Landing Party: A Dinosaur Thriller

by Rick Chesler

  LANDING PARTY

  A Dinosaur Thriller

  Rick Chesler

  Copyright 2016 by Rick Chesler

  www.severedpress.com

  Buy land, they are not making it anymore. ~ Mark Twain

  Prologue

  Present day, South Pacific Ocean

  Atama Tokolahi stood on the deck of his old fishing boat, hauling in what he hoped would be the last net of the day. The catch hadn’t been great so far, and as an elderly man, he recalled far better days, and indeed, far better years. There used to be more fish, he was sure of that. But things were what they were, and he didn’t know how to do anything else, nor did he want to do anything else. He used to command a far larger operation, though, with three boats, each with a crew of half a dozen men. Now it was just him, alone on his simple wooden dory with its single, smoky engine. The market wouldn’t bear more than that. The entire Tongan fishing fleet had shrunk over the decades, right along with the fish stocks.

  Even so, he usually had what he needed, for himself and his extended family. They lived simply, in a hut by the shore, and they ate well. That was all he could ask for. But as he pulled the net into the boat, Atama could see he was coming up light, very light, and that he would need to do one more cast. Shaking his head as he removed the single tuna he’d caught, a “schoolie” size that more than twenty years ago would have been tossed back alive, Atama had resigned himself to preparing for one more throw of the net when he sensed something was not right.

  He wasn’t sure what it was at first. Just a vague sense of “differentness,” or something about to happen. He wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, but something made him look up and across the water. And there it was: smoke. Or was it ash? He squinted, eyes which had never known sunglasses focusing on the surface of the water perhaps a hundred yards distant. Then, much nearer to his small boat: the water began to smoke and bubble madly around him. His features took on a rare confused expression. He’d seen everything that could happen out here over the decades—freak weather, storms, strange animals, odd boats, weird people—what could this be?

  Suddenly, a large mass was thrust above the surface of the water, and Atama moved to his outboard motor to put distance between his boat and whatever it was that came rising up out of the depths of the sea. Huge chunks of bright orange liquid spewed into the air as he turned his vessel around and put some space between himself and the disturbance. Curiosity got the better of him, though, and when he felt he was a safe distance away, he stopped to watch the spectacle unfold.

  Massive plumes of fire skyrocketed from the water, and suddenly Atama knew.

  Volcano!

  He immediately knelt on the wet deck of his humble boat and prayed to the ancient Polynesian fire and volcano gods. He had seen active volcanoes erupt many times before, but on land, never one that emerged so suddenly from the sea. It was stunning, majestic, terrifying and unbelievable all at once.

  As the orange liquid fire splashed down on the surface of the water, spitting off steam with angry hisses, the frothy lava turned brown and black as it cooled and solidified. More and more material was ejected from the bowels of the sea, piling on top of itself as a mystified Atama suddenly understood what he was witnessing: a new island was forming before his very eyes.

  He watched the new land being born for a time, until his sense of self-preservation overcame his inquisitiveness, and he made the decision to head for port. He did not carry a camera, but he did mark the position of the natural spectacle with his GPS navigation device. Perhaps if he came back here some time later, it would be an excellent new fishing spot. He looked forward to letting his people know about this new land in their sacred territorial waters with which the spirits had blessed them.

  One thing was for sure, though, as he watched the lava piling up. He wouldn’t be getting any more fishing done today. But he had one heck of a story to tell.

  Chapter 1

  Two months later

  United Nations Headquarters, New York City

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been summoned here today because we have a problem developing in the South Pacific.”

  Hiroki Fujita, Secretary-General of the United Nations, looked at the stern faces of the twenty-two people gathered around the long, mahogany table. They had been called here for a special session of the United Nations Environment Programme, and they knew full well that any time they were called in for a sudden “special session,” it was rarely good news or a simple situation. Today was no exception.

  An image was projected on a wall screen and Fujita continued. “This is an aerial photograph taken from a U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration reconnaissance flight, which took off from American Samoa after hearing reports of unusual volcanic activity in the region.”

  A chorus of exclamations and low whistles erupted around the table as they took in the sight of a conical mountain rising from the blue ocean. Fujita waited for the hubbub to die down and went on. “You’re looking at the newest land planet Earth has to offer. This is a brand new island that formed as a result of undersea volcanic activity. It first broke the ocean surface only two months ago, and has since solidified to the point it has become an actual land mass.”

  “Does it have a name?” This from one of the younger attendees, a recent Ivy League political science graduate.

  “Officially, it is not yet named, although four neighboring island nations have each given it a name in their respective native language. The Tongans are calling it, Hunga Tonga- Ha'apai, which translates loosely into English as “sacred place of nurturing fire.”

  A short, squat, swarthy woman wearing spectacles posed a question some of the others had on their minds. “So what’s the problem? Was this eruption only the tip of the iceberg? Is the region under threat from additional volcanic activity?”

