“Out of the car, Pencor,” Samuel said, motioning the barrel of the gun at him.
“What do we do with him?” Yashiro asked, nervously holding the gun.
“I think the turkey we placed in the trunk earlier needs some stuffing, eh, amigo-san?” Samuel said, tossing Yashiro a good-humored wink as Yashiro smiled back.
“It'll be my pleasure, Samuel. Toss me the keys.”
“Okay,” Turner said quizzically. “I give up. What are you talking about?”
“Never mind, Josh, it’s an inside joke,” his friend answered as the two proceeded to escort Pencor to the rear of the car.
Minutes later, Robert Pencor was neatly gagged and tied up in the trunk. Not requiring the Yakuza driver any longer, he was dragged off and tossed into the nearby dumpster.
The three men then made their way through the busy streets to the outskirts of La Laguna, and the location that Captain Saune had provided them earlier. As they drove, they talked about what they needed to do to ensure that Osama would be stopped.
“Not to change the subject, Josh, but it is a good thing we didn’t take that helicopter, or we would have all wound up as seagull food,” Samuel said, looking at his friend as they turned onto Granada Street.
“I figured it would be easier to gain access to the compound using one of their vehicles; just one big happy Bishamon family,” Turner replied. “The way I see it, Osama thinks we’re dead, so he won’t be expecting us to show up at his front door. We now have Pencor’s access card, and I have a feeling Pencor himself will help us get past Osama’s bullies at the main gate.”
“Speaking of bullies,” Samuel said, regarding the ugly bruise growing on Turner’s face and a slightly swollen and split lip. “You look like hell. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you out, amigo. That brute must have given you a bad time of it.”
“Yeah, but you should see him. He definitely won’t be doing the fox trot for a long while,” Turner answered, rubbing his still tender jaw. “We need to end this, Samuel; we need to end this soon.”
They continued to drive until in the distance they saw the military transport vehicle in front of a modest, sky blue, single-story home at the end of the street. “I’m tired of running and killing, but most of all, I miss my dad,” he said remorsefully. “I had just started to set our relationship straight when this mess started.”
“Don’t worry, Josh,” Samuel replied. “Your father loves you very much. He knew you needed room to find yourself, and was content to wait as long as it took for you to decide what you wanted in life.”
“I just want to let him know that, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance, considering what lies ahead of us,” Turner said.
“You can tell him when you see him, amigo,” Samuel said assuredly, giving his friend a jab in the arm that still throbbed from the earlier life-and-death struggle with the brutish guard.
“I guess you’re right, Samuel,” Turner admitted. “At least Dad and Maria are out of harm’s way at Carlos’ house. But before we head out to this madman’s compound, I want to call him.”
Their black Bishamon sedan finally pulled to a stop in front of the house with the address Saune had given them earlier. Shutting off the engine, they all hopped out of the vehicle and proceeded to walk up the flagstone walkway. The brightly painted Tenerife pinewood door was abruptly thrown open at the very moment they reached it. The three found themselves staring into the business end of an M-16A1 rifle.
“Whoa…it’s us!” Turner yelled, freezing mid step and backing up with his companions.
“You might have picked a better mode of transportation,” Captain Saune said, lowering his weapon and motioning at the black Mercedes, its ominous emblem on the door. “We thought you were some of Osama’s party favors coming for a visit.” He threw the door open and quickly ushered the three into the house.
Turner was amazed and impressed to see eight men in Army Combat Uniforms. The ACUs were newly designed uniforms utilizing universal camouflage: ideal for woodland, desert, and urban surroundings. They all carried a late 70s model M-16A1 rifle, which sported a 30-round magazine and a 40mm M203 grenade launcher attached. Each soldier was also wired with a SmartCom SCV08 VHF lapel-attached radio with an earpiece for silent communications. Seeing no threat, the men returned to putting on their face camouflage and checking out their gear.
“These are my best men, Josh,” Captain Saune said proudly as he closed the door behind the three newcomers. They followed Saune across the room and into the kitchen. “Here,” he said, motioning the trio to a porcelain pot. “I’ve made some coffee; we’re going to need it.”
“We’ve had a bit of luck, Captain, and might have a way to gain access into the compound without too much trouble.” Turner said as he poured himself, Samuel, and Yashiro a much needed cup of coffee. “We’ve managed to capture Pencor, who is resting comfortably in the trunk and patiently awaiting his starring role in getting us past the Bishamon gate guards.”
“You’ve got Pencor?” Saune said, laughing aloud. “I’ll bet he’s none too happy about that situation.”
“That’s an understatement, Captain. I’ve never seen a man turn that shade of red before. I’m personally looking forward to ripping the duct tape off his mouth. He’s such an angry individual,” Samuel said with a broad smile.
“I take it you and your men are ready to go,” Turner said, noting the rugged-looking men in the other room, silently going about their preparations.
“Unless you have anything else to add to the equation; we planned to use the Bell 205 Huey to launch an assault from the lower end of the Bishamon facility where we commandeered the Sikorsky. Since you have the Bishamon vehicle, you can launch an assault from the upper level at the gate. With a few well-placed satchel charges, we can easily access the hatchway underneath the facility, neutralize any resistance, and make our way in. Then, with Yashiro’s help, we can set charges to take out that Scalar weapon.”
“Captain, you can’t just blow up the Interferometer device,” Yashiro cautioned. “There is a protocol that must be adhered to in order to shut down the exothermic event. You must—”
“Whoa, Yashiro, can you explain that in plain English, please?” Samuel asked, waving his hands in ignorance.
“Sorry,” he said, then continued. “Osama has two transmitters in place beneath the site. Both have been emitting offset electromagnetic-pulsed timed waves for months now. These powerful electromagnetic waves, built up over time, have a seriously high ground potential that has to be released somewhere. When the Bishamon complex was constructed, they built EM drain fields beneath the facility to slowly release the massive G-potential after the desired effect has been reached,” he said, pausing as the three men listened intently.
“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Turner said. “Go on.”
“The buried drain fields are lined with huge storage cells, capable of discharging the massive potential slowly as the emitted standing waves diminish. If the transmitters were to fail suddenly, or if you were to destroy them, the wave potential feedback would be massive and the drain fields would not be able to handle it. No one knows for sure, as it has never been put to the test, but I would assume the resulting feedback would cause an explosion equivalent to a thermonuclear blast; with a super-charged shock wave that could level much of the island’s infrastructure.” Yashiro said, seeing the stunned look on his comrade's faces.
“Good God, this keeps getting better and better,” Samuel said. “I guess we can’t just go in and pull the plug on his little toys then?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What do you suggest we do, Yashiro?” Turner asked at length.