Zero Point (40 page)

34

A
board the USS
Hazleton
, Captain Jason McKnight stood on the foredeck of his vessel smoking his pipe. As his ship sped through the calm waters of the Atlantic on its mission, in his mind he was going over all contingencies. As he studied the strange mushroom-shaped, black cloud in the distance, Lt. Commander Ewell came rushing down the steps to join him on the foredeck.

“Captain, the radio shack has Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT on the horn again, and he wants to speak with you.” Mac calmly tapped his pipe on the deck railing and emptied its contents into the sea. He followed Ewell back up the steps and onto the bridge.

“What’s our distance to the Canaries?” he asked picking up the bridge’s red phone and covering the mouthpiece.

“The closest landfall is La Palma at eighteen nautical miles to the southwest, sir,” his first officer responded.

“McKnight here,” he barked into the phone. He knew that it was an admiral, but he didn’t care.

“Captain, this is Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT. Have you anything new to report on the situation on Tenerife?” he asked gruffly.

“The CIC reported that Colonel Sears met with some weapons fire at the target zone, but the facility’s perimeter has been secured. The Sea Knights are touching down at this moment with Marine backup for the clean-up OPS,” Mac reported, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

“Has there been any report from the civilians on-site as to the status of the terrorist weapon?” Borland asked in a tone that bordered on frustration.

“No, Admiral. Nothing definitive since the report from Sears that said they were having some success. The civilians were supposed to give us the go, or no-go. As of now, we haven’t gotten an all-clear,” he replied.

“In the absence of any confirmation, Captain, I’ve got orders from the President to proceed with the Tomahawk strike. The guidance data has been satellite down-linked to the
Milford
for execution,” he stated. “The U.S. Geological has reported to the President that the La Palma volcano is erupting, and a partial slide on the western flank has occurred. Without any confirmation from the teams on-site as to the condition of the terrorist weapon, he has no other option than to eliminate the source of the weapon.”

“But Admiral, what about the—”

“Mac, I don’t like it either. But with the threat of that landslide possibly becoming a reality, the President has to act, and act now. You have your orders, Captain,” Borland snapped back at him. “Recall the teams at once and
commence with the Tomahawk launch. The President wants that device neutralized ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” Mac said in frustrated compliance, hanging up and then ringing the Combat Information Center.

“CIC: Lieutenant Minichino,” the voice said on the other end.

“Lieutenant, this is the Captain. I want you to recall the away teams and EVAC the civilians at once, then get me the Captain of the
Milford
. We have our orders to launch,” Mac barked over the phone, not happy about this turn of events.

“Aye, Captain,” the CIC Officer responded as the line went silent.

“Damned politicians,” he barked aloud to no one in particular as the bridge crew averted his gaze. He paused, staring out at the plume of smoke in the distance, assuming it was the ash cloud from the eruption on La Palma.

“I’m sure that it will work out fine, Captain,” Ewell said in an attempt to defuse his commanding officer.

“I hope to God that they’re right about this,” he said to Ewell, who looked at him apprehensively
.“
Firing that Tomahawk now that we have almost secured that facility is like putting perfume on a pig, Commander. It’s still gonna wind up being ugly and smelly when it’s done,” he said, letting out a deep breath.

“Okay! Let’s get this show on the road,” he said in finality. “Commander, have the launch deck special detail stand-by to receive the away teams.”

“Yes Sir, Captain,” Ewell said, alerting the aft deck by way of its ship-wide intercom.

Mac walked back out of the wheelhouse and onto the open deck as the cool evening breeze blew across his weathered face. Looking at the ominous dark plume in the distance, he felt that something just wasn’t right. Something in the back of his mind was troubling him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. With that in his mind, he went back onto the bridge where Ewell awaited his orders.

“Commander Ewell, what is our current depth?” he asked his first officer, still gazing at the cloud to the southwest with a growing dread.

“We’re at only thirty-two fathoms, Captain,” he stated as Mac shot him a troubled look. “Chart room advised that we are crossing a volcanic undersea ridge that will give way to deeper water in about an hour,” he said quickly to put his skipper at ease. “We still have plenty of maneuvering room. Is there a problem, Captain?”

“I don’t know, Commander; there could be. I’m just covering my ass for all contingencies,” he answered slowly. Then it finally hit him; the reason for his growing anxiety. A sudden rush of learned experience and old seaman’s tales rushed through his mind as Ewell stared at his focused eyes.

“Captain, are you alright?”

“Commander,” he shot back with a forceful conviction, “I want all water-tight doors shut. Secure the launch well for heavy seas, and aweigh the special sea and anchor detail.
Advise the
Milford
and
Blakeslee
to do so as well. Now,” he ordered.

“Aweigh anchor detail, sir?”
Ewell asked in confusion.

“Do you have a problem with my order, Commander?”

“No, sir!
I’m on it,” he replied in compliance as he sounded the claxon, and issued the orders ship-wide.

“Just covering my ass,” Mac whispered to no one. He stared with growing apprehension at the foreboding plume of smoke in the distance.

35

A
s Turner and Samuel neared the island of La Palma to aid Eli and Maria, Captain Saune stood at the door of the Bishamon facility. He was accompanied by the brawny Marine lieutenant and Yashiro. The lieutenant established three teams to do a methodical sweep of the entire facility, to flush out any remaining resistance and hopefully find Osama. The thirty Marines and what was left of Saune’s men stood ready to proceed, when from deep within the building, they heard the distinct crack of three gunshots. The soldiers all came to alert at the sound, while Saune and the lieutenant moved aside the door.

