The words caused Pencor’s armor to crack in surprise, and he now experienced something he had not felt in years: fear.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Pencor hissed to the man seated opposite him.
“The name is Turner, Mr. Pencor, Josh Turner,” he replied. “Did you really think that we would just disappear? No, Pencor, I just wanted to tell you that your little party is going to come to an abrupt end,” Turner paused for effect. “The United States government has been warned of your twisted scheme to trigger the tsunami. As we speak, measures are being taken to put you out of business,” Turner stated, hoping the man would take the bait.
“You’re bluffing, Turner,” Pencor said, now smiling and finding his composure again. “Even in the off chance that they do know, they’ll never be able to stop us in time. Believe me, Turner, it is only a matter of time before you and your friends are caught. Your fortune thus far has been a minor nuisance, but nothing more. I am impressed that you and your little band know far more than I presumed, but it doesn’t matter, because you and your associates will be dealt with soon enough. Nothing will stop my retribution against the United States for its lack of foresight,” he said confidently.
“What you’re doing is wrong. What will be accomplished by killing so many innocent people?” Turner asked, stunned by the man’s lack of humanity.
“Be it a hundred people or a million, Mr. Turner, it’s of no consequence to me. They will pay for the irreparable damage they wrought on my industrial empire with their contrived witch hunt. Their fates were sealed at that moment as far as I’m concerned, and you coming here, Turner, has sealed yours as well,” he said with a malevolent grin.
“Are you that sure of yourself?” Turner said coldly, staring the man in the eyes and playing the game to its utmost. “I just wanted to let you know who is going to bring you down.” He could see the rage building in Pencor’s eyes as a waiter came up beside Pencor to serve him more coffee.
“Your being here only makes it easier for me, Turner,” he hissed as he began to reach into his jacket for his revolver. “I’ll just say that I was defending myself from a madman.”
“Don’t even think about it, amigo,” the waiter said quietly to Pencor, sliding the coffee backward to expose the barrel of the 45-automatic leveled at his head. “Though putting a piece of scum like you out of your misery would make my day,” Samuel whispered in dead seriousness as he moved behind him slowly.
Pencor froze, not knowing what to do next, and then slowly lay his hands on the table in front of him. The big-haired woman walked around the end of the table, giving Turner his opportunity to act.
He jumped up and put himself in front of the woman and Samuel followed his lead. The two quickly melted into the throng of guests, making their way outside the main hall and disappearing into the University Hall garden outside.
“I think you rattled his cage quite nicely, Josh,” Samuel said as the two men sprinted to the side of the twenty foot statue of a Guanche Chieftain. They stopped and turned to see an enraged Pencor running out of the hall and looking about the garden for his antagonists. Turner saw that he was on a cell phone; no doubt to the Yakuza escorts who had driven him to the luncheon from the helicopter pad on campus.
“Yes, you fool!” Pencor yelled into the phone. “They were just here. Find them, or else,” he hissed, shoving the phone back into his coat as the black four-door Mercedes pulled into the parking area in front of the University Hall garden.
The vehicle slowed to a stop when its driver spotted Turner and Samuel beside the Guanche statue. A bulking figure stepped out of the passenger side, smiling a toothless grin at the two as he started walking slowly towards their precarious position.
“We have to go it alone from here, Samuel,” Turner said to his friend. “You know what you have to do, right?”
“Yeah, Josh I do, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up and leaving you unarmed.”
“It’s the only way we have a chance at this, Samuel. We must split them up and then meet at the helicopter if all goes well.”
“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t?” Samuel asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” Turner said, knowing his Quechuan friend would risk his very life for him. “You just be careful and meet me at the chopper as soon as you can. Carlos said he would buy us at least a half hour. I want you to meet up with Captain Saune if I’m not there when the time comes, okay?”
“Hell, you’ll be there Josh; you’re like a bad penny,” Samuel said, smiling as he took off in a sprint for Laguna Street just outside of the campus square.
