He would build complex tunnel systems, hide helicopters and other aircraft, and ring the property with sophisticated video cameras and sensors, all tied to a central computer.
Wireless sensors and cameras had improved dramatically every year now for decades, while plummeting in cost. Sensors were everywhere, for everything, able to detect movement, temperature, pressure, magnetism, inertial forces, and everything else imaginable. They had begun their explosive growth in items such as cell phones, where they detected movement and orientation, and cars, self-driving or otherwise, where they issued proximity alerts and monitored blind spots.
Then came the concept of the Internet of Things, which was quickly becoming a reality. Tiny microscopic sensors had been developed that could talk to the Web, and had become so low cost that everything could be made “smart.” Your alarm clock could talk to your coffee maker, alerting it to begin doing its job. Your car could send an e-mail to the office, detailing the traffic jam you were in and your exact estimated time of late arrival to a meeting. Sensors in your clothing could monitor your health. The possibilities were endless.
And this included personal security.
Now, anyone with a thousand dollars could set up a wireless sensor and video perimeter that few could defeat. And while the US military was able to defeat most of this tech, sophisticated players like Victor used more advanced—and much more expensive—sensor arrays that were as close to foolproof as anything got.
If there was ever a man for Browning to emulate as he set up his own organization and removed himself from the grid, it was Victor. In fact, the tech dealer, through intermediaries, had slowly begun stripping bases that he now knew the Americans were aware of and putting them on the market, and Browning had snapped one up, in the state of Colorado.
He had moved in just the week before. He would need to develop such bases around the world as Victor had done, but this was a good first step, and since Victor had divested the property it was now off THT’s radar.
Browning’s only disappointment was that with all of his brilliance and his newfound abilities, he had still been unable to find the tech merchant again. Which only served to make Browning even more impressed with the man.
But what a month it had been. Browning had increased his net worth a hundred fold in the first few days after taming ESP, and he was now removed from the grid.
He had hired dozens of mercenary soldiers, many of whom were now living with him in Colorado, taking another page from Victor’s playbook. The mercs he had hired in Costa Rica had been given to him on a silver platter, but without mind reading he wouldn’t have known where to begin to acquire the small army of them he needed, and wouldn’t have had the means to pay them well enough to ensure absolute loyalty if he did.
But connecting dots from one mind to another to another made any knowledge, any connection to experts in any field, a maximum of three or four simple steps away. And now he knew for certain if a prospective hire would be loyal or not. He could turn his back on dozens of dangerous mercs, secure in the knowledge that they had no plans to cross him.
He had also learned of and acquired revolutionary body armor he discovered was being developed in the labs of a defense contractor in California. He had made a special trip to steal a few of the prototypes for himself, and now wore one of these advanced vests at all times.
Safety first was his motto. He would let nothing stand in the way of his survival, and just because he was the savior didn’t mean he was bulletproof. Destiny helped those who helped themselves.
The beauty of the technology was that the vest was only three times heavier and thicker than a normal undershirt, so it could be worn at all times without anyone guessing it was there, and had better stopping power than vests many times bulkier. It also had what Browning considered an innovation that was as brilliant as it should have been obvious: it bled. Copiously. Why advertise to a shooter that his bullet hadn’t penetrated the target? Much better for him to think he had scored a direct hit.
Browning had always been a god among men. But now he would be recognized as such. The power was intoxicating. Jesus could turn water into wine for a stranger, but he couldn’t read that stranger’s mind to know that he preferred beer. At least not according to the Bible, he couldn’t.
Browning had been so busy, life had been so exhilarating, that he barely took time to eat, and slept only four or five hours a night. He studied the Kelvin Gray data and programmed the most advanced AIs short of Nessie to correlate it with everything known about the brain, and he was making definite progress. Already. He was more convinced than ever that ESP could be made available to all without the need of implants, and that he and his computer minions would find the answer soon.
Which was perfect. He could keep the implants to himself. So when the world did transform itself, when he gave the gift of mind reading to all of humanity, he would still maintain a major advantage over all others.
Well, two advantages. His genius, most importantly. And then the sole ability to maintain a mind-Web connection—once the Internet infrastructure was rebuilt from the ashes of the old world order.
The monsters out there, in the billions, would use mind reading to tear each other apart, while the pure of heart waited in the wings to emerge into a new day. In this sense the meek truly would inherit the earth, for once making Jesus right about something.
But before this could happen, Browning had several more pages of his to-do list to complete.
He hadn’t found a solution for one important item on this list, in particular, but he wasn’t worried. The answer would come, as it always did.
He just had to be paying attention when fate knocked on his door.
51
The Cockroach hurtled forward on a two lane road threading along salt flats, which would gradually lead to the Great Salt Lake situated less than thirty miles away.
