“Admiral,” the President said, slightly annoyed, “in layman’s terms please. What is an LPD?”
“My apologies, Mr. President, the LPD is an amphibious assault ship used to transport and land Marines, their equipment, and supplies in combat or rescue assignments. It is supported by its own helicopters or vertical take-off and landing aircraft, if so assigned. They can carry up to nine hundred Marines for specialized missions. The Austin class is being mothballed since they were built in the late sixties.”
“Admiral Borland, that will suffice quite nicely,” Clark said, his hopes elevated, but only a little. “I want you to divert the…what is the name of the ship?”
“The Hazleton, Mr. President.”
“Yes, the Hazleton. I want you to transmit orders to divert it to the Canaries at all possible speed. Even if we find we don’t need the military assets, I have the feeling that La Palma is going to need some evacuation and humanitarian assistance,” Clark said. “At best, it will provide us with a valid reason for our presence in the vicinity.”
“Very good, Mr. President, I’ll have the CNO issue the orders right away,” the admiral replied without emotion. “What message would you like to relay to its captain?”
“Once the vessel is en route, I’ll contact the captain personally. This is going to be a tough one to explain, so once you’ve had him alter course, have the personnel at COMLANTFLT put me through to him.”
“I’m on it, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Clark said, hanging up the phone and turning to Under Secretary of State Robertson.
“Have you been able to reach Turner yet?”
“No, sir, I keep getting a no-service intercept signal. Either it’s off or disabled somehow.”
“Damn! Without specific data, we are shooting at ducks with a peashooter. I know we can obtain the general information on the location of this Bishamon facility on Tenerife, but we cannot afford to take out an innocent facility or observatory, which are in the general vicinity of the target zone. We need a spotter on-site, and Turner’s phone has GPS tracking capabilities. Keep trying to reach him, Jim,” he said, looking at FEMA Director Stephen Boyle.
“What about the tsunami threat, Mr. President? “Boyle asked. “Do we issue an alert?”
“Steve,” Clark said, pausing for a moment as he took a deep, thoughtful breath. “I want you to issue an alert to the media and to the Emergency Alert System affiliates on the east coast only. Have them explain that an evacuation warning will be in place as of noon today, Eastern Time, for the entire eastern coastline of the United States. At that time I’ll be issuing a statement to the press,” he said, knowing that there was no turning back; he had committed himself totally.
“I hope to God we’re right about this, Mr. President,” Boyle said tersely.
“Mr. Boyle,” the President said, looking up from his folded hands. “I hope to God that we’re wrong.”
“Any follow-up from the U.S. Geological Survey yet, Bob?” Tim Byrd from Homeland Security asked Presidential scientific adviser Robert Laird.
“Yes, they’re getting reports from La Palma of increased seismic activity and growing volcanic gas emissions along the Cumbre Vieja ridge,” Laird replied, looking at his most recent report. “The island has issued an evacuation order for the towns in the vicinity of the active region. They have—”
“Mr. President,” James Robertson interrupted, “Turner’s phone—it’s finally ringing.”
25
The black Mercedes with the Bishamon symbol emblazoned on its side sat in the deserted parking lot behind the university’s antiquities building. A jubilant Robert Pencor was sitting behind the wheel.
Relishing in the death of the younger Turner and his associate, Pencor watched, with morbid fascination, the now smoldering remnants of the Raven-44 helicopter high on the barren slopes of Mt. Teide.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride, Turner,” he mused as the last of the wreckage’s smoke disappeared into the clouds that shrouded the long extinct volcano. The elder Turner and the woman will be found eventually and silenced as well, he thought confidently as he checked the ignition for the keys and saw they were not there. He leaned forward to feel under the seat for the keys, becoming irritated at this new annoyance. Suddenly, he was startled by a clinking sound coming from beside him.
