As the island's inhabitants went about their daily routine, primordial forces were at work in the volcanic magma chamber four kilometers beneath La Palma.
Normally, magma rising from fractures deep within the earth’s crust is far less dense than its surrounding rock. As it ceases to rise, it forms a chamber, or pool, of magma deep beneath the surface. As more magma wells up into this pool, the pressure on the magma chamber increases. This increased pressure causes it to expand upward, resulting in a volcanic eruption.
The immense, glowing plasma field generated by the Scalar Interferometer weapon was being directed from the island of Tenerife. It had been increasing exponentially in size over the prior months, super-heating the center of the La Palma magma chamber and expanding outward.
Without the natural forces deep within the earth that would normally up-well the molten rock, the super-heated liquid rock frothed within its chamber. This sent unimaginable temperatures cascading up towards the surface. The ancient Cumbre Vieja volcanic ridge, kilometers above the molten boiling tempest, was able to release some of the gigantic pressure from deep within the bowels of the earth through its many surface vents.
On the western flank of the island’s ridge, high above the black sandy shoreline, millions of liters of water trapped between layers of soft sediment and basalt rock boiled under the vast heat of the super-heated core with no means of release.
Minute by minute, almost a trillion tons of softer surface rock above the natural aquifer began to loosen its grip. Now, near the point of no return, it struggled to free itself from its ancient confines and slide into the sea far below.
Nature’s awesome fury had been set in motion and the stage was set for its final act.
17
Robert Pencor was furious as he pounded his fists on the desk of Yagato Osama.
“How could you have been so incompetent? All of this manpower, yet you let them slip between your fingers.” He continued his raving as the Japanese Oyabun patiently tapped his fingers on his desk, his tolerance for this man’s insulting behavior reaching its limits.
As Pencor’s diatribe became more menacing, the burly Yakuza guard standing at the doorway slightly raised his AK-47 in an automatic defense of his Oyabun. Osama quickly shot him a look, which he readily recognized and lowered his weapon immediately.
“All of our efforts may be in vain due to your inefficiency,” he yelled as the calm pretense of Yagato Osama wavered ever so slightly. “Your scientist insists that we need at least eight more hours to ensure a proper build-up of the Interferometer weapon. By that time, the authorities will be on top of us if Turner and his people sound the alarm.” His face began turning scarlet red from the rage he now leveled at Osama, with eyes that betrayed any sense of sanity.
“Robert,” Osama said, regaining his composure. “Once again you question my ability, which saddens me. Granted, Turner and his friends are alive so far through sheer luck and the element of surprise. It was bad karma that the supply helicopter arrived when it did,” he said, picking up the phone receiver. “I have no doubt that they are presently heading for the airport in Santa Cruz and my men have been dispatched to intercept them.” Pausing mid thought, he spoke into the phone. “Please send in Administrator Fuentes.” After hanging up the phone, he said, “Need I remind you, Robert, I have not achieved my status in this organization through lack of good judgment or caution. I have planned for every contingency in the event of trouble, as you soon will see.”
The door opened and a short, overweight, balding man with bulging eyes entered the room. He was immediately taken back by the chilling gaze he received from Pencor. Warily, he moved to the center of the room as the guard shut the door behind him. Recognizing Yagato Osama, the portly man nodded politely.
“Good morning, Mr. Osama,” he said nervously.
“Good morning, Administrator Fuentes. I trust that you are well” Osama said, knowing that the man had done very well financially since the inception of their relationship.
Yagato Osama had been paying Fuentes quite handsomely for his cooperation since Bishamon arrived on Tenerife. He quickly expedited matters that were favorable to Osama, such as getting permits or helping to pad the pockets of many officials on the island. As island administrator, Fuentes had control and unlimited access to all government departments, which made him the logical choice for exploitation by Osama at the onset of his plans.
“Why did you need to see me so urgently?” Fuentes asked. He was still confused as to why Osama’s men came to his home so early and whisked him to the complex, without so much as an explanation.
“We have a small problem, Administrator,” Osama said, eyeing the man whose suits never seemed to fit right. “You are aware of the Turner archeology project below our complex, are you not?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, my assistant gave them permission as a favor to Professor Santiago from the university, while I was in Spain on business. Of course, I would have denied permission and tied the request up in permits if I had known. It was tragic that he died in that awful accident soon afterward,” he said, knowing that it was no accident that his assistant was dead.
“Yes, quite a shame,” Osama said, dismissing the topic. “It seems that Turner and his accomplices compromised this facility early this morning, killing many of my associates. They have stolen valuable information from this facility and, in the process, destroyed my private helicopter and stole our supply helicopter. They are a danger to us and need to be dealt with immediately. I want you to use your resources to apprehend them by any means possible, and then bring them to me without any contact or communication with anyone. Do you understand?”
“It will be difficult, but I will try to do what I can.”
“You will not try, you will do it!” Osama yelled at the fat man before him, whose forehead now glistened with sweat. “I want them brought to me immediately. If they resist, your police are instructed to shoot to kill.” Osama paused for effect and added with a twisted smile, “By the way, how are your beautiful wife and lovely daughter?”
“Uh…they are well,” the administrator replied, shaken to his core by the question; the true meaning of this pleasantry driven home with crystal clarity. He was over his head and knew he had no other choice but to comply with Osama’s wishes, no matter how terrible. “I will personally contact the Policia Nacional and the Guardia Civil right away and order an island-wide search,” he said with a false bravado, knowing failure would mean a violent death not only for him, but for his family as well.
“Your success will be rewarded, Administrator Fuentes,” Osama said, waving his hand in dismissal as the guard escorted the administrator out of the office. Upon the door being shut behind them, Osama spoke quietly to Pencor.
“Believe me, Robert; neither Turner nor anyone else will have sufficient time to thwart our plans,” he stated confidently. “By this evening, our little present to the United States will be on its way, and we will be on our way to the airport to make our escape. All incriminating evidence will be disposed of prior to that, just as we have planned.”
“You have forgotten one loose end,” Pencor said, his anger now under control, though still irritated by the costly turn of events of the last few hours. “The scientist who escaped your facility was with the Turners; that is our one vulnerability. He must be silenced before he can implicate us.”
“My men are aware of this, Robert. They all have his picture, along with photos of the Turners from the newspaper coverage. If they are discovered by my forces, they have orders to kill them without hesitation,” Osama said flatly.