Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment

by Bard, Richard

  Sitting next to him, Marshall shook his head. “That’s why we called you in here, Jake. We’re running out of ideas.” With a glance at the wall screen, he added, “And time.”

  “Maybe if we called in some help…” Kenny suggested.

  “Believe me,” Jake said, “I’ve thought about that. But who do we call? Who can we really trust besides those of us on this ship? No,” he said, pulling up a chair next to Kenny’s. “We’ve got to figure this out on our own.”

  Twenty minutes later, one of the crew brought in food and drinks. Tony was two bites into a sandwich before the platter made it to the table. Jake was reluctant to interrupt their brainstorming session, but they were still at an impasse. Maybe the break would help.

  Kenny grabbed a Coke and offered it to him. Jake popped it open and took a long pull.

  “Thanks for coming, Kenny,” Jake said, leaning back and stretching his neck. “We wouldn’t have had much of a chance without you and your toys.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Kenny said, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Besides, I can’t wait to examine the tech on this top secret chair you’ve been talking about. It sounds like you guys are several generations ahead of Intel on thought guidance and communication.”

  “It’s some pretty cool stuff,” Timmy confirmed with a full mouth.

  “We’re damn lucky they only got the chair when they beat feet out of the Palace of Nations,” Tony said, hefting a scoop of potato salad onto his plate. “If they’d got our fearless leader here along with it, we’d be up a creek.”

  The comment triggered a question in Jake’s mind. Why would Victor go to the trouble of taking the chair in the first place—if it wouldn’t work without him?

  He wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. Victor had said that our scientists developed the chair. Timmy had told him previously that the chair had been developed at a secret facility in the United States. Timmy and Doc had both been involved. But what if one or two Order scientists had been part of that team? He thought back to his narrow escape from Hans and his men, replaying the sequence of events in his mind. When the hypnosis drug had first begun to wear off, the techs in the room had been discussing how glad they were to be leaving the cramped confines of this cellar after two months. Then later—when two guards had dumped him on the floor in order to help their comrades heft the chair up the staircase—one of them had said, He’s not our first priority.

  Which meant the chair was Victor’s first priority. They’d planned to take it all along, even before they knew that Jake was alive. But why? Timmy had explained that the chair was originally designed with the intention of establishing communication with the pyramids. But without Jake’s brain as a conduit, they couldn’t receive…

  Then it hit him. “They’re using the chair to transmit,” he said. “They’ve probably been sending messages to the pyramids for months. That’s why Victor is so confident that the Order will be spared. He’s been prepping them with his own custom message.”

  The comment silenced the room—except for Tony’s chewing. Timmy was the first to pick up the ball. “Which means we need to be looking up. Not down—”

  “Toward the first two pyramids,” Marshall interjected.

  “There are thousands of signals streaming outbound from the grid to Earth’s communication networks,” Timmy said.

  Marshall finished the thought. “But there would be only one inbound.”

  “Which we can back-trace to the source,” Timmy said, high-fiving Marshall.

  “How long?” Jake asked, standing up.

  “Thirty minutes,” Marshall said, pushing his plate to one side.

  “Maybe twenty,” added Timmy, his fingers moving faster on the keyboard than a pianist’s playing “Flight of the Bumblebee.”

  Chapter 63

  Grid Countdown: 3h:01m:30s

  Banda Sea

  4:30 a.m.

  FRANCESCA WANTED TO move, but she didn’t. Jake had asked her to remain still.

  Neither one of them had slept. They stood on the upper deck. Her arms rested atop the railing as she gazed toward the front of the cruising yacht. The warm equatorial breeze pulled the hair from her face. It was 4:30 a.m. The amber grid illuminated the night sky, its light casting an eerie reflection off the rippling surface of the water. Jake stood beside her. He wore a camouflage uniform. A combat vest, backpack, and assault rifle rested on the deck beside him. His green eyes shone bright behind the dark face paint that covered his skin. She watched as his focus shifted from her face to a sketch pad and back again. He’d borrowed the pad and pencil from one of the crew.

