund
These would be the core samples his father had mentioned. Peter was surprised he wasn’t in the lab studying the samples, but he must have been here earlier since several of the cores had already been unpacked.
Assuming his father was upstairs in his office, Peter turned to leave when he saw a shoe and portion of leg sticking out from behind the furthest crate, halfway across the lab. Immediately his heart rate doubled, and he dashed over fearing the worst—fearing it was his father.
The prone body was face down, but Peter could tell right away that the clothing and build were not correct. He didn’t recognize this man since he had not met Mickey. Peter rolled the body over, checking for obvious injuries; there were none. He pressed his finger against the man’s neck, searching for a pulse. Feeling the rhythmic beat, Peter exhaled slowly and felt a wave of relief wash over him.
And then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Peter dashed for the door and ran up the old staircase, taking two steps at a time. He exited onto the second floor and stopped.
Echoing down the long hallway he heard voices, and they didn’t sound happy.
“I told you already, I don’t have any money here!”
“Shut up!”
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Peter easily recognized his father’s voice, but not the other. It was definitely male, though.
“Never mind who I am. Just give me your wallet and your keys.”
There was a pause. Peter imagined that his father was handing over the items as demanded.
“Now, open your desk drawers and dump them onto the floor.”
“What?”
“Do it! Or I’ll kill you right here!”
Peter’s heart pounded in his chest. He stepped silently toward his father’s office. The door was about 50 feet down the hallway. Fortunately, Peter was wearing sneakers, and he moved swiftly and quietly.
He heard the jangled crash of items falling onto the floor, and then the crack of the wooden drawer hitting the hard floor.
“Very good, Professor. Now, come this way.”
“You’re the man I saw following me this morning, aren’t you?”
Peter was close now, almost at the office door. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and panic threatened to grip his mind. He couldn’t allow that to happen, and he fought to maintain rational control.
“You’re pretty observant for an old man. Still, I don’t see what Ramirez was worried about.”
Recognition flashed across the professor’s eyes, too fast for the other man to register.
“What do you want?” demanded a defiant Professor Savage.
Peter was just outside his office, and at the mention of Ramirez it was all he could do to restrain the urge to barge in. He let down the zipper on his jacket slowly, so as to not make a sound. Reaching inside with his trembling hand, Peter retrieved his Colt .45 pistol—on his return from Alaska, Peter had vowed to carry the pistol, at least for a while.
Stepping into the open doorway, gun raised, Peter demanded, “Let him go!”
The man was startled, but still had enough composure to quickly grab Professor Savage and yank him in front as a shield. He placed his own gun to the professor’s head and wrapped his left arm around the professor’s chest.
“I said, let… him… go.”
The man slowly shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. But I’ll tell you what is gonna happen. You’re gonna put your gun down and step back. Is that clear?” He tightened his grip on his pistol and pushed the barrel harder against the professor’s head.
Professor Savage winced as the steel barrel pressed against his temple.
Peter held firm. He knew that to lower his weapon would mean both he and his father would die.
Suddenly, he felt oddly detached from the present—his emotions suppressed, breathing and pulse approaching normal, his analytical mind fully in control. As Peter’s peripheral vision shut down, his eyes burned into the assailant. He was not thinking about killing; rather he was focused on the singular goal of applying the tool in his hand to save his father.
“Drop the gun and back up, or I swear I’ll blow his brains all over the wall!”
“No, you won’t,” Peter said calmly as he gently squeezed the trigger. He was less than twelve feet away.
Ian Savage saw a blinding bright flash for a millisecond before his eyes instinctively shut, and he heard a deafening explosion. For a moment, he truly thought he had been shot and this was what it was like to die. But then he felt the weight of the man’s body thrust him forward a half step, and that nudged his mind back to reality as the man collapsed at his feet.
Peter’s shot had passed by the right side of his father’s head and struck the assailant on the bridge of his nose. The effect was immediate. The man was dead in a millionth of a second; the brain severed from the spinal cord so that no motor reflexes were possible. The gun had spilled out of his lifeless hand.
“Are you all right, Dad? Are you hurt?”
The professor stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Are you all right?” Peter repeated, this time a bit louder.
The professor shook his head. “I’m fine; he didn’t hurt me.” And then he added, “Since when did you start carrying a gun?”
“Oh, this?” replied Peter, tilting the heavy Colt pistol. “A good friend showed me the value of being prepared.”
Peter returned the pistol to his shoulder holster. Wrapping his arm around his father, he said, “You know, Dad… this isn’t what I had in mind when you said you’d like to spend some time together.”
Chapter 22
September 28
Bend, Oregon
Jim, there has to be something you can do!” Peter was frantic and practically screaming into the telephone. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, Dad would be dead. You know as well as I do—this wasn’t a robbery. Whoever is doing this, they aren’t going to give up!”
“Calm down, Peter.”
“Calm down? Look, the danger hasn’t stopped… and I don’t like it. Right now, Dad is with me, at my house, but we have to get him into a safe environment. We’ve been lucky twice; I don’t want to see if we can make it three in a row.”
“Was the assailant acting alone?”
