by Dave Edlund
Peter pointed the gun at Ramirez, focused on killing him. He didn’t hear anything; his peripheral vision seemed to shut down. All he saw was Ramirez in front of him, and he began to increase pressure on the trigger.
Jim was shouting at Peter, but he wasn’t hearing. Then Jim shook Peter at the shoulder. “Peter! Let it go, he’s not worth it.”
But Peter still didn’t break his trance-like focus. He was looking down the barrel of the gun at Ramirez, imagining the bullet smashing into his chest. This man was pure evil; he deserved to die. And Peter was more than happy to make it happen.
Jim shook him again. “Peter, he’s not worth it!” Jim was yelling at Peter, trying to break his concentration and to get him to listen to reason. “There’s been enough killing—let it go.”
Peter seemed to relent. Maybe he heard Jim; maybe he just decided that shooting Ramirez here, in front of his daughter, was not the right thing to do. Slowly he lowered the gun.
Peter looked to his friend, and nodded. “Yes, but promise me this pile of shit will be locked up for the rest of his life.”
Peter had spoken slowly in a low, calm voice. There was no sign of excitement or anger or hatred, nothing. None of the emotions Peter had experienced were evident. He was speaking like a machine.
Jim nodded. “He will be interrogated at length and then locked up. I promise you, he will never again be a free man.”
Like Jim and Jo, McNerny had also been focused on the drama unfolding with Peter. Ramirez realized that the threat had been largely eliminated when Peter lowered the gun. And now that he was not the focus of attention, he smoothly moved his left hand to the small of his back—with a minimum of motion to avoid drawing attention—where the Colt Commander he had taken from Jo was secured. He wrapped his fingers around the grip, felt with his index finger to ensure the safety was off, and then rapidly drew and swung the gun toward McNerny, who was standing closest.
Ramirez fired and McNerny spun to the side, the bullet striking his left shoulder. Jim turned his body toward Ramirez, immediately realizing his error. He never should have allowed Ramirez to be unwatched for even a moment. Jim was still raising his Super Hawg when the pistol exploded. It was deafening in the confined room.
Ramirez had his gun pointed at Peter, but it was Ramirez who was falling backwards as if hit by a sledge hammer. The Colt fell from his grip, a crimson red blotch was growing in size squarely in the middle of his chest. Ramirez fell back into the chair. His mouth moved, but no words came out. His eyes were looking forward but unfocused.
Peter was standing with the pistol in his outstretched hand; a waft of smoke drifting from the muzzle. He was glowering at Ramirez; his body slumped in the chair. In a soft voice Peter said, “That’s for shooting my dog.”
Peter lowered the gun and then gave it to Jim.
“I’m finished,” was all Peter could say, and he turned to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her.
Chapter 43
December 21
Bend, Oregon
October soon passed into November, and November faded into December. As the days and weeks passed, Peter and Joanna found the routine of work to be good therapy. Jo had reluctantly accepted that her father could not answer all her questions. And although she didn’t truly accept the need for government secrecy, with the passage of time her need to know became less important.
Peter was spending about half his working time at EJ Enterprises to support his father’s research, mostly designing and fabricating powerful, adjustable electromagnets that were assembled around the stock high-pressure reactors. Eventually that would end, but at least for now it was good to be spending this time with his father. Often Peter found himself staring off in the distance, recalling how close he came to losing both his father and his daughter. How precarious life is. One moment everything is fine, the next your world comes crashing in.
Peter’s cell phone rang, pulling his mind back to the present. He flipped open his phone. “Peter Savage,” he said.
“Hi son, how are you?” answered his father.
“Oh, hi Dad. Doing fine, how are you?”
“You sound busy. Do you have a few minutes, or should I call later?”
“No, it’s fine, Dad. I was—” Peter’s voice faded.
“Peter, you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Dad, I can hear you.”
“Thought I lost you.”
Me too. “Uh, no Dad, the connection’s fine. Just saying, I was working through some calculations. We’re trying to improve the muzzle velocity of our large-caliber model. It’s a bit tricky to achieve both high magnetic flux and acceptable power consumption.”
“I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
“Well, at least it’s going better with your research. We’re getting some useful data from the cores we’ve installed on your pressure reactors and that’s pointing us in some new, unexpected directions.”
“Well, I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to ask if you’re going to be around for the holidays. I want a break from the work here and thought I would come up to visit for a few days.” Professor Savage had been working since October from his new lab within the SGIT facility in Sacramento.
“That would be great. Ethan and Joanna have promised to come over for dinner on Christmas Eve. I think they’ll stick around on Christmas Day, too, if you’re here. They like spending time with you.”
Professor Savage smiled; he loved his grandchildren but always wondered how much the feeling was reciprocated. The generation gap seemed to him to be a huge chasm.
“Let me know what your travel plans are, and I’ll pick you up at the airport. But you better book your flights soon, they’ll fill up quickly.”
“Sure. I’ll check on flights today and get back to you. I can always rent a car and drive from Portland if I can’t get a flight.”
