So why wouldn’t Browning follow his lead? Why not crib from a master commando who possessed the exact same capabilities as Browning did? He could have managed the mission without copying Bostic’s tactics, but when the universe provides, why not take advantage?
And the universe had really been outdoing itself lately.
At some point he was probably going to have to find Bostic and remove him from the board, but this didn’t seem urgent. Bostic might possess implants and mind reading, but he didn’t possess the blueprints for either, so he was less of a threat to Browning’s plans.
Browning’s helicopter landed in a small clearing in the woods after he had indicated that no one was watching. The clearing was twenty miles from Victor’s compound, but more importantly, only a hundred yards from a company situated on a dirt lot that rented rugged off-road vehicles for those who liked to camp and explore. Browning rented a large SUV while his team, dressed like the commandos they were, waited out of sight in the woods.
The group then made their way to within two miles of the compound—one and a half miles from where the sensor and video array began. While they hiked on foot to the start of the sensors, missile launchers in tow, Browning read minds, discussed strategy with his men, and made plans.
Victor had eight men patrolling the grounds, all heavily armed. This was double the force Browning had brought, but Victor could have had twenty men and it wouldn’t have helped him.
Victor was in the main structure in the center of the compound, and Browning could see the legendary Nick Hall through Victor’s eyes, out cold as expected. Browning tried to read Hall but couldn’t even locate his mind. Reading a man who was asleep was one thing, reading one who was in coma or knocked out with drugs was another.
He read of the arrangement Victor and Hall had come to with fascination. Victor’s mind was a treasure trove that he wished he had hours to peruse, but as it was he had other jobs to attend to.
One of the eight guards was babysitting Hall’s love interest in the next building over. She was lying on a bed like Sleeping Beauty. Browning searched for her mind, and failed, confirming that she wasn’t just sleeping but knocked out, completely unconscious.
Victor wasn’t only gathering all the fish Browning prized and confining them to a barrel, he was dynamiting the barrel for him.
Browning had demonstrated his mind-reading capabilities to his mercenary soldiers when they had been hired, to keep them honest and so they would trust his orders in situations like this. They now followed single file behind him as he navigated the minefield of invisible sensors.
He hadn’t been able to discover the exact placements of the sensors in Victor’s mind, since the man hadn’t bothered to commit these to memory, but he was able to learn Victor’s computer passwords and exactly where a GPS map of the array could be found. Browning’s implants converted this into the precise route needed to evade them in seconds.
Bostic had been right when he told Admiral Siegel that having implants and mind reading was the ultimate cheat. That it made things too easy.
But in Browning’s book, there was nothing wrong with too easy. Besides, he didn’t plan to hoard this capability, at least not the mind reading. So, yes, right now he was a sighted man in the kingdom of the blind, but soon enough he would level the playing field, give the gift of sight to the kingdom, elevating the species to his level.
Well . . . almost. No one would ever be quite at his level.
As it was, Craig Bostic’s strategy of stealing passwords and e-mail addresses to breach secure communications systems and lure men out to the periphery into a series of stealthy ambushes was inspired.
Browning checked the time in his mind’s eye. Four o’clock. This gave them forty minutes to wipe out eight guards and capture Victor before Hall was revived, and in time to properly greet Hall’s THT colleagues in the incoming helicopter.
Seemed a daunting task, but Browning was confident he could do it in twenty.
Browning couldn’t be prouder of the plan he had put together on short notice. Taking down THT’s core team would be the easy part. The challenge would come in escaping from the scene and living to tell about it.
So his second wave was ready and standing by fifteen miles away. Two teams of four, each in their own civilian helicopters. Not that the arsenal they carried inside could ever be mistaken for civilian.
Browning would accomplish this mission in two stages. First he would take over the compound using his abilities and small four-man force. Once he had control he would eliminate all THT personnel, hopefully without need for messy missiles, although that remained to be seen.
All of this would be done in the woods, out of easy sight. The president and Admiral Siegel wouldn’t be sure when anyone from the team would be able to report back, so they would tread cautiously until they got a read on what was happening.
Ironically, based on what he had overheard of Cochran’s meeting with Girdler and Siegel, the president’s response time to get a ground force to Victor’s compound would be embarrassingly slow. Still, they wouldn’t stop hunting anyone who emerged from the area, so he decided to provide them with a decoy to chase, create a smokescreen for himself.
About a quarter past five, Browning would contact his second wave, tell them he and his team had disabled Victor’s defenses and were heading for their helo twenty miles away. But this second part would be a lie, to throw off any future interrogators. Instead, he and his team would be hiding out in the tunnel system Victor always put in place, which Browning had verified once he had been within mind-reading range.
Then, his second wave would hit. He would reprogram Victor’s air defenses to let these helos through, and they would machine gun and bomb the entire compound into rubble.
