Council of Evil

VILLAIN.NET

ANDY BRIGGS

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Storming the Beach

Spam

A Meeting in the Dark

The First Steps

Grand Designs

Kidnapped

Just Another Day

A Plan Unveiled

Reality Strikes

Revelations

The Assault

A Race to the End

A Note on the Author

Also by Andy Briggs

Imprint

For Mum
Always being there …

The assault force emerged from the ocean as silent as ghosts.

Jake Hunter watched them from his craggy vantage point. With the distinctive crunch of leather, Jake clenched his gloved fist. His confusion and anger seemed to enhance his superpowers. And after all the betrayal, lying, and violence that had surrounded him recently, the powers felt stronger than ever. It felt as though pins were stabbing his fingertips.

“Darn it … there go my gloves,” he muttered under his breath as his fingernails extended like cats' claws, thickening as they ripped through the tips of his gloves. They formed long, razor-sharp talons that shone like black marble in the moonlight.

A week ago he had been just an ordinary kid. Now he was a superpowered global fugitive wanted for theft, kidnapping, blackmail; and he was instrumental in the pending destruction of the planet.

Not bad for a fourteen-year-old.

The spear of rock he was standing on poked out of
the surrounding jungle and allowed him to see across the island. It was bathed in the silver light of a full moon, which highlighted the white-sand beach. It could almost be paradise—if not for the fact that Jake's actions had cost him
everything
: his family, friends, and security.

Cost him his whole life.

Knowing that it was all his own fault did not lessen the anger he felt inside. Anger was the only thing keeping him going right now.

The line of black amphibious Sea Crawlers that emerged from the ocean spoiled the view for him. The Crawlers were the size of buses and rode on a set of caterpillar tracks like tanks. Once they had safely landed ashore, hydraulic ramps powered down at the rear of each vehicle and soldiers emerged in military formation. Jake could just distinguish that they were all armed with rifles and wearing bulky combat jackets as they raced toward the tree line.

They were Enforcers—an elite force of soldiers created by the United Nations specifically to control super-powered misfits such as Jake.

“They must be warm with all that gear on,” thought Jake. He was sweating profusely and wiped beads of sweat from his brow, taking care not to poke his eye out with his lethal talons. The tropical heat was relentless, even at night. His black jeans clung to his legs. Worse
still, they rode up his backside but he couldn't pull them loose for fear of slicing himself with his claws.

Jake rose into the air. It felt just like rapidly ascending in an elevator. He focused his mind, realizing that he was going to need a lot of firepower if he was going to take out the invading party. His fingers stretched painfully apart as an invisible power swelled in his palms. He closed his eyes and it felt as though he was holding a pair of bowling balls at arm's length. When he flicked his eyes back open, they burned like fiery coals. His vision was bathed in red, enhancing living creatures from the general background clutter by showing the electrical pulses through their bodies. He now saw them as shimmering figures, almost like angels. There was nowhere for them to hide.

Jake tilted forward and was suddenly rocketing over the palm trees. Within thirty seconds he was at the beach before any of the advancing army could reach cover.

To the men on the ground it looked as if a huge black vulture was descending on them. They all raised their rifles to fire as he swooped overhead, arms extended toward the ground.

Jake felt twin cones of force erupt from his hands and punch into the Enforcers. Some of the men were hurled through the air. The troopers left standing had the presence of mind to squeeze their triggers and shoot.

Most of the bullets missed Jake and combed through the air in the wake of his flight path. But some of the Enforcers remembered enough from their training to “lead” the target—shooting
ahead
of Jake's trajectory. These bullets struck him.

To Jake, the impact of the bullets felt like he was being tickled. They struck an invisible shield inches from his body—and the air sparkled with fine blue crackles as his translucent force field absorbed them.

Jake brought himself upright, hovering just a few feet off the ground, and spun around, firing another cone of energy. To anybody watching, the cone looked like the heat haze that danced above the surface of a road on a hot day. His blast hit one of the Sea Crawlers just as the last Enforcer jumped out. The Crawler buckled like a can and flipped sidelong, rolling a dozen times across the sand before splashing into the water.

Jake shot up vertically as another volley of gunfire shredded the palm trees behind him. The soldiers took the opportunity to sprint for their lives across the beach, dragging fallen comrades to their feet and into the shelter offered by the trees.

