Even with a partial fracture to his spine, the huge, vindictive killer slowly rose up from the debris-strewn floor, his breath rasping in pain and defiance. He lunged toward Turner, unleashing a lethal kick aimed at his head. He scarcely managed to avoid the full force of the kick by rolling to his side at the last moment. However, the killer’s boot slammed into his shoulder, causing a blinding flash of pain that ran down his arm.
Turner painfully backed up; keeping his eyes on the man as the hulking figure approached him once again. Pointing his mangled finger, he said, “Once I’ve killed you, Turner, I intend to find that pretty lady that was with your group. She will die very slowly as well, but not until I’ve enjoyed her completely,” he hissed, spitting blood from his shattered lips.
The mere thought of this monster’s intent with Maria produced a rage in Turner that he’d never experienced before. He locked his eyes coldly on his assailant and, with a yell, rushed the killer. He smashed into the man with all the strength that remained. Turner's onslaught sent the two men crashing to the floor amidst the splintered remains of the mummy and debris from the examination table.
The giant Japanese man promptly wrapped his arms around Turner's mid-section, lifted him up off the floor and began to squeeze with a vise-like grip. Feeling the breath forced out of his lungs, Turner looked wildly around for anything that would cease this painful torment. Nearing the point of blacking out, he saw the stone axe head lying on the floor near them. He raised his left leg and kicked the side of the killer's right knee, sending the two crashing to the floor. The killer continued his death grip as Turner struggled to grasp the stone axe.
Darkness was beginning to fill his world as he finally felt his fingers touch the cool stone axe. With his last conscious effort, he picked it up brought it squarely down onto the Yakuza’s nose. It shattered the cartilage into oblivion and sprayed blood everywhere. The huge man howled in pain and released his grip on Turner, just long enough for him to pull back and fall free of his tormentor. Rising up and gasping for breath, Turner backed away from the monstrous form lying before him. Turner made his way to the artifact table as the bloody, murderous demon rose up once more. He picked up a sharpened metal leg from the shattered remains of the table. Now exhausted and in excruciating pain, Turner saw the bloody remains of a toothless grin leering at him as the killer again came towards him, the pointed table leg raised over his head.
Turner's sense of compassion and civility was instantly replaced by a pure, unadulterated hatred for this monster of a human being. The Japanese man yelled and rushed at him with his makeshift spear poised to strike. Turner quickly grabbed the ancient spear from the table next to him and thrust it forward. As the huge freight train bore down on him, Turner sent the still-pointed spear head plunging deep into the Yakuza mercenary’s chest. The bloody hulk dropped the table leg and leered sickeningly at Turner as a gush of blood seeped from his mouth. Then, with a long rasping sound, he fell to the floor dead.
Shaken and in pain, but thankfully still alive, Turner stood frozen, looking at the gruesome scene before him. All the horrific events of the previous day converged like a raging flood in his mind as he sunk to his knees and wept. With the events of the last day pouring out in despair, he knelt there in the blood and debris for what seemed to him an eternity. Eventually there was nothing left but a powerful resurgence of fortitude and determination to save his father and friends from these monstrous people hell-bent on death and destruction to all who got in their way.
Turner stood up as if reborn. Tired, but with a renewed conviction to see this through to its end, he put his shoes back on and headed for the door. Pausing for a brief moment, he glanced coldly over his shoulder and spoke to the dead mercenary. “You and your friends can all go to hell, and I’m going to help you get there,” he stated coldly as he slammed the door behind him and went back down the stairs to the entrance.
Once Turner was outside the building, he took a painful, breath of fresh air and felt the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun on his face. I’m damn lucky to be alive, he thought as he picked up the Global Star phone he had hidden in the bushes in front of the building and put it in his back pocket.
He made his way around the right side of the old building to a cluster of large palm trees at the rear, where he stopped behind the largest tree. He saw Samuel, hidden from view behind one of the trucks, and, Yashiro talking animatedly to the helicopter pilot, who was seated inside the Raven. He was powering up the engine of the aircraft in preparation for takeoff.
Samuel made it, he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. This just might work after all. He made his way out of the cover of the palm tree and stealthily made it over to the commandeered Mercedes.
Within a few minutes after Turner’s arrival at the landing pad, the car transporting Pencor pulled around the side of the antiquities building to the sight of the now vacant helicopter pad.
“Stop the car!” Pencor yelled to the driver as he threw open the door to the vehicle, which came to a sudden stop. Leaping out, he ran towards the helipad, furious at this new development. Looking skyward, he saw his private Raven-44 helicopter heading south in the direction of the desolate slopes of Mount Teide. He then looked around to see his Mercedes sitting at the far end of the lot next to a supply truck, empty and with its passenger door left open.
“They’ve taken my helicopter,” he hissed in fury as he turned to see his driver speeding out of the parking area and leaving him alone. “No matter,” he said, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and calling Osama at the Bishamon complex.
“Yes, what is it?” Osama’s voice said on the other end of the line.
