Council of Evil (8 page)

“This is what happens if you leave loose ends, Hunter. But we can do something they can't. Hold tight.”

Jake anticipated a sudden acrobatic maneuver, but instead Basilisk hit the air brakes. The effect was instantaneous. As the SkyKar ground to a halt the two Typhoons shot past like bullets and had to split apart in order to turn around. As agile as the Eurofighter was, it couldn't hover. Jake spotted the flaw in Basilisk's plan.

“Now we're sitting ducks! They can blow us out of the sky!”

As if the attacking pilots were reading his mind, Jake saw a flash from under the wing of one fighter. Basilisk's computer rang the alarm in its unnervingly monotonous voice.

“Missile launch detected.”

The HUD informed them that it was an Aim-9 Sidewinder missile arcing toward them, leaving a candyfloss vapor trail.

“It's gonna hit us!” he yelled unnecessarily.

Basilisk poised one hand over a control and watched the missile zeroing in. At the very last second he mashed the control with his fist and the SkyKar bolted vertically in the air. Jake thought he was on some diabolical carnival ride as he was crushed into his seat. He felt light-headed as the g-forces pooled the blood to his legs. When they stopped, Jake saw the missile had overshot, but was circling around on another attack run.

Basilisk edged the SkyKar forward and hit an option on the computer screen. Jake craned around to see a series of brightly colored flares jettison from the SkyKar. They fell to earth away from the SkyKar, and he watched with growing excitement as the heat-seeking missile altered course and homed in to the hottest targets and exploded.

“
Bam!
You got it!” Jake hammered the dashboard in his excitement.

“It won't take long for them to line up another shot,” grunted Basilisk as the two Typhoons scissored past in front of them. “We have to fight.”

Jake looked at him expectantly. “What kind of weapons has this thing got?”

“Just you,” Basilisk said as he reached across Jake and opened the door with a hiss. Cold air flooded the car, and Jake felt his ears pop from the sudden change in pressure.

“Are you crazy?” he screamed as he saw the ocean glittering a long way down, through wispy clouds. He felt a sudden attack of vertigo and pressed himself firmly back in his seat. “No way.”

“Remember the Institute? You know I have no weapons for situations like this. You have to—or we both die. And it was your carelessness that got us into this fight!”

Jake stared at the madman, a thousand reasons why he should not leave the SkyKar rattling through his mind. But he realized Basilisk was right. He was their
only hope. He gritted his teeth, unfastened his belt, and grabbed the doorjamb to heave himself out.

Jake felt Basilisk suddenly yank him back into his seat.

“You better download some powers before you go!” He angled the monitor for Jake to look at the range of icons on Villain.net. He thoughtfully selected several options.

“No rush,” Basilisk said sarcastically.

A sound like fireworks dragged their attention back to the situation outside. One Typhoon was rushing toward them; a Mauser BK-27 cannon was spitting bullets. Jake could see green tracer fire streak past them before the aircraft shot overhead—the slipstream savagely rocking the SkyKar and forcing Jake's finger onto the wrong option.

“Go get 'em!” Basilisk encouraged. “They'll be circling around for another attack run.” Basilisk pushed him toward the door.

Jake gripped the doorjamb like a snail. “I don't think I downloaded flying!”

“I told you to be careful!”

“My finger slipped!” Jake snapped back. His fear was more than enough to trigger the powers flowing through his body. “You better keep this thing steady!”

“Get on the roof then and shoot them down!”

“Are you crazy?”

“Hunter!
Now!
”

Jake steeled himself and edged to the door, refusing to look down. His legs felt weak as he reached across and pulled himself onto the hood.

Moving with agonizing slowness, Jake looked around and had to shield his eyes from the sun. He saw one of the Typhoons had turned to face him, its narrow profile making it difficult to see head-on. He heard the SkyKar's computer warn of another missile lock.

“Come on!” Jake yelled defiantly as he raised his hands. He felt small and vulnerable perched on the hood, thousands of feet up, but felt the reassuring swell of superpowers inside. The fighter grew closer, and at such speed it would be on him in seconds. He raised his hands and fired.

