“That will buy us some time, guys,” he said pulling out his weapon and hearing the reverberation of grenade explosions from deep within the building’s structure. As Turner surveyed their surroundings, he saw the main entrance atrium filled with wooden and steel crates labeled in Japanese. Stark in appearance, the room tapered to a long center corridor that seemed to traverse the entire length of the facility. He saw stairwells on the right side descending to the lower level and stairs on the opposite end rising to the upper level.
His survey was interrupted by the sounds of men coming down the stairs, yelling excitedly in Japanese. Turner and his companions ducked behind one of the large steel crates, hoping the men would not see the steel rod locking the front door. Luckily, the men were intent on joining the firefight below the facility, and failed to notice it as they ran past the door and proceeded down the stairwell.
“Okay, Yashiro, give us the layout again,” Samuel said as the three stepped out from their cover.
“Those men were coming from the upper level. It houses the security office and Osama’s suites. This is the main level,” the Japanese scientist said, pointing down the corridor. “All of those doors along the corridor are the sleeping quarters and bathrooms. At the end of the corridor is the control room, which is usually guarded from the inside.”
“What is down those stairs?” Turner asked, pointing to the stairs on the right corner of the atrium.
“If you go down those steps, it turns to the left and you’ll come to another corridor that mirrors this one. If you take a left at the end of the corridor, it leads to the supply room directly above the lava tube. Just across from that is Osama’s lab, where he most likely killed my friend Wari and the other scientists we saw in the tunnel when we were escaping this morning.”
“And the Scalar weapon…” Turner asked. “Where is that located?”
“Go right at the corridor and down the hall to the left. On the right side are the dining rooms. At the end of the corridor is the ZPG room, which is directly below the control room on this level.”
“You’re not thinking of doing what I think you are…” Samuel said to his friend.
“I’m sure they know that we’ve crashed their little party, now that Pencor is loose,” Turner said as he started walking towards the right stairwell. “I want you and Yashiro to get into that control room and stop that weapon. I’m going to go below and see what mischief I can get into.”
“I’m not comfortable with us splitting up again, amigo,” Samuel said apprehensively.
“We have to do this quickly, Samuel. Radio me on the VHF link when you have secured the control room. Captain Saune and I will join up with you later.” Turner quickly disappeared down the stairs. Just then, the buzzer on the main door locking mechanism sounded, and despite it being violently pushed from the outside, the steel rod held firm.
“I hate it when he does this crap,” Samuel said indifferently, as he and Yashiro sprinted down the long dimly-lit corridor. A red strobe light was flashing in alarm above the two large steel doors that led into the complex’s control room. Peering through the small rectangular glass panes on the doors, Samuel saw two armed guards standing adjacent to the doors with their backs to them. Beyond them were three men in lab coats he assumed to be the remaining scientists loyal to Osama.
“Okay, Yashiro, get ready,” Samuel whispered, ducking down below the glass panes. “After I swipe the lock open, I’m going to rush the guy on the right. You take care of the guard on the left. Got it, amigo-san?”
“Got it.” Yashiro replied nervously, gripping his pistol.
“On three…” Samuel whispered. On the count of “one”, he swiped the access card through the slot, unlocking the door with a buzz. Samuel launched his full weight against the opening door, sending one of the unsuspecting guards sprawling to the floor. Samuel’s sudden entrance shocked the three scientists at the control panel across the room. He was followed by Yashiro, who nervously pointed his pistol at the other standing Yakuza guard. The mercenary could see the fear in Yashiro’s eyes. Reacting swiftly, he raised his weapon at the tiny Japanese man, who stood frozen in terror.
Samuel, seeing Yashiro’s plight, deftly fired two rounds into the guard. The dying man fired wildly as he fell, striking Yashiro in the same shoulder that was hit the night before. Wincing in pain, he fell back against the wall, and slid down to the floor. The other guard, recovering from his initial shock, scrambled to retrieve his weapon that was knocked from his hands by the opening door.
