Crossing Savage (23 page)

“Okay, I get it. So what is the next phase of your research?”

“Now that the thermodynamic proof has been achieved, my group is focusing on identifying potential reaction catalysts that accelerate the reaction to measureable rates. The samples we would have gathered on the island were for this purpose. Once we have found an effective chemical catalyst or combination of catalysts, the reaction mechanism can be studied in depth.”

Jim believed he was on the verge of fully understanding the reason for the recent escalation in violence. “So once you've identified a catalyst for the reaction, couldn't companies begin to manufacture petroleum?”

“Well, yes… I suppose so. But there would still be much to learn.”

Jim's mind was chewing through ideas, theories, rejecting, accepting, and modifying them until he felt he narrowed in on a solid hypothesis.

“Your results—a proof that petroleum is created in the mantle of the Earth—that's the key. Until now, it's only been unproven theories. But your results changed that. Those theories are now supported by extensive theoretical and experimental results.”

Peter understood. “And that's why there was a sudden escalation in the severity of the attacks. They thought Dad and Professor Sato would be at the Hedberg Conference; that's why they used suicide bombers to kill everyone.”

“And when they realized that Professor Savage and Professor Sato were not in attendance—that they had withdrawn their paper—they formulated a new plan—the assault on the research team on Chernabura Island.”

The words hung heavy, almost like a fog, in the cabin of the aircraft.

“It makes sense,” commented Peter. His father and Professor Sato both nodded ever so slightly.

Jim felt energized. They had made significant, albeit painful, progress in their understanding. There would be plenty of time later for the professors to work through their personal guilt and remorse. Time was of the essence, and he needed to keep them moving toward a solution.

“We need to know who is behind this. Who is orchestrating and funding the murders.”

Peter said, “You hinted before that you thought countries with vast oil reserves might be threatened by my father's work.”

“It's just a theory, and we need to develop it fully. But my suspicion is based on the fact that many countries, some not so friendly toward the United States and the West in general, rely heavily on the sale of oil to support their regimes. If these countries were to be deprived of that revenue stream, what do you think would happen to them?”

Peter pressed further. “But that's where I'm struggling with the logic. Just because we develop a method to synthesize oil doesn't mean that Iran, Libya, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and others would be deprived of oil revenue overnight. I'd imagine that building the infrastructure to synthesize oil would take decades, even with dedicated government support.”

“Yes, it would take years, but maybe not as many as you imagine. In the 1960s we developed manned space flight and landed Neil Armstrong on the moon within the decade. It took less than a decade to develop atomic energy and nuclear weapons. If the government commits to a massive program to synthesize oil—in essence to wean our country from dependence on imported petroleum—the task could be completed in a similar time frame, maybe less.”

Peter was still skeptical. “But the space program received widespread support from Congress. With the close connection between many elected representatives and established oil companies, that political support may not materialize.”

“True, but then again I'd argue that the established oil companies have the most to gain and the most capability to implement a massive program aimed at synthesizing oil. And if they don't get on board, the voters will oust those politicians dumb enough to oppose the change.”

Professor Savage still had doubts. “For the sake of argument, let's say that your projected time frame is correct. We still have so much work to do. Sato-san and I still have to validate the kinetic models and reaction mechanisms. The required catalysts need to be discovered. Reaction engineering scale-up needs to be done and so does process design and engineering. That work alone could take us many years.”

“You continue to think small. If the government throws its full financial capability and resources behind the program, how long would it take?” Jim didn't expect an answer.

“Now, what if you were the leader of Iran or Venezuela? These are governments that remain in power to a large degree through monetary subsidies to their citizens. How do you continue to pay those subsidies? How do you continue to finance your military if oil drops to ten dollars per barrel? Because that's what will happen when we can make oil from water and rocks.”

Jim let that thought sink in before continuing.

“I think a very plausible scenario is that one or more of the OPEC countries has learned through the open literature and conference papers that the field of abiogenic petroleum formation has been making progress toward a fundamental understanding of how to synthesize oil, and most recently they saw your report of the first scientific proof that this actually can be done. Any knowledge that threatens to undermine the price of oil must then be viewed as a threat. So they respond with force, attempting to terminate the research before further breakthroughs are achieved.”

Professor Savage didn't argue, even though he didn't want to believe what Jim was saying. His eyes were narrowed and his lips drawn tight; his arms folded tight across his chest.

Very calmly, Sato-san spoke, “There is logic in Jim-san's scenario. Ian-san, do not close your eyes to the truth. You have always wanted to believe that men are good, but sadly many are not.”

As before, Peter was quick to understand. “If you are right, Jim, then the party behind this madness is one or more OPEC countries—the oil cartel. But which one, or ones? And what do we do about it once we know for sure?”

“My team at The Office is working on the first question. We'll continue working the finger prints, photos, and forged documents gathered from that pile of carrion… uh, the dead mercenaries.”

“I understood,” Peter allowed himself a brief smile. “I'm beginning to learn some of your lingo, Jim.” It was the first time Jim had seen Peter smile since they were in Bend almost two weeks ago.