A terrible pain shot through his body, and with a crackling sound he saw his arms and legs extend, and his face ached as if he had been punched.

Basilisk watched Jake flail on the hood, and saw the boy's appearance change. He let out a deep sigh; Jake had downloaded a shape-shifting power. He had transformed into a hideous nondescript person, a side effect of trying to change without knowing
what
you want to look like.

The Typhoon shot overhead, causing the SkyKar to rock. Jake threw his arms out for support as he slid
over the smooth carbon fiber body, dangerously close to the edge. His own features snapped back painfully.

The pilot must have noticed the mutant figure on the hovering aircraft and was stunned enough not to fire. But the second Typhoon didn't seem to have that problem.

“Missile launch detected.”

Jake tried to sit upright—just as the SkyKar shot vertically up once more to avoid the heat seeker that narrowly skimmed beneath them.

Jake was pressed flat against the hood from the sudden acceleration and couldn't move. His ears popped painfully—and then Basilisk stopped the ascent.

But Jake kept rising.

Momentum flipped him off the hood like a pancake. He screamed in horror as he soared several feet above the aircraft, which looked like a small toy below him. Then he reached his zenith, arms and legs frantically scrambling in the air like a cartoon character—before plummeting back toward the SkyKar.

The vehicle looked too small a target to hit. But in a second it consumed Jake's vision and he slammed onto the roof, causing the entire aircraft to wobble. He rolled on impact, and the open gull-wing door saved him from falling off the edge.

Jake sat up, rubbing his stinging ribs. He saw the missile had failed to lock onto the flares Basilisk had deployed,
and was heading straight for them. Jake didn't think—he just raised his hands and hoped.

Something sprang from his fingers. It looked like liquid glass and it struck its target—the missile suddenly froze in the air, as if Jake had pressed “pause.” Then it dropped like a rock.

Jake didn't have time to gloat as tracer fire sliced by six feet away, the bullets screaming. He spun around to see a Typhoon blasting toward him. He opened his mouth and screamed.

Jake felt his teeth jangle as he emitted an unearthly howl. The sky shimmered from the sonic blast waves that came out of his mouth. They shredded portions of the Typhoon's thin fuselage and ripped a wing off.

Jake ducked as the fighter shot overhead, spiraling out of control. It fell toward the sea. The canopy flew off and the two pilots ejected. Jake watched, transfixed, as the ejector seats shot away from the stricken fighter and parachutes deployed.

“Jake!” came Basilisk's muffled voice. “Stop messing about and hurry up!”

Jake glowered. He was doing his best.

He turned back as the surviving Typhoon lost altitude and passed beneath them, afterburners booming. It took a few moments for him to realize that the aircraft was retreating back to the mainland. Jake boldly swung back through the gull-wing door, the rush of adrenaline
making him oblivious to the fifteen-thousand-foot drop beneath him. He yanked the door closed.

“What happened?”

“They're freaking out. They probably don't want to risk losing another fighter. We need to get out of here while we can.”

Jake felt sick. “If they're on to us, does that mean they know who I am?”

“Hopefully not yet.”

Not yet?
The words were not very comforting. Jake felt a rare pang of concern for his family. Were they safe? What would happen to them if the authorities found out who he was? Perhaps he should get out of this situation before it got any worse.

As the SkyKar accelerated Jake figured now was not the time to express his doubts. He quickly fastened his seat belt. “Where are we going now?”

“Stage two.”

Several hours later the clouds had vanished to reveal a deep blue ocean as the SkyKar started to descend.

“One of the perks of the job is having an impressive office. Behold, my island.”

Basilisk dipped the nose of the SkyKar so Jake could see. Sparkling turquoise water filled the horizon. Straight ahead was an island covered in verdant jungle
and fringed by pure white-sand beaches. At the center of the island sat a steep volcano, blowing thin black vapors that caught the gentle breeze.

Jake grinned. “That's so cool! Where are we?”

“The Pacific Ocean.”

