Zero Point (9 page)

Alton Burr’s anger-driven persecution of religion had not always been the case. As a young man, newly graduated from Harvard Law School, he looked to the future with a bright optimism and open mind. However, September 11, 2001 changed all that forever. His parents had been in the second of the Twin Towers in New York City. In stunned horror, he watched it collapse before his eyes on television, which also effectively collapsed a part of his mind and soul. When he attended their funeral service, something inside him snapped
when the priest mentioned something about it being God’s will.

“God’s will?” he had cried in a rage at their grave side. “What kind of God would let my parents die that way?” From that moment on, his anguish manifested into fiery hatred of God, and of those propagating any religious or spiritual reasoning. Oh yes, he acknowledged God, but only in the sense of blaming him for his parents unwarranted death. Thus, he’d set out on his personal crusade of punishing God and religion wherever he could find it.

After a successful stint with the ACLU, Burr founded the Secular America Movement with support amassed through major donations from ultra-left groups and socialist organizations. He quickly became popular within its ranks through his fiery zeal and relentless tenacity. With vast support from his many friends, he had now begun focusing his aspirations on political office, where he could affect legislation to their benefit.

He had come to Tenerife to make sure that any possible pro-religious agenda, brought about by the discovery of any religious artifacts, would be crushed and labeled a fraud, no matter what the cost. If some margin of authenticity to this archeology find became a reality, Burr felt that it could be a major setback in his dream of secularizing America.

No,
he thought on the ride to the dig site,
I won’t allow that to happen
.

Eli and Maria reached the parking lot and walked over to the man, who now stopped his pacing and now stood next to his vehicle, glaring at them as they approached.

The captain stood close behind, watching the man intently while the other three guardsmen watched in curiosity from the higher ground at their tent.

“Are you Turner?” Burr asked, waving the piece of paper in his hand.

“Last time I checked,” Eli replied, annoyed by the little man’s attitude. “This is my protégé Maria Santiago. What is it you wish to see me about?”

“You have a lot of nerve sending me a telegram with your smart-assed reply to my request to observe the work here,” Burr said as he waved the telegram in Eli’s face.

“So, you are Mr. Alton Burr,” Eli said smiling, his deep blue eyes focused in an unwavering gaze. This unsettled Burr
even
more. “I meant what I said, Burr. You, your high priced lawyers, and your group of misguided minions can all go to hell. If you need directions, Captain Saune here will be glad to give them to you,” Eli retorted in a menacing tone that surprised even Maria.

“I demand that you grant access to this project,” Burr shrieked, his voice rising in crescendo as his anger boiled over. “People have the right to know that you and your team are not trying to deceive them.”

“How dare you question Dr. Turner’s integrity?” Maria yelled in anger. “His work has always been—”

“Don’t let him get to you Maria,” Eli said, calmly interrupting her. “He’s not worth it.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Turner, but I can't allow someone to criticize your work with no justification.”

“Mr. Burr, my decision still stands,” Eli said. “I am director of this project, and I’m not going to risk its contamination by you or any other unauthorized personnel. Everything here is being done in a precise scientific manner and unlike you, Burr; we cherish the ideology of integrity in our work. When the time comes, whatever we discover
will
be presented in a professional and truthful manner to the scientific community. Until that time, you have no jurisdiction here, so I suggest you kindly take your concerns to the Tenerife Island Administration.”

“You won’t get away with this, Turner!” Burr hissed as he approached within inches of the elder man’s face and stared into his bright blue eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Captain Saune,” Turner said, holding his steady gaze into Burr‘s eyes, “will you show our guest the way out?”

“With pleasure, Dr. Turner,” the Captain said, smiling as his bulking figure started toward the lawyer.

“You haven’t seen the last of me!” Burr shouted as he turned and stormed back to his jeep, his fists clenched in rage. The three watched the CJ-5 speed back down the access road, throwing debris behind it as its wheels spun wildly in the loose gravel.

“That guy is a nut case,” Eli said as they turned and headed back up the path toward the camp.

“Do you think he means it, Dr. Turner?” Maria asked hesitantly, a bit unnerved by the encounter. “Will he cause us any trouble?”

“I’m not sure, Maria, but we should keep an eye open for trouble. Captain Saune, you and your men might want to be extra vigilant from this moment on,” Eli said.

“We’re on it, Dr. Turner,” the captain said. He added, “I see our audience is back.” Saune pointed to a black vehicle high above them on the caldera’s rim access road.

“Yes, I saw them, too,” Eli said as he peered up toward the ridge. “They’ve been sitting there for about an hour.”

“Who are they?” Maria asked, looking up at the dark vehicle shaded by the late afternoon shadows.

“My guess is they are from that Bishamon Research facility just beyond the rim on one of the caldera’s plateaus,” the captain replied. “They seem to have taken quite an interest in what you have been doing here.”

“They make me nervous,” Maria said, her voice just above a whisper. “My father warned us about staying clear of that place. He did say something about people disappearing.”

“I can understand them wanting their security, but why would a Japanese research facility be so interested in us?” Eli asked as they reached the plateau of their camp.

“I don’t know, Dr. Turner, but I’m not comfortable with it,” the captain replied as he split away from the two. He was
heading back to the Guard tent where the other three guardsmen were tending their camp fire for the coming evening. “You also might be interested in knowing that Bishamon is the Japanese God of War,” Captain Saune yelled as he walked away from the two archaeologists.

“Hmm…strange name for a scientific facility,” Eli said. “Oh well, let’s get a fire going and have supper, Maria. It’s going to be a busy night.”

As the two walked slowly into the tent, the dark sinister vehicle high above them silently rode out of view, its occupants already planning the coming night’s work.