“Right. The second question… well, the answer to that one is way above my pay grade. It will be up to the President and his advisors to formulate a plan. I can only hope that the Joint Chiefs will have a lot of input. I don't trust the politicians on matters related to military actions.”

Bull interrupted the meeting. “Boss, I have Colonel Pierson on the horn.”

Jim took the handset. “Nicolaou.”

He listened. The conversation was punctuated by an occasional, “Yes, sir” from Jim. When the conversation ended, Jim gave the handset back to Bull.

“That was my boss, Colonel Pierson. He has responsibility for—and authority over—the Strategic Global Intervention Team. Following a detailed debriefing of all of you at The Office, I am to send a complete transcript as well as my report to him ASAP. It seems he has taken an unusual interest in this case.”

“Look, Jim, I've answered all your questions. I just want to go home and get back to work at my lab. My students will want to go home, too.”

“It won't take long, I promise. And I'll have my pilots fly you back to Corvallis. You should be home this evening.”

Professor Savage nodded wearily.

“Bull, I need you to relay the recording of my conversation with the good professors to the intel team back at The Office.” He handed a memory stick to Bull. “It's all on this thumb drive. Send it ahead. I want to give Lacey, Ross, and Williams a head start on this one.”

“No problem, Boss Man. I'll transmit the data file now.”

“Make sure it's encrypted, okay?”

“Sure thing, Boss Man.”

“Oh, and phone Lacey on the secure line. I need to give her some idea of what we are dealing with. When you have her on the line, let me know.”

Bull took the memory stick and walked forward to the communication suite. The C-37A, manufactured by Gulfstream Aerospace Corporation, was fitted luxuriously for transporting military brass and very important civilian personnel, and it came complete with secure and non-secure communication capabilities. Right now, the secure communications link was a definite asset.

They were still at least an hour from wheels down. Bull walked back and informed Jim that he had Ellen Lacey on the secure phone. Jim returned forward with Bull.

“Lacey… Nicolaou. I need to brief you on events. You just received the audio recordings of the debriefing aboard the flight. Listen to the recording and share it with Williams and Ross ASAP. We're working a scenario where one or more countries, most likely OPEC members, are trying to suppress scientific research that might lead to a method to manufacture oil from water and rock. Right now, that means the work of Professors Ian Savage and Kenji Sato. You have their bios.”

“Sir, did I hear you correctly? It sounded like you said this research is expected to yield oil from water and rocks.”

“Affirmative, you heard correctly. I need you to focus on Iran, Libya, Nigeria, Venezuela… any country that needs oil dollars to prop up the ruling regime. Take a hard look at Saudi Arabia, too. Don't exclude the possibility that there may be more than one government behind this machination. In short, your list of suspects should include any oil-exporting country that has a lot to lose if oil prices tank. This is your number-one priority.”

“Got it, sir. We'll get on it right away. Ross should have Mother crunching the problem within the hour.” Based on vector processing and using optical fiber technology combined with quantum-optical microprocessors manufactured in Israel, Mother was conservatively rated to perform ten million teraflops (floating point operations) per second.

“One more thing. I need you to track down one Vasquez Ramirez. His brother, Pablo Ramirez, was killed up here, and I'll wager a month's salary that he's involved in a big way. I want you to work this personally—it's too important to delegate.”

“Yes, sir. I'm on it.”

Jim terminated the transmission and gave the handset back to Bull. It didn't really matter if Professor Savage and Professor Sato really were on the verge of a scientific breakthrough. The mere perception that they were would be sufficient to trigger a preservation reflex among many hostile governments who depended on oil revenues for their survival.

Just which governments were involved was what the SGIT intel officers needed to learn. Then it would be up to Jim's strike team to shut down the terrorists—hopefully before another devastating attack was perpetrated.

There would be a lot of bloodshed, no doubt about that. And Commander James Nicolaou was going to do his best to make sure the bad guys did all the bleeding.

Chapter 19

September 28

Corvallis, Oregon

Fall was in the air and with it
came a sense of calm. Sitting in the late morning sun, Professor Savage was enjoying a double-tall latte on a concrete bench in front of the university library. The golden hues and brick-red shades of the leaves, especially the Japanese maples, complemented the fading green of the grass. An occasional gray squirrel darted across the lawn, stopping randomly to bury an acorn—likely never to be found again. A multitude of indistinguishable voices, youthful and happy, merged into white noise that was, in itself, soothing… normal.

Professor Ian Savage was glad to be home in comfortable and safe surroundings. Even though he knew he should be at work in his lab, he needed to sort through the tangle of thoughts weighing on his mind. It was odd, he mused. As a scientist and engineer, he had learned—been trained—to discipline his thinking. One had to remain objective, always. That is how science advanced. How many times had he drilled this lesson into his young son?

But in the aftermath of the near-tragedy on Chernabura Island, he could not focus his mind. “I'm not a god-damned machine,” he muttered in disgust between sips of his latte. A passing student glanced at the professor, and he blushed in embarrassment.

