Turbulent Wake (Jason Wake Book 4)

by Matthew Rief

  A low hum echoed across the water. Shielding the sun from his face, Jason spotted a boat motoring south across the lake toward the bridge. He reasoned that it was already three hundred yards off and getting farther away with each passing second. Seeing no sign of activity along the nearby shore, Jason was certain that his adversaries had escaped on the boat.

  With no time to marvel at his latest flirt with death, Jason went into hyper-focus mode. Doing a full 360-survey of the shore, he saw a road hugging the lake less than two hundred yards away. Up the road was a structure with a handful of people staring out over the water. It wasn’t every day that a jet landed in their lake and then sank into its depths.

  Jason dove into a freestyle, swimming as fast as he could for the shore. Two minutes later, he reached the rocky bank and sloshed up onto the road, heading for the group of people standing in a parking lot beside what he now realized was a house. Spotting a white taxi, he slogged past a sign welcoming tourists to a popular cave, and then reached the lot just as the boat motored around a distant bend.

  Jason closed in on the taxi driver, who was chatting it up in Portuguese with a local woman while puffing a cigarette.

  “Need a ride!” Jason gasped, reaching for the back door.

  The young man with bronze skin and soft features waved him off. “I’m waiting for someone. But I can call you—”

  “I’ll pay triple the fare, but I need a ride right now. It’s an emergency.”

  Jason hoped he wouldn’t have to use the pistol still lodged in the back of his waistband. “An extra hundred if you can move with a purpose,” he said, plopping into the back.

  The man fired up the engine. “Where to?”

  “That way,” Jason said, pointing toward the opposite side of the lake. “As fast as you can.”

  The man laughed, then hit the gas, cruising south along the shore. “I get a ticket, it’s on you.”

  Having a moment to gather his thoughts, Jason said, “Where in Portugal are we?”

  The man eyed Jason through the rearview mirror like he was crazy. “Better question is, what kind of drugs are you on?”

  “What part?” Jason said again, staring back at the driver.

  “Sao Miguel,” the guy said.

  “The Azores,” Jason said to himself.

  “You know that much, at least.”

  As the taxi wound around the bend, giving Jason a better view of the other side of the lake, he spotted the boat as it reached the southern edge and then vanished through an arch in the old stone bridge.

  Jason leaned forward. “Can I use your phone?”

  The driver slid his smartphone from his pocket and handed it back. “No long distance.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “You won’t get it. The cell towers here don’t have the juice. Islands only.”

  Jason reached to hand the device back to the man, then froze, keeping it tight in his grip. He remembered the trajectory that the Valiant was taking from the British Virgin Islands. Finn and the rest of the crew who’d stayed behind would be somewhat close if they’d continued their course to Iceland. It was a long shot, but better than nothing for the time being.

  After three rings, a familiar voice came over the line.

  “Never been so happy to hear your voice, Finn,” Jason said, relieved the signal had managed to connect them.

  “Jase? Where the heck are you? Scott’s been—”

  “I’m in the Azores. Just crash-landed. Look, I don’t have much time. How soon can you get here? I’m following the terrorists on Sao Miguel.” After leaning forward to get a more specific location from the driver, he added, “Three miles inland from the western shore of Ponta da Ferraria.”

  “Got it,” Finn said. “Putting it into the GPS now to get an ETA. Where these guys headi—”

  Finn’s words were interrupted by a rush of static. Jason caught bits and pieces, then the line went dead. He tried again, but the call failed.

  “Dammit,” Jason said.

  “Told you it’s spotty.”

  Gazing forward, he caught another glimpse of the escaping craft as the taxi crested a rise, then he lost it as the driver navigated through the lakeside village of Sete Cidades.

  Having to drive up along the ridge to reach the other side of the lake, the bottom tip was out of sight for three minutes before coming into view.

  “Stop here!” Jason said, pointing toward an overlook.

  The driver did as he said, and Jason hopped out and climbed a short wall. He stared down at the water, watching as the boat motored up into a narrow cove shrouded in thick foliage, then continued up onto a stretch of beach at the base of a hill. He could barely see from that far off as the group disembarked the vessel and climbed into an SUV. It rumbled up a path to the top of a hill and drove into a compound with a massive concrete structure.

  Jason jumped back into the taxi and pointed toward the building. “Take me there.”

  The driver shrugged, threw the car back in gear, and floored it back onto the road.

  Cruising for another mile before wrapping around the bottom of the lake, the driver braked to a stop near the base of the massive, four-story structure. The place looked like it’d been abandoned years earlier, its exterior walls covered in grime.

  “What is this place?” Jason said.

  “It was the Monte Palace Hotel. Once a shining beacon in these parts. A briefly operational but extravagant five-star establishment. It closed back in nineteen ninety.”

  “Nobody uses it for anything?”

  “Teenagers on the weekend. Rats. Other than that? No. The place is fenced off and a mess. A shame. Beautiful view from up on the veranda.” The young man paused a moment. “Wish I knew what you were up to. Looks serious. Maybe I could help.”

  Jason reached into his pocket and slipped out three hundred-dollar bills.

