Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment

by Bard, Richard

  Timmy pointed to a wall monitor and said, “And it’s having an impact.”

  The grid countdown was on hold. At least for now. Tony felt a swell of hope. His thoughts rushed to his wife and kids back home. He might see them again after all.

  “On the other hand,” Kenny interjected, “the tactical situation sucks.”

  Tony listened intently to Kenny’s brief. He didn’t like what he was hearing.

  “So, to sum it all up,” Tony said, “you’re telling me that we’re in the middle of the biggest fight of our lives, with nothing less than the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Jake, Sarafina, and Alex are still MIA, we’ve lost contact with Becker’s team, and we’ve got two women and a kid undercover behind enemy lines.”

  “I tried to stop them,” Marshall said defensively. “But Lacey wouldn’t have it. Neither would Francesca.”

  “And if they went, Ahmed had to join them to complete the ruse,” Timmy added. “Otherwise, why bother?”

  Tony hated it. But he understood. The infiltration wouldn’t have succeeded otherwise. The manifest called for two women and a child. He simply couldn’t reconcile the idea of their being in harm’s way without backup. He clenched and unclenched his fists, running through options in his head. But each one of them felt like a bull-in-a-china-shop approach that had zero chance of success. The remote turrets made the back door inaccessible. They knew about the hidden entrance to the inlet, but the defenses that were obviously there were invisible to them.

  Maybe a small incursion force—

  “Something’s happening,” Kenny announced, interrupting Tony’s thoughts. “The drone signal—” He cut off. His eyes went wide. His mouth gaped. “Holy shit! The island shield just went down!”

  Tony rushed to his screen. The rest of them gathered beside him. Kenny adjusted the image from the circling drone.

  “Way to go, Jake!” Marshall said.

  It was more likely Becker, Tony thought. But he let it slide. He hoped like hell it was Jake. That would mean he was still alive.

  “We’ve got ’em!” Timmy added.

  Hell, yeah, Tony thought, staring at the overhead view of a huge hidden cove. It was dotted with boats, surrounded by structures, and served by an inlet to the sea. He searched the eyes of the men in the room. Each of them appeared ready to follow his lead.

  “Are any of you content to be sitting on the sidelines right now?” he asked.

  “No way!” Marshall said. The rest of them were just as quick to respond.

  “The men are anxious to get to work,” the sergeant major added.

  Tony blew out a breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Chapter 80

  Grid Countdown: 0h:42m:00s and Holding

  The Island

  6:53 a.m.

  AN INTERMITTENT ALARM sounded outside the room. The facility was going into lockdown mode.

  “Your life will end in the next few minutes,” Victor said. He was calm and composed.

  The words barely registered in Jake’s brain. He was still strapped in the chair. It was switched on. The computer leads running into the underside of the skullcap had been removed so it could once again be fitted over his head. Victor hadn’t yet lowered it into position. He stood beside him. His kit of torture tools was unrolled next to him. The fillet knife was back in its sheath.

  But Jake’s focus was elsewhere.

  Sarafina and Alex sat in the chairs across from him. Their mouths were gagged, their eyes were wide, and their hands were flex-cuffed on their laps. Alex’s tablet was propped against his belly. Hans stood beside them. The pistol he held was pointed in their direction. Alex tilted his head and stared at Jake as if he were waiting for something. He twirled his index finger in the air in the same way he had when they’d first met.

  Jake understood. He opened his mind and felt his presence immediately. Sarafina’s, too. Each of them found strength from the bond.

  “The Order has prepared for this day,” Victor said. “We’ve been transmitting our proclamation of peace for months. Ever since the first two pyramids appeared. The minor interruption of the signal in the last few minutes cannot change that. However, I will admit that it is imperative that the grid countdown be restarted. We can do that with your help…or without it.”

  Jake didn’t like where this conversation was headed. But with any luck, it wouldn’t matter. He had his own countdown to worry about. So far, Victor had yapped for thirty seconds. Keeping the conversation going for the next ninety seconds was critical. “You expect me to help you?”

