The big CH-53 touched down next to the Guard unit’s old Bell Model 205 UH-1H chopper, used for mountain evacuations and local transport. The Big Iron shut down its two remaining GE power plants, throwing the surrounding area into silence. Only the wisp--wisp sound of the craft’s top rotor blades winding to a halt remained.
The side door opened, and the group of weary refugees from the long night’s struggle walked down the steps to the black asphalt of the helipad. They were followed in the rear by its pilot, Captain Saune.
As the two soldiers from the base drew nearer, Captain Saune recognized the sergeant and gave him a wave, moving ahead of the group to intercept him. The confused sergeant gave his commanding officer a salute as he reached him.
“Good morning, Captain,” he stated as Saune returned the salute. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
“I understand, Sergeant Ortega. We have an urgent matter to attend to, and I will need your help.”
“I’m afraid we do have a problem, Sir,” he replied nervously, pulling his side arm out of its holster and pointing it at Turner and Samuel as they came towards him. “Stop where you are! You are all to come with me, where you will be held until the police can arrive.”
“What are you talking about, Sergeant?” Saune asked, surprised by the actions of his old friend as the private also pulled his gun to cover the group.
“What’s this all about?” Turner asked as he walked closer, halting when he saw the gun leveled at his head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ortega said, “but we have orders from the administrator’s office to detain all of you for questioning by the police in regards to possible murders at the Bishamon Satellite Relay Station. This has come from Administrator Fuentes himself. The police report came out a half hour ago stating that an island-wide manhunt has been launched to apprehend Dr. Turner and his associates for the murder of scientists at the facility.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous, Sergeant,” Saune replied in frustration. “There’s no truth in that at all.”
“That’s just great,” Samuel said in disgust. “I’m really starting to get a complex. Everyone keeps pointing guns at us.”
“Listen to me, Sergeant. You’ve known me for fifteen years now, and, in all that time, haven’t I always been honest with you?” Saune asked, relaxing his posture and speaking in Spanish to his subordinate.
“Yes, sir, I have the utmost respect for you. That is why I do not enjoy doing this,” Ortega replied, lowering his weapon a bit.
“Can we speak in the office?” Saune asked. “The rest can remain here with your private. I promise, they will not cause you any trouble,” he said, shooting Samuel a stern look.
“Hey,” Samuel said, “I’m the sole of patience, Captain, but if that guy keeps pointing that pop gun at me I’m—”
“See what you can do, Captain Saune,” Turner interrupted, “but remember we don’t have much time left.”
“Shall we, Sergeant?” Saune asked, gesturing at the old red brick office.
“Wait here and watch them, Carmen,” Ortega said to his private as the two men walked towards the building and disappeared inside.
“Now what do we do?” Eli asked as they stood waiting on the tarmac.
“It looks as if our friends at Bishamon are using these trumped-up charges to keep us from alerting the authorities. There’s no doubt now that Administrator Fuentes is on Osama’s payroll, which presents a real problem, seeing he has a lot of power on Tenerife,” Maria said in frustration.
“Like I said, miss, Osama’s tentacles have far reaches on this island,” Yashiro said tersely. “He’ll stop at nothing to gain time now that the slide is just hours away, and this little tactic may give him the time he needs.”
“He has no control over me,” an agitated Alton Burr stated, clenching his fist. “I can go wherever and whenever I please.”
“You’re up to your eye balls in this little escapade now, Burr,” Eli said, really annoyed with the little man’s arrogance.
“He’s right, Mr. Burr,” Turner said. “They will not allow any witnesses to live at this point in the game, including you. You can take to the bank the fact that they have run the tags on the jeep you left at the quarry and found it to be a rental. It won’t take rocket science to get your name and locate where you're staying. Yes, you could leave, but you wouldn’t live to see the sunset,” he said as a dejected Burr just huffed and sat down on the warm asphalt.
“Can’t we just go to the police and explain the situation?” Maria asked, frustrated that they had come so far and been through so much, only to hit a dead end.
“That’s the last thing we should do,” Yashiro said. “Osama’s men would show up the moment they knew where we had been taken. They are sworn to serve and even die for him, so killing a few local police officers in order to eliminate us is a minor inconvenience to them.”
“We need outside help at this point. We must contact the U.S. government somehow,” Turner said as he watched Saune and Sergeant Ortega leaving the office and coming their way.
“Secure your weapon, Private Carmen,” Ortega ordered.
“But, Sergeant, we must report this to the Island Administrator.”
“We are not reporting anything, Private,” the sergeant barked to his subordinate, as the private hastily put his side-arm back into its holster.
“Looks like you were successful in explaining the situation, Captain,” Turner said, relieved for the moment.
“I’ve explained the context of what is happening and we're going to do whatever we can to help you,” Saune said with a gleam in his eye. “I can have an assault team armed and ready to go by 1600 hours. Can you be at this address by then?” he asked, handing Turner a slip of paper with an address written down on it. “We can’t remain here too long. I’m sure they'll probably have an idea where we have landed by now.”