The Lava Tube was eerily dark and quiet now that everyone had departed for Santa Cruz with the artifacts. The kerosene lanterns carried by Eli Turner and Maria projected ghostly silhouettes against the smooth, black basalt walls as they walked onward, deeper into the recesses of the lava tube.

Following closely behind them with flashlights in hand were Captain Saune, armed with his 45-caliber sidearm, and one of his privates, his M-16 loosely slung over his shoulder.

Eli knew that Maria was not happy about the men carrying their weapons, but the captain had insisted considering the events that transpired earlier that day. Eli told Saune that he had an uneasy feeling, so Saune left the other two guardsmen on post outside at the guard tent. They were to keep an eye on the camp, while he and the private would
keep watch over the two archaeologists working inside the cave.

Eli led the small group carrying a backpack with his usual fare: pointing trowels, a tape measure, a horsehair brush, a small hammer, and a chisel for chipping away at the harder sediment. He also threw in a few sandwiches for later. Maria toted her backpack bearing a note pad, a digital camera, and water canteens, plus two night-vision goggles in the unlikely event that the lanterns would fail.

They slowly walked past the recently excavated tombs located on various levels of the cave which was honey combed with carved-out chambers.

Turner marveled at how the chambers held the mummified Guanche remains for almost two thousand years. According to the ancient tribal hierarchy of the Guanche culture: the higher the chamber in the catacomb, the more important its occupant’s status.

The four made their way to the location of the last sealed chamber. Beyond it, the lava tube continued upward into the darkness of the dormant volcano through a narrow opening.

“This is it,” Eli exclaimed, setting his lantern down close to the sealed chamber entrance and dropping his backpack.

The entrance to the ancient crypt was about three feet in diameter. Sealed for the centuries by a flat chiseled piece of limestone, the Ichthus symbol
on
the cover stone was now clearly visible since Eli had treated it earlier that day with a mild acid solution.

“It looks like the centuries of natural settlement have fashioned a tight seal around the cover stone. We’ll have to chisel it out carefully,” Maria said.

“We’ll take turns chipping away at the natural rock that surrounds the cover stone so we don’t damage it,” Eli said to Maria as he pulled the tools from his pack.

“Fine by me, Dr. Turner,” Maria replied, digging out the digital camera from her pack. “I’ll start taking some photos.”

“You gentlemen might as well get comfortable,” Eli said to Captain Saune and the private, who looked and felt somewhat out of place inside this volcanic lava chamber.

“We’ll stand watch over there,” the captain said, pointing to a recently vacated burial chamber because it commanded a view of the pathway leading back to the entrance.

Leaving the two archaeologists, the soldiers walked to the empty chamber. Climbing in, they slumped down against a wall and switched off their lights.

“Okay, Maria, let’s get started,” Eli said as he started to chip away at the basalt rock. “It’s going to be a long night.”

After fifteen minutes, Maria took over the task. This routine continued for more than two hours before the last of the basalt rock surrounding the cover stone was finally removed, freeing it from its earthen lock. By then, both Maria and Eli were coated in perspiration from the work, causing them to be chilled by the cave’s cool interior. Putting the tools away, Eli stared for a long moment at the freed stone, his
mind wondering as to what could lay beyond the seal in front of them.

He glanced over to where Captain Saune and his subordinate sat silently in the darkness of their chamber, their presence made known only by the glowing embers of their cigarettes in the surrounding blackness.

Outside the cave, the two guardsmen chatted silently about their upcoming leave after this assignment, completely unaware their lives were about to end. As they quietly conversed, silent forms stealthily approached them in the blackness. A light falling rain hissed as tiny droplets hit the red-hot embers of their campfire.

6

Y
ashiro Fuiruchirudo slowly inched his way through the Bishamon facility’s main utility shaft. The narrow, steel corridor ran the entire length of the complex. It carried the complex’s power, communication cables, and, the building’s fresh water supply, which was fed from a gravity tank located outside of the building. Though cramped and covered with dust, it was large enough for a man to traverse safely.

Yashiro ceased his crawling every ten feet or so to catch his breath or to wait in stark terror as people passed directly below him in the corridor that ran parallel to the shaft. His heart pounding in his chest, he moved closer to the end of the darkened passageway that ended abruptly over the supply and refuse storage room at the far end of the facility. The room contained the refuse bins that would be lowered down to the excavated lava tube below the complex.

A helipad was constructed on a level surface just below the outer entrance to the lava tube. Yashiro knew the Sikorsky CH-53K heavy-lift helicopter was due in the morning to re-supply the facility and take out refuse.

If all goes well, I’ll be long gone by then
, he thought as he reached one of the ventilator grates that offered a view of the
corridor below. Yashiro held no doubt that his plan was a long shot at best, but fear had overcome reason at this point. He knew in his heart that if he remained, he would surely die.

Seeing no one below, he inched carefully toward the final grate that would ultimately lead to his freedom. As he crawled onward, he vividly recounted in his mind the encounter he had with Yagato Osama earlier that day. There was no doubt now in his mind as to the awful plans he and Robert Pencor had in store for millions of unsuspecting people in the United States.

Yashiro had been at his workstation monitoring EM levels as usual that morning when one of the guards came to his desk and ordered him to follow. The two went down the corridor to the stairway that led to the complex’s second level, which housed the suites, security, and conference rooms. Walking up the stairway, they approached the door of the suite belonging to Yagato Osama.

This is it
,
I’m a dead man
, Yashiro thought in terror as they entered the room. He saw Osama sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of tea. He then smiled an evil, knowing grin that caused Yashiro’s stomach to convulse.