BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (40 page)

The lead scientist had taken it all in stride. He’d obviously been briefed about Jake’s abilities. He pocketed his pen and said, “Can you explain the science behind it so that it can be duplicated mechanically?”

“Not entirely. But the answers reside in the object.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I connected telepathically with the…other one. Before it took off.”

The scientist glanced at Battista. He confirmed Jake’s statement with a nod.

“And you can do this again?”

“I think so.”

The scientist considered Jake for a moment. Then he stepped aside and motioned to the obelisk. “Then let us proceed.”

Jake hesitated. “Not so fast,” he said. He needed to hide his eagerness. “I want assurances.”

Battista said, “What assurances?”

“The children—”

“Will all be killed if you don’t do exactly as you’re told,” Battista said.

Bradley shifted uneasily.

“And if I do help?” Jake asked. “Won’t they be killed anyway?”

Battista hesitated. Jake saw the man’s wheels turning, weighing his response.
Carrot or stick
? It didn’t matter either way. Jake’s course was already set.

Battista scratched the wound on his neck. He seemed to draw a perverse pleasure from the discomfort it caused him, as if it fueled his resolve. “This is the last time you will receive a warning. You shall follow Farouk’s instructions or Abbas will return to the cells and introduce one of the children to the hazards of the Venezuelan jungle.”

Venezuela.

As if on cue, the hoot of a howler monkey drew Jake’s thoughts to the thick overgrowth that seemed to stretch on forever beyond the camp. He’d read about it during one of his brain-gorging sessions. The jungles of the Venezuelan rainforest were known for the extreme dangers they posed to human trespassers. Snakes weren’t the only issue. It was filled with tigers, jaguars, and crocs. Clouds of malarial insects targeted anything with warm blood. Waterways teemed with man-eating piranha, and it was said that the electric eels called
Trembladores
could electrocute a man with four hundred forty volts.

An outpost in Venezuela made sense. Jake had read that a growing number of Iran’s paramilitary shock troops had been welcomed here by the anti-American government. Battista would have found a friendly ally here just as easily, especially if he’d shared his plans for attacks on their common adversary.

Jake and his friends were surrounded by men who hated Americans. They’d squeeze what they could out of him and discard their captives without a second thought. And the jungle made escape impossible.

All the more reason to continue on track.

Allowing his shoulders to slump in feigned resignation, he blew out a long breath and turned his attention to the scientist, Farouk. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Chapter 72

Marine Corp Air Station Miramar

San Diego, California

D
oc studied the scene through the one-way mirror. Former sergeant Pedro “Papa” Martinez was cuffed to a chair in the interrogation room. Colonel Brown stood red-faced in front of him.

“Up yours,
pendejo
!”
Papa said. “I ain’t telling you shit.” He spat on Brown’s polished shoes.

Doc grunted. The lieutenant colonel’s demanding approach was all wrong. He muted the sound from the room and turned his attention to Timmy. “I need to do this my way.”

The kid only nodded. He was slouched in a chair. His eyes were red, his expression lifeless, the boyish enthusiasm vanished. Doc could understand it; he felt the same way. Every one of their coworkers was dead at the hands of the men who had stolen the obelisk—the same men who had apparently kidnapped Jake and his friends.

“Is the video set up?”

Timmy looked up. His eyes were moist. “I—I can’t look at it again, Doc.”

“I know. You don’t have to.” Doc pointed to Papa on the other side of the glass. “But he needs to see it.”

Timmy nodded. “It’s ready to go next door.”

Doc placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We’re going to get through this, Timmy. Don’t give up on me, okay? I’ll bring Martinez into the fold. Don’t worry about that. But in the meantime, I need you back in the control room to see what you can learn from the satellites.”

Timmy rubbed his nose with his sleeve and stood. “I can do that.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” Doc said, and he meant it.

Homeland Security had circled the wagons in the aftermath of what had happened at Area 52. The full resources of the US government were now at Doc’s disposal. But all that stood for nothing unless they could figure out where Jake had been taken. He hoped like hell that the man in the next room could lead the way.

Doc keyed the microphone beside the one-way mirror. “Bring him next door, Colonel. There’s something I want him to see.”

**

“
Madre de Dios,
” Papa whispered.

Doc paused the video. The image froze on the sneering face of a man wearing a blood-splattered hazmat suit. His wore no hood and his hands were gloveless. Blood dripped from the knife he’d wielded to slit the throats of the two dozen unconscious men who had been sprawled around in the room.

“Do you know this man?”

Papa shook his head.

“There’s more,” Doc said. He clicked the remote to jump to the next bookmark and hit
play
. Bodies lay motionless on the floor in front of a row of lockers. A wardrobe door slowly opened. A man stepped out, slipped on a pool of blood. Jake. Papa stiffened at the sight of him. On the screen Jake rushed to open a nearby locker. He pulled a body out, propped it up, and checked for a pulse. A nod, then another locker, another unconscious body. The limp form was Doc.

“You were there,” Papa said.

“Jake saved our lives by stuffing us into those lockers.”

Papa nodded. “He would’ve saved the rest, too. If he could.”

“I believe that.”

An exchanged look.

“You were in Afghanistan with him, weren’t you?” Doc asked. “You know all about the pyramid.” 

The comment struck a chord; Doc saw it in Papa’s face. But the man remained silent.

Doc’s tone softened. “I don’t know everything you’ve done, either in Afghanistan with Mr. Bronson or back here in the last few days. I know lives were taken. And even though the men who died may have had it coming, it was not sanctioned by a governmental authority. Some would call that murder…”

Instead of cowering, Papa sat taller in his chair, as if proud of what he had done.

