Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast

by Bard, Richard

  The fury in his words made her eyes grow wide. “I-I don’t know,” she said, her voice choked. “You must believe me. We had no idea they’d do something like this. We were placed there for the science, nothing more.” Her eyes glazed over as if she were recalling a dark memory. Anger crept into her voice. “The brutality when they grabbed Timmy was unnecessary. And they shot Jerry…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes pinched closed as she struggled with her emotions.

  “Who are they?” Jake asked, one side of his mind trying to understand while another focused on driving and finding the right spot. Through the trees he caught glimpses of the roofscape that spilled down the hills to Santa Monica. Only the first levels of the tiered-lot homes to his left were visible from the street, while to his right steep driveways disappeared into a forest of trees.

  His eyes took it all in, his brain analyzing, searching, calculating.

  Eloise was about to answer Jake’s question when Doc said, “I just got Lacey’s voice mail.”

  Jake cringed. “Who are they, Eloise? Where are they taking my fam—?”

  He stopped midsentence, slowing the car.

  Eloise said, “We were contacted a year ago—”

  “Wait a second.” Jake’s eyes narrowed as he studied an empty lot coming up on his left. It had been cleared, staked, and graded in preparation of a new foundation. He checked the tree-studded driveway on the opposite side of the street. It could work, he thought, stopping the car and backing it up the narrow drive until they were out of view of the road and halfway up the incline. The round convex mirror at the end of the steep drive was posted there to warn of oncoming traffic.

  Perfect.

  He held one foot on the brake pedal while the other stood ready to pounce on the gas. With a final glance to the backseat, he said, “Hang on tight.”

  Doc said, “You can’t be serious.”

  “Welcome to my world, Doc. Prepare yourselves.”

  Doc gasped, grabbing the handrail above his seat.

  Eloise wrapped a double-handed death grip around her own handrail. “Dear God…”

  Jake banned them from his consciousness and focused on the distant mirror. The fish-eye image of the road was his world, and his senses, reflexes, and body became the machine that his brain would manipulate to accomplish his task. Nothing else mattered.

  The black SUV came out of the turn, the curve of the mirror making it appear smaller than it was. But Jake’s mind adjusted easily for the variable as he monitored the vehicle’s accelerating speed and growing image.

  Three, two, one…

  He released the brake, floored the gas, and the Mustang shot down the drive.

  Chapter 7

  Redondo Beach

  I WAS MIDWAY THROUGH a leap off a building, blasting my M1216 shotgun at two opponents who’d just run past, when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a burst of three short vibrations, then three long, three short—Morse code for SOS. I think my heart might’ve skipped a beat because my breath caught in my throat. I glanced up to see shocked expressions on my sister and brother, and even with my noise-canceling headphones on, I knew the ring tone that accompanied the code on all our phones was “Danger Zone,” a song from Dad’s favorite movie, Top Gun, programmed to play by an application that synched specific text messages with distinctive tones.

  I ripped off my Spider and we all scrambled for our phones.

  “Oh my God!” Sarafina gasped. Her face was white.

  “No, wait a minute,” Ahmed said, standing up so fast that his chair toppled backward. “I was supposed to go surfing. What about school? My stuff? I haven’t even eaten lunch yet. This can’t be for real—”

  I ignored him because the moment I unlocked the screen on my phone, I knew it was real. Mom and Dad had pounded it into our heads over and over again. The alert message would never be sent as a drill. The group text had come from Mom’s phone. I stared at the four characters that would change our lives forever:

  Now!

  Sarafina dropped her phone on the table. Her hands shook and her fingers danced in the air as if they were playing an aggressive song on the piano.

  Ahmed’s rant continued, his words spilling over one another. “Where’s Dad? We don’t even have a car. I love this house. What about my board—”

  I tuned him out, recalling Dad’s instructions:

  Don’t question. Act!