  “That’s up to you,” Victor said. “You have two choices. Either link with the grid and find a way to restart the countdown, in which case your children shall be spared, or refuse, in which case they shall die in this room…”

  As if to accent Victor’s words, Hans pulled the slide back on his pistol to chamber a round. Jake tensed when he pointed it at Sarafina’s head. She mewed.

  Victor continued, “After which I will trigger the launch of nuclear missiles from six separate locations, including a US submarine. The targets have been carefully selected to ensure retaliation, especially in light of the current state of global panic. The result? World War III. The real war to end all wars. That should certainly be enough to restart the grid countdown, don’t you think?”

  Jake’s shock must have registered on his face, because Victor smiled. “Don’t be so surprised. It wasn’t as difficult as you might imagine. After all, we’ve been embedding our people in all the requisite positions of authority for generations.

  “So what’s it going to be? Give your children a chance to live long and fruitful lives as part of our community—on a planet rife with life-supporting resources? Or trigger a nuclear winter that will poison the atmosphere and destroy most of the life on Earth, save those of us protected beneath the surface of our island?”

  Victor paused before adding, “You have ten seconds to decide.”

  Ten seconds wasn’t long enough, Jake thought. He needed twenty. “Okay, I’ll do as you ask. But first I have one thing to say.”

  “And what is that?”

  Jake focused his thoughts on the children, readying them for what was coming. Then he looked at Victor, counted down the last three seconds, and offered up his best Bruce Willis imitation. “Yippee-ki-yay, you sick bastard.”

  Suddenly, there was a deep rumble beneath them. The floor shook, the chair switched off, and the room was thrown into darkness.

  The gunshot from Hans’s pistol was deafening. The muzzle flash illuminated the scene like a flash camera. The still image froze on Jake’s retina: Sarafina’s determined expression. Her bound hands in contact with Hans’s wrist. The pistol partially dislodged from his grip. The look of surprise on his face. Alex sliding from his chair…

  The pistol clattered to the floor. There was a patter of footsteps across the linoleum, and Jake felt fingers slide down his forearm toward the wrist strap. His son was trying to free him.

  “Kill them all!” Victor shouted. It sounded like he had moved toward the door. A shadow disturbed the faint glow of a numeric keypad beside the exit, and Jake heard the tones of a code being entered.

  A struggle across the room. A loud slap. A gagged whimper from Sarafina. Alex’s fingers fumbled at the buckle of Jake’s wrist strap. Heavy footfalls coming toward them. The snick of a switchblade.

  The door flew open. Emergency lighting from the hallway spilled into the room. Three forms stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Mr. Brun!” a woman’s voice shouted. “This way!”

  Victor bolted past them. “Help Hans,” he ordered. “No one leaves alive!”

  Jake’s right hand came free, and Alex tumbled to one side just as Hans lunged forward with the switchblade. Jake snapped his free hand in a whip-fast knuckle strike to the nerve bundle on the inside of Hans’s forearm. The German recoiled but held on to the knife. He maneuvered to Jake’s opposite side and cocked his arm.

  Chapter 81
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  Grid Countdown: 0h:42m:00s and Holding

  The Island

  6:51 a.m.

  FRANCESCA LET OUT a long-held breath. They’d made it inside. Other than the two security guards who’d passed a wand over each of them when they had first stepped off the boat, no one had paid them particular attention. There were dozens of people around them. They seemed to be as relieved as she was to have made it past the massive blast doors. An intermittent alarm sounded over the public address system. A woman’s voice announced that the door would be closing in fifteen minutes.

  People hurried toward a bank of elevators down the corridor. Francesca, Lacey, and Ahmed followed. They wore the casual traveling outfits taken from the three Order members who’d been on the thirty-five-foot cruiser. Francesca cringed when she recalled the video of the Australian soldiers hijacking the boat. One of the occupants had made the mistake of firing at the operators. It was a woman. She’d been killed. According to her papers, she was a surgeon from Madrid.