  “I could do this with my eyes closed,” he said softly, his hand moving back and forth across the canvas. A corner of his mouth turned up in a brief smile as if his words had sparked an ironic memory. He kept drawing.

  She hadn’t questioned his odd request to sketch her. It had been important to him. That’s all that mattered. He was a warrior. Her warrior. About to thrust himself into untold dangers to rescue their children.

  The man standing before her was so much more than he had been when they’d first met in the library in Redondo Beach. Gone were the boyish manners, abrupt quips, and hidden insecurities—replaced by a man who embraced the changes that had been thrust upon him, and who was anchored in his belief that he could make a difference. The walls that he had so often used to shield his emotions were gone.

  She reveled in his trust.

  As he drew, she allowed her empathic gift to embrace him. She sensed his guilt, knowing that he felt responsible for all that had happened. But though he harbored those feelings, he didn’t seem compelled to nourish them as he’d done in the past. There was fear there, too. As well there should be, she thought. But most of all she saw in him in an overwhelming sense of purpose—and a calm certainty that reassured her.

  The ship slowed. There was activity at the stern, and she knew that the boats were being readied for the infiltration. She sagged at the realization that their time alone was about to come to an end.

  “Finished,” Jake said, tearing the page from the pad and rolling it up. He handed it to her. Then he pulled her gently against his chest. His face was inches from hers. A brief chill rushed up her spine.

  “I survived the last six years because of you,” he said softly. “I’ve carried you in my thoughts ever since that day we connected on the roof of the institute. I didn’t realize it then, but it was in that moment that you became a part of me. You gave me strength. And the will to live.”

  His words caressed her.

  He continued, “It seems as if everywhere we turn, circumstances conspire against us. Venice, Afghanistan, Mexico, Venezuela…” He looked to the sky. “And now this.”

  She shivered and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

  “Yet despite it all,” he said, “here we stand. Arm in arm. Together.”

  He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. She stared at him through moist eyes, and his thumbs wiped away her tears. He kissed her. His lips were gentle. She melted into him, and for several moments the rest of the world disappeared.

  When he finally pulled away, he took both of her hands in his and lowered himself to one knee.

  Her breath left her.

  Jake stared into her soul and said, “Francesca Fellini, I pledge myself to you, in spirit and in body. I promise to honor and protect you and our family from this day forward, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, to love you and cherish you all the days of my life.”

  Her body trembled. The purity of love and devotion that poured from him was absolute. She lowered herself to both knees before him. Her heart thrummed in her ears. She fought to control her breathing. “J-Jake Bronson, I’ve loved the thought of you since I was a little girl. A part of me dared to believe that you truly existed. So I prayed for it. And now here you are, kneeling before me, everything and more that I have ever dreamed of. You are my life, Jak
e. I’ve known it since the day we met. I’ve never wavered in that belief, and I never will.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing. “Now, under the eyes of God, I pledge all that I am—and all that I will ever be—to you and our family. I promise to honor and protect you from this day forward, for better or for worse, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish you to the end of my days and beyond.”

  His face beamed. He pulled her into his arms and showered her with kisses.

  “My wife,” he whispered.

  “My husband…”

  They turned to the sound of heavy footfalls. Tony trotted around the corner. He spotted them on their knees and came to an abrupt halt. Ahmed skidded to a stop behind him. Jake and Francesca shared a final squeeze and then rose to face them. She used a sleeve to wipe away the last of her tears.

  Tony cleared his throat, “Uh…sorry, but we gotta go.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said with a sigh. “I figured.”

  Ahmed moved around from behind Tony, and Francesca’s muscles tightened when she saw the submachine gun slung from his shoulder.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  He pulled the weapon up to his chest and held it as if it were second nature to him. He answered the question as a soldier would a drill sergeant. “It’s an M4 carbine. Standard SAS patrol weapon. It is a gas-operated, air-cooled, magazine-fed, selective-fire, shoulder-fired weapon with a telescoping stock. It fires a 5.56mm NATO round and—”

  She cut him off. “That’s not what I meant!” she scolded. “I mean, what are you doing with it?”

