Pete raised a fist and nodded to the others. He propped Marshall in a seated position against a corner. By the time he stood back up to unzip his jumpsuit, Lacey was kicking hers off her feet. Underneath, she wore the bright orange uniform of the Hong Kong Fire Services Department. She donned a baseball cap, still wearing her gas mask. Skylar was ready as well. They wrapped their MP5s in their discarded jumpsuits and kicked them aside. By then, Pete was ready. He pulled Marshall back onto his shoulder and shouted at the crowd, which pressed against the walls—all except for the five heavily armed guards shoving their way up the stairs.
Pete and Skylar moved to one side, allowing the men to pass. Lacey did the same, grateful for the disguise. The first four rushed past but the fifth hesitated in front of her. He cocked his head, stepped closer, squinting through the smoke. He pointed at her gas mask and snarled something in Chinese.
Lacey held her breath, unsure how to reply. She shook her head.
It was the wrong response. He raised his weapon and was starting to say something when Pete grabbed the back of his head and shoved it against the cement wall. There was a sickening crunch and the man slumped to the floor.
An older woman witnessed the act. She spit on the fallen man and nodded to Pete. The other bystanders pressed further into the walls, clearing a path.
“That’s our cue, lass,” Pete said to Lacey. “Let’s move.”
She followed him. “Jake,” she said over the comm. “Four guards heading up the southwest stairwell.”
A scatter of static came back. “Br...up...of range.” She bit her lip but kept descending, remembering Pete’s warning that their radio reception would be spotty in the stairwells.
***
In the back of his limousine, Jiaolong leaned to one side to get a better view through the gap between Zhin and Min, both of whom had spun around to take in the sight. His pulse quickened as he watched the greens milling about amidst the teaming masses. Lin tensed beside him. Three chase vehicles bounced out of the underground garage and pulled up behind them, blocking the view.
“Pull over,” he ordered the driver. Pak was seated in the front passenger seat. The limo crept to the curb a block from the melee. The chase vehicles, transporting the yellows, followed suit.
Lin placed a hand on his knee. “The greens are not a threat.”
“It’s not the greens I’m worried about,” he said, opening the door. “They’ll be dead inside the hour in any case.”
He glanced at Min. She tapped a speed dial on her phone. “I’ll check again.”
He stepped outside and surveyed the scene: police setting up barricades, others herding the crowd from the building’s entrance, Emergency Medical Services personnel helping the injured, firefighters streaming inside.
We’re running out of time.
Zhin leaned out. “If they reach the computer files... ”
He bent down and gave Min a questioning glance. She lowered the phone, shook her head. “I’ve lost contact with the teams. They should have found TurboHacker’s body by now, regardless of the smoke. But the man must be dead. He took a round to the head.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Zhin said. “If he is dead, so be it. If he’s alive, his secret will die with him in the next few moments. Either way, the threat to Passcode will be eliminated.” She patted the shoulder bag that held the backup drive, reminding him they had everything they needed. Then she motioned toward the phone Jiaolong held in his hand.
He frowned. His teams had failed to acquire Bronson, and his carefully laid plans to savor a long-lasting revenge were about to go up in flames. After a long, slow breath, he found the strength to proceed by latching on to one of his mother’s lessons:
Sacrificing key pieces paves the most fulfilling path to victory.
He woke the screen on his phone and opened an app. He stared up at the building with his finger over the button that would detonate the incendiary devices hidden in the walls surrounding the top four floors. Every scrap of evidence would be destroyed. The space had served its purpose, providing him with a location from which he could distance himself when all was in place. The luxuries had been nice and he’d enjoyed interacting with the enthusiastic greens. He’d miss some of them, and a part of him regretted that they, too, had to be sacrificed for the greater goal. But that had been part of the plan all along. In any case, he was anxious to return to his headquarters, surrounded by the hills and jungles he’d so enjoyed visiting in his youth, rather than the filth and congestion of this city. Yes, Bronson’s antics had made it necessary to speed up the process, but in the end the results would be the same. The game would flourish, Passcode would be his, and all those responsible for his parents’ deaths would pay the ultimate price.
