In a single flash of immense pain you no longer existed, Yashiro thought, imagining the terrible way his friend must have died.
Yashiro Fuiruchirudo was a brilliant geo-physicist. Graduated from Kobe University at top of his class, he held high hopes for a promising career. That is, until he was approached by representatives of the Bishamon Corporation to work on a proposed new energy concept. He was told at the time that it would be a two-year project and it was to be kept confidential. This meant no contact with outsiders, including family, for the entire period.
At first Yashiro was hesitant. However, they offered a small fortune, which would be of benefit to his wife and young son, whom he now missed terribly, and most likely would never see again.
He had figured out the planned assault on America in just the last two months. He overheard a conversation in the control center between Osama and Robert Pencor upon Pencor’s arrival to inspect the facility. They abruptly halted their conversation when they suspected Yashiro was listening. The stare Pencor gave him had frightened him, but nothing was ever said. Eventually, all the scientists conscripted were made privy to the plan, which troubled him.
At first, Bishamon Corporation successfully kept the different aspects of the project isolated by segmenting the jobs and keeping the workers apart. However, it didn’t take long for him and the others to come to the obvious conclusion that this was not an energy project, but rather a pre-empted strike with a frightening weapon.
“What kind of monster would mercilessly kill millions of innocent people?” Yashiro had asked Wari that last night over dinner while they discussed the fearsome plan. “I have a brother who lives in Miami,” he said to Wari as they ate.
“I know, Yashiro, I also have family in New York,” Wari told him. “We will be responsible for their deaths as well.”
“Not if we can stop it before it happens,” Yashiro said. “We must escape this facility and warn the authorities of the weapon.”
“How can we?” Wari said in frustration. “The guards are everywhere and watch every entrance by closed circuit monitor.”
“We can escape through the lava tubes beneath the complex that are used to take in supplies from the helicopter pad built on the eastern side of the mountain. It was there where they first excavated for access to the facility when it was constructed. I helped in the design early on and know the cave is not monitored,” Yashiro said sipping his coffee. “Every Friday they bring in supplies and take out refuse. That is when we will hide in one of the containers being taken out, which is done a few hours prior to the arrival of the helicopter. After they have sealed the entrance to the facility above us, we’ll leave through the tunnel, climb to the caldera’s rim, and make our way to the access road.”
“What if we are caught, Yashiro? They will kill us for sure!”
“I fear they are going to kill all of us anyway, Wari. They are not going to allow any witnesses to their plans the luxury of leaving this place alive. Especially now that they have told us their plans,” Yashiro said flatly.
“Then we’ll do it,” Wari said with determination. “We’ll have to wait a few more days, but in the meantime, we can’t act suspiciously. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Yashiro told his friend, noticing that a guard had been watching them with interest.
“We will finalize our plan tomorrow. Be quiet Wari, the guard is approaching us,” he whispered, and then broke into a loud laughter as the burly guard came to their table.
“What are you two doing?” the guard had asked, pointing his AK-47 at them.
“Wari was just telling me a funny story from his childhood,” Yashiro said in Japanese, mustering up the most disarming smile he could produce. He noticed the finger tip of the guard’s left hand missing. “Would you like to hear it?”
“No!” The guard blurted out. “You have been here long enough. Return to your quarters at once.”
That was the last time Yashiro had seen Wari, and he now assumed that he was either dead or under interrogation. If they torture him, they will learn of our plan and I’m a dead man for sure, Yashiro thought now as he stared vacantly at the computer screen in front of him. I must hold it together for two more days before I try to escape.
He continued working as he listened to the steady hum of the Longitudinal Wave Interferometer generators located one floor below him. They slowly, but surely, proceeded in their uninterrupted task, which would eventually result in the destruction of the east coast of the United States.
“I must remain focused,” he whispered softly. “I must.”
5
After four mind-numbing days in and out of the Commissioner of Cultural Affairs Office in Las Palmas, Turner finally sat in his room at the Hotel Lattagia with the preliminary legal permits for research excavation in his hands. He hated the dance, as he called it, with the local bureaucrats. They always find a way to delay the process in an attempt to appear relevant in their impious, little world, Turner thought, tossing the hard fought papers onto the dresser. Adding to the difficulty was the little joke Samuel had played on the commissioner when they applied for permits to excavate the pyramid.
Turner laughed aloud thinking how Samuel, annoyed by the six day wait, had sent the commissioner a nicely wrapped box containing one thousand year old fossilized goat feces as a thank you. Evidently, the man has a very good memory.
Turner then made a phone call booking the ferry passage back to Tenerife tomorrow for him and Samuel. Although they could have flown, it was only a four-hour cruise between the two islands. Turner enjoyed the passage, despite the fact that being on the open water still brought back frightful memories of that fateful night in New Guinea.
He had seen the message light blinking on the hotel phone when he returned from the commissioner‘s office but avoided checking it.
It can wait, Turner thought as he grabbed the remote for the room’s old TV set. I’m sure Dad is driving everyone nuts with his unyielding protocol when it comes to new digs. I’d just be in the way.
Turner had last spoken to his father two days ago. His father had reported that with the help of Carlos Santiago, the teams and equipment had been successfully transferred from the Pyramid site and that the work on the new site had just begun. He told Turner that the students had been assigned to documenting and recovering the Guanche artifacts, while he and Maria were keeping the mysterious tomb sealed.
Now waiting for Samuel’s return with something to eat, Turner vacantly surfed through the channels on the television. He came to an abrupt halt on the Grand Canaria Channel 3 News where a story in progress made him stare at the TV in disbelief. Standing in front of a nine-by-six foot white canvas tent on the familiar slopes of Tenerife, were his father and Maria. Both looked a bit overwhelmed by all the lights and cameras pointed at them. In Spanish, the news anchor was just finishing his narration of the news segment.
“—that being said, media crews, treasure hunters, and the religious faithful have been arriving here to be a part of this amazing find. This discovery, if true, may turn out to be one of the most significant finds since the discovery and excavation of King Tutankhamun’s tomb by Howard Carter in 1922. Stay tuned for weather and sports, coming up next—“
Turner quickly fumbled with the remote and scrolled through the channels. He stopped on another news broadcast where he saw a photo of his father in the upper corner of the screen as the news anchor reported.