Higher Cause

by John Hunt

  It took her fifteen minutes at a steady pace to reach the first bungalow. She had no idea who lived there, but it did not matter. Leaping up the steps, she pounded on the door. It took several moments before she saw a light come on, and a man appeared at the door.

  In the light of the porch lamp, she must have appeared as a horrendous apparition, she thought later. Her hair wet and stringy, covered with sand from running, two symmetric and still enlarging violet welts on her face, she looked like a prostitute who had been beaten by a mark. But the man was kind enough to look past that.

  “What on earth happened to you, young lady?” he said with concern in his voice. He ushered her inside, and seated her gently on a couch before walking to the kitchen in the back of the house.

  “I am sorry to intrude. I need your phone.”

  “Certainly. It is right next to you.”

  As Sophia dialed, he placed a bowl of clean water and a dry cloth in front of her. A towel lay over his arm. She wiped the salty sweat from her forehead and cheeks, wet the cloth in the water, and dabbed at the bloody bruises on her face.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed. Petur’s phone rang with no answer. She tried Elisa, and next Isaac, and finally Dr. Standall. Nobody answered. “Damn, damn!” She turned to the man. “Again, I am sorry. I am a bit out of sorts. Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Of course.”

  She looked at the man carefully. He was old, with silver hair and cleanly cut but thinning beard. He had intelligent eyes that were a little saddened, perhaps by disappointment. His blue terry-cloth bathrobe could not conceal a mildly protuberant belly.

  “Do you have transportation?” she asked, hopefully.

  He nodded. “I have a cart in the back. You are welcome to take it, if you promise to return it.”

  “I will. I certainly will. I promise.” He handed her a little black key as she said this, and she stood up. “I will explain it all later.”

  “It’s alright,” he replied. “Now you had better move along before whatever-it-is catches up with you.”

  She thanked him again as she slipped out the back door of the bungalow. The little golf cart was a cheaper model, the kind that was not terribly fast. As she followed the winding paths towards town, she kept the accelerator to the floor, trying to squeeze every bit of speed out of it. But the cart was in no hurry. The first glow of the rising sun appeared on the horizon behind her. It would only take a few minutes for the sun to climb up completely. But the sunrise was no longer the deadline. The deadline was now eight o’clock. She should have time.

  She careened the vehicle up toward the front of Science Hall. The people on the island often used the rapidly rising sun as an alarm clock. But it usually took some time before people were up and about. Today seemed different. Eight carts had lined up neatly outside the building, and one cart now pulled in beside hers.

  Dr. Standall got out of the cart. “Interesting morning, as I understand it, Sophia. Sorry it took me so long to get here. Had a late night last night. Somebody had a cold. I needed to try to cure it. I’m probably the last of the council here. Can you fill me in on what I’ve missed?”

  He looked at her more closely now, and took in the disheveled appearance, the wet clothes, and the bruises. “Oh, my!” he exclaimed. “Sophia, what happened?”

  Sophia had no idea what people were gathering at the building for. Had they learned about the bomb already? How could they have? Unless one of her lab team had come to work early. But then why gather the council together in a building that was about to explode? “Plenty has happened. But why are you here?”

  “Petur called me too, of course. It would seem that I should know.”

  “Know what?” she demanded, brusquely.

  “About Mexico.” He stated it plainly, as if it were on the public record.

  He saw the bewilderment in her eyes. His eyes narrowed. He asked, “Have you not talked to Petur this morning?”

  “No, I couldn’t get in touch with him.”

  “Oh my, young lady. We are dealing with two different matters, aren’t we?” He put an arm around her waist and led her up the stairs and into the building. “Why don’t you speak first? What’s going on with you?”

  Sophia burst into tears, for no reason that she could identify except perhaps pure exhaustion. Through her sobs, she told Dr. Standall of Azid and Khamil and the submarine, and then about the bomb. She said nothing of Jeff.