“Looking for these, amigo?” an all too familiar voice asked in a mocking tone. Pencor turned his head sharply to the left to see a smiling Samuel Caberra dangling the car keys in one hand and pointing a 45-automatic at him with the other. “Slowly hand me your weapon,” Samuel ordered in a deadly serious tone. “Very slowly,” he repeated as the passenger side of the Mercedes opened to reveal Turner, who climbed in and smiled at Pencor.
“No, it can’t be!” Pencor raged. “You weren’t on the helicopter?”
“Sorry to inconvenience you, Pencor, but there was a last minute change of plans. From the looks of things, it was a damn good idea,” Turner said to the man, whose face was now turning the color of crimson, much to Turner’s pleasure. “Our friend here is definitely a candidate for anger management, Samuel, wouldn’t you say?” Turner said, as Yashiro walked up behind Samuel holding the pistol that was taken from the former driver of the Mercedes.
“Out of the car, Pencor,” Samuel said, motioning the barrel of the gun at him.
“What do we do with him?” Yashiro asked, nervously holding the gun.
“I think the turkey we placed in the trunk earlier needs some stuffing, eh, amigo-san?” Samuel said, tossing Yashiro a good-humored wink as Yashiro smiled back.
“It'll be my pleasure, Samuel. Toss me the keys.”
“Okay,” Turner said quizzically. “I give up. What are you talking about?”
“Never mind, Josh, it’s an inside joke,” his friend answered as the two proceeded to escort Pencor to the rear of the car.
Minutes later, Robert Pencor was neatly gagged and tied up in the trunk. Not requiring the Yakuza driver any longer, he was dragged off and tossed into the nearby dumpster.
The three men then made their way through the busy streets to the outskirts of La Laguna, and the location that Captain Saune had provided them earlier. As they drove, they talked about what they needed to do to ensure that Osama would be stopped.
“Not to change the subject, Josh, but it is a good thing we didn’t take that helicopter, or we would have all wound up as seagull food,” Samuel said, looking at his friend as they turned onto Granada Street.
“I figured it would be easier to gain access to the compound using one of their vehicles; just one big happy Bishamon family,” Turner replied. “The way I see it, Osama thinks we’re dead, so he won’t be expecting us to show up at his front door. We now have Pencor’s access card, and I have a feeling Pencor himself will help us get past Osama’s bullies at the main gate.”
“Speaking of bullies,” Samuel said, regarding the ugly bruise growing on Turner’s face and a slightly swollen and split lip. “You look like hell. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you out, amigo. That brute must have given you a bad time of it.”
“Yeah, but you should see him. He definitely won’t be doing the fox trot for a long while,” Turner answered, rubbing his still tender jaw. “We need to end this, Samuel; we need to end this soon.”
They continued to drive until in the distance they saw the military transport vehicle in front of a modest, sky blue, single-story home at the end of the street. “I’m tired of running and killing, but most of all, I miss my dad,” he said remorsefully. “I had just started to set our relationship straight when this mess started.”
“Don’t worry, Josh,” Samuel replied. “Your father loves you very much. He knew you needed room to find yourself, and was content to wait as long as it took for you to decide what you wanted in life.”
“I just want to let him know that, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance, considering what lies ahead of us,” Turner said.
�
��You can tell him when you see him, amigo,” Samuel said assuredly, giving his friend a jab in the arm that still throbbed from the earlier life-and-death struggle with the brutish guard.
“I guess you’re right, Samuel,” Turner admitted. “At least Dad and Maria are out of harm’s way at Carlos’ house. But before we head out to this madman’s compound, I want to call him.”
Their black Bishamon sedan finally pulled to a stop in front of the house with the address Saune had given them earlier. Shutting off the engine, they all hopped out of the vehicle and proceeded to walk up the flagstone walkway. The brightly painted Tenerife pinewood door was abruptly thrown open at the very moment they reached it. The three found themselves staring into the business end of an M-16A1 rifle.
“Whoa…it’s us!” Turner yelled, freezing mid step and backing up with his companions.
“You might have picked a better mode of transportation,” Captain Saune said, lowering his weapon and motioning at the black Mercedes, its ominous emblem on the door. “We thought you were some of Osama’s party favors coming for a visit.” He threw the door open and quickly ushered the three into the house.
