Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (13 page)

Swiss Alps

T
HE
F
IAT SLOWED
as Jake made the final hairpin turn on the private road. There was no guardrail. The drop-off was sheer. Woodsmoke hung over a village 1,500 meters below. Snow blanketed the surrounding peaks.

The château was impressive. It was a five-story, thirty-five-thousand-square-foot medieval castle, complete with deep-set lancet windows, crenellated ramparts, and twin keeps that framed the arched entrance to an expansive courtyard. Two sides of the curtain wall rose flush with the promontory cliffs that supported it. A fistful of antennae sprouted from one of the pinnacles.

Jake pulled to a stop at the gate. He and Lacey were bundled head to toe. Icy condensation coated the sedan’s windows. Lacey shivered. It wasn’t an act. A wall camera swiveled on its mount, and Jake rolled down the window and waved with his hand. “
Buon giorno.
Ciao!” he said. His breath fogged around the words. The internal camera lens rotated, and he imagined his image being zoomed on a monitor.

A stiff voice replied from an inset speaker. “
Guten tag.
”

“
Mi scusi. Parli italiano?
” Jake asked.

“
Sì.
”

“Thank God!” Jake said in Italian. “The car heater is broken. W-we need help.”

There was only a slight hesitation. “Of course. Come. Come!” The voice sounded genuinely concerned. The gate swung open and Jake drove through.

The cobbled courtyard was half the size of a soccer field. The surrounding curtain wall supported a covered parapet walk. Snow banked on its pitched roof. There was a six-passenger helicopter in the center of the bailey. Two sedans and four SUVs were parked in front of a five-door garage that had likely been barracks hundreds of years ago. The towering residence commanded the far end of the courtyard. Jake stopped the car at the front staircase. A stout main entry door swung open, and two men rushed out. The taller man wore pleated slacks and a thick sweater that failed to conceal his athletic build. His face was all planes and angles, with blue eyes and a blond flattop. He seemed to take in the scene much like a tank commander would a battle zone. But it was the shorter man who captured Jake’s attention. He wore a velour housecoat and wool scarf over corduroy slacks. His thick mane of silver hair was swept back over a broad forehead. His face was filled with concern. He rushed to open Lacey’s door.

It was stuck.

Nice touch, Jake thought. It had been Tony’s idea to drip water in the latch. It had since frozen solid.

The taller man moved in. “Allow me,
Mein Herr
,” he said. Thick fingers gripped the handle. A sharp tug, a crunch of ice, and the door swung open.

“Thank you s-s-sooo much,” Lacey said, taking the shorter man’s proffered hand. He escorted her up the steps.

Jake shouldered open his own door and followed them inside. The taller man appraised him warily as he passed by. The man was four inches taller than Jake and carried at least thirty more pounds. All muscle. Jake maintained his meek composure. “
Grazie, grazie
,” he said, rubbing his gloved palms together.

Jake and Lacey cuddled in a love seat by the grand fireplace. Their gracious host had introduced himself as Victor
Brun. He sat across from them in a wing chair. His man, Hans, stood beside him.

Lacey cradled her teacup in both hands. She took a sip. “I feel so much better,” she said in Italian. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Victor waved it off. “It’s nothing. We’re only too glad to help. Hans has called for a mechanic.” He motioned out the picture window. The sun had disappeared behind gray clouds. “The storm may delay him, but no matter. If so, it will allow me the pleasure of your company a while longer. Perhaps you’ll stay the night.” He winked and tipped his cup in their direction. “After all, we do have the room!”

Victor couldn’t have been more pleasant, Jake thought. The man showed a genuine interest in their well-being. It was hard not to like him. Jake wondered how he was mixed up in all this. According to their online search, the owner of Castle Brun was a respected philanthropist and peacemaker.

“You’re very generous,” Jake said. “But once I’ve warmed up I think I can repair it myself. Assuming I can borrow a few tools from your garage.”

“Of course.”

Lacey sneezed.

“Gesundheit, my dear,” Victor said.

“Excuse m—” Her words were cut off by another sneeze. Then another.

“Goodness!”

She sniffled and collected herself. “Do you by any chance have a cat?”

The shadow that flitted over Victor’s face was so brief that Jake decided he imagined it.

Victor’s expression softened. “Actually, my pet passed yesterday morning. I apologize if his presence lingers a bit.”

“Oh, dear me,” Lacey said. “I’m so sorry.”

Lacey kept the conversation lively. As she and Victor exchanged pleasantries, Jake studied the expansive mural on the wall. The family tree was an artful piece of work. It stretched back for generations.

Jake’s went back a few months.

Victor’s portrait was the most recent addition. The face was twenty years younger, but the pleasant expression was a perfect match to the one he wore now. Jake felt the man’s eyes on him and wondered what untold secrets hid behind his mask.

Then Jake checked his watch and his stomach tightened.

He should have received Tony’s signal by now.

Swiss Alps

T
ONY WATCHED AS
Marshall set another spring-loaded cam into a crack on the cliff face. Tony clung to the wall five feet behind him. His size 13 boots were double the width of the ledge they traversed. The shoulder-high rope Marshall had strung between anchors meant the difference between life and death.

Tony checked the time. He whispered into his comm unit, “Can’t you move any faster?”

“Shut up,” Marshall said in a hushed voice. “How was I supposed to know the cliff face was smoother than a baby’s butt?”

“Hey, you’re the sucker who’s supposed to be the rock star,” Tony said.

