Three pairs of eyes to witness the performance of a lifetime.
“First team,” the first assistant director’s voice sounded over a megaphone. He stood with several others behind one of the cameras that would track the car’s movements. The director was on the dolly, his eye to the lens as he sized up the shot. Extras took their positions along the street and at the sidewalk cafe in the background.
Pete waited for her beside the BMW she’d be driving. After his crew had left her trailer earlier to set the stage for their plan, she’d given him the highlights of her history with Jake and the gang, information she’d kept secret despite the years she and Pete had worked together. At this point, she figured he deserved to know the extent of the risks he and his crew faced. To his credit, he’d taken it all in stride, adding that he’d have loved to have been part of Jake’s crew.
The front hood of the car was propped open. Two of Pete’s crew appeared to be working on something in the engine compartment.
“Is everything ready?” she asked, fighting back a tremor of fear. In the script, this first half of the scene involved nothing more than a skidding turn into a tight alley. Then the stunt driver was supposed to take over for the final crash. But their quickly hatched plan called for changing things up.
A lot.
“No worries,” Pete said with a confidence she didn’t share.
The car looked exactly the same as it had the day before, but then again, that was the point. She climbed in the driver’s seat and strapped herself in.
“You’re going to do fine, lass,” Pete said with a squeeze of her shoulder. “Start ’er up.”
A press of the ignition button and the engine rumbled to life. The two men in front of the car lowered the hood and nodded to Pete.
“Just another scene,” he said with a wink. “Remember, we’ve got your back.” He waved to the director and stepped out of the shot.
“Quiet, please,” the megaphone boomed. “First positions.”
A long, slow breath.
“Roll cameras.”
She said a silent prayer.
“Speed,” a tech reported from behind a bank of monitors.
The familiar commands were like a salve on her nerves. She focused her mind on the task at hand, forcing the tension from her limbs and loosening her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
I can do this.
“Mark,” the director said, and she heard the click of the clapboard.
“Action!”
Lacey held her breath and stomped on the gas.
***
Colonel Giuseppe Abruzzo was in the back of a tactical truck a block from the piazza. He sat beside the tech who managed the video and sound feeds streaming from the eyeglass cameras each lead operative had to wear. The colonel’s gaze focused on one of the six LCD screens as the actress exited the trailer and made her way toward the car that would be used in the upcoming scene.
As a former operative of the GIS—Gruppo di Intervento Speciale, or Special Intervention Group—an elite counterterrorism tactical response unit of the Carabinieri, he’d been on dozens of operations like this one, though as the group’s director it had been several years since he’d felt the need to get personally involved in the field. But even after the group’s many run-ins with the likes of the Red Brigade and the Sicilian Mafia, the stakes were never higher than they were today. What was supposed to have been a simple snatch and grab of the actress and her husband at the hotel last night had turned into much more when he’d been forced to report the failure to the robotic phone voice he knew only as Geppetto.
The message from his tormentor had been short and to the point. Noncompliance would not be tolerated. Fail again and everything the GIS had worked to achieve since its formation in 1977 would be destroyed with the click of an Enter key. The colonel had been given no information regarding why the actress and her husband needed to be taken, but he’d been provided with plenty of details regarding what would happen if they weren’t, in the form of top-secret data that had streamed across his home computer screen. It included names, dates, even video footage that incriminated the GIS in dozens of circumstances where its operators had crossed lines to get the job done. Bribery, illegal wiretaps, torture, and even murder, all documented from information taken from the GIS’s most secure archives. The evidence would crush the organization, regardless of the good it had accomplished. That such secrets existed within the cyber files of every similar organization across the globe was a moot point. Geppetto—the reference to the famed puppet master fueled the colonel’s frustration at being so easily manipulated—had the goods on the GIS and the colonel personally. If the information got out, he’d face a prison term he’d not likely survive.
And they know where I live.
Coinciding with the original telephone contact from Geppetto was the arrival of a package containing the high-tech eyeglasses the operatives now wore, in various styles to appear innocuous. The eyewear had interchangeable lenses for night and day, and the miniaturized electronics embedded within the slender frames allowed them to appear no different from those worn by people everywhere. But these devices included voice-managed computers featuring HUDs—optical heads-up displays—visible only to the wearer, comm and Internet access linked to the wearer’s cell phone, and a high-def video camera. The wireless feature provided a 24/7 audiovisual link between each operative and his handler—Geppetto, in the colonel’s case—as did the damn lapel camera and earbud system he had to wear. The quality of the equipment was superior to anything he’d ever seen, which worried him even further.
He spoke into his headset. “All teams report.”
“Alpha team in position.”
“Bravo ready.”
“Charlie standing by.”
Three teams. Fifteen operatives strategically positioned within and around the scene. What had started out as a simple three-man mission at the hotel had grown to include much more. But after the unexpected events of last night, he wasn’t about to take any chances. The abduction had to occur quietly and as soon as it was practicable. They needed to cover all the exit routes and be ready for the right opportunity.
Failure was not an option.
