Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (38 page)

Grid Countdown: 2h:30m:30s

Banda Sea
5:01 a.m.

“T
HIS STANDING AROUND
doing nothing is driving me crazy,” Lacey said.

Francesca couldn’t agree more. Her children had been taken, Jake was heading into danger, and the world was coming to an end. They needed to do
something
. They were in the ship’s boardroom. She and Lacey stood behind Marshall, Kenny, and Timmy. Each of the men was focused on a workstation. The supersize wall monitor streamed scenes of atrocities and death during the Vietnam War.

Ahmed stood nearby. He’d refused to leave her side since Jake had left. His assault rifle was slung over his shoulder. He’d been intently scanning the web with his smartphone for the past several minutes.

One of Becker’s men stood beside him. The uniformed soldier was built like a tank, with a tanned face that was all angles and planes, broken in two by a swarthy mustache. Sergeant Major Abercrombie was in charge of the force that had remained onboard. It seemed to Francesca as if he was a wound spring
straining to be released. His steel-gray eyes stared at Kenny’s screen.

Francesca shared his focus. Dark forms huddled low in the two inflatable boats as they skimmed across the water. One of those forms was Jake. The video signal was being transmitted by one of Kenny’s over-the-shoulder minidrones. “How much longer?” she asked.

Kenny said, “They’ll make land in two minutes.” He wore a headset and boom mike. It was his job to coordinate the insertion.

“What if it’s the wrong island?” Lacey asked.

“Then we’re screwed,” Marshall said, more to himself than to anyone else. He leaned forward, his fingers flying over the keyboard. His eyes narrowed on his screen, where an endless stream of computer code scrolled. He hit the
ENTER
key, and his hands hovered a moment. A window opened with an
ERROR
code. “You bastard,” he growled. He pulled an MP3 player from his pocket, selected a song, and donned earphones. Then he cracked his knuckles and began typing, faster than ever. “You can run but you can’t hide,” he said, his body rocking to the music.

Francesca could hear the tinny crescendo of music from his earbuds. It sounded like the film score from
Star Wars
. He was lost in his own world, Francesca thought, leveraging his unique expertise to help his friends and her children.

Lacey nudged her. “He’s got that song on a loop,” she said. “He’ll listen to it over and over again until he figures it out.”

“What’s he working on?”

“Anybody’s guess,” Lacey said. “He won’t talk about it until he’s finished. Hell, when he gets in this mode, he won’t talk about
anything
.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Timmy said, his hand gripping a joystick that controlled one of the larger drones. Kenny had given him a quick training session on the equipment. The avid video gamer had taken to it like a fish to water.

Kenny leaned over to get a look at Timmy’s screen. “Whad’ya got?”

“It vanished,” Timmy said.

Kenny nodded. “Yeah, that’s their random signal generator.”

Francesca recalled that the drones had revealed thousands of blips loitering around the archipelago, many of which were false signals.

“Man, I know that,” Timmy said, showing his frustration. “This was infrared, not radar. I was tracking a boat headed around the other side of the island.”

“Rewind it,” Kenny said.

“Already doin’ it.”

Francesca edged over to get a look. Lacey joined her. Ahmed had taken a seat along the far wall. He continued to scroll through scenes on his smartphone. Marshall was oblivious—his keyboard tapping had increased to a feverish pace.

The infrared image on Timmy’s screen revealed the tiny outlines of dozens of boats cruising in the vicinity of the island. Timmy made an entry, and the screen split in two. The left side continued to show the infrared view. The right side depicted radar signals. He overlaid the two screens. All the positions matched. He pointed to a boat that was on a course that would skirt the cliffs on the far side of the island. “Now watch this one.”