  Fujita shook his head. “To the contrary, by all indications, it seems to have stabilized except for highly localized activity continuing on the new island itself. But the wider region is under no particular threat to life or property.”

  The delegate lifted her hands in a questioning gesture. “So if there is no threat, then why are we here?”

  A smattering of hushed conjecture quickly evaporated as Fujita responded. “The problem is that the island nation of Tonga sent a landing party to claim ownership by being first to land and plant a flag. However, that party has not been heard from since being dispatched a week ago. Meanwhile, the neighboring nations, including the Cook Islands, Niue, and Western Samoa, claim that the disappearance is a trick or stunt of some kind, that in fact the Tonga landing party members are still alive and well on the island.”

  “Why would they hide?” a rail-thin Israeli man asked.

  Fujita responded while clicking a remote control to advance the slide. “Allegations—as yet unfounded—are that the Tongans are building a defense installation in secret.”

  The next image showed a closer view of the island’s steep, rocky sides, shrouded in vapors. “It does not appear to have a lot of flat ground suitable for such purposes, but as you can see, it is difficult to make out much detail from these photographs. He clicked through a couple more, showing the island from different angles but about the same distance away. Heavy vapor cover in every picture made it hard to discern much detail.

  “That is why,” he said, putting down the remote, “we are going to assemble an expedition to go in as a neutral party and assess the situation. It will be formally designated as the Gaia Expedition, ‘Gaia’ referring to the Greek goddess who gave birth to the Earth. Among its goals will be to evaluate whether the land is, in fact, habitable, for one thing—is it even worth fighting over?
For another, to determine the fate of the Tongan landing party and to report to the world on that fate. If military activity is discovered, we are only to observe and document it. Our representatives will not be armed beyond conventional field tools such as utility knives and axes. Again, we are there only to report and document what is happening as a neutral party.”

  An aide spoke in a low voice into Fujita’s ear, and the U.N. leader perked up, nodding. He then added, “That being said, we have been green lighted for a special contingency option.”

  “Green lighted by whom?” a representative from India inquired.

  “In coordination with the United States military operating out of American Samoa, we have a ‘code red’ option available to us.” He paused to look around the table. Seeing that he had the undivided attention of everyone in the room, Fujita went on. “In order to prevent future conflict from escalating into possible warfare, or if the island itself is so unstable that it poses a hazard to nearby countries, we are authorized to bomb the island sufficiently to destabilize it until it is no longer a coherent, contiguous land mass.”

  Surprised murmurs made their way around the table.

  “This is only as an extreme measure in the face of unforeseen circumstances. Based on what we know so far, it is highly doubtful it will need to be utilized, but our expedition members will be made aware of the option nonetheless. Which brings us to our next matter of discussion,” Fujita added. “The expedition team itself.”

  “How many people on our expedition?” This from a long-time Japanese delegate.

  Fujita nodded, glad that the topic of conversation was moving on from the explosive option. “Eight well-chosen individuals should offer sufficient expertise and presence.”

  “Who are they?” This from a Venezuelan representative.

  Fujita took a deep breath. “We have a large pool of prospective participants to sort through.” He nodded to an assistant who pressed keys on a laptop computer.

  “Let’s get to work and figure out who the lucky ones will be, shall we?”

  Chapter 2

  Nuku'alofa, Tonga

  CIA Special Agent Valea Esau got off the public bus in the bustling downtown section of the capital city. His nearest formal base of operation was the American embassy in Suva, Fiji, which covered a large swath of the South Pacific, but he’d been living in Tonga for two years. The locals knew him as an auto mechanic. That was his job and how he supported himself, for he had no family. A single Pacific Islander who had fun when he wasn’t working—fishing, scuba diving, frequenting the local bars. No one thought anything of it.

  Valea stopped while he pretended to study the bus stop sign, his peripheral vision highly active behind his polarized sunglasses. Satisfied he had not been followed, he began walking into the city. He moved at a quick pace, but not so fast as to attract attention. This was not New York City, and the pace of life in the South Pacific was generally a little slower. After nearly an hour of walking, due to a circuitous route which involved numerous stops to confirm he was still not being tracked, Valea came to the Royal Palace of Tonga.

  A red and white wooden building constructed in the 1800s, it was one of many homes sometimes occupied by the king, although Valea knew the Tongan ruler would be here today. He reached the gate and was greeted by two guards wearing starched and pressed white uniforms. He stated his name and that he had an appointment, and one of the guards escorted Valea into the palace.

  The building was sparsely populated for a place of political leadership, and Valea saw few people as he was led up broad stairs to the second floor of the residence. From there, they went down a long, wood-floored hallway to a closed door at the end of the hall. The guard knocked once and heard a female voice tell him to open the door. He led Valea inside where the receptionist informed Valea that King Malo Nau was ready to see him. A young, pretty woman, she made lingering eye contact with Valea, who did his best to return it just long enough to be polite as he entered the king’s private suite while the guard remained in the reception area.