“…but not me,” Doc continued. “After everything I learned from Jake about what happened—Battista, the kidnapping, and even about the obelisk—I would name you a loyal friend. I believe you did what was necessary to correct a wrong and prevent the slaughter of hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent Americans.”

Papa’s expression softened. Doc sensed he was getting through. The man wanted to help Jake—that was obvious. But the former gang leader had to be worried about the ramifications of admitting his involvement.

Doc added, “I can promise you—”

“I don’t need your promises,” Papa interrupted. “Jake saved your life. That tells me you’re okay. And if you’re saying that I can help save Jake and our friends, then I believe you.” He held up his cuffed wrists. “So let’s get these cuffs off and get to work. And when this is all over, if you need to lock me up for the things I’ve done, then so be it.”

Doc liked this man. He nodded to one of the guards to remove the cuffs. Doc extended a hand. Papa rose and clasped it in his own.

“I’m proud to know you, son,” Doc said. “Friends call me Doc. And before you interrupt again, let me finish what I was saying.” He looked Papa squarely in the eyes. “I can promise you one thing. You help us now and I’ll lever the full force of the government to see that you and your friends are granted immunity.”

Papa smiled. “Hell, Doc. You don’t have to feed me that crap. I’m already on board. Besides, you and I both know you don’t have the authority to back that up.”

A commanding voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “You’re right, Sergeant Martinez. Dr. Finnegan doesn’t have that authority. But I do.” 

Doc couldn’t help but grin at the astonished look on Papa’s face. There weren’t many people in the country who wouldn’t recognize the voice of the President of the United States.

Fifteen minutes later, they were in a briefing room with Colonel Brown and a dozen other military types. A couple of hard-edged team leaders sat across from Doc. One represented SEAL Team-1 and the other was from the CIA’s Special Operations Group (SOG). Even though Doc was in charge of the group, he admitted to himself those two made him a bit nervous.

Papa, on the other hand, seemed right at home as he answered another question from the SOG leader. “That’s right. One of the vans got past us. Two dudes wearing kill vests. Jake and Beck took ’em out at the golf course.”

An angry-looking suit from Homeland Security interrupted. “And in the aftermath more than a dozen emergency personnel died from the VX oil that was dispersed, goddamn it.”

“We couldn’t have known that the vests were laced,” Papa reminded him. “In any case, the death toll could have been ten times as many if we’d let ‘em get to the freeway.”

“What about the hundred twenty-seven dead at Disneyland! Apparently that killer got past you, too, didn’t he? You should’ve called it in. But no, you and your glory-seeking friends had to go all vigilante on us. You’re going to pay for that!”

The mention of Disneyland brought a flash of sadness to the sergeant’s face. But his expression hardened just as quickly. The soldier ignored the suit’s outburst as he would a barking dog chained to a post. He directed his attention to the team leaders and said, “We split up afterward. Jake and the rest of them went to the beach bar.”

The angry suit stood up and pointed a finger at Papa. “You listen—”

“Sit down and shut the hell up!” Doc ordered. “We need to keep our eye on the ball here, understood?”

The suit’s face turned beet red, but he knew better than to mess with the president’s man. He sat down.

“How do you know there aren’t more of them out there waiting to blow themselves up?” Doc asked.

Papa grimaced. “Can’t know that for sure, Doc. But according to Tony’s son, he saw three vests when they allowed him to use the bathroom. They’re all accounted for.”

Doc nodded. Then he directed his attention to a large, wall-mounted display. Timmy’s image filled the screen. He was seated at a computer console in the control room. “Any luck on a location?” Doc asked.

“Still nothing,” Timmy said. “We’re backtracking the sat-logs but there are literally tens of thousands of permutations and possibilities. They obviously had the escape route set up months in advance. They would’ve switched vehicles several times in underground garages. Were they in one large vehicle or several smaller ones?  Did they stick together or split up? If we proceed under the assumption that they left the country, was it by plane, car, or boat? We’re checking them all, looking for patterns that will connect the dots. In the end we’ll find them, but without something more to go on, it could take days.”

Doc felt his gut tighten.

The SOG leader asked, “How many hostages?”

Papa answered, “Including the four children—eleven. Three of the adults are women. Oh, and then there’s Max, too.”

“Max?” Doc said.

“Yeah, Josh’s dog.”

“Wait a minute,” Timmy interrupted. He sounded excited. “Josh is the blind kid, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“God, please,” Timmy said, leaning into the camera so that his face filled the screen. “Tell me Max is a guide dog.”

“Well, sure, but—”

“That’s it!” Timmy shouted. “I’ll be right back!”

The video image went black.

“What the hell was that all about?” the SOG leader said.

Doc couldn’t contain his smile. “That, gentlemen, is genius at work. Gather your teams.”

Chapter 73

Venezuelan rainforest

J
ake’s body reacted to the proximity of the mini. Weariness vanished. His mind embraced a clarity of purpose.

The upside-down pyramid was cradled within a metal framework in front of him. Its black square surface shimmered under the spotlights. He ran his hands across the images etched into the perimeter. They were cool to the touch. He marveled at the details in the images of early man’s bloodthirstiness—exactly the same as on the obelisk from the cavern in Afghanistan. This is what the otherworldly visitors saw, he thought. It was also what they feared. But why not deal with us then and eliminate the risk? He suspected that destroying Earth’s inhabitants would have been child’s play for them. He’d wrestled with the question repeatedly, always arriving at the same conclusion: