Crossing Savage (38 page)

“You have your facts all twisted, Ramirez. Your brother was captured alive. It was the spetsnaz sniper team that killed him before he could be taken into custody.”

“I will deal with the Russian soldiers in due time. But you are equally responsible. If you had not attacked my brother's team of liberation fighters, he would not be dead.” His voice was beginning to rise. Good, Peter thought, he was distracting him.

“It's what we call self-defense. Your brother and his band of terrorists attacked us. They murdered a U.S. marshal in cold blood and would have murdered everyone, including my father. These are civilians we're talking about, not soldiers. What sort of lunatic attacks scientists and then justifies it as a war of liberation?”

Peter edged forward, closing the distance to Ramirez. If he could just get closer. He had to keep him talking.

“For too long the United States has been the oppressor of my people. You think we are fooled into believing that you respect our right to self-govern, yet you dominate us through your capitalism. Your CIA works to overthrow governments that are freely elected and then props up puppet regimes that are repressive to the people. You treat all of Central and South America as if it were still under colonial rule.”

Peter had taken two more steps forward. The knife was held close to his thigh, invisible in the dim light. He could now see Vasquez Ramirez clearly and his daughter sitting on the floor just in front of him.

“Let my daughter go. It's me you want. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Ah, I see… but that is not possible. You are responsible for the murder of my brother. He was my family. We grew up together, fighting every day for survival, living in the gutters. When we weren't digging through garbage for meager scraps of spoiled food, we would play like other boys. Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused me? You will share that pain. And then… I will kill you.”

Peter sensed he was out of time. He saw Ramirez begin to move his gun, raising it toward Joanna. In an instant Peter threw the knife. It was a snap throw, underhanded, with no time to aim. But it caused Ramirez to duck.

At the same moment Jess lunged from beside Peter and charged toward Ramirez, who was off balance. She closed to within four feet and then leaped to attack this unknown intruder.

But Ramirez was fast, and he recovered just enough to swing the pistol around. The barrel actually pressed against Jess's chest as she landed on Ramirez at waist level. Before she could get a firm lock with her jaws he pulled the trigger, a single bullet entering her chest and exiting her back. The dog crumpled to the floor.

“You bastard!” screamed Peter. He charged Ramirez, who had now regained his balance. He fired a shot into the floor at Peter's feet.

“Stop!”

Peter had gotten close, but not close enough. “You bastard!”

“You will suffer worse before this is over. Now, sit down and put your hands on your head.”

Peter moved to Joanna and sat down in front of her. He reached out to remove the gag Ramirez had stuffed into her mouth.

“Hands on your head!”

Peter complied, clasping the fingers of both hands on top of his head. He looked into Jo's eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked his daughter.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I'm so sorry. I love you,” was all Peter could say.

“How touching,” Ramirez said with unveiled sarcasm.

He pointed his pistol at Jo, slowly and deliberately so that Peter could see and anticipate his actions.

“Please, you don't need to do this. Let her go. Kill me, but let her go.”

“Very good. I did not expect you to beg. How pleasing.”

He continued to raise the gun and extend his arm. To Peter everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. What more could he say? Time had run out. He had tried to buy time, enough time for Jim to arrive, but he had failed. And now, his daughter was going to pay with her life.

Peter watched, helpless as Ramirez slowly began to move his finger, pressing the trigger slowly, seeing the flesh squeezed as he steadily applied greater pressure to the trigger. Ramirez knew that the mental torture he was inflicting was great.

The pistol was only two feet from Jo, aimed squarely at her head, and Peter had a front-row seat. Any moment and the gun would explode, and his daughter would be dead. Peter looked into her eyes, softly saying he was sorry and that he loved her. She nodded, seemingly resigned to fate.

And then it happened, startling Peter with the suddenness and intensity of the gunshot.
BOOM!

Joanna fell forward at his knees.

Chapter 42

October 23

Bend, Oregon

Joanna slumped forward at the waist
, limp and not moving. Peter dropped his hands and grabbed his daughter's shoulders, but since her hands were still tied to the leg of the pool table, he could not draw her up to him. It felt like his still-beating heart had been ripped from his chest. He lunged forward to hold her.