As soon as the actress stepped into the car and started up the engine, the buzz of activity within the piazza seemed to still all at once.
“Quiet, please,” an amplified voice announced. “First positions.”
The ambient voices subsided. The colonel’s gaze skipped from screen to screen as he watched the film crews focus on their equipment and the extras freeze at their starting positions. The three men standing beside the car stepped out of the scene.
A few additional commands, and then the director said, “Action!”
Music streamed from inside the cafe, extras came alive, and the car suddenly lurched forward. Moving too fast. The director jumped to his feet, actors startled, and crew members jerked from behind their equipment. The car accelerated as if the gas pedal was stuck. It crashed headlong into the plaster wall of a building. Airbags deployed and the car immediately filled with smoke.
The director shouted, “Cut! Cut!”
A chorus of screams was accompanied by a mad rush toward the BMW, led by the three men who’d been working on it earlier. But before they’d covered half the distance, the car burst into flames.
There was a heart-shriveling scream.
The driver’s door burst open and the actress tumbled onto the pavement, her torso and hair engulfed in flames. She writhed on the cobblestone as the rescue team doused her with portable extinguishers. A third man threw a silvery blanket over her, tamping down the remaining flames, and then carried her away from the car. Two EMTs rushed forward with a gurney and the man laid her down.
One of the EMTs lifted the blanket, a GIS operative zoomed in, and the colonel grimaced as he caught glimpses of her quaking body. Her clothing and skin had been turned into a crusty, oozy mix. Smoke rose from her blistered face and scorched scalp. A mi
lky eye stared sightlessly beneath a shriveled lid.
Sirens seesawed in the distance.
The colonel peeled his eyes from the screen. “It’s over,” he said into his microphone. “Disperse immediately.”
He exited the rear of the van and dialed the number he’d been given, pushing out a long breath as he waited for the robotic voice to answer, praying he wouldn’t be held responsible for what had just happened.
Chapter 15
Twenty Thousand Feet Above
Fujian Province, South China
MY BACKPACK WAS at the back of the plane, but I could still feel the energy emanating from the mini. It felt good in a way I’d never felt before, like I was stronger somehow and everything was going to be all right. I’d known all along Dad had taken it from the island, and I’d been tempted to ask him about it several times. But he’d wanted to keep it a secret, even from Mom, so I let it go.
“It’s so cold,” my sister said, shivering under our shared blanket. Ahmed scooted closer on my other side, draping his blanket over the three of us.
We huddled together on inward-facing web seats in the cargo compartment of a transport aircraft that Ahmed said was a C-130. The interior wasn’t finished like the passenger jets I’d been in before. Instead, it was noisy and drafty, and it rattled like crazy every time we hit the slightest bit of turbulence. There were two covered pallets of cargo tied down near the back of the plane and two guards toward the front. One of them was dozing and the other had just plopped into his seat after prepping a fresh pot of tea.
A man was lying on the seats across from us. At least we thought it was a man from the jeans, sweatshirt, and short black hair, but his back was to us so we couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t moved since we woke up. His ankles were zip-tied together.
Our ankles were free, but our hands were zip-tied in front of us and our wrists were chafed from the cuffs. Sarafina had begged the guards to remove them when we’d first awakened an hour ago from the drug they’d given us. She’d received a slap in the face. They seemed to hate us and I knew why. Ahmed had shot one of their friends at the arcade. He’d done it to save Sarafina, and I’ll never forget the look on his face when he’d squeezed the trigger. Pure determination. He hadn’t flinched, and he’d held the pistol in a two-handed grip just like my character held the Colt Python in the Spider game. But the sound of the shots echoing in my ears, the holes exploding in the man’s chest, and the expression of terror as blood gurgled from his mouth had been a lot different from a video game.
I didn’t like it.
When one of the other men had grabbed me from behind and held a knife to my neck, Ahmed had turned the weapon in my direction, and I realized part of him had believed he could take out the guy without hurting me. I swear my heart stopped beating, and if I hadn’t willed him to stop I think he might’ve tried it.
The guard checked his watch, and I had the sense we were in a slight descent.
“Maybe we’re getting close,” Ahmed said, keeping his voice low.
“Yeah, but close to where?” Sarafina asked with a shiver.
She was right. There was no telling where we were. But based on how hungry I was, we must’ve been traveling for a very long time.
But it didn’t matter. We had a plan, and we were waiting for Ahmed to get it started.
“Any second,” Ahmed said, watching the guard.
“How can you be so sure?” Sarafina asked.
“He keeps jiggling his knees up and down, just like Alex does.”
I could see it, too. I had the same nervous habit when I was holding it in.
“Get ready,” Ahmed said.
Sarafina tensed. “I’m scared.”
“Like Dad says, it’s okay to be scared,” Ahmed said. “There’s no such thing as courage if there isn’t fear. Besides, it’s gonna work.” His confidence helped me relax.
Her lips tightened, but she nodded, leaned over, and placed her head in my lap, pretending to take a nap. The guard glanced over but Ahmed was right—the man’s mind was elsewhere.
