18

TERUMBU ISLAND, LATE JULY

Two hours later, three sweating forms crouched in the still jungle ten yards away from the rear wall of the makeshift laboratory. After making sure they were alone, Havok leaned over and whispered to his companions, “Ready to work off your Wheaties?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stone answered, “and that lovely twelve-hour siesta aboard the air-conditioned yacht did so much for my complexion.”

Havok had learned to ignore Stone. He knew Stone was as tough as two-month-old Arizona roadkill. Stone was just not happy unless he had something to complain about.

The men stood and stepped to the laboratory, carrying empty dive bags. Reaching the rear door, Stone pushed against its wooden double panel. The door opened just as Stone had said it would.

The three men filed into the building and closed the door behind them. Stone pulled a small LED flashlight with a red lens from his pocket, pushed against the small rubber switch at the end of its handle, and jammed it between his teeth. Under the weak dull-red glow they could see gray metal boxes stacked in a large square on the concrete floor in the center of the room and a workbench against the wall with empty containers on it.

Havok leaned his recovered rifle against the wall behind him. As a testimony to American arms manufacturers, the rifle was still operational, although the wooden stock was a bit gouged. He pulled a Phillips screwdriver from his waistline and stepped over to the boxes. They were one foot wide by one foot tall and three feet long. Four screws secured the lids, one at each corner. He used the screwdriver to remove one screw at a time from a box on the top layer of the stack. After pulling out the last screw, he carefully tugged at one end of the lipped cover, breaking its wax seal. He pulled back on the cover, and inside, two rows of ten green canisters stood upright, held tightly in place by foam packing. Havok selected one canister, hefting it in his hand. It weighed about eight pounds. He placed it back into the crate and, grabbing the crate’s end handles, placed the crate on the floor.

Now Stone and Manny started on their own boxes. The three men took care loading the canisters into the empty dive bags layer by layer. Within thirty minutes they had four bags fully loaded with death-laden containers. Leaving the bags alone for a minute, they replaced the covers of the boxes and restacked them as they had been. Before they screwed the lid on the last box, Stone pulled out a dive glove, a coil spring a little bigger than a finger, and a screw and washer.

“What’re ya doing with that?” Havok asked.

“You’ll see,” Stone replied as he went to the workbench and grabbed an empty container. Returning to the box, he placed the container inside, standing it up. Next, he unscrewed the lid and poured half a canteen of water into it. After screwing the lid back on, he stood the spring on the lid of the container, dropped the washer and screw into the spring, and, with his screwdriver, threaded the screw through the lid. Once the spring was securely in place, Stone fitted the dive glove over the spring with the spring holding up the middle finger of the glove.

“Great,” Havok said as he watched Stone lay the cover over the glove and spring, folding it over. “Do ya always have to find a way to piss people off?”

Stone replied with a devilish grin on his face, “Well, they need to butch up then, don’t they?”

Havok shook his head as he turned to a full dive bag. “Come on.”

Manny and Stone followed Havok’s lead and shouldered one bag each, along with their weapons, while Stone and Manny grabbed the straps of the fourth bag to carry between them. Although Manny weighed just over one hundred pounds, he had no problem carrying the same amount of weight as Havok and Stone. Havok pushed his screwdriver into his waistline, grabbed his M14, and followed his friends out of the building. Closing the door behind him, Havok took the lead, starting out on the route that led to the building.

They had only walked about twenty yards when, without warning, Havok slammed into another person. Havok smelled tobacco.

The man blurted a single word in Russian as Havok’s weight, and the weight he carried, bowled him forward. Without even thinking about it, Havok used the surprise and excess weight to his advantage. He dropped his rifle, pulled the screwdriver from his waist, and pushed the man off his feet. As the pair went down, Havok jammed the crossed tip into the man’s chest. When the two bodies collided with the ground, Havok’s weight drove the shank between his victim’s ribs. He could hear the great expulsion of air leaving the man’s windpipe as warm blood gushed over Havok’s hand, making him lose his grip on the plastic handle. Only a gurgling sound and the spastic quiver of the man’s legs accompanied his death.