The sound of the gunshot was still ringing in his ears, so he didn't hear the pistol clang to the floor. But he noticed it from the corner of his eye—it was almost touching his knee. He quickly picked it up, and then looked up at Ramirez, not comprehending what had just happened.

Ramirez was still standing over Jo. Blood was seeping between his fingers where he was holding his wrist and forearm.

“Peter, it's Jim,” he heard from behind. Turning, Peter saw Jim standing at the top of the stairs. His arms were still extended, gripping his Super Hawg .45 in a classic two-hand hold.

Jim continued, “McNerny, see if Jo's hurt. I have Ramirez covered.”

McNerny came around Jim and already had his knife out, ready to cut Jo free of her restraints.

She raised her head. “I'm all right. I heard the shot and ducked. It was strange, because I was certain I had been shot, but I didn't feel anything, no pain.”

McNerny cut the rope and, together with Peter, helped Jo up. Peter was still stunned. He was holding the gun that Ramirez had trained on Jo only moments before. He looked at Jim.

“You fired?”

Jim nodded. “I just reached the top of the stairs. Ramirez was so focused on you and your daughter, he didn't see me. I shot him in the wrist to keep him from pulling the trigger.”

“Why not just kill the bastard,” asked Peter. He looked at Ramirez and saw in his face a mask of pure loathing and contempt.

“Nothing would please me more, but alive we can mine him for lots of intel.”

While Jim was speaking, Jones arrived at the top of the spiral staircase. “The rest of the house is clean, sir.” Jones stood two steps behind his commander, splitting his attention between the wounded Ramirez and the open space below at the base of the spiral staircase.

With Ramirez disarmed, wounded, and at the business end of his Super Hawg, Jim was beginning to believe they had the situation under control. “Good work, Jones. I need you to go back downstairs and plant yourself where you have a clear view of the front door and the door from the lower shop level. If any cohorts of this asshole try to come through either door, you drop ‘em, understood?”

“With pleasure, sir,” replied Jones as he disappeared down the spiral staircase.

Jo rubbed her wrists. They were raw where the rope had chaffed. She put both arms around her father's neck, not able to suppress the tears.

“I thought you were dead,” Peter said, choking up himself. “I thought we were both dead.”

“Well,” said Jim. “Looks like Vasquez Ramirez made my job easy. I won't have to track down this shit ball after all.”

Peter unlocked Jo's arms. “It's okay now, kiddo.” He tried to smile even through the tears.

Jo looked away from Peter and saw Jess, whimpering, bleeding, barely alive.

“Jess, oh Jess.” She was still crying and dropped to her knees beside the mortally-wounded friend. She laid her head on Jess's shoulder and tried to comfort the dog.

Peter knelt beside his companion of ten years and put his arm around Jo's shoulder. “She saved our lives, you know.”

Sobbing, Jo just nodded, unable to speak.

Peter rubbed Jess's head. “You're a good dog, Jess. You've been a loyal companion. I'm going to miss you, ol' girl.” Peter's voice was thick with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Jess relaxed her head and closed her eyes in the comfort of the people she had always known and loved. She took a deep breath, and then exhaled for the last time. Her body went completely limp, and Peter knew his friend had died.

Slowly, Peter rose to his feet. The sorrow had vanished from his face. He said nothing; he just turned to face Ramirez, eyes full of intense, burning hatred.

Peter now realized that he was holding the pistol. Without thinking, he tightened his grip and raised his arm. He had the means to kill this bastard, this blight on mankind, and he fully intended to do so.

Peter pointed the gun at Ramirez, focused on killing him. He didn't hear anything; his peripheral vision seemed to shut down. All he saw was Ramirez in front of him, and he began to increase pressure on the trigger.

Jim was shouting at Peter, but he wasn't hearing. Then Jim shook Peter at the shoulder. “Peter! Let it go, he's not worth it.”

But Peter still didn't break his trance-like focus. He was looking down the barrel of the gun at Ramirez, imagining the bullet smashing into his chest. This man was pure evil; he deserved to die. And Peter was more than happy to make it happen.

Jim shook him again. “Peter, he's not worth it!” Jim was yelling at Peter, trying to break his concentration and to get him to listen to reason. “There's been enough killing—let it go.”

