BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (30 page)

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Battista said, his voice flat. “In the meantime, don’t even think about contacting the authorities.”

The line went dead.

Chapter 52

South Central Los Angeles, California

J
ake watched as Papa paced in the far corner of the room. A phone was pressed to his ear. He was in the process of rallying a small army of Southern California gang members around the news that two of their own had been shot. A team had already departed their turf in San Bernardino, enroute to the Big Bear house to check for survivors and search for any clues of the identity or location of the kidnappers.

 At the opposite end of the room, Jake, Tony, and the rest of the group were huddled around the game table. Bradley joined them. The children and Max watched TV in the adjoining family room.

Tony’s chest heaved in and out like a blacksmith’s bellows adding fuel to an already red-hot fire. Jake could only imagine his friend’s pain.

“I’m going to rip him apart and beat him to death with his own limbs,” Tony said between clenched teeth.

Francesca placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You’ll bring them home safe,” she said softly. “Just like when you rescued me from that cave in Afghanistan.”

“Bloody right, mate,” Becker said. “They can’t be far. We know they’re still with Battista and he’s gotta be holed up at his local HQ.”

“Somewhere in L.A.,” Jake added. “So he can personally oversee their mission.”

“Yes, but where?” Marshall asked. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Aren’t you all forgetting something?” Lacey said. “What about the fact that the bastard knows exactly where we are? He called us on the house phone, for Christ’s sake. How’s that even possible?”

“A tracker,” Marshall said. “It’s the only way. And since we ditched all our cell phones, it must be planted in something else—watch, jewelry, clothing. It would be easy enough to ferret out if I could get my hands on the right equipment.”

Papa had ended his phone conversation. He must have overhead Marshall’s comment, because he walked over and placed a notepad and pen on the table in front of him. “Write down exactly what you need and I’ll get it here in less than an hour.”

“An hour?” Marshall said. “I’m talking about some high-end stuff.”

“It don’t matter,
holmes
,” Papa said. “In a few minutes this place is going to be swarming with my friends. In addition to providing perimeter security that’ll put Fort Knox to shame, my boys can scrounge better than a supply sergeant on the take. No questions asked. We’re going to convert this cave to a war room.”

“In that case,” Marshall said, scribbling on the notepad, “add a signal jammer to the menu. I don’t want any cell calls in or out of here without our okay.”

“No problem.”

Max barked from the next room. Bradley rose as if to leave but Marshall stopped him. “Hang on, Brad, I could use your help here.”

Noticing the teacher’s hesitation, Marshall
held up the list. “There's too much to do, and too little time. It’s all hands on deck.”

“The children—”

“Dude, the kids are fine,”
Marshall said. He added another item to the list
. “Sit down and let’s get to it.”

Bradley sat down with a shrug. “What can I do?”

Francesca was still focused on Tony. “We know they’ve not been harmed,” she said. “They even allowed your son to keep his game.”

Marshall stopped writing. “Yeah, that’s peculiar.”

“Not really,” Tony said, a faraway look in his eyes. “It woulda been simpler for them to manage him. Tyler throws a hell of a fit whenever we take his PSP away from him. He loves playing with his buddies online.”

Marshall’s head snapped around. “What kind of games?”

“Huh?”

“You said he plays online with his friends, right?” Marshall asked excitedly. He opened the laptop he’d borrowed from Papa. “Come on, LAPD, don’t you get it? Your son is friggin’ brilliant! I wondered why the heck he would mention his game while he was surrounded by a bunch of gun-toting terrorists. He should’ve been freakin’ out. Instead, the little dude was sending us a message. What games does he like to play?”

“
Call of Duty
. It’s his favorite.”

Marshall smiled in instant recognition. His fingers became a blur on the keyboard. “Boom…headshot!” he said, recounting the familiar tag words from the popular first-person-shooter video game. “Maybe,” he muttered to himself, his attention lost in a cyber world that he called home. “Just maybe…”

**

Jake pulled Papa aside. Under his breath he said, “Are you sure we can depend on the gang you’ve got coming?”

“No doubt,” Papa said. “There ain’t gonna be no peewees or wannabes. Just hardcore. Their methods are…unacceptable—I can’t deny it. It’s why I got out. But they embrace family, loyalty, and protection of their neighborhood above everything. Battista’s plan spits on them in the worst way possible.”

The garage side door opened and Snake swept in with four tough-looking Hispanic men. Two of them were dressed in distinctive
cholo
style, with Pendleton shirts, Dickies pants, and belt buckles with monikers engraved in Old English that Jake assumed identified their gang affiliation. One of them had a colored headband wrapped around his shaved skull. The two who followed wore untucked gray T-shirts over cargo pants and military-style combat boots, looking more like marines on leave than gangbangers.

The first of the gang members pushed into the room as if he owned the place. His number two was on his heels, with an ivory-gripped automatic tucked under his belt. The stocky, crew-cut leader was in his twenties, but his cautious eyes, thick brow, heavy nose, and downturned lips gave him an angry face that made him look much older.

His eyes swept the room, scanning for threats, a practice he’d likely perfected years ago in order to survive the streets. Like an alpha dog establishing his role, he shot a don’t-mess-with-me look at Jake’s friends seated around the game table. Marshall, Lacey, and Bradley shrank under his glare. Becker appraised him. Tony rose to his feet, and returned the flat stare. Neither of them blinked. The uncomfortable moment was finally broken by a barely perceptible nod from the gangster. A beat later it was followed in kind by Tony.

Respect given and accepted.

