Robert Pencor still sat at the head table. Weary of this facade, he feigned interest in a conversation with a large woman adorning big hair. She rambled on about the intricate process of preserving the mummified remains of the Guanche that were discovered on the slopes of Guimar earlier that week.
His mind was happily preoccupied with thoughts of his final retribution against the people who cost him so much. His long sought out vengeance against the United States would be satiated soon, followed by power and fortune achieved from the introduction of his Zero Point Generators.
Pencor was sipping his coffee and smiling insincerely at the annoying woman, when a lone figure approached his table and sat down across from him. Pencor gave the man a disinterested glance, and then froze as he locked onto the stranger’s blue eyes. He had seen this look before; a look that his many years of business instincts recognized as dangerous. The unfamiliar eyes held a gaze of pure determination and self-assurance that broke Pencor’s calm demeanor, but only for a moment.
“Do I know you?” Pencor asked abruptly, disengaging from the conversation with the big-haired woman. She gathered her pocket book and began saying her goodbyes to the others.
“I would assume that you’d know me by now, Mr. Pencor,” the stranger replied in a confident tone. “I’d have thought a smart guy like you would have more security around him. Oh, but I forgot… your henchmen are all over the island looking for a bunch of poor archaeologists.”
The words caused Pencor’s armor to crack in surprise, and he now experienced something he had not felt in years: fear.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Pencor hissed to the man seated opposite him.
“The name is Turner, Mr. Pencor, Josh Turner,” he replied. “Did you really think that we would just disappear? No, Pencor, I just wanted to tell you that your little party is going to come to an abrupt end,” Turner paused for effect. “The United States government has been warned of your twisted scheme to trigger the tsunami. As we speak, measures are being taken to put you out of business,” Turner stated, hoping the man would take the bait.
“You’re bluffing, Turner,” Pencor said, now smiling and finding his composure again. “Even in the off chance that they do know, they’ll never be able to stop us in time. Believe me, Turner, it is only a matter of time before you and your friends are caught. Your fortune thus far has been a minor nuisance, but nothing more. I am impressed that you and your little band know far more than I presumed, but it doesn’t matter, because you and your associates will be dealt with soon enough. Nothing will stop my retribution against the United States for its lack of foresight,” he said confidently.
“What you’re doing is wrong. What will be accomplished by killing so many innocent people?” Turner asked, stunned by the man’s lack of humanity.
“Be it a hundred people or a million, Mr. Turner, it’s of no consequence to me. They will pay for the irreparable damage they wrought on my industrial empire with their contrived witch hunt. Their fates were sealed at that moment as far as I’m concerned, and you coming here, Turner, has sealed yours as well,” he said with a malevolent grin.
“Are you that sure of yourself?” Turner said coldly, staring the man in the eyes and playing the game to its utmost. “I just wanted to let you know who is going to bring you down.” He could see the rage building in Pencor’s eyes as a waiter came up beside Pencor to serve him more coffee.
“Your being here only makes it easier for me, Turner,” he hissed as he began to reach into his jacket for his revolver. “I’ll just say that I was defending myself from a madman.”
“Don’t even think about it, amigo,” the waiter said quietly to Pencor, sliding the coffee backward to expose the barrel of the 45-automatic leveled at his head. “Though putting a piece of scum like you out of your misery would make my day,” Samuel whispered in dead seriousness as he moved behind him slowly.
Pencor froze, not knowing what to do next, and then slowly lay his hands on the table in front of him. The big-haired woman walked around the end of the table, giving Turner his opportunity to act.
He jumped up and put himself in front of the woman and Samuel followed his lead. The two quickly melted into the throng of guests, making their way outside the main hall and disappearing into the University Hall garden outside.
“I think you rattled his cage quite nicely, Josh,” Samuel said as the two men sprinted to the side of the twenty foot statue of a Guanche Chieftain. They stopped and turned to see an enraged Pencor running out of the hall and looking about the garden for his antagonists. Turner saw that he was on a cell phone; no doubt to the Yakuza escorts who had driven him to the luncheon from the helicopter pad on campus.
“Yes, you fool!” Pencor yelled into the phone. “They were just here. Find them, or else,” he hissed, shoving the phone back into his coat as the black four-door Mercedes pulled into the parking area in front of the University Hall garden.
The vehicle slowed to a stop when its driver spotted Turner and Samuel beside the Guanche statue. A bulking figure stepped out of the passenger side, smiling a toothless grin at the two as he started walking slowly towards their precarious position.
“We have to go it alone from here, Samuel,” Turner said to his friend. “You know what you have to do, right?”
“Yeah, Josh I do, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up and leaving you unarmed.”
“It’s the only way we have a chance at this, Samuel. We must split them up and then meet at the helicopter if all goes well.”
“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t?” Samuel asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” Turner said, knowing his Quechuan friend would risk his very life for him. “You just be careful and meet me at the chopper as soon as you can. Carlos said he would buy us at least a half hour. I want you to meet up with Captain Saune if I’m not there when the time comes, okay?”
“Hell, you’ll be there Josh; you’re like a bad penny,” Samuel said, smiling as he took off in a sprint for Laguna Street just outside of the campus square.
The huge Japanese man coming at them saw Samuel take off. He signaled the driver to follow with a wave of his hand, and then set his sights once again on Turner. Seeing his friend was clear and their plan might work, Turner ran in the direction of the many classrooms and lab buildings in the rear of University Hall. He had the fortune of being more agile than his pursuer, but without a weapon it would be a short reprieve in a deadly contest.
The bulking Yakuza mercenary ran at a slower pace, keeping his 9mm Glock out of the public’s view. He reached the rear of the garden just as the throngs of guests were dispersing into the parking lot. He wanted a clear shot at Turner without drawing attention, so he took his time. Osama had told them that he wanted them either dead or alive, but to him, dead would be much more amusing.
Back at the campus hall entrance, Pencor had been side-tracked right on cue by Carlos Santiago, buying Turner and Samuel precious minutes.
“Here, my dear friend,” Carlos bellowed, offering Pencor a glass of Malvasia. “A toast to our illustrious benefactor,” he offered, raising his glass in salute.
“Yes…uh…yes,” a distracted Pencor responded. As he took a sip, he scanned the perimeter of the garden in time to see the big Japanese guard disappear behind the building. Finishing off the glass, he handed it back to Santiago saying, “Professor, my apologies, but I must be getting back to the airport right away. An important matter has come up that requires my direct attention. Do you have transportation readily available since my driver has been detained?”