Havok rolled off the Russian while pulling the screwdriver out of the man’s chest. Now lying on his back on top of the full dive bag, Havok flipped the tool over, pointing it into the black air and searching for any other threat. All he could see were faint traces of moonlight that squirmed through cracks in the canopy, but a figure loomed over him, blocking the moonlight.

“You all right?” Stone asked with uncharacteristic concern.

“I’m fine,” Havok answered, “but I think I put a hurtin’ on Ski here. Help me up.”

Stone reached down and grabbed Havok by a bag strap, pulling him to his feet as Manny joined them. Manny looked at the body and then lifted his shotgun, pointing it around into the jungle as he looked for other late-night walkers.

“Come on,” Stone whispered. “Can’t hang out all night long.”

“Manny, grab my rifle and pack it for me,” Havok ordered. “Stone, help me get him on my shoulders.”

After Stone folded the Russian over Havok’s left shoulder, the three men and a corpse continued their journey, leaving behind only a few bloodstains on the matted vegetation.

Unknown to the three men, another man had died thirty feet away. The man clutched an empty vodka bottle. Unlike his comrade, he had died with a smile. This smile was several inches long, and it went from ear to ear below his chin.

The hike to the cavern was taxing. The added weight stressed the men’s already-spent muscles. It was past midnight by the time they reached the crack in the ground, and Havok knew they were running out of time. After placing their heavy loads on the ground, Stone retrieved their rappelling gear from under a pile of leaves, and they went to work. Havok strapped on his climbing assembly, an entrenching tool, and a light, and lowered himself into the opening. The red glow from his light cast an evil glare beneath him. Havok guiltily expected a little red man with green eyes, horns, and a broad, fangy smile to materialize and congratulate him on his murderous deed.

The walls of the crevice disappeared, and Havok found himself hanging just under the dome-shaped roof of the cavern. He looked down at the pile of dried vegetation and animal bones, and the insects that had made the floor directly under the crevice their home. He kicked his legs and started to swing. When the arc of his swing was right, he released his grip on the rope, landing squarely on the large boulder next to the pulsating mass of vegetation, bones, and insects. After yanking the rope away from the gathering swarm of tiny, clacking, and hungry creatures, Havok tightened his grip on the rope and gave it four tugs. The rope disappeared into the blackness above him.

Remaining on the boulder, he unsnapped his flashlight from his climbing harness and panned the narrow light around the cavern. Long, craggy stalactites pointed down from the curved roof. Many of them dripped water, which created a field of stalagmites covering the flat cavern floor. The air was damp. Stepping off the boulder, he passed the pile of desiccated vegetation and made his way to a recess in the sloping ceiling. The recess was located where the cavern walls met a floor of hard-packed sand strewn with various-sized rocks and stalagmites. Once inside the miniature sub-cavern, Havok placed the flashlight on a rock, pulled the entrenching tool from his belt, and began digging. The dull scraping sound bounced off the roof of the cavern, keeping him company.

Within three minutes, the reddish-black lump of a dive bag was lowered into the cavern with Stone harnessed to the same line just above the bag. Together, both the bag and Stone dropped to the floor. While Havok kept digging the hole, Stone unclipped himself and the bag from the line and tugged it four times. Manny, on the surface, pulled the rope out of the cavern. He lowered the remaining bags one at a time, while Stone unclipped the loads and shouldered them, carrying them one at a time to where Havok was digging his hole. Havok heard the sound of a rope rubbing against its chafing gear above him as Manny started to lower the dead Russian into the cavern. To Havok, looking up from his hole and wiping sweat from his eyes, the dangling corpse looked just like hell’s archangel descending into the cavern. He remembered a quote he’d heard once: “The devil whispered in my ear, ‘You’re not strong enough to withstand the storm.’ To which I whispered back in the devil’s ear, ‘I am the storm.’”

Why did I think of that passage now? he wondered, wiping his brow one more time before returning to his work.

Once the hole was deep enough, Stone helped him line the bottom of the oval-shaped grave with the canisters. When the last container was in place, Havok and Stone placed the body on top of them. Stone helped cover the sarin and the body with sand, using his feet and hands, while Havok shoveled it in with his entrenching tool. The air was thick and humid, causing the men to stream sweat, which soaked the dry sand as it covered the dead and deadly contents. When the grave was covered, the men stood to inspect their work.