“Sir,” Pak said, his cell phone pressed to one ear. “Bronson’s been spotted on the twenty-first floor. The teams are converging.”
Jiaolong hesitated and Zhin burned a glare at him. It was another first on this day of unusual occurrences, and her blatant impudence angered him. He glowered back at her and edited the entry on his screen. He’d give his men one last chance to bring him his prize, whether Zhin approved or not. He crawled back into the vehicle, his face red.
“Let’s go,” he ordered. The driver pulled away from the curb.
Zhin shook her head, her gaze narrowed on his phone. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile.
The screen read:
01:59...
01:58...
***
By the time Lacey and the others reached the street, it was filled with emergency vehicles. A mass of tenants and onlookers was herded beyond barricades. Several of the elderly were being escorted by emergency medical technicians. There was no sign of the gangs that had participated in the mock gun battle.
The trio dumped their masks in a trash can and kept walking.
“Over here!” Feng shouted, guiding a gurney toward them. One of his crew assisted him. They both wore the same uniforms as Lacey and the others. The two men helped Pete lower Marshall onto the gurney and then wheeled him toward their waiting ambulance. Lacey held his hand as they walked.
Two teens raced over, and she recognized the boy and girl who’d fought to protect Marshall from the maniac Asian woman. “Is he okay?” the boy asked, his face filled with concern.
“We hope so,” Lacey said.
“Wait,” the teen girl said. “I recognize you. You’re—”
“My wife,” Marshall said, his eyes fluttering open.
“Marsh!” she said, leaning down to hug him.
“What about Jake and the others?” Feng asked.
“W-what others?” Marshall asked, his voice weak.
Pete said, “Francesca and the children.”
“But TurboHacker was the only captive,” the boy said. “There are no others.”
“And thank goodness for that,” the girl added. “Because the incendiary charges are going to go off any second.”
Lacey gasped. “Incend—?”
“Where’s Jake?” Marshall asked, pushing himself up.
Pete and Skylar gaped up at the building.
Lacey activated her comm unit. “Jake!”
Chapter 13
Hong Kong
JAKE RUSHED DOWN the smoke-filled corridor, leading with his MP5. He kicked open yet another door to find two empty sets of bunk beds.
“Damn it!”
He slammed open another door but that room was also empty. He turned and dashed toward the far end of the hall, where the final row of dorm rooms waited around the next corner. Sweat stung his eyes. The smoke was thinning so he ripped off the mask and tossed it aside.
“There!” a man shouted behind him.
Jake veered around the corner, took a knee, and spun about as pounding boots approached. He yanked a grenade from his belt, looped his finger through the pin ring—
His headset crackled. “Francesca and the children aren’t there!” Lacey said. “The building is rigged to blow. Get out now
!”
The information stunned him. Even as a distant part of him realized that the clear reception suggested Lacey and the others had cleared the stairwells and made it safely outside the building, another part of him rebelled. He switched off his radio, pulled the pin, cocked his wrist—and time slowed with the realization he didn’t want to flee. He wanted to kill those men, to see them bleed, to risk it all to save his loved ones.
But they’re not here...
And he wasn’t a ground-pounder, he thought, slowly lowering his arm. He’d never trained for this kind of action. He was a pilot, for God’s sake. There could be a dozen trained men coming after him. What was he thinking?
And that’s when it dawned on him. He wasn’t thinking. He was in the midst of a lunatic’s version of autopilot—another indicator his brain functions were deteriorating.
After spinning on his heels, he took off like a kid fleeing a demon. Halfway to the end of the corridor, he glanced into an open door and a familiar pair of pink slippers confirmed his fears—he’d already searched this row of rooms. He’d been running in circles like an idiot.