He rose up quickly and rushed Samuel, hitting him square in the mid-section. Samuel fell to his knees and his 45 went sprawling across the floor. The hardened mercenary lashed out a bone shattering roundhouse kick to Samuel’s head, which narrowly missed. Samuel’s instincts took over as he launched himself inside the man’s killing zone. The agile Quechuan’s vise-like arm encircled the Japanese man’s neck as the guard’s eyes went wide with surprise at the quickness of his opponent. In one swift upward and turning motion, he snapped the Yakuza guard’s neck, killing him instantly. The force of Samuel’s forward momentum made them both fall to the floor.
Adrenaline now coursing through his body, Samuel saw one of the scientists reaching for the dead guard’s weapon. In one fluid motion, he drew his hunting knife from its sheath and flung it with an accuracy developed from the many years hunting in the Amazon Rain Forest. The Japanese man wearing the lab coat shrieked in pain as the knife found its mark and plunged deep into the man’s left thigh. As the scientist fell to the floor in pain, Samuel rolled to his right to recover his 45-automatic. Springing to his feet, he pointed it at the remaining two scientists, who appeared to be in shock at the bloodshed they had just witnessed.
Samuel made his way over to Yashiro, who lay with his back against the wall. He was moaning in pain from the bullet wound in his now bleeding shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Yashiro sobbed weakly as he nursed his shoulder with his good hand and looked up at Samuel. “I couldn’t shoot…I just couldn't do it.”
“Don't worry, amigo, it’s alright. Are you still able to do your work?” he asked, pointing to the control room’s computers.
“Yes, help me up,” he said as Samuel grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up to his feet, all the while keeping an eye on the other two scientists. Yashiro, in pain from his wound, walked over to the computer terminals set up at the control room’s semicircular work station. Samuel motioned with his weapon for the other two scientists to come with them.
“You’re too late, Fuiruchirudo,” Osama’s lead scientist, Fuyuki Seijun, hissed defiantly at Yashiro as he painfully pulled the hunting knife from his leg. “We reached optimum output twenty minutes ago. There is no way to stop the eruption and landslide on La Palma now.”
“If I'm right, there may be a way to neutralize it,” Yashiro replied as the lead scientist glared at him skeptically. “If I can reverse the electromagnetic wave patterns to endothermic mode, it might reduce the heat from the magma chamber on La Palma enough to halt the process.”
“That is total madness, Fuiruchirudo,” Seijun yelled in obstinacy as he threw the blood stained knife across the floor. “If you were to do that, you’d cause a reflective shock wave. The field drains below the facility could never manage to dissipate that amount of endothermic feedback. The shock wave would level most of the island.
“We shall see,” Yashiro responded with self-assurance. “Why don’t you stop this madness, and help us put an end to this?”
“I will never help you,” he hissed.
At that point, Samuel decided this had gone on long enough. “You two,” he said, pointing the gun at the scientists. “If you won’t help then I’m going to lock you up.” He motioned them to help Seijun to a closet on the left side of the control room. With the three men now safely in the closet, Samuel braced the door by sliding a large cabinet in front of it.
Seijun pounded his fist on the door from the inside yelling, “He’s going
to kill us all, you fool!”
“Well, amigo, at least you’ll have a front row seat.” Samuel walked back over to Yashiro, who was intently going over the data on the computer.
“He’s right about the levels,” he said to Samuel as he stood behind him. “They are at maximum. I hope I can reverse the process in time, if at all.”
“If anyone can do it, you can, amigo-san” Samuel said as he patted him on the back. “Josh and I have faith in you. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“Thank you, Samuel,” the small Japanese scientist responded as he began typing commands into the system. “I won’t let you down.”
“The way I figure it. If it doesn’t work, we won’t have much time to complain about it to the management, will we?” Samuel said as he turned and started towards the doors. “I’m going to see what trouble my partner is getting himself into. Will you be okay here?” he asked when he reached the door.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” he replied, “but smash the access card unit on the outside so no one else can enter. Just bang on the door if you need to get in.”