He had purposely kept these men in the dark, and they would have no idea that they were being made scapegoats, and that two of the most powerful men in the world would be watching. Once finished, they would race off, like sleek red foxes, irresistible bait for the many hounds an outraged president and admiral would send.
Browning wasn’t even close to being on Cochran’s or Siegel’s radar, and they would have no idea who had carried out the attack or why. Once the situation had settled down, even if this took days, Browning and his team would emerge from the tunnels, safely off the radar.
He hated the necessity of wasting the men in his second wave, but he had read their minds, and they would never come close to making it into the paradise he would create. Even so, they were playing a critical role, and history would honor their sacrifice.
Most importantly, they were expendable. Because very soon now, his organization would be orders of magnitude larger, and he would have more mercenaries than he would ever need.
59
Megan Emerson had entered the bowels of hell. She feared for her own life, the life of the man she loved, and the lives of close friends and colleagues. And all the while she pretended to be unconscious, with nothing to do for an interminable period of time but worry and try not to lose her mind as unscratchable itches continued to plague her, arising only after she had realized this might be an issue. These were likely not only her last hours on Earth, but also her longest.
She heard several hard raps on the closed bedroom door. The guard who was in the room with her, playing video games on his phone, hastily put the device in his pocket and walked the few steps necessary to reach the door.
“Del, it’s Vaughn,” said a deep male voice outside. “Victor sent me to give you a break.”
Megan opened her eyes a few millimeters, enough to have a tiny slit of sight while her eyes still looked closed, grateful that something was happening to distract her from her purgatory.
Her guard, apparently named Del, tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know any Vaughn,” he said.
“Yeah you do,” said the man at the door. “I’m one of three local hires Victor introduced you to just before you took off with him to collect the prisoners. Remember? I’m
the good-looking one,” he added in amusement. “Vaughn.”
“Right,” said Del, as though a light had just come on in his head.
He opened the door and two beefy men charged into the room. One shoved a hand over Del’s mouth and pushed him back against the wall while the other shot him once in the chest with a silenced gun.
The man who had been guarding Megan slid to the floor with a blank expression while blood soaked his clothing and ran onto the floor.
Megan flexed in shock and barely managed to stifle a gasp.
Were these men allies, here to rescue her? It seemed likely, but they could have incapacitated her guard without killing him, so their behavior was suspicious. She decided to pretend to be out just a little longer until she had a better sense of what was going on.
A third man strolled into the room, different than the other two. Softer. Where they were physically imposing, he was the opposite. And something about him was a little off, in an undefinable way.
“Good work,” he said to the others. “Eight down—none to go. Victor is now the only man left standing.”
The newcomer shifted his gaze to her. “So this is the famous Megan Emerson,” he said. He glanced at his two associates. “This is quite some woman,” he told them. “As far as I know, she slept her way into the heart of a very special man and into the upper echelon of the most powerful Black Ops organization in America. What do you think of her?” he asked. “She’s cute enough, I guess. But she’s hardly anything special.”
Both men shrugged, not responding to the question. “What do you want us to do with her?” said the man who had called himself Vaughn.
“Leave her for now,” replied the diminutive newcomer, obviously in charge. “I’ve read Schmidt’s and Hulsey’s minds, and they’re in position outside of Victor’s quarters. Victor is still inside with Hall, completely unaware that the men who were protecting him are all dead. But it’s best to capture him before he catches on.”
A chill traveled through Megan’s entire body. Who was this man? Could he really read minds? She could direct a telepathic message his way to find out for sure, but that would tip him off that she was conscious.
“We should at least tie her up,” said Vaughn. “You know better than me that she’s only pretending to be asleep.”
The smaller man smiled and shook his head. “Believe me, she’s out colder than if she got hit in the head with a baseball bat. When she starts to come to, I’ll know it, and I’ll send you to retrieve her.”
“I could have sworn I saw her jump when Johnson shot this guy.”
“Just your imagination. Trust me, there are bronze statues that have more mental activity going on inside than this one.”
The man who had pretended to be Vaughn came forward, put both of his hands on Megan’s shoulder, and shook her roughly for several of the longest seconds she had ever experienced. He studied her for a few seconds more and then nodded. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “Must have just been my imagination.”
60
Victor checked the time. It was a little after four twenty. It wouldn’t be long now.
He was of mixed emotions. He would relish the death of Justin Girdler, but this Nick Hall had reacted to his plight with unexpected poise and intelligence. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he found himself instinctively liking the man. This wouldn’t change the outcome, but it would change how he felt about it.
He produced a vial containing a reversal agent that would bring Hall back to life fairly quickly and drew up five cc’s in a plastic syringe. He placed it carefully on a small table, out of the way, for when it would be needed.
As he was returning to his computer to finish up what he’d been doing, the door burst open, exploding from its hinges. Before he could react, four men streamed through carrying automatic weapons, pointed in his direction.
“Freeze!” the first one shouted as he entered.
Victor’s eyes widened. Who were these intruders? And where were his men?