“Kind of fitting, isn’t it?” said Stone.

“How’s that?”

“What he came for, he’s stuck with forever.”

Havok nodded and gathered his gear. Stone did the same, and they did their best to wipe out any evidence of their work by smoothing the sand and redistributing vegetation.

By two thirty a.m. Havok and Stone were back on the surface after having climbed back up the rope using tired arms and foot-cinching ropes. Manny stashed the climbing gear. The two men drank water from their canteens, and then all three of them shouldered their weapons and web gear. When all was ready, Havok turned in the direction of the seaplane. His friends followed.

With the excess weight buried behind them, Havok and his companions set out at a mile-eating gait and quickly covered the distance. Soon they were squatting at the edge of the seaplane camp, watching from behind dense foliage. They had no problem finding the location again in the early-morning darkness; all they had to do was follow the smell of campfire smoke, which hung in the tropical air. As the three men crawled toward the camp, glowing embers from a dying fire cast a flickering hue on the center of the encampment. Snores came from inside the sagging tents, along with an occasional cough. There appeared to be nobody on watch.

Havok whispered to his mates, “Hang on. I’m going to get a guest for tonight’s dinner.”

Stone responded woefully, “I hope she doesn’t like beer.”

***

Pilar’s body ached at every joint and muscle because the last ounce of her body fat had been consumed long ago to produce body heat. Now, with no padding left, the moist, cold ground became unbearable to her. When morning came, she knew she would no longer be able to resist any of the bastards. She wouldn’t even be able to hold an arm up by then. Hungry, sore, and wallowing in self-pity, she failed to notice the black-green ghost stealing away from the fast hold of the jungle. The ghost snatched her up so fast she became dizzy, but she could still feel the embrace of strong arms.

A dirty and sweaty face, inches from hers, whispered the words she had longed to hear: “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

Havok held Pilar tightly against him as he dashed back in the direction of the Outfit. Manny and Stone followed. She could feel his biceps press against her back, but she did not mind the discomfort, as everything was fine now. She had no idea who he was or what was going on, but the warming embrace of another human set her mind at ease. No longer would she feel discomfort or pain. Finally, the jostling movement stopped, and she felt herself being placed on the ground. Another man’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“I send him out for pizza, and look what he comes back with.”

Pilar removed her face from the first man’s chest and saw two other forms. The man who still held her with one arm spoke up: “Here you go, Pilar.”

The man shoved something into her mouth, and she tasted the most wonderful thing: peanut butter.

He squeezed a lump of the oily goo into her mouth from an MRE packet and then pulled it away. It only took a few seconds for her mouth to salivate enough to moisten the peanut butter so she could swallow it whole. She then felt the lip of a canteen against her lips. She swallowed five gulps before the man pulled the canteen away.

“That’s enough for now,” the benevolent voice said. “I don’t normally treat a girl this way on our first date, but you can have more water later.”

“Mister,” croaked Pilar, “right now, between you and the peanut butter, this is the best date I’ve ever had.” It hurt her to speak, but it was the most welcome pain.

“All right,” Stone said. “I know you two are having a real hoot, but I think it’s time to split. When our friends wake up and find out they’ve lost the family jewels, there are going to be a lot of pissed-off Slavs running around here.”

Havok looked at Pilar’s dirty face. “Excuse my friend here. His eloquence is lacking somewhat these days.”

“To me, he’s a perfect gentleman,” she said.

Havok reached into the cargo pocket of his trousers and pulled out a bundle. “Here, put this on.”

Pilar accepted the bundle, which was a sweatshirt, and as she gratefully slipped the extra-large clothing over her shivering body, the sudden warmth, along with the peanut butter and water, was too much for her. She collapsed into a deep sleep.

***

They reached the Outfit by four a.m., and Havok woke Pilar and instructed her how to cross the rope onto the boat. When the four were aboard the boat, Havok took Pilar into the salon behind the pilothouse and told her to lie down on the sofa. Stone stepped into the pilothouse to start the engines, while Manny went into the forward cabin for a blanket. Now that they had buried the sarin and rescued the professor, they could escape this island, and once safely on their way, they could radio for help and give a description of the disguised university research vessel.