He kept moving, still gripping the grenade, risking a glance over his shoulder just as the first of the guards turned the corner. The man pointed, charging forward. Three others followed on his heels. Jake leaned into his sprint, darted around the corner, and nearly tripped at the sight of shadows emerging from the thinning haze ahead of him.
“Southwest corner. Twenty-second floor!” the lead man from the new group yelled into his radio.
Two more strides and Jake dodged into the stairwell, leaped down the steps, spun around the first turn, and smacked into a guard. The man flew backward, his fall cushioned by the two men behind him. Jake caught himself on the rail, the lurch nearly yanking his arm from its socket. One of the men yelled, raising his weapon.
Jake dropped the grenade.
It clattered down the steps and the guards dove out of view. Jake turned and sped up the steps two at a time, his legs pumping on pure adrenaline. He passed the door to the twenty-second floor just as it began to open. He was turning the next corner when the concussion from the grenade blew him off his feet. Sound disappeared, and he found himself propped against a corner, his legs twisted beneath him. He reached for the handrail, pulled himself up, blew out several huffs in an attempt to clear his head. Silence turned to ringing in his ears, then muffled cries from below. He shook his head and staggered up the staircase on all fours, each step a challenge. Angry shouts urged him to his feet and propelled him forward, past the twenty-third floor, the twenty-fourth...
He stopped at the door to the top floor, only then realizing he’d lost his MP5. He pulled out his pistol and gripped the door handle, his mind focused on finding a path that would allow him to flank his pursuers and exit down a different staircase. He cracked the door open.
Son of a—
Two more guards were rushing his way. Out of options, he turned and raced up toward the rooftop. He shouldered through the door just as a thunderous explosion shook the building, knocking him onto the deck. A rumble echoed from the throat of the stairwell. He rolled to one side as a blast wave blew the door from its hinges and propelled it into the night. Superheated air jetted past him, singeing the hairs on the back of his neck.
Just as fast, the negative pressure of the blast asserted itself, sucking the air back into the building, whistling as it crowded into the narrow doorway.
Jake pushed to his feet and darted toward the fire escape on the far side of the building. He was halfway there when he saw the flames climbing over the edge. He swiveled but it was the same everywhere, the surrounding flames climbing higher with each breath he sucked in. He spun around and saw that the zip line was still in place, well above the flames. He took off toward the equipment shed. Steam hissed all around and cracks in the rooftop sprouted hungry flames. By the time he reached the access ladder, it felt as if the soles of his boots were melting. He clambered up the ladder, skirted the hang glider, opened the equipment pack, and grabbed an automated sport ascender. He grabbed the zip line—and snapped his hand back as the hot wire burned his palm. His gaze followed its track; it was engulfed in flames.
He dropped the ascender, whirled toward the glider, and emptied his lungs.
Final hope...
He ducked into position beneath the wings, bringing up the memory of Skylar’s movements. He clipped into the frame and hoped like hell he could steer the damn thing, assuming he could get off the ground at all. He was only fifteen feet above the rooftop and the wall of flames surrounding the building was double that. One way or another, it was gonna be a hot ride. He unclipped the tie-downs and fought to hold the rig in place in the swirling winds. With a quick glance up at the thin fabric, he shook his head and took off running.
The instant his feet cleared the edge, the glider’s nose dropped. His stomach lurched just before the superheated air grabbed hold of the wings and leveled it out, his body barely clearing the clutter of ducting and equipment as he sped across the rooftop. Embers puckered his face and hands. The wind changed and suddenly he was headed directly toward the roof antennae. He shifted his weight and the glider banked sharply, skirting the tower, the wing tip dipping too low. He swung back, overcompensating, and the glider S-turned in the opposite direction, streaking toward the raging inferno at the edge of the building. His speed was up, but his pilot instincts told him there was no way he had enough lift to clear the flames. Then a portion of the roof collapsed at his two-o’clock and a geyser of hot air rushed from the opening. His body reacted without thought, his weight shifting, steering the craft toward the rising shaft of heat.