  He didn’t shrivel under her glare. Instead, he remained calm. “This was issued to me. I’ve been training with it all night.”

  She’d heard frequent bouts of gunfire since they’d been onboard. She’d assumed that it had been Becker’s troops getting warmed up for what was to come. It had never occurred to her that Ahmed was involved. Tony and Jake didn’t interfere in the discussion. Instead, they seemed to be appraising her reaction. She was about to give them an earful when Ahmed took another step forward.

  “Whatever it takes,” he said. “Remember?” His eyes were steel.

  She hesitated.

  Jake stepped forward and faced the would-be soldier. “Eyes on me,” he said.

  Ahmed snapped to attention and returned the stare.

  Jake appraised him for several moments. Man to man.

  Then to Tony he asked, “How’d he score?”

  “Well above average.”

  “Is he ready?”

  Tony nodded. “He wouldn’t be carrying a weapon otherwise.”

  Jake turned back to Ahmed. “You will protect Francesca at all costs,” he ordered. “Do you understand?”

  “With my life,” Ahmed said.

  Francesca gasped. She hoped they hadn’t heard.

  “You’re to stay on the ship,” Jake added. “Don’t leave her side.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Jake placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Shohna ba shohna,” he said.

  Ahmed nodded at the Afghan sentiment. Francesca had heard Battista’s soldiers use it. She believed it meant shoulder to shoulder.

  Jake turned around and pulled her close. He planted a hard kiss on her mouth. As he pulled away, his lips brushed her ear and he whispered, “My wife.”

  Their hands lingered a moment. Then Jake grabbed his gear and slung it over his shoulder. He turned on his heels and disappeared with Tony around the corner.

  Ahmed moved to her side. “They’re going to be all right,” he said. “I can feel it.” Then he pointed to the scroll in her hand. “What’s that?”

  She’d forgotten that she was holding the sketch. She unfurled it.

  “Wow!” Ahmed said. “It is beautiful.”

  He was right. Jake had captured her essence in the portrait. The love she felt for him shone in the expression on the page. She marveled at the artistry. The gentle curves, the subtle shading, the fine detail…

  Her throat caught when she saw the dazzling extra feature.

  He’d added a diamond wedding ring on a finger of her left hand.

  Dear God, she prayed. Please keep him safe.

  Chapter 64

  Grid Countdown: 2h:30m:30s

  Banda Sea

  5:01 a.m.

  THE TWO INFLATABLE raiding crafts sped across the water. The hums of the fifty-five horsepower outboard motors were muffled. The low-profile boats were used for clandestine surface and extraction. Each carried five fully laden troops. The elite SAS operators surrounding Jake were a tough lot, he thought. They held their weapons with easy familiarity. Each wore a black balaclava that covered his head, nose, and chin. The oval opening around the eyes revealed face-painted skin and the iron expressions of combat-hardened veterans. Like Jake, they each wore a tactical bone-conduction headset and boom mike. They leaned forward in the boat in order to maintain the lowest possible profile.

  Tony hunched over behind him. There was no one whom Jake would rather have along on a mission like this. The big man had pulled Jake’s butt out of the fire more times than he’d like to remember.

  Becker sat to Jake’s left. He studied the flexible display strapped to the inside of his wrist. Each of the operators wore one, as did Jake and Tony. Various data and video were available on the device, streaming from satellite, weapon cams, or the drone that circled overhead. “I sure hope the geek crew knows what they’re talkin’ about,” Becker said. “Because except for that tiny hot spot near the base of the peaks, I’m still showing nothing bigger than wildlife on that island.”