“Shit!”

Havok, who was looking at Pilar’s wide eyes as she was trying to take in what had happened in the last half hour, asked, “What’s the problem?”

“We had a visitor again,” Stone said dejectedly.

“Let me guess,” Havok responded. “He took the last of your smokes?”

“Negative. He ganked our radio.”

The words hit Havok hard as he realized their situation had suddenly changed, and for the worse.

As if to confirm his dread, Stone continued, “Not only that but the engines won’t turn over.”

Manny stepped up from the forward cabin with a folded blanket in his arms. He saw the empty mount on the console in front of the helm where the marine radio used to be.

“Manny!” Havok ordered, looking at Pilar, who was slow to understand the sudden change in plans. “Get a pot of coffee going, fry up something quick for breakfast, and get a bag ready to go with all the ammunition and canned goods we have. Looks like we may have to jump ship. Stone, let’s look at those engines.”

Havok walked past Pilar and opened the hatchway to the engine room. He knew what to expect. Then he stepped down the short ladder with Stone right behind him. Havok’s expectations were confirmed: the valve covers, rocker arms, fuel injectors, and jumper lines of the two twelve-cylinder aircraft engines had been beaten off and lay strewn about the deck in pieces. They looked over at one of the start batteries and saw the handle of a claw hammer sticking out of the side. Battery acid still dripped from the wide crack in its side.

“You know he didn’t stop here,” Havok said.

“Yep, I bet he threw our laptop and your cell phone into the South China Sea as well,” Stone replied. “I told you to always carry your cell phone with you, but thank God for me. I’ve got my cell phone.” Stone reached for his back pocket.

“Go ahead, replace the battery and call Scott,” Havok said, still looking at the broken engines. “Shit’s gonna hit the fan when they realize that Pilar, along with one of their soldiers, is missing, and it won’t take long for them to figure out who’s behind it all.” He looked at his watch. “It’s four thirty, and I think we have about two hours at most to get some hot chow into us and to come up with Plan C.”

Havok turned, went up the ladder leading out of the engine room, and looked at Pilar on the sofa. Halfway asleep, she looked so vulnerable. He could hear Manny rummaging through the pantry in the forward compartment, and he could smell the coffee brewing. While the other three people on the boat were busy doing something, Havok was thinking about their next move. Stone disrupted his thoughts.

“Damn it!” Stone grumbled as he stepped up from the engine room. “I just got an out-of-office reply. One helluva time to go on a vacation or a company retreat!”

Havok thought for a second before responding. Both he and Stone had known Kilgore for many years, and they knew how he operated. “I doubt he’s on either one. We just need to go to ground and find an Alamo for the time being.”

By five a.m. Manny had filled his backpack with ammunition and canned goods. The open backpack sat on the stern deck next to the gas cans and Havok’s and Stone’s filled backpacks. The three men and Pilar sat in the salon drinking hot coffee and eating heated canned corned beef off paper plates. The sun, still below the horizon, was just starting to illuminate the eastern sky.

“Why did Hirosaki do what he did?” Stone wondered just loud enough for Havok to hear. “I thought the last thing he wanted was us hanging around. Why would he smash the engines and steal our comms? Why would he force us to stay here?”

“It could be a case of island fever or castaway crazies,” Havok replied as quietly as Stone had spoken. “Remember, he may be over a hundred years old, but he was still a Japanese soldier, and raised with the samurai concept. Two men enter, one man leaves. It’s either the Russians or us. He has locked us into mortal combat with the intention of letting the winners take the spoils and leave his island paradise, and pretty damned quick.”

“Or it might be a simple case of him being bored and wanting to have somebody to mess with,” Stone said.

Manny downed the last of his coffee and stood. “Boss, anything else?”

“Go look to see if we can squeeze any more ammo into our backpacks,” Havok ordered.

Manny went into the forward cabin to see what else might be of some use.

***

“I don’t know who you two are,” Pilar said after a gulp of coffee, “but thanks for rescuing me.”