“Our sleeper is still following,” announced Hall, realizing as he said it that this report wasn’t necessary. Their communications were still down, so of course the terrorist was still following. “He’s texted the ambush team about our detour, and they’ve texted back that they’re on their way to take us out now.”
“How did they text each other?” said Herschel Trent. “Isn’t he the one generating the communications blackout?”
Hall shrugged. “He was given a phone and told it was immune from the blackout tech, at least with respect to texting. It is. He has no idea how it works.” He paused. “Left here,” he said to Briarwood, pointing ahead.
Everyone braced themselves as the captain slowed just enough to avoid flipping the vehicle over, the force of the turn throwing them all roughly against the doors or each other as the tires squealed in protest.
After the vehicle had steadied once again, Ontiveros and Trent craned their necks to look up out of the windows, trying to spot the incoming attack.
“The hostiles still haven’t entered my telepathic range,” announced Hall, reminding the two soldiers that he would know when they were nearing before anyone.
Then, like a mirage in the desert, a square building appeared, the size of a small house, but with the outer stucco covering a shell of steel rather than wood. The structure was starkly out of place, a tick on the smooth back of a whale, but an outcropping of civilization was only a third of a mile distant. Hall had read that this is where the tunnel emerged.
Briarwood streaked to the large steel door and slammed on the brakes.
“We’re still clear,” said Hall as the passengers hastily exited the vehicle.
The terrorist following was picking up speed and Hall read his confusion and indecision. The sleeper agent couldn’t begin to understand how they knew about this structure. He contemplated attacking them himself before they could get inside, but realized this was misguided. The attack force would be here to wipe them out any minute, and while they might know the location of the bunker there was no way they could possibly have the password needed to enter.
“Guess again, asshole!” mumbled Hall as he accessed a touch-screen near the door, its high-tech presence completely out of place next to the low-tech look of the building.
“What did you say?” asked Megan beside him.
“Never mind,” he replied as his fingers rushed over the screen, entering the proper code.
There was a loud noise as the locks disengaged and the touch screen turned green. As Hall pulled open the door the lights turned on automatically and the entire group rushed inside.
A number of the group exhaled loudly as the door began to close. They were safe. They had made it! And long before the hostile force had arrived.
The door was now fully closed and they heard the telltale sound of the locks engaging once again, sealing them in tight.
And another sound as well.
The loud, hissing sound of gas being forced through several vents above them.
The four trained commandos reacted immediately, attempting to block the gas and looking for additional exits, but despite their quick thinking and lack of panic, their efforts were useless.
One by one, all six inhabitants of the structure were finally forced to take a breath. And one by one, all six inhabitants fell into oblivion.
52
Hall gradually came to his senses, groggy and disoriented.
He was once again bound, bringing back memories of a cabin outside of San Diego where he had been held during the sarin drone operation. And just as was the case then, Wi-Fi had been disabled in the vicinity, rendering his implants impotent.
What had happened? Where was he?
He reached out with his mind for answers.
Victor?
It couldn’t be!
And yet it was. Victor’s thoughts were remarkably lucid for someone long dead.
Hall pretended he was still unconscious, a ploy he had used once before in the presence of this same man, and searched for answers. Within five minutes he had all that he needed.
Lucas had outsmarted them. He had figured out the implants were bugs, and had only pretended to kill his father and Eduardo Alvarez. Lucas and Alvarez were presently elsewhere.
Victor had wanted them here with him, but had been concerned about Hall’s ability to read minds, concerned that he could use what he read to pit the three of them against each other, corrupt their shared trust, play mind games. Which is exactly what he would have done.
Victor also knew not to leave Hall alone with any of his guards unless he was gagged, having a full appreciation of how he could use what he read in their minds to blackmail, entice, confuse, or distract them.
Victor was as savvy as they came.
Hall had also learned of Victor’s interactions with Troy Browning, and that Browning had told him everything he knew about THT, which was extensive, including team composition, personalities, and goals. At some point Browning had eavesdropped on a call between the president and a new recruit to the ESP team, during which the president had described Hall’s mind-reading ability at length, including his range.
But Browning still didn’t know about Megan Emerson. He didn’t know she was immune from mind reading, and most importantly, didn’t know about their ability to communicate telepathically. They had used this ability to defeat Girdler, back when he was trying to kill Hall. Perhaps they could use it again.
Hall had almost vomited when he learned how the president had betrayed them all, exactly one month earlier. How he had used Dennis Sargent to smuggle out the implant and ESP data. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he also read how Victor had teamed up with Browning to get a copy of the data without Sargent or the president knowing.
Cochran planned to duplicate Nick Hall, to reincarnate his abilities in the body of a commando. Something the president had almost certainly already accomplished.
Browning had also given Victor detailed information about THT’s headquarters, and that while this structure was all but invulnerable, Hall ventured out once a month to interrogate terror suspects. Browning had also learned that after the attempted sarin attack, Girdler had vowed to remain firmly at headquarters whenever Nick Hall was out.