“I didn’t see anyone else, but as I told you, he mentioned Ramirez.”
“That would be Vasquez Ramirez—the twin brother of Pablo Ramirez. I didn’t think he would try again so quickly.”
“Look, Jim, you’ve got to stop him!”
“We are doing everything we can. But we still don’t know where Ramirez is hiding. I’ve got my team working on it around the clock. Nothing is taking higher priority.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Get your dad packed. A small duffel with the minimum he needs. I’m sending the Gulfstream back with two of my MPs. Be ready in two hours. You’re coming back to The Office. We can guarantee your safety here. I’ll contact Colonel Pierson—under the circumstances I think I can persuade him to set up a laboratory here where your father can continue his work without interruption.
“I’ll make sure the local police know enough not to issue an APB for you or your father. Colonel Pierson may have to work that one through higher channels, but I’ll make sure the police are not hunting you. Tell me you have a license for that Colt?”
“Yes. I’ve had a concealed weapon permit for years. Just never saw the need to carry it until I started hanging out with you.”
“Good. That will help, even if only a little.”
Peter and Ian Savage were on the Gulfstream at midnight. Shortly after the plane became airborne, the flight attendant—he looked to be a kid no older than twenty—approached Peter. “Sir, I have Commander Nicolaou on the line. He wants to speak with you.”
Peter unbuckled and proceeded to the front of the aircraft cabin. Just behind the cockpit was a small room, just large enough for one person to sit at the half-sized desk. The space was crammed wit
h electronic gear, mostly radios he assumed. He put on the headset and spoke into the mic.
“This is Peter.”
“You’ll be landing in about an hour, but I couldn’t wait. I have some good news for you.” Jim sounded very upbeat. “My boss didn’t take long to make a decision. He agreed with my recommendation to set up your father with a fully functional laboratory facility here at The Office.”
“That’s great news. I’m sure Dad will be pleased. But how are we going to do that? He has a lot of specialized equipment, and he’ll probably need his students to help as well. I don’t think his grant money is sufficient to cover the expense.”
“We’ll take care of it. Uncle Sam is paying the bill. The logistics of moving equipment and getting the students down here is easy. I’ll arrange for your father to have military personnel available, including technicians to assist in setting up the lab. When you land, Sergeant Wiley will meet you and coordinate the details with you. Anything you need, you let him know.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Jim. I know Dad will be pleased.”
“And you can assure your father that a report on the attempted murder at his office has already been forwarded through the State Department to the Japanese government. I am told the Japanese authorities are taking action to place Professor Sato in protective custody.”
There was a pause, and Jim knew that what Peter really wanted was to have this nightmare end. “We’re doing everything we can, Peter. I give you my word, we will find Ramirez and whoever is behind all this—we will bring it to an end. It may take a while, but Ramirez is at the top of the list. He can run, but he can’t hide forever.”
“Jim, I know you’re doing all you can, and I wish I could feel as confident as you sound. But this is my father.”
“Peter, you need to trust me, okay? Don’t ask questions you know I can’t answer. We will bring Ramirez down.”
Peter sighed. “I know you will. I just hope you succeed before any more innocent people have to die.”
Chapter 23
October 2
Sacramento, California
Although Professor Savage had not thought it possible, the new lab was almost completed after only three days of non-stop work. Sergeant Wiley, the SGIT armorer, was a miracle worker. Not only did he organize the packing and shipping of all the contents of the Professor’s lab in Corvallis, but he also simultaneously scheduled contractors to make the necessary infrastructure modifications to The Office.
An unused space that had once been a bullpen for office workers was converted into a combination lab and office space. New walls were erected and exhaust ventilation added. In less than 48 hours, a functional laboratory existed, and a day later nearly everything was installed—six high-pressure reactors located inside walk-in fume hoods, three gas chromatographs, two mass spectrometers, and six PC workstations networked to Mother. To get all the analytical instruments operational and calibrated, Sergeant Wiley had four technicians flown in from Los Angeles and Dallas.
Fortunately, The Office already had a suite of college-like dorm rooms—six in total—so Professor Savage was truly under constant protection. Security at the site was evident—MPs, working in pairs and armed with Colt M-4 rifles and Beretta 9mm pistols, were present at all entrances to the hangar. In addition, three more MPs, similarly armed and each paired with a Belgian malinois, patrolled the cyclone fence that surrounded the facility. Topping the perimeter fence was a coil of concertina razor wire that immediately communicated the message “Don’t Enter,” even if you couldn’t read the posted restrictions and warnings.
Electronic security was also tight. A simple magnetic keycard was all that one needed to enter the lobby. But to go any further into the organization required access past biometric locks. They scanned all four finger tips and served the dual purpose of identification and access control.
Daren, Harry, and Karen had flown to The Office a day earlier. Despite their recent harrowing misadventure, all three students were excited to continue their research under the direction of Professor Savage. They knew their work was far more important than usual academic research. Would they ever have a chance again to make such an important contribution to science and the world?
Peter was helping wherever he could. At the moment, that meant he was completing some final tubing runs from one of the high-pressure reactors to a sampling port on a gas chromatograph. He was so focused on completing his work that he had not heard Jim enter the lab.
