Savior (11 page)

Ten—The Steep

The control center was a round room of uncertain dimensions, lit by overhead fluorescent lights and blinking signals of the consoles, radar maps, satellite images, talking heads, and other assorted visual displays of the screens apportioned geometrically in rows. There were no windows. Ricky felt like he was in an underground bunker. But he wasn't sure. The man who was walking at his side was a Lieutenant Coppinger, addressed as such by the men they came into contact with, but he was dressed in a windbreaker and the flat sneakers favored by skateboarders. He had been assigned as Ricky's escort. Newman was at one workstation, standing with several scholarly looking people and high-ranking military men. Lieutenant Coppinger walked briskly forward towards Newman and his group. Ricky followed closely behind, glancing at the computers, fascinated by the split screens, the sheer amount of information being processed and put into actionable form. He was pleased to know that here were the men and might that could take on the power of the
Santos Muertos
. Still, he was frustrated that it had been several days since he'd awoken in the military compound and he had not been allowed access even to a telephone so as to contact his uncle Tony or Lianne; and nobody seemed to want to talk to him about his father. He had been kept busy playing basketball with the Lieutenant and his soldier buddies or swimming laps in the pool or, at any time of the day or night, eating in the cafeteria. It was always open and staffed by an odd mixture of Latin American and East African men and women wearing hairnets and blue jump suits.

Ah, here they are, said Newman, dressed in a tweed coat and glasses, which gave him the air of a recent retiree from the w
orld of academia. He had such a changeable aspect that it must have been a learned skill. He was accompanied by a couple of men in uniforms, their fronts emblazoned with patches of medals.

Ricky, what we are looking at here is a schematic of your tablet and several configurations of ratios that
could possibly be what's actually represented on it. There also seems to be a possible story line involving the kingdom of one of the Maya chieftains, Pakal.

I want that back. It's mine.

I understand that. You will get it back, said Newman.

Ricky, this is a very important tablet,
added a woman with a mass of grey hair and a long, horse-like face. She sounded like she thought he was stupid or something.

I know that. But it's mine.

The reason it's important, Ricky, said Newman, is that the ratios here represented might be the key to the tonalities, the vibrations, that dominate the structure of most matter. We believe, according to some key informers inside the cartels, that the LSM is close to producing a weapon that could make it virtually unstoppable. We don't know the exact nature of this weapon, but we believe it is similar to a high-frequency, active auroral resonator that will inject sound beams into the ionosphere to create huge, extremely low-frequency lenses that can destroy ballistic missiles and manipulate the weather. That might not be the extent of it, because we know that Chagnon's research interests include special relativity and time dilation.

I just want to find my father.

We know that.

I want to go home.

You can't go home. And the reason for that is your house is under surveillance by the
Santos Muertos,
and we can't even trust the local police anywhere in the country at this point. It's a different world today, Ricky, than it was even just five years ago. We’re in a defensive posture as far as guarding the homeland. We want to protect you, but we also want to help you find your father.

Well, where is he? You said you knew where he was.

And we do. Here's the plan. And I know not everyone is in favor of it. Newman looked around gravely, but positively. Then he played with the mouse, clicking to zoom in on the radar map.

T
his is the refinery plant in Fort McMurray, Alberta. It's called the Harken Oil Sands. You, Ricky, are the man. We're going to show you how you can get in there and get your father. Are you up for that?

Sure.

Let me see if I've got this straight, Robert, said one of the military men, clearing his throat and shifting from one foot to the other. The kid will infiltrate the plant, locate the main sections of the
Santos Muertos
facility within the plant, and report back to us with details of the layout.

That's right, said Newman. Ricky, your father is somewhere inside
there.

Sounds good, but I want the tablet. And I want to go home first.

Newman looked around at the other adults. The military officers looked uncertain. The woman was downright hostile.

He can't have the tablet. I need more time, she said.

You have a reasonable facsimile of it. I don't see the problem.

It's too dangerous,
a different officer spoke up. I'm still not convinced we can't go in with Team Six and blast the place with bunker busters. The Canadians would be fine with it.

We have them on stand by, don't we, said Newman. Look. Give the kid a try. H
e has had some success getting us this far. This could be the key to turning them.

Or the spark that starts off a major world conflagration, said
another man in a black suit.

Ricky
just needed to get the tablet back as that was a present for his mother. Then he remembered that she was dead. Somehow he blamed these people for that also. But that was stupid. He wasn't thinking straight. He needed his father to say something like:
Ricky, a good night's sleep is worth all the gold in the world
. The fact that his dad was somewhere up in Canada was a big inconvenience. He knew that he was missing major parts of the picture but that he would not do whatever they wanted. What he wanted was to get himself and his father home. When he thought about where he most wanted to be right then, he thought of Lianne and the beach. Her legs would be doubled up under herself on a towel and her hair would be blowing around in a warm breeze. That sight would be a major comfort to him, he thought. There was very little comfort in this place.

The men and the expert lady listened and watched as Newman directed them on a tour of the Harken Oil Sands, as it said in big black letters on
a screen which had descended from the ceiling.