Turner was amazed and impressed to see eight men in Army Combat Uniforms. The ACUs were newly designed uniforms utilizing universal camouflage: ideal for woodland, desert, and urban surroundings. They all carried a late 70s model M-16A1 rifle, which sported a 30-round magazine and a 40mm M203 grenade launcher attached. Each soldier was also wired with a SmartCom SCV08 VHF lapel-attached radio with an earpiece for silent communications. Seeing no threat, the men returned to putting on their face camouflage and checking out their gear.
“These are my best men, Josh,” Captain Saune said proudly as he closed the door behind the three newcomers. They followed Saune across the room and into the kitchen. “Here,” he said, motioning the trio to a porcelain pot. “I’ve made some coffee; we’re going to need it.”
“We’ve had a bit of luck, Captain, and might have a way to gain access into the compound without too much trouble.” Turner said as he poured himself, Samuel, and Yashiro a much needed cup of coffee. “We’ve managed to capture Pencor, who is resting comfortably in the trunk and patiently awaiting his starring role in getting us past the Bishamon gate guards.”
“You’ve got Pencor?” Saune said, laughing aloud. “I’ll bet he’s none too happy about that situation.”
“That’s an understatement, Captain. I’ve never seen a man turn that shade of red before. I’m personally looking forward to ripping the duct tape off his mouth. He’s such an angry individual,” Samuel said with a broad smile.
“I take it you and your men are ready to go,” Turner said, noting the rugged-looking men in the other room, silently going about their preparations.
“Unless you have anything else to add to the equation; we planned to use the Bell 205 Huey to launch an assault from the lower end of the Bishamon facility where we commandeered the Sikorsky. Since you have the Bishamon vehicle, you can launch an assault from the upper level at the gate. With a few well-placed satchel charges, we can easily access the hatchway underneath the facility, neutralize any resistance, and make our way in. Then, with Yashiro’s help, we can set charges to take out that Scalar weapon.”
“Captain, you can’t just blow up the Interferometer device,” Yashiro cautioned. “There is a protocol that must be adhered to in order to shut down the exothermic event. You must—”
“Whoa, Yashiro, can you explain that in plain English, please?” Samuel asked, waving his hands in ignorance.
“Sorry,” he said, then continued. “Osama has two transmitters in place beneath the site. Both have been emitting offset electromagnetic-pulsed timed waves for months now. These powerful electromagnetic waves, built up over time, have a seriously high ground potential that has to be released somewhere. When the Bishamon complex was constructed, they built EM drain fields beneath the facility to slowly release the massive G-potential after the desired effect has been reached,” he said, pausing as the three men listened intently.
“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Turner said. “Go on.”
“The buried drain fields are lined with huge storage cells, capable of discharging the massive potential slowly as the emitted standing waves diminish. If the transmitters were to fail suddenly, or if you were to destroy them, the wave potential feedback would be massive and the drain fields would not be able to handle it. No one knows for sure, as it has never been put to the test, but I would assume the resulting feedback would cause an explosion equivalent to a thermonuclear blast; with a super-charged shock wave that could level much of the island’s infrastructure.” Yashiro said, seeing the stunned look on his comrade's faces.
“Good God, this keeps getting better and better,” Samuel said. “I guess we can’t just go in and pull the plug on his little toys then?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What do you suggest we do, Yashiro?” Turner asked at length.
“If I can gain access to the control room computer, I can do two things. First, I can reverse the exothermic mode to become endothermic in nature. That means reversing the EM potential without interrupting the timed pulses. In effect, this would create an ambient vacuum potential in the magma chamber and cause a massive cooling effect. The superheated energy would be extracted from the chamber and dispersed in the drain fields at Bishamon. It could be enough to stop the heat expansion and limit the eruption on La Palma, which will most likely happen now, no matter what we do. It could possibly keep the mega-slide from occurring by reducing or eliminating the source of the massive heat. That’s if we are able to get there in time.”