“No problem,” Stone grumbled as he lit the cigarette that dangled from the corner of his mouth. “But the word rescue might be the wrong word choice right now.”

“Never mind him, Pilar,” Havok said, giving Stone a stern look. “We’ve got you safe and sound.”

“How did you know my name?” Pilar asked. She held the almost-empty coffee mug close to her lips with both of her hands. “Were you sent here to rescue me?”

“Actually, no,” Havok answered. “It seems like all of us here are victims of circumstance. I just happened to hear about you thirdhand. As for the rescue, we came here for something else but just stumbled into this mess.”

Although Pilar did not need to ask‍—she had accepted the inevitable long ago‍—she did anyway, hoping her question might bring back her students: “What about my students? My friends? Did you find them?”

“Sorry. They’re all dead,” Havok said bluntly. He knew of no other way to tell her.

Pilar sat there, feeling a guilt take her body over. She had argued to stay with her students, but the Russians wouldn’t listen. Instead, she’d found herself separated from them and bound up like a forgotten dog in the backyard. She then thought about the ship’s crew. “What about the ship and its crew?”

Havok gulped his coffee before answering, “We overheard Kang and the Russians talking. They repainted the ship, gave it a new name, and put their own crew in charge. They’ve spent the last week or so looking for us.” He paused and looked deep into Pilar’s eyes. “How many crewmen were there?”

“Seven, including the captain. The university maintains a small crew because the students carry out most of the watches and menial tasks to give them shipboard experience.” Pilar noticed the battle dress the men were wearing. “Are you Marines or something?” Pilar put the mug to her lips and tilted the remnants of syrupy coffee into her mouth.

“Sorry. It’s just like we said,” Stone said, exhaling cigarette smoke through his nostrils. “We’re innocent bystanders who came out here for silver, but unfortunately, you and your group happened on it first. Now, here we are too.”

“No problem.” She held out the mug for more coffee. A white film stuck to her lips. “You’re welcome to all of it. The Russians took it after they captured us.”

“I know,” Havok said as he refilled her mug.

She looked quizzically at the two men. “You two know a lot about me.”

Havok realized his rudeness and apologized. “I’m Joe Havok, and this lump here is Pete Stone, my partner.”

“Partner in what?” she asked.

“Just about anything, but mostly a bar slash dive shop up in Subic,” Havok answered. “I met a knowledgeable Australian at our dive shop who let me in on a long-lost secret about the silver. After that, I flew on down to this island for a look-see and some asshole put holes in our airplane. I managed to get back to Subic to collect Pete and Manny, and we all came back.”

“That was you in the plane?” Pilar asked, remembering the panic he had caused.

“Affirmative. I was just lucky that they were bad shots.”

“It wasn’t from bad shooting. The big gun on the ship jammed on them right after they started shooting. When they finally fixed it, you had flown off. I heard all about it from listening to the Russian at the seaplane camp. When they failed to shoot you down, the pilots received a message to clean and check their machine gun. There’s one mounted at the front of the seaplane. It’s like the one on the ship.”

While Pilar spoke, she appraised Havok. His clothing, damp from the trapped humidity, fit snugly over a muscular torso. His arms bulged out of the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, the knotty biceps stretching the cloth. His skin was tanned but not overly so: he was done just right. The two things that attracted her most were his eyes and his enormous mustache. The large brown orbs exuded confidence. A hint of crow’s feet at the corners suggested a jovial nature. The thick reddish-brown mustache clashed with the soft, caring eyes. It made a bold statement, revealing a roguish side. The mustache reminded Pilar of Wyatt Earp. He was attractive, and she could tell he was his own man.

Havok became aware of her gaze, but Stone mercifully broke it. “Hey, Pilar, I’ll show you mine if you show us yours.”

“Sure,” Pilar said, straight-faced as she sipped her coffee while turning to Stone.

“First,” Stone said, removing the cigarette from his mouth and knocking off the ash, “we have a headless corpse not two miles from this spot, but his head managed to walk to an island north of here. There’s an armed Russian ship anchored over a World War II Japanese submarine with a gazillion smackers in gold and a ton of germ warfare stuff. Then, we have two camps chock-full of Russian sailors, commandos, murderers, and scientists, all of whom I think had a little bit too much lead in their drinking water. Following them around is a Chinese mining industrialist packing his own private harem. All these crazy cats are as thick as thieves, but they can’t seem to stand each other’s company. To top it off, this island comes complete with its own hermit.”

