Higher Cause

by John Hunt

  To find the screwdriver, she would need to extract her other arm from the tangle of wires so that she would be free to roll over and get a better look, but that would cause her to lose hold of the connection that had been causing her trouble. “Crap,” she snorted under her breath. It would be easier to call for help than to start this over again.

  She heard the rustling of papers. Whoever had come into the lab a moment ago must have been digging through the paperwork on one of the lab benches. She called out. “Hey, would you mind getting me a small Phillips-head screwdriver?”

  There was no response, but the papers ceased to rustle.

  Sophia tried again. “Hello, can you hear me? I’m up to my elbows in wires here.”

  Still no response.

  “YO! Who’s out there?” Sophia was irritated. She pulled herself free, losing the tenuous hold she had on the blue wire. She rolled out from under the machine, with condensed cold water soaking the back of her light shirt. Her knees and back were stiff, and it took her a moment to straighten out.

  After ducking under the collider tubing, she strode around a row of tall metal filing cabinets to find herself face to face with the black muzzle of a gun.

  The man holding the weapon had an icy black stare, and the corners of his lips were turned down. He was olive skinned and dressed in white shorts and a flowery tropical shirt that belied his evil intentions. Over his shoulder hung a black leather satchel.

  “I am sorry,” he said in heavily accented English. “I do not know where you keep your screwdriver.”

  “Who are you?” Sophia demanded. “And what are you doing in my lab?” It was a weak question, borne of panic.

  The man lowered the gun slightly. Now it aimed at Sophia’s chest. “I am no one of concern,” he replied. “Am I correct in presuming that you are Sophia Bjarnasdottir?”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Sometimes I don’t remember.” Sophia was regaining her composure. For some reason, it was much less intimidating to have the gun aimed at her chest than at her head. But the panic returned when the gun lashed against her cheek. She cried out in pain and fell to her knees.

  The man grunted and smiled thinly. “Would you be so kind as to show me where your lab notebooks are — the ones that pertain to this grand machine you have built.”

  Sophia wiped the blood from the swelling wound. “Are you planning on stealing this technology? Is that what you are after?” Sophia shook her head. It hurt. “If you would just wait a week or two… everyone will know about it.”

  The man replied, “So I understand. Now where are your lab books?”

  “There.” Sophia pointed toward the little computer that controlled the collider and laser. Sharing the desk with the computer monitor was a stack of four brown soft-covered notebooks; each was stuffed with dozens of papers and bulging as if pregnant. “You can have them if you want. But my writing is pretty lousy. I’m telling you it would be easier to just wait a couple of weeks.”

  “Hmmm.” The man nodded, as if in agreement. He moved to the desk while keeping the gun trained on Sophia’s chest. After thumbing through the first two notebooks, he seemed satisfied. As he slid them one at a time into a broad pocket of the leather satchel, he asked, almost nonchalantly, “How soon are you expecting your coworkers to arrive?”

  Sophia presumed he wanted to get out of there before anyone else saw him, and she didn’t mind encouraging him to leave. Everyone would be here for the weekly lab meeting, first thing in the morning, and likely would not show up before then, but she was happy to stretch the truth a little. She glanced at her watch. It was two o’clock in the morning. “We have a lab meeting planned this morning at eight o’clock, but people often come in to work several hours before then. In fact, I am expecting some people very soon.”

  The man eyed her suspiciously. “Sounds like you have a dedicated team.”

  “Very.” She paused and then added, “The security guard will be by soon, I think.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment as he searched through the desk drawers of the computer station while keeping a wary eye on the girl. “Are there any computer disks that record your lab work?”

  She replied, evenly, “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Who would know, then?”

  “I wouldn’t know that either.”

  “You are not very helpful.”

  “Do you expect me to be?”

  “Perhaps you will be later.” He moved toward her, then reached down and grasped her wrist forcefully, pulling her to her feet. He slapped a handcuff on it before she realized what was happening, and attached the other end to a thick vertical water pipe.

  “Any noise out of you will be your last,” he warned. “Don’t test me — not even once.”

  With the leather satchel still over his shoulder, he ducked under the tube of the collider and disappeared around a corner. Sophia immediately began working on her handcuff, but it fit too well. Over the next several minutes, she heard a few unidentifiable noises from areas of the lab that were hidden from view. Then he was back.

  Producing a key, he removed her fetters and motioned toward the laboratory entrance with his gun. “Come with me.”

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to stay here. I have work to do. What do you want with me, anyway?”

  “Maybe I just want you to live. If you stay here, you will not live, I assure you.”

  The fear that she had suppressed so well hit her hard in the stomach. My God, she thought, he is going to destroy the lab.

  “No!” she cried. “You can’t do this. Please don’t.” So much work had gone into this. And she was so close. Besides, Petur needed for this to succeed.

  The man said nothing; his face showed no emotion. He moved his gun again as he repeated his command with assurance and struck her other cheek to demand submission.

  As Sophia stepped out the door, gun at her back, she took one last glance over her shoulder at the supercollider. There were tears in her eyes as she grieved that it would never have the chance to prove itself.