The glider hit the plume, shot upward, and pierced the upper licks of the flame wall.
“Yes!” he shouted. He banked toward the street fronting the building and looked down to see the flashing lights of dozens of emergency vehicles, and hundreds of people moving this way and that. He spotted the herd of uniformed teens he’d seen earlier. They jogged en masse away from the structure, the frontrunners pointing toward a smaller group that was already a block away.
Marsh saved them all.
He adjusted his heading and switched on the radio.
“Look! Up in the sky. It’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s me.”
Pete’s voice sounded over his headset. “Tallyho, ye jammy weasel!”
“Jake!” Lacey chimed in. “Thank God.”
Skylar said, “Uh, I hate to rush you, Mr. Man of Steel, but you’re trailing smoke.”
Jake craned his neck to see embers eating away at the rear edge of the left wing. Scanning beyond the point where the teens were headed, he said, “There’s a park a block down the street. Meet me there.”
“On our way,” Pete said.
Shifting his weight forward, he dropped the nose and increased his rate of descent, passing over a crowded street market crisscrossed with overhead streamers and illuminated by banks of neon signage. Beyond, street lamps shone in the park, which was anchored by a lone tree in its center, one side demarked by walking paths, and the other by a city-block stretch of open lawn that the first group of teens was already walking across.
Jake lined up his approach, passing over the larger gang of teens. He swept between two high-rise apartment buildings, where crowded balconies of onlookers gaped and pointed as he flew past. The glider picked up speed as the embers ate through the fabric, making the nose drop. His course drifted and he leaned his weight to correct, but the craft failed to respond. It veered farther off course, banking sharply. The big tree loomed in front of him. He yanked his torso to one side, realizing too late he should’ve pulled in the opposite direction.
The glider flipped.
Chapter 14
Hong Kong
JAKE LAY DAZED, sprawled faceup in the upper branches of the tree, the torn glider wing twisted in the limbs beneath him.
“You owe me a new glider,” Skylar said, her head poking through the branches. She pulled herself o
nto a limb and squatted beside him. “Anything broken?”
He sucked air and blew it out slowly.
“My ribs seem okay,” he said.
“How ’bout your arms and legs?”
He shifted his weight and checked his limbs. “They seem fine, too.”
“Marvelous. Maybe you are the Man of Steel.” She grabbed his harness and yanked him to a seated position. The branches cradling him bounced.
“Hey, careful!” he said, grabbing for a branch.
“My hero,” she said. She unslung a rope from her shoulder, looped one end around a limb, and dropped the other through the branches below. He saw they were nearly thirty feet above the ground. Pete and Feng stood beside an ambulance, staring up at him.
“Is he okay?” Pete yelled.
“Massive bruises to his ego, I expect,” Skylar said with a wink.
“Ouch,” Jake said, unclipping the glider risers from his harness.
She fastened a descender clip to his harness, looped the rope through, and handed it to him. “Down you go, big boy. Don’t get your cape caught in the branches.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. He tested his weight against the rope, nodded, and lowered himself. Just before he touched the ground, Skylar dropped from a limb to land beside him.
“Slowpoke.”
He shook his head, then saw Lacey backing out of the rear of the ambulance, supporting Marshall as he stepped onto the ground. A bandage was wrapped around his skull, but otherwise he seemed uninjured. He locked eyes with Jake and the two exchanged tight nods.
Marshall pointed up at the tree as he approached. “I thought you could fly anything with wings?”
“Shut up,” Jake said. He wrapped his friend in a hug. Beyond Marshall’s shoulder, he spotted the main crowd of teens making their way toward them from across the park. Glancing in the opposite direction, he saw the first group of six teens just exiting the far side of the lawn. In their haste to distance themselves from the building, they hadn’t noticed his glorious landing. “Glad to see you, Marsh.”
Brainrush 05 - Everlast 02: Ephemeral Page 8