“Well, that’s about what I’ve got, except the hermit,” answered Pilar. “Who’s he?”

“Long story short: it seems this island comes with its very own Ben Gunn,” Havok said.

“Ben Gunn?” Stone asked with his head tilted. “I thought his name was Hirosaki?”

“Haven’t you ever read Treasure Island?” Havok asked.

“Did it come with wiring instructions or a centerfold?” Stone asked. “If not, then no, I haven’t read it.”

Exasperated, Havok quickly explained, “Gunn was a pirate that Long John Silver marooned on an island after burying some treasure. Gunn came to haunt Long John Silver later on, and it seems that Hirosaki has haunted us by wrecking our escape plans.”

Havok turned to Pilar. “Now, show us yours.”

Pilar spoke: “We came on a university-sponsored research project, but for me it was personal. We were conducting an environmental impact study while I was following Kang, trying to get evidence on his destructive mining operations. Unfortunately, we followed him here and stumbled across his other criminal activities. Before our capture, the Russians used their own divers until two of them died. After our capture, they started using my students. The Russians separated me from my students on the first day. I heard about their torturous work only by listening to the Russians. And that corpse you mentioned used to be one of their scientists.”

“Dr. Dubrinsky?” Stone offered.

“Yes, Dr. Dubrinsky. The Russians had two biochemists. Andropov is the other chemist. He is a patriot and an actual member of the group. He staunchly believes in their cause. Dr. Dubrinsky was an outsider. He was only in it for the money. I guess he got cold feet, though, after some of my students died. He must have suffered a bout of conscience. He protested, but the leader of that murderous lot wouldn’t listen. Dubrinsky threw in the towel and escaped by boat one night. It took the Russians a couple of days to track him down, but they finally got him. He was dismembered, and his headless and handless corpse was brought back as a warning for others who might’ve had similar thoughts.”

“And to make it hard to identify the body in case it was discovered,” Havok added.

“That’s right. That might’ve led authorities back to their organization.” Pilar grew silent for a moment before continuing at almost a whisper. “It’s my fault. I lied to everybody to get this project underway. It was my own selfish vengeance that brought them here.”

Havok and Stone recognized her avalanche into remorse, and Stone was the first to speak up in an attempt to keep her attention elsewhere. “How did a Japanese sub end up here with all that gold and sarin? And how did the Russians find it?”

“I can’t tell you how the Russians found it,” Havok interjected, “but I think can tell you how it ended up here. One of the biggest mistakes the Japanese made in World War II was the misuse of their submarine force. Instead of attacking merchant fleets, as the Germans did, the Japanese used their submarines to attack only warships and to resupply their beleaguered island garrisons once the Allies started their island-hopping campaign across the Pacific. I figure the sunken sub is an I-400 class, one of the largest class of submarine ever made. I’ll bet the submarine was loaded with pillaged gold from all over Southeast Asia and then ordered to make it to Japan or Indochina to continue the war effort. The Japanese also had special units trying to manufacture all kinds of secret weapons, including chemical weapons, in places like northern China and Manchuria. Ergo, the Japanese probably had another secret facility somewhere in Southeast Asia where they made all kinds of weapons, including sarin. They tried to ship it north, but lost in the end.

“Now we have Russians salvaging what they need to create a new nation, with Kang here as some sort of investor or backer in the whole scheme. Before we rescued you, we snatched their sarin and hid it in an underground cave near here. The only way to it is through a crevice in the ground.”

Stone looked at Pilar. “What’s your connection with Kang?”

“He’s a millionaire who owns a fleet of ships and enough equipment to mine on every continent,” Pilar responded. “He owns the bottom half of the Philippines. Apparently, one of his mines caved in there recently, on the island of Mindanao, killing a dozen miners. A lot of his miners around the world have died because of his skirting safety regulations.”

Havok turned to Pilar and asked, “Why are you following him?”