The huge Japanese man coming at them saw Samuel take off. He signaled the driver to follow with a wave of his hand, and then set his sights once again on Turner. Seeing his friend was clear and their plan might work, Turner ran in the direction of the many classrooms and lab buildings in the rear of University Hall. He had the fortune of being more agile than his pursuer, but without a weapon it would be a short reprieve in a deadly contest.
The bulking Yakuza mercenary ran at a slower pace, keeping his 9mm Glock out of the public’s view. He reached the rear of the garden just as the throngs of guests were dispersing into the parking lot. He wanted a clear shot at Turner without drawing attention, so he took his time. Osama had told them that he wanted them either dead or alive, but to him, dead would be much more amusing.
Back at the campus hall entrance, Pencor had been side-tracked right on cue by Carlos Santiago, buying Turner and Samuel precious minutes.
“Here, my dear friend,” Carlos bellowed, offering Pencor a glass of Malvasia. “A toast to our illustrious benefactor,” he offered, raising his glass in salute.
“Yes…uh…yes,” a distracted Pencor responded. As he took a sip, he scanned the perimeter of the garden in time to see the big Japanese guard disappear behind the building. Finishing off the glass, he handed it back to Santiago saying, “Professor, my apologies, but I must be getting back to the airport right away. An important matter has come up that requires my direct attention. Do you have transportation readily available since my driver has been detained?”
“Of course, Mr. Pencor. I understand completely,” Carlos boomed in his normally loud voice. “I’ll have Peter take you to the helicopter pad. With all this traffic from the festival, it may take a little longer, but Peter knows La Laguna quite well and can negotiate these streets very easily,” he said as he waved his arms to a small mustached man sitting on the bench along the street.
“Very well, Professor. It will have to suffice,” Pencor responded as he saw his black Mercedes disappear around the square pursuing Samuel.
Following Santiago to his transportation, he contemplated calling Osama and castigating him once more for his ineptitude, but decided it would be better served in person when he returned to the weapon complex. Could it be possible that the United States government is aware of our plans? He considered this as he climbed into the car and Carlos gave the driver instructions. We must move our plans ahead, and quickly. He sat back in the seat as the driver hopped in and started the vehicle.
They headed out the drive into the busy street where they were immediately overwhelmed by the heavy traffic bound for Santa Cruz. Pencor nervously tapped his fingers on the console as the traffic moved along at a snail’s pace.
This is not good, he thought. Not good at all.
While Pencor found himself caught in traffic, Samuel was running down a narrow busy street past the shops and cafes well known to the university town. He glanced back from time to time to make sure that the black Mercedes was still in pursuit.
After years of hiking the high Andes in Peru, a light run in such a low altitude did not even cause him to work up a sweat. He passed many shops that were closing early for the festival and people going about their daily routines, until he finally reached his goal; the Teme Internet Cafe.
Built in 2002, the brightly decorated cafe was full of students and a smattering of tourists, all using the compu
ters for emails and chat. Samuel stopped running for a few moments so that his pursuer could see him, then headed inside of the establishment. Seeing Yashiro sitting at a table, he walked over and sat down across from him.
“Are you sure you know what to do, amigo-san?” Samuel asked the Japanese scientist.
“I’m ready, Samuel,” Yashiro answered as Samuel slid the 45-automatic across the table. It was still wrapped in a linen towel from the dining hall.
“I want to be sure that no innocent bystanders get hurt from our actions, Yashiro, so make it a good performance,” Samuel said as the two stood up and started walking towards the door to the street outside. “I just hope that they don’t recognize you.”
“I’m positive they won’t,” Yashiro said, following Samuel out the door with his hand on the gun still hidden in the towel. “These are Osama’s goons that do his dirty work on the island. They seldom get to the weapon facility.”
“I hope, for our sake, you’re right. Okay, Yashiro,” Samuel said as the black Mercedes came up to them. “The camera’s rolling. You’re on.”