The infrared image suddenly turned to port. It was headed directly toward the face of the cliff. But its radar signal continued on its previous course. Timmy zoomed in on the infrared image. The drone’s grayscale thermal imaging camera revealed the outline of the hundred-foot yacht. It glowed pale white against the gray waters, maintaining its speed. Francesca held her breath as the bow was about to impact the rocky shoreline. But instead of an explosion of debris, the ship’s glow simply vanished from bow to stern. It was as if the island had swallowed it up.

“Looks like we found the front door,” Lacey said.

“We gotta let ’em know!” Timmy said, looking to Kenny.

But Kenny had already diverted his attention to his own screen. The landing team had reached the shore and was pulling the craft into cover. “Raider One, come in,” he said into his headset. His voice was urgent.

The raiding team continued on as if they hadn’t heard a thing. Francesca felt a jolt of adrenaline churn her stomach. The Aussie sergeant major edged closer.

“Raider One or Raider Two, come in,” Kenny repeated, tapping the up-volume arrow on his console.

Jake and his team disappeared under the foliage.

Then the screen went blank.

Kenny made several entries on his console. When the image didn’t return, his face screwed tight.

“What’s happening?” Francesca asked.

“They’re inside the island’s electronic shield,” he said. “We’ve lost contact.”

Francesca steadied herself on the back of his chair. She drew her lower lip through her teeth.

Lacey said, “But we have to warn them!”

“We can’t,” Kenny said. “Not until they launch a homer-relay from
Mother Ship
.” His voice trailed off as he returned his attention to the tracking image on Timmy’s screen. It appeared as if Timmy was studying the ship’s track in reverse.

Kenny leaned closer. “Are you seeing what I’m—”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Lacey said, cutting him off. “What’s a homer—”

“Can it!” Kenny said, spinning his chair around so fast that Francesca flinched backwards and nearly fell. The Aussie caught her. Lacey crossed her arms and stood her ground.

Kenny’s frustration vanished when he thought he’d hurt Francesca. “I—I’m sorry. You okay?”

Francesca shouldered herself free of the Aussie’s grasp. “Of course. I’m fine,” she said. “But Lacey’s right. We have a right to know what’s going on. So, what are you talking about?”

Kenny blew out a quick breath, and Francesca sensed his frustration ease.

“Short version,” he said. “We knew we’d lose contact. It was part of the mission profile. When they arrive at the target spot, they’ll launch a drone that will allow us to relay information. Until then, they’re on their own.” He looked to the Aussie for confirmation.

“He’s right, ma’am,” the sergeant major said. “Squadron Leader Becker was prepared for this.”

“But in the meantime,” Kenny continued, “we’ve got a lot of work to do.” He pointed to Marshall, who was still hunched over his keyboard with his earphones on. Light from his computer screen reflected off his narrowed eyes. He was grinding his teeth. Kenny added, “We need to go into Marshall mode.”

“I’ve isolated a pattern here,” Timmy interrupted. Everyone except Marshall and Ahmed turned toward his screen. He traced his finger across the image. “This is the track the ship took before turning into the cliffs. See how it made three tacks, here, here, and here?”

“Like an airport approach pattern,” Kenny said.

“Except there’s no need for one on open water,” Timmy said.

Francesca sensed their excitement as they spoke back and forth.

“Unless you’re avoiding reefs,” Kenny said.

“Of which there aren’t any on this side of the island.”

“Or underwater mines.”

“Which they would never use if they wanted to maintain the secrecy of their location.”

They paused a moment while they thought it through.

It was Lacey who spoke next. “It’s like a secret door-knock at a speakeasy.”

Both men turned toward her at the same time. Their slack-jawed expressions morphed to grins.

“Exactly!” Timmy said.

“It’s an ID-track,” Kenny added. “A simple friend-or-foe pattern that they can track with underwater acoustical equipment. As long as the boat follows the track, the bouncers will open the door and let you in.”

“And here’s the next customer,” Timmy said, pointing to a blip on the screen. He switched to infrared mode and zoomed in. It was a smaller boat, maybe thirty-five feet. There appeared to be three people onboard. “They’re five miles out. Just made the first tack.”