  I snapped off the back of my phone, yanked out the battery, and threw the device as hard as I could against the tile floor. Glass cracked, plastic splintered, and my sister and brother froze. I set my jaw and returned their stares, ignoring the tears spilling down my cheeks. Sarafina’s fingers calmed and Ahmed’s lips tightened. We needed to work together. I knew it. They knew it.

  Ahmed blew out a breath behind clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed and a nod told me he was back in control. He removed the battery from his phone and dropped the remnants beside mine on the floor. Sarafina followed suit. That act of solidarity was like the Spider game’s countdown clock reaching zero.

  “Move!” Ahmed said, grabbing his laptop and running toward the staircase leading to our bedrooms. Sarafina was right behind him. I jammed the Spider and tablet into my backpack and followed.

  “Sixty seconds!” Ahmed shouted as he dashed into his bedroom.

  My sister let out a yelp and disappeared around the corner.

  I ran into my room and a flush of sadness washed over me when I realized this would be the last time I’d ever see it. I pushed the feeling aside and kept moving. Most of the stuff I needed was already in my pack, but Dad had drilled into us that our survival depended on having everything on the list. So I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser and pulled out a new cell phone, a rolled-up sweatshirt, a Swiss Army knife, and a rubber-banded wad of documents and money. I shoved it all into my pack.

  “I hate these long pants,” my sister shouted from her bedroom. “They make me look fat.”

  “Don’t forget the barrettes!” Ahmed said.

  I pulled on my jeans, laced up my sneakers, and slung the pack over my shoulder. Fighting back a sniffle, I took one last look at my room, memorizing every detail—the action figures on my dresser, the wall covered with my favorite fractal patterns, the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling—

  “Thirty seconds!” Ahmed shouted.

  I flinched, grabbed my favorite Transformer figure, and rushed out the door. There was one last thing I had to get that wasn’t on the list.

  Dad’s life depended on it.

  Santa Monica Hills

  Jake timed the impact perfectly.

  The nose of the Mustang rammed the front right quarter of the SUV in a steel-crunching crash that pushed both cars on a track across the street. For a moment the vehicles were side by side and Jake relished the startled gazes of the killers just a few feet away, the impact having knocked the driver’s stylish eyeglasses askew.

  Because of the steep drop-off to his left, the driver of the SUV steered up the road—into Jake’s car. But instead of veering away, Jake held his wheel firm, keeping his foot on the gas, and the Mustang’s powerful engine drove both cars over the opposite curb and onto the leading edge of the hillside lot. Too late, the driver of the SUV realized his mistake. He slammed on the brakes and yanked his wheel away from the Mustang. The maneuver might have worked to stop him in time—if not for the fact that the front bumpers of the vehicles had locked together.

  Jake braked and steered the wheel to the right, hoping to snap free and spin to a stop before hitting the slope. But it was no use, and the world slowed as the large SUV’s momentum pulled both skidding vehicles toward the drop-off. Jake knew they were going over, so he did the only thing he could think of in order to break free of the larger car and gain some modicum of control on the way down—he straightened the wheel and plastered his foot on the gas.

  The Mustang leaped forward, separating from the SUV right before the cars hit the edge. Jake felt an instant of familiar weightle
ssness as the car went airborne, his eyes widening as he saw the impossibly steep decline ahead. Doc grunted, Eloise screamed, and Jake growled through clenched teeth.

  The front of the Mustang soared over a concrete-block retaining wall, the rear tires clipping the edge and dipping the nose to spear into the graded soil. The gut-wrenching impact barely slowed the car as it gouged through the earth like an overpowered tiller, before bouncing back up to barrel down the shrub-covered run that separated it from the rear yard of the estate three hundred feet below.