“Don’t be silly, Dad. If Portland is as far as you can get, I’ll pick you up. Okay?”
“All right. I’ll let you get back to work. I need to do the same. Take care, son, I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m looking forward to it.”
And Peter hung up the phone. Strange. It seemed like his father had something to say or talk about, some need to be together with his family. Maybe it was just what he had said; a lot of time focused on work combined with the holiday season had produced a need for change. He brushed it aside and went back to his calculations.
Business was progressing well for EJ Enterprises. SGIT was testing the Mk-10 and, so far, liked its performance and improved features Peter had added since the mission in Ecuador. Its predecessor, the Mk-9 magnetic-impulse single-shot pistol, already in production, was selling well to the Department of Defense and the CIA. Although the number of units wasn’t enormous and never would be, Peter also manufactured the ammunition. Being a consumable, ammunition sales were steady and showing growth.
Naturally, the Mk-9 was classified and controlled technology, and Peter had not yet been able to secure an export license to sell it to other NATO countries. Now he was working on a large-bore version that would be ballistically similar to a 12-gauge shotgun.
It had been about an hour since Peter had talked to his father. He stood from his desk chair and stretched. He found he couldn’t sit in front of his computer for hours on end. Every hour or so he needed to walk around and flex his limbs. The need wasn’t only physical; it helped his ability to concentrate as well. The familiar jingle of his phone sounded, and he recognized the number displayed on the phone.
“Hi, Dad. Did you get the flights worked out?”
“Well, sort of. I could get from Sacramento to Portland, but wasn’t finding any seats from Portland to the commercial airport in Redmond. And while I was on the phone, Jim overheard my conversation with the travel agent. He graciously offered the SGIT jet. He said he was thinking about flying up to Bend anyway.”
“That’s great! Jim told me he had some vacation days, and I suggested he come up. I
promised him I’d get the guys over for poker.”
“Good. Since we aren’t tied to commercial airline schedules, we’re somewhat flexible. Jim suggested we fly up tomorrow evening. I realize it’s a day earlier than we had talked about—do you mind?”
“Good heavens, no! What time are you planning to land? I’ll just close down shop early. It’s no problem at all.”
“I think we should be on the ground at Bend Airport at 6:30 P.M.”
“Call me if the schedule changes; otherwise, I’ll pick you up then. Take care, Dad.”
s
The H3T was arriving in the parking lot at the Bend Airport just as the SGIT jet was on final approach. Peter parked and walked into the small passenger terminal. The space doubled as the airport offices. Shortly the aircraft taxied to a stop, shutting down the port side engine. The passenger door opened, and Jim and Ian emerged, carrying one duffel bag each.
Peter greeted his father with a big bear hug and then shook Jim’s hand warmly. “How was the flight?” he asked.
Ian replied, “No problems and right on schedule. I could get used to traveling by private jet.”
Jim added, “Glad to help any way I can.”
“Come on. Let’s get your bags in the truck. We can catch up over a cocktail.”
After a short ride home, they were all enjoying a shot of Buffalo Trace whiskey in front of a roaring fire in the great room. Jim and Peter had each melted into large, soft leather chairs on either side of the massive fireplace, while Peter’s father had nestled into a corner of the couch, feet up on the leather ottoman.
“So tell me about your latest results?” Peter asked. “You haven’t said much about your progress recently.”
“That’s because there hasn’t been much progress to talk about. We haven’t made many advances in the lab work.”
“I thought it was going well, and the magnetic polarization was providing some positive results; you sound discouraged Dad.”
“I am… a bit. Three months ago the experimental work looked very promising. But it seems that we can identify either catalytic materials that have an acceptable rate of reaction or those that have an adequate durability, but not both. Until we can get over this hurdle, I’m afraid our research is nothing more than a scientific curiosity.”
“Don’t be discouraged, Professor,” replied Jim. “Sometimes a real breakthrough takes longer than we would wish. That’s the nature of the game.”
Ian looked defeated. Peter realized now that his father had needed to get away from the science and technical challenges for a while; he needed time to rest his mind and subconsciously devise a new approach to solve the problems.
Deliberately changing the subject, Peter asked, “What’s the word on Enrique Garza? The newspapers haven’t reported on any provocative actions by Venezuela.”
“The daily intel briefings that I see are pretty much devoid of any mention of the Garza regime. The Colonel tells me he has kept his word, as best we can determine. I think maybe President Taylor played it right; he seems to have definitely put the fear of God into that tyrant.”
“He couldn’t have done it without your help, Jim. And that of your team.”
Peter raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to a greater peace.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the professor, taking a gulp of the amber liquid in his glass.
Jim also took a sip. “I’d be more than happy to be put out of a job,” he said thoughtfully. “But it just seems to be human nature to fight and kill. Why is that? Is it greed?”
“I don’t think anyone can say,” answered Peter. “Nothing good ever seems to come of conflict, other than its end. But if history tells us anything, it’s that you have job security.”
The somber subject had a dampening effect on everyone’s mood. All three men found themselves staring into the fire, alone with their thoughts.