  Khamil waited impatiently in the small room of the bungalow. Azid had been gone for longer than planned. As the island had no security system, it should have taken only a moment to get in and out of that laboratory. He flipped the button on the remote control, and browsed through more than a hundred signals transmitted from various countries. He settled on a channel that originated in the United Arab Emirates. It showed a boring, poorly acted TV drama. After a moment, he turned back to the blonde Americans in swimsuits who were engaged in a silly adventure.

  More time slipped by. In the past, Khamil would have been out there with his friend, aware of any trouble. Now, he had to stay behind, like a wife awaiting the return of her husband from a battle.

  After what seemed like several hours, the door opened. A girl stepped in. Khamil rolled across the bed, yanked a gun from below a pillow, and aimed it at her head with the trigger partly squeezed. The girl swore and turned her head. Her eyes were closed tight as she braced herself for the shot.

  Azid walked through the door behind her. He raised his hand to calm his partner and closed the door behind him. Khamil’s hand relaxed, and he tucked the gun under the pillow again.

  “I ran into someone,” Azid said in Arabic.

  Khamil nodded. “Yes, it would seem so.” He looked the girl over. Her clothing did not flatter her, and it was rather greasy. She was thin, with shockingly bright blonde hair and a suntan that said to him that she had been born and raised in Hollywood. Despite the blossoming purple bruises, her face was an elegant sculpture, and her eyes glowed with searing intensity. This was a woman to be admired.

  “Might I ask what you are planning to do with her?”

  “She is going with us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she invented the machine. We want all the information we can get out of her before we destroy it. She happened to be in the lab when I entered; so here she is.”

  “I hope she likes livin
g in a tin can.”

  “Are you all set to go, my friend?” asked Azid.

  “Certainly. Shall we check out of the hotel?”

  “We will send them payment later. I am sure they won’t mind.” Azid switched over to English. “Dr. Bjarnasdottir, I am afraid I must invite you on a little boat trip. You must not make any noise — no noise at all. Do I make myself clear?”

  The girl had no choice but to obey. Khamil stood up with difficulty, pulled his gun from under the pillow again, and started for the door. Azid grasped a small sack off the floor, tossed it over the shoulder with his leather satchel, and flipped off the light switch. He guided his hostage onto the small porch. It was still not yet three o’clock, and nobody was out and about, so they moved across the beach unobserved.

  The waves were tall and loud as they crashed on the sandy shore. The three had to walk near the vegetation line to keep clear of the water, as each wave reached its tentacles toward them. It was a long walk, and the girl began to talk.

  “May I speak now?”

  Azid looked around. There was no one in sight. He nodded, knowing that the light from the stars above would illuminate him well enough that she could see his sign of approval.

  “Would you mind telling me your names?”

  Azid nodded again. “Certainly. I have misplaced my manners. I am Akheem Azid, and my companion is Khamil.

  “This walk along the beach is much nicer when I am walking with my boyfriend.”

  Khamil, ahead a few paces, glanced over his shoulder, amused.

  “And when was the last time you did that?”

  “Too long ago,” Sophia replied wistfully. Each passing week had seemed interminable, with no word from Jeff. For all she knew he was dead and decaying and never to be found. Or perhaps he was in a foreign prison, with no one aware of his predicament. She had thoughts like this frequently, especially at night. That was why so often she went to work in her lab in the wee hours of the morning.

  Perhaps these men had killed him, or imprisoned him, or tortured him. The thought clarified. Yes, of course, these were the men who had attacked the OTEC. Now they were back to try again, and trying to find additional targets this time.

  She called ahead to the man in front. “Khamil, why are you limping?”

  Khamil slowed while she caught up. “It is a long story. I think it would bore you.”

  “I don’t bore easily.”

  “Well, I had an accident. A boating accident.”

  “Really?” she asked. “How long ago?”

  “Not long.”

  “Did you break bones?”

  “More than that: broke bones, lost skin and muscle, and damaged important nerves. It’s the nerve damage that’s the worst. There was a lot of nerve damage.”

  “Bad luck.” Sophia tried to sound sympathetic. She thought rapidly. She remembered that Jeff had said that he had hit with his propeller one of the men who had tried to destroy the OTEC. Perhaps it was this man.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a submarine, young lady.” Azid answered this time. “I am afraid that a submarine, especially this one, is not a particularly genteel place. You will be somewhat uncomfortable. It is cramped, and filled with unpleasant odors.

  “Sounds wonderful. I am so eager to get there. How big is this thing?” A submarine was what Jeff thought had sunk the first OTEC. These were certainly the men involved.

  “Size of a World War 2 submarine, and that is exactly what it is,” he answered. “It was designed to hold a hundred men. We carry only forty.”

  Khamil added, “The sleeping arrangements are much better than one might expect.”

  “And from where do you come?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

  Khamil answered cheerily, “We come from the sea!”