  A dark shadow in the rearview mirror revealed that the slower SUV had not been so lucky. A detached part of Jake’s mind watched in fascination as it nosed into the retaining wall and flipped end over end onto its back, picking up speed as it slid upside down over the scrub. Jake ignored it, angling the Mustang into a controlled skid to the right in order to avoid an outcrop of boulders, then back to the left to circle a depression. There were gasps and yelps from Doc and Eloise as back and forth he turned, like a skier through moguls, brush, and rocks. Tree limbs ripped at the car as they barreled toward a stand of tall pines surrounding the expansive grounds of a three-story Tudor.

  The hill steepened and Jake struggled to maintain control as his brain flash-plotted the possible routes through the trees, instantly discounting one after another until finally settling on the only course that would accommodate their speed and the width of the car. The serpentine track was enough to challenge even the best off-road professionals, but the fact that it dead-ended at a tall chain-link fence surrounding a tennis court brought a dark smile to his face.

  Just like the last-resort emergency nets on a carrier landing.

  He laid in his course, straightened his tack, and aimed for the entry point.

  The low-hanging branches from the first set of trees whipped across either side of the car. He jerked left, then right, barely missing one tree after another, losing control at one point as bark, steel, and side mirror met in an ear-piercing scrape. The car slowed, but they were still moving at over fifty mph when he swerved onto the short straightaway leading to the fence. He jammed both feet on the brakes and braced himself against the back of the seat. He let loose a warrior’s cry, accompanied by Eloise’s scream.

  The car crashed into the fence, and the front and side airbags deployed in a powdery burst. The vehicle jerked violently as the galvanized steel fence snapped from its posts, its ripped-out length assaulting the front and sides of the charging Mustang with a barrage of cracks and scrapes. Jake ducked just as the windshield and side windows exploded, abruptly silencing Eloise’s scream. The car lurched to halt and he spun around to see Doc staring aghast at her unconscious form slumped against the shoulder restraint.

  The side curtain over her window was shredded and her face was covered in blood.

  The brief moment of shocked silence was shattered when a thunderous crack announced the arrival of the out-of-control SUV. Jake looked back to see the upside-down vehicle buckle around a tree and burst into flames. He cringed as the trapped men inside let out ear-piercing death screams. Their bodies wriggled and twisted within the growing inferno.

  Jake shook the sight from his mind.

  The Mustang’s motor rattled, and steam spewed from its crumpled front end. He put it in reverse, backed up enough to break free of the chain link, and shut it down. Shouldering open his door, he got out of the car and opened the passenger door beside Eloise.

  Doc had slid beside her, his arm wrapped around her to prop up her head, his other hand pressing a handkerchief against a gash in her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and for a moment her senses returned to her. She stared intently at Jake and her lips moved as if to form words, but nothing came out.

  “No need to talk. Just take it easy.”

  She shook her head, the movement causing her to wince in pain. “I-I must tell you…” Her voice trailed off as she slouched back into Doc’s embrace, unconscious again.

  A shout drew Jake’s attention to the house. An older couple was running toward them. “I called 911,” the man yelled, waving his phone.

  Under normal circumstances, Jake would have appreciated the news. Not now. He turned to Doc and whispered, “If we allow her to be taken to a hospital, they’ll find her. Kill her. We’ve gotta get off grid. Leave all the cell phones in the car, then follow my lead.”

  Doc nodded, his face ashen.

  Jake turned around as the couple arrived. They appeared to be in their sixties, fit and anxious to help. The woman’s face scrunched up tight when she saw Eloise.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Jake said, reaching into the car and lifting Eloise into his arms. “But there’s no time for that. We need to use your car.”

  “Dear God, man,” the man said with a British accent. “You shouldn’t move her.”

  Doc slid out of the car with his briefcase in hand. “It’s all right. I’m a doctor. Every second counts.”

  “I’ll get the keys,” the woman said, hurrying toward the house.