“And the second thing you can do?” Turner asked, still trying to comprehend the scope of what was being unleashed on the world by these lunatics.
“Well, after a brief cooling period in endothermic mode, I can start backing off the standing waves and hope that I do it at a rate that the fields can withstand. If I back it down too quickly….”
“Yeah,” Samuel said. “We all go for one big ride.”
“I believe it can be done, but we must get there as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the less chance of success,” Yashiro said.
“Our odds of gaining access to the facility are a little better now that we have Pencor as our trump card,” Turner said. “Better, but it’s still going to be tough. We’ll have to coordinate our assaults with you, Captain, starting with your landing at the helipad below. Once the fun begins, it should draw most of the opposition away from the main gate. Then we’ll make our move with Pencor seated next to me and Samuel covering him from the back. Once inside using Pencor’s swipe card, we’ll head for the control room where Yashiro can do his neat tricks. Let’s just hope we’re not too late already.”
“I know,” Captain Saune said. “We heard on the police band that the volcano on Cumbre Vieja is beginning to erupt.”
“That’s to be expected,” Yashiro said. “It must go through its natural pre-eruption phase even with the aid of the Scalar weapon. We're seeing the precursor to the final EM burst programmed at the Bishamon facility.”
The Global Star phone in Turner’s cargo pants pocket began to ring, startling everyone present. He quickly pulled the phone out and answered it.
“Turner,” he said
“Mr. Turner,” said a voice on the other end, “we’ve been trying to get through to you for quite a while. This is Jim Robertson from the U.S. State Department. I’m here with President Clark and the directors of FEMA and Homeland Security.”
“Well, Mr. Robertson, we’ve been a little preoccupied here with people trying to kill us all day,” he said sarcastically, rubbing his aching jaw. “I am glad to hear from you at last. So, have you looked into the situation my father explained to you earlier today?”
“Indeed we have, Mr. Turner. I need to tell you that a few of us were a bit skeptical about the scenario laid out by your father, but recent events on La Palma and verification by the U.S. Geological Surve
y have precluded any doubt as to the threat posed to our country. Let me put you on speaker so we all can hear,” he said as Turner heard the faint click and subsequent feedback of the speaker phone.
“Mr. Turner, this is Alan Clark. I was hoping that you could shed a little more light for us on the situation there.”
“Well, Mr. President,” Turner said, holding back a laugh as Samuel gave him a Queen Anne salute. “As far as we can tell, we’ve only a few hours at best to prevent this slide from happening.” We have been pursued by the island authorities on false charges by this Osama character, which may have bought him the precious time needed to complete his dirty work on La Palma. Fortunately, we’ve avoided capture thus far and—”
“Mr. Turner, this is Stephen Boyle of FEMA,” his voice interrupted. “Who is this Osama?”
“All you need to know is that he one of the leaders of the Japanese Mafia; the Yakuza to be exact. He and his goons have infiltrated the entire island’s government in this plot, so we can trust no one at this point. That is why we must act on our own,” Turner replied. “We did manage to capture the other conspirator; a guy named Robert Pencor.”
“Pencor!” Boyle said incredulously. “How in God’s name is he involved in this affair?”
“Listen, Mr. Boyle, it’s all about power, money, and, most importantly for him, vengeance against the U.S. for ‘causing the collapse of his industrial empire, as he so eloquently put it. He wants to cripple the economy of the United States with this massive tsunami, and then he plans to flood the world’s markets with his new free energy device called a Zero Point Generator. It will make him the savior of mankind in the eyes of many poorer nations,” Turner said, pausing for a second. “He will reap the praise, profits, and power, controlling most of the world’s energy supply by rendering oil refinery and production obsolete. Those who resist, in the wealthy oil-driven countries, will find it more and more difficult to procure oil as more and more nations go online with his ZPGs. Eventually, they will have to succumb to his demands as oil suppliers dry up. It will wreak havoc on the world’s economy for years.”
Zero Point Page 22