“I had a feeling it was gonna come down to us,” Turner said, knowing they could all wind up dead before the day was out. “Samuel and I will meet you then, but first, I want to get Maria, Dad, and the others to a safe place. We’ll try to contact the U.S. government somehow, and then get back to you and your men.”
“I’m going with you,” Yashiro said boldly. “I’ve helped create this nightmare and I’m going to try to help dismantle it. You will need me to gain access to the complex, and I am the only one who can successfully manipulate the Interferometer frequencies. That is, if we get there in time.”
“He’s right about that, Josh,” Samuel said. “We may have to knock on the front door if all else fails.”
“Sergeant, go get the satellite phones in my office, along with my spare side arm and ammo belt,” Saune said as Ortega quickly hurried back to the facility. “We can keep in contact that way, Josh. You can also use it to make contact with your government and get the warning out,” Saune said, tossing a set of keys to Samuel. “Take my van; it’s parked alongside of the building. I’ll go with Ortega.”
“It’s 10:30 now. That should give us time to get to your father’s place at the university.” Turner said to Maria, looking at his watch as Samuel sprinted off to retrieve the vehicle.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Josh. By now you can be sure that the Tenerife authorities and Osama’s men are looking for you,” Saune said. Sergeant Ortega returned, carrying two Global Star satellite phones. He handed one to Turner, along with a military issue 45-automatic and fresh ammo belt.
“Don’t worry, Captain, we’ll see you in a few hours,” Turner responded as Samuel pulled up to the group in an old, white 1992 Ford F-150 van.
“The bus is leaving folks. All aboard,” Samuel yelled out the driver’s window. The weary entourage climbed in the side sliding door. Saune and Ortega waved, and then headed back to the building to retrieve their weapons from the arms locker.
The short ride to La Laguna and the University of San Fernando was uneventful, with each of the van’s occupants suspiciously eyeing the other vehicles on the hi
ghway as they wound through the busy streets. At one point, they all slouched down as a police cruiser passed by in the other direction with its sirens blaring loudly.
La Laguna, Tenerife’s original capitol, was now a busy university town, with old narrow checkerboard streets crisscrossing through the city. It offered a distinct charm with many historical homes dating back to the 1500s.
Professor Carlos Santiago’s home was situated just a short walk from the main campus. Built in 1906, the Casa Del Luga originally served as the university library until 1975 when it was then converted to living quarters for university faculty. The traditional Spanish-Colonial architecture was beautifully accented with lavishly designed entrance portals and rustic wooden balconies off the second floor, which offered a commanding view of the snowy heights of Mt. Teide.
Carlos Santiago nervously paced the floor of the home’s vast study, when he noticed the van coming up the tree-shrouded driveway. He had been worried sick about his daughter after learning that morning of the police manhunt for her and the archeology team. Hoping for some news of their well-being, he quickly ran outside to greet the vehicle as it came to a stop near the stone patio. To his relief, he saw Maria emerging from the back of the van, along with the Turners.
“Maria! Thank God you are alright,” he cried, as he ran to embrace his daughter.
“I’m fine, Father,” she replied as she returned his hug. The rest of the group filed up to them on the patio steps, with Alton Burr slowly exiting the van last.
“We need to get inside, Carlos,” Turner said, cautiously eyeing a car that passed by the driveway.
“Yes, by all means, come this way,” he said, motioning the group towards the beautiful two hundred year old hand-made oak doors. He led them inside to the copious study that served as a meeting room.
The study was a cornucopia of Spanish décor, with an abundance of island paintings by local artists and tastefully fitted with numerous hand-crafted high-backed chairs. Contiguous to the old stone fireplace were the last remnants of the library, consisting of a vast assortment of books dating back to the 1600s. All of this was accented by the beautiful hard wood floors that creaked as they strolled across the room.
“Please, sit,” Santiago said as his housekeeper, Julia, came into the study. I’ll have Julia prepare you some nourishment. You must be famished.” He then nodded to his housekeeper, who quickly headed off into the kitchen to prepare a meal.
“Thank you, Carlos,” Eli said as he sat wearily into the comfortable chair. “I’d almost forgotten how hungry I was. So much has happened in the last twelve hours,” he said, rubbing the back of his aching neck. “I take it you have heard the news reports?”
“Yes, Eli. The police arrived earlier this morning, about an hour ago, inquiring if I had heard from any of you. A short time later, I was visited by two men driving a black vehicle, who also wanted to know where you were. They were definitely not the local authorities, and I gathered from their dialogue with each other that they were Japanese,” he said.
“It's our new friends from Bishamon, near our excavation site, Carlos. It didn’t take them long to figure out where we could find shelter. I'm sure they're visiting the university as well,” Turner said.
“You can be assured they will check every place more than once,” Yashiro stated as he looked nervously out the window towards the street.
“What in blazes is going on?” Carlos asked, scratching his goatee as he sat heavily into his thick plush recliner.
“You don’t believe the reports, Father, do you?” Maria asked pulling the work boots off her aching feet.
“Of course not, my dear; it must be some sort of misunderstanding. But what kind of trouble have you gotten yourselves into?”
“Misunderstanding is an understatement, Carlos,” Turner replied. “We’ve stumbled upon an organized terrorist group that has been trying to kill us, due to the close proximity of the dig site.”
