He studied the huge parabolic dishes bolted securely to the reinforced concrete floor. Attached were huge snake-like cables projecting from the back of each. One cable wound its way upward through the ceiling, while the others went down into the floor. Probably the storage drain cells beneath the ground that Yashiro spoke of.
Looking to Turner like something out of a sick sci-fi movie, he moved carefully towards the array. He avoided walking in front of it, though Yashiro had assured him that the EM waves were traveling through the vacuum of space-time.
Realizing that he was wasting valuable moments, he quickly clicked on the transmitter on his VHF radio.
“Captain Saune, this is Turner. Do you read me?” he asked. After a few moments of silence, the earpiece crackled to life with the sound of Saune’s voice almost completely drowned out by gunfire.
“Josh,” Saune yelled over the din of rifle fire. “It’s not going well here. We're pinned down at the loading platform and barely holding our own. I didn’t anticipate this much resistance. We’re facing at least twenty or more combatants up at the lava tube entrance. I may not be able to meet you in the control room.”
“Samuel and Yashiro should have made it to the control room by now, and I’m on the lower level,” Turner replied. “Is there anything I can do to help you from this end?”
“Unless you have a squad of armed men with you, I’m afraid not. You wouldn’t last a minute if you came down to the tunnel. Just take out that Scalar weapon. We’ll keep them occupied here as long as we can. Saune, out—” he said as the earpiece fell silent.
Turner felt a sickening feeling of despair rising in his chest as he continued to stare at the two horrid weapons before him. How could they possibly hope to succeed with the odds so against them, and where in hell was their help?
His earpiece came to life once more with the familiar voice of his friend. “Josh, can you read me?”
“Yeah, Samuel, how are you two faring?”
“We had a bit of trouble at first and Yashiro was wounded, however, we managed to secure the control room. No one can gain access unless Yashiro lets them in from the inside. He’s now trying the reversal process.”
“Do you think he can pull it off, Samuel?”
“It’s going to be a tough road, Josh. He said the EM levels were already at maximum after we busted in, so I just don’t know.”
Turner, still staring at the ominous looking Scalar weapons, clicked his transmitter button to reply to his friend. However, he was cut short when a familiar voice from behind said, “Drop the gun, Turner.” Releasing the transmitter button, he slowly raised his hand, and then dropped the 45 to the floor. “Now, slowly kick the gun away from you,” the voice said. He complied, kicking the weapon away from him, and then turned to see Robert Pencor and a pale looking Japanese man with a patch over his eye. The two were flanked by two armed guards who were leveling their AK-47s at him.
“A valiant effort, Turner,” Pencor said flatly, “but a useless and costly one as you will soon find out. Oh, excuse my bad manners, Mr. Turner. May I present to you my associate, Yagato Osama,” he said, gesturing to the pasty looking man that stood beside him.
“Another one of your slimy friends,” Turner said in contempt, desperately looking for a way out of this predicament.
“Mr. Turner, you disappoint me. I would have hoped for more respect than that,” Osama responded. “But be assured, I plan to teach you proper respect.”
Turner had to stall for time. He knew he was a dead man if he failed, so he went for the man’s vanity, hoping that it would work.
“I’m quite impressed with your set up, Osama,” he said. “Your Zero Point Generators are really quite amazing devices—”
“They are my devices, Mr. Turner,” Pencor interrupted angrily. “The ones here are merely small prototypes in comparison to the larger industrial applications that I’ve developed. They are ready for deployment after the tsunami has wreaked havoc in the west.”
“Somehow, I find it hard to believe that you developed them, Pencor,” Turner said, his mind racing for any advantage.
“Very astute of you, Turner,” Pencor said with a laugh. “I found it quite effortless to procure the device designs due to the stupidity and lack of foresight of many scientists in the United States. The original designers can cry foul all they want, but in the end, it won’t matter. I will be untouchable.”
“So, basically, you stole the designs from the efforts of others and plan to gain from their hard work and sacrifice.” Turner said.
“Stealing is such a harsh word, Turner. I prefer procure. It has a more professional sound to it, wouldn’t you say?”
“And what about the Scalar weapon…” Turner asked, continuing the tactic. “Did you procure them as well?”
“No!” Osama snapped back. “They are mine; the end result of decades of research and testing by my organization, Mr. Turner. Behold, the weapons of the future,” he said arrogantly, giving Pencor a disdaining look. “With the Scalar technology, we can strike any place in the world at any time; create earthquakes, eruptions, and tsunamis.
“I witnessed some of your handiwork in 2008, off the coast of New Guinea. A lot of good people died because of you,” Turner said angrily.
“That was only the test run, Turner,” he said with a laugh. “You should have considered yourself lucky it was such a small event. One of our proposed ideas was to use the exothermic weapon to cause the eruption of what is called a super volcano in the caldera that exists beneath your Yellowstone National Park. Our scientist considered the venture far too risky. The entire earth’s climate could have been affected as a result, so we have put that plan on the shelf for the time being. Imagine, Mr. Turner, meters of ash covering most of the cities and agricultural heartland of America. Most would have died of lung related illnesses from breathing in the ash-laden air. Farm animals would have perished and eventually most people would have died from starvation.”
“Only a diseased mind would ever think of doing something that terrible,” Turner said, wanting to put this maniac out of his misery.
“Speaking of minds, you bring up a good point, Mr. Turner. I failed to mention that we can even affect the mind with a little device I have in the next room. You will have the pleasure of seeing it demonstrated first hand,” Osama said, motioning the guards to take him.
“You cannot hope to stop the mega-slide now, Mr. Turner,” Osama said, as Turner was dragged forcefully into the corridor and toward the adjacent room. “It's over, Turner. You and your rag-tag group of soldiers below are hopelessly outnumbered by my men and shall all die in vain.” He laughed loudly as Turner, hearing the sounds of the firefight below the complex, was dragged into the room.
“Where are your two friends, Mr. Turner? Telling us may save you a great deal of suffering,” Pencor said as they entered the room with a warning placard similar to the one where the Scalar weapons were deployed.
“They went down through the supply room entrance to the lava tube to help our friends below,” he lied, still hoping to buy Yashiro and Samuel precious moments. He looked around the large, sparsely-furnished room and saw it looked part laboratory, part medieval dungeon. On one wall, where he was now led, was a series of leather straps mounted head and chest level, with more along the floor. Turner was callously strapped to the leather bindings. He struggled to free himself to no avail.
“I’m sure that you are lying about the location of your friends, Mr. Turner,” Osama said smiling. “We will no doubt find them, and soon they can join our little party.”