“Careful, please,” the man standing in front of him said. He appeared to be in his midforties, with a bald pate, bulbous nose, and oversize horn-rimmed glasses that reflected Jake’s image. He wore a lab coat with a pocket protector that held two identical silver-topped pens. He spoke in Italian with a German accent. “Please use your other hand, Mr. Bronson.”
Jake did as he was told, taking stock of his situation as he wiped his eyes. An IV bag overhead metered clear liquid into his arm. It felt cool as it coursed into his system. An electrode was attached to his index finger. Several others were attached to his bare chest. A medical device beside him monitored his vitals. His heartbeat was slow and steady.
He shook his head in an effort to clear the cobwebs. The small, windowless room was stark, its white walls unadorned. A large flat-screen display had been wheeled in on a chest-high cart. It was turned off. A tripod supported a camera that was aimed at Jake—the red light indicated it was recording. Two technicians sat at computer consoles on one side of the room. Jake noticed that both of them had the same silver-tipped pens clipped under the button seam of their polo shirts. They watched him.
“The wooziness will pass,” the man said smoothly, offering him a glass of water.
He seemed friendly, Jake thought. He drank it down and handed back an empty glass. “Thanks.” There was no label on the IV bag. He pointed at it. “What’s in there?”
“Saline. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, okay.”
The leather cushioning made the chair comfortable, but when he swiveled in order to get a better look at it, the hairs behind his neck stood on end. The back of the chair extended two feet over his head. There was a pyramid-shaped inset in its center. It was empty. A skullcap was suspended from the high back. It hovered over his head. It appeared to have been molded from a fine mesh of fiber optics. A forest of wires extended from the cap and the back of the chair. They came together in a bundle and disappeared into the ceiling.
Alarm bells went off in his mind, and he tried to rise. The man’s firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He brought his face close to Jake’s and spoke softly.
“Everything is fine. Please relax.” The man’s voice was soothing. It drove other thoughts aside. Jake settled back into the chair.
“That’s better. My name is Dr. Strauss. I was part of the team that cared for you during the coma. Do you recall?”
Jake shook his head.
“There is a friend outside who would like to speak with you,” Strauss said. “Is that okay with you?”
Jake nodded.
The man turned to face the camera. He said something in German that Jake didn’t understand.
The door opened and Victor entered. He was accompanied by Hans and two guards. Hans proceeded to the back of the room. He held a satchel. The others took up positions on either side of him, and something about them tugged at a corner of Jake’s mind. But before it resolved, Victor moved forward and clasped his free hand. The handshake was firm.
“I’m so glad to see you, my boy,” he said jovially. “We were worried about you!”
“W-worried?”
“Apparently the crack on your head was more serious than we thought. You’ve been out for quite a while.”
Jake’s eyes blinked several times as he tried to think back to what had happened. He remembered the helicopter ride and seeing his friends in front of the castle. But whatever happened before that was a blur. “Are my friends okay?”
“Of course,” Victor said. “They are guests at my home on the lake. We’ll be going to see them as soon as we’re finished here.”
“Good. Good,” Jake said dully. “What is it we need to finish?”
“We’re going to get your memory back, of course.”
“Oh, good.”
Chapter 37
Palais des Nations
Geneva, Switzerland
DR. STRAUSS’S DRUG WAS working perfectly, Victor thought. It had erased Bronson’s short-term memory and made him compliant to suggestion. The American’s infamous brain was his to control.
It was like a dream come true—his ancestor’s vision coming to pass after nearly a thousand years. The story had been passed down from father to son for generations:
Andreas Brun was a pious man. He was also a savant. He saw patterns in the world that were invisible to others. It made him a master strategist and tactician, skills that drew him into the quest to rescue the Holy Land. But the violence of the Crusades had left him hollow. He returned home a wealthy man with no soul.
It was during the construction of his castle that he discovered the pyramid hidden in the mountain. He found personal salvation in the message of the glyphs that only he understood: Man would be punished for his violence. Judgment Day would come. Heaven’s wrath would be meted out from an unearthly species wielding the power of the pyramid. Only the righteous would be spared. He made it his mission in life to prepare for that day.
The Order was born.
Yes, his ancestor’s prediction was about to come true. Judgment Day was coming. Victor would see to it.
Unbeknownst to Doc Finnegan, the Order spies on the scientist’s team had long ago hijacked the signal being sent to the pyramids, replacing it with one of their own. They’d hacked into the stream using the chair as an interface. Now—with Mr. Bronson’s assistance—Victor suspected that they would finally be able to establish two-way communications, paving the way for a dialogue with the judges above. What better way to ensure that the Order would remain buffered from the holocaust?
Like Noah before the flood.
“I’m your friend, Jake,” Victor said.
“My friend,” Jake repeated.
“You can trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“Would you like to begin?”
The American nodded. He seemed eager to please. Victor motioned to the doctor.
Strauss stepped forward. “All right, Mr. Bronson. For your safety, we must secure your hands and feet to the chair. Is that okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Jake said, moving his free hand and ankles closer to the sheepskin-lined straps.
