“What in blazes is going on?” Carlos asked, scratching his goatee as he sat heavily into his thick plush recliner.
“You don’t believe the reports, Father, do you?” Maria asked pulling the work boots off her aching feet.
“Of course not, my dear; it must be some sort of misunderstanding. But what kind of trouble have you gotten yourselves into?”
“Misunderstanding is an understatement, Carlos,” Turner replied. “We’ve stumbled upon an organized terrorist group that has been trying to kill us, due to the close proximity of the dig site.”
“Terrorists — here on Tenerife? We must contact the authorities at once,” Santiago said.
“For the moment, Professor, we can’t do that,” Turner replied. “We need time to figure out a way to stop them. It’s a long story, sir, and I’m afraid all we can ask of you is to trust us.”
Julia returned from the kitchen carrying a large tray. It was topped with a steaming pot of rancho canario, a meat stew with noodles and chickpeas, plus a pitcher of fresh papaya juice. They all savored their first sustenance in almost a day, ravenous from the long, weary night and morning.
Turner, with help from Yashiro and Eli, gave Carlos a brief overview of what transpired during their long night, and the challenges that lie ahead.
“Is this possible?” said Carlos Santiago, stunned at hearing the account of the Scalar weapon and the tsunami.
“Quite possible and imminent, sir,” Yashiro replied. “And we don’t have much time left, which is why we cannot afford to go to the authorities at this point.”
“And Pencor is involved in this plot as well? It doesn’t make sense. I am scheduled to meet with him at a luncheon on campus at noon. He is going to be honored for making a hefty donation to the antiquities department,” Santiago said in astonishment.
“He’s been behind the whole dirty business from the beginning,” Eli said angrily after finishing the last of his papaya. “Do you have any Ron Miel, Carlos? I could use a stiff drink.”
“You’ll find it in the liquor cabinet. Go through those doors and into the living room,” Santiago responded to his friend. Eli got up and began walking into the other room, followed by Yashiro and Burr.
“Here, Dad,” Turner said, tossing Eli the Global Star phone. “Try to contact your friends in Washington while you’re at it.” As the three left the room, Turner shot Samuel a knowing grin.
“Uh oh, here it comes. There’s the look that always scares the hell out of me,” Samuel said, knowing his friend had a plan in mind.
“I think it’s time we went on the offensive, Samuel,” Turner said.
“I was afraid of that,” Samuel quipped, knowing that he was also tired of being hunted like an animal.
“Professor, how is Pencor arriving at the University?” Josh asked, his mind still sharp even though he was weary from lack of sleep.
“He contacted my staff, saying that he would be coming by helicopter and landing at the helipad behind the antiquities building. He will then arrive at the main hall, driven by two of his own people. Why?” Carlos asked.
“We may have just found a way to get through that front door you spoke of earlier, Samuel,” Turner responded with a sly look. “Carlos, I want to ask that you please hide my father, Maria, and Mr. Burr here at your home until such time that it is safe. I don’t want to place them at any further risk.”
“By all means, Josh, you have my word. They will be safe here while I am attending the luncheon.”
“Samuel and I will be making an appearance as well, Professor,” Turner said, smiling as the plan formed in his mind. “I feel the need to rattle Mr. Pencor’s cage a little. Here’s what we’re going to do….”
19
Abigail Conger sat at her desk finalizing the statistics report for James Robertson, Under Secretary of State for Arms Control and International Security. Her report highlighted the recent International Atomic Energy Agency’s discovery of the restart of North Korea’s uranium enrichment program in Yongbyon-Kun.
One more to add to the list of the numerous violations of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty by its new leader, Kim Jong-un, whose father’s actions have plagued the State Department over the last two decades.
As it had done so many times in the past, the United States sent a formal protest to the Security Council of the United Nations. Abby had personally come to regard the U.N. as an organization rife with corruption that exhibited a blatant bias against the United States. She knew it would be a useless gesture, as prior protests by the State Department were basically ignored.
Abby recalled how three years ago, a North Korean merchant vessel bound for Syria was stopped at sea by a U.S. Navy Frigate. They discovered it to be transporting a cache of Taepodong-II long-range missiles, capable of a nuclear payload.
As assistant to Under Secretary Robertson at the time, she had been privy to the meeting of the National Security Council with newly elected President Clark. The North Koreans, of course, cried foul to the United Nations and gathered enough support from the General Assembly to garner a formal protest, charging blatant piracy on the high seas against the United States.
The political grand-standing by the President’s detractors on Capitol Hill, along with the bleating of the media, resulted in the ship being released and allowed to proceed unimpeded to its destination.
At the time, Abby protested vehemently to her superior, who just smiled at her and said, “Abby, you will learn in time that things such as these have a way of resolving themselves.”
She did not understand what he meant at the time, but it became all too clear to her when the North Korean merchant ship disappeared somewhere in the Indian Ocean. North Korea protested vehemently again, but without proof, nothing ever came of it. However, the crew of the Los Angeles Class hunter killer sub definitely enjoyed their practice that day.
“I’ll take common sense to political correctness any day,” she told herself at the time.
This morning, Abby was finishing her report for Under Secretary Robertson. She had come in early to assure its completion before his meeting with the National Security Council next week.
Abby always enjoyed the early mornings in the District, as she called downtown D.C. She looked out her third story office on C Street, which afforded her a spectacular view of the Lincoln Memorial and the Potomac River. Her mind wandering, she thought of how she loved her job at the State Department, which enabled her to meet many dignitaries over the last eight years, but left her little time for a relationship.
Maybe it's time I should think about settling down? She considered this as she watched the cars heading west on C Street towards Alexandria. I am quite taken with that lovable archaeologist who's off gallivanting in the Canary Islands, of all places. Eli is such a sweet man. Maybe someday…. Her reverie was cut short when her phone began to ring.
“Under Secretary Robertson’s office: Abigail Conger speaking.”
“Hello, Abby, it’s Eli,” the voice on the other end of the line replied. “I’m so glad I was able to get through to you.”
“Hello, Eli. I was just thinking about you. How goes your search for the Holy Grail?” Abby asked jokingly. “You were all over the news here. I saw you’re—”
“Abby,” Eli interrupted, “we’ve got a serious situation here. I must speak to Robertson. I couldn't think of anyone else to call.”
“Situation? What are you talking about, Eli?”
“Abby, I’m talking about the possibility of massive destruction and loss of life to millions. We’ve stumbled onto a terrorist organization here on Tenerife that is planning to trigger a tsunami from the island of La Palma. If it isn't stopped, it will devastate the coastline of the western hemisphere,” he said, as a stunned Abby fell silent.