  Now Francesca wore clothes taken from the woman’s suitcase. The RFID chip that had been embedded under the woman’s Cæli Regere tattoo was taped to her shoulder. Lacey posed as her sister. The actress was unrecognizable. Her hair was bunned, her clothes were padded, and she wore thick glasses and creative makeup. She’d transformed herself into a plump and dowdy schoolteacher. Ahmed had replaced the doctor’s fourteen-year-old son. The role was a stretch, especially in light of Ahmed’s emotional growth in the past few days. But he’d embraced it. The real sister and son were trussed up onboard the yacht.

  Francesca had been frightened to the bone at the prospect of attempting the infiltration. But she hadn’t hesitated. Neither had Lacey. They were the only women available. So there was no other choice. And Ahmed had to accompany them if the ruse was to have any chance of success. The brave teen’s only regret was that he hadn’t been able to bring his new assault rifle along.

  Pushing back a wave of nerves, Francesca steeled her resolve. The people in these corridors had assaulted her home, shot her father, killed her friends, and kidnapped her children. She would do whatever was necessary to find them and help Jake. She marched toward the elevators.

  They were three paces past the information kiosk when Ahmed stopped them. He seemed to be eavesdropping on a conversation between a stern-looking couple and an attendant behind the counter.

  Lacey took the abrupt halt in stride, straightening the collar on Ahmed’s shirt like an attentive aunt preparing her nephew for his first day at prep school. “Oh, you’ll be fine, darling. Sometimes it’s fun being the new kid.” Under her breath she added, “What are you doing?”

  The woman was in her element, Francesca thought. Not only was she a consummate actress, she also had a calm confidence born from a lifetime of martial arts training from her sensei father.

  “Too many ears to explain,” Ahmed whispered. “Just follow my lead.” He stepped up to the information counter.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Ahmed said in an imitation of a distressed fourteen-year-old. His outburst interrupted the attendant.

  “One moment, young man,” she said. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  “Nooo!” Ahmed exclaimed. His face was beet red. He looked like he was about to cry. He’d reverted to mannerisms from his childhood. “I need to find my uncle!” His voice was choked.

  Francesca was so taken aback by his instant transformation that she didn’t know what to do. Lacey was another matter. She placed a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder. “It’s okay, dear,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye with a trembling hand. “I’m sure he made it.”

  “Pleeease!” Ahmed said. “They’re going to close the doors!”

  The couple beside them was annoyed by the exchange. The woman placed her hands on her hips. She didn’t hide her disapproval. The man with her seemed to share her feelings.

  Francesca stepped forward. “I’m so sorry,” she said to the couple. “He already lost his father.” Then she turned to Ahmed. “Please, son. We’re next—”

  “He should know better,” the woman scolded.

  “No, no, no!” Ahmed said, smacking his palms on the counter. “He promised he’d be here. But if you close the doors, he can’t get in. That’s not fair. Is he here or isn’t he? Why can’t you just—”

  “Quiet down!” the man said.

  “I won’t! I won’t, I—”

  “Oh, just look it up and be done with it,” the woman said. She looked like she wanted to smack the kid.

  The flustered attendant nodded. She placed her hands over her computer keyboard and gave Francesca an expectant stare. Francesca’s heart dropped. What was she supposed to say?

  The attendant narrowed her eyes. “His name?”

  “Uncle Augie,” Ahmed spit out. “Oh, I mean August Schmidt.” He crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward like an anxious child waiting for a gelato.

  The brilliance of Ahmed’s plan enveloped Francesca like the sweet smell of jasmine in the courtyard of her home in Venice. He’d remembered the name of the man from whose body they’d dug out the original RFID chip. Tony had referred to him as Pit Bull.

  Jake had taken the chip with him.

  “Level three,” the attendant said. “Room three seventeen.” After a beat, her posture stiffened. “Oh, he’s with Mr. Brun.”

  Francesca’s insides cartwheeled.

  “He’s here!” Ahmed proclaimed, staying in character. He spun around and took both Francesca’s and Lacey’s hands. “Let’s go!”

  As he led them toward the elevators, Francesca collected herself enough to look over her shoulder and mouth her thank-you to the couple.