Peter seemed to relent. Maybe he heard Jim; maybe he just decided that shooting Ramirez here, in front of his daughter, was not the right thing to do. Slowly he lowered the gun.

Peter looked to his friend, and nodded. “Yes, but promise me this pile of shit will be locked up for the rest of his life.”

Peter had spoken slowly in a low, calm voice. There was no sign of excitement or anger or hatred, nothing. None of the emotions Peter had experienced were evident. He was speaking like a machine.

Jim nodded. “He will be interrogated at length and then locked up. I promise you, he will never again be a free man.”

Like Jim and Jo, McNerny had also been focused on the drama unfolding with Peter. Ramirez realized that the threat had been largely eliminated when Peter lowered the gun. And now that he was not the focus of attention, he smoothly moved his left hand to the small of his back—with a minimum of motion to avoid drawing attention—where the Colt Commander he had taken from Jo was secured. He wrapped his fingers around the grip, felt with his index finger to ensure the safety was off, and then rapidly drew and swung the gun toward McNerny, who was standing closest.

Ramirez fired and McNerny spun to the side, the bullet striking his left shoulder. Jim turned his body toward Ramirez, immediately realizing his error. He never should have allowed Ramirez to be unwatched for even a moment. Jim was still raising his Super Hawg when the pistol exploded. It was deafening in the confined room.

Ramirez had his gun pointed at Peter, but it was Ramirez who was falling backwards as if hit by a sledge hammer. The Colt fell from his grip, a crimson red blotch was growing in size squarely in the middle of his chest. Ramirez fell back into the chair. His mouth moved, but no words came out. His eyes were looking forward but unfocused.

Peter was standing with the pistol in his outstretched hand; a waft of smoke drifting from the muzzle. He was glowering at Ramirez; his body slumped in the chair. In a soft voice Peter said, “That's for shooting my dog.”

Peter lowered the gun and then gave it to Jim.

“I'm finished,” was all Peter could say, and he turned to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her.

Chapter 43

December 21

Bend, Oregon

October soon passed into November
, and November faded into December. As the days and weeks passed, Peter and Joanna found the routine of work to be good therapy. Jo had reluctantly accepted that her father could not answer all her questions. And although she didn't truly accept the need for government secrecy, with the passage of time her need to know became less important.

Peter was spending about half his working time at EJ Enterprises to support his father's research, mostly designing and fabricating powerful, adjustable electromagnets that were assembled around the stock high-pressure reactors. Eventually that would end, but at least for now it was good to be spending this time with his father. Often Peter found himself staring off in the distance, recalling how close he came to losing both his father and his daughter.
How precarious life is. One moment everything is fine, the next your world comes crashing in.

Peter's cell phone rang, pulling his mind back to the present. He flipped open his phone. “Peter Savage,” he said.

“Hi son, how are you?” answered his father.

“Oh, hi Dad. Doing fine, how are you?”

“You sound busy. Do you have a few minutes, or should I call later?”

“No, it's fine, Dad. I was—” Peter's voice faded.

“Peter, you there? Can you hear me?”

“Yes Dad, I can hear you.”

“Thought I lost you.”

Me too
. “Uh, no Dad, the connection's fine. Just saying, I was working through some calculations. We're trying to improve the muzzle velocity of our large-caliber model. It's a bit tricky to achieve both high magnetic flux and acceptable power consumption.”

“I'm sure you'll work it out.”

“Well, at least it's going better with your research. We're getting some useful data from the cores we've installed on your pressure reactors and that's pointing us in some new, unexpected directions.”

“Well, I won't keep you long. Just wanted to ask if you're going to be around for the holidays. I want a break from the work here and thought I would come up to visit for a few days.” Professor Savage had been working since October from his new lab within the SGIT facility in Sacramento.

“That would be great. Ethan and Joanna have promised to come over for dinner on Christmas Eve. I think they'll stick around on Christmas Day, too, if you're here. They like spending time with you.”

Professor Savage smiled; he loved his grandchildren but always wondered how much the feeling was reciprocated. The generation gap seemed to him to be a huge chasm.

“Let me know what your travel plans are, and I'll pick you up at the airport. But you better book your flights soon, they'll fill up quickly.”

“Sure. I'll check on flights today and get back to you. I can always rent a car and drive from Portland if I can't get a flight.”