“I’ll take care of it, Yashiro. Good luck my friend, and thanks.” Samuel said, leaving the stalwart Japanese scientist alone with his dangerous task. Samuel shut the doors to the control room and, with a resounding blow from the butt of the 45-automatic, disabled the card access unit.
Samuel knew he needed to check with Turner on the lower level, but before he got a chance, he heard a large number of men descending the stairs at the other end of the corridor in the atrium. He quickly ducked into one of the adjacent rooms that served as sleeping quarters. Once inside, he could hear muffled conversation far down the hall and decided to wait there until it was safe to proceed.
***
Following Yashiro’s directions, Turner had descended to the bottom of the stairwell and made a left into the short hallway that intersected the main corridor on the lower level. The sound of weapons fire increased in volume as he cautiously peered around the corner, looking first to his left where the supply room was located and then to his right. The corridor was a mirror of the one on the upper level, but with fewer doors along its length. In addition to the sound of the battle outside, he could feel a strong vibration beneath his feet; one similar to the feel of an electrical generating station.
Hearing the sound of men running through the corridor, he slipped back into the dimly-lit stairwell. With his back to the wall, he saw two Yakuza guards run into the supply room to join the battle raging against Captain Saune and his men.
Seeing it was clear, he sprinted away from the supply room and down the corridor in search of the source of the mysterious vibrations. He found his way to the locked double doors at the end of the hallway and peered into the reinforced rectangular windows.
These must be the Zero Point Generators, he thought, staring in amazement at the two huge free-energy generators surrounded by thick panes of polymer glass. One entire unit was approximately thirty feet in diameter and nine feet in height. In the center of each, mounted on insulating plates, were what looked to be rows of four huge magnetic tubes. There were large connecting cables projecting outward from the side along the base to a set of polymer-encased coils at the unit’s apex. On the generator’s outer sides were large capacitor banks with power cables feeding into a panel in the room’s center. Incredible that these devices supply this facility with free energy, he thought in amazement, while looking quickly over his shoulder to make sure it was still clear. In the hands of people of integrity, this device could solve the world’s energy dependency as well as clean our environment.
Turner forced himself to stop wasting time, turned and ran up the corridor where he stopped at a large door on his right. On the door was displayed a red sign in Japanese, which looked to him like a warning placard. Turning the handle, he found it unlocked, and, quickly slipped inside the large room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The room was fifteen feet deep and thirty feet in length, but it was what he saw that sent shivers down his spine.
So, this is Osama’s Scalar weapon, he thought, looking at the two menacing nine foot diameter parabolic dishes located at the center of the room. It’s the source of the two EM waves bombarding the magma core deep beneath La Palma.
He studied the huge parabolic dishes bolted securely to the reinforced concrete floor. Attached were huge snake-like cables projecting from the back of each. One cable wound its way upward through the ceiling, while the others went down into the floor. Probably the storage drain cells beneath the ground that Yashiro spoke of.
Looking to Turner like something out of a sick sci-fi movie, he moved carefully towards the array. He avoided walking in front of it, though Yashiro had assured him that the EM waves were traveling through the vacuum of space-time.
Realizing that he was wasting valuable moments, he quickly clicked on the transmitter on his VHF radio.
“Captain Saune, this is Turner. Do you read me?” he asked. After a few moments of silence, the earpiece crackled to life with the sound of Saune’s voice almost completely drowned out by gunfire.
“Josh,” Saune yelled over the din of rifle fire. “It’s not going well here. We're pinned down at the loading platform and barely holding our own. I didn’t anticipate this much resistance. We’re facing at least twenty or more combatants up at the lava tube entrance. I may not be able to meet you in the control room.”
“Samuel and Yashiro should have made it to the control room by now, and I’m on the lower level,” Turner replied. “Is there anything I can do to help you from this end?”
