Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (32 page)

He was going to stop them if it was the last thing he did.

The park was awash with victims and emergency personnel. In order to make more room, the news vans had moved aside. The mood was somber, but the normal feeding frenzy one would expect at a time like this wasn’t present. Yes, film crews continued to capture the moment, and some reporters held private court with the lenses of their TV cameras, the disaster providing a grim backdrop for the stories they relayed to the world. But others had abandoned their microphones and equipment in order to help the victims.

It gave him hope.

A massive crowd had formed on the outskirts of the park. Men, women, children, families—they huddled in groups. Hugging. Holding hands. Crying. Some watched as victims were escorted from the Palace of Nations. Many more simply stared at the glowing amber stripes in the sky.

Very few of them held up their cell phone cameras.

The world would never be the same, Jake thought. The existence of life beyond the borders of our planet was no longer conjecture. It was a reality. He supposed it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise, recalling something he’d read after his encounter with the first pyramid. When the Hubble telescope had been launched years ago, scientists had used it to study one tiny piece of the universe. Within it they had discovered
tens of thousands
of galaxies that they hadn’t known existed before. And each of those galaxies contained
hundreds of billions
of stars like our sun. And around those stars orbited planets. He remembered discussing it with Tony. His friend had said that it hurt his brain to think about it.

Jake understood. There’s only so much a mind can handle. It wasn’t man’s arrogance that led him to believe that he was the sole form of life in the universe. It was his inability to grasp the alternative.

Jake felt better. His airways had cleared, his strength had returned, and his rage had a target.

Two targets.

But first, he needed to use them to get clear of the palace…and the authorities.

The two men led him across the grass toward a tented care center. But instead of stopping, they kept walking. He sensed an increase in tension through the grips on his arms, but he didn’t resist. His shoulders were slumped, his feet dragged, and he still wore the oxygen mask.

I’m not a threat.

They approached a copse of trees. The road beyond was lined with parked vehicles. Traffic in either direction was bunching up. A siren sounded as an ambulance tried to push through. A Swiss motorcycle cop dismounted and waved traffic aside. A man exited a parked SUV on the opposite side of the street. Cars passed slowly in front of him. He stood beside his vehicle and glanced from Jake to the cop and back again. One of the men holding him gave the man a subtle nod.

Jake readied himself. He absorbed the scene, sorting out the angles, the moves, the timing. The ambulance weaved its way toward the SUV. The copse was dead ahead. The trio crossed into the shadows of the stand of trees at the same moment that the ambulance blocked the view of the man by the SUV.

Jake faked a stumble, leaning to the left. The guard on that side brought his other hand around to catch him. Jake twisted his torso and thrust the oxygen tank upward in a savage strike to the base of the man’s chin. Bone cracked. The man toppled backward like a felled tree. The motion caused the other guard to lose his grip. Jake reversed direction to face him. He ripped off his oxygen mask, freed the cylinder strap from his shoulder, and swung the steel tank like a mace. The startled guard dodged backward to avoid the blow, but Jake pressed forward, whipping the tank around in a figure eight. The guard was ready for it. He blocked it with a forearm. But by then Jake had already abandoned the weapon, releasing it midflight as he initiated his next
strike. It came from below—under the man’s guard—as he drove his heel into the man’s knee. The joint gave way. The man spilled to the grass with a howl.

That’s when a third man stepped from behind a tree and leveled a silenced pistol at Jake’s head. He stood less than three paces away. “We were told to kill you if we couldn’t—”

He cut off when a teen on a bicycle streaked into the trees from Jake’s right. The cycle rocketed straight at the man with the gun. By the time he realized that the cyclist was an active threat, it was too late. He swung to face the bike just as the front wheel struck him between the legs. His eyes went wide, he folded in half, and the teen went flying over the bars.

It was Ahmed.

Jake rushed forward, overlaying the new chess pieces onto the evolving tactical schematic in his mind. He grabbed the pistol from the stunned gunman and swiped its butt across the man’s temple. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell still. Jake spun around toward the guard with the ruined knee. The man was still on the ground, a finger pressed to one ear. He spoke urgently to someone on the other end of the connection. Jake’s aim was instant and instinctual. He squeezed the trigger. The pistol spit, and the man’s ear and finger disappeared in a spray of blood. A part of Jake’s mind marveled at the fact that the bullet had impacted at the exact spot that his mind had been trained on. He may have lost his super reflexes, but his brain-and-body coordination was better than ever. He fired again, and the man spun from the slug that entered his shoulder, eliminating him as an immediate threat. The first guard was out cold, so Jake didn’t worry about him. He turned to Ahmed as he unscrewed the suppressor from the end of the pistol. The kid had pushed to his feet. He had a bloody nose and an eager expression.

“You ready to run?” Jake asked.

Ahmed nodded.

Jake pointed the pistol at the sky and squeezed off three rounds. Ahmed flinched at the first shot, but not the second two. The gunshots echoed across the grounds. Jake dropped the pistol beside the gunmen, grabbed Ahmed by the arm, and took off at a sprint.

There were shouts from the park. Several people pointed in their direction.

“Stay close,” Jake said as they exited the tree line. On the other side of the street, the man by the SUV spotted them immediately. He had his hand inside his windbreaker, craning his neck from one side to the other as traffic passed in front of him. Jake ignored him. The motorcycle cop had heard the shots. He moved in a crouch down the sidewalk. His gun was drawn. Jake saw two more policemen running his way from down the street. Then he heard another cop’s whistle from the park. The alert had been sounded. He and Ahmed ran toward the motorcycle officer.

“Help!” Jake shouted, waving his hands back and forth.

The cop spotted them and hesitated. He held the pistol in both hands. It was pointed at the ground.