Pilar’s lips suddenly compressed, and she looked away from Havok into the distance. “He killed my father,” she said with a vengeful, distant stare in her eye before continuing in a low, cold voice, “About four years ago, my father and I were working with the University of Nevada to conduct a study on the impact of open mining on public lands. Kang had an operation out in the desert, and one day, my father went out to speak with him. He had flown in with his senior staff to inspect his mine that day. It was an open-pit mine, and while my father, Kang, and his staff, along with several miners, were down in the pit, under-digging caused a landslide. It buried everybody. Only Kang escaped alive. Since then, I’ve vowed to follow in my father’s footsteps. I’ve spent the last few years collecting evidence of the damage Kang has caused. I was able to collect enough information to shut Kang down in the States at least.”

“It’s amazing how shit like that always floats to the surface,” Stone remarked, crushing out his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table. “Well, at least he’s no longer operating in the States.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s a whole quorum of other companies waiting to take his place, most of them foreign, but all have the same impact. These companies lease public land from the government,” Pilar explained, “just like the ranchers do, except these companies dig deep holes in the ground and process the soil while using poisonous chemicals to extract the silver, platinum, or gold.”

“Then,” Stone said, “they ship all that precious metal to a foreign bank, and Uncle Sam gets stuck with a few measly bones in rental fees and quite an expensive mess to clean up.”

“Yes,” Pilar said, turning her attention back to Stone. “In the end, all that’s left is a huge pit in the ground, piles of toxic soil, a poisoned groundwater system, and bought-off politicians who look the other way. Remember when Hillary Clinton, while secretary of state, was accused of taking bribes to let Russians mine American uranium? Crap just like that.”

Changing the subject, Stone asked, “So what’s your take on Anisimova?”

“He’s a hideous animal,” Pilar responded with a different form of hate in her eyes. “He told me a lot about their organization. Men like that need to brag. It makes them feel good about themselves. You could compare him to any other despot. Like Hitler and Stalin. He kept bragging about being some sort of top dog in a Russian separatist movement. In the States, I guess you would compare the movement to the KKK or some other white supremacist group. He does say things like ‘All Afro Americans ought to be fenced inside Florida.’ He has caused a lot of trouble worldwide because of his mouth.”

“If he’s such a pain,” Stone responded, “I’d have thought the Russian government would have dropped him like a hooker with leprosy.”

“The Russians can’t afford to dump him. Or at least Putin can’t for right now,” Pilar responded. “Putin is, in reality, a dictator, and has arrested numerous opponents, but Anisimova may be a little too hot to touch right now. He has too much support from certain segments of the Russian populace, and perhaps the only thing the Russian parliament and Putin could do is ask him to tone it down.”

Everybody fell silent for a moment and took the time to look out the cove’s entrance. The sun had peeked above the horizon, and they could see Manny closing his backpack. Havok looked at his watch. It was almost six a.m. He sighed. “I’ll bet the Russians are waking up by now and are probably realizing two people are missing. Or at least that you’re missing. Pilar, grab another roll and follow us. Stone, let’s shoulder our gear and weapons, and find ourselves an Alamo.”

“Do you really have to call it that?” Stone asked.

But before Havok could respond, the sudden volley of machine-gun fire erupted, followed by two exploding fiery balls spewing burning gasoline all over the stern deck and all over Manny. Instinctively, the men dove for the deck, but Pilar remained seated with a bread roll in her hand, stupefied by the sudden violence invading her new, peaceful world.

Havok yelled at her, “You’d better get your butt on the floor with me, and do it now!”

As Pilar dove for the safety of the hardwood deck, she heard the anguished screams of a man being burned alive. The horrifying scream lasted but a few seconds. The roar of an instantaneous inferno replaced it. All three could feel the heat as the burning gasoline on the stern deck set the camouflage netting alight. The fire spread rapidly, and after only a few seconds, the roaring of the flames was joined by the sudden hissing of compressed air. The scuba tanks, secured along the starboard side, were splattered with flaming gasoline, which increased the internal heat and pressure. The increasing pressure forced the rupture discs in the valves to burst, relieving the excess air pressure inside the scuba tanks, preventing them from exploding.