“Don't be silly, Dad. If Portland is as far as you can get, I'll pick you up. Okay?”

“All right. I'll let you get back to work. I need to do the same. Take care, son, I'll see you soon.”

“Okay, Dad. I'm looking forward to it.”

And Peter hung up the phone.
Strange
. It seemed like his father had something to say or talk about, some need to be together with his family. Maybe it was just what he had said; a lot of time focused on work combined with the holiday season had produced a need for change. He brushed it aside and went back to his calculations.

Business was progressing well for EJ Enterprises. SGIT was testing the Mk-10 and, so far, liked its performance and improved features Peter had added since the mission in Ecuador. Its predecessor, the Mk-9 magnetic-impulse single-shot pistol, already in production, was selling well to the Department of Defense and the CIA. Although the number of units wasn't enormous and never would be, Peter also manufactured the ammunition. Being a consumable, ammunition sales were steady and showing growth.

Naturally, the Mk-9 was classified and controlled technology, and Peter had not yet been able to secure an export license to sell it to other NATO countries. Now he was working on a large-bore version that would be ballistically similar to a 12-gauge shotgun.

It had been about an hour since Peter had talked to his father. He stood from his desk chair and stretched. He found he couldn't sit in front of his computer for hours on end. Every hour or so he needed to walk around and flex his limbs. The need wasn't only physical; it helped his ability to concentrate as well. The familiar jingle of his phone sounded, and he recognized the number displayed on the phone.

“Hi, Dad. Did you get the flights worked out?”

“Well, sort of. I could get from Sacramento to Portland, but wasn't finding any seats from Portland to the commercial airport in Redmond. And while I was on the phone, Jim overheard my conversation with the travel agent. He graciously offered the SGIT jet. He said he was thinking about flying up to Bend anyway.”

“That's great! Jim told me he had some vacation days, and I suggested he come up. I promised him I'd get the guys over for poker.”

“Good. Since we aren't tied to commercial airline schedules, we're somewhat flexible. Jim suggested we fly up tomorrow evening. I realize it's a day earlier than we had talked about—do you mind?”

“Good heavens, no! What time are you planning to land? I'll just close down shop early. It's no problem at all.”

“I think we should be on the ground at Bend Airport at 6:30 P.M.”

“Call me if the schedule changes; otherwise, I'll pick you up then. Take care, Dad.”

The H3T was arriving in the parking lot at the Bend Airport just as the SGIT jet was on final approach. Peter parked and walked into the small passenger terminal. The space doubled as the airport offices. Shortly the aircraft taxied to a stop, shutting down the port side engine. The passenger door opened, and Jim and Ian emerged, carrying one duffel bag each.

Peter greeted his father with a big bear hug and then shook Jim's hand warmly. “How was the flight?” he asked.

Ian replied, “No problems and right on schedule. I could get used to traveling by private jet.”

Jim added, “Glad to help any way I can.”

“Come on. Let's get your bags in the truck. We can catch up over a cocktail.”

After a short ride home, they were all enjoying a shot of Buffalo Trace whiskey in front of a roaring fire in the great room. Jim and Peter had each melted into large, soft leather chairs on either side of the massive fireplace, while Peter's father had nestled into a corner of the couch, feet up on the leather ottoman.

“So tell me about your latest results?” Peter asked. “You haven't said much about your progress recently.”

“That's because there hasn't been much progress to talk about. We haven't made many advances in the lab work.”

“I thought it was going well, and the magnetic polarization was providing some positive results; you sound discouraged Dad.”

“I am… a bit. Three months ago the experimental work looked very promising. But it seems that we can identify either catalytic materials that have an acceptable rate of reaction or those that have an adequate durability, but not both. Until we can get over this hurdle, I'm afraid our research is nothing more than a scientific curiosity.”

“Don't be discouraged, Professor,” replied Jim. “Sometimes a real breakthrough takes longer than we would wish. That's the nature of the game.”

Ian looked defeated. Peter realized now that his father had needed to get away from the science and technical challenges for a while; he needed time to rest his mind and subconsciously devise a new approach to solve the problems.

Deliberately changing the subject, Peter asked, “What's the word on Enrique Garza? The newspapers haven't reported on any provocative actions by Venezuela.”