Here is an aerial view of the facility looking from the south. These are the crude supply tanks and the central chimneys. To the right are the pump houses and the cracking stills. This building here is the control room. We believe the LSM laboratories to be below the control room. We have no interior views as yet, but this is a drone shot of some components we believe to be tooling and sensors of a type used in large
-scale resonance amplification processors being taken out of one of the storage houses, which are west of the control room and connected by this shipping platform, which also faces onto this building here, the benzene pump room.

Ricky couldn't help but be impressed by the big man's command of the visuals and the presentation. He listened as Newman described various contingency plans for gaining access and extraction of the prisoners. It was hard to believe they would go to all this trouble just for
his dad. But there were others captive in that place also. Later, in the dorm-style room he was staying in, Ricky asked Coppinger about other prisoners.

Yeah, we think they might be the remaining survivors of the Air Force X138 that went down somewhere near Rio Branco in Brazil in 2005, said Coppinger.

That's good.

Why?

He's not alone. I hated to think he was all alone somewhere with those sketchy bastards.

Oh, no. This has been going on for a long time. We've been narrowing in on the
Santos
for some time now. Just that thanks to you and your dad we know now what they're up to and where.

The transponders?

Yup. Did the job.

Do I still have one?

I doubt it. All they are is nano-chips that get placed in your food. Eventually your body either shits them out or shuts them down by breaking through the blister pack and shorting them out. Anyway you don't need one anymore. We know where you are.

You think I can do this?

I know you can. With a little help you're going to bust it wide open. Just need you to get inside that place.
              Why me?

You're motivated. And you're a kid. Gives you an edge in terms of evading their security.

Coppinger, whose first name was Hector, took Ricky down to the gym after lending him a pair of shorts and a pair of the skateboard sneakers. Ricky ran on the treadmill and tried the rowing machine, but he got bored very quickly. He noticed the military honchos, guys in their twenties, in there looking at themselves as they did compound exercises, pushups and squats with barbells in each hand. They all looked tough, but a little too full of themselves, Ricky thought. Except for Coppinger. Hector was from Oklahoma and had become a Navy Seal at the age of eighteen. He had been in Afghanistan and run some missions in Somalia and Colombia before taking on his position with the staff of the Southern Joint Operations Command. Ricky was curious about the motivation of someone like Coppinger. He drank from his Gatorade bottle after handing one to Ricky.

Courtesy of Uncle Sam. How do you feel, kid?

I just miss my girlfriend.

You have a girlfriend?

Yeah.

Where is she? What's her name?

Lianne. She's at home. In my town. Plymouth Beach.

Where's that?

You know where Orlando is?

Yeah, of course.

A little north of there. It's just a small Florida beach town.

Hey. The best places in America are small towns.

I miss it.

Well. Hell, I'll drive you up there. We don't have to tell nobody.

Really?

Yeah. We'll go tonight. Can you call her?

Of course.

Tell her you're coming by. Don't tell her where you are.

I have no idea where I am.

Later,
Ricky was dripping wet in the bathroom next to the dorm room, holding onto a towel with one hand, when Coppinger flipped him a cell phone and laughed as Ricky managed to catch it. Ricky sat on the bed and texted Lianne. Out the window it was getting dark already. Next to him on the bed was a pile of clothes somebody had bought for him, some jeans and generic Fruit of the Loom tee shirts in a Wal-Mart bag, so he'd look like something out of the Wizard of Oz. He put on a pair of the jeans and a tee shirt and a sweatshirt and flipped the hoodie up. The phone rang.

Hi there.

Is it you?

Yes.

You're in Florida. How was it? You've been gone for weeks and weeks.

Yeah. I can't really talk now.

Why not?

Coppinger stared out the window. Ricky put his thumb over the mouthpiece. What can I tell her?

Just say you'll meet her in three hours. Outside her house. Take her for a ride.

Okay. Can you go out for just a second?

Two minutes. Coppinger went out the door and closed it behind him.

Lianne, you'll never believe this. I'm in a top-secret military base. I guess it's in Florida.

Eight six three area code. I guess so.

I have to talk fast.

Oh, no. That sounds really bad.

It's even worse. Listen, I want to meet you in three hours. Can you do that?

Where?

Zapata's.

Zapata's?

Yeah.

Why there?

It's quiet. Nobody goes there. And Flora's your friend. She'll keep it quiet.

Okay. Ten o'clock say?

All right. Keep it a total secret. You've got to do that.

Don't worry. But Ricky, what in the heck?

I'll tell you everything. This isn't my phone. Bye.

Bye.

When Coppinger re-entered the room, Ricky was sitting on the bed flipping through the video games on the phone.

You've got
Spore
. Sweet.

You like that one. Check
out this one.
Call of Duty Four
. Coppinger took the phone and brought up a video game that he handed back.

What did she say?

She said yeah.

She's okay with it?

Yeah.

Good. Listen. I need the phone. But I've got another one you can have. I think it still's even signed up with Verizon. I'll bring it. I've got to run home
.

Coppinger lived somewhere off base.

I'll come back in
, say, an hour and we'll head out. I'll meet you by the West gate. Don't worry. Nobody's even going to check on you. Just say you're waiting for the bus if anyone asks.

Okay.