Victor had used this intelligence to plan his revenge. It was all he could think about. He had been played for a fool. Used. Betrayed. Turned into a laughingstock. He was determined that those responsible would pay the ultimate price.
He wanted Girdler most of all, but this would have to wait. He knew better than to try to attack THT head on, and Hall and Girdler never ventured out at the same time. So he would capture Hall first, the more dangerous and problematic of the two.
The strategy he had devised was ingenious, the planning and execution of the operation nothing short of breathtaking.. He had found a way to use Hall’s strengths against him.
Victor had begun by telling Sayed Nazry of Hall and his abilities, and about the Cockroach and the vehicle’s monthly excursions to Hill. Victor had promised the ISIS leader that he would take out Hall himself, since he was a common enemy, and as a show of goodwill. All Nazry had to do in return was keep the information about the mind reader to himself, for now, and tell one of his lieutenants, Ali Jalili, to follow Victor’s orders. These orders would involve having Jalili give precise instructions to a single one of Nazry’s sleeper agents in the States.
Once Nazry had agreed, Victor had built a bunker in the wastelands of Utah, sparing no expense to get it done quickly, and had waited for Hall’s monthly outing.
Hall had felt lucky that they had made it to the bunker before the ambush team had even come within mind-reading range. But luck had nothing to do with it.
Because there was no ambush team. It was nothing but a well-constructed mirage.
Victor had Jalili provide his Utah sleeper with the tech that would kill communications, and had him order the man to proceed exactly as Hall had read from his mind. To follow the specified vehicle and disrupt its communications. To use the phone he had been given to text the ambush team if the vehicle deviated from the expected course.
The sleeper had sent this text, all right. But it hadn’t gone to any ambush team. It had gone to Victor himself, and it was Victor who had sent the reply.
There was no army of terrorists waiting for them around the bend, protected by camouflage and stealth technology. Victor had found it much simpler just to convince the hapless sleeper agent that one existed, and safer, since Nessie had never once become suspicious of an ambush that wasn’t there.
Hall had walked right into the trap. He had dutifully read the sleeper’s mind. Read that his orders had come from Jalili, so Victor’s hand was hidden. Read all about the phantom ambushers and the bunker Jalili had instructed them to use as an escape route.
The sleeper had no idea it was a trap, so Hall had had no idea. Victor had funneled Hall exactly where he wanted him to be.
Just as Victor had expected, Hall had taken the bait, had patted himself on the back for realizing the terrorists’ bunker could be used to escape the coming attack. The knockout gas was set to be released when the door was opened and closed, trapping Hall and the rest inside.
Two mercenaries Victor trusted had been standing by in a civilian helicopter ten miles away, well out of Hall’s range. When the gas was released, these men were signaled, and they landed in the nearby town minutes later and used the tunnel, which was real, to retrieve Hall and Megan.
But only Hall and Megan. Their four bodyguards, who had become more than just their friends, had been shot to death while they lay unconscious.
Hall’s blood had come to a boil as he read this in Victor’s mind. He had wanted to tear out his captor’s throat with his bare hands, but knew that his restraints made this impossible.
The losses kept mounting. Five of their bodyguards were now dead. Hall was poison to anyone around him. Once again brave, good men had died because of his mistakes, and once again he didn’t have time to mourn them.
As hard as it was for Hall to believe, it was now just past noon. He and Megan had been out
for only four hours, which had been plenty of time for Victor to pick up his prizes and bring them, unseen, to a new base Lucas had readied for just this purpose. A base that not only didn’t require the crossing of an international border, but didn’t require the crossing of a state border.
Since his days as the leader of a drug cartel, Victor had made it a point to explore the vast wilderness that still covered much of America, to identify the many places that were so off the beaten path the authorities couldn’t even find them, let alone guess that an important base was hidden there, in plain sight, under the guise of a nature preserve or a ranch.
The facility Hall and Megan had been brought to was within the three thousand square mile perimeter of Utah’s Dixie National Forest, in the southwest corner of the state. It was situated on a campground that Lucas had purchased and modified to their needs. It was similar in many ways to any number of bases Victor had established around the world, with multiple small living quarters, hidden tunnels, weapons caches, perimeter sensors, and eight of Victor’s men patrolling the grounds.
Hall had been in desperate situations before, but none more hopeless than this. Victor maintained an outward calm, but inside he was seething, consumed every second by the need for revenge. Hall knew that there would be no escape, and that while he was currently alive, this would not be true for long.
He was only alive now because Victor needed something from him.
And although Hall hadn’t made a final decision, he was frightened to the core of his being that he wouldn’t have the strength or moral fortitude to deny him what he wanted.
MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3) Page 29
