“Simon states that he was protecting them from nonbelievers that would destroy them, along with a fledgling Christianity,” Maria added, watching Turner stare intently at the lantern flame flickering in the cave’s dim light. “At the time of Ptolemy’s rule of Mauretania, or what is now Morocco, Caligula was Emperor of Rome and thought of himself a God. He wouldn’t have thought twice about eliminating any competition at that time. What better way to crush a threat than to destroy its symbols?”
“Well, it seems like he went to an awful lot of trouble to hide them all the way here in the Canaries,” Samuel said, now also curious as to Turner’s pensive look.
“I think I might know where they are!” Maria exclaimed excitedly after a few moments of reflection. “Our Simon wrote that the artifacts rest on Junonia. We know that the ancients called these islands the Isles of Bliss, or the Fortunate Islands, due to their favorable climate, and they named La Palma Junonia.” She kneeled down and drew a crude map of La Palma on the dirt with her finger.
“Located here,” she said as she poked a dot with her index finger on the crude map, “on the western flank of La Palma is a rock formation that was once in the shape of hands clasped together. Today it is called the rock of the Blessed Virgin, which was partially destroyed in the volcanic eruption occurring in 1949. A fault as wide as twelve feet was created by a landslide along that ridge as a result of the volcanic activity adjacent to the rock, but it’s still recognizable today.”
“A lot of good that does us being trapped in here,” Samuel said morosely, reminding them of their current predicament. “There’s no way out of here.”
“Maybe there is, Samuel,” Turner offered quietly, still staring at the flame of the lantern. “We’re going to walk out of here,” he announced to the startled look of the others in their basalt-rock jail.
“I don’t see where you’re going, amigo,” Samuel said. “Look at the lantern’s flame,” Turner said, pointing at the burning wick.
“Only moving air could make the flame dance like that in here. We start walking that way,” he announced, pointing toward the back of the cave. He was pointing to the small entrance to the darkened, foreboding lava tube that led upward into the depths of the long-silent Volcano
8
At the Bishamon facility, Robert Pencor paced back and forth in the office of Yagato Osama like a caged lion. Expecting things done in a timely and orderly fashion, Pencor was furious that the lone physicist, Yashiro, somehow managed to escape. To add to his growing anger, there was no word from the assault team sent hours ago to eliminate the archeology team.
“Relax, Robert,” Osama said from his chair as he nervously eyed the phone on his desk. “You can rest assured that my men will not fail in their task.”
“Have they caught the scientist who escaped yet?” Pencor asked, still pacing.
“Not yet, but he has nowhere to go and will most likely be lost in that lava tube and never found, or….”
“Or, he could find a way out and reveal our plans,” Pencor shot back, halting in his tracks and staring menacingly at Osama. “That cannot be allowed to happen because according to your scientists, only one more day is needed to release the fault successfully.”
“Yes, Robert, that was unexpected. The ground sensors we placed on La Palma indicate that the core temperature is rising at a much more rapid rate than anticipated. Using the magma chamber deep beneath the island like a gigantic pressure cooker is a far more controllable means of executing our plans than just having it totally erupt without control. It is—”
The buzzing of the phone interrupted his thought and he quickly picked up the receiver.
“Yes?” he said, staring intently at Pencor as he listened. “Bring him in,” he said, and then hung up the phone.
A few moments later the door to his office opened and two armed guards entered, followed by the young assault team member that had been knocked unconscious by Josh Turner outside the lava tube.
He regained consciousness moments after the explosion sealed the cave and was confused as to what had transpired. He assumed all the others died in the cave-in, and the one who hit him over the head died inside as well.
I dare not tell Osama that I was rendered unconscious, he thought as he entered the room, politely bowing to his superior.
“What is your report?” Osama barked at the man, now wearing a tan jump suit supplied to him by the men in the SUV that killed Paulo.
“We were successful, Oyabun. The archaeologists and their guards have been eliminated as you ordered,” he said stiffly. “I was ordered to stand sentry near the tunnel entrance when I heard the sound of gun fire from within. Before I could return inside, an explosion occurred and knocked me backward.” He lied as he continued, “The flames from the C-4 set my clothes on fire as I proceeded in to help, but the ceiling of the cave started to collapse so I ran out and threw myself on the ground to extinguish my clothes.” Growing more confident in his fabricated story, he continued. “After removing my smoldering clothes, I checked all the tents for anyone hiding. I found no one other than the two guards we eliminated outside, so I waited for the support vehicle to arrive. I helped them remove the dead guards and clean up the blood, so that no evidence of anything unusual would remain, other than the cave in.”
Finishing his report, he looked downward to avoid the probing eyes of Yagato Osama. He nervously awaited a response from the Yakuza leader.
“Are you certain they are all dead?” Pencor asked, staring coldly at the anxious soldier.
“Yes, sir, I guarantee they are all buried under tons of rock. None of them could have survived. My comrades, unfortunately, were killed in the process.”
“You have done well,” Osama said to the young Yakuza soldier, relieved that the mission had been completed. “Take him back to his quarters so he can get cleaned up.” The two guards politely bowed, then escorted the man out of the room and shut the door behind them. The two men were left alone once more.
“You see, Robert? I told you not to worry. My men have sworn to succeed, or die in their duties.”
“But what of your men who were buried in the cave along with the archaeologists? Won’t that raise questions when they are found?” Pencor asked.
“It will take weeks to dig the bodies out, if ever. By the time they do, which I doubt will happen, we will be long gone. Add to that the events that will transpire in one more day and little attention will be paid to a few unfortunate archeologists buried in a cave-in,” Osama replied with a sense of self-confidence as he poured a cup of tea. “The dead National Guardsmen brought back by our support team will be dumped in the ocean on the supply flight leaving in the morning. They will never be discovered. All traces of our activity will be eliminated.”
“That only leaves the matter of the scientist that escaped earlier,” Pencor countered. “I’ll relax when he is dead as well. We can’t afford any more of these mistakes, Yagato.”
“You underestimate our organization’s resiliency, Robert. Our Yakuza organization is much more thorough than our predecessors,” Osama said. “For years, the AUM Shinrikyo Religious Sect in Japan secretly worked with the Russians developing the Scalar weapons that we have now perfected. Their work was sloppy and careless, risking everything in the name of their ideology. Their leader was a mad man, bent on destroying himself and the organization’s long hard work with their foolish gas attack on the subways in Tokyo back in 1995. If it were not for our operatives implanted in the AUM sect at that time, the Scalar weapon data would have been seized by the authorities and all would have been exposed.