“I thought you said this place was
secure
, Captain,” the Marine lieutenant remarked.

“Secure as we could make it with five men, Lieutenant.” Saune shot back, rebuking the off-handed remark. “The rest of my men are lying dead on the lower side of this damned rock!”

“My apologies to you, Captain,” the lieutenant said in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“None
taken,
Lieutenant.”

At that very moment, the ground beneath them began to rumble, building in magnitude for at least thirty seconds before subsiding as quickly as it had begun.

“Something is wrong!” Yashiro yelled in a panicked voice. “That should not have occurred after my final corrections were made. We need to get back into the control room now.”

“Okay, team leaders, move out,” the lieutenant yelled. The three squads entered the now dark atrium, and then split off to their assigned levels to begin their search. The Marines and the remaining National Guardsmen began to search each of the living quarters along the center corridor, while Saune and Yashiro made a sprint towards the control room door. The access box, smashed earlier by Samuel, dangled uselessly against the door as they reached it.

“You’re going to have to shoot the door open, Captain.” Yashiro said, peering into the room through the Plexiglas pane. “Something is terribly wrong,” he whispered as he looked about the room. One of the Marines came running up to report that the living quarters along the hall were clear.

“I need you to open this door, Corporal,” Saune stated, motioning to the lance corporal’s rifle.

“Stand back, sir,” he said as he raised his weapon and let loose its fire power against the lock, splintering it along with much of the frame. Saune entered the room first and made sure that it was clear, followed by Yashiro and the rest of the detachment.

Yashiro walked over to the computer console station and froze at what he saw lying on the floor in front of it. There lay the bodies of the three Japanese scientists they encountered earlier, all executed with a bullet to the head. He fought the urge to be sick and averted his eyes from the grisly scene before him as he turned his focus to the computer display.

“Looks like Osama’s handy work,” Saune said, rolling the bodies over with his boot. “That must have been the shots we heard outside.”

“Oh my God, no!”
Yashiro said incredulously. “They’ve reestablished the exothermic EM waves in the magma chamber beneath La Palma. I’ll have to repeat the entire process again.”

“You do that while we look for Osama. There has to be a false wall in here someplace,” Saune said as he and his men fanned out along the perimeter of the room. “Look for any gaps or openings in the panels.”

Their search was interrupted when the Marine lieutenant burst into the control room yelling. “We’ve got to clear out of here now, Captain. They’ve ordered the Tomahawk strike on this facility. We’ve got just ten minutes to be airborne.”

“No!” Yashiro yelled, panic in his eyes. “They can’t do it until I have reduced the EM wave levels. There’s no predicting the shock wave levels that may result from the sudden shut down of the Scalar weapon.”

“Here on Tenerife?” Saune asked the scared Japanese scientist.

“Here and on La Palma as well. I can’t be sure of the after-effects. You’ve got to stop the strike,” he pleaded.

“There’s no time to argue, sir,” the lieutenant ordered, motioning his men to vacate the control room.

Frustrated and defeated, Yashiro hesitantly left the console. He followed the fleeing soldiers out of the control room and down the corridor, and then exited the doomed complex. Outside, the two remaining Sea Knights were powering up in preparation for lift-off as the men filed into the rear access ramps. With everyone accounted for, the two CH-46 helicopters lifted off from the compound’s main entrance area and headed to safety.

At that same moment, fifteen miles from La Palma, a turbulent flash and roar emitted from the fore deck of the USS
Milford
as its deadly TLAM Block III lifted off. The TERCOM GPS guidance system of the weapon locked in on its target as it cruised four hundred feet over the calm, turquoise waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

***

Deep in the bowels of the Bishamon facility, a winded Yagato Osama reached the lowest level of the complex that he had designed specifically for an emergency evacuation. He now stood at the base of a thirty-foot steel ladder that descended vertically from the false wall in the control room to a small concrete room that led to a large steel door. He spun
the circular latch on the steel door, unlocking the oval shaped entryway. He then pulled it open to reveal the entrance to a lava tube.

His engineers discovered this tube during the facility's construction, and had reported to Osama that it made a gradual decent to an opening in the mountain about three quarters of a mile distant. The mountain opening was not accessible from the exterior due to a steep drop off, but a helicopter could airlift a person out if necessary. In the opposite direction of the tunnel, coming from the caldera, the ceiling had collapsed centuries ago. To Osama, this was the perfect means of an escape in the event of an emergency. He had his construction crews secretly build the concrete room and then break through to the lava tube. As a finishing touch, he had ceiling light fixtures suspended along its entire route.

Regaining his breath, he entered the cool, dimly-lit lava tube and slammed the large reinforced steel door behind him with a loud, muffled clunk. Then he drove the one-inch diameter steel slide bolts into the sides, locking the door from the inside.

Osama sat down against the cool basalt rock to rest, pleased with himself at his ingenuity and resourcefulness. Once Fuyuki and his assistants had re-established the Scalar weapon’s exothermic mode, they were expendable to him. Retrieving the side arm from the dead guard that Turner’s people killed, he terminated the three men as effortlessly as a person killing a fly.

I will not be beaten by that fool, Turner, or the United States. When I alone have the wealth and power from the ZPGs that Pencor so graciously provided me, I’ll be untouchable,
he thought vainly.

Minutes later, a grinning Osama began to slowly make his way down the lava tube to the tunnel entrance, and to freedom. At that precise moment, the Tomahawk missile struck the Bishamon complex.