  “This is way too much.”

  “No, it’s not.” Jason set the bills on the passenger seat. “You say you want to help? Get every law enforcement officer you can to surround this hotel.”

  “What? How am I supposed to get them to come?”

  Jason cracked open the door. “Tell them there’s an active shooter,” he said, removing his pistol and checking the chamber. “That should do the trick.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Jason pushed out the back of the taxi and hustled up to the chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter. Keeping low, he skirted the compound, navigating around the overgrown trees and bushes before getting a good look at the pothole-riddled road leading into the abandoned hotel. The gate was rusted, but it had a shiny new lock keeping it shut, and Jason could see the tire tracks from his enemies’ vehicle.

  The road led up to what Jason imagined was once a glamourous entryway, then behind to a side parking lot. After a quick sweep of the area, he scaled the fence and booked it for the structure. Weeds and dirt covered the stairs and walkway, the weathered exterior was tinted grayish black from years of neglect, and vines crawled up at the corners. Most all of the windows were partially broken, and many were blown out completely.

  Jason found the SUV parked under the shade of an overgrown fir beside a side entryway with a door missing from its hinges. There weren’t any guards standing by or signs of life of any kind near the vehicle or entryway. Beside the SUV were three other cars, also out of sight from anyone passing by the hotel.

  He wasn’t surprised that guards weren’t standing watch. They didn’t expect anyone to follow them and had no reason to believe that anyone suspected there was something suspicious going on at the old Monte Palace Hotel, let alone something that posed a serious risk to mankind.

  Jason climbed in through one of the shattered windows, dropping quietly into the lobby. His feet padded stealthily against the dirty marble floor. The reception area fit the taxi driver’s description: pile
s of trash in the corners, walls covered with graffiti, and even the remnants of a bonfire. High above, a massive skylight had more open air than dirty glass. Everything of value had clearly been taken years earlier, the rest left for nature to reclaim.

  Jason stuck to the shadows as he cut across the lobby, down a hall, and peeked into a side room. Like every section he’d entered so far, it was quiet as a tomb. He eyed the floor on approach and saw footsteps in the mud heading away from him, toward an alcove with elevators and a door to the stairwell. The stairs heading to the second floor were blocked off by piles of debris, so he headed down instead.

  One floor below ground, the stairs stopped at a door that had clearly been installed recently. Unlike the others he’d seen, it was lined with metal, drilled in with big screws, and had a keypad lock. With no way through, Jason headed back upstairs to search for an alternate means of entry when he spotted an old ventilation duct. It was barely big enough for him to fit through, and its outer metal grate was coated in a layer of grime and dust.

  Hustling back up to the main floor, he sifted through the debris and found a metal banister flattened on one end. Grabbing the makeshift tool, he returned to the air duct and jammed the flat end into the gap running along the edge of the ventilation cover. A quick jerk, and the door pried free. Jason caught the corroded metal, set it softly onto the floor, then knelt down and peered into the duct.

  The sides were coated in an inch-thick layer of filth. Seeing that the duct continued straight, then cut right toward the bottom wall, he crawled inside, covering his mouth and nose with his still-damp shirt. It was pitch black and unstable, and the air was so thick with dust he could barely breathe, even through the fabric. But his one-track mind was locked on the task at hand, and he needed no reminding of the significance of the mission he’d embarked on. At that point, if he couldn’t find a way to bring the organization down, there was a good chance that no one would.

  Faint light glowed from up ahead. Jason reached a grated opening and looked through the slits in the metal. Gazing upon an open space that had once been the laundry room, he saw the line of power outlets and round air ducts and square imprints on the walls where the industrial washing machines and dryers had once been.

  He pressed on for another thirty yards, passing another opening that led to another seemingly empty room before reaching the end of the line in the form of a vertical turn where the shaft shot skyward twenty feet. He figured he could shimmy his way up if he needed to, but then he’d be back at the upper floor.

  Shifting back to the closest room, he wedged himself against the metal and jammed his heels into the grate. Two powerful slams did the trick, knocking the door free. Jason thought he heard a soft whimper as the vent cover opened. He waited in the darkness, his right hand ready to snatch his pistol and take aim in a blink if need be. But no one entered.

  He ran through the trajectory he’d taken one more time, making sure he’d gone the right way. Certain that he was somewhere behind the recently installed locked door, he climbed out onto a concrete floor. Slowly, his vision adjusted to the blackness, and he saw that he was in a room packed with shelves.

  Deciding that the whimper must have either been in his head or come from a nearby room, he stepped toward the outline of a door, dim light bleeding around its edges. He reached for the knob, and as his hand wrapped around the worn brass, a voice caught him off-guard.

  “Who are you?” said a woman from behind him.

  Jason retrieved his pistol, whirled around, and took aim.

  “I told you not to say anything,” a man said in a barely audible whisper.

  “You first,” Jason stated, his voice quiet but stern. He stepped across the room, keeping his weapon trained at chest height.

  The man said something again, but Jason couldn’t make it out.

