Liam was also very likeable, never inviting conflict or challenging his superiors. He simply got on as best as he could with the task at hand. Liam could have achieved great things and moved beyond his current station in life, if not for his one failing personality characteristic◦– he was just plain lazy.
He did his job, and did it well, not caring why, or what, the outcome would be. Different tools were required in stripping the obliterated engine, many parts having fused together. The most useful now was either a hammer or a crowbar.
He was having some difficulty prying an annoying lump of rock or metal from the mangled remains of the high-pressure combustion chamber. The hammer didn’t work, but he was finally able to dislodge it with the crowbar. Strangest thing, now he was unable to pull it off the crowbar. Stubborn rock, he thought. Well, it wasn’t any part of a jet engine that he recognised. Without further thought, Liam walked over to the large plastic disposal drum and threw it in, along with the crowbar it was now relentlessly attached to.
The Flight Data Recorder, or FDR, was plugged in to the analytical computer. The technician noted the last few seconds of flight 761’s port-side jet. Unreliable at the best of times, he hoped the FDR had recorded the details he was most interested in. Fortunately, it had.
2.45.03 p.m.◦– Engine at optimum performance
2.45.07 p.m.◦– Impact sensed
2.45.08 p.m.◦– Computer shut-off◦– fuel
2.45.08 p.m.◦– Computer shut-off◦– electrics
2.45.08 p.m.◦– Computer shut-off◦– remaining engine avionics
2.45.09 p.m.◦– Unyielding vibration
2.45.11 p.m.◦– Sensor shut down
At five twenty-five p.m. Las Vegas time, McCarran International Airport despatched a global communiqué. “Cause of Trans-Commercial flight 761’s engine failure: impact from unknown object. Boeing 737-300 safe to resume normal service.”
Abdallah Bin Al-Said, the United Arab Emirates oil minister, was once again reviewing the photos sent by Angelo Cevallos. The photographer did a good job, and there was absolutely no indication that any had been altered. Twenty billion dollars US seemed a reasonable amount, he thought to himself. They agreed on one billion up front; the balance when Cevallos revealed the exact location and viability of the technology. Cevallos had even promised to throw in a working prototype as proof of concept. Al-Said was particularly interested in those photos.
Deep in thought, Abdallah turned his chair to face the open window of his office. Buildings cast long shadows over the early morning Dubai landscape. He had been assured by Cevallos that the photos represented the work of a privately-run operation and there was only one player. Nobody else knew about it, and the technology’s inventor would be taken care of.
One billion did seem a huge risk if this turned out to be a hoax. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Al-Said’s gut told him otherwise. Like some of the other feasibility studies he’d received over the years, all those associated with this particular technology would also never be heard from again. And that, naturally, included Cevallos himself, so the balance of the payment was a non-issue.
Yes, the risk was worth it Al-Said concluded, and the billion he was about to pay was pittance. OPEC had plenty, and as President of the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, the payment authorisation required no one else’s signature other than his own.
With Dubai being twelve time-zones ahead, Al-Said would arrange for the transfer of funds now; that would make it around six p.m. the previous evening in Las Vegas. Cevallos would have it first thing tomorrow morning, Vegas time. Cevallos needed incentive as soon as possible to deliver his proof.
Al-Said’s job was simple. Keep the world reliant on oil for as long as possible.
Funds transferred, Al-Said left his offices overlooking Al Hudaiba Road and strolled contentedly towards the Jumeirah Mosque for early-morning prayers.
Chapter Sixty-One
Frantic and not knowing what to do, Nathan paced back and forth in the confines of Level-2. His thoughts were working overtime, imagining the worst-case scenarios. “Where was she?” Nathan’s mind echoed for the hundredth time. With his stomach in knots, he had repeatedly checked all the places he had been to before, in the hope that Emily might be there.
Uri, Obadiah and Gene had spread themselves out across Groom Lake in the hope that someone may have seen her. No luck so far. Uri had even gone to the security centre to find out what had happened to the cameras in Level-2, but the shift-change had already taken place, and no one could help him. The log files didn’t provide any details either.
Nathan slumped down in the chair normally occupied by Emily. He covered his face with his hands. “Where are you, Emily?”
Little did he or anyone else know, for that matter, that she was less than four hundred feet from where Nathan, now in utter despair, was slumped forward in the chair.
Emily was frightened. Not for her life, but for the knowledge she now carried. Knowledge that she couldn’t share with anyone, not even Nathan. Poor Nathan, she thought with concern. He must be beside himself with worry.
It now seemed hours ago. Emily had given up with her research on geophysics and she was no closer to finding answers that could remotely fit in with Kubacki’s document. And the sheer volume of information; where would she even start? There were literally hundreds of different disciplines associated with the geo-sciences.
She looked up at the TV monitor. Less than ten minutes previously, she’d seen the Huey land, lifting an enormous cloud of dust into the air. After a minute, Uri, Obadiah and Nathan jumped out and walked towards the entrance of Kubacki’s operation. Obadiah, watchful as ever, was carrying a rifle. Through the eye of the drone, Emily watched as they carefully descended into the entrance of the tunnel. A few moments later, through the crater left behind by the explosion, she observed them coming out the other end of the underpass.
Emily had no idea how to zoom the drone’s camera in for a closer look, and Gene wasn’t around. In fact, she hadn’t seen him the entire morning.
Having now moved off in different directions of the cavern, they were no longer in sight.
Startled, Emily turned her chair to the sound of Level-2’s door bursting open. Although she had never seen the woman, Emily knew exactly who had just entered. She truly was quite repulsive.
“I presume that’s Kubacki’s little operation,” LaForgue said in her gruff tone, looking at the TV.
“Er, yes. Yes, it is,” Emily said.
“And you must be Ms. Hurst.”
“Emily,” she replied.
“Trish LaForgue.”
Emily stood up. “Hello, Miss, er, Mrs. LaForgue.”
“Please, call me Trish. I understand that you cracked the scrambled illustrations embedded in Kubacki’s document. That was excellent work, Emily.”
“Thanks,” Emily said. LaForgue didn’t seem as abrasive as everyone else made out. Certainly, she was nothing to look at and Emily understood that with her medical condition of psoriasis and shingles, loose clothing was her only option, but she seemed friendly enough.
“Do you have a printed copy of the entire deciphered schematic?” Trish asked.
“Right here,” Emily said, reaching behind her laptop.