The doctor buckled them. Then he lowered the flexible cap onto Jake’s head. It flattened his hair and covered his skull from his brow to the top of his neck. There were half-moon cutouts for his ears. It appeared to be a perfect fit. Bronson seemed to stiffen as it was fitted into place. The doctor noticed.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was silky. “If this is making you uncomfortable, I’ll be happy to remove it. But you don’t want that. Do you?” The last words came out as more of a suggestion than a question.
The American relaxed. “You’re right. I’m okay.”
“That’s good. Next, I’m going to turn on the chair. You’ll feel a slight vibration.” Strauss reached around the back of the chair.
Victor stepped back. He recalled that Doc Finnegan had told him there was considerable risk in the procedure. Three had died already. Strauss threw the switch. There was a soft hum, and the bundle of fiber-optic wires filled with light.
None of it seemed to bother the American.
Strauss picked up a tablet from a shelf behind him. He made an entry, and the high-def video screen in front of Jake turned on. A real-time image of one of the two orbiting pyramids was centered on the screen. Stars sparkled in the background. Strauss handed the tablet to Victor.
“That’s our target, Jake,” Victor said, angling the tablet so the American could see the screen. He expanded his thumb and forefingers on the display, and the image zoomed in. The pyramid was ink black. It rotated slowly in an off-axis tumble. Its etched surfaces glimmered under the sun’s reflected light. He tapped the tablet to freeze the frame when the base of the pyramid was visible. Then he zoomed in farther and the perimeter images of violence-wielding Homo sapiens came into focus. “Does any of this look familiar?”
Jake’s mind was still foggy. The cool flow of the fluid dripping from his IV
hadn’t helped to clear it. His thoughts wandered to his friends. He was happy that he would be seeing them as soon as they were finished here. Afterward, he could get back to Francesca and the children. He missed them. He might not remember their past together, but the emotional attachment was as strong as ever. It was nice to know they were safe.
“Does it look familiar?” Victor asked. The man seemed dedicated to helping him retrieve his memory. That was nice. Jake liked him. Everyone around him seemed nice as well.
He stared at the video monitor. The images etched in the pyramid’s surface had a photorealistic quality to them. He recalled the conversation he’d had with Timmy and his friends about the alien artifacts. They’d explained that he had been responsible for launching them into space six years ago. Now they’d returned. He narrowed his eyes and studied the glyphs in the hope they would trigger a recollection.
It was no use. He couldn’t remember a thing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He shook his head and felt the tug of wires sprouting from the skullcap.
“That’s quite all right,” Victor said. “We’re going to fix your memory soon enough. First step is to make the link.”
“The link?”
Victor hesitated a moment before answering. He sighed. “Jake, the chair you’re sitting in was designed by the people who kept you alive all those years. Good people, with your interests at heart. It’s tuned to the unique wavelengths emitted from your brain. Its purpose is to allow you to communicate with the pyramids.”
Even though Timmy had told him pretty much the same thing, Jake struggled to grasp the concept. “Really?” Having a unique history with the pyramids was strange enough, he thought. But they were inanimate objects. How was he supposed to communicate with them? He shrugged. The only thing he knew for sure was that Victor was a friend.
He could trust him.
“That’s right,” Victor said. “You see, it was your last contact with one of the pyramids that gave you amnesia. We believe the link will restore it.”
Finally, Jake thought. “That would be great.”
The lies rolled easily from Victor’s lips. In actual fact, he couldn’t care less about restoring the man’s memories. Quite the opposite. The true purpose for today’s session was simply to determine if a two-way link could be made. If not, the man would be killed and Victor’s team would continue to use the chair to transmit a one-way signal. But if so, Mr. Bronson would accompany the chair to the island—where his memories would be erased permanently and his brain used to provide an ongoing conduit with their benefactors above.
At Victor’s signal, Hans opened the satchel. He reached inside with both hands and removed the lead-lined case holding the mini.
Chapter 38
Palais des Nations
Geneva, Switzerland
JAKE’S FOCUS WAS immediately drawn to the square metallic case. Something about it tickled a memory. It wasn’t a good one. Hans stepped forward, and Jake grew uneasy. He shifted in the chair.
“Keep that away from me.”
Victor held up a hand. Hans hesitated.
“What’s the problem, Jake?” Victor asked.
Jake glanced from the case to Victor and the doctor. They both seemed to be studying him intently. He appreciated their concern. “I—I’m not sure. Something doesn’t feel right.”
The two men in front of him exchanged a curious glance. After a moment Victor said, “It’s a key part of the process, Jake. Without it the chair won’t work.” He motioned Hans forward.
“No!” Jake pleaded. He struggled against the wrist and ankle restraints.
Hans held out the case, and Victor snapped open the four latches securing the top. “Don’t worry, Jake. Everything’s going to be just fine.” He lifted the lid.
