Zero Point (26 page)

Following Santiago to his transportation, he contemplated calling Osama and castigating him once more for his ineptitude, but decided it would be better served in person when he returned to the weapon complex.
Could it be possible that the United States government is aware of our plans
? He considered this as he climbed into the car and Carlos gave the driver instructions.
We must move our plans ahead, and quickly
. He sat back in the seat as the driver hopped in and started the vehicle.

They headed out the drive into the busy street where they were immediately overwhelmed by the heavy traffic bound for Santa Cruz. Pencor nervously tapped his fingers on the console as the traffic moved along at a snail’s pace.

This is not good,
he thought.
Not good at all.

While Pencor found himself caught in traffic, Samuel was running down a narrow busy street past the shops and cafes well known to the university town. He glanced back from time to time to make sure that the black Mercedes was still in pursuit.

After years of hiking the high Andes in Peru, a light run in such a low altitude did not even cause him to work up a sweat. He passed many shops that were closing early for the festival and people going about their daily routines, until he finally reached his goal; the Teme Internet Cafe.

Built in 2002, the brightly decorated cafe was full of students and a smattering of tourists, all using the computers for emails and chat. Samuel stopped running for a few
moments so that his pursuer could see him, then headed inside of the establishment. Seeing Yashiro sitting at a table, he walked over and sat down across from him.

“Are you sure you know what to do, amigo-san?” Samuel asked the Japanese scientist.

“I’m ready, Samuel,” Yashiro answered as Samuel slid the 45-automatic across the table. It was still wrapped in a linen towel from the dining hall.

“I want to be sure that no innocent bystanders get hurt from our actions, Yashiro, so make it a good performance,” Samuel said as the two stood up and started walking towards the door to the street outside. “I just hope that they don’t recognize you.”

“I’m positive they won’t,” Yashiro said, following Samuel out the door with his hand on the gun still hidden in the towel. “These are Osama’s goons that do his dirty work on the island. They seldom get to the weapon facility.”

“I hope, for our sake, you’re right. Okay, Yashiro,” Samuel said as the black Mercedes came up to them. “The camera’s rolling. You’re on.”

Less than a mile away, at the University, Turner made his way to the antiquities building, one of the original structures of the university still in use today. He entered the large front doors and went inside its main lobby, noting the familiar Spanish decor of high ceilings designed in eloquent mosaic patterns. On the walls, he saw many ancient Guanche artifacts that had been restored to their original beauty and
design. He found his way to the old wooden staircase in the center of the lobby and sprinted up to the second floor containing classrooms and laboratories.

Turner was well aware that his pursuer was not far behind, and that he had to formulate a defense quickly. As Turner reached the end of a long hallway, he opened the door to the artifacts preservation lab. He then heard the loud creaking sound of the main door being opened downstairs in the lobby, surprised that the hulking Japanese assailant had gotten there so soon.

The preservation lab was a long rectangular room that, in the dim light, looked like a bizarre mortuary with two rows of metal tables running side by side all the way to the end. Normally a bustling lab with students and archaeologists going over ancient finds, Turner was now alone amidst ancient Guanche mummies that were discovered by his father at the tomb near Guimar. Rows of long, metal rolling tables held many of the ancient remains that were covered with white sheets. This gave the lab the eerie appearance of a mortuary. Turner quietly made his way to the window at the back of the room.

He quickly glanced outside the window and saw Pencor’s Raven-44 helicopter sitting on the helipad, with its pilot standing nearby smoking a cigarette. Two large trucks were parked adjacent to the pad, used to transport equipment to and from the dig sites on the island.

Turner knew he only had a few precious moments before the Yakuza mercenary checked each room and ultimately discovered him, so he looked about in an effort to find anything that he could use as a weapon to defend himself. He walked over to a large table at the center of the room where he saw artifacts spread out on its top. He found old leather leggings, a few stone axe heads, and a well-preserved spear still attached to its long shaft.

An axe head against a gun is not much of an even match
, he thought, his mind racing feverishly for any advantage. He quickly moved up the center isle where the faces of two thousand year old Guanche mummies seemed to taunt him with their frozen death masks.

