Crossing Savage (24 page)

Chapter 20

September 28

Corvallis, Oregon

“Mickey, please come in for a minute.”
Under the circumstances, Professor Savage was not going to ignore his intuition. He deeply regretted not taking the previous warning from Jim Nicolaou seriously, and he was determined not to repeat that error.

“What can I do for you Professor?”

“Please, close the door and come over to the window.”

Mickey was there in three strides. “See that man sitting down there on the lawn, leaning against the tree?”

“The guy in the dark blue sweatshirt and ball cap? Yeah, I see him.”

“I think he's following me. I saw him watching me outside the library earlier this morning. When I approached to ask his name, he took off.”

“Maybe he was late for class.”

Professor Savage shook his head. “No, classes start on the hour, it was half past 10:00 when I noticed him.”

“He looks like a student. There are thousands of students on the campus. You must see familiar faces all the time. What has you spooked about this guy?”

Professor Savage thought for a moment. It was a good question. “I don't know; call it a feeling. But the way he was looking at me… and then to take off like that. And now I find him hanging around outside my office. Something isn't right. I mean, let's assume he had an urgent appointment, not a class, but some other appointment. Why is he sitting down there now? Shouldn't he be wherever he supposedly ran off to?”

“I don't know, Professor—seems kind of thin. But tell you what. If it makes you feel any better, I'll go down and talk to the guy. Casual, you know. Like one student to another. See what I can learn. Okay?”

“All right. Thanks, Mickey. Maybe I am just paranoid.”

Five minutes later, Mickey was back at Professor Savage's office.

“That didn't take long. What did he have to say?”

“Never spoke to him,” answered Mickey. “When I walked out the door, he was already gone.”

Professor Savage leaned toward the window. Just as Mickey had said, the guy was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm going back out to the hallway. Just give a shout if you see him again, okay?”

After the door closed, Professor Savage picked up the phone and dialed Peter's number. His son picked up on the second ring.

“Hi, Dad. How are you?”

“Fine; maybe a little jumpy. How was the drive home last night?”

Peter had flown with his father and the other members of the expedition to Corvallis the previous evening, having left his red Hummer truck at the airport when he flew to Alaska the week before with the rest of the team.

“No problem. Not many people on the road and I made good time.

“Look, son, I've been thinking. We had some close calls up there and I…” he stammered, searching for the right words. “Well, I would like to see you.”

Peter chuckled. “Dad, we just spent a week together. What's on your mind? This isn't like you.”

“No, it's not like me. Maybe that's the problem.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, and courage. “Peter, I haven't tried to be very close to you—to be your father—for quite a number of years. If you'd let me, I'd like to change that.”

Peter didn't know what to say. True, his father hadn't treated him like a son in… what? Close to 25 years? Suddenly Peter felt a catch in his throat as he tried to speak.

“I'd like that, Dad.” And then Peter added, “Are you sure everything is all right?”

“Yes, I think so. Just rattled by all that has happened, I suppose.” And then, with a slight laugh, he added, “Just this morning I thought I was being followed. I think it's just my imagination.”

“You told the officer, didn't you?”

“Oh, sure. Mickey tried to talk to the guy, but he had already left. I'm sure he's just a student.”

Peter felt a sudden chill. “Let me wrap up a couple things here, then I'll be on the road.”

“Oh, I'll be fine. You don't need to drive back over here tonight.”

“Yes, I do Dad. Call me if anything else seems out of the ordinary, okay? And make sure the officer stays with you everywhere you go. I'll be there around seven o'clock. Are you going to be at your office?”

“Yes, I have plenty to catch up on. Oh, and I'll tell you about the core samples that are being shipped to the lab courtesy of the NSF and your friend Jim!”

“Core samples?” asked Peter, not following.

“Yes, core samples! See you this evening.”

Not far away, in the student union, a man wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, ball cap, and sunglasses was turning the pages of a history book. But he wasn't reading the textbook. His mind was concentrating on the conversation he was listening to through a tiny ear bud.

So, the professor was planning to meet his son at 7:00 P.M. tonight. No problem, he thought; that left plenty of time to complete his assignment.

Chapter 21

September 28

Corvallis, Oregon

During the drive across the mountains
from Bend to Corvallis, Peter could not shake the ominous feeling that his father was in danger. He wondered how much Jim had told the Corvallis police department about the attack on Chernabura Island. He hoped the police officers knew enough to take the threat seriously, to be prepared. He pressed the pedal down further and picked up speed, expecting to be at the campus by 6:30 P.M.