Peter finished his whisky. “I’m going for a refill. Can I fill up your glass, Dad, Jim?”
“I’m still nursing this one, son. But you better top up Jim’s glass.”
Peter took the two empty tumblers to a side table by the bookcase and filled them each with a generous shot. He handed Jim his glass, and then plopped back into the leather chair.
“Are you still planning to continue your work at the lab at McClellan Business Park?”
“For the time being. The government has been very generous with funding and outside resources, including computing time on Mother. But I do miss Oregon State University. My sabbatical continues through the end of next summer, and I imagine I’ll return to Gleason Hall then.”
“Well, you know I’ll be happy to continue helping in any way I can. Do we need to alter the shape of the field or increase the intensity?”
“No,” Ian’s voice was low. “It’s not the magnetic field, or the pressure, or the temperature. No, we just haven’t found the right catalyst yet.”
“You’ll get there, Dad.”
Ian forced a smile.
“How are your students doing? This has all been a very unique experience, I’m sure.” Peter was trying to gently encourage his father to open up more and release the tension that seemed to have built up over the past several months.
“They adjusted very fast. Karen has really matured, more so than either Daren or Harry. But all three are smart and skilled scientists. Harry in particular seems to enjoy the excitement associated with semi-classified research.”
“Do you think your students will come back with you to OSU or stay in Sacramento?”
“Oh, I think Karen will certainly come back. She has course work to complete as part of her educational program. As far as Daren and Harry go, I can’t say for sure. Their postdoctoral work will be completed by the end of next summer. What is the plan for the lab, Jim?”
“We’d really like to see you stay on as long as you want to, Professor. But I understand that you have your teaching position at OSU as well. We would need to hire someone to manage the facility. With your help, I’m sure that can be done.”
“Maybe Daren or Harry would want to apply for that position? They certainly have the scientific experience and knowledge.”
“I was hoping you’d make that suggestion.”
Professor Savage became quiet again, pensive.
“Something’s bugging you Dad, I can tell.”
There was a short pause before Professor Savage replied. “Yes. I’m very disappointed that we haven’t yet been able to identify a suitable catalyst and reaction conditions for the oil formation process. We know that the reactions are thermodynamically possible, but the chemical engineering remains elusive. Too many people have suffered for this knowledge. Yet we still have nothing to show for the sacrifices that have been made.”
“Dad, you’re too hard on yourself. Like Jim said, these things can take time. I mean, how many different materials did Edison try before he found that a carbon filament fabricated from bamboo worked to make the light bulb?”
“But no one was murdered for that knowledge. There’s a world of difference. No, this should never have happened. My work… my colleagues work… my God, this is basic science we were doing. We weren’t developing weapons systems. No one should have died!”
“Professor,” interjected Jim, “people were murdered over the rumor of certain knowledge… knowledge that, if it existed, would make the world a better place. You and your work were simply a convenient excuse for monsters to carry out monstrous deeds. Peter is right; you are too hard on yourself.”
“Maybe. And maybe I’m just too old for this crap.”
Jim leaned forward in his chair. “Professor, your work has revolutionized the way the Taylor administration perceives energy. Now they see solutions based on domestic production of renewable energy supplies, whether it is from biomass, or chemical conversion of rocks and water to hydrocarbons. The point is, for the first time the American government is mobilizing behind a multitude of approaches to gain energy independence. You are larg
ely responsible for this new government outlook.”
“That’s right, Dad. Your biggest accomplishment may not be in the details of the science but in changing the way people the world over view oil and energy production. You’ve catalyzed a revolution in perception, in attitude. Who knows where it will lead us? But I have to believe it will represent an improvement in the standard of living for most people.”
The professor seemed to be thinking about this. Maybe Jim and Peter were right. Maybe it is not so important what one does himself, but what he can encourage others to do.
Sensing that the conversation had become too solemn, Jim raised his glass. “I’d like to offer a toast to what is truly important and most sacred. To the health and well-being of our friends and families.”
Peter raised his glass and drank. Even Professor Savage had to agree with Jim, and he drank to the toast.
Author’s Post Script
Let me begin with a note of caution: if you read this before you read the entire story, some of the suspense will be lost. If you don’t care, then go ahead and read on… but you have been warned.
As fantastic as it may sound, the theory of abiogenic (also known as abiotic) oil formation does exist. There has been a lot of scientific research into this alternative theory, and you can find a wealth of information with a simple internet search of the topic. It is interesting, to say the least, that petroleum is found in many locations where conventional wisdom says it should not exist. The debate about how oil and gas are formed, and whether or not it continues to be formed at an appreciable rate, continues in scientific circles.
Personally, I find it interesting that gasoline, diesel, and aviation fuel have been synthesized from inorganic starting materials for decades. Those inorganic starting materials are water and carbon (derived from coal). Now, the chemistry experts out there may immediately complain that coal is correctly classified as an organic material—itself formed from ancient plant life—and I would fully agree. However, the process I am referring to is based on the reaction of water with elemental carbon, which, according to the rigors of chemical nomenclature, is an inorganic material.