  “If he’s sneaking around, he can’t be one of them,” the woman said in a distinct Icelandic accent. She raised her voice and added, “My name is Anna Johannsdottir. I’m the—”

  “Icelandic foreign minister,” Jason said, recognizing the name. “And member of the United Nations Security Council.”

  As Jason drew closer and his eyes adjusted, he made out her silhouette. She was sitting in a metal chair, her arms bound behind her, and her legs lashed to a metal pipe at her back. Ten feet away from her sat a middle-aged man who Jason recognized as Zhao Song, the Chinese representative in the UNSC. He was also tied up, and the two stared at Jason.

  “They left you alive?” Jason said. “I heard shouts and screams just after the plane took off, and I assumed the worst.”

  The woman leaned forward and let her head drop. “They killed everyone but us. They said they were keeping us alive for a special purpose.” She lifted her head up. “And you still haven’t told us who you are.”

  “Jason Wake. I was brought to Iceland to help find and secure the virus samples.”

  “You’ve done a terrible job,” Zhao spat. “How in the hell did they take over our aircraft?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. But right now, we need to locate the samples.”

  The Icelandic diplomat shifted her gaze to the air duct. “Please tell me there are more of you.”

  “It’s just me. I managed to sneak onto the plane moments before takeoff. That’s the only reason I was able to get here so fast.”

  “Have you been able to get word out yet?” the Chinese diplomat said. “Is anyone else coming?”

  Jason nodded. “There are others being mobilized as we speak, but it will take time. We’re in a somewhat remote part of the island.”

  Zhao fell silent, processing Jason’s words.

  “Well, let us go before they come back,” Anna said, shaking her restraints.

  Jason was about to search for something sharp to cut them both free, when he decided against it. “First, I need to find the samples. If they come in here and see you both missing, they’ll know something’s up.”

  “And if they kill us?” Zhao said, his mouth agape.

  “We need to keep our eyes on the bigger picture here. Do you have any idea where the samples are being kept?”

  Anna explained that they’d been blindfolded while entering the underground part of the abandoned hotel, but that she’d heard commotion and shuffling of gear at the end of a hallway before being forced into that room.

  Jason placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then looked up at Zhao. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”

  “Just find those samples and get rid of them,” Anna said. “You are right. That is more important than us.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jason poked his head out and scanned the hallway. To the left, it ended at the backside of the locked door he’d seen. To the right, the short passage was blocked from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with black, heavy-gauge plastic sheeting. Directly in front of him was a closed door, and voices were emanating from inside.

  Jason moved right down the hall and noticed an industrial-strength vertical zipper in the sheeting and a small square window through which light was blazing. He peeked inside, then immediately dropped back when a man wearing a hazmat suit and holding a clipboard strode toward the opening. Crouching down and springing left, Jason nearly collided with a table beside a row of hazmat suits, gloves, and face shields hanging from a rack.

  Stepping back to the window, he focused inside again. This time he saw the back of the hazmat-suited man as he hunched over a counter. Beyond him was a long metal table with beakers, trays, and other lab equipment. In the back left corner was an inner closed-off chamber with its own zipper door. When the man disappeared into it, Jason was left with two choices: head into the third room where he heard the voices, or introduce himself to the scientist.

  Jason grabbed the nearest hazmat suit and zipped it over his still-damp clothes. He was rank, sweaty, and in desperate need of a shower, and the heat
in the underground space only intensified inside the suit. He donned the gloves and mask and strode toward the middle of the temporary wall. While taking a third glimpse through the plastic window and seeing no one near the opening, the voices echoing from the room down the hall grew louder and were followed by heavy footsteps.

  Jason snagged the zipper and pulled it down. Once the opening was big enough, he lumbered inside, then turned around and re-zipped the sheeting. He crept as quietly as he could across the closed-in space. Everything looked new, sparkling clean, and sterile, and the setup was intricate, with expensive lab equipment methodically positioned throughout.

  He passed by a long metal table with lab gear, including a high-powered microscope, a rugged laptop, glass vials, and containers of chemicals. Shooting the laptop a second glance, he remembered the hacking device still resting in his pocket. He kept a watchful eye on both points of entry into the facility as he snaked a hand down his suit, plucked the gadget, then managed to force it out through the base of his glove.

  Just a little insurance, he thought as he inserted Murph’s invention into one of the computer’s USB ports.

  Reaching the far corner of the room, Jason peeked through a window in the industrial back chamber. Two men were decked out in full hazmat suits, both huddled over a table. One of the men turned around and approached the door.

  Jason shifted back behind the chamber wall as the door opened and the man strode out, unaware of Jason’s presence and jotting notes on his clipboard. Having still caught no sign of the samples, Jason moved back for the door. He took one more look at the guy, making sure he wouldn’t be spotted, then slowly tugged on the handle.

  After closing the door behind him, a back glance through the window told him that the other scientist hadn’t noticed him. Turning his attention to the guy huddled over the table, Jason closed in. Three glass cases rested in front of him, each spread a few feet apart, bolted to the table, and containing a biometric scanner. Inside the cases were smaller cases surrounding vials of deep red liquid.