Sarafina closed her eyes and I snuggled the blanket under her chin like Mom would when she tucked me in. Then I caressed my sister’s hair, casually removing her barrette and passing it beneath the blanket to Ahmed.
He took the tool and I could feel his movements beneath the blanket. We’d all done it dozens of times before, a talent we’d learned compliments of Uncle Becker. He’d taught us lots of things during his visits over the past year, and getting out of flex-cuffs was one of them. Even the thickest ties turned out to be no problem, especially if you had a tool like a barrette with a modified tongue that slid easily between the lock’s angled teeth. I felt my brother’s relief and knew it had worked. He passed the barrette back and I handed it under the blanket to Sarafina. It was her turn, then mine.
A few minutes later the guard rose and disappeared into the tiny bathroom.
As soon as the door closed, Ahmed was on his feet and rushing like a crouched ninja toward the other guard. My sister grabbed my hand and we both squeezed hard. Ahmed reached under the sleeping guard’s seat and pulled out the leather satchel. The hypodermic we’d noticed earlier was still protruding from its side pocket. Ahmed grabbed it and squirted its contents into the steaming teapot. He was about to replace it in the bag when he hesitated, glancing first at the sleeping guard and then at the closed bathroom door. Sarafina squeaked and I held my breath, praying he’d stick to the plan and hurry back. Instead, Ahmed rummaged around inside the satchel and pulled out a vial. He stuck the vial with the hypo and filled it up, doing it in such a practiced way that I was reminded he’d spent several years in a mental institution, where I suspected he’d seen it done hundreds of times. When the hypo was full, he squirted the contents into the pot. Finally, he replaced the hypo, vial, and satchel, and was back under our blankets five seconds later. He wrapped his hands around ours and I could feel the rapid pounding of his pulse.
“They could die with that big of a dose,” Sarafina whispered.
“How do you know that?” Ahmed said.
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but it seemed like a lot.”
“Too much is better than not enough,” Ahmed said. “And if they die, they deserve—”
“Holy crap,” a voice said from across the aisle, startling all of us. The man had turned to face us. His forehead had a bruised lump. It was Dad’s good friend from Area 52. If it hadn’t been for him, Dad wouldn’t have ever come out of his coma.
“Uncle Timmy?” Sarafina blurted out.
“Shhh,” Ahmed and I said in unison, checking to make sure the sleeping guard hadn’t heard.
“Jeez, kids,” Timmy said, rubbing his eyes with his cuffed hands. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Do you know where we are?” Ahmed asked.
“Not sure,” Timmy said, blinking as if to shake off the drug he’d apparently been given. He remained reclined, pointing at the guard. “Last time I came to, they drugged me again, but not before I realized where I was. They were transferring me from a private jet to this rig at the Kansai International airport in Kyoto, Japan. You guys were probably on the jet with me.”
“Japan,” Sarafina gasped. Tears gathered in her eyes.
I felt like a sharp icicle was slowly pushing through my stomach. We were so far away from home. How could Mom and Dad ever find us way out here?
Ahmed sagged beside me and I sensed his internal battle to maintain his composure. It was situations like this that usually sent him into a rant. But he kept his mouth shut, as if he knew we were depending on him for strength. That made it easier for me to close the drawer on my fear. We all needed to be strong.
I focused my thoughts and projected an umbrella of calmness over all four us, kind of like I did to help Mississippi Mike.
After a moment, I felt Sarafina find her center. She sniffled and pulled the blanket up to wipe her eyes. “We were drugged, too,” she said. “Back in California. We woke up a while
ago but they didn’t drug us again.”
Timmy’s brow creased. “Maybe that means we’re close to our destination. If I knew which direction we’re flying—”
“Southwest,” I said, and everyone stared at me. I was used to that. I learned a lot of things on the Web that I didn’t bother telling anyone about, so it usually surprised people—well, except my dad—when I pulled one of them out of a drawer in my head. “I saw the stars out the small window by the bathroom.” I could tell our direction by the location of the Big Dipper in relation to the North Star.
“Isaac Newton’s got nothin’ on you, kid,” Timmy said. “Unfortunately, though, that means we’re somewhere over southern China.” He glanced toward the rear of the plane. “Where’s Tony?”
“Huh?” my sister said. “You mean Uncle Tony?”
My skin tingled.
“Yeah, I saw him during the transfer,” Timmy said. “He was still unconscious. There were others with him but they were covered up.”
Sarafina gasped. “Maybe Mom and Dad were with him.”
“Maybe,” Timmy said. “But your dad isn’t an easy guy to take down.”
“Doc was with Dad,” Ahmed said. I’d told him and my sister about the unexpected visit at the VA hospital.
“That’s great news,” Timmy said with sudden eagerness. “I was hoping they hadn’t taken Doc at the same time they grabbed me. If he flew to see your dad, he went to warn him, which means Jake would’ve been on his guard. I pity the dudes that tried to nab him, especially if he thought you guys were in danger.”
Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast Page 8