The answer to these questions strolled through the entrance to his office like the grand marshal in a parade.
“Troy Browning?” said Victor in disbelief, his mind racing to make sense of it all. “I thought we had a deal to part company,” he continued in English. “Forever. At your insistence.”
“You agreed not to come after me,” said Browning. “I, however, never agreed not to come after you.”
“You son of a bitch!” barked Victor. “What do you want?”
Browning motioned to the man closest to his prisoner. “Disarm him and do the zip-tie thing,” he ordered. He produced a small electronic device with a blinking light on top, about the size of a bottle-cap. “And put this in his pocket. He has a gun in the small of his back, another holstered to his right ankle, and a knife strapped to his left ankle.”
He nodded to a second man. “Schmidt, remove the gun he has in the top drawer of his desk and the one hidden in the potted plant,” he added, gesturing toward a large Ficus tree in the corner of the room.
Browning turned back toward Victor, who was now being disarmed while multiple automatic rifles remained pointed at him. “Some would say this many weapons in such a small space is overkill, but I’ve come to admire your preparedness and professionalism.”
“So you turned yourself into a mind reader,” said Victor in disgust. “Good for you. At least you’re getting unvarnished insight into the contempt I have for you.”
“I’m getting a lot more than that, Victor. A lot more.”
Browning quickly instructed his men to wait outside, which Victor took to mean two things. One, with his mental abilities and Victor’s restraints, he didn’t feel the need for any backup, and two, he wanted to be able to speak freely. Perhaps he would say something Victor could use to turn his bodyguards against him.
“None of what I say to you will turn my men against me,” said Browning, sounding almost bored. “Not that I’d let you try. I would read your intent and make sure you were gagged.”
Victor frowned deeply. It was instinctive for him to plot against an enemy, but this was the worst thing he could do when his enemy could read his mind.
“What did you put in my pocket?” demanded Victor.
“You killed Wi-Fi in this room so Hall couldn’t use his implants to communicate,” said Browning. “I knew you’d make this move. Impressive, right?” he added, tapping his index finger against his skull to indicate he had thought of everything. “Anyway, since I’d like to use my implants, I brought a device that only blocks signals for a few feet. As long as it’s in your pocket, I can use my implants, but you can’t use yours.”
He walked over to Victor’s desk and made a show of disabling a device the size of a cell phone that had been blocking Wi-Fi in the room. “That’s better,” he said with a grin.
“Why are you here?” demanded Victor.
Browning laughed. “Almost by invitation,” he replied. “Imagine my delight when I overheard what you had done. You’re the only one who knows about me, and who also has the blueprint for mind reading and implants. And I’m what you might call a control freak. Which is where Jesus went wrong. He was a little bit too hands-off.”
“Where Jesus went wrong?” repeated Victor in disdain. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Not important. What is important is that I realized I needed you dead or contained. And THT had to go, also, of course. They’re the only real threat to me, especially with this guy in the mix,” he added, nodding toward the unconscious Nick Hall lying on Victor’s couch.
Victor shook his head in disgust, an emotion directed at himself as much as at Browning. He had always had a bad feeling about the man. He should have factored him into the equation, anticipated that this scrawny asshole, emboldened by ESP, might come after him.
“I don’t appreciate the term, ‘scrawny asshole’” said Browning, almost in amusement, “but aside from that, you’re being too hard on yourself, Victor. I’m a key
player in the transformation of humanity. It’s not easy to see me coming, especially when fate is so strongly in my corner.”
“So I wrapped THT’s core team into a neat little package and tied a bow around it, didn’t I?” said Victor. “And around myself. It was as good as an invitation,” he added miserably. “A dog whistle calling you here.”
“Again, don’t be too hard on yourself. You sent an invite that only a mind reader who could beat your security could accept.” Browning shook his head in wonder. “But you really, truly provided for me—in every way possible. For example, if you hadn’t made sure Nick Hall was out cold, I couldn’t have done it. He’d have been able to see my attack coming.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Or at least I think he would have,” he continued. “Haven’t yet tried that experiment. Can two mind readers read each other, or do their own abilities provide a shield? I’m almost tempted to let Hall wake up to find out.” A smile came over his face and he shook his head. “Almost,” he added.
“If you’re going to kill me,” said Victor defiantly, “get on with it. Or are you going to talk me to death?”
“You know, I’ve been studying you now for a while, even before I got to see your extraordinary planning skills in action during the Dennis Sargent operation. I’ve really come to admire you. I even decided to emulate you, at least with respect to building an organization off the grid. So why don’t you come work for me?”
“You knew my answer before you even asked the question. Why waste your breath?”
“I strongly suspected what your answer would be, but I didn’t know for sure. It’s easy for me to fish out memories and intent, but it’s impossible to know for certain what you’ll answer to a question that’s never been posed to you before. So just for the sake of completeness, would you refuse to work for me, even to save your own life?”
MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3) Page 33