“It’s Pencor. I’m still at the university,” he said abruptly. “It seems that once again, the ineptitude of your associates has failed to apprehend Turner and his friends. He still—”
“Robert, what are you talking about?” Osama interrupted, agitated by his continued lack of respect.
“Young Turner and his companion have stolen my helicopter, you fool. They must have forced my pilot at gunpoint and are now heading over the western slopes of Teide,” Pencor roared, his blood pressure rising.
“Are you sure they are over Teide?” Osama asked.
“Yes I’m sure. I can see it now from where I stand. They must have somehow managed to subdue your people since my car is here abandoned,” he replied impatiently.
“Do not worry, Robert, I have matters well in hand,” Osama said casually, smiling as he toyed with the detonator button in his hand. “You must return as soon as possible if you wish to see the execution of the final Electromagnetic Pulse Wave. I was assured it would be safely implemented at around six o’clock.”
“Another thing,” Pencor said irritably, ignoring Osama’s calm demeanor. “The younger Turner confronted me at the luncheon and threatened to stop us somehow. I fear he may have been able to contact the United States government. If that is true, we must move ahead quickly and get rid of all evidence that could tie us to the tsunami.”
“Nothing will be found, Robert. Since you left earlier we have been transporting all non-essential equipment and documents by truck to our warehouse at the airport. After the landslide has caused its destruction, I will have the equipment dismantled and sent back to Japan. They will be far too busy tending to the catastrophe to focus on us for long,” Osama said confidently.
Looking at his watch, he noted that it was now approaching three o’clock in the afternoon. Slightly reassured by what Osama just told him, he started walking back to his Mercedes.
“Just take care of Turner,” he snapped, hanging up on Osama.
“A shame,” Osama said, hanging up the phone and circling his thumb over the red button on the radio detonator. “I was hoping to be able to use this as a surprise for you, my dear Robert.”
He pushed the button and held it for five seconds. “This should take care of the troublesome Mr. Turner and his comrade.”
Osama reached again for the phon
e and dialed his operative on the Moroccan coast. He motioned to a man in overalls to take a file cabinet that was located on the far wall and load it on the transport truck.
“Tanaki, here,” the voice on the line rang out.
“This is Osama. It’s time for your men to commandeer the two container ships. Do you anticipate any problems?” he asked.
“No, sir, we expect very little. Our men are standing by as we speak. We can be at sea within the hour,” he replied with conviction.
“Good,” Osama said, beaming. “I want those ships in deep water by eighteen-hundred hours. Do you understand? We predict that the tsunami will have a slight effect on the coast of Africa, so you must be in deep water to avoid any complications.”
“Understood, Oyabun. We will arrive in Kobe in two weeks.”
“Very good, Tanaki. Do not fail me,” Osama said as he disconnected the call. “Things are coming together very nicely.” He smiled and threw the detonator switch into the trashcan next to his desk.
As Pencor reached his Mercedes, he was startled by the sound of a muffled roar in the distance. He turned to see the flaming remains of what was once his helicopter, falling to the desolate slopes of Teide. Staring in morbid fascination, he was relieved that Turner and his associate were now dead, but was troubled as to how Osama managed it so quickly. It must have been a hand-held rocket launcher, he thought as he shut the passenger door of his sedan and walked around to the driver’s seat.
Noting the last of the flaming wreckage as it disappeared onto the rugged slopes, he smiled to himself saying, “You weren’t that clever after all were you, Turner?”
22
The White House, Washington D.C. 9:30AM
“Damn it, James, we don’t have any intelligence to go on. How in hell do you expect me to order the evacuation of the entire eastern seaboard without any proof of a threat? The loss of life alone from the mass panic would be catastrophic,” Stephen Boyle, Director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, decried while slamming his fist down on the desk in the Oval Office. “If this turns out to be a false alarm, we’ll be the laughing stock of the country. Hell, we still have a black eye from the hurricane Katrina and B.P oil spill debacles.”
“But, what if it’s valid, Steve, and we don’t act?” Under Secretary of State James Robertson countered. “We’d be partially responsible for the deaths of millions of American citizens because we failed to issue a warning in time. How could we live with that?”
“Even if this so called tsunami were to occur, how can we be sure that the wave would be so destructive?” Tim Byrd, Director of Homeland Security, asked from his seat opposite the President. The President listened silently, but intently, to the ongoing debate with his advisers.
“We are awaiting a response from Jack Pollack, geophysics scientist at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute,” replied Robert Laird, the President’s scientific adviser. “I gave him the scenario and asked for an evaluation of all the facts we have available.”
“How in the hell did this get under the radar scope of advanced intel?” Robertson asked in frustration.
“We can’t be everywhere, Jim,” Tim Byrd responded defensively. “Most of our resources are tied up monitoring the intentions of Al-Qaeda; add to that the resources needed in Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Libya and Syria. Oh, did I fail to mention North Korea? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that we are—”
“Gentlemen, calm down. This will get us nowhere. I want to stick to the specific threat, and forgo the finger pointing,” President Clark said in a calm demeanor, folding his hands as he leaned forward in his high-backed leather chair.