Jake was so high up that he was beyond the range of the weapons. He paused to take in the impressive view of the island, which sprawled around the smoldering opening of a gigantic volcano.

He stared beyond his feet, and far below he could
easily see the electric outlines of the troops who thought they were safely concealed in the jungle. He let out a heavy sigh, knowing he had better finish this.

Jake dived straight down, arms outstretched, and willed another burst of energy from his hands. It zeroed straight for the second Sea Crawler.

The Enforcers cowering in the trees watched as an invisible hammer smashed the Crawler's cab three feet under the sand—the tail of the vehicle was left poking at an angle into the air.

“Sarge!” wailed a terrified young soldier.

“Pipe down!” growled a muscular sergeant with a British accent.

Jake landed with a thump on the beach, facing the men. He allowed his long claws to tap rhythmically against his leg, in what he hoped was a menacing manner. His clothes absorbed the moonlight, and his glowing eyes gave him a fearsome appearance.

“Um … yeah …,” he mumbled. He couldn't think of
anything
suitably threatening to say. His head was still swimming with recent revelations.

Then the ground shook, making every bone in his body vibrate and his teeth rattle. The braver of the troopers risked a glance behind, through the foliage, at the volcano. A massive plume of smoke spewed from the volcano's cone, lit by flaming debris.

It had begun.

Jake's actions over the last week had been truly awful, even by his own standards. But they were nothing compared to the erupting volcano and what it signified. Jake knew that the Core Probe had been launched and was now burrowing to the center of the earth.

After the backstabbing treachery of the past few days, it looked as if he'd either be dead or in a cell on Diablo Island before he learned the consequences of his actions.

The alarm clock's beep was unceremoniously loud, forcing Jake's eyes open from a dreamless sleep. His hand snaked out and thumped the clock silent, but it had started a chain reaction that would ultimately lead to school.

His mother's muffled voice yelled from the kitchen. “Jacob! Time to get up! Come get some breakfast.”

The rest of his family was already up. His mother was eating a bowl of cereal as she peered through her glasses at the newspaper, while his father watched a small television set on the counter, running a twenty-four-hour news program. His sister, Beth, was in the crisp blue uniform of her private girls' school, reading a letter. She waved it at him as he stumbled downstairs.

“From my pen pal in New Zealand!” she said excitedly.

“What, is she too poor to have e-mail?” That wiped the stupid grin from her smug face. Beth scowled at him, then turned back to her letter.

“Toast?” his father asked as he loosened his too-tight tie.

“Nah,” muttered Jake as he slumped into his chair.

“Sleep well?” asked his mother without taking her eyes from the paper.

Jake shrugged, and an affirmative “Mmm” rumbled from the back of his throat. He'd found this method of answering almost any question usually stopped his parents from asking anything else. Sure enough, his mother nodded and continued reading. Jake disliked these family moments together, but, try as he might, he couldn't blame his parents. They worked hard, provided a comfortable home, were never short of money, and allowed their children to have a huge amount of independence. But somehow Jake had never felt comfortable. While the independence had made his sister a nerdy brain, Jake had gone down a different track—and he was beginning to regret it.

On his walk to school, girls threw him flirting, shy glances. He was a good-looking boy, with short, spiky blond hair. Even the school office secretary tended to be extra nice no matter how often he was sent to the principal's office.

Boys, on the other hand, usually gave him a wide berth, and an appraising look. Jake Hunter was the school's most formidable bully—not somebody to cross. But there was a vague aura of respect from his fellow
classmates for the way he manipulated the adults, and on several occasions had defended students from being picked on by rival schoolkids infiltrating their territory.

But Jake was unaware of this side of his reputation. The other boys' actions made him feel both angry and lonely. Not an emotion he'd share with anyone, of course. He'd always stood up for himself, and this had naturally seemed to lead into bullying others. Now “bully” was a tag he was forced to wear, a preemptive act that actually prevented
him
from being bullied by the more unscrupulous characters in school.

Those
losers had become his friends.

He made it most of the way to school alone before he ran into his crew. They might be his friends, but he didn't really trust any of them, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

Anthony Culkin, or Big Tony, was huge. He claimed he had big bones, but even as Jake approached, Big Tony was already polishing off his packed lunch.