Jake whispered to Ahmed, “Act scared.”

Jake skidded to a stop in front of the cop, ducking down between two parked cars. He pulled Ahmed down beside him. The kid was crying. “Some guy’s shooting people!” Jake screeched. He pointed to the trees. “Over there!”

The policeman crouched beside them. He bought the act without question. “How many?”

“One shooter,” Jake said, panting. “Two bodies. S-so much blood!” Then his eyes rolled, his shoulders drooped, and he collapsed into the cop. The officer braced himself and steadied Jake. Ahmed’s sobs seemed to take on an edge of panic at the sight.

“You’re going to be all right,” the cop said. “Just stay down.” Then he relayed the information into his helmet microphone and ran toward the copse of trees.

As soon as the policeman’s back was turned, Jake grabbed Ahmed and took off. They ran in a crouch in the opposite direction, being careful to keep the line of parked cars between them and Victor’s last gunman. A quick glance confirmed that the man mirrored their track on the opposite side of the street. Jake caught a glimpse of a weapon beneath his jacket.

But I bet you don’t have one of these, Jake said to himself, squeezing the set of keys he’d lifted from the cop’s belt ring.

The motorcycle was parked in front of the next car. He grabbed the handlebars, released the kickstand, and jumped onboard. By the time he turned the key and started her up, Ahmed had his arms locked around Jake’s waist. Horns honked, and Jake saw the gunman in the bike’s mirror. The man raced between traffic. He held a machine pistol.

“Hang on!” Jake shouted. He kicked it in gear, revved the engine, and popped the clutch. The BMW R1200RT motorcycle leaped across the sidewalk and onto the grass. Bullets ripped into the parked car behind them. Jake opened the throttle and steered a course that paralleled the walkway. He and Ahmed ducked low on the seat. They were at sixty mph in 3.5 seconds. He saw the jittering image of the gunman receding in the mirror. The muzzle of his weapon flashed, and Jake felt the disturbance of air as bullets whizzed past them. There was a deep thud in the rear saddle, and Jake reacted with a skidding turn across the sidewalk and into traffic. He rode the centerline between opposing vehicles, speeding past startled drivers. He didn’t slow until the gunman was out of sight.

“Are you okay?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes!” Ahmed said. There was no fear in his voice. Jake wondered at the boy’s courage.

“You did really good back there,” Jake said.

It seemed as if Ahmed sat taller in response to the comment. But his words were humble. “Allah was with us.”

“I’m grateful.”

“It was my duty. We are family,” Ahmed said.

Jake was proud as hell of the kid. Ahmed was right, he thought. They
were
family. In fact, Jake was the only family Ahmed and Sarafina and Alex had left now. He dreaded that he was going to have to break the news about Francesca to them. But first things first. “Where are Sarafina and Alex?”

“At the safe house.”

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He thanked God they were safe. He remembered the address from his visit there two days ago with Tony and the rest of them.

Also dead.

He entered the location into the bike’s nav system.

“It’s good to have you back,” Ahmed said. “There aren’t many around me these days that can speak Dari with me.”

Jake hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking in Ahmed’s native language. It had come naturally to him.

Ahmed added, “Are you all back, Jake? I mean, are you back to the way you were? Do you remember everything?”

Am I all back? Jake asked himself. Sure, if you don’t count the huge hole in my gut from the loss of the woman I love and my best friends in the world. He flashed on Victor’s nonchalant manner when he had shared the news of their deaths. Jake’s blood boiled at the thought of it.

“Yeah, Ahmed,” he said. “I remember everything.”

Thirty-Two Thousand Feet over Northern Italy

V
ICTOR GAZED THROUGH
the porthole window of the luxurious Gulfstream IV. It climbed toward its cruising altitude of thirty-two thousand feet. Beneath him, a scattering of white clouds stretched to the horizon. Above, the blue sky was stitched with a network of glowing lines of light. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Cæli Regere
, he recited to himself, absently rubbing the fabric that covered his tattooed shoulder.

The heavens shall rule.

A thousand years of preparation had finally come to a head, he thought. All doubt could now be buried. The events unfolding around the world were proof positive that all their planning had been justified. Mankind’s judgment was at hand. The alert had gone out to Order members everywhere. The gathering time was upon them. Many were already settled on the island. The rest were en route.

The birthplace of the new world.

Hans sat stoically beside him. He seethed. The American had escaped him. Even worse, he’d escaped the gas attack and severely reduced the death toll of those in attendance. To Hans, such failure was inexcusable. He’d not rest until he righted it. Victor had shared his anger at first, at least inwardly. But it had
dissipated quickly in light of what had happened since. They may have lost the American, he thought, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t control him.

He recalled the urgent phone call he’d received while waiting for Hans and his men to load the chair into the cargo hold. It had been the leader of the backup team that he’d sent to the residence—one of his agents from Interpol. His report had been brief and to the point. By the time they’d arrived on scene, police and firefighters were there. The blaze in the garage had been extinguished. The guards stationed at the house were dead. The old gondolier had been critically wounded and rushed to a hospital. There was no sign of the Italian woman.

Then the man had given Victor the good news. He and the backup team were en route to the plane—and they weren’t coming empty-handed.

Victor turned to look at the two young guests seated in the lounge area at the rear of the cabin. They stared back at him. The young girl was the picture of defiance. Her jaw was clamped, her lips pursed, and her eyes shot daggers. But it was a transparent veneer. He sensed her fear. Her fingers tapped a rhythmic pattern on the armrests.

The young boy was another matter. He resembled his father in more than physical features. He exuded a calm confidence that was disturbing. The boy tilted his head to one side, and it felt to Victor as if his eyes bore right through him. Then, as if the child realized he’d won the staring contest, his lips turned up in a crooked smile.