  Chapter 8

  Hong Kong

  JIAOLONG HESITATED A MOMENT while his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the space. Lin was beside him. The beehive of organized tension resembled the interior of a live broadcast control room. A dozen techs manned computer stations along two rows of consoles facing a wall that supported three large hi-def monitors above a double row of smaller screens, where live feeds from field operations streamed in from around the world. This was Jiaolong’s temporary nerve center, built for the purpose of managing global operations once the Passcode program was complete, but tasked now for managing the game against Jake Bronson.

  They made their way to the elevated platform at the rear of the room, where sister Zhin was engaged in an incisive discussion with the lead engineer. She could be every bit as beautiful as Lin, Jiaolong thought, if not for her sharp demeanor and determination to dress like a worker instead of a woman. She cut her conversation short as they approached, her stern expression melting for a brief moment as she exchanged a soft glance with her sister and a bow to Jiaolong. She’d always regarded him with the utmost respect, though sometimes her guarded expressions gave him pause.

  He nodded and turned to the lead engineer. Like every other worker in the operation, the man was dressed in the uniform of black slacks and white shirt. Sister Zhin had insisted that the regimented attire was good for overall discipline. No one dared complain.

  “Status?” Jiaolong asked.

  The man snapped to attention with near military precision and Jiaolong wondered if Zhin’s tactics were embedded a bit too deeply. Even so, he couldn’t argue with the results.

  “As you know, Dr. Finnegan’s man, Timmy, is in custody,” the lead engineer, known as PakMaster, reported. Like everyone else in the room—with the exception of Jiaolong and the sisters—the engineer went by his online username. “He remains under sedation.”

  “And the others?”

  “Operations commenced simultaneously fifteen minutes ago.”

  Jiaolong glanced at the row of clocks above the display screens, each one set to a time zone where a target was located. The local time was 4:15 a.m. It was 1:15 p.m. in Los Angeles.

  “Bronson’s wife has been taken,” Pak said quickly.

  Jiaolong nodded, ignoring for the moment that Pak hadn’t started with the status of Bronson himself.

  “And the children will be in hand shortly,” Pak added. “In the meantime, our Australian team captured Squadron Leader Becker and Operator Jones without incident, and Team Three acquired target Tony Johnson. The latter didn’t go down easily. One of our men was killed and two others were seriously injured. The video footage is grim.”

  Jiaolong wasn’t surprised by the news. The Australians had been taken while they slept in the predawn hours in Darwin, but it had been the middle of the day in Los Angeles and Johnson—LAPD SWAT sergeant and one of Bronson’s closest friends—was a formidable man. Jiaolong looked forward to viewing
the recording of the takedown, captured by the wearable computers and cameras he required all the field operatives to wear, an essential leash since some of the field teams included conscripts who had been pressed into service.

  Pak drew a breath before continuing and Jiaolong noticed a shadow of concern skip across the man’s features.

  “An unexpected military deployment has caused a delay in acquiring the V22 pilot Cal Springman and his copilot Kenny. We are tracking them en route to Antarctica, but it will require a significant amount of additional resources to intercept them. That can be done, of course, but commandeering an additional abduction team on such short notice increases the risk of exposure.”

  “The two pilots are nonessential,” Zhin interjected. “They can be eliminated.”

  Jiaolong adjusted the pieces on the imaginary Go game board in his mind, weighing the risks against the ultimate goal. The two men still had minor roles to play, but perhaps their deaths could serve the same purpose. Shooting an aircraft out of the sky, however, would complicate the plan exponentially. He’d ignore them for now.

  A player’s focus on localized conflict must not distract from the broader landscape of the board.

  “We will hold off until it’s more convenient,” he said, growing concerned that a mention of Jake Bronson had yet to enter Pak’s report. The man’s forehead displayed a faint sheen of perspiration.

  Pak glanced quickly at sister Zhin, then licked his lips and turned back to Jiaolong. “Bronson has eluded us,” he said finally.

  The buzz in the room dropped a notch, and several of the techs cast worried glances in Jiaolong’s direction. The news was disquieting, but Jiaolong maintained his composure. He turned to Zhin.