Death Wave

Instead, he was still here.

Damn the man, and damn his arrogance!

“I should have ridden to the airport with you this morning,” she told him, “but I assumed you were an adult, that you could follow some simple directions! I didn’t think you needed a babysitter!”

“Look, Lia,” he said. She’d told him her real name the night before, a concession to his sharp curiosity. “You might as well know that I don’t respond well to the heavy hand of authority. Trying to make me do one thing is a great way to make me do something else.”

“Look, do you even understand that we’re trying to help you? That you’re in danger if you stay here?”

“What are you doing down here with those binoculars? Looking for me?”

“Doing some scouting,” she told him.

Unable to do anything about finding Carlylse, Lia had come down to the beach from the hotel earlier that afternoon with a pair of binoculars and had walked slowly north for over an hour, taking time now and again to scan the looming ridge of the Cumbre Viejo looking for signs of activity on the crest. She’d already decided that she was going to need to rent a car and drive up there herself.

“Scouting what? I know the island pretty well. Maybe you could use a friendly native guide.”

“Not if you can’t follow simple instructions.”

“I saw you looking at the mountains up there, though. With your binoculars. What are you looking for?”

“I’ve heard there are trails and bike paths up there,” Lia said. Stopping, she raised the binoculars to her eyes again, focusing on the top of the ridge. The looming slope was thickly forested with what looked like pine trees, but the highest peaks were bare, raw, and volcanic. Directly east of Puerto Naos was Pico Berigoyo, with upthrust slabs of black basaltic rock at the crest some four and a half miles inland and six thousand feet above the beach.

“There are,” Carlylse said. “There’s something like a thousand miles of trails back there. The one I really wanted to see was La Ruta de los Volcanes. It runs along the whole length of the Cumbre Vieja, past all of those volcanic craters. But it’s been closed since I got here.”

“Closed? Why?”

He shrugged. “Some sort of test drilling operation. The signs say the area is closed to tourists, by order of the Scientific Institute of Geological Research.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Isn’t it? La Palma is pretty much self-sufficient — it doesn’t depend on tourism to keep going — but those trail closures must be putting a hell of a bite on their tourist income.”

She turned away from him. “Jeff? Did you hear?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You might want to check out this scientific institute. Is it here on the island? Or back on the mainland?”

“We’re on it, Lia.”

“Are your, um, friends always listening in?” Carlylse asked her.

“Yup. When I’m on duty, anyway.”

“So when are you off duty? I’d kind of like to get to know you better. Maybe over dinner?”

“Mr. Carlylse, are you making a pass at me?”

“Of course!”

“My only interest in you is getting you back to the States in one piece. Some of those friends you mention want to talk to you about your book — the one about megatsunamis.”

“I won’t be able to tell them much that isn’t already in the book.”

“They’d be interested in your sources, your research. Where you got your information about La Palma and giant tidal waves, that sort of thing.”

He chuckled. “Most of that came from a BBC television program a few years ago. Horizon, I think the show was called. And there was a disaster program on American cable later about megatsunamis that went into La Palma a bit.”

“They’d still like to interview you.”

“Maybe you could interview me? Then I wouldn’t have to go back to America.”

“There are people here who want to kill you, Mr. Carlylse. Doesn’t that worry you at all?”

“Not really. So far, the most dangerous person I’ve seen is you.”

She ignored the jibe, raising the binoculars once again. “You’ve been up there, then?”

“Sure was. Wednesday morning. I rented a car in Puerto Naos, drove up to the village of Fatima, then rented a bike and tried to get up there.” He pointed to the left of Pico Berigoyo, indicating another peak. “That’s Montana Rejada.”

She looked him up and down. “You’re in better shape than you look.”

“Thank you so much. Anyway, I got to a point just below the top of the ridge when the guards stopped me. They had the path blocked off with yellow tape, and there was that geological institute sign.”

“Guards? How many?”

“Two.”

“What kind of guards? Spanish Army?”

“I don’t think so. Might have been a private security group. They were wearing mostly civilian clothing, but the vests and hats looked military. Canteens. Boots. Maybe military surplus. Otherwise, they were wearing sports shirts and blue jeans, that sort of thing. But they had guns.”

“What kind of guns?”

“AK-47s.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’ve written about military stuff. A little, anyway. Yeah, I’m sure. They were either AK-47s or AK-74s. I’m not sure of the difference. But Russian assault rifles, anyway. They told me I was trespassing and that I should go back down the mountain unless I wanted to be arrested.”

“So you did?”

“Not immediately. I rode a little ways back down the hill into a stand of pines, parked my bike, and then looked around a bit on foot. I was curious about those guys.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a helicopter land.”

“What? Where?”

He pointed again. “It’s kind of tough to see from here, but Rejada Mountain has three volcanic craters, side by side, in a kind of V formation. I was on a bike path just below the rim of the middle crater, maybe a hundred feet from the crest. I saw a helicopter fly up over the top of the ridge from the east side of the island, then disappear down inside that crater.”

“What kind of helicopter?”

A shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t see any markings. It was pretty big, though, like a transport. I figured they must be using choppers to get all their gear up there.”

“Did you see any of the drilling rigs or equipment?”

He shook his head. “No. I heard some of the guards up on the slope above me, so I hurried on back to where I’d stashed my bike.”

“I think I’d like a closer look.”

“I could take you up there.”

She gave him an appraising look. “Maybe. It would not be a date. You understand that?”

“Absolutely!” He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor!”

“We’ll need to check the airline schedules first — and I want to see what this geological research institute is, where it’s headquartered. But … maybe. If you’re still here tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a date!” He grinned, then saw her expression. “Um, it’s a deal, I mean,” he amended.

“That’s better. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

“Lia?” a familiar voice said over her implant. “This is Bill Rubens.”

She stopped. “Yes? What do you have?”