Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (23 page)

Somehow the sight of it calmed her. He’d risen above his own fears in order to soothe hers.

“Alex doesn’t seem to think it’s so creepy,” she said.

Ahmed turned to follow her gaze. Alex had his back to them. He held his tablet face-out in front of him. The glow from its display illuminated the wooden slats in the back wall. They were discolored with age. One of them had a trio of wormholes in it. There was a tiny pile of dirt on the floor beneath them.

An abrupt roar came from the storeroom. The door trembled. The trio jumped.

“What was that?” Sarafina asked.

“Shhh,” Ahmed said. “Listen!”

It began as a distant but constant rumble. It quickly grew in intensity, and it felt as if the air was being sucked from the room.
There were sounds of breaking glass and the smell of wine. The temperature rose.

Dear God!

“Fire!” Ahmed said.

“Out!” Sarafina screamed. Her hand went to the recessed pocket over the door.

“No!” Ahmed shouted, grabbing her hand. He placed it against the door. “Feel.”

The door was warm under her touch.

“The fire’s in the storeroom,” he said. “We’ll never get through.”

Her first instinct was to embrace Alex. She turned toward him. His attention was still on the wall behind him. The palm of one hand hovered over a slit between two of the slats. She placed her hand beside his and felt a flow of air.

“Ahmed!” she said urgently.

But he was already one step ahead of her. He edged forward, flicked open his knife, and plunged it into the center of the wall. The five-inch blade sank to its hilt in the dry-rotted wood. He pulled the knife out, and a thick stream of dirt spilled into the room. He thrust again, higher on the wall. This time no soil rushed from the gash.

“Yes!” he said, jabbing the knife like an ice pick against the wall. Each impact dug a new hole. Wafts of cool, earthy air crept from the shadows beyond. He poked holes in a widening circular pattern.

The door at their backs felt like an open oven. Sweat poured from Sarafina’s brow.

Ahmed widened a few of the holes with levered twists of the knife. The aged wood crumbled under the assault. When several of the holes converged into a fist-size opening, he dropped the knife and began to wrench pieces away with his hands. Parts of it came away easily. Others did not. When the opening was about eight inches wide, Sarafina aimed the flashlight within.

It was more of an oblong depression than it was a tunnel. It appeared to be about eighteen inches wide and a foot high at its center. She shivered at the prospect of crawling through it. The weak beam penetrated only five or six feet, but the rush of cool air filled her with hope.

“We can do this,” she said.

Ahmed nodded and continued tugging on the wood.

She handed Alex the flashlight and moved in to help. Alex aimed the light at the opening. She grabbed the jagged edge of a slat and pulled with all her might. The wood resisted. She shrieked in frustration and brought her other hand to bear. The weakened wood cracked, and she tugged it loose. The opening in the wall widened. They kept at it. Both of their hands bled.

Steam began to rise from the inside surface of the storage room door. The flames could eat through any second. Ahmed grunted as he yanked on another slat. It ripped free. More of it came away from the wall than he’d expected, and a soccer ball–size chunk of earth fell from behind it. He kicked it aside.

“That’s good enough,” Sarafina said, measuring the width of the opening against Ahmed’s shoulders. The hole was about thirty inches above the floor. “I’ll go first. Then Alex.”

“That won’t work,” Ahmed said, taking the flashlight from the child. “If there’s more digging to be done, I’m going to have to handle it.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He pocketed the knife, pushed the flashlight ahead of him, and pulled himself into the opening. The beam of light led the way as he wiggled forward. He stopped when his ankles were still suspended in the room. Sarafina wiped sweat from her eyes as she strained to see past him. The dim light reflected on a tangle of white roots a few feet ahead of him.

“There’s debris in here,” Ahmed said over his shoulder. His voice sounded hollow in the tunnel. “But it’s nothing to worry about.” He scooted forward and said, “Okay, Alex. Your turn.”

Her little brother tucked the slim tablet in its holster. He reached his arms and head into the opening, and she boosted
him the rest of the way. His shirt was soggy with perspiration, but he’d never complained. He crawled forward on all fours but was forced to stop after a couple feet.

She stuck her head into the space. “What’s going on?”

Ahmed seemed to be wrestling with something. “Some of this”—he grunted as he pulled something free—“stuff is embedded in the dirt. I’m working to clear it!”

The door at her back radiated waves of heat. The room was like a sauna. The exposed skin on her face and arms stung. An amber glow formed around the perimeter of the door, and smoke leaked into the space.

“Hurry!” she shouted.

“Almost there!”

Suddenly, the entire surface of the door seemed to blacken at once. A crack formed up its center. A thin flame licked the wood. In the half heartbeat that followed, the oxygen-starved flames drove through the crack and jumped to the ceiling. Shadows were cast aside, and the chunk of earth on the floor was revealed as a dirt-encrusted skull.

Primal panic electrified Sarafina. She dove into the tunnel. “Move!” she screamed. But the boys had already sensed the danger. Alex was several feet ahead of her and moving fast. There was a bright flash behind her, and heat singed her ankles. She scampered forward, clawing with her hands, pushing with her feet, and praying with every ounce of her being. She passed the pile of bones that Ahmed had dislodged. It was a rib cage. Remnants of rotted pine dotted the walls. The tunnel shifted every six or seven feet. More bones, scraps of clothing, an iron cross.

The guttural moan she heard was her own—prompted by the realization that the burrow they uncovered had been formed from rotted-out coffins.