Jake felt a surge of energy course into him from the box. It scared him. He panicked. His body tensed and his heart beat double-time. “Put it back!” he shouted. Warning bells rang through his mind. He didn’t comprehend why, but every fiber of his being told him that death waited inside that box. Instinct took over. Adrenaline shot into his system, and his body went into fight-or-flight mode.
But he could do neither. The straps held him fast. Terror overwhelmed his senses.
Victor hesitated. The lid was only an inch above the box.
Strauss rushed forward and placed steadying hands on Jake’s forearms. Jake noticed a filled hypodermic syringe jutting from the folds of his lab-coat pocket. The sight of it fueled his dread.
“It’s okay, Mr. Bronson,” Strauss said. “The box can’t harm you.”
But Jake wouldn’t listen. He bucked at the restraints. He felt a bead of sweat dribble from his forehead.
Strauss moved closer to capture his gaze. But Jake twisted his head violently from side to side as if someone held a poisonous snake before him. Finally, the doctor turned to Victor and ordered, “For God’s sake, close it!”
The words seized Jake’s attention faster than an aircraft’s fire-warning light. He watched with stilled breath as Victor lowered the lid. It was in that brief instant of time that it dawned on him that he’d likened his reaction to something that only a pilot would understand. It had come naturally. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself in a cockpit. The memory rushed back:
He was on his first solo flight in the T-38 during USAF pilot training. A multiple-bird strike during takeoff had killed engine number two. The fire warning light illuminated. The aircraft was only one hundred feet above ground level. The plane sank, the stall warning buzzed, and his hands moved instinctively on the controls as he executed the memorized boldface commands: throttles—max; flaps—60 percent; airspeed—attain setos minimum. He recovered just before impact…
Victor secured the latches on the container. Jake’s eyes saw the action, but his brain latched onto the memory:
By the time he rolled to a stop after the emergency landing, the entire squadron was on the tarmac. Fire crews surrounded the blood-streaked plane. Cheers erupted as he stepped out of the cockpit. He saluted his commander, who said, “From the looks of your plane, Lieutenant, I think you must’ve nailed at least half a dozen of the bastards. It only takes five kills to make Ace. So congratulations!” The officer returned the salute with a wink. There were more cheers and gibes from his fellow airmen as they hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him to the tank—a recycled hot tub that had been donated to the squadron for the purpose of dunking students after their first solo flight. They threw him in. He’d never felt more proud.
Jake harbored the memory like a miser would his only coin.
It didn’t fade.
When he refocused on his surroundings, all eyes in the room bore into him. The metal container was back in the satchel. He breathed a sigh of relief. Its presence still disturbed him.
But he was no longer afraid.
Chapter 39
Palais des Nations
Geneva, Switzerland
VICTOR HAD SEEN it. The American had been petrified when the lid was removed. The abject terror on his face hadn’t been feigned. It seemed as if the man’s mind had snapped. At one point Victor had even worried that they’d lost him for good. But as soon as he resealed the box, Bronson’s fit had abated. And for a moment the man’s thoughts had appeared to be a million miles away. However, when his attention finally returned to the room, Victor had seen a flicker of defiance cross Jake’s features.
He didn’t like it.
He stood outside the door with Strauss and Hans.
“What happened in there?” he asked.
Strauss said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Did he react that way when you showed him the mini at the castle?”
“No. He seemed invigorated by it. To say the least.”
“Then it had to be the drug.”
“But he’d been drugged at the castle as well. With the tea.”
“That’s like comparing nicotine to heroin. The narcoanalysis drug is eminently more powerful. Yes, it’s highly effe
ctive, but there can be serious drawbacks with some patients. Key among them is paranoia.”
“Can we lower the dose?”
“It wouldn’t help, especially after what just happened. The paranoia associated with the mini would outweigh the benefits of any hypnotic effects.”
“What if he’s blindfolded?”
“Normally, that might work. But not in this case, since he obviously senses something from the object. He’d know the instant it was no longer shielded.”
Victor nodded. The American was fast becoming more of a nuisance than he was worth. He checked his watch. Phase two of his plan would be initiated in less than thirty minutes. By then, they needed to be in the air. To Hans he said, “Gather the extraction team. I want the chair—and possibly Mr. Bronson—out of here as soon as we’re finished.”
“Jawohl.”
He turned back to Strauss. “How long after the IV is removed before the drug wears off?”
“Less than five minutes.”
“Very well. In that case, we shall give Mr. Bronson one last chance to cooperate. However, this time we’ll use more conventional means to convince him.”
Victor caught the glimmer of a smile from Hans.
He shared the sentiment.
Chapter 40
Swiss Alps
THE TACTICAL SITUATION had done a 180, Tony thought. The clearing weather had allowed Victor’s men to call in air support. The thrum of the helicopter’s rotors echoed off the distant slopes. There was no telling if it was right around the corner or three minutes away. Whenever it arrived, the copter would spot them easily with infrared. They were outmanned and outgunned. There was no way to escape without a fight.
Unless…
He rushed down the metal staircase. Marshall and Lacey had just started off on their skis. “Hold up!” he shouted. “Change of plans!”
Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Page 14