“Unless you have a squad of armed men with you, I’m afraid not. You wouldn’t last a minute if you came down to the tunnel. Just take out that Scalar weapon. We’ll keep them occupied here as long as we can. Saune, out—” he said as the earpiece fell silent.
Turner felt a sickening feeling of despair rising in his chest as he continued to stare at the two horrid weapons before him. How could they possibly hope to succeed with the odds so against them, and where in hell was their help?
His earpiece came to life once more with the familiar voice of his friend. “Josh, can you read me?”
“Yeah, Samuel, how are you two faring?”
“We had a bit of trouble at first and Yashiro was wounded, however, we managed to secure the control room. No one can gain access unless Yashiro lets them in from the inside. He’s now trying the reversal process.”
“Do you think he can pull it off, Samuel?”
“It’s going to be a tough road, Josh. He said the EM levels were already at maximum after we busted in, so I just don’t know.”
Turner, still staring at the ominous looking Scalar weapons, clicked his transmitter button to reply to his friend. However, he was cut short when a familiar voice from behind said, “Drop the gun, Turner.” Releasing the transmitter button, he slowly raised his hand, and then dropped the 45 to the floor. “Now, slowly kick the gun away from you,” the voice said. He complied, kicking the weapon away from him, and then turned to see Robert Pencor and a pale looking Japanese man with a patch over his eye. The two were flanked by two armed guards who were leveling their AK-47s at him.
“A valiant effort, Turner,” Pencor said flatly, “but a useless and costly one as you will soon find out. Oh, excuse my bad manners, Mr. Turner. May I present to you my associate, Yagato Osama,” he said, gesturing to the pasty looking man that stood beside him.
“Another one of your slimy friends,” Turner said in contempt, desperately looking for a way out of this predicament.
“Mr. Turner, you disappoint me. I would have hoped for more respect than that,” Osama responded. “But be assured, I plan to teach you proper respect.”
Turner had to stall for time. He knew he was a dead man if he failed, so he went for the man’s vanity, hoping that it would work.
“I’m quite impressed with your set up, Osama,” he said. “Your Zero Point Generators are really quite amazing devices
—”
“They are my devices, Mr. Turner,” Pencor interrupted angrily. “The ones here are merely small prototypes in comparison to the larger industrial applications that I’ve developed. They are ready for deployment after the tsunami has wreaked havoc in the west.”
“Somehow, I find it hard to believe that you developed them, Pencor,” Turner said, his mind racing for any advantage.
“Very astute of you, Turner,” Pencor said with a laugh. “I found it quite effortless to procure the device designs due to the stupidity and lack of foresight of many scientists in the United States. The original designers can cry foul all they want, but in the end, it won’t matter. I will be untouchable.”
“So, basically, you stole the designs from the efforts of others and plan to gain from their hard work and sacrifice.” Turner said.
“Stealing is such a harsh word, Turner. I prefer procure. It has a more professional sound to it, wouldn’t you say?”
“And what about the Scalar weapon…” Turner asked, continuing the tactic. “Did you procure them as well?”
“No!” Osama snapped back. “They are mine; the end result of decades of research and testing by my organization, Mr. Turner. Behold, the weapons of the future,” he said arrogantly, giving Pencor a disdaining look. “With the Scalar technology, we can strike any place in the world at any time; create earthquakes, eruptions, and tsunamis.
“I witnessed some of your handiwork in 2008, off the coast of New Guinea. A lot of good people died because of you,” Turner said angrily.
“That was only the test run, Turner,” he said with a laugh. “You should have considered yourself lucky it was such a small event. One of our proposed ideas was to use the exothermic weapon to cause the eruption of what is called a super volcano in the caldera that exists beneath your Yellowstone National Park. Our scientist considered the venture far too risky. The entire earth’s climate could have been affected as a result, so we have put that plan on the shelf for the time being. Imagine, Mr. Turner, meters of ash covering most of the cities and agricultural heartland of America. Most would have died of lung related illnesses from breathing in the ash-laden air. Farm animals would have perished and eventually most people would have died from starvation.”
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