Less than a mile away, at the University, Turner made his way to the antiquities building, one of the original structures of the university still in use today. He entered the large front doors and went inside its main lobby, noting the familiar Spanish decor of high ceilings designed in eloquent mosaic patterns. On the walls, he saw many ancient Guanche artifacts that had been restored to their original beauty and design. He found his way to the old wooden staircase in the center of the lobby and sprinted up to the second floor containing classrooms and laboratories.
Turner was well aware that his pursuer was not far behind, and that he had to formulate a defense quickly. As Turner reached the end of a long hallway, he opened the door to the artifacts preservation lab. He then heard the loud creaking sound of the main door being opened downstairs in the lobby, surprised that the hulking Japanese assailant had gotten there so soon.
The preservation lab was a long rectangular room that, in the dim light, looked like a bizarre mortuary with two rows of metal tables running side by side all the way to the end. Normally a bustling lab with students and archaeologists going over ancient finds, Turner was now alone amidst ancient Guanche mummies that were discovered by his father at the tomb near Guimar. Rows of long, metal rolling tables held many of the ancient remains that were covered with white sheets. This gave the lab the eerie appearance of a mortuary. Turner quietly made his way to the window at the back of the room.
He quickly glanced outside the window and saw Pencor’s Raven-44 helicopter sitting on the helipad, with its pilot standing nearby smoking a cigarette. Two large trucks were parked adjacent to the pad, used to transport equipment to and from the dig sites on the island.
Turner knew he only had a few precious moments before the Yakuza mercenary checked each room and ultimately discovered him, so he looked about in an effort to find anything that he could use as a weapon to defend himself. He walked over to a large table at the center of the room where he saw artifacts spread out on its top. He found old leather leggings, a few stone axe heads, and a well-preserved spear still attached to its long shaft.
An axe head against a gun is not much of an even match, he thought, his mind racing feverishly for any advantage. He quickly moved up the center isle where the faces of two thousand year old Guanche mummies seemed to taunt him with their frozen death masks.
Moving in the room’s dim light, he bumped against one of the preparation tables containing etching fluid, used to clean the stone artifacts. He sent it crashing to the floor, and the sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the silent building.
The huge Japanese assailant was coming out of one of the rooms upstairs when he heard the sound. He smiled to himself as he made his way down the hall to the door of the preservation lab. Pausing at the door, he said, “I know that you are in here, Turner. You have no means of escape. By playing this little game, you are making it more difficult for yourself. Come out now, and I promise to make your death a swift one.” After a moment, and, with no response from within, he grinned with satisfaction and slowly turned the doorknob. He pushed the old wooden door open with his pistol. “You should have taken that option, Mr. Turner,” he hissed as he entered the room, senses attuned to any movement within. “I have acquired many techniques for bringing about a slow and painful death, as you will soon discover.”
The giant of a man walked slowly and deliberately down the dark isle between the rows of tables containing the mummies. He noted that one table held an object larger than its neighbors, covered by a white sheet; he silently walked up to it. He leveled the gun at the object and with one swift motion, pulled the sheet off. The absence of the sheet revealed a Guanche wrapped in a thick ancient blanket; its long, dead, hollow eyes staring back at the mercenary. He grinned, threw the sheet back over it, and then continued his search down the dimly-lit isle. Moving stealth-like to the rear of the room, he smiled as he saw another table covered with a sheet. This time, the bottom of a rubber heel was protruding from the end.
“Welcome to the world of pain, Mr. Turner,” the huge man said, sneering as he slowly approached the table.
Back on Laguna Street, the black Mercedes came to a halt in front of the internet cafe. Its darkened, tinted window on the driver’s side rolled down to reveal the driver pointing a gun at Samuel. Yashiro quickly went into action, speaking in Japanese to the driver.