“We need that boat,” Kenny said.

The sergeant major didn’t hesitate. He rushed toward the exit, speaking into his boom mike. “Team three at the ready!”

Kenny switched frequencies on the communication console and said, “Cal, fire up the chopper. It’s time to go to work!”

Grid Countdown: 2h:15m:30s

The Island
5:16 a.m.

V
ICTOR’S SMILE WAS
genuine. He’d earned it. Generations of planning were coming to a head. He glanced up at the wall monitor. A new world was a couple hours away. Nothing could stop them now.

He was in the plush underground viewing lounge—so named because of the wall-to-wall video screen at one end. It currently streamed a live feed of the inlet and the picturesque landscape and structures surrounding it. It was dawn, but the scene was still cast in shadows from the surrounding peaks. Lampposts illuminated the walkways and dock area. Light shone from windows. There was an old-world feel to the scene that Victor found soothing. The captivating city was a far cry from the village of huts that his ancestor had discovered here two hundred years ago.

“It is truly glorious,” said the Pakistani statesman standing beside him. The bearded man was dressed in a
sherwani
and
salwar kameez
, a shin-length doublet over pajama-like trousers that narrowed at the ankle.

Victor was surrounded by an international ensemble of Order leaders. Many of the men wore suits and ties like he did. A few wore military dress uniforms. The women’s elegant dresses were overshadowed by an assortment of rich jewelry. Not everyone in the Order was wealthy, but those in this room represented the elite. Several nodded at the statesman’s comment.

“Centuries in the making,” Victor said, thinking about the countless resources that had been dedicated to the task. Since the island’s discovery, each adult Order member had been required to live here for a minimum of two years. Many stayed longer. Some never left. All of them contributed to the design and construction of the complex. The most intriguing accomplishment had come in the past several decades—when their scientists had perfected the art of electronic camouflage. As a result, their activity had been kept hidden from overflying aircraft and satellites. Coupled with its well-honed lore of venomous snakes and lethal gas plumes that could “suck a man’s soul to the depths of hell,” the island was seldom troubled by outsiders.

Victor watched the screen. The city pathways were scattered with folks migrating toward the entrance to the underground complex. Despite the countdown, they were calm and orderly. He was proud of them. He noticed a few late arrivals at the dock. There were likely others yet to come. If they didn’t make it by the time the doors were closed…

Victor shook his head at the shame of it. They were like his children. He’d mourn them.

He wondered what it would be like up above when the end came. Would the grid destroy all sign of civilization in a massive explosion that consumed the planet? Or would the ancient visitors have devised a more elegant solution, one that targeted humans alone, allowing the animal kingdom to once again rise to the top of the food chain? He prayed it was the latter. He’d hate to see their aboveground utopia decimated by the process.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Hans making his way toward him. His man didn’t need to say anything for Victor to realize something was wrong. The purposeful stride and stiff jaw spoke volumes. Victor took a couple steps back from the crowd.

“What is it?”

“Activity in the south quadrant,” Hans reported.

“Pirates?” Victor asked. There had been three incursions in as many months from the brazen bandits. Officials had been tightening up on them in nearby populated areas. Many groups were looking for new homes.

“Perhaps,” Hans said. “But I can’t confirm it. We’re having an issue with video imagery on that side of the island. Some sort of static interference. But IR and motion sensors have been activated. I’ve sent a squad to deal with it.”

Victor felt a brief chill of alarm, but it faded quickly. If it wasn’t pirates, it was likely evacuees seeking shelter from the apocalypse. Thousands had fled to the seas. Many would seek shelter on an island. A few would ignore the warning signs that ringed the beaches on the south end of the island. They had been a nuisance in the last few days. But at least they’d provided live-fire training for their security forces. Whoever they were—pirates or refugees—they would not be permitted to leave the island alive.