Since it was early evening, parking was open and Peter found a spot next to the campus bookstore. Locking his truck behind him, he walked directly to Gleason Hall. The laboratory was on the ground floor, and he thought he would walk by there first, just in case his dad was still unpacking some of the technical equipment that the cleanup crew on the island had forwarded.

The building was deserted. He assumed the students were out eating pizza and drinking beer, since it was the dinner hour. Later many would come back and work on lab assignments until late in the evening.

As Peter approached his father's lab, he noticed that the lights were out. He checked the doorknob. It turned, and the door opened. Odd, he thought.

“Dad? Dad? You in there?” He flipped on the light switch and took another step into the lab. It was a large room, with a grid-work of stout steel rods along much of the far wall. Fastened to the metal grids were various stainless-steel pressure reactors. To the right stood three banks of electronic equipment, each five feet tall and nearly two feet wide.

In the center of the room were four large tables with heavy black surfaces and aged wooden legs. They looked very sturdy. Next to every table were wooden crates resting on the floor; a few were opened, revealing rock core samples neatly arranged and secured in rigid foam cradles. Some of the core samples were laid out in a line on one of the tabletops.

These would be the core samples his father had mentioned. Peter was surprised he wasn't in the lab studying the samples, but he must have been here earlier since several of the cores had already been unpacked.

Assuming his father was upstairs in his office, Peter turned to leave when he saw a shoe and portion of leg sticking out from behind the furthest crate, halfway across the lab. Immediately his heart rate doubled, and he dashed over fearing the worst—fearing it was his father.

The prone body was face down, but Peter could tell right away that the clothing and build were not correct. He didn't recognize this man since he had not met Mickey. Peter rolled the body over, checking for obvious injuries; there were none. He pressed his finger against the man's neck, searching for a pulse. Feeling the rhythmic beat, Peter exhaled slowly and felt a wave of relief wash over him.

And then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Peter dashed for the door and ran up the old staircase, taking two steps at a time. He exited onto the second floor and stopped.

Echoing down the long hallway he heard voices, and they didn't sound happy.

“I told you already, I don't have any money here!”

“Shut up!”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

Peter easily recognized his father's voice, but not the other. It was definitely male, though.

“Never mind who I am. Just give me your wallet and your keys.”

There was a pause. Peter imagined that his father was handing over the items as demanded.

“Now, open your desk drawers and dump them onto the floor.”

“What?”

“Do it! Or I'll kill you right here!”

Peter's heart pounded in his chest. He stepped silently toward his father's office. The door was about 50 feet down the hallway. Fortunately, Peter was wearing sneakers, and he moved swiftly and quietly.

He heard the jangled crash of items falling onto the floor, and then the crack of the wooden drawer hitting the hard floor.

“Very good, Professor. Now, come this way.”

“You're the man I saw following me this morning, aren't you?”

Peter was close now, almost at the office door. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and panic threatened to grip his mind. He couldn't allow that to happen, and he fought to maintain rational control.

“You're pretty observant for an old man. Still, I don't see what Ramirez was worried about.”

Recognition flashed across the professor's eyes, too fast for the other man to register.

“What do you want?” demanded a defiant Professor Savage.

Peter was just outside his office, and at the mention of Ramirez it was all he could do to restrain the urge to barge in. He let down the zipper on his jacket slowly, so as to not make a sound. Reaching inside with his trembling hand, Peter retrieved his Colt .45 pistol—on his return from Alaska, Peter had vowed to carry the pistol, at least for a while.

Stepping into the open doorway, gun raised, Peter demanded, “Let him go!”

The man was startled, but still had enough composure to quickly grab Professor Savage and yank him in front as a shield. He placed his own gun to the professor's head and wrapped his left arm around the professor's chest.

“I said, let… him… go.”

The man slowly shook his head. “That's not gonna happen. But I'll tell you what is gonna happen. You're gonna put your gun down and step back. Is that clear?” He tightened his grip on his pistol and pushed the barrel harder against the professor's head.

Professor Savage winced as the steel barrel pressed against his temple.

Peter held firm. He knew that to lower his weapon would mean both he and his father would die.

Suddenly, he felt oddly detached from the present—his emotions suppressed, breathing and pulse approaching normal, his analytical mind fully in control. As Peter's peripheral vision shut down, his eyes burned into the assailant. He was not thinking about killing; rather he was focused on the singular goal of applying the tool in his hand to save his father.

“Drop the gun and back up, or I swear I'll blow his brains all over the wall!”

“No, you won't,” Peter said calmly as he gently squeezed the trigger. He was less than twelve feet away.