  Another few hundred meters brought them to the end of this part of the beach. Ahead was a dense overgrowth of jungle with a well-trodden path cutting through it. The three people moved out of the starlight and into the darkness. Khamil produced a flashlight that lit the path ahead, brightly but narrowly. The flashlight seemed to have an extended sleeve on the end, like a silencer for a pistol. The light would need to be aimed directly at someone’s face for him to know that the flashlight was there.

  Once they had penetrated deep into the overgrown vegetation, Khamil stopped. It took him a moment to find the landmark he had set up — a plant with a few branches broken and much of its bark peeled off. Khamil motioned to Azid, who moved off the path and through the underbrush. He was back in a moment, and dragging a black rubber raft. He went out again, and came back with a small outboard motor. One last trip into the underbrush, and Azid returned with a fuel tank.

  “Would you carry this for me, please?” Azid asked his hostage politely. He pointed down at the gas tank. “Although it is only partly filled, it is still a bit heavy.”

  “If I lift that thing, I will crash it on your head,” was Sophia’s response.

  Azid shrugged. “It was worth a try.” He picked up the raft and left the motor and gas behind.

  Khamil gave her a little shove to get her moving. She protested angrily, and he shoved her again. He had been polite before, but she had not expected that to last. He was already acting brusquely.

  They emerged on the beach in a moment. Azid returned to the jungle twice to retrieve the engine and the fuel. Within minutes, they shoved off from the sandy beach and paddled feverishly over the oncoming swells. Then they started the engine, and the boat shot off into the starlit ocean, heading toward nowhere.

  39. Kill Her Now

  JEFF BADDORI WAITED angrily and impatiently on the bridge of the submarine. The wind was brisk, at more than twenty knots, and as the sharp waves sliced against the hull they sprayed the three men, including Jeff, who stood watch on the boat.

  Azid had said that this sortie on the island was only a reconnaissance trip, and that Khamil would come along with him, and Baddori would be coming when they intended to actually plant the bomb. Maybe that was so, but Jeff was concerned that he was not in adequate control of the situation. Khamil had been lobbying Azid to get rid of Jeff since the beginning. Perhaps he was jealous that Jeff was still in good shape, despite having been injured recently. Perhaps he sensed that Jeff did not share Azid’s ideals. Either way, Khamil was a danger.

  He could have just killed Khamil and Azid. They were evil people doing other evil people’s assignments. Azid would have killed Jeff without a second thought that night on the OTEC, had Jeff not been so lucky and so good. They were due to die. But Jeff was not a judge and jury, at least not yet. Jeff was not queasy about killing in self-defense, but he was not an assassin — although at one time he had almost become one.

  Azid never saw his face that night, so Jeff was fortunate to have had the opportunity to get in his good graces. It took many weeks of careful manipulation of numerous contacts, along with bribes, lies, misrepresentations, and some things that Jeff would always regret, to even get near Azid. And it took much more to get Azid to trust him. But now he was taking Khamil’s place.

  While the two others were ashore, Jeff waited, stuck on the vessel. He almost decided to take over the sub, crash it on the beach and run to the lab to save it. But instead he gambled that he would have the opportunity to execute the plan that he had carefully worked out over the last two months.

  The planning had been extensive. He had finessed to get high-level assistance from his compadres in the US government, who told him how to find Azid, and provided him with the little information they had on the man. It was a mutually beneficial transaction. The United States wanted Azid captured and tried for his suspected acts of destruction in many countries. Officials also made it a priority to find out who was funding Azid. With Azid’s old boss long dead, determining with confidence who was providing funding for him, and proving it, was a priority for the government officials. They gave Jeff help, but he took all the risk, since the United States would disavow all knowledge of his
activities if things went awry and the public found out. He hoped things were not going awry now.

  The skipper of the submarine tapped him on his shoulder and pointed out over the water. They heard the faint hum of an engine and then the slowly repeating chopping of the rubber boat as it bounced on top of the waves. He could tell that it was coming from the direction of the island, but he could not see it against the dark water on the moonless night. Good, he thought; they were coming back.

  Jeff put on a pair of night-vision binoculars and looked toward the source of the noise. Through the binoculars he could see the approaching boat and the indistinct forms of three people on board. So they had taken a hostage.

  His mind raced. This extra person could be part of a trap. Something planned out weeks ago. But why? If Azid was that concerned, he could have just killed him. The third person was more likely a dockworker, beach walker, or hotel butler who had seen them and become suspicious. They did not want to kill him on the island, for fear of the body being found. A dead body would put the island on the alert, which would make it much more difficult to plant the bombs.

  Or perhaps it was a laboratory worker — someone from Science Hall who had seen Azid scouting out when and where to place the bombs. This last thought concerned him. The chance was not high, but this third person might have seen Jeff on the island, and might recognize him. He could only hope that his tan, which had darkened since he left, and his new, thick beard would protect his identity if such a person were to glance at him casually.

  The boat was close now. With a wave of his hand and a gentle shout to a man below, the skipper alerted his crew that he needed some of them up on deck to assist with getting the rubber boat aboard. As the boat came in alongside, Jeff could see that the third person was a blond woman. And as she reached up to accept the hand that a crewman offered her, he could tell instantly by the manner of the motion that the woman was Sophia.