“I imagine you see the similarities between this chair and the one that had been constructed specifically for you during your coma.”
Jake winced at the memory.
De Vries continued. “Doc Finnegan enlisted the help of my scientific team to design the chair that they’d hoped you could use to communicate with the pyramids. My people built this original chair two years earlier—modified many times during the course of our research—and it had been designed for an entirely different purpose.” He took one of the skullcaps from the wall and settled it on his own head. It seemed a perfect fit. The wiring that dangled from the probes surrounding it was gathered like a ponytail, terminating in a male plug. The matching female receptacle was embedded in the back of the chair, and bundles of wires connected it to a computer station. “This is the device we’ve been using to transfer consciousness onto a computer chip.”
“You mean for your experiments, right?”
“Oh, we’re beyond experimentation with regards to the transference itself. We perfected the process nearly a year ago.”
“You mean, you can already transfer a person’s full consciousness onto a chip?”
“Yes,” de Vries said with pride. “That turned out to be simpler than expected. Unfortunately, it’s the post-transfer process that has given us problems. That’s why we attempted to contact you for your help.”
Jake was curious despite himself. “What kind of problems?”
“In a word—frenzy. A person’s consciousness simply can’t cope with the reality that the body is no longer connected. Not for long, anyway. The separation of synaptic connections between the brain and nerve receptors throughout the body causes a cascade of confusion, fear, and finally unbridled panic.”
“But this doesn’t happen immediately?”
“No. The first few minutes following the transfer are actually quite pleasant.” He closed his eyes as if recalling a memory. “Even euphoric.”
The truth beneath the man’s words kicked Jake in the gut. “Are you telling me you’ve done this yourself?”
De Vries smiled, tapping the wired cap that was still on his head. “Many times,” he said, rolling his chair up to the computer console. “Allow me to demonstrate.” He moved the mouse and woke the display. After entering a password and a few quick commands, he opened a side console and pulled out a bundled group of wires with a female receptor matching the one in the padded chair. He reclined his chair, plugged in his skullcap, and hit the Enter button.
Jake was taken aback by de Vries’s swift moves and the man’s seeming lack of concern for what he claimed he was about to do. Jake half expected to see sparks travel from the headset and along the wires, and streams of data to flow down the computer screen, reminiscent of an old horror flick. Instead, he watched as the Everlast founder’s body sagged and his face went lax. Jake rushed forward and checked the man’s neck for a pulse.
“Don’t worry. I’m not dead yet.”
The hollow voice startled Jake, emanating from the console speakers. It sounded like a younger version of de Vries.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Far from it!” de Vries said. “Ninety-nine percent of me now resides elsewhere, still connected to the remaining one percent that I’ve allowed to remain behind in order to maintain my body’s life functions.”
Jake shuddered at the prospect of what would happen if de Vries’s body failed and his consciousness was wholly resident in the electronics. He focused his thoughts on the man’s physical brain, as he’d done often to help others. He could sense the man’s presence, both the part in his chair-bound body and the part in the computer. He also felt the man’s emotional pain, and instinctively projected a calming influence over him.
“Ahhh…” de Vries said, the edge gone from his voice. “I can feel you. It’s just as your patients at the VA described it.”
Jake’s connection faltered, jolted by the revelation that de Vries knew about the patients he’d helped.
As if sensing Jake’s reaction, de Vries pleaded, “Don’t stop, please. I mean you no harm. I swear it. I’m simply trying to find a way to adjust to my new body.”
Jake glanced unsteadily from the man to the machine, confused that de Vries would refer to the computer as a body. But at the same time, connected as he was to the man’s consciousness, he finally realized de Vries was telling the truth.
About everything.
Jake shrank back. He’d been certain his family was here; everything had pointed this way. He’d flown halfway around the world...
“Oh my God... ” he whispered, this time meaning it. His thoughts flashed on Francesca and the children huddled alone somewhere, praying he would soon save them. His mind reeled, severing the mental connection with the old man.
De Vries’s body flinched and took in a deep breath, his mind back in its fragile home. He removed the skullcap and blew out a raspy sigh. “Dear Lord,” he said. “You are a true miracle, Mr. Bronson. You have the power to make this dream a reality.”
Jake shook his head, wanting desperately to bolt from the room but not knowing where the hell to go. He finally answered out of compassion for a man facing a terminal illness. “I’m sorry but you’re wrong. I may have helped a few guys connect with their new artificial limbs, but helping someone become accustomed to living wholly within a computer will never work.”
“Yes,” de Vries said, making an entry on his tablet that caused the back wall of the lab to open to another brightly lit room. “But what about helping someone adjust to an entirely new body?”
Jake gasped as he followed de Vries into the room, where a horizontal glass enclosure contained a fully developed younger version of the Everlast founder, suspended faceup in a viscous liquid, with probes everywhere. A horrific vision of the future flashed across his mind: of vast warehouses of twitching clones being grown to await their aging counterparts; of bodies being eviscerated when only an organ was harvested, its husk discarded like a carcass in a butcher shop; of a black market of bodies grown without the permission of their unsuspecting twins, to be inhabited by the brain of another, spawning a class of body-jumping criminals targeting the wealthy or world leaders.