“And you own this island?”

“Every inch. My base is deep beneath the volcano. See the entrance?”

Jake noticed a circular metal platform poking from the jungle at the bottom of the volcano, held aloft on a hydraulic pole so it resembled a waiter's arm holding a serving tray.

Basilisk skillfully landed the SkyKar without the slightest bump and opened the doors. Jake could feel the tropical air rush into the cockpit, and he started to sweat under his thick leather jacket. A rich, fragrant aroma hit his nostrils, and a cacophony of birdsong whistled through the air. Before he could take it all in, the platform plummeted underground. Black walls immediately replaced his view. Jake looked up to see the circular portal of daylight grow smaller by the second.

The chute gave way to a spacious cavern, and they came to a smooth halt. Several circular doorways radiated from the cavern like the points on a compass. The stolen Core Probe rested on a steel framework in the center of the chamber, connected to banks of computers. Tools and workbenches were strewn everywhere, giving the
appearance of a disorganized garage. Dozens of thick power cables snaked across the bare rock walls and domed ceiling, powering suspended floodlights. There was nothing else in the room, and Jake had the feeling that the base had only recently, and hastily, been constructed.

Basilisk spread his arms and boomed enthusiastically. “And here we are! What do you think?” His voice echoed from the rough stone walls.

“Uh, good?” Jake was feeling disappointed. He had expected more teams of people running around, computers, and other paraphernalia. All brand new and squeaky clean.

Basilisk picked up on his unimpressed tone. “We're a quarter of a mile below an active volcano, on my own private island! What does it take to impress kids today?”

“I was just expecting more people.”

“I have a skeleton staff running this joint. People cost money, boy! And that's what we need right now.”

“You said you didn't want money,” said Jake, who was always reluctant to part with his cash.

“I said I didn't want
your
money. And I also said that this is stage two. You're going to help me get rich. ‘Us' rich, I mean,” he added hastily.

Jake followed Basilisk through one of the doors, which rotated open with a faint
schnickt
sound, like a camera iris. It led to an equally unimpressive passageway forty
feet long that was hewn from the rock and ended in another circular door.

The next room was slightly more impressive. It was roughly the size of Jake's house, with a massive screen mounted on the wall showing multiple camera views across the island. More cables ran across the floor to dozens of computers on desks so new that the cardboard packaging was still propped against the wall. Six technicians, wearing white coveralls with their regular clothes underneath, sat at the terminals. They all looked up respectfully as their boss entered.

“Satisfied?” Basilisk asked sarcastically.

“It's better. I guess you haven't had the place very long?”

“Less than a month. Now pay attention to the screen.” The island views gave way to a live satellite image of the earth. “To rule, you must have power and money, and to get money you need leverage. And a command center like this,” he gestured to the room around him.

“What do you mean by leverage?”

“Leverage is something you use to threaten people to get your way.”

“Like threatening to punch some kid if he doesn't hand over his lunch money?” asked Jake, drawing from his own real-life example.

“Exactly. Except countries tend to be a little mean about handing over their lunch money, unless you
threaten more than one of them. Like the entire world, for example.”

A flat map replaced the satellite image. A flashing blip indicated their location just below the equator in the Pacific Ocean. From the amateur quality of the graphics, Jake could tell they were created cheaply. But he kept quiet.

“We have the Core Probe, and with it the power to pierce the earth's heart.” The computer graphics abruptly changed to a cutaway view of the earth, and the blinking dot traveled slowly through the different layers of the earth, toward the core. Basilisk narrated its path. “Through the lithosphere, the asthenosphere, and into the mesosphere. Then it will explode, creating a worldwide catastrophe.” A chill ran down Jake's spine at the thought, but he was too fascinated to raise any moral objections. “Leverage. We will be able to demand whatever we want!”

“The Core Probe can do that?”

“With a little assistance, yes.”

“What would happen?”

“The earth would tilt from its axis. A change of axis would alter seasons, affect the ocean currents, and cause droughts. Doing what global warming couldn't achieve in a thousand years.
That
is leverage.”