Alan Clark was in his first term as President. He’d won easily as a third party candidate, handily defeating both his republican and democratic opposition. The nation had grown weary of the ongoing, constant grandstanding, division, and unfulfilled promises of both parties. Clark, a man of vision and fortitude, saw the opportunity and struck.
Tactfully using the bully pulpit, he made both parties in the Senate and House accountable for what they did, or did not, accomplish. The public responded positively with a consistent sixty-nine percent approval rating. Unfortunately, he became very much a political target for the extreme left and right wing groups, who were being successfully shut out of power and voice with the American people.
“Before we act, we must have all the information available to us first. Is that clear, gentlemen?” Clark stated, as the men gathered around him nodded in agreement. “We must establish that we—”
The buzzer on the phone interrupted him mid-sentence, and he quickly pushed the speaker button.
“Mr. President, Dr. Jack Pollack from Woods Hole is on line three.”
“Thank you, Maggie,” he said as he punched the line button. “Hello, Dr. Pollack, are you there?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“I have you on conference so my staff can hear. Can you shed some light on the scenario Bob Laird put before you earlier?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I can. We have studied this hypothesis here in the geophysics center at Woods Hole since we learned of the supposition made in the late 90s. There are two basic trains of thought on this matter. The first, made by many geophysicists, is that if the Cumbre Vieja were to erupt on La Palma, the force of the eruption would most likely cause the crater to collapse into itself as opposed to its flank sliding into the sea. The infrastructure of La Palma would be affected adversely, but no landslide would mean no tsunami and very little loss of life,” he said as Clark looked at the advisers gathered about him.
“And the second train of thought?” Clark asked the Woods Hole scientist.
“The second train of thought, and, the one I subscribe to, is that the immense volume of heat generated by an eruption would super-heat the trapped water in the higher elevations of the Cumbre Vieja. It is similar to a dike of solid rock holding millions of liters of water underneath the flank of the volcano. This expansion could result in the outer rock surface losing its cohesion. The only place it would have to go is down to the sea,” he said, pausing for a second to see if there were any questions. Hearing none, he continued. “The Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, using state of the art laboratory equipment, did a model showing the landslide’s impact on the ocean. They found that it would be thousands times larger than any slide ever studied in the past.”
“Dr. Pollack, Robert Laird here,” the President’s scientific adviser interrupted. “What would be your personal opinion of this landslide on La Palma if it was ever to occur, and how would it affect the U.S. mainland?”
“My personal opinion,” he said, pausing for a few reflective seconds then continuing, “is if it occurred per the models, the initial wave height leaving the island would exceed one thousand feet in height.” Clark noted the look of astonishment on his advisers’ faces as Pollack continued. “As it reached the deeper oceanic waters of the Atlantic, the wave would be imperceptible on the ocean’s surface. This huge volume of moving water, traveling at hundreds of miles per hour, would possibly be hundreds of kilometers in length from front to back. Once the wave hit the shallows off the coast, the front of the wave would begin to slow down, but the rear would continue at its rate of speed, causing the wave to rear up in height,” he continued saying as the men in the Oval Office looked at one another somberly. “The frightening aspect of this wave would not only be the possible height of one to three hundred feet. This monster, instead of just breaking on the shore line, would travel with its powerful momentum far inland, up to fifteen miles or more, devastating everything in its path.”
“You’re saying the Swiss scientists couldn’t be sure of their size accuracy?” Tim Byrd of Homeland Security asked, breaking the stunned silence in the room. “So how can we be sure a wave of this height is possible?”
“We have scientific evidence of a prior collapse in the Canary Islands around one hundred twenty thousand years ago.” Pollack countered. “Some scientists belie
ve that evidence can be seen today in the Bahamas. Many of the islands were reshaped in the form of chevrons from the immense force of that wave. There are also many huge boulders that were lifted up off the ocean floor, some weighing over a thousand tons, which were deposited well above sea level. To put this into perspective, Mr. President, imagine the March 2011 tsunami catastrophe in Japan, but six to eight times bigger in size.”
“My God,” Robertson said in a whisper as silence fell upon the Oval Office at hearing the horrific depiction put before them.
“Thank you, Dr. Pollack,” the President said flatly. “You’ve been very informative and I appreciate your efforts.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. President. May I ask you something? I am not aware of reports of activity on the Cumbre Vieja. Is there a problem?”
“No, Dr. Pollack. We’re just planning ahead in case this scenario ever plays out,” Clark lied, disliking the fact that he could not be honest with the man, but wanting to keep this situation under wraps for the moment.
“That’s good to hear,” the scientist chuckled nervously. “My wife and kids are down in Long Island staying at my sister’s beach house.”
“Thank you again, Dr. Pollack. Good bye,” the President said, disconnecting the line and hitting the page button.
“Maggie, get me Admiral Borland.”
“Right away, sir,” she said.
“I think it’s high time that we had a chat with this Turner fellow,” Clark said, rapping his fingers on the desk. “We need to obtain all the information we can.”
“I agree, sir,” the Homeland Security head affirmed. “Right now, he’s our only source of intelligence in this situation. However, in the last hour or so, we haven’t been able to contact him on the number he provided.”
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