“The daily intel briefings that I see are pretty much devoid of any mention of the Garza regime. The Colonel tells me he has kept his word, as best we can determine. I think maybe President Taylor played it right; he seems to have definitely put the fear of God into that tyrant.”

“He couldn't have done it without your help, Jim. And that of your team.”

Peter raised his glass in a toast. “Here's to a greater peace.”

“I'll drink to that,” said the professor, taking a gulp of the amber liquid in his glass.

Jim also took a sip. “I'd be more than happy to be put out of a job,” he said thoughtfully. “But it just seems to be human nature to fight and kill. Why is that? Is it greed?”

“I don't think anyone can say,” answered Peter. “Nothing good ever seems to come of conflict, other than its end. But if history tells us anything, it's that you have job security.”

The somber subject had a dampening effect on everyone's mood. All three men found themselves staring into the fire, alone with their thoughts.

Peter finished his whisky. “I'm going for a refill. Can I fill up your glass, Dad, Jim?”

“I'm still nursing this one, son. But you better top up Jim's glass.”

Peter took the two empty tumblers to a side table by the bookcase and filled them each with a generous shot. He handed Jim his glass, and then plopped back into the leather chair.

“Are you still planning to continue your work at the lab at McClellan Business Park?”

“For the time being. The government has been very generous with funding and outside resources, including computing time on Mother. But I do miss Oregon State University. My sabbatical continues through the end of next summer, and I imagine I'll return to Gleason Hall then.”

“Well, you know I'll be happy to continue helping in any way I can. Do we need to alter the shape of the field or increase the intensity?”

“No,” Ian's voice was low. “It's not the magnetic field, or the pressure, or the temperature. No, we just haven't found the right catalyst yet.”

“You'll get there, Dad.”

Ian forced a smile.

“How are your students doing? This has all been a very unique experience, I'm sure.” Peter was trying to gently encourage his father to open up more and release the tension that seemed to have built up over the past several months.

“They adjusted very fast. Karen has really matured, more so than either Daren or Harry. But all three are smart and skilled scientists. Harry in particular seems to enjoy the excitement associated with semi-classified research.”

“Do you think your students will come back with you to OSU or stay in Sacramento?”

“Oh, I think Karen will certainly come back. She has course work to complete as part of her educational program. As far as Daren and Harry go, I can't say for sure. Their postdoctoral work will be completed by the end of next summer. What is the plan for the lab, Jim?”

“We'd really like to see you stay on as long as you want to, Professor. But I understand that you have your teaching position at OSU as well. We would need to hire someone to manage the facility. With your help, I'm sure that can be done.”

“Maybe Daren or Harry would want to apply for that position? They certainly have the scientific experience and knowledge.”

“I was hoping you'd make that suggestion.”

Professor Savage became quiet again, pensive.

“Something's bugging you Dad, I can tell.”

There was a short pause before Professor Savage replied. “Yes. I'm very disappointed that we haven't yet been able to identify a suitable catalyst and reaction conditions for the oil formation process. We know that the reactions are thermodynamically possible, but the chemical engineering remains elusive. Too many people have suffered for this knowledge. Yet we still have nothing to show for the sacrifices that have been made.”

“Dad, you're too hard on yourself. Like Jim said, these things can take time. I mean, how many different materials did Edison try before he found that a carbon filament fabricated from bamboo worked to make the light bulb?”

“But no one was murdered for that knowledge. There's a world of difference. No, this should never have happened. My work… my colleagues work… my God, this is basic science we were doing. We weren't developing weapons systems. No one should have died!”

“Professor,” interjected Jim, “people were murdered over the
rumor
of certain knowledge… knowledge that, if it existed, would make the world a better place. You and your work were simply a convenient excuse for monsters to carry out monstrous deeds. Peter is right; you are too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe. And maybe I'm just too old for this crap.”

Jim leaned forward in his chair. “Professor, your work has revolutionized the way the Taylor administration perceives energy. Now they see solutions based on domestic production of renewable energy supplies, whether it is from biomass, or chemical conversion of rocks and water to hydrocarbons. The point is, for the first time the American government is mobilizing behind a multitude of approaches to gain energy independence. You are largely responsible for this new government outlook.”