Looking at his watch, Pencor turned to leave the office. “Have my helicopter pilot meet me at the landing pad. I have the reception at the university to attend to assure my alibi for being on Tenerife. I’m making a major contribution to the antiquities department of the college.” Stopping and turning to face Osama, he pointed his finger at him and said darkly, “Do not fail me, Yagato. I’ll return later to collect my patents.” He spun around and walked out the door, wondering what other bad luck could befall him before this was all finished.
Osama reached for the phone and called his security chief, who answered on the first ring. “Have you completed the modification to Pencor’s helicopter?” Osama asked.
“Yes, sir, it has been done per your instructions,” the security head said proudly. “The pilot has been instructed to await your orders.”
“Good,” Osama said, smiling at his own cleverness. It had been bad karma that the Turner team managed to elude him thus far. The arrival of the younger Turner had been unexpected, but not insurmountable, he thought.
“I have been in constant contact with our people in and around Santa Cruz. They are positioning themselves at all the locations you predicted they might go in the event they fail to reach the airport. We will get them, sir,” he said confidently.
“Very good,” Osama said. “Contact me the moment they are taken. After that little inconvenience is dealt with, I’ll have my welcome surprise for Pencor when he returns.” Hanging up the phone, he opened the desk drawer, picked up a detonator switch, and toyed lightly with the button. Yes, Mr. Pencor, we will have quite a reception for you. I promise.
18
The old Tenerife National Guard base was located in a long red brick building on the outskirts of La Laguna, a twenty-minute drive from Santa Cruz. Built in 1907, it served as a military training base until 1982 when total autonomy of the archipelago was achieved from Spain with the fall of the Franco government. Since then, the base had fallen upon disrepair and was converted to the island National Guard base of operations. Only a skeleton crew now staffed the facility during the week. There were even less on this day seeing the Dia de Santiago Apostol festival in Santa Cruz was in full gear.
Sergeant Juan Ortega sat at his desk smoking his pipe, as he did on quiet days. He had just gotten off the telephone with his wife, who was harassing him to leave the base early in order to get to the parade in town later that evening.
“That woman will be the death of me,” he bellowed as he slammed the phone’s receiver down on its cradle. “Private Carmen, are you married?” he asked the skinny young man filing papers in the file cabinet.
“No, Sergeant, I’m not,” he replied curiously.
“For God’s sake, don’t. It’s not worth it,” he grumbled as he picked up the roster for next week's mountain rescue training, which had become necessary with the increase of careless tourists getting stranded on the high peaks of Mount Teide.
Ortega looked again at the fax report from the Tenerife Police he received earlier, showing photos and names of people wanted for questioning in a multiple murder, but tossed it back onto the pile of paper work on his desk.
The private smiled at the sergeant’s comments as he went about his duties, but stopped suddenly when heard the sound of a chopper coming in from the southwest.
“Do we have an inbound flight scheduled today, Sergeant?” he asked as he went over to the old, rotted wood-framed window and looked out.
“None that I’m aware of, Private,” Ortega replied, looking through the papers on his desk.
“It’s a Sikorsky transport, Sergeant,” he reported as Ortega rose from the comfort of his chair to see for himself. “What is it doing here?”
“Let’s go see who may be paying us a visit, Carmen,” Ortega said as both men strapped on their side arms. They headed out the door to investigate the strange arrival.
The big CH-53 touched down next to the Guard unit’s old Bell Model 205 UH-1H chopper, used for mountain evacuations and local transport. The Big Iron shut down its two remaining GE power plants, throwing the surrounding area into silence. Only the wisp-wisp sound of the craft’s top rotor blades winding to a halt remained.
The side door opened, and the group of weary refugees from the long night’s struggle walked down the steps to the black asphalt of the helipad. They were followed in the rear by its pilot, Captain Saune.
As the two soldiers from the base drew nearer, Captain Saune recognized the sergeant and gave him a wave, moving ahead of the group to intercept him. The confused sergeant gave his commanding officer a salute as he reached him.
“Good morning, Captain,” he stated as Saune returned the salute. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
“I understand, Sergeant Ortega. We have an urgent matter to attend to, and I will need your help.”
“I’m afraid we do have a problem, Sir,” he replied nervously, pulling his side arm out of its holster and pointing it at Turner and Samuel as they came towards him. “Stop where you are! You are all to come with me, where you will be held until the police can arrive.”
“What are you talking about, Sergeant?” Saune asked, surprised by the actions of his old friend as the private also pulled his gun to cover the group.
“What’s this all about?” Turner asked as he walked closer, halting when he saw the gun leveled at his head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ortega said, “but we have orders from the administrator’s office to detain all of you for questioning by the police in regards to possible murders at the Bishamon Satellite Relay Station. This has come from Administrator Fuentes himself. The police report came out a half hour ago stating that an island-wide manhunt has been launched to apprehend Dr. Turner and his associates for the murder of scientists at the facility.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous, Sergeant,” Saune replied in frustration. “There’s no truth in that at all.”
“That’s just great,” Samuel said in disgust. “I’m really starting to get a complex. Everyone keeps pointing guns at us.”
“Listen to me, Sergeant. You’ve known me for fifteen years now, and, in all that time, haven’t I always been honest with you?” Saune asked, relaxing his posture and speaking in Spanish to his subordinate.
“Yes, sir, I have the utmost respect for you. That is why I do not enjoy doing this,” Ortega replied, lowering his weapon a bit.
“Can we speak in the office?” Saune asked. “The rest can remain here with your private. I promise, they will not cause you any trouble,” he said, shooting Samuel a stern look.
“Hey,” Samuel said, “I’m the sole of patience, Captain, but if that guy keeps pointing that pop gun at me I’m—”
“See what you can do, Captain Saune,” Turner interrupted, “but remember we don’t have much time left.”
“Shall we, Sergeant?” Saune asked, gesturing at the old red brick office.
“Wait here and watch them, Carmen,” Ortega said to his private as the two men walked towards the building and disappeared inside.
“Now what do we do?” Eli asked as they stood waiting on the tarmac.
“It looks as if our friends at Bishamon are using these trumped-up charges to keep us from alerting the authorities. There’s no doubt now that Administrator Fuentes is on Osama’s payroll, which presents a real problem, seeing he has a lot of power on Tenerife,” Maria said in frustration.
“Like I said, miss, Osama’s tentacles have far reaches on this island,” Yashiro said tersely. “He’ll stop at nothing to gain time now that the slide is just hours away, and this little tactic may give him the time he needs.”