Zero Point (30 page)
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 Survey 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.”
“I still can’t believe that he would threaten the lives of millions with so much profit at stake,” Boyle said. “Why wouldn’t he just go about it in a legitimate fashion? I’m sure he could be reasoned with and—”
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying, Mr. Boyle,” Turner interrupted angrily, his patience running thin. “Pencor
and his Yakuza associates are mad, cold-blooded killers, hell-bent on power and destruction. His goal is vengeance, pure and simple, and you are not going to be able to reason with him. Any sense of morality within his twisted mind is long gone. So, unless you plan on providing us with some help now, we have got to act before all hell breaks loose on La Palma,” Turner said, his head starting to ache from pain and a mounting fatigue.
“But, Turner,” the FEMA man persisted, “Pencor has to know that the world opinion will turn against him when it is discovered that he is responsible.”
“Look, Boyle,” a frustrated Turner finally exploded on the phone, “you bureaucrats absolutely astound me with your arrogance. Do you actually believe that most of the world’s countries would give a damn about the United States if a catastrophe were to occur on its soil? Don’t delude yourself, mister. Whether it be from hatred, envy, or just plain economic posturing, the majority of the world’s leaders would wag their fingers at Pencor saying, ‘gee, that wasn’t a very nice thing to do.’ Meanwhile, behind closed doors they fall over themselves as they rejoice in our downfall and welcome Pencor as their energy savior. A person like Pencor doesn’t give a damn about world opinion. So, if you are planning to help us stop these lunatics, you need to let us know now because you’re wasting valuable time,” he concluded, clenching his left hand in a fist as anger welled within him.