  “Good afternoon, Esau, I trust you are doing well?” A corpulent man in his early sixties, the king’s beard and mustache were white, even though his curly hair was still dark. Valea had never garnered the courage to ask him if he dyed his hair. In public, the king wore fancy robes and regalia, but today, as usual when he remained in the palace, he wore a casual resort-style outfit of linen shirt and pants, with leather sandals.

  “Personally, Your Majesty, I am doing fine, thank you. But you know I do not request a meeting with you—”

  “Unless a situation is brewing, yes, of that I am well aware.” King Nau moved to a wet bar and waved a hand over an array of crystal decanters. “No matter how pressing our business may be, there is always time to be civilized. Would you care for some fine rum?”

  Esau accepted, knowing he was technically in the line of duty as an agent of the United States working on foreign soil, but at the same time aware that fostering good diplomatic relations was a key part of his job. The king passed him a squat, crystal glass, and the two men moved to two plush chairs arranged around a coffee table that looked as though it was made of ivory.

  “Now tell me, Valea, what is it that’s on your mind? Be frank with me, be honest.” The king’s eyes bored into Valea’s over their drinks.

  “It’s about the new island, Your Majesty.”

  The king nodded. “Like new nations—of which Tonga is one—as you know we only fully gained independence from the British in 1970—new islands take time; they are born of fire and slowly cool into something that is usable and hospitable. So what about Hunga Tonga- Ha'apai? What worries you?”

  Valea took another sip of his drink and then set it down on the table in order to fully focus his response. “Your Majesty, as you know, the landing party you sent to the island has failed to return.”

  The king shrugged. “How do we know they are not still there?”

  Valea appeared doubtful, throwing his hands up. “Satellite photos and recon flyovers disguised as weather patrols show no sign of them. Their mission was to establish a Tongan presence and make that presence known to the world so that this island would be indisputably part of Tonga.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed somewhat. “Hunga Tonga- Ha'apai is very much a part of Tonga. The newest part!” He smiled as he said the last sentence.

  But Valea did not share in the mirth. “Not everyone will call the island what you have named it, Your Majesty. The Samoans already have their own name, as does Niue and the Cook Islands. Without an uncontested Tongan presence…”

  “Yes, yes, the Americans will not be able to make use of the new island for their military operations. That is your fear, is it not?”

  “You know who I work for, Malo. What our agreement entails. For your country to receive the promised revenue stream for our base to be allowed to operate on the new island, in secrecy, then you first must establish clear, uncontested ownership of said island.”

  “I sent a landing party!”

  “I know you did, Malo, but they failed to return. So it is time for next steps. That is why I come before you today.”

  “What are you saying, that I did not honor my side of the deal?” The king stood, eyes flashing.

  “Please, Your Majesty. Be seated. I am only trying to get you the revenue stream you said you desired, and which, I might add,” Valea said, glancing toward the window, “your country badly needs. Fishing stocks are down, your country has no real industry to speak of other than light tourism. We offer you real revenue so that you won’t have to try the crazy things that have failed for you in the past. Remember when you proposed making part of Tonga a disposal site for nuclear waste?”

  The king flushed, apparently embarrassed. “That was an offhand remark about one of our outlying atolls—one of them out of hundreds. It was never a formal proposal. Now listen: I sent a landing party when you asked! You have to uphold your side of the deal as well!”

  “As you k
now, King Nau, we created the earthquake that caused the volcanic eruption.”

  “Yes, Project…what was it you called it? Neptune’s Inferno!” He smiled as if this was highly entertaining to him.

  “Yes, but now there has been a new development, and I am here to inform you of it.”

  The king sat and finished the rest of his drink. “Go ahead, I am listening.”

  “Unfortunately, the United Nations is sending in a well-outfitted expedition consisting of seasoned explorers and scientists to land on the island and determine the fate of your landing party.”

  The king shrugged and started to say something, but Valea cut him off. “If they determine that there is no Tongan presence on the island, it could open the land up to colonization by the neighboring countries I mentioned earlier.”

  “Yes, and that worries you because the U.S. does not have deals with those countries, am I right?”

  “That is correct, Malo. Our deal was with you, because our analysts determined a better-than-average probability that Tonga would be able to lay claim to the island. But things haven’t gone smoothly.”

  “So what are you proposing? What do you want me to do?”

  Valea spread his hands out in a soothing gesture. “You need only to listen and play along. No real action will be required on your part.”

  “Explain.” The king leaned forward.

  “We—the CIA—have placed a mole in the U.N. expedition.”

  “You mean, a spy?” The king’s eyes widened, as though he were excited like a kid watching an espionage movie.

  Valea made a disapproving expression. “We prefer the term asset. He’s just a guy who’s on our side, Malo, who has instructions to make it look like Tonga got to the island first. In the event that…” Valea hesitated as if unsure of how to explain what was on his mind.

  “In the event that what?”

  “In the event that none of your landing party ever made it to the island in the first place.”