Moving in the room’s dim light, he bumped against one of the preparation tables containing etching fluid, used to clean the stone artifacts. He sent it crashing to the floor, and the sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the silent building.

The huge Japanese assailant was coming out of one of the rooms upstairs when he heard the sound. He smiled to himself as he made his way down the hall to the door of the preservation lab. Pausing at the door, he said, “I know that you are in here, Turner. You have no means of escape. By playing this little game, you are making it more difficult for yourself. Come out now, and I promise to make your death a swift one.” After a moment, and, with no response from within, he grinned with satisfaction and slowly turned the doorknob.
He pushed the old wooden door open with his pistol. “You should have taken that option, Mr. Turner,” he hissed as he entered the room, senses attuned to any movement within. “I have acquired many techniques for bringing about a slow and painful death, as you will soon discover.”

The giant of a man walked slowly and deliberately down the dark isle between the rows of tables containing the mummies. He noted that one table held an object larger than its neighbors, covered by a white sheet; he silently walked up to it. He leveled the gun at the object and with one swift motion, pulled the sheet off. The absence of the sheet revealed a Guanche wrapped in a thick ancient blanket; its long, dead, hollow eyes staring back at the mercenary. He grinned, threw the sheet back over it, and then continued his search down the dimly-lit isle. Moving stealth-like to the rear of the room, he smiled as he saw another table covered with a sheet. This time, the bottom of a rubber heel was protruding from the end.

“Welcome to the world of pain, Mr. Turner,” the huge man said, sneering as he slowly approached the table.

Back on Laguna Street, the black Mercedes came to a halt in front of the internet cafe. Its darkened, tinted window on the driver’s side rolled down to reveal the driver pointing a gun at Samuel. Yashiro quickly went into action, speaking in Japanese to the driver.

“No,” Yashiro said forcefully. “Osama wants anyone captured to be delivered alive to the facility. He plans to use
them as a hostage to lure his other friends out into the open.” The driver, caught off guard, lowered the weapon and asked, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

“I’m just one of our Oyabun’s many operatives. You must know that he doesn’t make it a habit of identifying all his people,” Yashiro responded abruptly, hoping the ploy would work. “We must get him to the helicopter on campus where we can transport him. I’m sure Osama will greatly reward your diligence.”

Falling for the ruse, the driver put the gun down and said, “Very well. Put him in the back seat, but keep him covered.”

“You,” Yashiro barked, nudging Samuel with the 45 still wrapped in the towel. “Get into the back—move!”

“Okay, okay. Just don’t shoot,” Samuel replied, feigning trepidation as he opened the rear door and slid across the seat to the opposite side. Yashiro slid in next to him.

The sedan pulled onto the busy street, slowly making its way back to the university campus. Yashiro discretely slid the gun across the seat to Samuel, who shot Yashiro a sly wink of approval for his command performance.

“Do you have anything to bind him with?” Yashiro asked the driver as the car left Laguna Street and headed up one of the many side streets in town.

“There are plastic tie wraps and duct tape in the trunk that we can use,” he replied. Just then, Samuel sprang into action, raising the gun and pointing it directly at the back of the driver’s head.

“Thanks for the lift, amigo, but you can pull into that next alley on your right,” Samuel said with a smile as the driver’s eyes went wide with shock. Doing as he was told, he made the turn and slowly went up the deserted alley.

“Stop here,” Samuel ordered as the driver complied and came to a halt. “Now, very slowly, hand me your weapon grip first. No funny stuff.”

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Yashiro asked hesitantly as the driver handed Samuel the pistol.

“Unlike this guy and all of his friends, I’m not a cold-blooded murderer. I’ll only kill him if he gives me a good reason” Samuel replied to Yashiro’s relief.

“What are we going to do with him?” Yashiro asked as he opened the door.

“You heard the man. There are tie wraps and duct tape in the trunk. We’ll just truss him up like a Christmas turkey and let him marinate in the trunk,” Samuel responded, motioning the driver to get out of the vehicle.