He continued to sift through his thoughts, trying to restore order. The familiar and serene surroundings were like a tonic, and over the next half hour he felt better. He reasoned that the trauma had heightened his emotions and assumed that over time this would probably diminish. But at least for now he felt strongly that he needed to reach out to his son, to be more of a father and less of a mentor. Flashing through the recent events he realized how fragile life is and yet how readily he had taken it for granted. Suddenly he needed to tell Peter—no, to show Peter—how much he loved and respected his only son.
Yes, I will call him.

As he rose from the bench, Professor Savage noticed a young man standing outside the library entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall. The young man looked like a thousand other students: sweatshirt, ball cap, jeans, well-worn backpack over his shoulders. And yet there was something different about him. Even though he wore sunglasses, Professor Savage felt a chill as the man stared directly at him.

He began to close the gap to the man, and when he was within 30 feet, the man abruptly turned and walked away.

“Hey! Hey!” he called, but the man only increased his pace to a near jog, turning the corner of the next building. Professor Savage quickly followed but lost him.

Deciding that he was letting his mind play tricks, he shook off the event and walked back to his lab. The lab was one of several on the ground floor of Gleason Hall—some devoted to teaching, others for research. As expected, he found Sato-san and Junichi huddled at a computer monitor, deep in conversation.

As he approached, Professor Sato looked up and said, “The Japanese embassy phoned this morning. We have tickets to fly to Tokyo tomorrow. It will be better for us to continue our work from home.”

“Certainly, I completely understand. I told my students to take a couple of days off. We won't begin to sort and log the rock specimens until they come back.”

“It is unfortunate that we could not complete the expedition; you do not have nearly the range of samples that we had planned to collect.”

Professor Savage nodded. “I just remembered. Jim Nicolaou gave me a business card for someone at the NSF. Says he's a friend, and I should call him about rock samples to support our work.” Now he was digging through his pockets, searching for the card; then he found it tucked into his wallet.

“Here it is—Ken Monroe, program director.”

“You should phone him, Ian-san. Perhaps he can send samples to you right away.”

“Yes, you're right. I'll go call him now,” said Professor Savage as he left the lab.

On the way to his office, the professor detoured to the department office to pick up his mail and messages. Although he had been gone less than a week, he had a pile of mail waiting for him and a handful of phone messages.

He passed the undercover police officer slouched in a chair outside the professor's office, appearing to read the campus newspaper. He looked younger than his years, and the casual observer would think he was another student waiting to discuss a missing assignment or ask some question about a recent lecture. He was one of two undercover officers assigned at the request of Commander Nicolaou to provide protection to Professor Savage. The other officer was stationed in a plain sedan at the professor's house. Jim didn't expect any problems, at least not yet, but better safe than sorry.

“Greetings, Mickey,” chimed the professor without breaking stride. In his office, he began a quick sort of his messages first. The most recent message had been taken earlier in the morning; it was from a Mr. Ken Monroe.

“That's interesting,” he said to no one in particular.

Professor Savage dialed the number on the pink message sheet. On the second ring, the line was picked up.

“Monroe,” said the voice; it was very efficient and reminded Professor Savage of the way he heard Jim speak on the radio.

“Mr. Monroe. My name is Ian Savage. I'm a professor at Oregon State University. You called my—”

Ken Monroe interrupted, “Yes, Professor. How are you? I was told by a mutual friend that you are looking for some specific rock samples. Maybe I can help.”

Professor Savage raised an eyebrow. He imagined that the man on the other end of the line had been well briefed.

“And I suppose our mutual friend is Commander James Nicolaou?”

“Indeed. We had a conversation yesterday. Commander Nicolaou described in general terms that you were on an expedition to an Aleutian Island to collect rock samples for some experiments you are conducting, and that the expedition was aborted before all the samples could be collected.”

“Yes, that's correct.” Professor Savage was not about to offer any additional details about the circumstances surrounding the aborted expedition.

“What samples are you seeking? We have a rather extensive collection of core samples, including some that were taken at the subduction zone not far from Dutch Harbor.”

Core samples—this was better than he had hoped.

“I'm searching for native materials that may have catalytic activity, so I don't necessarily know what type of rock I'm looking for. That was the point of the expedition—to gather a broad range of specimens for testing here in the lab.”

“How about if I send you complete core samples from bed-floor surface down to 6,000 feet. I have cores that were taken right through the subduction zone and also on either side of it.”

Professor Savage was at a loss for words. “Sure,” he stammered briefly, “that would be excellent! How soon can I get them? I presume you have to pack the cores and ship them by truck?”

“Based on my conversation with Commander Nicolaou, it sounded like this was rather important, so I instructed my staff last night to pack three complete core samples for you. They are already at Andrews Air Force Base, where a military transport will ferry them to you. I suspect you'll have them within six hours. Is that soon enough?”

“I don't know what Jim told you, but it certainly had an effect! Thank you!”

“Glad to help, Professor. If you need anything else, let me know, okay?”

As he hung up the phone, Professor Savage glanced out his office window. Sitting on the grass alongside the walkway, back pressing against an oak tree, was the same young man who had been staring at him in front of the library.