Temple of Fire (2 page)

Bridge

Flagship of Titan Global Industries, the
Alamiranta

Having passed the Tropic of Cancer, The
Alamiranta
veered sharply, assuming a north by northwest heading to avert Typhoon Beatrice.  The ship had been sailing up the west coast of
South America
when the tropical storm had unexpectedly blossomed into a category three Pacific hurricane.  The outer edge of the storm was one hundred miles behind the
Alamiranta
and headed due north for
Baja
,
California
.

Catherine
Caine
, who headed Titan Global Industries, ordered the ship to a full stop at the request of Dr. Christian Madison and Dr. Joshua Ambergris.  The two scientists wanted to study — at a safe distance, of course — the internal dynamics of Beatrice: sea temperature, wind velocities, spiral cloud banding, and most importantly, the deep ocean currents beneath the tempestuous waves. 

Hurricanes, called typhoons in the Pacific, were unpredictable maelstroms that could level cities and claim thousands of lives in a few short hours. 
Before political correctness had demanded that every other tropical storm be given a male name, hurricanes had been deemed “witches of the sea.”
 
Madison
and Ambergris knew that the deep ocean currents beneath these witches were not well understood.

The
Alamiranta
was the floating headquarters of Titan Global.  With two thousand employees working on board in the areas of banking, oil and gas, and currency trading, Titan Global was the center for other agendas as well: privately contracted military and intelligence services, as well as cutting-edge scientific research.  Its state-of-the-art technology was equal to that of the
United States
government.  In some cases, its technology surpassed that of any country on earth.  At 901 feet in length, the former cruise ship had been outfitted to be a floating city with amenities not found on most commercial cruise liners.

“Holding position at twenty-five degrees latitude, one hundred and thirty degrees longitude,” said the ship’s Greek Captain,
Nikos
Papagantis
.

“What about the weather buoys?” asked Joshua
Ambergris.

“Ten have been deployed by our WP-3D Orion hurricane hunter,”
Papagantis
answered.  “It was dispatched from Titan’s underground airfield in the
Mexican
Desert
.”

The WP-3D Orion was a four-propeller Lockheed workhorse used by most weather services around the world.  It was one of many aircraft in Titan
Global’s
fleet.

“Since we came to a full stop, we’re now only seventy-five miles from the outer feeder bands of Beatrice,” the Captain explained.  “That’s cutting it close, but you should get good telemetry, both from the buoys as well as onboard instruments in the weather lab.”

Ambergris nodded.  “Thank you,
Nikos
.  I’m going there now.  We’re launching a deep-ocean probe from our torpedo bay in thirty minutes.  The Proteus 9 will get far beneath Beatrice and give us valuable information.”

“Taking a break from genetics, astronomy, and archaeology for a while?” asked
Papagantis
.

Ambergris laughed.  “I’m a Renaissance man,
Nikos
.  I don’t take a break from anything.  Neither does Christian. 
Da
Vinci had his work studio.  We have the
Alamiranta
.”

The Captain laughed as the ship, eleven decks visible above the waterline, gently rode a three-foot swell sweeping westward from Beatrice.

Wranglers Bar

Elko
,
Nevada

 Will Langhorne sat in a dark corner of Wranglers Bar, his worn brown cavalry hat pushed down over his rugged forehead.  He was forty-four, and women loved his handsome yet weathered features: crow’s feet, deep blue eyes, square jaw,
dirty
blond hair falling over his ears and shirt collar, and tanned skin.  He was a maverick, a cross between university professor and desert explorer.  He liked the outdoors and modeled his lifestyle on Mark Twain, also known as Samuel Langhorne Clemens.  He always carried a creased copy of Twain’s Roughing It in his distressed leather jacket. 

In actuality, he’d been an expert in carbon dating with the U.S. Geological Survey.  He was still with the Survey but had been relegated to mapping well-known areas of the desert because of his penchant for expensive whiskey and married women.  Punctuality hadn’t been his strong suit.

He downed a shot of whiskey, thinking about what he had seen earlier in the day: the orange fireball rising above the desert.  Within five minutes, the sheriff and mayor of Elko had pounded on the rock hound’s door at his boarding house at the edge of town.

“What in blazes are the people over at U.S. Petroleum doing?” asked the sheriff.

“People in town are getting panicky,” proclaimed the mayor.

A dozen people had gathered in the street below.

“
Nothin
’ to worry about,” Langhorne said in a reassuring manor.  “They have some new drilling techniques.  They probably hit a gas pocket.”

That had been enough to assuage the worry of
Elko
,
Nevada
, which returned to its sleepy routine of selling denim at the dry goods store and loading sacks of oats onto the flatbeds of cattlemen at
Roy
’s Feed and Seed.  The distant rumble northeast of town was quickly forgotten.

But not by Will Langhorne.
  He was well aware of what the boys at U.S. Pet were looking for: a deep reservoir of abundant oil that most geologists said didn’t exist beneath
Nevada
.

Langhorne had mapped some of the territory in the extreme northeast corner of the state using Ground Penetrating Radar, or GPR.  What he had seen had piqued his curiosity.

He downed one more shot of Jack Daniels and headed into the bright afternoon light.  The horizon to the northeast was still a bit hazy, but he figured that he might ride up to U.S. Pet’s site the following day and see what was really going on.  He didn’t think that new drilling techniques alone could account for such a tremendous blast.

In fact, he was positive they couldn’t. 

Shotgun Alley

Aboard the
Alamiranta

 

Of all special ops forces employed by Catherine
Caine
, Titan Six was the elite paramilitary unit used for purposes ranging from intelligence gathering to combat missions in any part of the world.  Led by Michael Hawke, known as Hawkeye, it consisted of Shooter, the young Caribbean sniper; Gator, machine gunner and former Army Ranger;
Pyro
, Japanese explosives expert; and Tank, Hawkeye’s younger brother and second-in-command.