  Standall acted as soon as he heard about the bomb. He pulled the building’s fire alarm, which incited the whining buzz.

  Within two minutes the first occupants began to arrive in the front lobby. Standall took a moment to examine her wounds, take her pulse, and reassure her. He had a calming effect that came from years of experience with helping fearful patients. Elisa came, and Isaac, Heinrich Poll, and Otto Wagner all gathered around Sophia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Finally, Petur emerged from a staircase in the back. When he saw the people gathered around, he ran over and crouched on his knees beside his sister.

  Sophia reached up and grabbed his neck, bursting into sobs once again.

  “It’s alright; it’s alright.” He spoke in Icelandic, using the soothing tone his mother used when she pacified him and his sister in their sorrow. After a minute, she regained her composure and released him.

  “There is a bomb in my lab, Petur — a bomb! It’s set to go off just after eight.” She wiped the tears away. Someone handed her a sorely needed tissue.

  “Do you know where?”

  “It’s behind the laser. Bottles of blue and yellow liquid. They are very explosive.”

  Petur motioned to two men behind him, hurrying them off to Sophia’s lab.

  Sophia caught her breath. “Wait! There may be two of them. Two bombs.”

  Petur shouted the information to the two men. “I know that explosive, Sophia,” Petur said, thinking back to when he had been dangling by his fingers inside the OTEC while tons of ammonia poured down on him.

  “Their names are Akheem Azid and Khamil. I am sure they are the same men who tried to destroy the OTEC. And I think they sank the first one too. They have a submarine. I was on board it.”

  Petur looked up at Standall, questioningly.

  “I don’t know, Petur. I just found her at the entrance to the building.”

  Sophia interjected, “I’m alright. Just a little bruised. But they may come after me soon.”

  Petur turned to Heinrich Poll. The tall German took note of this, and quickly moved away to make the necessary calls. It would not take much time to get enough people around to obstruct anyone who might be coming to harm Sophia.

  Sophia related more details to Petur, and as she finished, one of the men who they had sent to her lab returned. He gently carried two canisters of colored liquid attached to a timer with wires.

  “Found one of them. Still looking for the other. This one was just taped up with duct tape. Easy enough to take down, but I’m not sure I want to try to disarm it.”

  “Do not try to disarm it,” Sophia commanded. “Just take it somewhere that it won’t cause harm.” She looked at her watch again. It was 6:40. There was plenty of time.

  Petur sent two more men down to the lab to search for a second bomb. “Take that one out of here please,” he said, pointing to the canisters. “Around to the far side of the island. Toss it off the Southeast Promontory.” He was referring to an outcropping on the island that couples frequently used to explore their romantic inclinations. “And turn off that blasted alarm, will you?” he called to no one in particular.

  Then he turned to his sister. “Sophia. It’s alright now. It’s under control. Good work.” He ran his hand through her wet and tangled hair. Her eyes were closed. He brushed his fingertips lightly along her bruised cheeks. She winced, and he withdrew.

  “How did you get away from them?” he whispered.

  Sophia sniffled and answered, “I will tell you later, Petur. Now it’s your turn to tell me something. W
hat’s going on here?” She said it in the slurred voice of a woman drifting into a dream. “It is awfully early for so many people to be here. Dr. Standall mentioned something about Mexico.”

  Petur’s look was soft and loving. A thin and troubled smile appeared on his lips. “I will tell you all about it, don’t worry.” Petur kept brushing his sister’s hair, calmly, soothingly. It was hypnotic. Sophia was now too tired to think, and soon she settled her head on her brother’s lap, allowing him to calm her mind by holding her head gently in his loving hands.

  41. Evacuation

  THE TWO MEN walking swiftly along the beach watched their shadows grow ever shorter as the sun rapidly climbed. Minutes ago, each shadow extended to the horizon. Now the shadows were confined to a small segment of sand no longer than a railroad car. Azid looked down at the sand to keep an eye on the footprints they were following. The footprints were spaced far apart, and evenly.