“No,” Yashiro said forcefully. “Osama wants anyone captured to be delivered alive to the facility. He plans to use them as a hostage to lure his other friends out into the open.” The driver, caught off guard, lowered the weapon and asked, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m just one of our Oyabun’s many operatives. You must know that he doesn’t make it a habit of identifying all his people,” Yashiro responded abruptly, hoping the ploy would work. “We must get him to the helicopter on campus where we can transport him. I’m sure Osama will greatly reward your diligence.”
Falling for the ruse, the driver put the gun down and said, “Very well. Put him in the back seat, but keep him covered.”
“You,” Yashiro barked, nudging Samuel with the 45 still wrapped in the towel. “Get into the back—move!”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t shoot,” Samuel replied, feigning trepidation as he opened the rear door and slid across the seat to the opposite side. Yashiro slid in next to him.
The sedan pulled onto the busy street, slowly making its way back to the university campus. Yashiro discretely slid the gun across the seat to Samuel, who shot Yashiro a sly wink of approval for his command performance.
“Do you have anything to bind him with?” Yashiro asked the driver as the car left Laguna Street and headed up one of the many side streets in town.
“There are plastic tie wraps and duct tape in the trunk that we can use,” he replied. Just then, Samuel sprang into action, raising the gun and pointing it directly at the back of the driver’s head.
“Thanks for the lift, amigo, but you can pull into that next alley on your right,” Samuel said with a smile as the driver’s eyes went wide with shock. Doing as he was told, he made the turn and slowly went up the deserted alley.
“Stop here,” Samuel ordered as the driver complied and came to a halt. “Now, very slowly, hand me your weapon grip first. No funny stuff.”
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Yashiro asked hesitantly as the driver handed Samuel the pistol.
“Unlike this guy and all of his friends, I’m not a cold-blooded murderer. I’ll only kill him if he gives me a good reason” Samuel replied to Yashiro’s relief.
“What are we going to do with him?” Yashiro asked as he opened the door.
“You heard the man. There are tie wraps and duct tape in the trunk. We’ll just truss him up like a Christmas turkey and let him marinate in the trunk,” Samuel responded, motioning the driver to get out of the vehicle.
Minutes later, the d
river safely secured in the trunk, his hands and feet bound and his mouth duct-taped. Yashiro put on the driver’s jacket, then the two backed the car out of the alley and continued to make their way to the helicopter behind the antiquities building.
“I sure hope Josh is alright. That other guy looked pretty nasty,” Samuel said in a concerned tone, not knowing that at that very moment Josh Turner was in a struggle for his life.
At the preservation lab, Turner could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He remained motionless, breathing ever so shallowly as he heard the footsteps come ever closer. He tried to put the ominous threats made by his pursuer out of his mind, and focus on the fight that lay ahead of him. He knew this was to be a struggle with only one victor. Once engaged, there could be no holding back. Adrenaline now coursed through his body as the shadow of the huge killer passed by his fragile table shelter.
The toothless Japanese mercenary grinned as he slowly brought his 9mm Glock to bear on the head of the figure under the sheet. In one swift motion, he yanked the sheet off only to reveal another lifeless mummy; its dead eyes still looking upward as the two shoes at the end of the table fell away to the floor.
That was Turner’s cue. He jumped from the table behind the assailant and hit the man square in the back with the ancient four pound stone axe head. Taken by surprise, the huge man fell onto the table in front of him. He and the ancient corpse crashed to the floor, smashing the table to fragments. The big man gasped at the wind being knocked out of him, but still held the gun firmly in his hand. Turner then leaped onto the mercenary’s back and jammed his knee into the man’s spine, causing the Yakuza mercenary to groan in agony. In that same moment, Turner brought the weight of the stone axe down onto the 9mm gun, crushing the man’s trigger finger and snapping the slide bolt mechanism off, rendering the weapon useless.
Furious and wincing in pain, the hulking Japanese managed to swing his body around and smash his huge forearm into Turner’s head. The horrendous blow sent Turner reeling against the table behind him, causing him to see stars and drop his only weapon to the floor.
Zero Point Page 19
