THREE DAYS AT THE END OF THE EARTH (First 5 Chapters of the complete novel)

Three days at the end of the Earth: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 Almost ten hours ago and less than two miles away from where Ismael and Emily were now flirting Ltnt. Miguel Salgado had just sat down at his post in the naval base of Marin.

It’s worth noting that his post was not in the Naval Base per se.  The location where Miguel was stationed was an absolute secret for everyone but the highest ranking officers in the Navy. Miguel’s post is actually a bunker dug into the side of the mountain, maybe 500 feet away from where Ismael is doing his work, and accessible only from the Naval Base of Marin after you have passed a long series of clearances and guard posts, and taken a secret elevator down a secret shaft.

It is in this naval base that the Spanish Armed forces created a secret division where only the officers deemed trustworthy are selected to work. In that bunker you would find anywhere between ten and twenty officers operating in maximum secrecy, in tasks that only they know what they are, and are actively discouraged from sharing with their fellow officers.  After you get off the elevator, you have access to the catwalk that oversees the operations room. In the center of that room there is a door that only four officers have access to it. Past those doors there is a small console with only two chairs, and a large window, that oversees the Ria of Pontevedra, and the Island of Tambo. As far as people know, the materials used to construct the doors are impervious to firearms, and even small missiles. The job of those four officers is to work in shifts, monitoring a wall full of screens, and being ready to insert two keys inside two strategically placed locks, that require the officers to punch a secret combination, and finally turn them simultaneously if the need arose.  Those steps are written down in a manual and it is a protocol that is studied and adhered to the letter by the officers assigned to the post. Miguel is one of those four officers.

Miguel’s shift starts at 4:00 AM, and this morning, while getting dressed, he kept repeating to himself that he had to stop at a restaurant to arrange the catering for his daughter’s first communion as soon as his shift ended. He had kept postponing it the whole week, and now his wife was giving him the evil eye, and he didn’t like the weekends without sex.

Now, in the final hours of his shift, he was going through the rituals that people like him (security guards, mall-cops, night watchmen) go through; little secrets of the trade to make a tedious job bearable, little rituals that make no sense to anyone but the ones who are tasked with such boring jobs.

He rehearsed the protocol with Arturo, “Checking incoming code. Checked. Inputting security code. Entered. Turning keys on count of three. Three, two , one…TURN.” Then let his mind wander off for half an hour. Then check some technical wiring in the communication console; like all Fridays, he would submit a written report of what had happened that day, nothing, like most of the days, then he would wait another half an hour staring into space, till the time came for the final rehearse with Arturo, “Checking incoming code. Checked. Inputting security code. Entered. Turning keys on count of three. Three, two , one…TURN.” Then another half hour of staring at the island in front of him, before it was time to leave, meet his substitute in the hallway, give him the keys and the protocol codes, and go home, because he had already forgotten all about the catering arrangements for his daughter’s party.

Today, in the half hour that he was staring at the island in front of him, his mind wondered about hot waitress in the short skirt on the bar he goes some Friday nights.

Arturo got up and offered to get coffee for both of them.

_No, Thanks. I'm going to be peeign caffeine for a month, if I keep this up.

Miguel knew Arturo was being extra nice this week, because the previous one he had tried to get him "dismissed" (Military talk for fired) from his post, so he could recommend a relative of his, who had recently enrolled in the Naval Academy.

But Miguel's impeccable record, his professional demeanor, the fact the he never gave two dammns about anything but his orders, added to his overt disdain for the internal gossip-mongering going on in the academy, had earned him a reputation as a standup kind of guy, and even the evaluating officers appreciated that.

As Arturo exited the doors to get coffee, Miguel was wondering what kind of small-time prank he should pull on him, something innocent, that would make a statement that he was onto him, but it wouldn’t be taken as revenge but as playful officer banter, when the first tremor started.

Everyone stared out of the window, and then, like a well choreographed troupe of ballerinas, started looking at the walls of the bunker, holding onto their mugs, pencils and books, while all the objects were moving all over their desks at their own accord.

A few seconds after that the red lights when off in the ceiling, the small ones next to the sprinklers, and the alarm started off with a maddening howl.

Everyone was yelling at each other, and in a brief moment of lucidity, Miguel remembers watching everything in slow motion, and thinking to himself : “So much for Navy training and protocol. We all become chickens whithout-head at the first emergency.”

Then he saw the doors that isolated his station from the main floor shut close very fast. His slow-motion vision allowed him to ponder whether to try to stop it or not, and he wanted to think that it was his sense of duty as a naval officer what kept him in his chair, without trying to place the binder in the doorframe, or making some other attempt to block the door, but in reality all he thought is “Fuck, if I lose a finger trying to stop that, Marta will never forgive me. And how will I look at the first communion party? The dad with 3 fingers?”

And the doors slammed shut.

He then thought to himself: “And I already have given down-payment for the church ceremony…. Wonder if they will give me a refund if this drags too long…”

He noticed that everyone was looking in his direction, but past him. All the officers and staff were staring at the huge transparent panel on the side of the bunker, the one looking over the Ria.

In the island of Tambo, a white column of smoke was spiraling towards heavens.

“The gun-powder-depot!!! Did it blow up?... Did someone blow it?” He thought referring to a mostly empty depot where the military used as an arsenal back in the days of Franco, but memories of the terrorist attack on the Madrid train station came immediately to his mind.

He stared at his officers and staff members at the other side of the glass, and heard them from very far away, almost imperceptible, enough to remind him that the composition of the transparent panel separating him from the rest of the room was something unbreakable and almost air-proof.

Then the second tremor came, and this time everyone, without exception, was thrown to the floor.