  She had been running, thought Jeff. Good. By now, she should be safely on her way back to town. Soon she would be surrounded by a dozen friends. But Azid was certainly still a threat. He was half-crazed — no longer thinking clearly. He swore frequently.

  “This island is my curse, Baddori. Khamil was correct.”

  “Khamil as a person is becoming as weak as his body. He was once very capable, but now he is only part of a man.”

  Azid said nothing for a moment. Then he spit out the words, “I am going to destroy this island. I am going to kill every man, woman, and child. I am going to destroy every building, every house, every shack, every toilet. I intend to never come back here again.”

  Jeff walked along in silence, planning his next move. He decided that he had to calm the man. He had needed him on edge so that he would not be able to think clearly, but his anger was out of control now, and that made him dangerously unpredictable.

  He said, “Akheem, we must take stock of the situation. We need to figure out how to steal victory from the jaws of defeat. We can do it, you and I. Let us settle down somewhere and plan the day.”

  “I do not need to plan. I have this!” He patted the long leather satchel hung over his shoulder, which contained more evil-colored liquid, along with a few hand grenades and a Kalashnikov assault rifle. Jeff had a similar supply of armaments. Azid’s satchel, however, also contained something else — something more devilish than the rest.

  “You most certainly do need to plan. From what you told me earlier, planning is the key to your success. Why deviate from that philosophy now, when we need it most acutely?”

  No response. This would take some time, and he had to be careful about it lest he suffer from the man’s wrath.

  The two men continued their fast-paced pursuit. There was a building up ahead — a bungalow — and Jeff knew the footprints would turn from the beach and run into it, and indeed they did. Likewise, the two men turned, but instead of running up the steps and pounding on the door, they moved around the house silently, peering in the windows and checking the back door. When they had cased the place adequately, Azid indicated to Baddori silently that he should wait by the back entrance. Azid went back to the front and knocked on the door. No response. The next knock brought an old man to the door.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” the man said, more politely than one would expect so early in the morning.

  Azid demanded, “Where is she?”

  “Of whom do you speak?”

  “The young blonde woman who was here earlier. Is she still in your house?”

  The old man appeared puzzled. “At my age I can only wish that there was a young blonde woman in my house.”

  Azid shouldered the man aside and marched through the door. The old man was about to complain, but a withering glance cut him short before he could say anything. The Arab searched the small rooms exhaustively and was done in less than a minute. He opened the back door to wave Baddori in.

  “She was here,” said Azid, pointing to a bucket on the floor. The water in it was pink with blood and a stained white cloth lay over its brim. A sprinkling of sand lay on the floor in front of the couch. “What is this?” Azid demanded.

  “I had a bloody nose?” the man responded.

  Azid spun and hit the man backhanded across his chin and knocked him to the floor. “Enough of this playing around! When did she leave here? Did she go on foot? Does she have an electric cart?” He held the man by the collar of his bathrobe, with his head off the floor, and shook him. The old man had no time between the questions to even begin to answer.

  Baddori put a hand on Azid’s shoulder. “Calm down,” he said. “We do not need this man to tell us anything to know where she is now . She made it back to the town and is waking the community as we speak. Let us move on. Let us make plans.”

  Azid released his grip on the man, letting him fall heavily to the floor. “Yes, we will make plans, but no, we will not move on.” He rose and walked around the room, peering out each window. “We will stay right here. This is as good as any place for a base of operations.”

  Baddori nodded. He set his shoulder bag gently upon a soft armchair and pulled out a roll of duct tape. Walking the old man into the bedroom, he wasted no time taping his ankles together and his wrists behind his back. He placed the tape across his mouth as well but neglected to seal it in place, so as to allow the man to breathe just a bit easier. He whispered something into the man’s ear. Then he moved back into the living room.