“Terrorists—here on Tenerife? We must contact the authorities at once,” Santiago said.
“For the moment, Professor, we can’t do that,” Turner replied. “We need time to figure out a way to stop them. It’s a long story, sir, and I’m afraid all we can ask of you is to trust us.”
Julia returned from the kitchen carrying a large tray. It was topped with a steaming pot of rancho canario, a meat stew with noodles and chickpeas, plus a pitcher of fresh papaya juice. They all savored their first sustenance in almost a day, ravenous from the long, weary night and morning.
Turner, with help from Yashiro and Eli, gave Carlos a brief overview of what transpired during their long night, and the challenges that lie ahead.
“Is this possible?” said Carlos Santiago, stunned at hearing the account of the Scalar weapon and the tsunami.
“Quite possible and imminent, sir,” Yashiro replied. “And we don’t have much time left, which is why we cannot afford to go to the authorities at this point.”
“And Pencor is involved in this plot as well? It doesn’t make sense. I am scheduled to meet with him at a luncheon on campus at noon. He is going to be honored for making a hefty donation to the antiquities department,” Santiago said in astonishment.
“He’s been behind the whole dirty business from the beginning,” Eli said angrily after finishing the last of his papaya. “Do you have any Ron Miel, Carlos? I could use a stiff drink.”
“You’ll find it in the liquor cabinet. Go through those doors and into the living room,” Santiago responded to his friend. Eli got up and began walking into the other room, followed by Yashiro and Burr.
“Here, Dad,” Turner said, tossing Eli the Global Star phone. “Try to contact your friends in Washington while you’re at it.” As the three left the room, Turner shot Samuel a knowing grin.
“Uh oh, here it comes. There’s the look that always scares the hell out of me,” Samuel said, knowing his friend had a plan in mind.
“I think it’s time we went on the offensive, Samuel,” Turner said.
“I was afraid of that,” Samuel quipped, knowing that he was also tired of being hunted like an animal.
“Professor, how is Pencor arriving at the University?” Josh asked, his mind still sharp even though he was weary from lack of sleep.
“He contacted my staff, saying that he would be coming by helicopter and landing at the helipad behind the antiquities building. He will then arrive at the main hall, driven by two of his own people. Why?” Carlos asked.
“We may have just found a way to get through that front door you spoke of earlier, Samuel,” Turner responded with a sly look. “Carlos, I want to ask that you please hide my father, Maria, and Mr. Burr here at your home until such time that it is safe. I don’t want to place them at any further risk.”
“By all means, Josh, you have my word. They will be safe here while I am attending the luncheon.”
“Samuel and I will be making an appearance as well, Professor,” Turner said, smiling as the plan formed in his mind. “I feel the need to rattle Mr. Pencor’s cage a little. Here’s what we’re going to do….”
19
U.S. Department of State, Washington D.C.
Abigail Conger sat at her desk finalizing the statistics report for James Robertson, Under Secretary of State for Arms Control and International Security. Her report highlighted the recent International Atomic Energy Agency’s discovery of the restart of North Korea’s uranium enrichment program in Yongbyon-Kun.
One more to add to the list of the numerous violations of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty by its new leader, Kim Jong-un, whose father’s actions have plagued the State Department over the last two decades.
As it had done so many times in the past, the United States sent a formal protest to the Security Council of the United Nations. Abby had personally come to regard the U.N. as an organization rife with corruption that exhibited a blatant bias against the United States. She knew it would be a useless gesture, as prior protests by the State Department were basica
lly ignored.
Abby recalled how three years ago, a North Korean merchant vessel bound for Syria was stopped at sea by a U.S. Navy Frigate. They discovered it to be transporting a cache of Taepodong-II long-range missiles, capable of a nuclear payload.
As assistant to Under Secretary Robertson at the time, she had been privy to the meeting of the National Security Council with newly elected President Clark. The North Koreans, of course, cried foul to the United Nations and gathered enough support from the General Assembly to garner a formal protest, charging blatant piracy on the high seas against the United States.
The political grand-standing by the President’s detractors on Capitol Hill, along with the bleating of the media, resulted in the ship being released and allowed to proceed unimpeded to its destination.
At the time, Abby protested vehemently to her superior, who just smiled at her and said, “Abby, you will learn in time that things such as these have a way of resolving themselves.”
She did not understand what he meant at the time, but it became all too clear to her when the North Korean merchant ship disappeared somewhere in the Indian Ocean. North Korea protested vehemently again, but without proof, nothing ever came of it. However, the crew of the Los Angeles Class hunter killer sub definitely enjoyed their practice that day.
“I’ll take common sense to political correctness any day,” she told herself at the time.
This morning, Abby was finishing her report for Under Secretary Robertson. She had come in early to assure its completion before his meeting with the National Security Council next week.
Abby always enjoyed the early mornings in the District, as she called downtown D.C. She looked out her third story office on C Street, which afforded her a spectacular view of the Lincoln Memorial and the Potomac River. Her mind wandering, she thought of how she loved her job at the State Department, which enabled her to meet many dignitaries over the last eight years, but left her little time for a relationship.
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