“I’m sure your mind is racing,” de Vries said, “as is mine. Because I now know from our connection that it can be done. Your influence allowed me to focus and for a brief moment I felt myself encased in my new body. It was like nothing I’d ever—”
Jake tuned him out. Settling a consciousness into an entirely new body was a baffling task, even with his help. He remembered the difficulties he’d faced with patients at the VA dealing with a single limb. Some cases had required numerous sessions before the slightest connection was made, and with others he had been unable to achieve any progress whatsoever, like with Mississippi Mike—
The recollection of what Alex did stopped him cold.
“No,” he said, stepping back.
“But, Mr. Bronson—”
“Absolutely not,” he said, making his way toward the sitting area to retrieve his pack. He had no clue where to go next but quickened his pace anyway. Any association with Everlast was a risk to Alex. They must never know the truth. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he rushed into the corridor. He was halfway to the front exit when he felt the vibration from the smartphone in his pocket. He pulled it free, clicked on a link that Doc had forwarded, and the news article pummeled him like the exhaust blast from a turbojet.
Actress Lacey Hunter Critically Injured, read the headline.
He absorbed the article as fast as he could scroll, every word taking permanent residence in his brain. The car crash was labeled an accident but he knew better. He imagined Lacey on her deathbed and the air was crushed from his lungs. He needed to be there.
As he rushed out the main entrance, he had a moment of indecision regarding which direction to turn, not remembering where he’d parked the car.
Not yet! he thought, clenching his hands. He growled in frustration and
finally the memorized maps clarified in his consciousness.
But it was a warning sign.
The loss of contact with the mini was beginning to take its toll.
Chapter 19
Amsterdam
JAKE RAN ACROSS THE BRIDGE spanning the canal next to the Everlast building, racing across the park toward the red-light district where he’d parked his rental car. He had just turned the corner half a block from his destination when he spotted them—two young Asian men lingering near the vehicle, their gazes averting a fraction of a second after he’d popped into their line of sight. One turned to look in the shop window beside the car and the other strolled casually across the street—too casually. Alarm bells went off in his mind, and he slid to a stop and swiveled his view. Another man appeared around the corner behind him, eyes targeting Jake, his lips moving as if talking to himself. A fourth man stared at Jake from across the cobbled street.
All at once, the team moved toward him like a pack of wolves.
Jake took off like a sprinter at the starting gun, dashing past a row of windows that would later be occupied by women hoping to hook a customer. The four men charged forward, the two in front on a collision course. Jake shouldered through the front door of the establishment and sped down a musky, dormitory-like corridor lined with doors, several of them open to reveal small bedrooms and dressing tables. A barely dressed young woman stepped into the hall and he stumbled in an effort to keep from bowling her over. She screamed, their legs caught, and they went down in a tangle.
The noise brought a rush of other women out of their rooms, and he found himself facing a gauntlet of angry glares. One girl smacked her palm with a black leather riding crop, daring him to try anything. Some were young, some were middle-aged, and he knew from his reading that they practiced their profession with the support of the community. But it was the manner in which they came together in aid of one of their own that touched a chord in him.
“Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, helping the girl to her feet.
She nodded.
He gave her and the others the most disarming grin he could muster. “I’m really sorry. No time to chat but trust me, I’m one of the good guys.”
A few had started to smile back when the men chasing him stampeded through the front door. “And they’re the bad guys,” he said, backing down the hall.
The men hesitated when the girls pushed their way forward to shield Jake from view. The girl he’d stumbled into grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall.
“This way!” she said.
Jake had started to follow when the first gunshot echoed down the corridor.
Girls screamed, men shouted, Jake spun around and charged in a fit of rage. The women scattered, one of them helping a girl with a shoulder wound into a room just as Jake barreled past and launched himself into the man holding a pistol. The Asian tumbled backward, taking another man down with him. The gun clattered to the floor. Jake’s fists pummeled the man’s face and it felt good when he heard the crunch of nose cartilage. The man went limp but Jake’s fists continued to jackhammer into him. Hands grabbed him from behind and he reared back and head-butted someone in the jaw, then his elbow lashed around and shattered a knee. The other men jumped into the fray and suddenly Jake’s world was filled with grunts and groans and a blur of flying fists, heaving muscles, and snapping kicks. He embraced the violence, fighting with all his might.
An ordinary man can do extraordinary things when fueled by the need to protect those he loves.
The thought broke through his fury and he was yanked back to reality, reminded of why he was here—to allow himself to be taken. He stopped struggling, and was about to be rewarded with a kick to the head when the men around him froze as one, seemingly responding to a silent order to stop.
“Understood,” one of them said to no one in particular. Then each man leaned over and lifted Jake to his feet. One secured his hands with zip ties.