The team was currently practicing
RDMs
, or Rapid Deployment Maneuvers, in the ship’s holographic training simulator known as Shotgun Alley.  The simulator was normally programmed for battle scenarios, although today, Dr. Grace Nguyen was taking Titan Six through new deployment protocols. 

Nguyen was in charge of the top secret
BioMEMS
program — Biological Micro-Electronic Mechanical Systems — that enhanced Titan’s special ops members through injections of
nanobots
into their bloodstreams.  These microscopic “bots” could target and infiltrate body cells in order to produce numerous physiological benefits: increased strength, sharper vision, and enhanced smell and hearing.  If a team member was wounded or in distress, the
nanobots
could release natural chemicals within the body, such as adrenaline, anti-inflammatory agents, and clotting factor.  They could also boost the immune system, stimulate endorphins for pain relief, clear the bloodstream of most toxins, and provide night vision.

A virtual C-17
Globemaster
III
was currently being projected onto a holographic landing strip.  The Boeing Aircraft was a four-engine jet cargo and transport plane reminiscent of the workhorse of the Air Force, the C-130.

“We already deploy faster than any military unit in the world,” Hawkeye told Nguyen.  “So what’s in the offing, Grace?”

“We can do better,” answered Nguyen.  “On the left side of the
Globemaster’s
cargo bay are special chambers for each member of Titan Six and anyone else deployed with the
team.
  Let’s take a look at what research and development is calling the TRM, or the Tactical Response Module.”

Nguyen led Titan Six up the rear cargo ramp of the aircraft.

“This is something out of science fiction,” remarked Gator.  “Like 2001 or Alien.”

“Not far from the truth,” Nguyen said, motioning to beds that were tilted at forty-five degree angles and encased in Plexiglas.

“Depending on the assignment,” Nguyen said, “Titan Global now has the option of sedating its teams, feeding
them
nutrients intravenously, and pumping oxygen into the chambers.  You never know when you’ll be deployed, and this will ensure that teams arrive strong and alert.  The sedation can be reversed very easily, of course, before you jump.  By the same token, a soldier can be brought all the way into suspended animation — just a few heartbeats per minute — if he or she is returning from a mission with a critical injury that requires surgery aboard the
Alamiranta
.”

“Why not just give us some coffee and tell us to take deep breaths?” said Tank with a grin.

“This will give teams a real edge during longer transports,” Nguyen replied.  “We’re interested in seeing just how well the system works on the next assignment, even if it’s short.”

“In other words,” said Hawkeye, “we’re the guinea pigs as usual.”

Nguyen shot an index finger at the team leader.  “You’re our elite team, so
yes,
you’re the ones who draw the short straw.”

Nguyen smiled, and Hawkeye reminded himself for the hundredth time how beautiful the doctor was.  He regarded her short, black, silky hair as very sexy.  Her dark Asian eyes looked at the world above high cheekbones, and her skin was flawlessly smooth.

“Today,” said Nguyen, “we’ll see how fast our technicians can get you into the chambers and hooked up to an IV drip.  Don’t expect normal hospital apparatus, however.  We use short, slim tubes and micro-needles.”

Nguyen touched her inconspicuous earpiece.  “It’s Mrs.
Caine
.”  She paused.  “I’m told that your next mission begins immediately.”

“Tell her we’ll be in the briefing area in five minutes,” Hawkeye said.

Nguyen shook her head.  “No time for that now.  You’ll be briefed en route.  You’ll be taken by helicopter to a
Globemaster
at Titan’s underground airbase in the Mexican desert.  Your destination will be
Nevada
.”

“Why not just take us all the way by chopper?” asked Shooter.  “We’re talking about a short hop.”

“You need to do a HALO jump,” Nguyen said.  “Mrs.
Caine
said you can’t risk detection from local
U.S.
airbases, plus any aircraft has to be well above the debris still hanging in the air.”

“Debris?” said Hawkeye.

“Gas, smoke, and dust,” said Nguyen.

Titan Six exited Shotgun Alley, headed for the chopper pad on the main deck.

 

The
Nevada
Desert

Twenty-five Miles from the Former Camp of U.S. Petroleum

 

Will Langhorne exited his Jeep Cherokee and adjusted the strap of his cavalry hat.  Dressed in jeans, khaki shirt, and boots, he surveyed the broad vista before him.  Even this far away from the blast site, the air was thick with dust. 

The explosion had occurred twenty hours ago, but the air still hadn’t cleared.  Columns of black smoke curled lazily into the sky, and the desert floor continued to rumble slightly every hour.

“Those aren’t aftershocks from an earthquake,” Langhorne said to himself.  “The San Andreas has nothing to do with this little baby.”

He took a compass from his jeans pocket and looked at the needle.  It spun erratically, unable to locate true north.  Rock formations often had magnetic properties, but Langhorne had never seen such strong anomalies.

He took off his aviator sunglasses and surveyed the desert floor around him.

Much of the sagebrush had been singed or outright burnt by the heat wave that had expanded from the well.  Jackrabbits and rodents lay dead on the hardpan, killed by the intense heat from the explosion.  A coyote and mule deer were also lying motionless fifteen yards away, flies buzzing over their stiff carcasses.

Langhorne knew that animals could sense danger easily and often fled scenes of catastrophe well before an actual event, even one instigated by man.

The maverick geologist also had a keen sense for danger.  He had several hunches as to what might have happened at
Camp
12A
, and none of them made him feel safe.

He was going to move in closer before the day was out.  Was it wise to do so?

No, but he had his motives.