  “It’s the right place,” Jake said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Jake knew everything rode on that conviction. He’d better be right, he thought, recalling the sequence of events that had led him to believe that Victor was on the island ahead of them. Marshall and Timmy had found the signal that was being transmitted to the grid. They’d isolated its source to a cluster of volcanic islands at the southeastern edge of the target area. Unfortunately, a network of jammers and repeaters had apparently been positioned on several of the islands. Without more time, it had been impossible to identify all of their hidden locations. So they’d had to isolate their target by process of elimination. There were five major islands and a dozen smaller islands in the Lesser Sunda chain from Bali to Timor. The bigger islands had been discounted because of increased visibility when attempting to hide that many newcomers. Of those that remained, only three were large enough to house the Order, yet still small enough to keep their massive influx secret. Timmy had sent a drone over each. Both the visual and the infrared revealed nothing unusual—except for the single hot spot that Becker had just pointed out. The drone’s cameras had zoomed in. However, scattered interference from nearby jammers prevented a detailed inspection.

  It didn’t matter. Jake’s mind had raced into autopilot the moment he saw the circular blob of heat. Even as his brain went through the machinations of estimating size against surrounding vegetation, analyzing its position relative to ideal construction sites, recalling geological composition of the landmass, and more, his gut had already told him what it was. He’d seen it before on a mountain in Afghanistan—a perfectly round hole bored through the earth—laser-drilled by the pyramid he’d launched from its depths. He remembered Battista’s vast underground facility, and he imagined the same thing here. It was the perfect hideaway for Victor and his friends—well hidden, electronically protected, and far enough away from the mainland to avoid fallout.

  Yes, Victor was here. And so were Sarafina and Alex. They had to be.

  The imposing twin-peaked island was silhouetted a half mile ahead. It had been formed around two side-by-side volcanoes with peak elevations that stretched two thousand meters. Clouds ringed the peaks. The mountainous landmass was five miles long and three miles wide. It appeared as if the backside of the island had suffered a cataclysmic calving from an ancient eruption. Sheer cliffs thrust hundreds of feet from t
he water, making landing from that side impossible. However, the lush frontal plain on the side of the island they sped toward was an ideal landing spot. A river flowed from the natural canyon between the two peaks, twisting and turning beneath the lush overgrowth to eventually spill into the sea.

  Becker raised a hand overhead and made two chopping motions. The second boat peeled away. It was headed for an insertion point a hundred meters downshore. The target hot spot was two miles inland.

  Becker said something into his mike. Then he tapped his headset. “We’ve lost comm with the ship.”

  “Kenny said that would happen,” Jake said. “We must have passed through the island’s electronic shield. What about the drone and sat feeds?”

  “Nothing,” Becker said. He pressed an icon on the screen, and the image shifted to show a close-up overhead shot of their five-man squad. “But Mother Ship is still working fine.”

  Tony and Jake both looked upward. But Timmy’s minidrone remained invisible.

  Thirty minutes later, the two operators in front of Jake were using machetes to chop a path through the dense vegetation. It was daybreak. Clouds of insects swarmed around them. Jake removed his balaclava. His hair was matted with sweat. He swatted the back of his neck, and his palm came back with a bloody mosquito.

  He heard another slap behind him. It was Tony. “If there’s an underground facility on this island,” he grumbled, “they sure ain’t getting into it from around here. Nobody’s been through this brush in years.”

  They circumvented a grove of sixty-foot-tall bamboo. The impenetrable wall of thick stalks clicked and clacked as they swayed back and forth in the morning breeze. When the group came across a game trail, the going got easier.

  Tony pointed overhead. “So why’d Kenny name it Mother Ship?” He’d been training with Ahmed when Timmy had provided Jake and Becker with a demo of the drone’s capabilities.

  “Let’s just say she’s pregnant,” Becker said. “Besides that, she’s cradling us in an electronic blanket that should shield us from video surveillance.” He pressed a selector on the side of his wristband and issued a verbal command into his boom mike. “Scout forward. One hundred meters.”