Ian Savage saw a blinding bright flash for a millisecond before his eyes instinctively shut, and he heard a deafening explosion. For a moment, he truly thought he had been shot and this was what it was like to die. But then he felt the weight of the man's body thrust him forward a half step, and that nudged his mind back to reality as the man collapsed at his feet.

Peter's shot had passed by the right side of his father's head and struck the assailant on the bridge of his nose. The effect was immediate. The man was dead in a millionth of a second; the brain severed from the spinal cord so that no motor reflexes were possible. The gun had spilled out of his lifeless hand.

“Are you all right, Dad? Are you hurt?”

The professor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Are you all right?” Peter repeated, this time a bit louder.

The professor shook his head. “I'm fine; he didn't hurt me.” And then he added, “Since when did you start carrying a gun?”

“Oh, this?” replied Peter, tilting the heavy Colt pistol. “A good friend showed me the value of being prepared.”

Peter returned the pistol to his shoulder holster. Wrapping his arm around his father, he said, “You know, Dad… this isn't what I had in mind when you said you'd like to spend some time together.”

Chapter 22

September 28

Bend, Oregon

Jim, there has to be something
you can do!” Peter was frantic and practically screaming into the telephone. “If I hadn't arrived when I did, Dad would be dead. You know as well as I do—this wasn't a robbery. Whoever is doing this, they aren't going to give up!”

“Calm down, Peter.”

“Calm down? Look, the danger hasn't stopped… and I don't like it. Right now, Dad is with me, at my house, but we have to get him into a safe environment. We've been lucky twice; I don't want to see if we can make it three in a row.”

“Was the assailant acting alone?”

“I didn't see anyone else, but as I told you, he mentioned Ramirez.”

“That would be Vasquez Ramirez—the twin brother of Pablo Ramirez. I didn't think he would try again so quickly.”

“Look, Jim, you've got to stop him!”

“We are doing everything we can. But we still don't know where Ramirez is hiding. I've got my team working on it around the clock. Nothing is taking higher priority.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Get your dad packed. A small duffel with the minimum he needs. I'm sending the Gulfstream back with two of my MPs. Be ready in two hours. You're coming back to The Office. We can guarantee your safety here. I'll contact Colonel Pierson—under the circumstances I think I can persuade him to set up a laboratory here where your father can continue his work without interruption.

“I'll make sure the local police know enough
not
to issue an APB for you or your father. Colonel Pierson may have to work that one through higher channels, but I'll make sure the police are not hunting you. Tell me you have a license for that Colt?”

“Yes. I've had a concealed weapon permit for years. Just never saw the need to carry it until I started hanging out with you.”

“Good. That will help, even if only a little.”

Peter and Ian Savage were on the Gulfstream at midnight. Shortly after the plane became airborne, the flight attendant—he looked to be a kid no older than twenty—approached Peter. “Sir, I have Commander Nicolaou on the line. He wants to speak with you.”

Peter unbuckled and proceeded to the front of the aircraft cabin. Just behind the cockpit was a small room, just large enough for one person to sit at the half-sized desk. The space was crammed with electronic gear, mostly radios he assumed. He put on the headset and spoke into the mic.

“This is Peter.”

“You'll be landing in about an hour, but I couldn't wait. I have some good news for you.” Jim sounded very upbeat. “My boss didn't take long to make a decision. He agreed with my recommendation to set up your father with a fully functional laboratory facility here at The Office.”

“That's great news. I'm sure Dad will be pleased. But how are we going to do that? He has a lot of specialized equipment, and he'll probably need his students to help as well. I don't think his grant money is sufficient to cover the expense.”

“We'll take care of it. Uncle Sam is paying the bill. The logistics of moving equipment and getting the students down here is easy. I'll arrange for your father to have military personnel available, including technicians to assist in setting up the lab. When you land, Sergeant Wiley will meet you and coordinate the details with you. Anything you need, you let him know.”

“I can't thank you enough, Jim. I know Dad will be pleased.”

“And you can assure your father that a report on the attempted murder at his office has already been forwarded through the State Department to the Japanese government. I am told the Japanese authorities are taking action to place Professor Sato in protective custody.”

There was a pause, and Jim knew that what Peter really wanted was to have this nightmare end. “We're doing everything we can, Peter. I give you my word, we will find Ramirez and whoever is behind all this—we
will
bring it to an end. It may take a while, but Ramirez is at the top of the list. He can run, but he can't hide forever.”

“Jim, I know you're doing all you can, and I wish I could feel as confident as you sound. But this is my father.”

“Peter, you need to trust me, okay? Don't ask questions you know I can't answer. We will bring Ramirez down.”

Peter sighed. “I know you will. I just hope you succeed before any more innocent people have to die.”