  Azid sat on the couch, sifting through the items in his black satchel. When Baddori stepped back into the room, he hastily closed his bag and placed it on the floor by his feet.

  “So what do you think we should do?” asked Baddori.

  “I want to destroy everyone on this island. I see no reason not to.”

  “How do you intend to accomplish such a feat?”

  Azid looked up at Baddori, a dark hateful scowl on his face.

  “You shall see. You shall see.”

  Sophia regained consciousness in her brother’s arms on the floor of the atrium of Science Hall. A large contingent of islanders had gathered. It took a few moments for the fog of her mind to clear, after which she sat upright.

  “Petur, how long have I been asleep?”

  “About half an hour,” he replied.

  “The bombs? Are they gone?”

  “We only found the one. It’s been taken where it won’t cause any damage.”

  She nodded, grateful that all were safe, and that her project was still intact. “How about Azid and Khamil? They may come after me when they learn I escaped. They may even try again to destroy the lab.”

  Petur helped Sophia to her feet. “Isaac already made contact with the US Navy. He figures they can send those P-3s back, now that we know for sure we are dealing with a submarine. And the lab will be secure. Heinrich is organizing a security detail.”

  “He’s a good choice.” She stretched each of her legs. Petur did the same.

  “Will you be able to recognize these men if you see them again?”

  “Certainly. I will never forget either of them. Petur, what will the Navy do if they find the sub?” The two of them walked toward the door.

  “Isaac asked them to sink it.”

  Sophia stopped, and responded impulsively. “No! They mustn’t!”

  Petur wrinkled his forehead quizzically.

  Jeff had said to tell no one that he was around, no matter what. Could she abide by that if the boat he was on was about to be sunk? No, she thought, but there was time to figure out what to do. She was sure it would be twelve or more hours before the planes could arrive.

  Sophia backed off from her statement. “Never mind,” she said. “It’s a nice old sub, that’s all. And there are young sailors aboard. Just kids, really. Eighteen years old at most.”

  “Well, maybe it won’t be an issue. But I think we have to take these guys out, one way or another, and sinking that sub may be the easiest way. It’s not like they are children, innocently selling cookies door to door. These
‘children’ are in fact dangerous adults.”

  Sophia nodded in acknowledgment. She would have to give this some more thought. For now though, she was very tired. She needed a mattress. Then she remembered her question to Petur from earlier.

  “Why is everyone concerned about Mexico. Is it starting?”

  Petur took her arm and led her to his golf cart. “Thomas wanted to see you at his office when you awoke so he could clean and dress your wounds.”

  Sophia stopped again. “Petur,” she insisted, using the familiar, insistent tone of a sister who would no longer be put off. “Mexico!”

  Resigning to his sister’s demand, he replied, rather sadly, “Sophia, Mexico is reneging on our lease. We suspected it might come, and have been preparing, but thought we had weeks — perhaps months — more. We were wrong. We think they plan to nationalize the Island Project.”

  “What? Petur, no! What could possibly give them the right?”

  “Nothing gives them the right. But we have no recourse, I fear.” They climbed into his golf cart.

  “Petur, we can fight!” Sophia was adamant. There were innumerable reasons why they could not allow this to occur. Too much had gone into the Project for a government to take it under its wings and suffocate it, or for the Mexicans to loot it. She was perhaps on the verge of making the single biggest contribution to mankind in all of history: cheap, clean, unlimited energy. They could not allow these people to stop it, nor could they allow evil governments to benefit from it.

  “Perhaps we can fight, Sophia. Perhaps we can.” They started down the road toward Standall’s clinic. “That is what we were about to discuss when you so rudely interrupted us with this crazy bomb thing!” He grinned.

  “Petur, you have to get back to that meeting!”

  “They do pretty well without me now, in general. But I’m just going to drop you off, and then I’m on my way back.” He noted the concern in her eyes. “You’ll be safe. Look behind us.”