The shaft twisted left. Then right. She followed on Alex’s heels. Finally, she heard a splash up ahead. Ahmed’s voice echoed. “Come on. We’re clear!”

They’d dropped into a sewer tunnel that ran the length of the island. Heading north, they climbed the first exit ladder they came across and found themselves in a maintenance shed near the docks. Moonlight shone through the sole window. It cast a pale glow on the space. There was a workbench, a tool chest, and several shovels. But it was the twenty-four-pack of bottled water that drew her attention. She ripped open the shrink-wrap and they drank their fill. With a moistened rag, she wiped Alex’s hands and face. Then she did the same for herself and passed the cloth to Ahmed.

The view through the window stretched across the lagoon. It was around 10:00 p.m. Boats crisscrossed the water. The lights of the ancient city glowed in the distance. Ahmed put his back to a wall and slid to his butt on the concrete floor. Alex sat beside him. He unholstered his tablet and flipped through images until he found the one he wanted. It was a photo of their mother. Sarafina snuggled next to him. She wrapped an arm around her brother and pulled him close.

“She’s okay,” she said. “So is Grandfather.” She prayed it was true.

Alex nodded.

“I’ve thought about it,” Ahmed said. “Those men came for Jake. They wanted him alive, remember? When they didn’t find him, they would have taken Mother and Grandpa Mario as leverage. That means they won’t be harmed. If they’d have found us, we would have been held hostage as well.”

What he said made sense, she thought. She took comfort from the logic. “So if they find us, they will have even more leverage,” she said.

“Exactly.” He paused before adding, “We cannot let that happen.”

They sat in silence for a while. There was a chill in the air.

“We can’t stay here,” she finally said.

“I know.”

“We can’t go home.”

“No.”

Her frustration got the better of her. She raised her voice. “So what the heck are we going to do?”

Ahmed didn’t answer right away, but she could sense that the wheels of his brain were in full motion. When he finally replied, his first words were slow and calculated, as if he were still formulating the balance of a plan in his mind.

“There was a man in the old city,” he began, “who was a good friend to Signor Battista…”

Mention of the terrorist’s name brought quivers to her skin.

“He was an artist,” he continued, “and a photographer. He created documents for the signor. Passports. Identification. They were friends. He even dined with us on occasion. Once, we visited him in his home on the canal. He will remember me.”

“What use is he to us?”

“Don’t you see? He will provide us with everything we need for our trip.”

“Our trip? Where are we going?”

“To the safe house, of course. To meet up with Jake and the rest of them.”

“What are you talking about? Father is at a safe house? Where?”

The voice that answered came from Alex’s tablet. It was robotic. “
Avenue de Miremont.
”

Both of them gawked at the device. A Google satellite image of Geneva filled the screen.

Alex smiled.

Geneva, Switzerland

“I
HOPE YOU
like it strong,” Tony said, pouring a steaming cup of coffee. “You may wish you made this yourself.”

It was 10:30 a.m. They were in the Geneva safe house. They’d made it off the mountain in less than an hour. A rental car from the village brought them into the city. Timmy drove. The rest of them napped for the two-hour drive.

“Not likely,” Lacey said, reaching for the cup. “Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near the kitchen.”

“No kidding,” Marshall said from the other side of the room.

“Shut up!” Lacey said. “My vows never said anything about cooking. Besides, I like a man who knows how to take care of a lady.” She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Uh…what else are you serving?”

Tony pulled a pastry out of a bag. “Here, I baked it myself.”

“I’ll bet.”

He placed the glazed croissant on the plate and slid it across the kitchen counter. The two-bedroom apartment wasn’t big, but it had everything they needed—including a hidden closet with weapons, comm units, and reconnaissance gear. The main room included a kitchen, living room, and dining area. The curtains were closed.

“You saved my butt out there,” Tony said.

“Mine, too,” Timmy chimed in. He and Marshall were huddled over a laptop at the dining room table. A city map was spread out beside them.

“Hey, I didn’t have much choice,” Lacey said with a deadpan expression. “We can’t very well have a wedding without a best man.” She took a bite of the pastry.

Tony shook his head. She was somethin’, he thought. Kinda like one of those Russian nesting dolls. Layers beneath layers. “If you ever decide you wanna give up acting and join up with LAPD SWAT, you let me know.”

The comment inspired a smile. She wiped a crumb from her lip and said, “Yeah, and when you decide to give up being a cop, we could always use a good pastry chef on the set.”

“Hey, you two want to get a room, or what?” Marshall said. “While you guys are flirting, we’re starving over here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled. He placed a few assorted pastries on a serving dish. He’d purchased them from a shop across the street. “Comin’ right up, boss.” He was glad for the friendly banter. They needed the stress relief. Because as soon as Marsh and Timmy isolated the location of Victor’s residence, they’d be going in guns blazing.

Venice, Italy

T
HEY APPEARED TO
be tourists—two teens with backpacks and a boy clicking photographs with his tablet—just like the hundreds of others who crowded the Venice train station. They wore T-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes. Ahmed had a black sweatshirt draped over his shoulders and a baseball cap on his head. Sarafina’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her sweatshirt was tied around her waist.

She lowered her oversize designer sunglasses to get a better view. “That way,” she said, pointing to the train on track number 4. She held Alex’s hand as they maneuvered through the throng of people. He wore a child-size Bavarian fedora adorned with pins from a dozen locales across Europe. He’d been drawn to it like a magnet when they’d met the old man yesterday.