“We finally have some answers,” Jim called out. “I thought you might be interested.”
Peter put down the wrench and turned. “Tell me you found Ramirez.”
“Lieutenant Lacey, Sergeant Ross, and Sergeant Williams have been burning the midnight oil. Thanks to an intercepted cell call, we think we have a solid lead. We have reason to believe he’s at a training camp just inside Ecuador, along the border with Colombia.”
“You mean to tell me you really can intercept cell phone calls?”
“All the time. We’ve coordinated with intel at DIA, NSF, CIA, and DHS. If any message is sent via cellular technology or radio, we can tap into it. With six super computers dedicated to sorting through the ten to fifteen billion calls intercepted daily, the take-home message is that if you really want to have a secure conversation, use wires and be absolutely certain the line isn’t tapped.
“Lacey is working to confirm the intel. Once we have confirmation, we’ll proceed with interdiction.”
“You plan to capture him?” As soon as he spoke, Peter realized how elementary his question sounded.
“That’s the idea. He’s not of much use to us if he’s dead. It shouldn’t be hard to get the Ecuadorian government to cooperate, but if they drag their feet, we’ll go in through Colombia. My team will strike the training camp—if Ramirez is there, we’ll get him. We should also be able to gather hard intel, such as documents and electronic records. In the meantime, Lacey will continue to work the problem from this end. We still need to know which government or governments are pulling the strings.”
Just then, Lieutenant Lacey entered the lab and approached Jim. “Sir. Confirmation has been received. Confidence level is greater than 90 percent. We have him.”
“Okay. Thank you, Lieutenant.” Jim sighed. “Well, Peter, that’s what we’ve been waiting for. You’ll have to excuse me; I have work to do.” As he turned and walked out, he was joined by Bull, who never seemed to be very far away.
Chapter 24
October 2
Sacramento, California
Over the next several hours, Jim was sequestered with Bull, Homer, Magnum, Ghost, and Sergeant John Wiley. They stood clustered around a small table in Jim’s office. Jim had his arms folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on Sergeant Wiley.
Unlike the majority of the SGIT team, Wiley was a fourth generation leatherneck, signing into the Corps upon graduating from high school. He joined force recon and earned his sergeant’s stripes. Not one to back down from a fight, Wiley distinguished himself during an unpublicized skirmish in Iran, near the Afghan border, where he was instrumental in destroying a large munitions depot that, at least according to the Iranians, didn’t exist. When word reached Colonel Pierson, he approached Wiley and asked him to join SGIT.
“Wiley, we’re going to need you on this mission. That means you’ll need a call sign. And as commander, it is my prerogative to give you that call sign.” Jim paused and thought for a moment. “Under the circumstances, I can think of no more appropriate nom de guerre than Coyote.”
A cheer arose from his fellow warriors. “Coyote!” they all said in unison. “Wiley Coyote!” they repeated. Sergeant Wiley grinned in response to his new name.
“Now to business. We will insert by helo about three clicks from the camp. Right about here.” Jim was pointing to a spot on a large, highly detailed topographic map.
“The training camp is located here, near the village of Puerto Nuevo along the Ecuadorian side of the San Miguel Rive
r. We will have an Ecuadorian guide to lead us through the jungle from the drop zone to the training camp. Tensions have been high between Ecuador and Colombia for some time, ever since Colombia decided to attack alleged FARC camps on Ecuadorian soil. Questions?”
Homer spoke first. “Estimated number of bad guys at the camp?”
“Intel puts the number at 30 to 50 trainees and maybe a dozen instructors.”
“Weaponry?” asked Magnum.
“We don’t have a solid read on that one. Probably light weapons—AKs, maybe some RPGs. We anticipate typical arms for terrorists and revolutionaries.”
“What’s our time frame, sir?” This question was from Ghost.
“We hit the camp in approximately 50 hours.”
Jim looked across the faces of his team. No one flinched or looked away. This was what they did, what they were trained for, and they were good at it.
“Okay. Let’s get to work. Coyote, I want a recommended list of armament. Bear in mind we are going in on foot through the jungle. The terrain will be relatively flat, not much for hills.
“Magnum, Homer—work out the logistics. I need a coordinated schedule, including when and where we pick up our local guide.
“Ghost and Bull, you two cover communications, rations, medical. And brief with Lacey—I want you prepared for whatever hard intel we might come across. Got it?”
In unison, “YES, SIR!”
“That’s it gentlemen. Go to work. We will regroup at 2200 hours and run through the plan from the top.”
They broke and went in different directions, and Jim returned to his desk. There was a lot of planning to do—countless details that had to be analyzed, set up, confirmed, and confirmed again. This insertion would be in a foreign country, albeit friendly, but still not U.S. soil. If things went wrong, it could go very bad in a hurry. Help would be slow to come—if it came at all.
There was a knock at the door. “Enter,” replied Jim. His elbows were resting on the edge of his desk, head down concentrating on some documents. The door opened, and Peter entered with a tray of sandwiches and coffee.