“Cool it with the quips. No worries. I’ll get us there.”

Tony appreciated his pal’s confidence. The sooner he got off this rock, the better. It wasn’t that he was afraid of heights. He just didn’t like falling.

The wind had picked up, whistling up the cliff face. The sky was cloudy and the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Despite his thermal climbing gear, Tony’s joints were stiffening. The cavern that housed the gondola station was twenty feet beneath them. But activity inside ruled it out as an access point. Instead, their target was on the opposite side of the cliff.

Marshall tugged on the cam. Satisfied, he attached the rope and crabbed ahead. Tony followed.

Timmy was in the van. It was hidden in a copse of snow-leaden pine trees. His voice intruded over the headset. “I lost sight of you guys when you cleared that outcrop. How much farther?”

“One more clamp should do it,” Marshall said.

Tony was glad to hear it.

“Damn,” Timmy said. “I don’t like monitoring you guys without streaming sat video. No visual. No infrared. It’s like the friggin’ Stone Age.”

“More like the Ice Age,” Tony said with a shiver. “Just sit tight and keep an eye on the mini’s locator beacon. If it moves, scream.” He shared Timmy’s trepidation. This harebrained scheme was nothin’ like what he was used to in SWAT.

It was rushed.

There was no backup.

He felt a tug on the rope. Marshall had jumped off the face onto the footfall that led to the castle’s ski shed. He sank into the snow up to his knees. He gave the okay sign and waved Tony forward. “Your turn,” he whispered.

Tony crabbed to the edge, bunched his muscles, and made the leap.

He landed short.

Swiss Alps

T
ONY’S BOOTS LANDED
half-off the ledge. The cliff’s edge had been hidden by a projecting snow shelf. It calved from his impact and plunged down the mountain. His arms windmilled in a desperate attempt to shift his center of gravity forward.

It wasn’t enough.

But Marshall’s mighty tug at the rope around his waist did the trick, and Tony face-planted in the thick powder.

“Watch your step next time,” Marshall whispered.

Tony spit snow from his mouth. He rose and brushed himself off. “Just checkin’ to see if you were payin’ attention.”

“Oh? How’d I do?”

“Not bad,” Tony said. He pulled out a four-shot tranq pistol. “Let’s go.”

Marshall flinched as Tony chambered the first hypodermic round. “Hell of a honeymoon,” he said.

Tony nudged him as he walked past. “Consider this part of the bachelor party.”

Marshall stuck close behind him. Snow crunched underfoot. The downward-sloping trail wound through a thick stand of snow-covered pines. Tony paused as his friend used his smartphone to
link with Timmy’s computer. The castle’s 3-D image had shifted since their relative position had changed.

Thirty paces later, Marshall whispered, “Around the next corner.”

The ski shed was the size of a two-car garage. It abutted the base of the castle. Two feet of snow covered its sloped roof, and icicles rimmed the eaves. A double set of boot prints led from the side door. They trailed past the front roll-up door and disappeared around the other end of the structure. There were voices.

“Wait here,” Tony whispered.

He moved forward in a crouch. A puff of cigarette smoke drifted from behind the building. Men’s voices. German.

Tony hugged the wall and listened. A lull in the conversation marked the vulnerable inhalation break.

Shoulda paid attention to the surgeon general’s warning.

Tony leaned around the corner and took two quick shots. The first ballistic syringe struck the smaller of the two men in the neck. The man yelped, slapped at the dangling needle, and folded into the snow.

The second man was Tony’s size. His oversize jawline and protruding snout reminded Tony of a pit bull. The dart impacted just above his clavicle. He ripped it out. A chunk of bloody skin and fabric trailed from the barbed tip. He bared his teeth and started toward Tony.

Another shot to Pit Bull’s broad chest failed to penetrate the man’s thick jacket.

But the third to his forehead stopped him cold.

The three-inch dart hung limp down the man’s nose. His stunned eyes crossed on it. The hydrated chemical spread instantly from the sinus cavity to his brain. He teetered, then slumped to the ground, his back to the wall. His half-mast eyes glowered, and his slack jaw drooled spittle. But the stubborn dog was still in the hunt. His fingers fumbled with a radio at his belt.
He managed to raise it to his lips. By then, Tony had switched weapons. He stepped forward and aimed the MP5 submachine gun at the man’s face.

“Down, boy,” Tony whispered, shaking his head.

The man’s glassy gaze took in the seven-inch suppressor.

He grunted and dropped the radio. A beat later his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped to one side.

Tough son of a bitch, Tony thought. He noticed the man’s rubber-soled boots. They were the same as those he’d seen on the video of the two men chasing Jake in Venice. It could’ve been a coincidence, but it set off a warning flare in his LAPD gut. It was a feeling he’d learned long ago not to ignore.

When he searched the two men and discovered weapons, he knew they were in trouble.

He pocketed the radio and tossed the weapons in a copse of trees. They disappeared beneath the powdery snow.

Then he motioned Marshall forward. He reloaded the tranq pistol and handed it to him. “This is all yours, pal,” he said. “From now on I’m sticking to this.” He patted the MP5.

“What the hell?” Marshall said, motioning at the assault rifle. “I thought no one was supposed to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is just an insurance policy.”

Marshall inspected the pistol. He handled it with more ease than Tony would have given him credit for. Tony hiked an eyebrow.

Marshall noticed. “I may prefer shooting via a game controller,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s up.”