Minutes later, the driver safely secured in the trunk, his hands and feet bound and his mouth duct-taped. Yashiro put on the driver’s jacket, then the two backed the car out of the alley and continued to make their way to the helicopter behind the antiquities building.

“I sure hope Josh is alright. That other guy looked pretty nasty,” Samuel said in a concerned tone, not knowing that at that very moment Josh Turner was in a struggle for his life.

At the preservation lab, Turner could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He remained motionless, breathing ever so shallowly as he heard the footsteps come ever closer. He tried to put the ominous threats made by his pursuer out of his mind, and focus on the fight that lay ahead of him. He knew this was to be a struggle with only one victor. Once engaged, there could be no holding back. Adrenaline now coursed through his body as the shadow of the huge killer passed by his fragile table shelter.

The toothless Japanese mercenary grinned as he slowly brought his 9mm Glock to bear on the head of the figure under the sheet. In one swift motion, he yanked the sheet off only to reveal another lifeless mummy; its dead eyes still looking upward as the two shoes at the end of the table fell away to the floor.

That was Turner’s cue. He jumped from the table behind the assailant and hit the man square in the back with the ancient four pound stone axe head. Taken by surprise, the huge man fell onto the table in front of him. He and the ancient corpse crashed to the floor, smashing the table to fragments. The big man gasped at the wind being knocked out of him, but still held the gun firmly in his hand. Turner then leaped onto the mercenary’s back and jammed his knee into the man’s spine, causing the Yakuza mercenary to groan in agony. In that same moment, Turner brought the weight of the stone axe down onto the 9mm gun, crushing the man’s trigger
finger and snapping the slide bolt mechanism off, rendering the weapon useless.

Furious and wincing in pain, the hulking Japanese managed to swing his body around and smash his huge forearm into Turner’s head. The horrendous blow sent Turner reeling against the table behind him, causing him to see stars and drop his only weapon to the floor.

Even with a partial fracture to his spine, the huge, vindictive killer slowly rose up from the debris-strewn floor, his breath rasping in pain and defiance. He lunged toward Turner, unleashing a lethal kick aimed at his head. He scarcely managed to avoid the full force of the kick by rolling to his side at the last moment. However, the killer’s boot slammed into his shoulder, causing a blinding flash of pain that ran down his arm.

Turner painfully backed up; keeping his eyes on the man as the hulking figure approached him once again. Pointing his mangled finger, he said, “Once I’ve killed you, Turner, I intend to find that pretty lady that was with your group. She will die very slowly as well, but not until I’ve enjoyed her completely,” he hissed, spitting blood from his shattered lips.

The mere thought of this monster’s intent with Maria produced a rage in Turner that he’d never experienced before. He locked his eyes coldly on his assailant and, with a yell, rushed the killer. He smashed into the man with all the strength that remained. Turner's onslaught sent the two men
crashing to the floor amidst the splintered remains of the mummy and debris from the examination table.

The giant Japanese man promptly wrapped his arms around Turner's mid-section, lifted him up off the floor and began to squeeze with a vise-like grip. Feeling the breath forced out of his lungs, Turner looked wildly around for anything that would cease this painful torment. Nearing the point of blacking out, he saw the stone axe head lying on the floor near them. He raised his left leg and kicked the side of the killer's right knee, sending the two crashing to the floor. The killer continued his death grip as Turner struggled to grasp the stone axe.

Darkness was beginning to fill his world as he finally felt his fingers touch the cool stone axe. With his last conscious effort, he picked it up brought it squarely down onto the Yakuza’s nose. It shattered the cartilage into oblivion and sprayed blood everywhere. The huge man howled in pain and released his grip on Turner, just long enough for him to pull back and fall free of his tormentor. Rising up and gasping for breath, Turner backed away from the monstrous form lying before him. Turner made his way to the artifact table as the bloody, murderous demon rose up once more. He picked up a sharpened metal leg from the shattered remains of the table. Now exhausted and in excruciating pain, Turner saw the bloody remains of a toothless grin leering at him as the killer again came towards him, the pointed table leg raised over his head.