“Glad you’re here,” Tony said. “We can use the help.”

Jake sensed the wariness beneath his friend’s words. As a SWAT team leader with the LAPD, forming an alliance with one of the toughest gangs in the state couldn’t be easy for him.

“Papa’s part of the family,” the gang member said. “He calls, we come.” He motioned to the guy behind him. “This is Paco. You can call me Street.” 

The two military types shouldered past the group and Jake immediately recognized one of them as Ripper, a member of Papa’s fire team. Jake noticed the slight bulges under the calves of Ripper’s pants, where he usually carried twin combat knives. The man with him was huge. Though Jake didn’t know him, from the worried scowl and ham-fisted features, he suspected the man was related to Juice.

Jake exchanged a firm handshake with Ripper. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“
Chingao, hombre,
” Ripper said with a restrained grimace that revealed part of a gold front tooth. The wiry soldier was half Mexican and half American Indian, with a broad face, wide eyes, and long black hair tied back in a ponytail. “What you got us into this time,
jefe
?”

 “It’s not good,” Jake said. He flashed back to the stories he’d heard of Ripper’s heroic actions during the gun battle with Battista’s men in the Hindu Kush while Jake was being held captive inside the mountain. Ripper had carried the squad’s light machine gun, and it had been red hot by the time they made it to the LZ. Jake was glad Ripper had joined them. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“The bastards shot Juice,
holmes
,” Ripper said with a shake of his head.

Jake felt a flush of anger. He pushed down another stomach cramp.

“This here’s Freddie,” Ripper said, motioning to the man beside him. “Juice’s brother.”

The blunt-faced giant with the shaved skull standing beside Ripper stiffened at the mention of his sibling. Jake guessed his height at six-seven. He had a barrel chest and thick arms sleeved with tattoos, the most prominent of which was a set of praying hands. The team at the house in Big Bear hadn’t checked in yet, so the conditions of Juice and Romeo were still unknown.

“I heard’a you,” Freddie said in a low growl.

“Your brother’s a good man.”

The giant’s flat stare rooted Jake for a beat. Finally, he nodded and extended a hand that engulfed Jake’s. “He said the same thing ’bout you.” 

Chapter 53

South Central Los Angeles, California

T
he
barrio
was on full alert.

A dozen or more of Street’s gangsters milled in and around Papa’s house, armed to the teeth with a variety of weapons. Many more were positioned at key intersections leading to the house, ready to provide advance warning of any intrusions.

Jake steadied himself against the bar that fronted Papa’s impressive tequila collection. He struggled to hide the discomfort he felt as another cramp squeezed his bowels. Tony stood beside him.

“Even with an army of gangsters,” Tony said, “a full-out assault ain’t gonna cut it.”

Without a target location, Jake thought, putting an effective plan together was impossible. “Wherever it is, I’ll have to get inside unnoticed,” he said absently, thinking that his abilities would give him an advantage. “Once I figure out exactly where in their facility your family is being held, I’ll give you the cue.”

“Let’s get somethin’ straight right now, pal,” Tony said. “Wherever these suckers are, I ain’t about to be waitin’ outside.”

The strain of the situation had taken a serious toll on Tony. Jake worried about his friend’s ability to stay on point with his family’s life in the balance. But he also knew it was senseless to argue. Tony wasn’t about to budge. “Okay, we go in together.”

Lacey glided toward them from across the room. It reminded Jake of the simple days not so long ago when she was still waiting tables at Sam’s Bar and all he and his friends had to worry about was what brand of beer they ordered.

“You guys are the last two,” she said, adjusting a dial on the twelve-inch security wand she held in one hand. Motioning to Tony, she said, “Hands up and spread ’em.” 

Papa had been true to his word. Not only did his contact provide a computer system and a state-of-the-art signal jammer that had made even Marshall whistle in appreciation, he’d also brought a short-range bug sensor that would identify any transmitters hidden in their clothing or belongings.

Tony spread-eagled and Lacey moved the wand slowly over his torso and limbs. She rose to her tiptoes in order to reach the area above his shoulders. “You’re clean.” 

Jake was next. He had stepped back from the bar and raised his arms when Marshall’s shout filled the room. “I got him!”

The room went electric. Everyone rushed to hover behind Marshall at his computer station.  A Google map with a satellite view of the South Bay was displayed on the screen. A red dot flashed in the center of the screen.

“God, they’re in Torrance!” Lacey said.

“Just two blocks from City Hall,” Marshall confirmed.

“Smug bastards,” Becker said.

Hiding in plain sight, thought Jake. Less than twenty minutes away.

“Get your team leaders in here,” he said to Street. “It’s time to saddle up.”

**

Even as his mind raced through the myriad of tactical options available to them, Jake considered the unlikely gathering of people surrounding him in Papa’s war room. Their hastily formed assault team included gangbangers, military contractors, LAPD SWAT, and even a demolition and specialized weapons expert from Down Under. In addition, they had a support team that included an actress, a cyber expert, a teaching assistant, and an empathic child psychologist who was pregnant with his child.

Under different circumstances, any of them could easily find themselves on opposite sides of violence. But today they’d allied against a common enemy—an enemy who not only held part of their own family hostage, but also threatened the very fabric of American society.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend
, Jake thought, recounting the ancient Arab proverb. Is that the solution to uniting man as a species? Is that the truth that the human race must ultimately swallow in order to have any chance at all of defending itself against a global threat that only Jake and a few others knew was coming? Would people unite if they shared that knowledge, or would they decimate one another in panic?