  The woman huffed. The man shook his head in disgust.

  Four minutes later, they were outside the room. There was an electronic keypad beside the door.

  “Now what?” Francesca asked.

  “Simple,” Lacey said. “Let me do the talking.” She cocked her fist to pound on the door. But a deep rumble beneath them stayed her hand.

  It sounded as if there was a series of explosions deep in the mountain. The vibration under their feet felt like the aftershock of an earthquake. The lights went out, a gunshot sounded from the other side of the door, and a voice shouted, “Kill them all!”

  Francesca trembled. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach.

  A seesaw alarm sounded, and an emergency light opposite the doorway flashed on. The door swung open. Francesca and Ahmed lurched backward.

  Lacey stood her ground. Light spilled past her into the room. Victor Brun stood before them. He squinted at the sudden brightness, and Francesca averted her face so he wouldn’t recognize her.

  “Mr. Brun!” Lacey shouted without skipping a beat. Her voice was filled with authority. Her backlit form would appear as no more than a plump silhouette to Brun. She motioned him forward. “This way!”

  “Help Hans,” Victor ordered as he rushed past them. “No one leaves alive!”

  “Jawohl, Mein Herr,” Lacey growled. She charged into the room. Ahmed and Francesca were right behind.

  The seconds that followed stretched into an eternity.

  Light from the corridor emergency lamp spilled into the room. Jake was strapped to a chair. One hand was free. A man hulked in front of him. He held a knife. Lacey slid across the linoleum floor feet first, her heel striking the man at the ankle. He toppled, but he maintained his grip on the knife. Ahmed stomped on the man’s stomach, but it didn’t faze him. He swung the blade at the teen. As Ahmed jumped clear, the burly guard twisted around and kicked. The blow sent Ahmed flying into the shadows.

  Jake was fumbling with the strap at his wrist as Alex watched wide-eyed from behind the chair. The German pushed to his feet and approached. But Lacey was already up. She surged forward with a vicious snap kick to the groin. But the brute only grunted. He advanced on her with the knife. By then Francesca was on her knees, working on Jake’s ankle restraint. He was unbuckling his other foot. Sarafina screamed, and F
rancesca turned to see Lacey on her back, the German on top of her, the knife held in the air like an ice pick.

  The three gunshots sounded like claps of thunder. The German twisted and lurched with the impact of each slug. The knife fell from his grasp. He folded to one side and lay still. Blood pooled from beneath him. Lacey grabbed the knife and scrambled to her feet. The tail of an elastic Ace bandage spilled from under her blouse. The gauze padding it had secured to plump her appearance was cockeyed.

  Ahmed stepped from the shadows. He held the pistol in a two-handed grip. Smoke curled from the barrel. His hands were steady.

  Francesca sensed no fear from him.

  Jake helped her to her feet, and she rushed to pick up Alex. She peeled the tape from his mouth and squeezed her son to her chest, feeling the beat of his heart racing at double speed. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, then pointed to his tablet. It had fallen on the floor beside his chair. Lacey picked it up and tucked it into the holster clipped to Alex’s belt. Then she used the knife to cut his wrist cuffs. She did the same for Sarafina, who’d already removed the duct tape from her own lips. She rushed to join her mother and brother.

  Ahmed handed the pistol to Jake. They fist-bumped. “A-are you all right?” Ahmed asked, pointing to the ugly slash across Jake’s bare chest.

  “Thanks to you, I am,” Jake said.

  Lacey yanked the stuffing from around her midriff and pressed it against Jake’s wound. He winced at the contact. He held the gauze in place while she wound the Ace bandage around his chest to secure it. When she was finished, he grabbed his shirt and put it on. Then he pulled Ahmed into a one-armed hug.

  “You can fly on my wing anytime,” Jake said.

  “Mine, too,” Lacey said, planting a huge kiss on Ahmed’s cheek.

  Jake crouched, and Sarafina charged over and threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come,” she said. “I just knew it.”

  “I always will, honey,” Jake said. “But right now we gotta get out of here.”