Zero Point (29 page)

Maria and Burr lay debilitated under the relentless onslaught of nature, as loose rock and earth beneath them began cascading into the newly created chasm.

“Hold on,” Maria yelled at the top of her voice as she and Burr began to slide down towards the gaping crevasse below them. Burr screamed in terror as he found himself sliding uncontrollably toward the newly created ninety-foot gash in the earth, belching its poisonous gases from deep within.

The cataclysm seemed to last for an eternity. Then, suddenly and mercifully, it abated as quickly as it had begun. Maria laid on her back in the sudden silence gasping for breath. Burr opened his eyes and shrieked in terror to see his legs dangling precariously over the edge of the newly formed crevasse, with the loose dirt slowly cascading out from beneath him. Holding onto the small outcrop of rock, he began yelling for help.

“Eli, we need the rope,” Maria screamed as she slowly, and, on all fours, started making her way down the still sliding embankment to the helpless Burr, who was frozen in fear.

“Maria—
freeze
!” Eli yelled as he came around the boulder seeing the situation. “Moving will only make it worse.” He slipped the rope from over his shoulder, and then fastened a climber’s taut line hitch on the one end. In one fluid motion, he hurled the looped end down towards Burr where it landed just out of reach and to his right. Eli's second attempt found its mark and landed on Burr's right arm. He grabbed at it wildly, sending more loose basalt cascading down into the chasm
beneath him. He managed to slip the taut line hitch over his shoulders and slide the knot tight just as his precarious ledge finally gave way. He began careening into the abyss until the line snapped taut, leaving him dangling in midair.

Eli managed to wrap the free end of the line around a small jagged boulder, just in time for it to snap taut as Burr’s body weight reached the end of the rope.

“Maria, I want you to slowly make your way to the rope and grab on,” he yelled, grasping the rope with both hands and planting his feet firmly on the jagged boulder. Maria slid crab-like on her back and finally reached the safety of the rope. She grabbed on and pulled herself up to Eli’s position by the huge boulder.

“Okay,” Eli said once she was safe, “start pulling with me.” The two began to pull with all their might as the dead weight of Alton Burr slowly began to rise to the edge of the chasm. Burr, now nearing exhaustion, scrambled to get a foothold as he reached the ledge. Finding firm footing, he pushed with his legs and used all his remaining strength to surmount the edge of the precipice and get back onto the steep, rocky slope. Eli and Maria continued to pull, and, after a few more moments, Burr was reunited with the pair. The three of them slouched down in total exhaustion.

“I’m starting—to think—that this wasn’t—such a hot idea,” Maria said, gasping for breath every few words.

“Thanks for coming after me,” Burr said, out of breath. “I thought I was a goner. Maybe we should reconsider this venture, take the lady’s advice, and get the hell out of here.”

“What, and not see the lovely entrance that was uncovered by that last quake?” Eli said coyly, standing up and brushing off his pants with his hat.

“You found it,” Maria yelled in excitement as she stood up.

“All the loose basalt that was extricated by the slide exposed an entrance just above the rock’s high side,” he said as the three carefully made their way to the elevated side of the huge monolith.

“There it is,” Eli said, pointing to an orifice the size of a manhole cover.

“Hand me a flashlight,” Maria told Burr, who reached in his backpack and produced a small spotlight.

“Hope it still works.” he said, handing the light to her. Maria was delighted that the light snapped on when she slid the switch. She aimed it at the opening and peered down into the darkness below. The light cut through the swirling dust from the recent quake, revealing a smooth, basalt floor. It was about nine feet down a gradual incline to get underneath the huge hand-shaped boulder.

“It’s a skylight,” Maria said excitedly, still looking into the darkened chamber.

“A what?”
Burr asked.

“A skylight is a breakthrough in the ceiling of a lava tube, where lava was once forced to the surface during an eruption,” she replied, turning off the light and facing the two men. “In this case, the skylight was covered by a rock that became dislodged during that last tremor. I can see it smashed on the lava tube floor.”

“I’ll get the rope,” Eli said, going back to the front of the huge boulder and retrieving the line. Looking around when he returned, he saw a boulder that would suffice as a tie off for them to repel into the lava tube.

“The wall is sloped gradually so we can easily make a descent and then return without much difficulty,” Maria stated, throwing the rope into the cave below, and then looking at Eli.

“What happens if another quake hits while we are in there?” Burr asked apprehensively.

“God hates a coward,” Eli replied nervously. “Oh, I forgot, you don’t believe in God, do you? You gotta’ love the irony in that.” He grabbed the line and started his descent into the cave, laughing as he disappeared below.

He may hate a fool even more
, Burr thought angrily as he followed Maria down the rope into the unknown.

24

“M
r. President, you are talking about a preempted military strike on a sovereign country. I strongly advise against any such action, as the repercussions would be dire,” said Admiral Thomas Borland, the current Commander in Chief of the Atlantic fleet, designated COMLANTFLT. “We have enough problems at the United Nations to deal with, without adding another situation to the mix. Their current thinking is that we have a proclivity to shoot first and negotiate later. We must first contact the proper authorities on Tenerife.”

“Tom, the U.N.
be
damned. I understand and appreciate your position on this matter but, as President, I have an obligation to protect the people of the United States and I intend to do so. All I am asking is if we have any naval assets in the vicinity of the northwestern coast of Africa?”

“Sir, the nearest carrier group is in the Persian Gulf, but without flyover permission for our aircraft to cross foreign airspace, any military incursion would have to do an in-flight refuel,” the admiral said. “Even if we were to launch an air strike now, it would take over five hours to reach the target area.”

“That may be too late, based on the information we have gathered pertaining to this situation,” President Clark said in frustration. “Do we have anything that is closer?”

“Well, according to the CNO, we do have an Austin class LPD amphibious transport dock that shipped out from Rota, Spain last night with two escort frigates. It’s headed back to Norfolk for decommission,” Borland stated, looking at the chief naval officer’s daily positioning status report.

“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

T
he 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.