Jake’s mind cleared and he took in the scene. The first attacker was unconscious, his face a bloody pulp. A second was on his butt, grimacing in pain, his hands nursing his right knee, his lower leg canted unnaturally to one side. The two men holding Jake were breathing heavily, one with an eye that was swollen shut. The other yanked Jake toward the exit.
As he turned to go, the young girl from earlier leaned halfway out her doorway. Her wide-eyed expression was filled with horror and a wave of shame washed over him.
Like a propeller with loose restraining nuts, he was spinning out of control.
***
The scene was like a recurring nightmare, Jake thought. Tied up in a chair and surrounded by assholes.
Someone removed the silk hood from his head and he had to squint against the sudden brightness from a bank of overhead lights. Three people stood before him—the two guys who had remained standing during the brawl, and a striking Asian woman he guessed was in charge. Her black hair was gathered with rings into a braid that hung over the front of her shoulder to the waist of her black jumpsuit. Three metallic bobbles dangled from its end. She had the high cheekbones, smooth skin, and pouty lips of a model, but there was a hunger in her dark eyes that unnerved him.
“We can do this the easy way,” she said, her voice soft as she studied him with crossed arms. She rummaged through a red-leather purse on the table beside her and pulled out a filled hypodermic. She flicked it with a finger, removed the cap, and squirted out a short stream. “Or the easier way.”
Interesting, Jake thought. He’d expected to be hauled away to join his family and friends. Instead, the woman had questions.
Me, too.
Her two thugs stood at parade rest behind her in the small room, which was furnished only with the table the woman was using and two armless wooden chairs, one of which Jake sat on. One of the thugs was now wearing glasses. The second man glared at Jake through one eye, the other sealed tight by puffiness and bruising. Jake smiled inwardly. He had a few cuts and bruises of his own but they were nothing compared to the damage he’d dished out. They must have been under orders to go easy on him.
Too bad for you, suckers.
His ankles had been zip-tied to the legs of the chair and his wrists were still zipped together in front of him. He turned his wrists over and glanced at his watch. It was 12:44 p.m. The drug would’ve begun to wear off by now. If he was going to make a move, it had to happen in the next few minutes.
He had few options and limited intel. The drive in the car had taken less than ten minutes, so despite the hood they’d made him wear, he knew he was still in the old city. The room had a shuttered window, but even through its closed slats he could hear the muffled sounds of traffic. He suspected he was on a second floor. A second vehicle had followed them, and from the sounds of car doors closing when they’d arrived, he guessed at least three more guards were close by.
“You have questions?” he asked the woman.
“Of course.”
“So why don’t we have a conversation?”
She arched an eyebrow, lowering the hypo to her side. He had the distinct impression she was disappointed he’d decided to go the easy route.
“Why don’t I go first?” he said. “Where’s my family?”
She snickered. “I’ll be asking the questions. And one way”—she held up the hypo—“or the other, you will answer.”
“No.”
Her reaction told him the response wasn’t what she’d expected, but her expression morphed quickly into a leer like that of a torturer who’d just received permission to break out her tools. “We’ve discussed the easy and easier way,” she said. “Perhaps we should discuss the hard way.”
“You don’t scare me, bitch.”
Her face flushed and she moved in a blur. Her body coiled, her free hand flipping her braid to one side with a snap of her wrist. The braid’s momentum accelerated tenfold as she spun a circle in a half crouch, and its bobbled end whipped around and struck Jake’s jaw with the force of a brass-kn
uckle punch.
His head snapped to one side, hot pain exploding from his jaw. He spit blood from his mouth and stared defiantly at her. “Listen, lady, I’m the Brainman. Isn’t that what you call me? I’ve been beaten, poked, prodded, and drugged by some of the most imaginative creeps on the planet, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to make me talk unless you answer my question. Now, where the hell is my family?”
She still held the hypo in one hand, but her other gripped the end of her braid as if she was about to launch another strike. Jake braced himself but suddenly her eyes grew distant—just as the men’s had earlier during the fight at the brothel—and he realized she was wearing a comm as well.
While she hesitated, he raised his cuffed wrists and rubbed his forearm against his swelling chin, using the move to hide his mouth as he slid his tongue around to confirm that the ampoule was still affixed behind his molar.
Not yet.
If the woman had a boss speaking to her over a comm net, then it was likely the boss was located elsewhere. And if Jake’s family and friends had been taken there, instead of here....He recalculated, considering the tilt of the people before him. While the woman spoke English with a refined British accent that could have originated locally, the goons behind her had spoken with thick Asian accents. The team could’ve come from anywhere.
The woman sighed and refocused her attention on Jake, releasing her grip on her braid and replacing the hypo in her purse. “Very well, Mr. Brainman,” she said, drawing out the name and dragging the free chair around to sit directly in front of him. “Let’s have a conversation. You may call me Min. I’ll start by telling you that your family is safe.”
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